Voiceless
yousha
She's a bit of stray leaves dancing about in a light wind. Her feet do not take her where she wants to go. Rather, they point her in several ways. Weaving around lampposts and mailboxes, she follows their misdirection, never knowing where they will lead her to next.
Voiceless, the Doctor watches, knowing his hands were the ones that led her feet astray. He watches her stop to blankly stare at a 'Missing Cat' poster, her moth-zombie eyes tracing the lines of the feline in question. He wonders.
What do I do?
Do I take her with me?
No. She's not prepared. I can't…
…Or can I?
Maybe it would be for the best if he left her. She could live out a quiet life in a corner somewhere, her solitude her only company. She'd be away from the hardships then, the danger. In some silent place she could begin to heal the burns that the flames of his presence had inflicted upon her. She could live, in that place, unabashed.
But he couldn't let her do that, live on her own. He was too guilty, maybe.
Or too selfish.
No, he thinks. She'll come with me. I'll heal those burns myself, I have to. If not for her sake, then…
A car comes as she walks aimlessly across the street. The driver too enchanted by his phone, he doesn't notice her just as much as she doesn't notice him. A collision's imminent. There isn't much time. The Doctor screams her name. He runs.
The car's fast, so fast—but he's faster. Grabbing her wraith-thin arms he pulls her toward the curb. His scuffed white tennis shoe hits the edge of it and he trips. As they fall he's quick to turn so that it is he who hits the sidewalk, not her. His shoulder jams when it crashes into the cement slab, but that's all right, because hers didn't.
When all is well he releases her and watches as a light comes to her moth-zombie eyes when she looks at him.
You, she seems to say.
Yes, he responds, voiceless. Me.
You killed him.
I did.
It was your fault.
It was.
Her eyes narrow into slits of their former selves. I hate you, they say.
I know, his respond.
A shopkeeper runs out of his small variety store.
"Are you all right?" he asks them, holding out a hand. "I saw what happened."
"We're fine," the Doctor says, allowing the shopkeeper to help him up. "Never better."
"Idiots and their cell phones," the shopkeeper says. "Those things are supposed to be illegal to use while driving."
"Yes, supposed to be," the Doctor replies distantly. His attention returns to the girl in the leather jacket, the one who only speaks with her eyes. "You okay, then?"
She doesn't nod. She doesn't do much of anything, really.
"She must be in shock," the shopkeeper says.
"Shock." The Doctor nods. "Yes, shock fromthat."
He's such a liar sometimes.
The Doctor's careful when he takes her hands in his and pulls her to her feet. He holds them just long enough to realize that he's been holding them a little too long. With hesitation he removes his piano-key fingers from hers. With regret he takes a step back and allows her to catch her breath.
"Be a little more mindful the next time you cross the street, okay?" the shopkeeper tells her. "Those idiots are everywhere."
Nodding on her behalf, the Doctor thanks him for his concern and waves him off. The shopkeeper returns to his little variety store, leaving the Doctor alone once again with the voiceless girl in the leather jacket. He watches her watch the ground and he wonders.
What next?
What do I do?
She's my responsibility.
So how do I take responsibility for her?
He thinks and thinks as she stares at the road. Only one thought comes to his mind.The TARDIS. She'll come with him, then. They'll travel together. He'll bring her to new places, new worlds, where cool waters will soothe the burns on her heart—and, maybe, on one of them, her words will find her once again. Maybe, on some distant star, she'll forget what happened and become whole again. Maybe she'll forgive him, even.
That's a lot to ask, he decides. But I'm going to ask it.
He calls to her, softly, his voice but a whisper, and as he takes her hand and leads her back to his little blue box he tells her of all the wonderful things she's going to see. He tells her about different races, different places in time and what to expect on their journeys. He tells her about their adventures to come, and he tells himself that, yes, with time—time, which he has so much of—yes, with time, she'll forgive him.
-R