title; angels & demons

author; WalkInTheDust

pairing; ten/reinette

summary; reinette is visited by a familiar face. and that face is out to give her a shock.

notes; first oneshot, first story, first post here, ever. it's not every day you get to say that. just something that cropped into my head quite a long time ago; i just never got the time to write. enjoy.

disclaimer; i don't own doctor who or any of the characters, however much i would like to.

He had allowed one day, and one day only. But even then, he was stretching it a little.

As he had told all that came aboard his beloved ship, some points in time were fixed, and could not be changed. Big, historic moments like the eruption of Vesuvius and what happened with Shakespeare. And this visit was no exception.

But he could not go without seeing her. His hearts ached for that look in her eyes saying I believe you, I trust in you. He had had many people look at him in that way, but never from a higher position. For, he may have been a Time Lord with a deeper knowledge of the Universe than most life forms, but there was something about Reinette Poisson that almost made her look the Doctor's superior.

And he wanted her back.

So, after giving his beloved, unknowing Rose a last look, he went back to France.

Reinette Poisson had been gazing longingly out her window, watching the rain tumbling out of the dark grey clouds overhead. Some may have thought she had given up, but she knew she never would, not until the day she died. Despite this, she couldn't help but feel disappointed that she wasn't important enough to be visited and although she carried on doing her duties, some of that sadness seeped through. Only the astute would notice it, but it was there nonetheless.

She still danced, cooked, painted and studied and still had people visit her. Maybe that's why she wasn't surprised when her personal maid said that there was someone to see her.

"Tell them I am occupied," she said sternly, not turning around but dismissing the maid with an elegant flourish of the hand. She had been in a doleful mood because of the rain that had been incessantly pouring down. It had been raining when her mother had died and from that point, she had always disliked the type of weather that seemed to transform even the prettiest landscapes into miserable places.

"But ma'am, he insists on seeing you now," the maid protested, venturing into the elaborately decorated bedroom.

Reinette was getting agitated. "Now is not a good time," she urged, still facing the window.

"He says—" the maid started, but she was cut off by a very familiar voice.

"Why do I get the impression you don't want to see me?"

Reinette gasped and turned to the doorway, where the most wonderful sight greeted her eyes. There he was, her lonely angel, leaning against the door frame. He wore the same pinstriped suit with a darker shirt and different tie. He still wore those silly trainers that clashed with what he was wearing and his brown hair was as tousled as always. A million questions ran through her head, but before she could voice any of them, the maid spoke.

"Sir!" she exclaimed in horror. "You are not allowed here without permission. I asked you to—"

"No, it is quite alright," Reinette said, not taking her eyes off the man in front of her. "You can leave us now." The maid looked shocked at the order but did as she was told after giving them both a strange and suspicious look.

"So, you haven't changed much," the Doctor commented, referring to the way she had dismissed the maid. There was a small sideways smirk creeping onto his lips as he looked at Reinette.

She stood from her spot next to the window and came towards him, her steps graceful and elegant as she had been taught. Her heart was racing as she approached him, although she wasn't sure if it was from nervousness or happiness. It seemed that she always had mixed emotions when she was around him.

"It would appear that you have not done so either, but that would be a wrong assumption to make," she said as calmly as she could, despite the thumping in her chest. "I can see that you've suffered some terrible losses. I can see it in your eyes."

The Doctor was mildly shocked at this, but didn't let it show. Instead, he slipped his hands in his pockets casually and entered the room, looking around at the golden furniture and expensive decorations. It hadn't changed much since he had last came here through the fireplace at the end of the room.

"So, what's new in France?" he said cheerily, tactfully avoiding any comments from Reinette about what had happened since they'd last met. He had not come here to talk about what happened; he had not come here to get upset about how he was dying—and he wanted it to stay that way.

For the Doctor, the day passed quickly—too quickly. And even though he knew the dangers of staying there for too long-he knew it could rip a hole in the Universe, he knew it could mean disaster for every living creature—his two hearts longed for one more day. And another. And another. But he knew he had to stop one day, so he might as well stop now.

The one, sole day that he spent with Reinette was filled with trivial activities. She showed him the extent of the large grounds of the palace in which she lived. They had a feast in the extravagant dining room. They danced together, never taking their eyes of each other once. The Doctor described some of his most magnificent adventures, but never dared to mention any of his companions. Reinette explained her life in France and her servitude as chief mistress for King Louis XV. Finally, when the day was over and it was nearing night, they ended up in one of the front rooms.

She never quite understood what the purpose of her beloved Doctor's visit was. She never thought it the right moment to ask during the day but as their conversation came to a natural halt, it came to her mind once more.

"Tell me, Doctor, why exactly did you come today?" she asked. They were both sitting on a small, decorative recliner, whose red and gold fabric was complimented by the matching golden-patterned cushions. The whole room had the red-and-gold theme that screamed aristocracy.

The Doctor was a little puzzled by her question but he replied as best he could without giving away his true motive. "Well, I did say I was coming back, didn't I?" He put on a cheeky grin, although he didn't know who he was trying to convince more—Reinette or himself.

"Yes, but it's all so sudden and spontaneous. Are you planning to stay the night? Stay forever?" The last question was more hopeful than anything but she couldn't help herself—her mind was overflowing with questions.

His ever-present smile faded as he took in her worried expression. "I can't," he said simply, a pained expression visible on his face, as if those two words just broke his hearts. They practically did, since he knew, deep inside, that he would have to explain.

"Why not? We have many spare rooms that you are free to use," she suggested, carrying on the idea that had accidentally slipped from her lips, as if that was the main problem that the Doctor was concerned about.

He thought about lying to her, telling her some far-flung story to cover him up, but he knew she would see right through him instantly. Despite this, the last thing he wanted to do was break her heart. He had realised during the day that he loved her. He had always thought that his hearts beat for Rose, but he was wrong. All this time, ever since he knew that Rose was with his human duplicate, he lived for Reinette Poisson. This small but significant fact made it all the more hard to say, but he had to. He couldn't hide it any longer.

"Reinette, I'm dying," he said, a serious expression taking over his features. He had taken her hands in his, resting them on his knee as he rubbed them gently. He almost caressed her, knowing it was getting close to the end. Contrary to his expectations, she did not act shocked or surprised, she did not jump from the bed; she simply remained unaffected by the statement that the Doctor had made. He raised his eyebrows, as if prompting her to explain her calmness.

Now she stood, composed, her gown rustling at the movement. "I've known something was the matter," she said. Although she appeared collected, her knees were weak and felt like they were about to give in. She stayed strong, though, knowing if she broke down now, she would never stop. "There was something about your posture and tone that gave away that something was bothering you. I never thought to ask, but now I'm simply curious." She was walking around the room, but never looked the Doctor in the eye. The truth was that she was afraid. She didn't want the Doctor to die, she didn't want him to go. She loved him and always had. She glanced at him. He was still on the recliner, but he was looking down. He didn't look like he was going to explain further.

"Is this your last day?"

It was a timid, simple question and, in a way, she was scared of the answer. But she was strong and she knew she would take whatever came her way on the chin. The Doctor slowly looked up.

"Yes."

Although a wave of sadness rushed over her, filling from her head to her toes, although her whole body brimmed with a dull, throbbing pain, she felt happy in a way. She was sure he had met many people, some of them he had grown quite close to, so she felt honoured that out of all those people, he chose to spend her last day with her.

And then all happy thoughts disappeared as the true meaning of his words slammed into her like a train. She would never see him—her lonely angel—again. In the same moment, she realised that it was him that kept her going and gave her something to look forward to. She trusted him with every fibre of her being to come to her again and here he was. She had dreamt about their next meeting many times; sometimes, it was the only thing she could fully concentrate on. But she never thought of it like this.

Her lower lip started to tremble; her insides felt like they were melting; she felt like hiding underneath her bed, never to come back out again. She couldn't imagine a life without the Doctor, without the hope of him coming back.

But now, it seemed that she would have to.

The Doctor saw all that was going on with a calm expression, even if his hearts were beating faster than they had done in a long time. Despite the haze that had settled in his head, he felt a small thought of reason inch into his mind to explain the exact meaning of 'dying' for a Time Lord.

"Well, I'm not dying exactly," the Doctor said, his voice shattering the silence. "I regenerate." Sitting back down beside him, Reinette's brows furrowed together as she tried to understand what he was telling her. Seeing the confusion in her expression, he continued. "I basically change my face and personality and everything, but I'm still the Doctor. My whole biology is completely rewritten."

"Will that not hurt?" Reinette asked, thinking of nothing else—she couldn't bear the thought of him getting hurt.

He paused but his mind was reeling. An idea had popped into his head that he hadn't thought of before. "Yes, of course, but I'm not sure you're understanding this," the Doctor replied excitedly, his enthusiasm overflowing as usual. It seemed like he was back to his cheery self. "I'm still the same person—I'm still the Doctor—and I can stay forever. We can start from where we left off and everything will be the same as before-apart from the face of course. I won't go anywhere, not for one second and—"

His babbling stopped immediately when Reinette placed a gentle hand on his cheek, not unlike their second meeting. Their eyes met.

"We both know you cannot do that," she said calmly. She had taken everything he'd said, but still knew it would not be the same.

"Of course I can," he insisted, although the conviction had gone from his voice. "But it would be exactly the same as before. Why can't you see that?" His voice was low-the look in her eyes somehow silenced him.

"If it's not you, then I know it won't be."

That seemed to be the final word. The Doctor could see that his attempts to convince her were futile and so he exhaled, all the 'could be' and 'would be' words leaving his lips.

Something, somewhere inside him started hurting, a stab of pain within.

It was starting.

He tried to supress it, but the agony was crippling and, inevitably, it showed on his face. Reinette instantly knew what was going on. She didn't know what to say, so she let actions do the talking.

When their lips met, they could think of nothing else but each other. Everything peeled away to reveal a clean, sparkling-white world where only they mattered-no regeneration, no King to attend to. Just them, in perfect harmony. The pain that had so suddenly coursed through the Time Lord's body dulled and almost disappeared as his hands went to Reinette's waist, pulling her closer. She was like an antidote to a terrible curse, and he wondered whether, if he stayed with her long enough, he wouldn't regenerate at all. Of course, he knew that that would never work.

Breaking away—too soon—the Doctor looked at Reinette. She smiled as a satisfied artist would have done at a masterpiece. He now wore a solemn expression on his usually jovial features, as if he was going to a funeral. In a way, he was doing just that; only, it was his own funeral.

"Show me your...spaceship."

The Doctor nodded, but said nothing. Getting up, he extended a hand which Reinette willingly took. Their hands remained intertwined together as he led her through numerous corridors and hallways to one of the many drawing rooms where he had hidden the TARDIS behind an ornate tapestry that hung from the ceiling. She gasped when she saw the dark blue wooden box. It was a magnificent, even if it looked out of place in the lavishly decorated room. And to think that the Doctor travelled around in it made the object even more special.

"It truly is...wonderful, just like you said," she breathed, not quite being able to express how she felt in words. But her amazement was short-lived as she saw the Doctor's face, contorted in pain. She rushed towards him, putting a useless hand on his back.

"Go Doctor," she said. "I am not sure I would like to see this. Just remember...I love you, and always will."

There, she had said it.

The Doctor looked up, as if those three words had completely cured the burning pain inside his chest, much like how he felt when she had kissed him. He could feel it coming on, though, regeneration. He had grown to fear the word, but now he hated it for taking all that he held most dear away from him, hated himself for being who he was. He didn't want to go without her knowing how he truly felt. It was now, or never.

"I love you too."

Reinette took a sharp intake of breath as she fully registered his words. Nothing mattered any more, now that her feelings were returned. It didn't matter that she would never see him again. It didn't matter that her heart would ache for him for the rest of her life. She loved him and he loved her back—that was the only thing that mattered now.

"Go," she said again and, this time, the Doctor did as he was told.

Before he closed the door, he could have sworn he saw a tear roll down her cheek. But he couldn't concentrate any more. Taking one last longing glance at Reinette, he finally closed the door with a thump and was overwhelmed by a burning sensation. He managed to stumble up the ramp and collide with the console of his beloved TARDIS. His breath was coming out in irregular intervals, the mental and physical anguish he felt only being multiplied as he tried to keep the regeneration at bay for as long as he could.

As the regeneration took its course, as all visible skin glowed an orange hue similar to that of the Sun, as the windows of the TARDIS threatened to break, only one thought remained in the Doctor's mind.

I don't want to go.