Why wouldn't they shut up? The Doctor ground his teeth together and held his head in his hands. Tears pooled on the edges of his eyelids, and no matter how hard he tried to squeeze his eyes shut, they escaped and began to dribble pathetically down his face.
As one unending rhythm his hearts pounded away in his chest. Again and again, forever it seems, he could hear the thumps resonating inside. The sounds and pulses seemed to echo in the silence of his mind. He didn't try to stop the tears this time, and five sobs racked through his body before he finally let himself give one small scream. He cried openly now, so sure was he of how desolate the TARDIS really was.
Was this how The Master felt? he thought suddenly, and he opened his eyes to the metallic walls that surrounded him. They were blurry from the salt water that still trickled down his chin. The thought didn't frighten him as it once had. But he didn't have the strength to even think about that. What was the purpose of being given the chance to keep on living if everyone else died in some way or another at his hands? What was the point of having hearts like them, if all they served to do was remind him of all the hearts that now no longer beat? Why should his hearts keep beating when there were thousands of others who deserved their rhythm more than he did? A constant sticky note, the tacked reminder on a pocket schedule, the neon sign sputtering but never fading into the night. That's what they are. They beat, they pulse, they ache, but they do not deserve to.
And his hearts still pounded away.
He didn't dare to allow himself to think what would happen if he asked someone else to silence them. The sound would still be there, after all. What fantastic, brilliant, marvelous irony. Humans sometimes thought of the heart as a clock that ticked away the seconds of their life, slowly winding down into death. One beat was another second closer to the end, they reasoned quietly to themselves. But not to Time Lords. And not to him.
One small voice of reason breaks through and thinks maybe if he tries to slow his heartbeat down, become calm again, maybe it won't be so bad. He agrees to this plan meekly, like a scared child who knows when the answer they are given isn't really the right one but accepts it anyway. His breathing isn't as frantic now, he thinks of the time when he, Martha, and Jack were sitting together in that abandoned warehouse, and he explained to them a part of his past. Explanations were easy when you aren't rushing to put the latest plan into action. He adopts that mind set...at least on the surface. Below that skin his mind is still The Storm, but for now his heart beats do begin to slow. One, Two, Three, Four.
One, Two, Three, Four.
One
Two, Three, Four.
One, Two
Three
Four
One
Two
Three
Four
One
Two
Three
Four
One, the words he forced out of his stupid mouth after Susan had insisted to him "But Grandfather, I belong with you!"
Two, Ian and Barbara's quiet insistence that they still wanted to use that Dalek time machine to return to their own time.
Three, Vicki wrestling his blessing from him before she ran to join Troilus
Four, the vacuum of space that sucked Katarina away from him.
One, Sara Kingdom disintegrating into dust as he is forced to watch.
Two, Steven shaking his hand, saying goodbye as he shoulders the burden of leading two polar civilizations.
He breathes in a sharp gasp, grabbing at his temples. These memories flood his system like a poison.
Three, how much he laughed at the common cold, and how much he loathed hypnosis, because of Dodo
Four, how calmly he had accepted Polly and Ben choosing to stay when they find out that they had miraculously traveled back to the day they had left
One, every single word that he bit back as he learned that that weed had convinced Victoria to stay with the Harrises
Two, the blank look on Zoe and Jamie's faces when the Time Lords erased everything they had thought and felt
Three, he hadn't said goodbye to Liz
Four, how easy it seemed and how hard it really was to bless Jo's wedding and then slip quietly out the side door, as if it were somehow less melancholy that way
One, Harry Sullivan saying no, of all things, to a simple ride in the TARDIS.
Two, how he had questioned the meaning behind Sarah Jane's "Don't forget me."
Three, he couldn't help but wonder if Leela and K-9 Mk. 1 had "died" along with everyone else on Gallifrey
Four, One, Romana changing her appearance during her regeneration like trying on dresses in a store
He drags himself towards one of the walls of his ship, as if her touch can banish all these memories. They run through his head, chipping away at everything that has kept him sane all these years. He falls onto his knees, the small shadow of what pain really feels like lancing up his spine. Monster, his subconscious hisses at him. This is what you hide from.
Two, Giving K-9 Mk. 2 to Romana II, and how they were both remarkable legacies to their originals
Three, Four, standing there lifelessly as the freighter crashed, with Adric still on board
One, Two wondering why he thought that the first reason for Nyssa to not stay behind on Terminus was "It's not safe."
Three, Tegan's voice breaking when she practically shouted "It stopped being fun, Doctor!" and then angrily thrusting her hand forward to shake his in an attempt to salvage that goodbye.
Four, would he have gotten in as much "terrible trouble" if Turlough had stuck around to "look after" him?
One, watching Peri get shot by a crazed maniac, and then having the Valeyard and Inquisitor tell him her death was "necessary."
Two, lightly touching Mel's nose when, despite the fact that he has no address, she found a way to send him a postcard.
The TARDIS brushes his mind three times, and recedes each time she does so. He can feel her frenetically trying to find some way to take him far away from the pit he was descending into. To him, the hum of her engines simply fades away. Gripping his hair tightly, almost pulling some strands out by the roots, he can't hear anything but the roar of silence.
Three, Four, the familiar emptiness that had stayed even though the Brig turned out to still be alive after he had believed him dead
One, Two, that one memory that became too distorted to make any sense of whenever he thought of what Ace was up to these days
Three,Four, Grace's laugh after his little doctor joke
One, the last thing River whispered to him was "Spoilers…"
Two, he never deserved to be called "boss," especially by Mickey
Three, Four, that flash of pain that always peaked out of Martha's eyes every time they said goodbye.
One, her heart broken, all he could do was hold Sarah Jane as she cried for Peter
Two, Three, Four, screaming Astrid's name as she fell, her arm reaching out to him as gravity pulled her downwards towards the fire of the Titanic.
One, Two Three, the distinct illumination of gunfire that tells him of Adelaide's suicide.
Four, the air in his lungs flying from his chest every time Jack is killed, and he has to grapple with the uncertainty if the immortal will come back this time. No matter if he is proven wrong each time, the doubt tears at him still, never fully assuaged.
His idiotic reasoning had now failed him. His hatred for what he had become surged forward, mixing with his misery, together rolling in tidal waves and washing over him. There was no all embracing TARDIS, no light that could possibly show the way. Villain, came the whisper again. You know what comes next. Always so hard to repress, these next ones are. How can you live with yourself? "No," comes the Doctor's reply, "no, no, no. Please…."
One, Two, Three, Four, Jenny's tears slowly drying on his vest as he felt her spark fade…the full weight of his words when he told them "She was too much like me."
One Two Three Four, as if it were a fragile treasure, holding Donna's head in his hands as each "No" that she begged from him stabs him in the chest. She falls limp into his arms, and he holds her, though he knows it will never be "her" anymore.
"Stop!" he pleads, begs, to the void.
ONETWOTHREEFOUR, Rose
"NOOOOOO!" Grabbing the hammer that had so often been used to make sure the TARDIS flew properly, he fumbles with the handle before smashing it down onto the floor, and the force of the blow pulls him down with it. Face to the cold trellis, he slams the tool down over and over into the grating. He allowed another scream to escape his lungs, and this one was much longer and heavier, and it seemed to carry the weight of his entire story. It sang of mental agony. The hammer sends tremors through his arm, and a round, cavernous dent forms in the grille from his strikes. Instead of letting it all out, he is finally pulling it all in. The exact opposite of emptiness. The hammer tumbles from his hand, gravity pulls him onto his right side, and he pulls his knees up to his chest, a small sign of youth amongst the aged individuality. His body shakes; more tears falling, more cries echoing. His face ached from the force behind his catharsis, as most muscles do after tense moments like this, but that small pain was literally nothing at all in comparison. In the total of the seven hours that he spent lying there, three were spent crying. He did not stir once, even after the sobs quieted, and kept the windows to his soul still tightly shut.
The TARDIS, after trying desperately to reach him for some time, eventually dimmed the lights and quieted her engines, believing that he was going to sleep there. It was best to leave him, she reasoned half-heartedly, and so she focused her attention on monitoring the rest of the fathomless space that lay within her. She checked all of the appliances, played with the idea of creating a city street in some spare "cubbyholes", and watched a tiny colony of Kytges, who were no bigger than the threads in a quilt, scurry into the refrigerator.
She did not notice the Doctor flinch when another life form touched his mind.
Shhhhh, came a foreign thought inside his head, not the snide and cruel side of himself that he had heard before. He did not move after that singular flinch that his ship had not detected. Shhh, it soothed again, trying to create calm within his mind, come on. You're good. You're alright.
You call this alright?
You've been worse…I think.
He said nothing.
What happened to you?
Again, nothing came from him.
Are you gonna talk to me?
No.
It felt as if the presence smiled empathetically at him, and it sent him a feeling of a hand being placed upon his shoulder, as a sign of comfort. He made no sign of acknowledging it, neither accepting the feeling nor mentally shoving it away.
I know, it admitted softly, trying to choose the right words to "say", that you are…upset, but your world can't stop, you know?
What kind of word is "upset"? his inert thoughts whispered.
One of thousands. What word would you have preferred?
Is meaningless chatter supposed to help?
What do you need helping with? was the falsely innocent response.
Leave.
Should I?
There was no following answer…again.
Hey, can I show you something?
A nod.
You're gonna to have tah get up. I'll do the driving.
And the TARDIS was off. The cloister bell chimed loudly in alarm, for the ship realized that someone—or something – was piloting her…correctly, she might add. There were no coordinates input into her system, so from her perspective they were flying through the Vortex aimlessly. She looked into her friend's mind, but not much could be expected from him. In a sense, she supposed neither she nor her pilot had any idea what was going on. Five minutes later, a soft jerk of gravity signaled their landing.
You can go outside now. Do you want some help up?
No. Just open the doors for me.
The familiar creak of the hinges alerted the Doctor that this had been done, and a chilly breeze flew in. A sharp inhale told him it was salt water that lay outside. Another delivered the description that it was Earth salt water, and dry facts about the chemical content of the air ricocheted inside his skull without any purchase, going in one ear and out the other, as it were. Slowly, he made his sore arms move, sending signals to his limbs to help him get up. Palms on the floor, he pushed himself halfway up, his legs doing most of the work. He lost his balance, crashing down back to the floor in a jumbled heap on his right side. He almost gave up after that, nearly tempted to just lie there, leaning against the console. Maybe a small spark of curiosity remained. He tried to get up again, succeeding this time, and with measured steps, he descended to the doors. Pushing them further open, he alighted onto the wet sand of a remote beach, his shoes crunching the grains beneath his feet and unknowingly absorbing some moisture.
The entire landscape was completely desolate. Swirling around his head, the clouds above were thin enough, yet thick enough, to allow him to stare directly at the sun without having to shield his eyes. It looked almost like the moon, for it was pockmarked by small spots of clouds as they moved across the colorless sky. The beach itself was nearly too rocky, with nothing green anywhere in sight.
What is the point of this place? he asked with no real meaning or emotion behind his words.
The thing almost seemed to snort to itself. That's like asking what is the point of rocks. There is no point. It exists with or without a point or purpose.
Where are we?
Oh, so I suppose you think I am with you? I could be anywhere, and you choose to believe that I am with you? I'm flattered.
You're not with me?
No, I am. I just wanted to mess with you. Toy with your head a little.
It worked.
It sighed. Walk around some more. Stretch your legs.
Can I just sit down here?
Fine.
He promptly collapsed again, this time pressing his back against the worn blue indentations on the lower part of the left door.
You still want to know the location?
Yes.
You've sort of been here before…after that the voice sort of trailed off.
Tell me.
Dårleg Ulv Stranden.
The Doctor shot up, turning around and making a move to reenter the police box. The door, in turn, slammed shut and locked itself before he had a chance to get back inside. "Let me leave!" he shouted, and threw the side of his fist against the door. Abruptly he turned around and ran to the edge of the shore. "No more!" he yelled at the motionless water on the horizon, "I'm done!" The wind picked up, as if it somehow sensed his emotions, and billowed about him with more force than before. His shoes were practically soaked through, as were the cuffs on his trousers, thanks to the tiny waves that managed to lap at his feet. "You're supposed to help!" he cried out in desperation, more to himself than anyone else. "Help with this thing inside my head. It's…tearing me apart," he whispered, "I don't want to be like him…" With that he sank to his knees, placing his hand upon the sand for the first time, and used it to support his weight as he lay down. He curled his knees towards his body again, and, this time with his eyes open, once more sank into despair. The sand, as rough as he thought it would be, seemed to accept his existence, for the grains cradled the shape of his frame with little resistance.
I brought you to this place for some reason, but frankly I've forgotten why. You haven't been to this Bad Wolf Bay before. It's always been the Bad Wolf Bay in the other universe. There, it's in Norway. Here it's in…some other country.
His response was slow in the coming, but he managed to shove aside everything else so he could produce an answer. You don't know where? But…you flew the TARDIS…
Meh...it seemed to shrug again, as if unwilling to discuss it further.
Why can't I see you?
Not gonna answer that one.
Fine.
The thing about you and the Master, came the voice after a long pause, is that you are both lost. I use lost in the sense that I can't find a better word, but the point still holds true. Everyone in the entire universe suffers just as you lot suffer; it's just that no one else can see that everyone else is suffering just as they are.
What am I suffering from? Insanity?
Not in that way. In my opinion, in order to stay sane, every single thinking creature must be just a little bit insane. Love is part of that insanity.
LOVE? Love is the thing that is ripping our sanity to shreds?
Or lack thereof in some peoples' case.
Love…some sick part of him would have laughed at that. The love that I feel for…them, the love that is inside me... Just like some of the people that I loved, it faded. My love…it's dead.
HEY! The presence yelled, a fiery rage weaving itself into the words. Love changes, Doctor, but it does not DIE!
He was shocked into silence.
And you call yourself a genius? That's like being told that a person is not enough. And you know how that is: that feeling when you have to tell yourself you are not enough. That you can't do what someone else can. The toll that that takes upon a person…you just told every single person you've ever met that they weren't enough for you.
That is the exact opposite reason for why I run from everything! They were all too much for me!
For once there was silence on the other end of his mental conversation. The Doctor didn't know why, but there was no retort that echoed in his head after he had finished his explanation.
What? What did I say?
Well gee, did you ever consider that there are things you run to, also?
So I should run to the Daleks instead of away from them? he said sarcastically.
You run to safety…
Making me a coward.
No, now the voice was becoming exasperated, as if it had its hands on its hips to keep itself calm despite growing frustration, you run towards that which you love. You run towards danger, you run into your ship, you step forward to hug your companions, the list goes on. My point is, everything you have been running from caught up to you in the end. All the pain you felt, and still feel, is within you now. There really isn't anything to run FROM anymore. Get it?
He remained taciturn at this point, trying to process what was being said to him. Was he ready to stop running from everything? Would things be different now that he had inadvertently faced that which he couldn't bear to face?
Well, I think my work here is done.
You're leaving?
Yeah. I was only going to get you back on your feet…which I can see technically failed since you're still lying on the ground…but getting a life lesson in there feels to me like a mission accomplished.
Life lesson? he pretended to scoff, while he was really more curious than anything else.
Look, if the universe were a school, never consider me one of the teachers, but…yeah, I'd like to think so.
He looked once more at the broad expanse of empty sand and waves. It looked funny from a sideways point of view, since the water, sand, and clouds all made up the sky and the ground at the same time. There weren't even seagulls flying over head; the only sound was the wind whispering in his ear. "It's always this beach, isn't it?" he noticed absently. "Something has always happened, every time I came here. Something always happens to me."
Don't try to make a symbol out of this. It doesn't HAVE to make sense. Your hearts have broken on more places than this beach. You're thinking that way because the memories are fresher. Every one of your companions, just like you told Jackson Lake, has broken your hearts millions of times over. But you prove to everyone, just by existing, that there is a reason why they can place their trust in you. Frankly, I feel like I shouldn't have to say this because it is something that you already know. Now that I think about it, I might just be fueling that ego of yours that's buried somewhere amongst all that guilt.
Your stream of consciousness thoughts are a tad overwhelming, you know? It's kind of hard to hear what's going on in your head whilst I'm trying to form my own thoughts.
I'm kind of thinking like you do on a normal basis, is that what you're saying?
He cracked a tiny, somber smile at that.
Anyway….ummm….wish I could come up with something witty before I go, but that awesome ability seems to have left me for the moment. Say sorry to the TARDIS for me. She's probably more than ticked off at me. This was followed by the feeling of something solid sliding its arms around his shoulder, making for an awkward but heart-felt hug since he was still lying sideways. It gave a gentle squeeze, and held on probably for longer than necessary. Meekly, it asked, I do have the ability to stay by your side for a little longer. Do you want me to?
Be right back, he said, getting up slowly and lurching towards the doors of the police box. They opened without hesitation this time, and the ship both welcomed him and scolded him once he was inside. He promised he would talk about it with her later, and sped through five different hallways until he found a linen closet. Five minutes later, he emerged back on the beach with a king size blanket draped over his shoulder, and he was carrying a tray with steaming mugs of something-or-other and cookies on it. These cookies were TARDIS-made, so they just so happened to be baked exactly to your own personal liking, (including flavor) the second a person bit into one, since the cookies scan your taste-buds and do other tech-y stuff just to make you happy. Gimme a hand? he asked, not bothering to fit a "please" in his request.
Ahhh….no.
He resisted putting on a "perfect pout" face, and placed the tray on the sand so he could then drape the blanket over the indentation of his body in the sand. I've never gotten to stay here for long periods of time, he explained. I thought for once that I could just sit and enjoy the place, and I'll be able to enjoy it more if someone enjoyed it with me.
This…is not like you. No running? No adrenaline? No thrills and spills? You realize that it is lacking that frantic and charming Doctor-needed emergency?
Charming?
Why do I keep adding compliment to cure?
It's better that than adding insult to injury.
Frustration rolled off the entity in waves much larger than those that broke a mile or two off shore. He pretended to ignore the feeling though, and in response simply grabbed the closest china mug and sipped it absently. Tea? he offered.
You need your synapses cleared up?
Crying makes my nose all stuffy.
Nah, thanks. Don't need it.
Your loss.
I'll be seeing you then.
Bye. And the Doctor felt the presence leave with as little ceremony as possible, a fading but still new signature on already fossilized parchment. He looked out onto the water as another breeze hit him in the face dead on. He considered thinking about pondering who or what telepathic creature could be, but brushed that consideration away. Peace rarely presented itself to him, and this was a one of those even more scarce times when he decided to enjoy said peace. Another swallow from the mug and a bite of cookie later, he was debating about whether to pay several planets a passing visit. Passing visit. Funny phrase, that. A smile played on the edges of his mouth after another sip. Then he was back. He downed his cup in one swallow, the contents of the second cup in another, shoved two more cookies down the hatch, and threw the remaining two into the ocean. Next thing you know he was walking back to his ship without a single glance behind him with his hands in his pockets, and the doors closed behind him, leaving the blanket on the beach. More broken and bruised than ever before, he was healthier than he had been in decades. He was ready now.
FIN
()()()
Disclaimer: Me not be owning the Doctor Whoz. I own a single magazine, Nine or Ten's Sonic Screwdriver, a piece of fake Psychic Paper, a bottle of ginger beer, a book with Ten and Rose on it called The Resurrection Casket, but none of these things were created or invented by my imagination. There are several things I might own, but the rights to the Who-niverse are never…ever…going to be on that list.
A/N: So yeah. I started this back in May 2010 and finally finished it. Whew. It sort of exploded in my face 'bout halfway through. Now that I look it over, you're probably thinking this is Ten, right? Well, honestly I have no clue which Doctor this is. Yeah, there was some junk about the hammer and grating on the floor, and it had all of Ten's companions (up till End of Time anyway, and cause I was just getting used to Amy and Rory when I started this)…BUT…what if in this case The Doctor has the ability to see his own future…so for all you know this could be Five, or Nine, or even it could be Eleven in some new room in the new TARDIS where the floor is grating and there is some special hammer. I HAVE NO CLUE. But that makes things fifty billion trillion times more interesting. Which Doctor is it for you?
And for that matter, who is the voice? I have no clue either. Stupid plot bunnies from half a year ago. Has Jack gained some new telepathy powers? River being invisible? Bad Wolf? Romana? Me? A fan who is resisting the urge that all fans have and is trying to help our buddy out of some bout of depression? The plunnies won't tell me!
Now that my rant is over and done with, I would like those members of the audience to raise their hands if they want Eleven to be their new best friend? Cause me, I watched The Eleventh Hour for the second time like two seconds ago, and I find I have the biggest urge to find Eleven and give him a MONSTROUS GLOMP hug.
If it's not too much to ask, I wouldn't mind a review…or two…or five…or thirty…Seriously, I want to know what was good, what was bad, what was ugly, you know, THE IMPORTANT STUFF. Working on a little less than eleven pages for months, with horrible afflictions of writer's block in between, leaves plenty of room for improvement. So, without further ado, I ask only for your hopefully semi-gentle criticism. Please, a review? Reviews for tha poor, gov-nah? Please mum, I want some review, not some more.
Love you! And remember: "The one thing you can't do: stop them thinking." – Ten, 3x13 "Last of the Time Lords