Innocence Residue
by Dominique-Likes-Bowties
A/N: G'day! Totally inspired by the three episodes in which we see the barn. Basically I think the events of Listen and Hell Bent suggest to me that maybe the Doctor grew up in an orphanage before he went to the Academy, and since we know so little about his childhood I don't see why I shouldn't have this headcanon. This sort of plays a role in this story but not much of one, so if you don't like it come to your own conclusions! And yes, it's short, more of a drabble really. Enjoy!
The man sets the box down on the hay-covered floor, a weary sigh escaping him. It is messier here than he remembers, he now reflects. Perhaps this is an effect of time, of all the years since he has set foot in here, or maybe he's just gotten that old. The man sighs as he lowers himself onto a haybale. He will open the box, he thinks, but not just yet. He wants a minute. After all, this is the last time he will set foot in this barn.
It's the last time anyone will.
He allows himself a good look around the barn. The man recognizes the elevated loft, where the hay has been raked aside into haybales. In the middle of the loft is a small, old cot - the same one, he wonders? He supposes a long time ago, back when he called himself the Doctor, he might have run over and licked the wood to be sure, but he can't bring himself to put forward that degree of caring. All he remembers is the scared little boy who used to huddle in this bed, under the flimsy covers against the nighttime chill, such a long time ago. The man remembers the little boy crying sometimes, and wishes he could return to that body, to that innocence. The bed right now is nothing more than residue, debris from better times.
The man's gaze flicks over to the box again. He thinks to himself that he'd better open it now, and he knows in the back of his mind that he's procrastinating. It is so peaceful out here, the battleground hundreds of miles away. He'll just need a few moments to figure out how to get the box open. Yes, now or never.
The man heaves himself to his feet and reaches for the box. "Hello there," he mutters under his breath. "How do I get you open, then?"
Suddenly he hears the sound of the creaking of hinges, and a breeze rushes into the barn, and with it, some dust. In the doorway stands a very small figure. The little girl steps into the barn and closes the door, staring at him. Her eyes are wide and curious, and it just takes one glance at her dull, brownish robes hanging loosely about her tiny, underfed frame to know she's one of the children of the orphanage this barn belongs to. (He remembers how much he hated those uniforms now).
The man stares at the girl, unsure what to say to her. There's no way he can activate the Moment with her in the room - the reason he chose this place is because it's so isolated, not anyone to have to look in the eye when he presses the button. But this is of no concern, because the little girl speaks first.
"Hello."
"Hello," says the man warily.
The little girl sits on one of the haybales, and continues to watch him curiously. "What are you doing here?"
"I, I used to live here."
She pulls a face. "In the barn?"
"No. No... in the Boy's Quarters."
"Oh." The child nods, as if this makes perfect sense. "Did you come back here to see the barn because you used to like it here?"
"Yes. Yes... I suppose that's about right."
The girl settles back on the haybale, her long dusty brown hair, which reaches past her hips, fanning out behind her. "I like it here too." She says. "Did you know that there's a loft up there with a bed? Have you seen it?" Excitedly, she sits up and points to the loft. "It's my favorite place in the barn. I sleep there sometimes. Did they have it when you were here?"
His gaze slides over to the loft and at last he grunts and nods. "I didn't know they were still running Arcadia's orphanage," he confesses. "I thought the area was evacuated."
The girl shrugs. "It was, but they didn't bother with the orphanage. Matron said they thought we were too much trouble, and there haven't been any battles around here for weeks now." She pauses. "You're not a soldier, are you? You haven't got a uniform on."
"Yes," he answers hesitantly, and when the girl gives him a suddenly suspicious look, he clarifies quickly, "Yes, the loft was there when I was here."
"Woah." The girl takes to staring at the loft with a newfound admiration. "It must be very old, then."
"Yes." Sort of like me.
The little girl continues staring at the loft. "I come here sometimes when the other children tease me. They don't think I'm cut out to go to the Academy, but I'm gonna go. they say they're going to send all of us to the army because they need more soldiers, but I'd rather go to the Academy. Besides, I like it here in the loft. And Matron is nice too." She cocks her head to one side. "Did you go to the Academy."
"Yes," the man says for the third time in a row. "Long time ago."
He waits for the child to either clear out or ask another question, but she takes to studying him with fascination. At last she says, "You look scared of something."
The man's blue-eyed gaze shoots up. "I suppose," he says haltingly.
"Of the Time War?"
"Near enough."
Another silence. At last the man tears his eyes away from the child's bright brown ones. "You need to go now. I need to do something here." He gets to his feet, and avoiding her gaze, takes to shooing her off the haybale. The girl is immediately affronted. "Do what?"
"Never you mind. I have something important to do, now run along!"
The girl opens the barn door and squints to avoid sand blowing into her eyes. She holds her hand up to veil her eyes from the sun. "Bye, then," she says, sounding cross.
She is about to leave when the question blurts out: "Say, girl... how old are you?"
SHe turns and looks at him happily. "Seven."
He nods. "Right then. Well, back to what I said: run along, now."
The girl does, but the man doesn't return to the Moment right away. Instead he watches her small form run to the far-off, half-dilapidated building that is the Girl's Quarters, until she disappears inside, as the last shred of innocence this barn will ever see.