The Doctor
Fire. He hadn't seen her in years, but he knew it was her. She was different than he'd last seen her, of course. She was tall and redheaded, skinny, and pale. Last he'd seen her, she had been lanky and willowy, with tanned skin and long, wheat-blond hair. And she hadn't had that scar, or that haunted, frightened look. She'd had the same eyes though. He knew that, throughout all her regenerations, she always kept the eyes. He wasn't sure how. Across the console, she stared at him. Rory, kneeling next to Amy, was staring at Fire like she'd just turned into a Dalek. The Doctor opened his mouth, throat suddenly dry as sandpaper. But before he could speak, Fire cut him off.
"I don't want to talk to you, Doctor. I've had hundreds of years to think about you. And what you did. Especially here." She smiled, but it was bitter, strained. "And it's been too long since I've seen you. Ergo, if you were to apologize, I am unable to except it." He sighed. She stared at him fiercely, jaw tight, hands on the hilts of her swords. She thought that he was going to attack her. The thought horrified him.
"Fire, I just wanted to say that you should've realized I wouldn't always be around to protect you." Her head whipped around, and she gazed at him, emotions shifting through her eyes like a kaleidoscope. That was the thing about Fire; she didn't let her feelings show in her face or body language, but they bubbled within her eyes. Although, he knew that she never, ever let herself cry. When she spoke again, her voice was low and deadly.
"I don't need anyone to protect me. And don't throw my own words back at me." The tension in the room was so palpable you could've cut it with a spoon. And Fire, who never cried, looked about to burst into tears. On the floor, Amy stirred, and Rory gripped her hand. They weren't looking at Fire, but the Doctor knew that if she cried in front of them, she would never forgive herself.
He did the only thing he could. He tried to reach her. He touched Fire.
She snatched her arm back as though he'd burned her, though in reality, he was the one who should've been burned. She was, after all, named Fire, with good reason. She backed away, and he realized that he'd reached for one wrist in particular. Memories shimmered between them like fog.
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He was four years old, short and fair haired. He was running down a hallway. An older boy stuck out his foot and tripped him. He went sprawling. The boy laughed.
"Freak!" He pushed himself to his knees, hands stinging. The older boy kicked his leg, than shoulder. He cried out as pain the other boy stomped on his arm.
"Hey!" A shout rang down the hallway, echoing and bouncing off the walls. He looked up. A girl was standing there. A little thing, tiny and dark. Except for her eyes. They were the darkest green he had ever seen, and slanted, like a cats'. They were presently narrowed, and she marched up to the bigger boy.
"Leave him alone." She snarled. The big boy laughed.
"Bite me, freak." Then there was a blur of motion, and the boy jumped back, clutching his hand, and howling. He looked. There was a small crescent-shaped line of tooth marks arching across the big boy's hand. "She bit me!" The girl was wiping her mouth on her sleeve.
"You asked me to." The other boy dove for her, but there was a crackling noise, and then she had long, sharp incisors that went down to dimple her chin. The boys took one look and ran, their footsteps receding into the distance. The girl turned toward him.
Though her body was that of a small girl, those emerald eyes were ancient, strange, and powerful. Centuries of wisdom surged and pulsated within them, as well as compassion so deep, that you could drown in it.
"You okay?" She inquired, cocking her head to the side. He nodded and started to struggle to his feet. Fingers wrapped around his right wrist, and yanked him up casually.
"Be careful; I won't always be around to save you." She said softly, but her eyes were laughing. She turned to walk away, but he had to know her name, the name of this girl who had saved him for no other reason than the fact that she was compassionate.
"What's your name?" She paused, and then slowly turned around.
"Names are powerful things; what's yours?" She pivoted, ready to walk away.
"Call me the Doctor." Her eyebrows went up, and a slow smile spread across her face.
"Doctor who?" He opened his mouth but she cut him off. "Never mind, it's none of my business." He tried to talk again.
"What's your-" She cut him off once more, and started walking down the hall again.
"Oh," She tossed over her shoulder. "Call me Fire."
What, he wondered, was the reasoning behind her name? Fire? No stranger than his. Perhaps she was like a fire.
A fire that would burn your enemies, and at the same time, keep you from freezing.
He wondered if that was the case with her.
If he got too close, would she burn him?
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Fire's eyes went dark, and he knew she was remembering too. On the floor, Amy blinked and stirred. She glanced around.
"Where is she?" Rory laced his fingers through hers.
"She couldn't have come, Amy. It was impossible." Amy sighed and sat up. Rory blinked at Fire and the Doctor, who were both standing next to each other, and the Doctor's hand was hovering over Fire's scarred right wrist. As he noticed Rory staring, he wrenched his hand back and stuffed it into his pocket. Fire slithered back, hissing as she bumped into the wall. Sharply pivoting on her heel, she turned and fled down the corridor, before wrenching open a door and diving in. There was a sharp smack as the door slammed. An uncomfortable silence descended over them.
"So what was that about?" Amy asked. The Doctor grimaced and started flipping random switches on the console, avoiding their eyes. Amy's eyebrows went up, and she stood up, tapping her foot. At some point, he looked up to see both Rory and Amy standing there, watching him with twin expressions of curiosity.
"I used to know her." He muttered under his breath. Amy's left eyebrow rose higher.
"Where did you-" She was interrupted by an enormous yawn. A soft snort escaped the Doctor's throat.
"You should probably get to bed, Pond. You've had a long . . ." He paused, then smirked. ". . . Thirty-six years. Go to bed Pond." Amy rolled her eyes and stepped down towards the hallway, Rory close behind.
"Goodnight, Doctor." She said softly, before entering their room with Rory. He heard the door slam, and all was quiet in the TARDIS. The Doctor absently fiddled with buttons and knobs, before deciding that he wasn't going to gain anything by doing this. He made the decision to sleep. He didn't have a room, but he settled down on the couch next to the console. Eventually, he slipped into a shallow, wakeful sleep. And through that sleep, memories swirled up from the depths of his subconscious, memories he'd tried hard to hide. And all involved Fire.
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They were ten perhaps. At least, he was. He knew she was older. And she looked different. Fire went through regenerations like changes of clothing. Now, she was corpse-pale with long black hair that made her look even paler. They were sitting in a clearing in the woods. Fire had found it, and she had shown it to him a while back. Now it was their place, their retreat.
"So," He asked. "What's going on?" She sighed.
"If there was anything interesting going on, Doctor, I would've told you." She lay back in the grass. He tried not to eye the way her shirt rode up when she did so. "Had a fight with Ana and Vick yesterday." Almost unconsciously, her hands wandered to her right wrist.
"Oh that stinks." He said softly. He had been fighting curiosity on two things: her name, and what had happened to her real parents. The name thing he managed to keep in check, because after all, he had never told her his name either. He was still wrestling with the parent thing, and he was unable to hold back. The question burst from his lips. "What happened to your parents?" She went still. He waited. Then, there was a blur of motion, and Fire was standing up.
"Do you hate me?" She snapped. "I don't want to talk about it! You're not my friend anymore. Screw you!" She screeched, before sprinting into the woods. He waited twenty minutes before following her. He found her curled at the roots of a massive tree that arched up far into the sky. She had her face buried in her hands, and leaves were tangled in her long hair. He knelt next to her.
"Fire I'm sorry." He said softly. Green eyes flashed out from under her bangs and she sighed softly.
"It's okay." Leaning closer, he caught the warm scent of cinnamon that hovered around her like a cloud. "I shouldn't have snapped; I just don't like to talk about it."
"No, I shouldn't have asked." Grinning, he settled down next to her.
"I think there are a lot of things that the two of us shouldn't have done." Air hissed out of her lungs and she leaned her head against his shoulder. He tried not to breathe. That was the day he learned not to ask Fire about her life.
After all, everyone has secrets.
Some are more dramatic than others.
But we never want to share any of them.
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