AN: I apologize for the long wait! I've been having a hard time juggling this in between college work but hopefully I can make up. Your thoughts on this could also help. Enjoy!
The full moon sweeps across the vast sea, illuminating and bringing out the blues and greens patterned in small ripples of waves as he hauls the fishing net down into its depths, wiping the sweat off his forehead as he does so.
His mother wasn't very keen in letting him go fishing at this time of the night, but he always made it a point that the fish preferred to swim in the night because he thinks that they didn't have to hide that much and that it allowed them to be free (well so far this wasn't entirely factual but he always relied on his imagination to make up a reasonable reason) and felt that tonight was a good opportunity to catch them.
He looks down at his submerged fishing net, hoping he'll have something to take home to as proof before making the motion to spread out the rolled mat at his side and laying down under it, putting both arms behind his head, and looks up above.
The silent night and passing wind were his sole company tonight and the full moon shining brightly occupied his thoughts as he tries to count up each star blinking in the sky.
He briefly wonders how far each star is to one another. He remembers reading that stars were light-years apart from each other, but it doesn't stop them from burning. How sad must it be for a single star to look close to another yet feel so far?
In his younger days, especially during his parents wedding anniversary, his mother would take him out for a nice walk on the beach at night and tells him happy memories and stories about his father all the way looking up at the brightly lit sky, he often took notice, the rare smile creeping up on her lips and the way her green eyes would shine with tears (sometimes happy tears) it made her all the more beautiful.
A wave of sadness suddenly drowns his heart when he thinks about it, on how she'd whisper prayers of longing and recollections accompanied with nostalgia. He thinks of his father as a sailor, lost in these waters, never to be found. Sadness has a way of tainting happiness even if they were to be held together.
The sudden pull of gravity shifts his thoughts out of place. He feels the motion of the boat, and it tells him that he's caught a target. The waves of sadness fade into that of excitement as he eagerly stands and looks over at the waters, holding the fishing net.
But the excitement crumples into confusion as he holds up the net supposed to be full of fishes. It's as weightless as it had been, and completely devoid of gravity. He looks up and around, wondering if there's some sort of reason that could explain the unusual turn of events.
Instead he finds the silence he had grown aware to. The calling of the waves, the passing of the wind and illuminating moon only provides the answers to his confusion.
He drops back the net into the sea and scratches the back of his neck, wondering about the sudden pull of gravity.
The silence of the night drops down so quickly, that he could hear a pin drop. He grows aware of it by the second and starts to walk around the small dock. He's heard of several legends about the mythical creatures of the sea, like mermaids who'd drown men or giant octopuses that could squeeze the life out of a boat, sea witches who could enchant you with their beauty you'd end up spending years in their company.
These filled his thoughts on the younger days when he'd play by the sea, hearing fishermen talk about such strange yet wonderful stories. He tucked those stories in his mind and allowed himself to run through them when his English teachers would ask them to make up their own stories about the sea.
It's amazing how the things he'd found really wonderful as a child had turned into the things he is most wary about.
The dock is empty aside from his nets and fishing materials. But the wind has calmed down to eerie silence. It would have been alright if he had someone with him, but tonight was the first night he had fished alone.
He decides to check the cabin below, looks around in case and starts to descend the ladders down into the small room when he hears it.
The sound of the wind mixed along with something new.
Something that sounded like something is landing on the deck.
He immediately closes the door enough to get a peek at what has landed in his dock.
The sharp blue catches his eyes. He lists the details in his mind.
First, it wasn't just any kind of blue; it was the bluest blue he had ever seen. Much bluer than the sky itself on sunny days. It was the brightest shade of blue that attracted him with the words "POLICE BOX" imprinted at its door.
Second it was old. The wooden blue box was painted with a few scratches and wounded marks, it's as if it's traveled for a thousand years, and still manages to carry on.
The third thing that made him come out of his hiding place was the man whose outfit was out of the ordinary. An old brown jacket coupled with a blue ribbon on his shirt.
No one wears ribbons on their shirts anymore, the thought sounded a bit silly.
The man looks a bit like in his mid-thirties, the creases on his forehead and the frown displayed on his face only allowed him to further support his thoughts.
The man looks around the dock, merely unimpressed by his surrounding as he puts both his hands on his waist and huffs, "And I thought I'd end up digging myself out of the ground."
He looks around, wondering if there were any people on board, pertaining to the young man hiding below. The young man sees his footsteps, making loud noises in the night as he wanders around the dock.
The second shift to the left, stumbles both of them. The young man hangs on but the man on the upper side entangles his feet at the lying fishing net in the dock. He peeks out again only to see him trying to untangle himself out of the nets.
"Blimey, some people just don't know where to put their stuff." He hears him say.
The statement annoys him, but before he could rebut back the statement, the boat shifts back harder to the left making him stumble back at the bottom of the cabin, and hearing a huge splash. The sound of a body pulled down by a swarm of fish.
He rubs his injured side, before climbing back up and seeing the dock empty of his net. He doesn't think twice, and removes his shirt before plunging in to the deep waves.
Drowning.
I am drowning.
The blackness pulls me down into its depth. I feel like I'm falling even further. The jolt of electricity felt like energy shooting in my veins, making me feel more alive.
So, so alive it felt like I was dying too.
The ground is much harder than I thought and much colder than I had presumed, and yet I feel like I've fallen into the ocean, dragging me around and settling me into one. I can feel something jolting into my veins. A different type of water I breathe in. My body feels like jelly, but my mind is falling.
Falling.
Falling.
Like Alice in that old book in the library I used to read when I was little.
Except I'm not in Wonderland.
I'm in a different time with a mad man in a blue box who dared me to travel with him. I'm not Alice.
I'm not falling.
I'm not.
I hear muttering, and whispers. A man with a gruffy voice say something about "imposters" and "breaching" and for a moment I allow myself to revel in the fear that something bad is going to happen.
I am alive but motionless.
Conscious and falling.
And fearful of what I had allowed myself to be put through.
"He's stable." They say.
How stable am I? How can I believe what they say when they're not even aware of what's happening to me? How can people tell you something you're not aware of and let yourself believe in it simply because you think that what they say is true?
"He's breathing rapidly."
"How much voltage did you shoot him with?"
"Only the normal dose."
"Enough to almost kill him?"
I don't speak out loud to this. I only permit my mind to drown out everything. It's better that way.
"He'll be fine; it's just a side effect"
"Who is he anyway?"
"Ronan Smith. Just came in today. Didn't mention any place but District Four."
"He looks awfully familiar to someone."
"I'll say. I keep wishing for someone a lot like that Finnick soldier."
"Here's hoping he's not taken."
"Missy, everyone you like is taken"
"You never know when one isn't."
"Better late or never as they say"
I can hear them laugh and giggle before I hear their words tone down to the dripping of a liquid and even though I couldn't see anything, I can feel the lights turn off and their footsteps grow further away.
I am Ronan Odair and I made a dare with a man who couldn't even make any sense of what's happening around him.
I am Ronan Odair and my life made sense before and now I'm lost and alone inside a room without anyone to hold on to.
I am Ronan Odair and I worry that people will find my ship empty and how my mother will react about finding out that I am lost.
I cannot feel anything but regret and guilt for my selfish thoughts on leaving something behind for the sake of seeing something new.
I think of the Doctor and how easy it was to trust someone who's sailed a different ocean than I had.
It's always been like that. A situation like this has always been played out frequently in my life
You trust people, they get into trouble, you try to help and you get pulled down with them.
Either way they always leave so there's no guarantee to permanence in a relationship. As far as I'm concerned though, I'm starting to realize the gravity of what I had gotten myself into and I wonder how painful must it be for my mother to lose her only son to a place she's told in her stories at night.
I miss her already.
I'm sorry Mom.
I close everything off, and wait for me to hit the ground.
The Doctor moans in pain, before opening his eyes at the ceiling. His not so dainty escape plan didn't work as he had hoped for. He reverts back to the feeling of the electrical jolt spread throughout his body alarmed at the amount of electricity his body had converted into live energy.
He doesn't feel weak. He feels alive and kicking than he had for the past 2012 years.
The gray ceiling paints dull pictures in his mind before he hears the clinking of glassware and small footsteps right near where he's lying at.
He sits up and looks at the small girl in front of him holding a tray. She has her back to him so he could see her blond hair braided back and her small frame indicating that she was no more than thirteen. She's setting up a glass of water and mashed potatoes on the table when he clears his throat.
She freezes at her actions before turning around to the strange man in ridiculous clothes.
"Hello!" he greets.
The blues of her eyes are bright yet they hold fear and suspicion. She takes him in, as if she's expecting something bad to happen. He can feel her tension so he tries to ease it as he can.
"I'm the Doctor" he introduces.
She nods slowly and breathes in before asking "Are you a real Doctor?"
"Yes." He says, a smile taking place.
"How come you're not wearing clothes like the other doctors?" She asks, staring at the blue bowtie and black suspenders he's wearing. He looks down at his clothes before looking back at the blonde haired girl.
"Oh, I prefer a different type of color combination. Plus, bowties are cool." He says, straightening his bowtie.
"I think they're ridiculous." She says.
"They are not!" He replies, his smile faltering to a frown as he pushes himself off the bed. He looks down at this little girl who looks up at him suspicion wearing down a little yet keeping a firm stand on her ground.
"Yes they are. They're like ribbons you put in your hair, but instead you put them in your shirt." She argues.
"Well isn't that the point?"
"What's your name?" the Doctor asks.
"Prim. Primrose Everdeen."
"That's a lovely name."
"I was named after a rose. An evening rose."
"I bet it's beautiful."
He finally sees the smile forming in her lips before she turns back to fixing the meal she had left previously. He observes her first before looking around the room to figure out where he's been put through.
The gray color hasn't faded as he had hoped so; dullness decorates this place more than any color he has ever seen.
"Where am I?"
"After the guards heard the alarms screaming, they thought someone from the Capitol got in and they probably thought you were so they shot you both, with an immobilizing gun. I was assigned by my trainer to check on you in case you'd wake up. " She explains.
"That's very sweet of you Prim," he says, looking at the tray. The smell reminds him of a thought far too long ago and he looks at this young girl reminds him of the first time he met Amelia Pond.
"You're not really from the Capitol are you?" she asks
"No." he answers.
"Are you a rebel then?" she asks.
"No. I'm just passing by, visiting. I was with someone and-" He senses something wrong when he could not see his companion around.
Prim follows his expression suddenly remembering about the other man who was withheld at the upper floors.
"Where is he?" he asks.
She can remember his faint moans of pain earlier before her instructors asked her to keep an eye on the Doctor.
"He's on the upper floors." She answers.
The Doctor takes his jacket hanging by the sides of a chair, before running off, leaving a confused Prim standing alone. She thinks of his strange demeanor and how ridiculous he seems before he appears right beside her.
"Where are the upper floors?"
"Take the elevator to the right by the hallways down ten rooms from here." She says.
"Brilliant!" he answered before he spins around towards the door only to face back the little girl staring at him profoundly.
"Would you like to help me find him?"
The smile that she permits to show gives him the courage to grab her small hand and run towards the dull walls that had suddenly turned into a maze of gray.