Disclaimer: Alas, I do not owneth Doctor Who.
A/N: Sorry it's been a while. I had exams.
It seemed as though she'd never noticed the city's temper had splintered. Angry people walked down cracked, concrete pathways searching for the tallest buildings in which existed the jobs that they hated. Silent teenagers expressed angry colours onto crumbling brick walls, suffocating the spiders that lived within them. Tired humans stared down clocks, begging them to go faster and faster and faster down the hill, and then, then trying too late to pull themselves back. They had run too fast and hit the ground too hard. But perhaps that was best. The Thorn could never seem to stop and when she hit the ground it wasn't nearly hard enough. And then she met Harry.
He was bland. That was the best way she could think to put it. Like zucchini. But there was something about him that she couldn't seem to find with her naked eye. An extra taste at the tip of her tongue. So she exchanged phone-numbers like a human would. She saw the wonderful sights of London that she'd missed for so long. Everything felt better. The Thorn was back. Her home was in this air, and she breathed the oxygen in deeply so it would heal her damaged lungs. She had left her vortex manipulator in the alternate reality, so for now, London was where she would stay. Luckily she still had her sonic screwdriver handy.
They met again accidently, at her childhood park not too far from Powell Estate. The Thorn agreed to let Harry buy her a cup of coffee and after further deliberation, she decided that perhaps he wasn't so bland after all. He was like water, sleek and slippery, and he seemed to be seeping his way into her life. It wasn't as if she wasn't trying to avoid getting tied down, but she could never deny herself a mystery and there was something about him that drew her in. He had a black sense of humour, and the sometimes the things he said…but he was just joking. He was politician, which she supposed made an odd kind of sense.
He was fun to be around though. And he made her laugh. Just having a friend was nice. However she was worried he'd want something more, which for her, was just inconceivable. She'd spent her love long ago. And she wasn't ready to gain any more. Maybe that was the reason she didn't want to find the Doctor again. Not just yet. No matter, for now she had a friend and a home and that was enough.
12 o'clock on a Saturday morning the Thorn gasps awake. She shakes her head to try to release herself from her dreams. She does not really need to sleep, but it is almost an escape mechanism. She remembers the Doctor, up late fixing the TARDIS, trying desperately to escape the dream world and the horrific scenes that come with it. But this is not the norm for her. Her own dreams are rare and far between so for the Thorn, sleep is a blessing.
It is raining outside and the soft pattering of rain droplets hit the corrugated iron of the rooftop. Kind orange light from the streetlamps peer through thin curtains into her room. And silent tears ravage her cheeks.
She puts on unidentified shoes. She had slept in her clothes.
It is midnight in London. She jogs down the stairs from her apartment and opens the door from the rundown lobby to the street outside. Being such a late hour, it is almost deserted. She fumbles for the keys to a rental car and drives any which way.
It is hours before she stops. A beach miles away from London. She doesn't know where she is but she can't drive anymore and it seems so peaceful. The Thorn doesn't know what inspired her get in her car and just drive, but here it is dark and she is alone and she can pretend.
The beach is best before dawn, when moonlight still splashes blue against the white sand. The dunes cast a shadow on the shore and the long grass sways gently. The waves roar, topple over each other, like a race to an invisible finish line. For a while this is the only sound. There is a light breeze, and the air is still cold. Breathing it into her lungs is like ice down her throat and it reminds her other forgotten times. She seems to be the only one awake, the rest of the world still sleeps, and she is the only one seeing the earth for what it really is, before it too has to wake up and hold the weight of humans.
At night-time it is like the world is recharging for the day. But if she is awake she gets to see it. The Thorn finds moonlight far more beautiful than sunshine. It makes her feel like she is the only one. The shadows are the end of the earth and she is at the centre.
As dawn approaches, the animals are her orchestra. The hoot of an owl is a flute, the howl of a wolf a violin, the waves keeping the beat. All of them listening to each other; feeling the rhythm. Everything in perfect harmony. And here, there are no expectations, just the sand between her toes and the smell of the ocean. It is a place of peace, of solitude. A break from life. It is a place to believe that nothing else matters, that there is nothing to be done. It is a place where an unexpected hand touches her shoulder.
She spins around, and there is Harry Saxon, looking ridiculous, for it is not often you meet a man on a deserted beach at four am in a suit.
"What are you doing here?" she asks, eyes narrowed.
"What are you doing here?" he says back, and sits down cross-legged next to her.
She waits a moment before replying, "Thinking, well…and running." He smirks.
"You're sitting down."
She sighs "Not that kind of running. What are you doing?"
He smirks again "The same."
That makes her smile and she shuffles over to put her head on his shoulder. They sit there for a while and watch as the people start to populate their deserted paradise. It is almost wrong.
Harry shuffles away from her and grimaces.
"Do you ever wonder if they're real?" His voice has almost a damaged quality to it.
The Thorn continues to stare at the horizon but frowns. She replies curtly. "Yes"
This makes Harold Saxon grin a great deal and sends a shiver down the Thorn's spine. She continues.
"But I know they are. I was one of them once."
"Was?"
The Thorn just nods. Harry doesn't push it.
She turns around to face him and she doesn't know why but something, in that moment, something breaks.
"Don't you wonder who they are though?" she is speaking almost manically now.
"They all have lives and families and homes, but as they walk past they… they're not people. No they're not! They're just objects. Grains of sand!"
She edges closer to him and he is really grinning now. She puts her hands on his shoulders and shakes him.
"And one of them could easily be a friend! I drop my phone and oh…. They stop to pick it up for me. But still. Still! They don't exist. They do not… they don't, they don't think. Their actions and everything… they are nothing but reactions to our own. Oh and once they leave my sight, once you leave my sight, you have… ceased to be." She has stood up and is shouting at him now. Harry Saxon just sits and grins.
"Of course, of course… I can… Of course… I can imagine them thinking, I can… imagine them acting, but I'm not… I'm not imagining them… I'm imagining myself. What I would do, how I would act. But that's wrong, it's so, so, SO WRONG!"
She stops herself and her voice goes deadly quiet. She is breathing hard. "Because I'm not one of them, and I can never be. Never again. It's all gone… Why Harry… WHY DOES IT HURT?!"
She collapses in his arms and cries; they are the tears of broken regret. And. He. Relishes in them.
"Come on… I should get you home."
For the entire car ride back to London, she doesn't speak at all. The Thorn just stares out the window and hopes dearly that simple Harry Saxon will never ask her to explain.
Once she gets back to her apartment she says goodbye to Harry and watches him drive away into the distance. She climbs the steps to her apartment and once inside, falls into the folds of her sheets. She wraps them around herself tightly. And as she falls softly into oblivion, there is nothing, she hears nothing, nothing, except perhaps, a soft tapping.
tap tap tap tap… tap tap tap tap… tap tap tap tap… tap tap tap tap…