Eyes Open
Chapter Ten: Spandex is Never in Style
It always gave him the... What had F called it? Right. The creepy-crawlies. That's what it felt like, watching you, entering another TARDIS, years younger. It was a dangerous thing, crossing your own timeline, even if, as now, it was all accidental.
Weelll… he supposed he could have been a bit stricter with the TARDIS about date of their landing. But normally, the universe in all of its timey-wimey glory kept one from ruining anything accidentally. Oh, yes, 98 percent of the time—65 percent of the time—20 percent of the time, the universe protected itself from crossed timelines. Bit like keeping a moron from crossing wires. Weelll, the point was: normally, he didn't worry about these things and this wasn't his fault.
The Doctor watched from behind a stone angel, his eyes darting from the statue (just in case it wasn't actually a statue) and his younger self. When the revving sound of the TARDIS's engines filled the cemetery and the blue box faded away, he relaxed. The Doctor stepped out, ruffling his white mane, and picking his way forward to Donna's grave.
So many years since he'd stood here… and yet, no time at all, for this was the same day that he'd been here last time. If he were human, his head would be spinning – like when River tried to grasp that she'd seen him last night and it had been months for him – but he was far from human. The Doctor stooped, fingered the fresh grooves in the granite and plopped down on the wet grass beside the dirt pile.
He was so tired. And he had lost so much.
The Doctor would be sitting next to the tomb of his wife, his clever adventurous River Song, but his youngerself had callously given her body to the captain of a rescue-ship that had come to shuttle the library's survivors away. He supposed, in the 51st century, they were using something other than cemeteries and since part of River, her mind and soul were in the library computer, would visiting her shell mean anything? That made his head hurt and he pinched the bridge of his nose.
So, he was sitting next to Donna instead. He'd waited for years and years, falling in love, saving galaxies, making friends and enemies, living on and on. Always keeping an eye out for her, always ready for that moment when he'd see Donna again. And here he was…still waiting.
"Know what, Donna?" He patted the muddy earth beside him, not finding it the least bit strange that he was addressing a freshly buried coffin six feet under. Or more like five. Hah. "I could pick up anyone off the street, any passerby and offer them the stars… but… weelll… it's getting a bit time-consuming. Finally get a new companion to say Raxacoricofallapatorian and stop marveling over the "it's bigger on the inside" trick and then they're off with someone else, doing something daft and not nearly as much as fun as they could be having with me. Yep." he paused, popping the final syllable for emphasis, took a breath and kept babbling, "I never liked those old men that feed the pigeons or played chess in the park. Never moving anywhere. Never doing anything. Endless waiting. But they're tired of pushing on, tired of trying. Just tired."
The Doctor wasn't sure what he was trying to say. It would be so easy if he could transfer all of this into the FutureDoctor's mind, let her sort it out, make sense of it, like he used to. It was so long since he'd heard a Gallifreyan voice. Since he'd felt the press of someone's thoughts and emotions in the emptiness inside his mind.
"That leaves me here. Sick of being alone, sick of temporary companions and sick of waiting for you to make your grand appearance. You told me we'd be together again, that we have a future, the Doctor/Donna, I just had to wait. I've waited. Don't, just don't… know what to do anymore." He sat a while longer, trying to soak in that peace he'd found on this day decades ago. But instead of calm, he felt agitated and restless.
He didn't want just any companion. He wanted Donna back.
He kept his voice conversational, falsely cheery, and smiled down at the mound of mud, "Aw, I should have read your photo-albums. Then, at the very least, I could have something to look forward to." River and her bloody concept of spoilers. It had taken all the fun out of things.
"Bye." What else was there to say? He stood.
Walking at a brisk pace towards the TARDIS, the Doctor felt an odd buzzing start. It wasn't in his ears but in the back of his neck. The pounding thudding "sound" increased until great waves of thought washed into him like rushing water into a tiny overflowing glass that was moments from shattering. He stumbled, catching himself mere inches from face-planting on the paved sidewalk.
"Psychics." He muttered, feeling heat flush through his face and pain lance through his eyes. If his eyeballs rolled out of his head and children snatched them up for marbles—it would be alright with him—providing that the barrage of thought stopped, and he could think again. The Doctor tried to put together a coherent theory; if the psychics could knock him over in two seconds flat… then that meant…
"Oi!" Two pair of dingy sneakers appeared before him. The stranger's hairy legs and young knobby knees bent as he dropped to the Doctor's level. Garbed in a tacky looking marathon costume of shiny blue and purple spandex shorts and numbered top, he had a runner's slim body, golden curls that formed a strange fluffy poodle-like afro, and a wide mouth with plenty of large straight teeth. A sort of unattractive youth, although his ears were nice, and he appeared to be good companion material.
Sometimes, even though one wasn't looking for a companion, you just had a gut instinct about someone. He only accepted the best to travel with him, and this stranger struck him as one of them.
The pounding continued and the Doctor began to fear that he was finally hearing the Master's drums. He felt like this sound could drive him bonkers but there was something familiar about it too…
"You all right, sir?" The boy reached out to steady him, fingers lightly gripping the Doctor's shoulders. "We're doctors so we can help!"
"We're not doctors yet, Jamie." A girl's voice. Younger than the boy's in pitch, far older in tone.
"Hello," The boy ignored his friend, turning concerned brown eyes to the Doctor's face. "I'm Jamie. That's my boring sister Joanie. There's a bench not far, can you make it?"
The Doctor turned blurry eyes to the bench. It seemed farther away then his mind knew. If only the voices would stop. It had to be a massive group of telepaths, some kind of army… ? An invasion? He hoped not.
"Joanie, help me."
"If you hadn't chased after that brunette," his sister grabbed the Doctor's arm, puffing in annoyance, straight black hair splashing against her neck with every movement, "we would have still been with the others instead of getting lost… and now, we're going to be late. What if they leave without us, Jamie? It'll be entirely your fault."
"Two words. Shut. Up."
"'Come with me, pretty one'… Hah! Like you even have your own…"
"Oi, Joanie, umanhay in esencepay." Jamie reminded and settled the Doctor onto the bench and began patting his spandex short. "Blimey, no pockets. Could I borrow your stethoscope?"
Joanie, now in plain sight, was built solid and strong with small pudgy hands. She had a lovely face and large silver hoops dangled from her large ears that were trying to hide behind the curtain of black hair. Joanie's outfit was identical to her brother's except for the number.
"Jamie!"
"Right…No pockets either. How thickheaded can she get? Sending us out without any supplies."
"We're supposed to be on holiday, not helping the homeless…" The girl's voice trailed off. Joanie stuffed part of her fist in her mouth, lightly biting down, and stared at him. It was one of those half-fear, half-admiration and completed confusion stares. He got them all the time from companions.
He felt it, then, in mingled among the other psychic voices. The same emotion on the girl's pale face was in his head. She was one of them… one of…
"Joanie, I don't think he's homeless. Blimey clean looking for a hobo." Jamie tilted the Doctor's head back and peered into his eyes, checking for signs of a concussion. With Jamie's cool hands on his face, the Doctor slipped unnoticed into the boy's mind, skimming the surface of the alien's thoughts.
No malice. No evil-intent. Something about thinking of a better line to impress Kate, which he could see in Jamie's memories as brunette waitress, and what a worry-wart his older sister was and…
Jamie broke contact, stepping smartly back like he'd been slapped silly. "Oh my giddy…"
"Don't, just don't. Frankly, that catchphrase is a bit embarrassing." The Doctor sniffed. He straightened, forcing himself to adjust to the onslaught of minds by remembering what it had been like before Gallifrey was destroyed. All those thoughts pressing in. Remembering, how to block out some, ignore others, keep from drowning in the telepathic tide.
"I don't recognize you." Jamie's narrow chin tightened, "Are you a Doctor?"
"Oh yes."
Joanie knew. He could feel the curiosity and confusion rolling out of her. As for the boy, he sensed defiance and a bit of relished fear. How unlike a Time-lord to enjoy the adrenaline rush of fear… except for himself, he'd rarely seen it in others of his species.
"Have your own TARDIS then?" Jamie asked.
"Naturally, she's a bit old, mind you but—more importantly, what are so many Gallifreyans doing on Earth? Finally get sick of staring out of the big old dome? Decide to see a bit of worlds then? And oh…" He frowned, pulling hard on an earlobe as if the tugging would pull the answer into his mind, "but you're all sealed off. Like parallel universes. Like fixed points in time. Like that one jar of marmalade in the cupboard. How on earth did you get out?"
"Get out?" Jamie scoffed, kicking at a soda can. "Through the door, Doctor… didn't catch your name?"
"He doesn't have one." Joanie answered, her mouth shifting around her fist.
"Oi, the Kithriarch didn't give you one? That was blimey irresponsible of her."
"No," The Doctor shook his head, "you don't—wait, you have a female Kithriarch? What's your House?"
"Same as yours." Jamie shrugged his scrawny shoulders like a typical human teenager, rolling his eyes as if the Doctor had asked the stupidest question.
"Lungbarrow?"
"We can't say anything more, Doctor." Joanie had finally decided she couldn't swallow her hand and grabbed her brother's shirt, hauling him farther away from the bench. There was a strange reluctance, the Doctor sensed, to leave and a fear that made her want to run and never look back.
She wanted something from him, and knew she'd never get it. She wanted… the Doctor's approval.
Why? Why was he so important to her…?
She closed her mind off rapidly, eyes blinking as she focused on the task. Seconds later, something rushed through the psychic flow and one by one, the Gallifreyan minds began to close to him. Except for Jamie's, who still stood there, flabbergasted and muttering under his breath. A flash of Joanie's hand on Jamie's arm, and Jamie shielded his mind away from the Doctor like the rest.
The terrible void in his head seemed bigger than before.
"We have to go home now." Joanie said, softly, finally. "Come on, Jamie, he's fine."
"I am not thick." The boy stated, glaring at his sister.
"It was a stray thought. It only lasted a minute and you were acting pretty…"
"Stay." The Doctor was up, entreating them with his hands, bouncing on his feet with this incarnation's typical energy, "I haven't seen Gallifreyans since… weelll, never mind…"
He smiled. This smile wasn't so different from his others, wide and a bit maniacal, except he reserved it for addressing would-be tyrant and murderers. These Gallifreyans were trying to get away from him, unknown impossible things that they were, and he had questions. He wasn't accepting the "spoilers" excuse. Not anymore. He'd left too much up to fate recently and it had done him no favors.
In the same warm conversational tone he used about little shops, he switched topics, "You seem an interesting breed-"
"I don't know if this is fate or chance, I'm not trained well enough." Joanie stepped backwards, pulling her brother along. "But you're right, Doctor. We're supposed to be… sealed off."
"Gallifreyan arrogance. Gallifreyan rules. Gallifreyan "I'm-so-afraid-to-really-live-I'll-make-sure-no-one-else-does-too. Oi, I suppose something's never change, eh Jamie?" He strode to them, moving his hands in his suitcoat pockets to get his coat hem to flare out and in. He liked to keep busy. Always on the run. Always on the move. "You know what? I had a companion named Jamie once. Smart and Scottish…"
Neither of them had moved. Neither of them smiled. Neither of them seemed the least bit interested in his story or opinion on Gallifreyan policies which was a bit disappointing because he'd hadn't had a good ramble in at least a week.
"You're just going to take off in your TARDIS and that will be that. Oh…Brilliant." The Doctor mangled his favorite word with sarcasm. Clearing his throat, he stepped back on the sidewalk. "Weelll that makes things simple. Very simple. You are obviously up to no good here—I can tell, years of experience with this sort of thing—and frankly, you are dressed rather ridiculously. Take it from an old Timelord, kids, spandex is never in style."
"Blimey, do you think we'd hurt the humans?" Jamie broke their silence, glancing down at his apparel and failing to be subtle about it. He jerked his shirt-hem. "We're the good-guys, Doctor."
"It's been my experience that if you have to say it, it's only self-delusion, not fact."
The boy clapped his hands over his ears. "Shut up, Joanie. I can think for myself, thank you. I don't need you or the Kithriach in my head telling me who I can and can't talk to!"
"You're afraid of me. Good. As F believed, it'll make things a bit easier when it comes to you believing my threats, taking me seriously and of course, 'choice' time." The Doctor bounded over, grabbing Jamie by the shoulders, "All-righty now. Tell me what's going on."
Jamie's dark brown eyes, brimming with all the innocence and confidence of youth, came up to search the Doctor's face in swift earnest glances. The Doctor stared back, suddenly captivated. And there, behind the flickering of the young Gallifreyan's eyelids, buried into the eyes very design was something strange.
"Hold still for a bit?" The Doctor sifted the silt of a thousand trips to little tourist shops that were housed deep in the pockets of his overcoat, until he finally found a round red-cap like object. He snapped the cap into place on the blue tip of his sonic screwdriver, and aimed the now lavender colored tip at Jamie's eyes. "Molto Bene! Now we'll just take a little look and…"
The Doctor pulled back. He looked at the brother and sister in silence.
"Doctor," Joanie flipped her ebony hair over her shoulder and reached out her plump hand to him. Her mind had relaxed, a feeling of calm seeping through her mind and into his. "Come and see."
"I'm a coward."
"Then you're the bravest coward there is!" Jamie said, still rubbing his eyes from the screwdriver's light.
"If you are going to come, it has to be now. I'm not gonna be left behind…We're leaving soon. "
The edges of his mouth crept into a small smile. "Wouldn't miss this for the end of the world. Trust me, once you've seen one planet been eaten by the sun, you've seen it all. Or, most of it all. All of it. No. Actually, you've seen nothing but a planet being eaten by the sun-"
Jamie ran, skinny legs moving rapidly as he rose up a knoll and vanished. His sister ran slower, each footstep sure before she took another. The Doctor gave a good try of beating them both, but placed second after Jamie. He blamed it on too many sweets, broken hearts and white-hair.
"They're coming." Joanie pointed.
Climbing the hill in a sort of cheery silence, came a large group of runners with numbers painted on the chest and backs of their short-sleeved primary colored shirts. Permed red hair bobbed with each graceful movement near the front, long pale-blond braids flapped from the center, brown hair, long, short and spiked clustered in a grouping towards the back while white hair interspersed at regular intervals. There were many variations of cut and style but all of the colors and textures looked familiar and under the waves of hair, the runners had long faces, short comical faces, aged soured faces, dreamy-romantic faces, stubborn tough faces, arrogant faces, proper genteel faces and the Doctor could have spent decades describing them all. Each runner was unique, but they were all the same too.
They were all part of the Doctor. They all carried the potential to regenerate, two hearts, an obvious love of running, nods to his current or previous regenerations which sometimes clashed in the same person or blended in strangely wonderful ways. They were all part of Donna. They all carried human-like retinal patterns, the spirit of adventure, and a few, splashes of freckles or curls of auburn, ginger or red. And sometimes, he couldn't look at them because his vision was all blurred.
"Are you crying, Doctor?" Jamie, in no more than his first or second regeneration, was emanating with something akin to loneliness.
"Nope." He turned slightly, popping his spectacles from his pocket and onto his face, "Just need these, Jamie."
"Doctor," Joanie slipped her hand into his, "We are okay. You don't have to worry about us."
"Who takes care of you? So many. So very many. I'm not part of a dead race anymore… by the way," He frowned, "Why are you all dressed like Marathon runners?"
"Easiest way to blend in." Jamie shrugged. "We get to run and tour the Earth at the same time. This group's just coming from Big Ben."
They stood a moment, watching the crush of Gallifreyans, fly past.
Jamie cleared his throat. "Doctor…Can I?"
The Doctor looked at Jamie. The boy was sliding up to his other side, fingers flexing nervously.
The Doctor grasped the boy's scrawny hand and squeezed it. Jamie squeezed back.
"I want to stay. I want to see them. All of them." The Doctor felt like Donna, begging for the impossible. Or like Rose, forever parted from the one she loved.
Joanie smiled, and a golden weight transferred from her fingertips to his and rushed up into his mind with all the beauty of sunshine and heaviness of an anchor. It was her love for the Daddy she'd never known, would never know, who had missed the day she was loomed, would miss the day she graduated to Doctor, would miss the day she chose her first companion or the day she found a mate or began a family, would miss the last day of her final regeneration.
"Goodbye, Doctor." She let go. Leaving only a fragrant echo of her personality in his mind.
"Wait." He wanted to respond and reached clumsily for her hand again.
"We know, Doctor." Jamie shrugged, as if that expressed everything, "We have your letter."
Joanie glanced down the hill at the others who had centered themselves around a blue antique police box, all of them trying not to draw attention to themselves or stare too obviously at the Doctor. "But not enough time. Just let us do this."
"Do what?"
"Shut up, Jamie. You should listen to the psy-chatter more often if don't want to go around asking stupid questions."
The Doctor let the sounds of their bickering fade out as a fresh telepathic flood of information, personality, memories and emotions came. He was a light on a hill, filled with the comforting and horrifying rush of a hundred quick loveletters and dozens of bitter lonely messages. He was their father, and when it was over, he knew them all by name. He knew the dreams of the young, the regrets of the old.
As for him, he was filled with his own. Regret that this was the only time, he'd ever have contact with his offspring. Dreaming of each face the loom, which he had yet to build, would create.
And he could say it. Those three little words he had denied so many lovers and wives and friends. "I love you."