WHEN THE BOUGH BREAKS, PART 5
"If you could feel how I must feel/The winds of quiet change/If you could see what I must see/Still hidden in the rain/But when the thunder rolls/It comes and covers up my soul/And you will take my hand/And be with me in wonderland/I am an honest man/ I need the love of you/I am a working man/I feel the winter too."
Big Country, "Wonderland," from the "Wonderland" EP, copyright 1984 by Big Country. Lyrics used w/o permission.
The winds had died down now: his scarf no longer tried to strangle him as he slowly walked along the shore. He'd always loved the sea here: the water wasn't the blue of Earth water but a rich violet. The gently rolling waves made him think of a field of lilacs, or irises. He did so love irises. How long had it been since he'd seen any, smelled any? Days? Weeks? Decades? His alcohol consumption had caused everything to blur together. He wasn't complaining: that was exactly what he'd wanted. He didn't want to remember the day the Kiwmons had destroyed Somara Five, or the night the Titanic had sunk and he's been helpless, unable to save the passengers and crew lest he alter history. He wanted to push all of that so far back into his collective mental closets it would never see the light again.
He lifted the bottle to his lips. "Some dance to remember/some dance to forget," he murmured, quoting a popular song by a popular 1970's Earth band. He took a large gulp, gasping as the icy liquid streamed down his throat. Good stuff, this fehg. Similar to rum but sweeter. He sighed as it took him one step closer to oblivion. Soon he'd be lucky to remember his name. Not that it mattered. No one ever used his real name, especially him. It reminded him of another time, another place, and a being that he no longer was.
He started humming the Eagles song, twirling in circles every few steps as he resumed walking. It was a lovely twilight, the moon would be rising soon, that marvelous pale green moon. There was so much color on this planet, so different from Earth. So why did the Earth keep creeping like an ivy vine back into his thoughts? He could almost feel his mind being entwined, crushed with the weight of his UNIT work.
"Obviously I need to drink more," he said. And he proceeded to do just that. He knew it was simple, crude, and pure escapism. And he didn't care.
Time dissolved for him, washed over him and back out again until it had no meaning. There was only the sand and the sea. He walked, skipped, sang. Finally the alcohol caught up with him and he grew tired. Instead of heading back to his room, he flopped down onto the sand, pulling his coat snugly around him and using his scarf as a pillow. For some reason a line from a Robert Frost poem struck him: "I have miles to go before I sleep." But he didn't. He'd traveled his miles. He'd reached his destination. Lulled by the sound of the water and the forlorn cries of birds, he curled up and gave himself over to his dreams.
"Blast," Sarah swore softly.
She'd been walking for what seemed like an eternity, scanning the shore for any sign of the Doctor. He wasn't in his room. She'd gone to the inn and found that much out. She knew what she was doing was going against his request for solitude. She also knew that she didn't give a fig. She'd made up her mind to find him and help him, and that was exactly what she was going to do even if she had to fight him every step of the way.
A bit of color caught the corner of her eye, and she turned, squinting in the fading daylight. An unmistakable figure lie on his side, half obscured by the scarf. There was not a twitch of movement.
She gasped. No, oh, no, please no, don't let it be too late!
"Doctor!" She screamed, and broke into a run.
The Doctor squinted, jerked in his sleep. Something was shaking him, calling to him, trying to pull him from his dreams. They were lovely dreams, of fields of cream-colored butterflies and honey. He curled into himself, but it didn't stop.
"Go away, I'm sleeping," he mumbled.
"Doctor! Wake up! I mean it!"
Sarah shook his shoulders harder. At least he was alive. Drunk out of his skull, but alive.
"I SAID, I'm sleeping," he answered.
"And I said, WAKE UP!"
It was no good. The butterflies flew away from his outstretched hands, the honey turned to tar. With a groan, he opened his eyes.
"Why did you wake me?" He snarled.
She jumped at the anger in his voice, but didn't turn away. "You passed out. You're drunk, and cold, and you need to stop this."
"I am perfectly fine, thank you," he answered with some asperity. His bloodshot blue eyes narrowed. "I told you to stay away from me. Didn't I tell you to stay away from me?"
"Yes, you did. And I don't give a damn about that!"
His eyes widened. He'd never heard her use that word or take that tone with him. His voice softened as he reached out a hand to touch her cheek.
"Why are you here?"
"Because you need me. Whether you know it or will admit it or not. It's not good for you, this drowning your sorrows by drinking."
"Why not?" He asked tiredly. "O, other people can drink, but not the Doctor. No, the Doctor has to be a model being, a paragon of virtue and all things good. I'm not allowed to have dreams, or desires, is that it? Saving lives is all I'm good for?"
She was stunned by the sadness and longing in his voice. "No, that's not what I mean. I just mean that... you're hurting yourself, doing this."
"Am I? By whose definition, hmm?" He asked silkily.
She shook her head. There was going to be no talking with him while he was like this. "Would you please come back with me to town?" She asked quietly.
"What for?"
"So I can put you to bed."
A wicked grin spread across his face. "Why, Miss Smith. I never thought you'd offer."
"You wish," she retorted, but his words made her tremble. She slipped an arm under his shoulders and with a small grunt pulled him to his feet. "Come on, then. You can sleep this off and we'll talk."
He sighed, but made no attempt to resist her efforts, swaying slightly as he walked beside her. "No one bothered Rasputin when he went on a binge," he muttered.
"What?"
"I said, no one bothered Rasputin when he went on a binge."
"Maybe if someone had, his life would have turned out differently," Sarah snapped.
He sighed. "It's always the same. No one understands."
"All I understand is that you're drunk!"
"I am NOT drunk!" He protested.
"Really? Then what would you call it?"
"I call it: Memory Suppression."
"Well, I call it stupid. Now come on."
It was dark when they got back. As they approached the inn the Doctor suddenly stopped and pointed upward. "Look, Sarah!"
She stopped and looked.
He was pointing at the moon. Not just any moon. A full moon of palest green, edged with silver. It was the first night of it being this way. She remembered the Doctor telling her the moon would stay full for ten days once it turned. A lovely sight indeed. But she had more important things to do at the moment.
"Yes, it's very nice," she told him. "Now come on, you can gaze at the moon later."
He trudged on behind her, letting her lead him down the hall to his room. Once inside, she locked the door and gently sat him down on the edge of the bed. She knelt and began to untie his boots. She removed them, along with his socks, then his coat and scarf. As she put them down on a chair and moved to close the drapes she heard a rustling sound. She turned to see that he'd removed his shirt. Her heart skipped several beats as she stared at the smooth expanse of skin with the short dark tendrils of curly hair trailing down from his navel towards his...
Stop! She ordered herself.
He stretched out on the bed, not covering himself, and gave her a lazy grin. "Aren't you going to read me a bedtime story?" He asked, his voice a sensual purr.
She swallowed hard. Beat, beat damn you! She ordered her heart. This is no time for you to give out on me!
"I don't think you need any stories tonight," she told him, and was proud of how cool her voice sounded. She hesitantly crossed the room to him. "But I will keep an eye on you."
"Splendid." He was tired, or sleepy, or both. His eyes flickered. He reached out and took her hand in one of his. "Sarah," he whispered.
She moved to kneel on the floor beside the bed. "What, Doctor?" She asked.
"I kissed you," he informed her.
She laughed. "Yes, I'm well aware of that."
"I shouldn't have done it that way. I should have..."
She wanted to weep.
"I should have waited... waited until the moon was full to kiss you... it would've been much more romantic..." He murmured.
Now she knew her heart had stopped. And when it started beating again it no longer belonged to her. It belonged to him, completely and utterly to him.
She choked back a cry, a laugh. "We can talk about that later, Doctor, when you're well." She brushed a lock of curls from his eyes and lightly kissed his forehead.
He was still mumbling. "Yes, full moons are much more romantic, I remember once in Venice at the Cinezetta..." His eyes closed and his breathing slowed with sleep.
Sarah drew a ragged breath. She wiped her now trembling hands on her pants, then seated herself in one of the chairs, watching him. She was suddenly worn out down to the bone, and wanted nothing more than to get some rest. But she knew it would be a long time before she could fall asleep.
"If you could feel how I must feel/The winds of quiet change/If you could see what I must see/Still hidden in the rain/But when the thunder rolls/It comes and covers up my soul/And you will take my hand/And be with me in wonderland/I am an honest man/ I need the love of you/I am a working man/I feel the winter too."
Big Country, "Wonderland," from the "Wonderland" EP, copyright 1984 by Big Country. Lyrics used w/o permission.
The winds had died down now: his scarf no longer tried to strangle him as he slowly walked along the shore. He'd always loved the sea here: the water wasn't the blue of Earth water but a rich violet. The gently rolling waves made him think of a field of lilacs, or irises. He did so love irises. How long had it been since he'd seen any, smelled any? Days? Weeks? Decades? His alcohol consumption had caused everything to blur together. He wasn't complaining: that was exactly what he'd wanted. He didn't want to remember the day the Kiwmons had destroyed Somara Five, or the night the Titanic had sunk and he's been helpless, unable to save the passengers and crew lest he alter history. He wanted to push all of that so far back into his collective mental closets it would never see the light again.
He lifted the bottle to his lips. "Some dance to remember/some dance to forget," he murmured, quoting a popular song by a popular 1970's Earth band. He took a large gulp, gasping as the icy liquid streamed down his throat. Good stuff, this fehg. Similar to rum but sweeter. He sighed as it took him one step closer to oblivion. Soon he'd be lucky to remember his name. Not that it mattered. No one ever used his real name, especially him. It reminded him of another time, another place, and a being that he no longer was.
He started humming the Eagles song, twirling in circles every few steps as he resumed walking. It was a lovely twilight, the moon would be rising soon, that marvelous pale green moon. There was so much color on this planet, so different from Earth. So why did the Earth keep creeping like an ivy vine back into his thoughts? He could almost feel his mind being entwined, crushed with the weight of his UNIT work.
"Obviously I need to drink more," he said. And he proceeded to do just that. He knew it was simple, crude, and pure escapism. And he didn't care.
Time dissolved for him, washed over him and back out again until it had no meaning. There was only the sand and the sea. He walked, skipped, sang. Finally the alcohol caught up with him and he grew tired. Instead of heading back to his room, he flopped down onto the sand, pulling his coat snugly around him and using his scarf as a pillow. For some reason a line from a Robert Frost poem struck him: "I have miles to go before I sleep." But he didn't. He'd traveled his miles. He'd reached his destination. Lulled by the sound of the water and the forlorn cries of birds, he curled up and gave himself over to his dreams.
"Blast," Sarah swore softly.
She'd been walking for what seemed like an eternity, scanning the shore for any sign of the Doctor. He wasn't in his room. She'd gone to the inn and found that much out. She knew what she was doing was going against his request for solitude. She also knew that she didn't give a fig. She'd made up her mind to find him and help him, and that was exactly what she was going to do even if she had to fight him every step of the way.
A bit of color caught the corner of her eye, and she turned, squinting in the fading daylight. An unmistakable figure lie on his side, half obscured by the scarf. There was not a twitch of movement.
She gasped. No, oh, no, please no, don't let it be too late!
"Doctor!" She screamed, and broke into a run.
The Doctor squinted, jerked in his sleep. Something was shaking him, calling to him, trying to pull him from his dreams. They were lovely dreams, of fields of cream-colored butterflies and honey. He curled into himself, but it didn't stop.
"Go away, I'm sleeping," he mumbled.
"Doctor! Wake up! I mean it!"
Sarah shook his shoulders harder. At least he was alive. Drunk out of his skull, but alive.
"I SAID, I'm sleeping," he answered.
"And I said, WAKE UP!"
It was no good. The butterflies flew away from his outstretched hands, the honey turned to tar. With a groan, he opened his eyes.
"Why did you wake me?" He snarled.
She jumped at the anger in his voice, but didn't turn away. "You passed out. You're drunk, and cold, and you need to stop this."
"I am perfectly fine, thank you," he answered with some asperity. His bloodshot blue eyes narrowed. "I told you to stay away from me. Didn't I tell you to stay away from me?"
"Yes, you did. And I don't give a damn about that!"
His eyes widened. He'd never heard her use that word or take that tone with him. His voice softened as he reached out a hand to touch her cheek.
"Why are you here?"
"Because you need me. Whether you know it or will admit it or not. It's not good for you, this drowning your sorrows by drinking."
"Why not?" He asked tiredly. "O, other people can drink, but not the Doctor. No, the Doctor has to be a model being, a paragon of virtue and all things good. I'm not allowed to have dreams, or desires, is that it? Saving lives is all I'm good for?"
She was stunned by the sadness and longing in his voice. "No, that's not what I mean. I just mean that... you're hurting yourself, doing this."
"Am I? By whose definition, hmm?" He asked silkily.
She shook her head. There was going to be no talking with him while he was like this. "Would you please come back with me to town?" She asked quietly.
"What for?"
"So I can put you to bed."
A wicked grin spread across his face. "Why, Miss Smith. I never thought you'd offer."
"You wish," she retorted, but his words made her tremble. She slipped an arm under his shoulders and with a small grunt pulled him to his feet. "Come on, then. You can sleep this off and we'll talk."
He sighed, but made no attempt to resist her efforts, swaying slightly as he walked beside her. "No one bothered Rasputin when he went on a binge," he muttered.
"What?"
"I said, no one bothered Rasputin when he went on a binge."
"Maybe if someone had, his life would have turned out differently," Sarah snapped.
He sighed. "It's always the same. No one understands."
"All I understand is that you're drunk!"
"I am NOT drunk!" He protested.
"Really? Then what would you call it?"
"I call it: Memory Suppression."
"Well, I call it stupid. Now come on."
It was dark when they got back. As they approached the inn the Doctor suddenly stopped and pointed upward. "Look, Sarah!"
She stopped and looked.
He was pointing at the moon. Not just any moon. A full moon of palest green, edged with silver. It was the first night of it being this way. She remembered the Doctor telling her the moon would stay full for ten days once it turned. A lovely sight indeed. But she had more important things to do at the moment.
"Yes, it's very nice," she told him. "Now come on, you can gaze at the moon later."
He trudged on behind her, letting her lead him down the hall to his room. Once inside, she locked the door and gently sat him down on the edge of the bed. She knelt and began to untie his boots. She removed them, along with his socks, then his coat and scarf. As she put them down on a chair and moved to close the drapes she heard a rustling sound. She turned to see that he'd removed his shirt. Her heart skipped several beats as she stared at the smooth expanse of skin with the short dark tendrils of curly hair trailing down from his navel towards his...
Stop! She ordered herself.
He stretched out on the bed, not covering himself, and gave her a lazy grin. "Aren't you going to read me a bedtime story?" He asked, his voice a sensual purr.
She swallowed hard. Beat, beat damn you! She ordered her heart. This is no time for you to give out on me!
"I don't think you need any stories tonight," she told him, and was proud of how cool her voice sounded. She hesitantly crossed the room to him. "But I will keep an eye on you."
"Splendid." He was tired, or sleepy, or both. His eyes flickered. He reached out and took her hand in one of his. "Sarah," he whispered.
She moved to kneel on the floor beside the bed. "What, Doctor?" She asked.
"I kissed you," he informed her.
She laughed. "Yes, I'm well aware of that."
"I shouldn't have done it that way. I should have..."
She wanted to weep.
"I should have waited... waited until the moon was full to kiss you... it would've been much more romantic..." He murmured.
Now she knew her heart had stopped. And when it started beating again it no longer belonged to her. It belonged to him, completely and utterly to him.
She choked back a cry, a laugh. "We can talk about that later, Doctor, when you're well." She brushed a lock of curls from his eyes and lightly kissed his forehead.
He was still mumbling. "Yes, full moons are much more romantic, I remember once in Venice at the Cinezetta..." His eyes closed and his breathing slowed with sleep.
Sarah drew a ragged breath. She wiped her now trembling hands on her pants, then seated herself in one of the chairs, watching him. She was suddenly worn out down to the bone, and wanted nothing more than to get some rest. But she knew it would be a long time before she could fall asleep.