Episode: The Snakes of Sicily
Chapter: The Conversation That Never Was [4/6]
Summary: Rory Williams wanted to have his stag night in peace. Amy Pond wanted people to stop flirting with her fiancé. And the mothers wanted their children safe. The Master only wanted to forget. Or the one where the Ponds get their wedding present, the TARDIS refuses to behave, and things have a (sort of) happy ending for once.
Rating: T
Amy shares Helene's room for the night, but Koschei and Rory find themselves sleeping on blankets on the kitchen floor. Well, Rory is sleeping on twice the given number of blankets, since Koschei doesn't really need the sleep and so has relocated outside.
The night is clear, uncountable stars shining overhead, while some crickets serenade the small and silent polis of Zancle, and a soft breeze brings coolness up the hills from the sea, alongside the rumor of waves on the beach. Bats swoop overhead every now and then, attracted by the moths that flutter outside the houses, far less numerous now that all lights have been put out.
It's peaceful in its simplicity, without technology or planes or even electricity, and worries far more important and primal than whether the alarm clock will ring in the morning.
Koschei takes in one more deep breath, closing his eyes this time to let the faraway whisper of the waves and the crunching of hay as the sleeping donkeys shift in the barn wash over him.
"It reminds me of your place," he whispers, eyes still closed, and, as—hoped—expected, hears a soft huff at his side.
"What about a seaside village reminds you of the snowy slopes of the tallest mountain on Gallifrey?" Theta asks, incredulous yet also with curiosity in his voice, and Koschei lets his head fall back against the wall of the house with a grin on his face, eyes still closed.
"The stillness. The fledershrews swooping overhead, chasing after beatitudes. The murmur in the background, so like the blue hunter horns swaying in the breeze, waiting for the unwary lizardflies to go nearer. The sleepy presence of people so close, and yet so far…"
"Are you saying you miss my family?"
"I'm saying I miss your land," he hisses back, opening one eye to deliver a lazy glare to the widely-grinning ghost at his side. "Not that I don't miss old Mount Perdition, too, but there was always something about Mount Lung that just felt… different," he explains more calmly, a small smile twisting his lips as he lets the memory come to the front of his mind.
Leaning on the balustrade just after the sunsets, their glow reflecting on the violet clouds but no longer obscuring the Citadel Globe, which had just started to light up like a magnificent beast slowly awakening from its slumber. The Academy, sitting at the feet of the mountain, spreading out like a silent sentinel, guarding those seeing it from above yet somehow appearing welcoming, arms open to accept any who might approach it into its warm embrace. The mountains' shine dulling without the suns, but the vibrant blue of the hunter horns was only more visible for it, the flowers swaying and occasionally shooting out their tiny darts to reel in the lizardflies that approached them from the air, attracted by the insects feeding on their nectar. A couple of beatitudes float into his face, golden pot-bellied bodies already stuffed with the evening nectar, the first of their siblings to take flight as they digested it into helium, but with such luck that a stray gust of wind sent them into the Great House rather than further out into the fields.
Laughter, just before a hand landed on his shoulder to keep him still while the other carefully cupped around the beatitudes now tangled in his hair, gently tugging them off him and letting them float back to the fields unharmed.
Copper eyes alight with humor meet his at eyelevel now that he has straightened from his slouch, thanks to their owner's position sitting on the balustrade instead of standing on the balcony.
An eyeroll, more laughter, and, as one, both Gallifreyan look at the horizon to see the oranges and blues of the sky meld into purples and greens and indigo blue as the stars slowly take their places overhead.
A shoulder nudging into his own, shivering as the wind shifts to come from above, carrying the chill of the atmosphere-scrapping peak, alongside the faintest smell of gray snow, diluted so much by distance that the hallucinogenic in it has no effect on them. He throws an arm around his companion's shoulders nonetheless, pulling the slighter body close without regard for the squeal of surprise or the sudden amount of weight crashing into his chest as his friend loses balance on the banister.
This time, he is the one to laugh, and, after a moment to pout up at him, Theta wraps her hands around his arms and relaxes in his embrace, chuckling as they watch the night fall on Gallifrey.
"It felt like home," Koschei whispers, finally opening his eyes to let the memory fade like smoke from an extinguished candle, traces of it lingering for but a moment before the Sicilian night replaces them.
"Probably because we spent almost as much time there as we did in the Academy," Theta hums casually, also staring at the stars even as he tilts his head with a grin. "Remember all those times trying to climb to the peak? Or those escapades with Ushas and Mortimus and everyone else?"
"Yeah, before we were split into different Chapters and focused on our studies," Koschei answers with a hum of his own, nostalgia fueling his own grin. "Then, it was just the two of us."
"Only because that was my House. Imagine if I'd come from Heartshaven – we would've had to spend all of our time at the Academy grounds."
"Oh, the horror," Koschei deadpans, going as far as to drop a forearm over his eyes, but doesn't try to hide his smirk at the amused huff from his companion.
"Yes, I'm quite sure you wouldn't have survived our education without escaping to the Great House of Lungbarrow, dragging me after you practically every quarternight so that our brains could rest from all of the boring numbers and useless facts, going on adventures of our own on the slopes of Mount Lung so we could be prepared for our time off world as proper Time Lords," Theta recites almost solemnly, and Koschei finally breaks down into a giggling mess, pressing his hand against his mouth to muffle his laughter and avoid waking up the humans in the house at his back. "Or, no, wait, it was me dragging you away from the Academy, wasn't it?"
"Of course it was you. You could never sit still for anything you weren't interested in. How many remedial lessons did I have to give you? And how many afternoons did you drag me away from the Academy only to have Braxiatel drag us back when you couldn't answer his impromptu quizzes properly?" he asks with a sharp grin, and, owing to his status as a ghost, Theta doesn't bother muffling his laughter.
"Oh, a lot! But we always found a way out after that."
"Right, because that's the lesson to take from that situation, how to escape from your own Academy in the middle of the night," he answers sarcastically, rolling his eyes, and Theta leans towards him to push his intangible shoulder into Koschei's.
"As if you didn't use those skills later on. Against me, might I add."
"Right back at you."
And they snort almost in unison and look up at the stars again.
It only takes a couple seconds before the amicable air between them sours, though, with Koschei turning to meet Theta's sad eyes.
"Don't you dare pity me," he growls, and the ghost pushes away with a sad smile.
"I'm actually pitying myself, if that makes any sense. Here I am, nothing more than a psychic echo of a dead Time Lord who still believes itself the actual Time Lord, trying to help you move on with half as much success as I would like, if any, and only making things worse. How pathetic can I be?"
"No more pathetic than me, who talks to the psychic echo of my dead best enemy which may not be an echo at all, but a figment of my imagination instead," Koschei sighs in answer, looking at the fists clenched on his lap before releasing their grip with another sigh. "I just… I'm not you."
"Of course you're not."
"I'm not the Doctor."
"Nope, definitely not."
"Then why do they keep calling me that? I keep telling them that's not me, but they still…"
Koschei wants to scream, to rage, to punch through walls and scorch the land, but the only thing he finds himself capable of doing is lift his hands just to let them drop to his lap again, spent.
And sigh. Again.
"Well, I can't presume to know, Doctor ghost or memory or whatever I'm supposed to be, but I'm pretty sure you can fix it by explaining the whole story," Theta answers with a shrug, and Koschei stills.
For a moment, there's no other sound than the waves in the distance and the bats overhead.
And then, in unison, both Theta and Koschei sigh.
"Right. Forget I said anything," the ghost whispers with a shrug, curling into himself, and Koschei almost reaches for him, to pull him against his side, before he remembers Theta is not actually there.
How can you explain something like that? How can you just look someone in the eyes and—
It's not just the Doctor's death, it's Gallifrey and the Time War and the drums and a lifetime of history. How could anyone do it? How could anyone just…
"Someday. Someday I'll… find a way," Koschei manages to say, swallowing the lump in his throat, and sees Theta lean against his side from the corner of his eye.
"I couldn't talk about the Time War either. Not at first. But someday, you'll be able to. Don't give up," Theta tells him calmly, final, but instead of disappearing like Koschei has learnt to expect, he stays by his side.
They should talk. Even if Theta is not real, not the actual Doctor, he may still be able to help Koschei with his-his issue. He could, at the very least, bounce ideas off of him, get a different perspective. River's words, and what they mean for him, and the whole Rassilon-damned future—
They should talk. Now it's the perfect time for it, alone as they are, even if there are humans sleeping just a wall away. The TARDIS would be better, definitely more private, but this would work too.
And yet, they don't. Koschei stays silent, and so does Theta, and they simply stare up at the stars.
Because, maybe now more than any other time before, Koschei is afraid. And, when he's afraid, he runs.
So, Koschei runs from the future he fears, and Theta, in true Doctor fashion, runs from any problems even remotely personal too.
And, even though they should, they don't talk. Koschei tells himself that they'll do once they're in the TARDIS, in a more private setting, but he can taste the lie in his own thoughts as soon as the idea crosses his mind.
He knows he'll avoid this for as long as he can, and, for that same reason, he knows he should tackle it as soon as possible.
But here and now, he won't. He'll talk with Theta about River and the future and the-the Doctor, but not now.
Later. Yes, they'll talk later.
Decision made, Koschei lets out a tremulous breath and, when he closes his eyes and leans towards Theta, he can almost convince himself there's someone actually there.