TIME HEALS
I don't know how many people will read this, seeing as it's a pretty niche thing, the Dr Who/Marauders crossovers. Never mind. I hope someone enjoys this. I certainly did. :)
Thanks to 7701DeathlyHalfBloodPrincess and Mira Black-Snape for taking a look through and checking everything for me!
CHAPTER ONE: THE MAN ON THE BRIDGE
As usual, the TARDIS took him exactly where he needed to be.
Late twentieth century, by the taste of the air. Seventies or eighties, by the buildings. Britain, by the red telephone boxes, and London by the river and the skyline. November, perhaps, just after Hallowe'en, if he was correct in guessing those orange smudges on doorsteps and balconies were rotting pumpkins.
The Doctor turned his eyes to the river. In the early-morning light, the man on the bridge was a stark silhouette against the brightening sky. His patched clothes flapped in the wind, but other than that the figure was stationary, staring out over the water. The Doctor could only see his back, but the man was thin and frail and his shoulders hunched as if they had the weight of the galaxies bearing down on them.
His feet, the Doctor noticed, were halfway off the edge.
"Oi!" he yelled, breaking into a jog towards the bridge. The man didn't seem to hear. "Hey!"
The Doctor sped up, running down the path beside the river where he had parked, sprinting up the steps two at a time to reach the curve of the bridge. From this angle, he could see that the man was leaning forward ever so slightly.
He halted right behind the teetering man.
"Hello," the Doctor said, breathing heavily after his sprint. "Why don't you come down from there?" His tone was one he might use to soothe a child.
For the first time, the man reacted, turning his head ever so slightly towards the Doctor. "Why should I?" His throat was raw, his eyes running, his voice reduced to a whisper. "Why should I live?"
The Doctor struggled for words. "Because you are amazing and … there is so much in front of you. I mean, how old are you?"
A pause. The Doctor took the opportunity to look at the man's clothes, and he frowned—not the usual garb a twentieth-century human might wear. "Twenty-one," the man answered.
"Exactly! You have so much to live for. What will your friends think? Your family? They'll miss you, mate! I guarantee your life is important to them."
His voice was hollow. "I have no friends left, and no family who want me. I am alone." The man turned completely and the Doctor saw for the first time the set of parallel scars cutting across his face. Golden eyes stared from beneath a film of tears. "Believe me when I say there is nothing left to live for."
The Doctor tried another tactic, letting his voice harden a little. "How about this, then: why are you hesitating?"
Golden eyes turned to peer across the water. "I don't know."
"Exactly. There must be something."
Silence. The city had not yet woken up.
"There must be something that's stopped you jumping already. Come with me," the Doctor urged gently. "I will show you something wonderful, far away from here, and if you still have nothing to live for I will take you back here. Just … let me try, all right? Let me take you somewhere."
The man swallowed, then let himself step backwards. He climbed off the railing and stood beside the Doctor. "All right." He wiped a hand across his face to stop the last stray tears. "All right. Somewhere far, far away."
The man barely blinked at the inside of the TARDIS.
"Nice place," he said.
The Doctor took the man to a bustling market in Adamantine, a quaint place in the Minerva System where a hundred species haggled for goods and rubbish, and mingled, loved and hated. He'd always loved the abundance of feeling here—there was no shortness of emotion and life, and interesting people seemed to crop up in every corner.
"What do you think?" the Doctor asked, kicking his feet in the dust with exuberance. The suns burned overhead and a cart kicked sand into the air.
"Unrealistic," the man replied.
The Doctor laughed. The man didn't.
They walked on, through stalls of fruit in colours that humans didn't realise even existed, the air thick with hovering smells from the far reaches of the universe. The Doctor eyed the other man as he examined the stalls, the people, the curiosities all around; he seemed more youthful here, and although most humans seemed young to the Doctor, he was particularly proud to have brightened the eyes of this particularly gloomy man.
"What's your name?" the Doctor asked, swinging around one of the stalls and a corner to a quieter street.
"Remus," the man said. "You?'
"I'm the Doctor."
A raised eyebrow. "That's it?"
"Yes." They dodged a creature whose back was straining under a pile of carpets five metres tall.
"Rather conceited, don't you think?" Remus said. "The Doctor, as if you're the only one. There are lots of doctors out there, you know."
He laughed and pulled out the well-worn phrases from his younger days. "Well, I'm the original, you could say."
Remus laughed.
"Says you," the Doctor shot back. "Your name's not exactly normal. What kind of a name is Remus for a human, anyway? I don't know much of Earth mythology, but wasn't he killed by his own brother?"
Remus laughed bitterly. "My parents never had much hope for me, I'm afraid. Better than naming me after the murderer, I suppose."
"Fair enough," and then (because he couldn't resist), "It's not true, of course."
Remus raised an eyebrow in query.
"The story! Rem and Rom. Mates of mine, actually. There wasn't a massive wolf, or whatever it's meant to be—it was an alien. Beautiful creature, that."
To Remus's credit, he didn't look as surprised or confused as the Doctor would've expected. "You were there?" he asked.
"Yeah. I've travelled a bit, you know." He gave Remus a cocky smirk and received a smile in return.
A moment later, Remus leant over to the nearest stall and picked up a funny-shaped pink fruit which looked rather like a mangled pear. "Any idea what this is?"
"Nope. Try it."
"You've got money?"
"Something like that." As he spoke, the Doctor tossed a small bag towards the vendor, who opened it and grinned. Her mouth being situated above her eyes, the sight had a rather strange quality to it, and Remus looked a little queasy just watching the expression grow on her face.
"That'll do," said the Doctor.
Remus bit into the fruit curiously. "Bitter, in a nice way. Bit fishy. Crunchy like an apple," he noted. "'S nice, really. You wouldn't expect it."
The Doctor grinned. This was what he'd brought Remus here for. The scarred man's tone was already lighter, his eyes shining with something other than tears, a slight spring in his step.
They walked on. "Have you ever killed someone, Doctor?"
The Doctor turned towards Remus, who couldn't quite meet his eye. "Why do you ask?"
"Your eyes don't fit your face."
He contemplated his response for a moment. "Neither do yours."
"I know." And it was that—an admission—that scared the Doctor the most.
They walked through the market for a little longer, but this time they were swamped in silence and unasked questions. "What do you think of it all?" the Doctor asked, gesturing around himself.
He watched as Remus looked to the sky, at the twin suns, then around him, at the bustling mass of people swarming through the little streets. "It's unrealistic."
"You've said that." The Doctor sighed. "It's all real, you know."
"But it feels like it can't last. This … this isn't forever. All these different species can't live side by side." His eyes darkened. He turned towards the Doctor with a grim face. "Happiness never lasts—you know that."
"Let me take you somewhere that's forever, then. Or least a very, very long time."
The Doctor took him to exactly nowhere and threw the doors wide. Beyond the safety of the TARDIS, stars glittered in every direction, like shattered glass against a swathe of black. The tail end of a galaxy blushed coral pink, painted against the darkness and the stars and the great big nothingness which The Doctor had always found himself enslaved to.
"Space," he said gently, staring out with reverence.
Remus stared. "Oblivion," he replied.
"But isn't it beautiful?"
The scarred man stepped towards the edge, as he had done on the bridge, and leant over, looking down and then up into the void. "This isn't forever. Even the stars die eventually."
The Doctor frowned. "Nothing's forever."
"I know. Who did you kill?"
He flinched. Everyone. "I don't like to talk about it." But it was as if Remus could see through his walls, through the protective shell of his ribs to his hearts, barely beating, blackened by grief.
"I killed a kid," Remus whispered. He didn't speak to the Doctor but to the space spread in front of him. "I didn't know, at the time, but after I'd done it, I took off his mask. He was barely out of school. Hadn't started shaving." His voice was hoarse, his eyes dark as he recalled the memory. The Doctor didn't know who this man was, or how he could've done such a thing, but he could feel the pain radiating from him.
"I've killed children," he said in response. Not as a boast; as a sign of understanding.
"How many?"
"Two and a half billion." The words were bitter in his mouth, as they always were when he talked about Gallifrey, and what was lost.
The admission hung in the air for a moment. The Doctor could barely meet the other man's eyes.
"Merlin," Remus breathed.
Please, if you're considering suicide, call a helpline or call a friend.
On a lighter note, it'd be lovely se know what you thought of this start. I promise it gets a lot happier.