Author's Note: And my, but if these don't seem to get longer and longer. I think that I have officially given up on keeping them a hundred words. Anyway, I was doing some research on old companions for another story, and then this thing sorta tumbled out. It's not my fault that the Doctor gives me soooo much to angst over. Well, at least that is my story and I'm sticking to it! . . . . And no, I didn't fit nearly everyone in(just my faves).
011. String
Donna, Ten
You hear him mumbling late one night. You step closer to the sound, your slippered feet whispering on the coral floor. Your slender hands lightly grip the door frame as you peek past – just a peek, you tell yourself.
And you see a room you have never seen before.
It is not his – or at least, you hope the pretty pink on yellow room is not. There are posters of boy bands on the walls, and forgotten tubes of mascara on the dresser. A thick layer of dust covers everything – it knots on the air and makes the breath thick in your lungs. Yet, the doctor doesn't seem to notice.
He is knelling before the bed, his head bowed and his hands crossed on the duvet. It's a gross imitation of a child's nighttime prayers as names slip out his barely moving lips:
"My Susan, dear Ian and Barbara . . ."
You frown, confused at first, before understanding sets in, thick and heavy.
"Jamie, Zoe, Liz, Romana – both of you . . ."
His face doesn't change as the string of names slips out faster and faster.
"Tegan, Adric, little Ace, dear Gracie, and brilliant Sarah Jane . . ."
You want to leave, but your feet are knotted in place. Tears are thick on your lashes.
"And Rose," he whispered on a broken breath. "Rose, Rose, Rose . . ."
The string breaks on a single name, and you fight the urge to interrupt and give him a shoulder to lean on – cry on, even. But he won't. Even as he speaks now, his eyes are bone dry.
So, you simply leave, and vow to do your best to not allow the string of names to grow any longer.