AN: Uh, hi. I hope you aren't too mad if you actually read this crap. But hey, I'm updating. I could have NOT updated, considering school and things happen. So yeah. Band's done. I (might?) have time now. That is a BIG might. Very, very big might. But, I do have all of Chapter 5 written and some of Chapter 6, so expect the weekly update next week. After that, time will tell. So yay, let's go back to tormenting the Doctor. And breaking him down. And feels. And stuff. *smiles evilly*
The Doctor opened his eyes.
With a pang all the blurred events of the night before came flooding back and he winced at his weakness.
He nearly jumped up as the TARDIS engulfed him in the mental equivalent of a hug, sensitized as he was to all mental contact.
He laughed sheepishly at his foolishness as the TARDIS withdrew hastily, embarrassment leaking through their mental link.
"Hey, Old Girl," he said tiredly. "It's okay, just jumpy that's all."
"Doctor!" Amy yelled, bursting through the door and engulfing the Doctor in a hug. "You're up!"
"Nice to see you to, Pond," he answered. "Yes, I'm up."
Amy stepped back and looked him over concernedly. "Our Centurion may say you need sleep, but I say a little food would do you good."
"Amy…." The Doctor warned.
"No buts," Amy tutted. "We almost lost you once, I don't want to lose you again to starvation. To the kitchen!" she said, running out again, dragging the Doctor with her.
When the Doctor reached the kitchen, he slumped down at the table, without his usual verve.
Rory gave Amy a disapproving look, which she ignored, and went over and placed his hand on the Doctor's shoulder. He shivered slightly at the touch.
"Would you like some tea?" Rory asked gently.
The Doctor nodded and looked up, forcing a smile that seemed all too cheerful and never reached his eyes.
While the water boiled, Rory kept looking over at the Doctor.
He had never seemed to tire easily before, but now he seemed exhausted.
He was also thin.
Way too thin.
It was like Rory could break his bones by simply dropping a feather.
Rory sighed.
The Doctor saves so many other people's lives that he never stopped to think about his own.
When the tea was done, Rory set a glass down in front of the Doctor.
The Doctor smiled gratefully at Rory before taking a sip.
"What do you want for breakfast?" Rory asked.
The Doctor muttered something inaudible under his breath, turning bright red.
"What was that?" Rory asked.
"I said you don't have to do this for me," The Doctor whispered, a little louder.
"Yes we do," said Amy, interceding. "You have to eat something and you are in no state to do it yourself."
With that she pulled out some fish fingers and custard from the refrigerator and began to heat the fish fingers up.
The Doctor looked up at them both and gave a small, sad smile.
"I will never figure out why my companions see the blood on my hands and the fire seared into my eyes and reach down and carry me back to the land of the living again."
He laughed gently before putting up his façade once more and smiling that wide, childish smile again.
"So, where do you want to go today?"
Amy exchanged a look with Rory before starting.
"Doctor?" she questioned gently, before kneeling by him and lifting his head up so he couldn't avoid her gaze. "You do realize that you nearly died on the last 'adventure' we went on and now you're asking for us to go through that again?"
The Doctor's face fell.
He could be SUCH a child sometimes.
Amy engulfed him in a hug, trying not to let the fact that she could feel every bone in his back bother her and torn between laughing at the absurdity of the situation and crying all the Doctor's tears for him.
They were pulled out of the embrace by the insistent beeping of the microwave and Rory's exaggerated clearing of his throat.
Amy rolled her eyes and set the food down in front of the Doctor, making sure he ate every last crumb.
The Doctor lay back in bed that night, contemplating the day's events.
It had been a boring day, so much so that he really wondered how humans could stand staying in one little corner of one little planet when there was so much more out there.
He sighed.
The TARDIS gently nudged his consciousness, making him tense momentarily, but he gradually relaxed into the soothing contact.
He had forgotten how it felt to relish a mental link that didn't force you into the smallest realm of your sanity.
The TARDIS heard his thoughts and hastily tried to hide the data records of that event from him.
But the Doctor felt her aching melancholy throbbing in his mind and he quickly felt guilt sear at his hearts.
What happened over that fortnight the Doctor wondered to make you reluctant to share your heart with me.
All he got in response was another wave of mixed feelings from the TARDIS.
But the one that surprised him the most was the fear the TARDIS had felt.
He sighed, and, breaking the intimate link to a small humming in the back of his mind, set off to find Amy, or, if that failed, he would find some way into cajoling the TARDIS to give him those data records.
The Doctor gently opened the door to his room.
He knew if at all possible the TARDIS would try to prevent him from getting to Amy.
A thought crossed his mind that the TARDIS might want to hide him from that information to protect him, and he briefly faltered, but brushed the thought away quickly, even though he could feel the TARDIS's anger and determination throbbing at the back of his mind.
He knew where Amy's room SHOULD be, so he wandered in that direction, but quickly became lost and frustrated with the winding passageways and dead ends the TARDIS threw at him.
He could almost feel the TARDIS smirking through their mental link.
And over and over again he would find the door to his room at what seemed like a dead end.
"Fine!" he shouted, both physically and mentally. "I'm exhausted anyway! Have it your way!"
And with that he stormed into his room at the end of the hall, slamming the door with a sense of satisfaction emanating from the TARDIS.
The Doctor plopped down onto his bed with a sigh. He stared up at his ceiling. When he had first stolen the TARDIS, the Doctor had found his room as an exact replica of his room on Gallifrey when he was young. Very, very young. He was so old now. So very old. So very tired. So very worn. But his room had changed with him, and since he had destroyed his planet, he had cast aside all memories as painful and changed his room to the dark swirling abyss of the black hole he and Rose had seen on that fated day, long ago. His other self. And that black hole was there to remind him that there was a fine line holding him from being sucked into the darkness of despair, and that line had, and always would be, his companions.
The Doctor realized that there were now tears streaming down his face.
Weak his mind taunted him.
He growled in frustration.
"I am not weak," he shouted out loud, storming out of the room.
He ran down the TARDIS halls, outrunning his life, his fears. Eventually he came to the library, where he sat down in a corner and cried for all the injustices of the world.
For Rose.
For Donna.
For all those who were dead and gone.
And for those he had to leave behind.