simple song
──────⊱⁜⊰──────
you are my beautiful, by far
our flaws are who we really are
──────⊱⁜⊰──────
They had saved the world again.
It hadn't been as easy as it usually was, but they had done more than ever before - he had saved Gallifrey, they had all saved Gallifrey and that was more.
So much more.
The Doctor admittedly felt strangely slack without the heavy weight that he'd carried for so long but he wouldn't trade it for anything.
"How many after me are you?" his younger self asked, still in that stupid pinstriped suit.
"Spoilers," The Doctor replied, smiling when his previous self only rolled his eyes.
"And…and Rose?"
Clara looks at him with so much curiosity, but she won't ask.
Not about this.
Because the little that Clara knows he knows isn't good.
The Doctor couldn't reply, the Younger One knew that very well, but he so badly wanted to.
Wished that someone had warned him about what was coming.
When he realized that the bow-tie him wouldn't answer he bit his lip and followed after him towards the larger boxes.
"Do you ever think it's not gonna hurt?" Ten asked Eleven, following him towards the larger boxes.
The Doctor's brow furrowed.
It had been years since Rose, years since the beach and the walls had closed, but the hurt was still there.
It still festered and ached.
Some nights it hurt so bad his teeth would clench at the urge to scream.
How many decisions had he made because of her?
Moments or wishes, or worries or thoughts, dedicated to his girl, wherever she was.
To the girl who saw hope in everyone.
To his Rose.
"No," he finally replied, staring at the hardwood of the galley, scuffing his shoe against it, "No, I think it will always hurt."
"Would you ever give them up?" Pinstripe asks, "Give up your memories of her?"
The idea is so abhorrent that the Doctor visibly recoils, reaching up to touch the side of his head as if his younger self might reach through and yank them all out.
Steal away every memory of that amazing, precious girl.
"No!" he says, slightly venomous, angry, "Never!"
Pinstripe nods, slowly and thoughtfully, as if that was all he needed to know.
"Nice that," he replied.
"What?" The Doctor said, slightly confused.
"That doesn't change."
The Doctor stilled, squeezing his hands, avoiding his eyes.
Eleven was right of course, as he usually was, even when he was old and tired and changed became something new, the Doctor still remembered.
He would always remember.
Running, apple grass, and the end of the world.