#donna travels with him to keep him humane and through that company he starts to heal from his grief of being lonely | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cielrouge · 3 years

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YA SFF Books by Latinx Authors

A Fierce and Subtle Poison by Samantha Mabry: Spending the summer with his hotel-developer father in Puerto Rico, 17-year-old Lucas turns to a legendary cursed girl filled with poison when his girlfriend mysteriously disappears.

All the Wind in the World by Samantha Mabry: Working in the maguey fields of the Southwest, Sarah Jac and James are in love but forced to start over on a ranch that is possibly cursed where the delicate balance in their relationship begins to give way.

Beneath the Citadel by Destiny Soria: In the city of Eldra, people are ruled by ancient prophecies. For centuries, the high council has stayed in power by virtue of the prophecies of the elder seers. In the present day, Cassa, the orphaned daughter of rebels, is determined to fight back against the high council. But by the time Cassa and her friends uncover the mystery of the final infallible prophecy, it may be too late to save the city — or themselves.

Blanca & Roja by Anne-Marie McLemore: The del Cisne girls, Blanca & Roja, have never just been sisters; they’re also rivals. Because of a generations-old spell, their family is bound to a bevy of swans deep in the woods. But when two local boys become drawn into the game, the swans’ spell intertwines with the strange and unpredictable magic lacing the woods, and all four of their fates depend on facing truths that could either save or destroy them.

Blazewrath Games by Amparo Ortiz: 17-year-old Lana Torres, who after rescuing a prized dragon, is awarded a spot on her native Puerto Rico’s Blazewrath World Cup team. But the return of the Sire, an ancient dragon, soon threatens to compromise this year’s tournament.

They Both Die in the End by Adam Silvera: Set in a near-future New York City where a service alerts people on the day they will die, about two teens who meet using the Last Friend app and are faced with the challenge of living a lifetime on their End Day.

The Body Market (Wired #2) by Donna Freitas: When Skylar's sister betrays her and opens the Body Market, everyone in the App World is for sale and Skylar resolves to stop her sister and the malevolent market.

Bruja Born (Brooklyn Brujas #2) by Zoraida Cordova: Teenage bruja Lula Mortiz tries to save her boyfriend, Maks, by cheating Death; however, Lady de la Muerte is not so easily bested.

The Buried by Melissa Grey: After disaster strikes the remote town of Indigo Falls. A horrific event drove the residents underground, into shelters that keep them safe from the danger on the surface. Now, a handful of families inhabit this bunker together, guided by a charismatic leader named Dr. Imogen Moran.

Cazadora (Wolves of No World #2) by Romina Garber: In this follow-up to Lobizona, Manu and her friends as they continue to fight for a better future.

Cemetery Boys by Aiden Thomas: Latinx trans teen Yadriel, hoping to release his cousin’s spirit and prove himself as a brujo, accidentally summons the wrong ghost and resident bad boy Julian Diaz, falling in love with him.

Dark and Deepest Red by Anna-Marie McLemore: Summer, 1518. A strange sickness sweeps through Strasbourg: women dance in the streets, some until they fall down dead. As rumors of witchcraft spread, suspicion turns toward Lavinia and her family. Five centuries later, a pair of red shoes seal to Rosella Oliva’s feet, making her dance uncontrollably. They draw her toward a boy who knows the dancing fever’s history better than anyone: Emil.

Dealing in Dreams by Lilliam Rivera: 16-year-old Nalah leads the fiercest all-girl crew in Mega City, but when she sets her sights on giving this life up for a prestigious home in Mega Towers, she must decide if she’s willing to do the unspeakable to get what she wants.

Diamond City by Francesca Flores: Pulled from the streets at age twelve and trained to become one of the most powerful assassins in Sumerand, Aina Solis discovers a conspiracy that could rewrite the kingdom's history.

Dragonblood Ring (Blazewrath Games #2) by Amparo Ortiz: After the Sire’s capture, teen athletes Lana Torres and Victoria Peralta travel to Puerto Rico with their former Blazewrath team. While Lana discovers her roots, nothing fills the void Blazewrath’s cancelation has left in Victoria. But it’s up to their team and the Bureau to protect their dragons.

Each of Us a Desert by Mark Oshiro: Xochital is destined to wander the desert alone. Her one desire: to share her heart with a kindred spirit. One night, Xo’s wish is granted—in the form of Emilia, the cold and beautiful daughter of the town’s murderous mayor. But when the two set out on a magical journey across the desert, they find their hearts could be a match… if only they can survive the nightmare-like terrors that arise when the sun goes down.

Fire with Fire by Destiny Soria: A contemporary fantasy about two sisters, Dani and Eden Rivera, who were raised to be fierce dragon slayers but end up on opposite sides of the impending war when one sister forms an unlikely, magical bond with a dragon.

The First 7 (The Last 8 #2) by Laura Pohl: After leaving Earth, now devastated by an alien attack, and exploring the galaxy, Clover Martinez and her fellow teen survivors return home to find crystal formations in the soil that are threatening to destroy the planet, and a colony of survivors who are not who they seem.

Five Midnights by Ann Davila Cardinal: If Lupe Dávila and Javier Utierre can survive each other’s company, together they can solve a series of grisly murders sweeping though Puerto Rico. But the clues lead them out of the real world and into the realm of myths and legends.

The Grief Keeper by Alexandra Villasante: To have her family’s asylum request accepted, 17-year-old Marisol participates in a risky experiment to become a grief keeper, taking another’s grief into her own body to save a life.

The Healer by Donna Freitas: Manifesting astonishing healing powers that cause some people to consider her a saint, Marlena Oliveria struggles with edicts that prevent her from attending school, having friends and falling in love when she meets a boy who makes her question what she is willing to sacrifice.

Hollywood Witch Hunter by Valerie Tejeda: When a coven bent on retaining their youth must sacrifice the beautiful, and rich women of Southern California, a society of witch hunters will try to protect humans from a great evil uprising.

Incendiary by Zoraida Cordova: As Renata Convida grows more deeply embedded in the politics of the royal court, she uncovers a secret in her past that could change the entire fate of the kingdom–and end a costly war.

Illusionary (Hollow Crown #2) by Zoraida Córdova: Reeling from betrayal, Renata Convida is a girl on the run. With few options and fewer allies, she reluctantly joins forces with none other than Prince Castian, her most infuriating and intriguing enemy.

Infinity Son by Adam Silvera: In the Bronx, two brothers, Emil and Brighton, get caught up in a magical war generations in the making.

Infinity Reaper (Infinity Cycle #2) by Adam Silvera: Emil and Brighton Rey defied the odds. When Brighton drank the Reaper’s Blood, he believed it would make him invincible, but instead the potion is killing him. In Emil’s race to find an antidote that will not only save his brother but also rid him of his own unwanted phoenix powers, he will have to dig deep into his past lives.

Iron Cast by Destiny Soria: In 1919 Boston, best friends Corinne and Ada perform illegally as illusionists in an infamous gangster's nightclub, using their "afflicted" blood to con Boston's elite, until the law closes in.

Labyrinth Lost by Zoraida Cordova: Alex is a bruja and the most powerful witch in her family. . When a curse she performs to rid herself of magic backfires and her family vanishes, she must travel to Los Lagos to get her family back.

The Last 8 by Laura Pohl: After an alien attack devastates the Earth, pilot and future astronaut Clover Martinez bands with seven other teens to survive.

Lobizona by Romina Garber: As Manuela Azul uncovers her own story and traces her real heritage all the way back to a cursed city in Argentina, she learns it’s not just her U.S. residency that’s illegal… .it’s her entire existence.

Lost in the Never Woods by Aiden Thomas: When children start to go missing in the local woods, eighteen-year-old Wendy Darling must face her fears and a past she cannot remember to rescue them in this novel based on Peter Pan.

The Mind Virus (Wired #3) by Donna Freitas: Skylar Cruz has managed to shut down the body market that her sister Jude opened, and to create a door to allow App World citizens reentry into the Real World. But as tensions between the newly mingling people escalate, she s not sure if it was the right decision after all. Still reeling from Kit’s betrayal, she s not sure of anything anymore.

Miss Meteor by Tehlor Kay Mejia & Anna-Marie McLemore: Two friends, Lita Perez or Chicky Quintanilla, one made of stardust and one fighting to save her family’s diner, take on their small town’s 50th annual pageant in the hopes that they can change their town’s destiny, and their own.

The Mirror Season by Anna-Marie McLemore: Graciela Cristales meets Lock, a boy who was sexually assaulted at the same party as her, and they find their fates unexpectedly intertwined during a month of vanishing trees, enchanted pan dulce, and inherited magic.

More Happy Than Not by Adam Silvera: After enduring his father's suicide, his own suicide attempt, broken friendships, and more in the Bronx projects, Aaron Soto, sixteen, is already considering the Leteo Institute's memory-alteration procedure when his new friendship with Thomas turns to unrequited love.

Never Look Back by Lilliam Rivera: An Afro-Latinx retelling of Orpheus and Eurydice set in the Bronx. Pheus is a bachata-singing dreamer who falls in love with Eury, a girl who lost everything in Hurricane Maria and is haunted by the trauma—and by an evil spirit.

Nocturna by Maya Motayne: In the Latinx-inspired kingdom of Castallan, face-changing thief Finn Voy and grief-stricken Prince Alfehr must race to vanquish a dark magic they have unleashed.

Oculta (A Forgery of Magic #2) by Maya Motayne: After joining forces to save Castallan from an ancient magical evil, Alfie and Finn reunite once again to preserve Castallan’s hopes for peace with Englass. But will they be able to stop sinister foes before a new war threatens their kingdom?

Pitch Dark by Courtney Alameda: Tuck Durante, a shipraider, and Lana Gray, a curator, must work together to try to rescue a space capsule hijacked by nightmarish creatures who kill with a scream.

Rated by Melissa Grey: For the students at the prestigious Maplethorpe Academy, every single thing they do is reflected in their Ratings System. But when an act of vandalism sullies the front doors of the school, it sets off a chain reaction that will shake the lives of six special students – and the world beyond.

Sanctuary by Abby Sher & Paola Mendoza: In a near future dystopian America set 2030, 16-year-old Vail and her brother must escape a xenophobic government to find sanctuary in California.

The Savage Dawn (Girl at Midnight #3) by Melissa Grey: A darkness has entered the world and the Dragon Prince is wreaking havoc wherever she goes. With the war upon her, Echo must use every bit of her firebird powers or risk losing those she holds dear.

Seven Deadly Shadows by Courtney Alameda & Valynne E. Maetani: A contemporary fantasy set in Japan, about Shinto temple priestess Kira Fujikawa, who must seek the aid of seven demons in order to protect her village and the world from an ancient evil.

Shadow City (The City of Diamond and Steel #2) by Francesa Flores: Aina Solís has fought her way to the top of criminal ranks in the city of Kosín by wresting control of an assassin empire owned by her old boss, Kohl. But Kohl will do anything to get his empire back.

The Shadow Hour (The Girl at Midnight #2) by Melissa Grey: With the firebird awakened, the war has become even more dangerous for Echo and her friends. There is a darkness spreading too and staying in hiding might not be enough to keep them alive.

Shadowshaper by Daniel Jose Older: When her summer plans are interrupted by supernatural phenomena, Puerto Rican teen Sierra Santiago finds herself in a battle with the killer targeting her family of shadowshapers who believes she is hiding their greatest secret.

Shadowhouse Fall (Shadowshaper #2) by Daniel Jose Older: While working on her shadowshaping skills, Sierra Santiago is beginning to think she may need all the skill she can summon because it seems that when she channeled hundreds of spirits through herself in order to defeat Wick, she woke up something very powerful and very unfriendly and put her family and friends at risk.

Shadowshaper Legacy (Shadowshaper #3) by Daniel Jose Older: Sierra Santiago and the shadowshapers have been split apart, but a war is brewing among the houses. As old fates tangle with new powers, Sierra will have to harness the Deck of Worlds and confront her family’s past if she has any hope of saving the future and everyone she loves.

Shutter by Courtney Alameda: When a routine assignment goes awry, 17-year-old ghost hunter Micheline Helsing is infected with a curse and on the run, pursued as a renegade agent by her monster-hunting father, with only seven days to exorcise the entity or be destroyed body and soul.

Sia Martinez and the Moonlit Beginning of Everything by Raquel Vasquez Gilliland: A Mexican American teenage girl discovers profound connections between immigration, folklore, and alien life, when a spacecraft crashes in front of her car…and it’s carrying her long-lost mom, who’s very much alive.

Tigers, Not Daughters by Samantha Mabry: Loosely inspired by the story of King Lear and his daughters, set in San Antonio, Texas, following the Torres sisters, struggling to escape their tyrannical father’s claustrophobic world while dealing with the loss of their eldest sister, whose troubling death continues to haunt—perhaps even literally—the loved ones left behind.

Undead Girl Gang by Lily Anderson: While investigating the supposed suicides of her best friend, Riley, and mean girls June and Dayton, 16-year-old Wiccan Mila Flores accidentally brings them back to life.

Unplugged by Donna Freitas: When she moves from the Virtual World to the Real one, Skylar Cruz discovers that her body is both exquisite and valuable -- a dangerous combination in a place where bodies are sought after in sinister ways.

Wayward Witch (Brooklyn Brujas #3) by Zoraida Cordova: Rose Mortiz begins to discover the scope of her powers, the troubling truth about her father’s past, and the sacrifices he made to save her sisters. But if Rose wants to return home so she can repair her broken family, she must figure out how to heal the land of Adas, a fairy realm hidden in the Caribbean Sea, first.

The Weight of Feathers by Anna-Marie McLemore: Although Lace Paloma knows all about the feud between the Palomas and the Corbeaus, she finds herself falling for Cluck Corbeau when he saves her life while both families are performing in the same town.

We Set the Dark on Fire by Tehlor Kay Mejia: When she is asked to spy for a resistance group working to bring equality to Medio, Daniela Vargas, a student at the Medio School for Girls, questions everything she's worked for.

We Unleash the Merciless Storm (We Set the Dark on Fire #2) by Tehlor Kay Mejia: La Voz operative Carmen Santos is forced to choose between the girl she loves, Dani, and the success of the rebellion she’s devoted her life to.

When the Moon Was Ours by Anna-Marie McLemore: As odd as everyone considers Miel and Sam, even they stay away from the Bonner girls, four beautiful sisters rumored to be witches. Now they want the roses that grow from Miel's skin, convinced that their scent can make anyone fall in love. And they're willing to use every secret Miel has fought to protect to make sure she gives them up.

Wild Beauty by Anna-Marie McLemore: A novel of magical realism, the Nomeolvides women have tended the lust estate grounds of La Pradera which they’ve grown for generations, until the reemergence of a family curse starts to makes the men they love disappear, again.

#authors of color #latinx authors #booklr #book recs #book recommendations #yalit

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thestarsoutofyourwindow · 3 years

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To Survive this Pain, Part 1 - 11th Doctor x Reader

A/n: I'm not dead, I promise! I've just been struggling to finish off fics. If this seems slightly rushed it's because I just needed to finish something. It's exam season (it's extra-long now due to a certain virus), but they're over in a few weeks. I've been trying to stretch into writing for different Doctors, and in my new formats, but good old Eleven is easiest to write. Inbox is still open :)

Word Count: 2596

Summary: After the "death" of Amy and Rory, the Doctor is devastated. After deciding to isolate himself on a cloud, he leaves you with the Paternoster Gang till Strax informs you the Doctor wants to see you.

Warnings: Angst, Cold Doctor, Doctor is slightly ooc due to guilt, mild self-inflicted Injury, Bouts of Rage.

I should try to post part two as soon as possible.

This is my first ever Full Story (GIF isn't mine).

Your shoes splashed through puddles on the cobblestone road, on your way down to the park of which you knew he would be.

You hadn't heard from him in a short while now, but Jenny and Vastra frequently advising you to pay him a visit had been getting to you. That's why, when Strax brought you the news that the Doctor wanted to see you, you leapt at the opportunity.

You were worried, you'll admit. It was clear as day that losing Amy and Rory had him tearing himself to pieces. It was only a matter of time before he sent you off, too. Before he abandoned you.

Weaving around the quiet Victorian streets, the sun still yet to grace the sky, you had arrived at the park. Looking around the odd trees that decorated the perimeter, you picked out the tree that you knew had the elusive ladder directly above it. You stepped over the beds of wilting flowers that lined the pathways into the overgrown grass.

After completing the feat of reaching the ladders, consisting of either jumping or using your umbrella handle, you had successfully pulled the ladder down far enough to climb onto.

Making your way up the ice-cold rungs, you take a moment to consider why the Doctor called for you in the first place.

It made little sense to you. After all, the Doctor had been avoiding you for the better part of two months now; what had changed?

The Doctor planning on taking you home became all the more likely in your mind as you began to climb the spiral staircase, shivering as the late-autumn air nipped at your skin. Winter was slowly breaking through the remaining life.

If you weren't so hung up on adjusting to the less-than-ideal state of Victorian England, you would've had more time to worry about the Doctor. However, he was so hung up with his own issues, and you with yours, that he only crossed your mind when you were settling down for the night.

Of course, it hurt that you too. Never seeing Amy and Rory again. You did your best to hold onto the fact that they lived a happy life together.

A life that you knew could never have. You wish you could say goodbye to them, but you chose to carry the loss with you.

You were exhausted, it was safe to say. Spending your days helping out the Paternoster Gang with new cases that come in was certainly frustrating, especially when you had to avoid so much. Milk, green dyes, dodgy stairs, aliens and gas leaks. Nothing was safe in Victorian times.

Not that you didn't enjoy the company, mind you. Jenny always provided conversation, and paired with Vastra, there were plenty of investigations to be had. You just missed them all, sometimes.

The Doctor had become such a vital figure in your life that it didn't seem right for him to not be there. When you had both lost Donna, you were there for each other, and even then, he was a wreck. You had spent those first two months together, and you had never felt closer to someone before. At first, you couldn't admit it to yourself, but after six years, you knew that was when you started falling for him.

There was so much you didn't understand about him, yet so much he had begun to explain. You had seen and done so much together, places that surprised and scared the both of you. In distant worlds and ancient times, there lay so many memories that you had forgotten. Just another thing consumed by time.

A simple flip through your diaries would confirm that through all that, you admired him: mattering not which of his faces. You had accepted from the start that he was an unobtainable desire, no matter how you looked at it.

He was old, alien and a danger-magnet. Many considered the Doctor to be a God.

It upset you to know that the Doctor could never love you, not in the way you love him. Not in the way that he had shown you what love could be, what it should be. But that was what you had to expect from the Doctor.

You assumed that consistently losing those he loved must hurt immensely. You also imagine losing someone he could spend the rest of his lives with would leave another unfixable hole in his heart.

So it made sense to you that the Doctor would never willingly fall for a human. Your short life-spans and weak bodies meant that so much as a single bullet could rob you of your life.

The thought of what a state he must've been in at that very moment was disturbing, to say the least. You had seen the Doctor angry before, and it was not an easy sight.

His heart held so much pain, so much guilt.

After what felt like a good three minutes, you stepped off the staircase. Your shoes now emerged in a cloud, which could somehow keep you from plummeting into the streets below. You felt surprisingly light, almost like you were standing in a pit of feathers, yet some odd force kept you from losing your balance. Plucking your key out of your pocket, you press your hand against the door of the TARDIS. You unlock the door, pulling the key from the lock and stepping into the Console room.

You called out for him. After listening for a moment, you concluded that the Doctor must've been elsewhere.

The TARDIS was a glum sight. Most of the orange lights were dimmed: if functioning at all. A few even had fist-holes in them. There were what looked like hundreds of books cluttering the console, all of varying topics: The Time War, Time Lord Psychology, the History of the Universe, Earth History, Greatest War Losses. Some had bookmarks; others he had clearly tabbed.

Paper littered the glass flooring, each scribbled in several handwritings. They all clearly varied in ages and sizes, some a muddy brown, others a vivid white. Quite a lot were in small clusters of pages, as though they were ripped from a book. You picked up one of the sheets to inspect closer, and your heart nearly broke.

Each page had a sort of date in the corner, which you quickly realised must've been an approximation of the Doctor's age at the time. They were diary entries, ripped out and thrown in what you assumed to be a fit of rage.

The Doctors' tweed jacket had slipped off the console and onto the floor. The contents of his pockets spilt out onto the floor.

You leant to pick it up, grimacing at just how much he was carrying around. Throwing the jacket over the railing, you avoided stepping on any more pieces of paper.

"Tidy some of this, will you?" You addressed the TARDIS, a hand on the edge of the controls, "I'll go talk to him, where is he?" The TARDIS clicked and hummed in response, showing you a blueprint on the monitor, "The Library? Okay then."

Darting out of the Console Room, you attempt to discover the library as soon as possible. You vaguely remembered the three places the library is most likely to crop up. You went from there. Fortunately for you, you didn't have to go far before the library appeared.

You had always felt as though the library was too empty. Four stories of shelves filled with books, all visible from the ground floor, the rows of shelves created a sort of maze of titles and colours. The Doctor must've owned every single book in the galaxy, judging by the sheer size. Not to mention the several dozen or so empty seats. The library could easily hold thousands of people at once, yet there is rarely ever so much as a whisper.

You had a fair clue as to why the Doctor would be hiding away in there.

There the Doctor was, turned away from the door, in an intricately decorated armchair. You could just about make out the top of his head. You loomed behind him awkwardly, unsure or not if he was aware of your presence.

"Doctor?" You faltered. His head perked up slightly, and the Doctor strained out a hum. He stood up, his arms tiredly hanging at his sides after he stretched. It checked out with your fit of rage theory. The Doctor walked up to you, and you only then noticed how fraught he was.

His expression was tired, eyes sunken and lips pressed into a thin line. His shirt was unkempt: the sleeves were torn slightly. It also appeared burnt or covered in dust. His hands were covered in dust too.

However, you noticed that his right hand had quite a few cuts and gashes, which all seeped out orange-tinted blood.

His greenish-brown eyes search yours for a moment as a tear rolls down his cheek. He inhales deeply, nodding to himself.

"Look, I..." The Doctor paused, again glancing over into your eyes, "I'm sorry- I can't, I can't do this," He took in a trembling gasp for air, "I don't want to, but I can't keep doing this. I'm sick of it. I can't keep losing people. I'm so sick of saving the universe." Unsure of what to you, you reach a hand out to the Doctors. He puts a hand on top of yours, keeping the other, bloodier fist at his side. You brush your thumb over his knuckles, his hand hot against yours. The Doctor continues, "Everyone, everyone who travels with me leaves, or dies, and I'm always alone again. Alone and in pain. I can't keep doing this..."

Smiling sadly, you nod, "I understand," You looked back up at the Doctor, "If you called me here to convince me to go home-"

"Take you home?" The Doctor's voice cracked, "I could never. That'd be just as bad as losing you. I need you."

Oh, the Doctor have his way of making you feel important at the worst moments. Your insides bubbled giddily, but you refused to show it. Instead, you ignored it to the best of your ability; what he was saying was important.

Your attention had fallen back down to his hand, and it looked considerably worse than you initially thought. Pieces of glass dug into his knuckles, the skin seeming gnarled by the force of the oncoming storm, "Doctor, your hand,"

"It's fine." The Doctor seethed, staring numbly at you, "I'm not human, it's not going to kill me."

You wanted to protest. However, given the Doctor's already fragile temperament, you weren't going to push it. Instead, after an instant of silence, you asked a simple question, "How have you been, then?"

The Doctor blinked, giving an answer careful thought. He had an earnest grimace as he finally spoke, "Furious."

"I can see, that" You hum, putting equal thought into how you should approach your response, "What do you think you're going to do, now?"

"Stay here. I'm not getting involved anymore." The Doctor spat, pulling his hand away from yours, turning to sit down, "I don't want to care."

"That's fair enough." You reassure. You didn't like the sound of the Doctor retiring too much, but you respected his choice. If he didn't want to save the world, he doesn't have to. You hoped that, in his chosen conditions, he would heal.

You vowed to yourself at that moment that you'd do everything you could to help him. Starting with his physical injuries.

You heard the armchair squeak softly as the Doctor flopped back against it, picking up a book from the coffee table and beginning to read. You headed back over to the door and grabbed the small medkit from the bracket on the wall. You paced back to the Doctor, pulling a pouffe from a few feet away to sit on. The Doctor glared daggers at you, exhaling sharply and holding his arm out in your general direction. You thanked him meekly, beginning to remove the sharp, reinforced glass shards from his knuckles.

If you were new to travelling with the Doctor, you thought that seeing this might hurt you more. However, six years of travelling was more than enough for the two of you to be used to this sort of treatment. He never seemed to care much about his physical health, more about yours. That often ended up in you worrying about the Doctor, not that you minded. You supposed it worked out, as you both fussed over each other. If the Doctor's previous face saw how he was acting, you were sure he'd have a fit. Not that he mattered, as he was still a part of the man in front of you.

You could tell by the downtrodden way he pretended to read his book, staring a hole through it, that something was bothering him.

"Are you scared of me?" The Doctor halted, voice brittle. He had taken note of how delicate you were and had drawn it up to a fear that the Doctor would lash out at you.

"No," You shushed, focusing on removing the glass from his hands.

"You don't sound sure,"

"I am." You reassured bluntly, "I'm just being careful. I don't want to hurt you more."

"I'm not hurt! You don't need to fuss over me,"

You lifted your eyebrows slightly, "There's nothing wrong with feeling, Doctor. As you said yourself, feelings enhance life." The Doctor exhaled petulantly, eyes back on his book. "But not even you can be in pain forever."

"What is my alternative?" The Doctor strangled out, "I forget? I do something selfish?"

You grimace as you remove the last small shard from his pinky. You take out a clean cloth and some water, dampening the rag as you speak, "You're forced to survive this pain, this guilt, but you will grow from it. You make mistakes so that you learn from them."

You gently clear the blood from his hands and start to apply mild pressure to the deeper wounds. The two of you continued in silence, the Doctor only occasionally removing his hand to turn the page.

He was such a different person to the goofball front you were used to. He was melancholic. However, you would see a small amount of your Doctor bubbling to the surface. He would occasionally chuckle at the book he was reading or draw circles on your palm as you held his hand still. It provided you with enough comfort to know that you weren't wasting your time.

You finished up your last-minute medical care with a bandage around his hand. You closed the medkit.

"Alright, I'm just going to go restock this, then I'll go tidy up the paper in the console room,"

"Oh- right that... Must've been a mess. I'm sorry,"

"It's okay." You smiled pleasantly, "Come find me if you need me, okay? I won't be far,"

The Doctor caught your hand in his, just as you were about to leave, he tugged at your arm. You leant down, and the Doctor pressed a short kiss to your cheek. You countered with a kiss of your own on the middle of his forehead. Just like you used to, back with his previous incarnation.

As you wandered off, you were oblivious as to what that gesture meant. Was it a thank you? Another apology? Was it even platonic?

From behind you, you swore that he said something you thought you'd never hear the Doctor say.

#eleventh doctor x reader #11th doctor x reader #the doctor x reader #doctor who x reader #angst #part 1 #crying #slight fluff

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no6secretsanta · 3 years

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Stay

From @pigeonsimba to @crowmunculus

The winter chill bites into Nezumi’s skin, tugging his hood back with icy fingers and nipping at his nose and ears until his whole head aches.

Well, aches more, as Nezumi already has a tension headache from clenching his teeth all throughout play practice. Why is it so hard for them to get it?

He knows No. 6 has never been a hub for the arts—that, in fact, until eight years ago, the arts and any other form of self-expression was illegal—but since the wall was torn down and the citizens of No. 6 and West Block were encouraged to mingle, Nezumi would have thought at least some talent might have managed to slip through.

But no. The whole group is a pile of steaming shit.

Nezumi has been working with the troupe for a little over half a year, and they are still as miserable as when he first stepped through the door and ripped their run-through of Into the Woods to shreds. He barely managed to whip them into shape before showtime, and he only deigned to intercede because he could not bear to see a musical butchered so thoroughly in front of a live audience. The end result was passable, but apparently so improved from the group’s prior performances that the actors begged Nezumi to stay on as their director.

Nezumi had been steadfastly against it, but Shion insinuated it might be good for him, and Karan started making obvious comments about how great Nezumi was at theater, and finally Inukashi cracked and told him to fucking agree to the job already so he could stop mooching off of Karan’s goodwill.

Nezumi viciously regrets letting himself be bullied into taking the position. The worst of the volunteers act with all the charisma of wooden dolls; the best are sycophantic hams who howl their lines into the audience and throw themselves upon the stage props like “drama” means “dramatics.” Nezumi wants to cull the whole theater, but he’s already invested so much time into it that he’s loath to start over with a fresh crop of amateurs.

It seems No. 6 will always be a seat of disappointment and frustration for him, no matter how nicely the city functioned now under the Restructural Committee. It’s nights like this when Nezumi wishes he was still on the road.

When he was traveling the world with nothing but the clothes on his back and his knife at his hip, he only had nature and his thoughts to contend with. The land never disappointed him the way people did; though it tested him almost as much.

He had staggered, starving, over endless yellowing plains; been bitten and stung by animals and insects he hadn’t known the names of; his skin had blistered from trekking over golden hills of sand under the relentless sun; he had hallucinated from hypothermia and nearly died in the mountains outside No. 4.

But Nezumi had always been a survivor, and for every time he skirted death, he gained a little more appreciation for the world around him. It had power he could never wield, power the human race would never possess nor fully understand. Elyurias had shown him his first taste of the wonder of the unknown, however bitter that lesson had been.

Alone in the wilderness, there is no one to blame but yourself if things go wrong. The elements are punishing, but they are impartial. The sun doesn’t burn him to show its might; the rivers’ currents don’t snatch at his ankles to bring him to his knees; the trees don’t shed their leaves to rob him of shelter and food. The elements don’t care whether he lived or died. Nezumi means nothing to them and they have nothing to prove.

Nezumi had traveled the world for seven years, and even though he knew there was more to see, there had come a morning when he woke and the stillness in his chest said that it was enough; it was time to make good on his promise and attempt to put down roots.

So far, Nezumi has done well to keep the wanderlust to a low murmur in his chest, but sometimes, the roots still feel like choking tethers. He misses the days when he only had himself to rely on, the freedom of knowing that if someone’s company no longer suited him, or a job grew stagnant, he could simply pick up and move on.

Nezumi’s pocket vibrates and the reverie slips away in an exasperated cloud of breath when he checks his phone’s lit-up screen. It’s Midori, the most veteran actor in the troupe and resident thorn in Nezumi’s side. The woman is a prima donna in every sense of the word, but that’s not why she’s on Nezumi’s shit list: prima donnas he could deal with, but Midori is a frustrating mix of loudly entitled and deeply self-conscious. She demands starring roles, only to repeatedly ask for praise and reassurance of her abilities.

He presses the silence button and stuffs the phone back in his pocket. He’s already late and he’s almost to Shion’s house, and he doesn’t want to exacerbate his headache or Midori’s fragile self-worth by spitting venom into a receiver.

Yet another thing to miss about wandering through the wilderness: no phones. Every mile walked in blessed silence.

Nezumi mounts the stairs to Shion’s apartment and fumbles to pull the spare key Shion gave him out of his pocket and shove it into the lock. The brass door knob is so cold the metal burns in his hand as he turns it and slips inside.

Only the lamp beside the couch is on, but the apartment is small enough that the soft light is enough to illuminate the whole space. The front door opens onto a neat little kitchen, and beyond that is the living room, outfitted with a small dining table, an armchair, and a couch and coffee table. Two long bookcases span the length of the back wall, their shelves and tops stacked with novels half pilfered from the underground room and half collected by Shion over the years. The heaps atop the bookcases are high enough that they block the windows behind, so in the afternoons, the sunlight has to steal through the crevices of the towers like a thief, painting irregular patterns on the laminate floors and over the thick-fibered rug that lays beneath the coffee table. The bedroom and bathroom lay off to the right, completing the tour of Shion’s humble abode.

It’s odd to enter the house and realize that it’s Shion’s home. It’s a far step up from the underground room, and certainly much nicer than any of the places Nezumi has lived in since.

Nezumi makes a cursory glance around the quiet living space, but he doesn’t see Shion. He frowns and checks his phone for missed texts or calls, but there’s only the ones from Midori.

Maybe he stepped out? Nezumi is more than a half an hour late, after all, but it would be very out of character for Shion to walk out when he is expecting guests.

The bedroom door is shut and silent, and Nezumi wonders whether Shion is changing. Or possibly he’s asleep, Nezumi considers drily. It wouldn’t be the first time Shion invited him over, only to pass out in the middle of the visit.

Well, if Shion did forget he invited Nezumi over, or accidently fell asleep in his room, Nezumi isn’t going to just turn around and return to his room at Karan’s bakery. It’s too freaking cold out and his stomach is growling like a wild animal, so Nezumi removes his shoes and pads into the kitchen in search of something small and quiet to eat.

A snatch of deep blue fabric catches his eye as he moves toward the cabinet to grab a bowl: a tie thrown over the back of the dining room table chair. Shion’s leather briefcase lays splayed over the table, its papers peeking out of the lip where the buckle isn’t fastened properly.

The corner of Nezumi’s mouth quirks up. He had always thought of Shion as a neat person—after all, Shion threw a fit about the state of the underground room and systematically organized the whole space, and only a neat freak would do something so pointless when they knew full well Nezumi was just going to come back and muck it up again. But after returning to No. 6 and reacquainting himself with Shion, Nezumi discovered that Shion isn’t quite as uptight as he thought.

Shion is by no means untidy, but he has habitual ways of making messes: clothes strewn over his bed, cartons left on countertops, reading glasses and mugs and paperwork abandoned on the coffee table for days before Shion remembers to put them away.

Maybe Shion had been more Type A when he was sixteen, and his time working in the real world has forced him to bend in the interest of saving time, but Nezumi has a different theory: Shion had been on his best behavior in the underground room because he had always thought of it as Nezumi’s home and himself a guest staying there.

Nezumi knows he hadn’t been an easy person to live with, and he can’t say with certainty that if Shion had left messes around the underground room that he wouldn’t have used them as ammunition to threaten and criticize Shion when he felt they were getting too close.

Nezumi presses his lips together as every slight, and scowl, and unkindness he’d shown Shion when they were kids flits through his memory. No, he hadn’t been the easiest person to live with, and despite Shion’s constant probing and declarations of affection, there had always been a wall between them—mostly of Nezumi’s making, but at least part of the distance between them came from Shion’s stubborn misjudgments of his character.

Neither of them understood themselves well then, and that had made it impossible for them to understand each other.

But that was the past, and Nezumi has learned not to hold onto the things he can’t change. He and Shion aren’t the same people now, and they have agreed to start from scratch. Still, he can’t help the surprise he feels when Shion acts contrary to his perceptions, or the pangs of guilt when memories of his past conduct rise unbidden to his mind.

Nezumi peers over the countertop and finds Shion’s shiny dress shoes kicked off against the side of the heavy coffee table. A fogged-up plate cover rests atop the table, laid upon a dish towel to protect the lacquer, and Nezumi abandons foraging for a bowl to investigate. He spots a tuft of white against the dark gray of the couch and realizes that Shion is not sleeping in the bedroom after all.

The couch isn’t long enough for him to stretch out, so Shion is curled on his side in the fetal position, half of his face pressed so snugly into one of the throw pillows that Nezumi suspects he’ll have the lines and seams imprinted on his cheek when he wakes. The top few buttons of Shion’s shirt are undone, as are the buttons at his wrists, the sleeves rolled back to reveal the pale skin of his arms. Nezumi’s gaze traces the edges of the red scar wending its way around Shion’s neck, following its path until it slips beneath the collar of his shirt. He looks peaceful, and Nezumi feels some of the tension ebb out of his head and shoulders as he studies the sleeping man.

It’s odd to think of him—them—that way, as a “man.” On the road, Nezumi always remembered Shion as he had been: cute and heartbreakingly earnest, with his fluffy white hair, big brown eyes, and even bigger ideas. Nezumi had found him equal parts endearing and maddening. But the years have shaped Shion into a man of consequence and elegance.

When he walks into a room, the gravity shifts in his direction; Nezumi’s seen it on televised programs and in person. People are drawn to Shion like bees to a brilliant flower, and Nezumi has never seen someone who’s able to resist Shion’s easy charm; everyone caught in conversation with him leaves smiling and murmuring praises, no exceptions.

Nezumi always joked about Shion being royalty, but he never imagined Shion might actually become No. 6’s new era prince. Calling him Your Highness and Your Majesty seem less like teases now than his actual titles.

But Nezumi doesn’t call Shion those nicknames anymore. The first time he slipped into his old habit, Shion had given him such a look that Nezumi almost excused himself from Karan’s bakery and skipped town again. Apparently, being part of the Restructural Committee has made Shion painfully conscious of how tyrannical governments can be, and he will no longer tolerate Nezumi referring to him as No. 6’s ruler, even in jest.

That’s new: being deferential to Shion. Nezumi isn’t sure whether he’s so cautious because he’s changed enough that he cares about getting into—and staying in—Shion’s good graces, or if it’s that Shion has just become that much more intense.

Shion’s always been too much for him to handle: too warm, too stubborn, too bright, too naive. Too human. The winter they spent together in the underground room was the happiest and most terrifying winter of Nezumi’s life. West Block taught him never to get attached to anything, because he never knew when it would be snatched from him. Nezumi didn’t know how to throw Shion away, and he didn’t know how to keep him safe, so every moment they spent together was like slowly drowning.

The time away from each other has worked wonders on Nezumi’s emotional growth, and he had thought he was ready to come back and face Shion as equals, but Shion is still too much for him. The important difference between now and then, however, is that Nezumi doesn’t want to run from the challenge. He doesn’t need to fight to live anymore and Shion certainly doesn’t need his protection, so that leaves them free to be human together.

Only, Nezumi is still learning how to fully be himself in front of someone he actually wants to see every day. A transient life doesn’t give one much practice on building lasting relationships. But he’s working on it, and this new, grown-up Shion doesn’t seem to be in a rush to prise him apart.

A yellow sticky note is stuck to the top of the plate cover, and when Nezumi cranes his head to read the cramped script, a smile steals over his face. The note says, “Wake me up before you eat!” The words “wake me up” are darkened and underlined several times, a warning that this isn’t a request; it’s an order.

Nezumi has ignored Shion’s verbal instructions to wake him many times before, so he’s not sure why Shion thinks emphatic notes are going to have more weight. God knows Shion needs the sleep. He’s up at 5:00 a.m., works until the sun is far below the horizon, only to come home and continue working. If he passes out on the couch from exhaustion, Nezumi figures he shouldn’t mess with the natural order of things.

But, well… Shion did invite him over, and tonight Nezumi is feeling like a little company.

So, he muses to himself, how should I go about this?

One time, he woke Shion by dropping a stack of books on the table. He thought it would be funny to see him jump at the loud noise, but Shion screamed instead, scaring the shit out of them both. Shion was surly with him for the rest of the afternoon, but he paid Nezumi back the next morning by sneaking into his room at the bakery at the ass-crack of dawn and dumping an armful of paperbacks onto Nezumi’s head before he skipped off to work. That was some cold-served revenge Nezumi hadn’t expected and wouldn’t soon forget.

Tonight, Nezumi decides he’d rather wake Shion gently, so as to avoid any vengeful repercussions.

He reaches for Shion’s shoulder and gives him a light shake. A low groan of resistance rumbles in Shion’s throat and Nezumi gives him another nudge. “Shion. You asked for this, remember?”

Shion’s brow creases and he burrows his face deeper into the pillow, until all Nezumi can see is the mess of his sleep-mussed hair. Nezumi’s mouth twitches. Cute.

The mischievous part of his brain tells him to blow in Shion’s ear, but the rational side knows better. Nezumi slips his fingers into the soft strands of Shion’s hair and gives it a ruffle. It’s criminally soft and warm against his winter-chilled fingers.

“Wake up, Shion,” Nezumi whispers, combing the snowy locks behind his ear. “I’m hungry.”

Finally, Shion lifts his head and squints at him. “Mm. Hey. Did you just get here?” he manages, just before a huge yawn claims him.

Nezumi slides his fingers once more through Shion’s downy hair while he’s too sleepy to really notice, then folds his arms over his chest.

Shion sits up and stretches his legs out in front of him, bumping his feet against the base of the coffee table. “How was work?”

Nezumi screws his mouth to the side, but his headache has dissipated and he can’t drum up the level of annoyance he felt on the walk over, so he answers with a blasé, “Fine. Everyone still sucks.”

Shion flashes him a quick, sleepy smile and nods at the table. “I made dinner.”

Nezumi plucks the fogged-up plate cover off the dish and discovers dinner is chili. “Finally got around to using that crockpot, huh?”

“It was really easy to make. You just throw the ingredients in there and time does the rest.”

“Mhm…. You know you’re supposed to refrigerate this, or keep it in the pot until it’s ready to be served?”

Shion shrugs. “It hasn’t been out that long.”

“It’s gone cold. How long have you been sleeping on the couch? Do you even know what time it is?” Nezumi glances over at the microwave clock.

Shion slants a look at him. “Time to stop being mean to me. I just woke up from a nap, and you know how I get when I’m woken up from a nap.”

Nezumi feigns a cringe. “Yes. All too well.” He takes the bowl and crosses the room to pop it in the microwave.

When he turns back around, he finds Shion tidying the living room, heaping the dish towel, the plate cover, and his fancy work shoes into his arms before moving to the kitchen table for his tie and bag. He still looks half asleep. Nezumi leans back against the counter and watches Shion stumble around in the half light, his hands full of his mess.

For all that Shion has grown, he’s still very much the boy Nezumi remembers: soft and effortless and searching. Teenaged Nezumi had been a fortress, but Shion’s goodness always fleet-footed its way up the ramparts.

Shion’s quiet tenacity used to scare him. Now it feels like a blessing that someone cares enough to try to breach his walls. If Nezumi hadn’t had the memories of Shion’s warmth through the lonely nights of travel, he wasn’t sure what paths he would have taken, or if the journey would ever have led him back to No. 6.

Shion catches him staring and pauses on the other side of the island counter. “Why are you laughing at me?”

“I haven’t made a sound.”

“Your eyes are laughing at me.”

Nezumi snorts. “My, we really are in a bad mood, aren’t we?”

Shion’s shoulders drop and he sighs. “Yeah, sorry. Today was…long.” He shifts the heap he has collected in his arms and turns to the dining table, weighing his chances of success should he try to add the paper-laden briefcase to his horde.

“You should go to bed,” Nezumi says. “You look one object away from crumpling to the floor. I’ll clean up and leave once I’m done with eating.”

“No, I want to have dinner with you tonight. That’s why I invited you over. I just…” Shion hums in thought, still sizing up the briefcase. He clicks his tongue. “Oh, never mind. I give up,” Shion huffs, and dumps the collection in his arms onto the far end of the table to be fussed over at a time when he has more brain power to deal with it.

Nezumi chuckles, and turns to the beeping microwave to retrieve his food.

Shion settles himself in his designated chair, and Nezumi takes up the seat across from him.

“Where’s your bowl?” Nezumi asks. “You said you wanted to eat dinner with me.”

“Hm? Oh…” Shion colors slightly. “Right, well… I was hungry when I got home, and it was a while before you were supposed to come over, so I already ate.”

Nezumi raises an eyebrow. “And you were asleep before I even got here. I wonder why I came over at all. These are not the actions of a host looking forward to his guest.”

“I was looking forward to you coming over,” Shion insists. “I would have called you to cancel, if I wasn’t. And falling asleep was not on purpose.”

“It was on purpose enough that you had the forethought to leave a note to wake you up.”

Shion has no defense for that, apparently, and drops his gaze to the steam rising from the chili bowl. Nezumi bites down on a smile.

“I can make a small bowl for myself, if you want to eat together,” Shion offers, but Nezumi waves him off.

“Just keep me company and I’ll consider you forgiven.”

The chili is delicious, the perfect balance of spices and liquid consistency. But then, it’s Karan’s recipe, so of course it’s perfect.

When Nezumi first arrived in No. 6, he stayed in a room on the cusp between what used to be West Block territory and Lost Town. He remained there, alone, for a week, fussing over when and where and how he would announce to Shion he was back. He finally resolved upon visiting Karan first, since she was the mini boss in this situation.

Karan hugged him before he even finished reintroducing himself, and things snowballed from there. A month later, Nezumi found himself moved into Shion’s old room in the Lost Town bakery and having family dinners with Karan, Shion, Inukashi, baby Shionn, and occasionally Rikiga. The warm family atmosphere is at once disorienting, uncomfortable, and deeply satisfying. Being part of a greater whole appeals to a part of himself that Nezumi hadn’t even realized he had been missing.

The biggest perk of living with Karan, however, is that Nezumi has his pick of the most delicious foods and pastries imaginable. Nezumi has experienced some extremely novel, odd, and mouth-watering cuisines while traveling abroad, but Karan’s cooking could compete with the best of them. She makes simple things, comfort food, but every recipe is executed perfectly, and Nezumi would take common food made well over fancy dishes any day.

Shion rests his chin in his hand and says nothing as Nezumi eats. He looks more alert now. The glossy film of sleep has faded from his eyes, and Shion’s gaze is back to its usual level of penetrating. Shion’s ability to stare like he can see past all your bullshit directly into your soul hasn’t changed one bit. In fact, being a member of No. 6’s governing body seems to have made his perceptions more astute.

This is both a comfort and a cause of deep uneasiness.

“You must like it,” Shion says, “because you’re not saying anything.”

Nezumi spoons another bite into his mouth and chews on that comment. “I’m not sure I like what you’re insinuating. It sounds like you think I only talk to criticize.”

Shion straightens. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Fishing for compliments, then?” Nezumi shrugs a shoulder. “Alright. Karan’s recipe is really delicious. You must give her my praises.”

Shion turns face away and shakes his head, but Nezumi still catches the curve of his incredulous smirk. Nighttime sparring is Nezumi’s preferred type, because Shion is usually too tired to win.

“Deliver the praises yourself,” Shion says. “You live there, not me.”

“I compliment Karan all the time. But I don’t think it means as much coming from me.”

“It means a lot. Mom loves you.”

Nezumi hums a sound of assent and decides to be civil and ask, “How was your day, then?”

“Fine.” Shion leans back in his chair and folds his arms across his chest. “Everyone still sucks.”

Nezumi points his spoon at him. “Touché.”

Shion laughs lightly, but a moment later his face sours and he sighs. “Talking about work after work is depressing. Can we talk about something better?”

“I would love to, but I don’t think either of us do much else but work and read, Shion. And last time I tried to discuss literature with you over dinner, you told me to stop.”

Shion leans his elbows on the table and laces his fingers together, his expression serious. “You were playing devil’s advocate too much. I don’t get why people do that. If we’re having a discussion about something, I want to know your opinion, not an opposing opinion for opposition’s sake. And if it is actually your opinion, then don’t hide behind ‘playing devil’s advocate.’ Just be honest about it; otherwise, you come off as an uppity snob, parroting views that aren’t even yours just to pick a fight.”

“…I feel like you’ve been sitting on that diatribe for quite some time.”

“I was thinking about it all week,” Shion admits. “People in the office do it, too, all the time, and it drives me crazy.”

Nezumi nods his head slowly. “Duly noted. Anything else you’ve been stewing on that you want to share?”

Shion’s expression goes quiet. His interlaced fingers tense, but he holds Nezumi’s gaze and says lightly, “No. That’s it.”

The temperature in the room drops a few degrees. Okay… That’s concerning. Nezumi focuses on scraping the last remnants of chili from his bowl to mask his confusion. What did Shion have on his mind that he didn’t want to share?

Did I offend him?

Shion hasn’t seemed irritated or guarded around him lately, but then Nezumi doesn’t know him as well as he used to. Shion’s basically a politician now and is well-versed in evading uncomfortable questions and bending truths. But even though Shion has gained some important networking skills, he hasn’t changed that much in essentials; he’s still straightforward and fiercely opinionated. If Nezumi pisses him off, Shion lets him have it right then and there. So whatever it is, it’s a touchy enough subject that even Shion balks at mentioning it.

Does he want me to back off?

Nezumi’s stomach twists, and his appetite shrinks in the shadow of his thoughts. It’s barely been any time at all since Shion welcomed him back. He couldn’t be sick of him yet… Right?

Nezumi knew reuniting with Shion wouldn’t be seamless. They would have to relearn each other; they’re different now, and there’s no pretending that difference away when they’re in close quarters with one another. He had expected anger and hurt when he and Shion finally faced each other again, but Shion has shown him nothing but warmth. Shion’s emotions are more muted at twenty-four years old than they were at sixteen, but he is no less gracious or willing to throw open his home to Nezumi again.

Nezumi had been grateful for the warm welcome. It was proof that Shion still wanted him around, but he also recognizes that Shion’s willingness to try again merely meant Nezumi had gotten his foot in the door.

Nezumi knows very well he’s on probation.

The seven years of separation that had brought Nezumi so much clarity had apparently caused Shion a lot of pain. Nezumi has picked up enough from Karan and Inukashi to piece together the broken picture of Shion’s life in the first four years of their separation: anxiety, depression, periods of simmering misdirected anger. As happy as Shion’s friends and family are that Nezumi made good on his promise and returned—as happy as Shion claims to be—they have reservations about letting him slip back into Shion’s life. They want definitive proof that he’s here to stay, and will not make a ruin of Shion’s feelings a second time.

Nezumi thought he gave Shion that proof when he agreed to move in with Karan. He thought he’s shown his dedication through the family dinners, and casual conversations, and solicitude for Shion’s personal space over the last few months, but maybe he’s growing too slowly for it to work. Maybe for all the progress Nezumi has made he isn’t enough for Shion anymore.

In West Block, Shion needed him; he was marooned and uncertain, and Nezumi was his only support and source of information. But Nezumi isn’t Shion’s whole world now. Shion has work, and friends, and a mother who loves him, and he’s gotten by just fine while they were apart. Maybe he’s realized that Nezumi no longer fits into his life the way he used to.

“Nezumi? What’re you thinking about?”

Nezumi glares down into his empty bowl. He never wants to return to the angry, caged person he had been, but sometimes he remembers what a bitter hell it is to care about another person, and he wishes he could push away the feelings instead of letting them burn through him.

“Nezumi?” Shion reaches across the table and pokes his bowl with the tip of his pointer finger. “Are you alright?”

“Fine. Just thinking about what you said earlier, about being honest.” Nezumi pushes out his chair and stands. “Easier said than done sometimes.”

He takes the bowl to the kitchen sink and begins to wash it. Midway through soaping the spoon with the sponge, he hears Shion’s soft footfalls on the tile behind him. His presence pricks at the back of Nezumi’s neck like heat, but he keeps his attention on the sink.

“You can use the dishwasher, you know….”

“Old habit,” Nezumi answers. He rinses the spoon off, places it in the drying rack, and moves on to the bowl.

Stupid, Nezumi curses himself. Old habits indeed. He’s too old to be covering his insecurity with fits of pique.

And what is he so upset about, anyway? Shion hasn’t said he’s unhappy or he wants him to leave. He could be hiding something entirely different—he could be hiding nothing at all. Maybe Shion’s just tired. Maybe they’re both very tired and being weird for no reason and everything will settle itself in the morning.

Nezumi scrubs the bowl until the brilliant blue of the glass is completely eclipsed by soap.

“I made you mad,” Shion says like a revelation. “Why?”

Why? Nezumi doesn’t have to do any deep meditation on the question. He’s upset because he has feelings now and everything is inconvenient. Every one of Shion’s smiles makes him hopeful, and every frown and cautious reply sends his mind into a paranoid spiral. And although he’s in tune enough with his emotions now to acknowledge what he’s feeling, his stubborn pride is still an obstacle to expressing them.

So here he is, acting like a spoiled child about something that isn’t even confirmed.

Nezumi splashes a bit of water over the bowl and drops it onto the bottom of the sink with suds still clinging to the rim. He scrubs the water from his hands with a cloth and faces Shion.

“I’m not mad,” Nezumi mutters. “I’m…” Off balance. Terrified. Utterly inept. “Confused,” he hedges.

Shion bites his lip, his dark eyes wide and searching, and Nezumi tries not to sound like too much of an insecure fool when he says, “You lied to me just now. There’s something on your mind.”

Annnnd, now I sound accusatory. Nice. Shion doesn’t answer immediately and it makes the moment so much worse.

Why did he have to be a masochist and call him out? He should have ignored the awkwardness and enjoyed Shion’s company instead. If Shion is uncertain of their relationship, he could have used tonight to convince him it’s worth giving them another chance. Instead, he’s forced Shion to tip his hand.

With every silent second that passes, Shion looks more uncomfortable and Nezumi wants to crawl out of his skin. He can’t stand the nervous tilt to Shion’s expression. Nezumi turns back toward the sink and runs the water over the bowl again, just to have a reason to escape Shion’s gaze, no matter how transparent.

“I didn’t want to bring it up yet,” Shion says softly behind him. The words trace a line of cold down Nezumi’s spine. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react, and I didn’t—” Shion pauses and clears his throat.

The bowl is clean, but Nezumi keeps the water running, staring down at the stream and dissociating while he waits for Shion to deliver the critical blow.

“It’s only been a few months, and I know you’re still settling in at Mom’s,” Shion continues. “I didn’t want to put too much pressure on you.”

Pressure? Nezumi’s racing heart makes it very difficult to think properly, but he vaguely realizes Shion’s words are a strange lead up to telling him to hit the road.

Nezumi flicks the faucet off and half turns to peer at him. Shion straightens when their eyes meet and a combination of relief and agitation flits over his face before falling into a guilty sort of apprehension.

“I was afraid,” Shion says. “I didn’t want to scare you away when things have been going so well.”

“Scare me away…how?” Nezumi is thankful he’s such an accomplished actor, because it allows him to deliver the question with completely calm curiosity. Internally, he is a mess of electricity. Shion doesn’t want to scare him away, which means Shion wants to keep him close. His heart is pounding so hard his head feels like it’s going to explode.

Shion opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, then turns his burning face aside and fixes his eyes on the front door. He’s raking his thumbnail so deeply and incessantly against the second knuckle of his pointer finger that he seems in danger of rubbing the skin raw.

“I wanted to ask…” Shion mumbles to the door, “whether you might consider…staying here.”

Nezumi drums his fingers quietly on the counter but otherwise stays very still as he probes, “Here as in…?”

“Here. My house.”

The faucet releases an errant drop into the sink; the faint plop is thunderous in the silence stretched taut between them. Nezumi clears his throat and turns his body the rest of the way to face Shion straight on. Shion glances at him sidewise, probably trying to read his expression, but as Nezumi is keeping his face carefully devoid of emotion, Shion will get nothing.

Nezumi leans back, crosses his arms across his chest, and asks as casually as humanly possible, “You want me to stay over tonight?”

He’s pretty sure Shion doesn’t mean anything suggestive by it, considering they are not romantically involved anymore—yet?—but even as a platonic invitation it makes Nezumi’s breath catch in his throat.

Shion eyes Nezumi up and down, and although he knows Shion’s probably just trying to get a read on him, a flash of heat skitters over Nezumi’s skin. He shifts fractionally and Shion’s eyebrows twitch up in equal measure. Shion stops pretending to be fascinated with the door, and Nezumi has a sense that he’s given something crucial away.

“No. Well—not exactly,” Shion says. “I want you to move in with me.”

Nezumi’s mind sticks.

Move in. Shion isn’t trying to get rid of him. In fact, Shion isn’t tired of him at all. He wants to live with him again.

Which is…terrifying? Exciting? Baffling and blessed and wholly unexpected. Nezumi isn’t sure how to feel about this sudden invitation, because he hasn’t belonged somewhere in years. He had never thought he was the type to stay put.

Until Shion.

His whole impetus for slowing down and returning was Shion. They’ve been stuck in each other’s orbits since they were twelve years old, and Nezumi has finally reached the point where he’s ready to submit to the gravity of them. But that’s a two-way street, and Nezumi expected he would have to match Shion’s patience if he ever had a chance of winning him back. If he and Shion ended up together, this time it wouldn’t be an arrangement of convenience or necessity; it would be because they had chosen to build a life side by side.

And Shion is asking me to live with him again.

Nezumi realizes he’s been silent too long when Shion starts twitch and flutter, a telltale sign he’s about to launch into a nervous ramble. God, Nezumi is so grateful time hasn’t trained that quirk out of him.

“I know it’s kind of… Kind of quick, maybe?” Shion babbles. “And maybe it’s a little backwards, since we’re not…together anymore, yet, and people usually move in after they’re already together, but…” He flushes, but pushes through the stumble quickly. “But we’ve done it before, and it worked then, and I think it will work just as well now. Better, even. We’re older, and we both know what we want out of life—and each other.”

Not the most coherent speech, but Nezumi agrees with all the sentiments. Even so, he finds himself asking, “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Maybe it’s a dumb question in light of Shion’s confession, but Nezumi has to ask it. He has to hear the answer in order to quell the doubts bubbling up from the darkest parts of his mind, the parts that have grown quieter as he’s grown, but still whisper he’s not worth it, that he’s twisted and broken and taints any goodness that comes his way.

“I’m sure,” Shion says. “I’ve thought a lot about it and I realized something.” He takes a deep breath and stares directly into Nezumi’s eyes as he says, “I don’t need you anymore, Nezumi. I can get on just fine without you; I know that. But I want you in my life. And it seems like you want that too?”

“Yes.” Nezumi’s answer lacks Shion’s conviction, but it’s alright; Shion knows him well enough to realize he wouldn’t agree to something so serious if he isn’t committed. “I would like that.”

Shion releases a small breath. “So it’s a yes?” He slides a bit closer along the counter. “You’ll move in? You don’t have to. I know it’s fast and you’re used to being alone. I won’t be offended if you need more time.”

“I don’t. I’ve had plenty of time to think too, you know.”

“Right,” Shion laughs lightly. “Okay. Good.”

Nezumi and Shion smile at each other in the wake of their new understanding. Despite the wintry draft slipping in under the front door, the kitchen feels warm.

Too warm.

“I’m not as clean as you,” Nezumi blurts. Moving in together is fun in theory and Nezumi definitely wants to, but it’s only fair he be upfront about what Shion’s about to get stuck with.

Shion’s smile is incandescent. “I know. It’s fine.”

“And I’m told I still kick in my sleep.”

“I have a queen bed now, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I shower in the mornings, and it takes at least twenty minutes, so you’ll have to factor that in when you get up for work.”

“I shower at night, so I think it’ll be fine.” Shion pauses. “But twenty minutes is a long time. What do you do in there for so long?”

Nezumi ignores the question and launches into his next point. “You’re going to need more bookcases. At least two more. I have a shit ton of books; they barely fit in my room as it is.”

Shion glances at his back wall. “I’ve been meaning to buy more anyway.” He raises his eyebrows. “Anything else?”

A million other things, but Nezumi decides that’s enough for the moment. Shion’s eyes are wide and full of laughter and the bit of scar peeking out from his unbuttoned collar is all of a sudden very distracting.

“You better not change your mind about this,” warns Nezumi. “Once I move in, I’m not leaving again.”

Shion’s eyes flash. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

Nezumi can’t help but smile when he answers, “A promise.”

Shion lifts his chin and nods, evidently pleased. They regard each other shyly for a moment before Shion decides to diffuse the tension by announcing they’re going to watch a movie.

Ten minutes in and Nezumi pretends not to notice when Shion’s head starts to nod. Twenty minutes in, and Shion is back to being face-down on the throw pillow. Nezumi abandons the movie-watching farce and watches Shion sleep instead.

This is what I’m signing up for, Nezumi thinks, shaking his head. Night after night of Shion asleep and defenseless on the couch. He cards his fingers through the fluffy white hair at the nape of Shion’s neck.

He can hardly wait.

#no6 #no.6 #no. 6 #no 6 #pigeonsimba #crowmunculus #no6secretsanta #fanfiction #submission

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chocolatequeennk · 4 years

Text

Forever Timeless, 1/23

Summary: Two months after the Dalek Crucible, the Doctor and Rose are getting used to having the biggest family on Earth. As they visit Leadworth in 1996, Victorian England, a mysterious desert planet, and Elizabethan England, those family and friends often help in unexpected ways. But no matter where they go or who they're with, it's always the Doctor in the TARDIS with RoseTyler--just as it should be.

Ten x Rose, Donna x Lee

Betaed by @saecookie, @rudennotgingr, @pellaaearien, and @jabber-who-key

Part 7 of Being to Timelessness

AO3 | FF.NET | TSP

Chapter One: Family Time

Rose leaned back into the drop cloth-covered couch and looked around the room. Her mum and Pete had purchased a house in Cardiff, and she and the Doctor had spent all day painting and cleaning. After two months spent monitoring the lingering effects of the Reality Bomb, the domesticity was jarring.

A sharp pain hit Rose between her shoulder blades, and she grimaced and rolled her shoulders. Every muscle in her body ached. She was in good shape, but she didn’t usually spend hours holding a paint roller over her head.

A moment later, familiar hands settled on her shoulders and started massaging the tension away. Rose sighed and leaned forward so the Doctor could get that spot in the middle of her back.

She enjoyed the massage for a few minutes, then reached for his hand and tugged, asking him silently to sit down with her. He collapsed beside her, looking every bit as tired as she felt. He had a smudge of dirt on his cheek and his hair stuck straight up.

“What have you and Pete been up to?”

“Putting together the furniture for Tony’s room.” The Doctor rubbed a hand over his face, smudging the dirt even more. “I need to create a setting on the sonic for Allen keys. Those belong on a list of forbidden torture devices.”

Jackie’s snort interrupted Rose’s teasing response. “And here I thought you were some kind of superior alien,” she said as she entered the room, carrying two tall glasses of water. “How the mighty have fallen—defeated by an Ikea flat pack.”

Rose listened to the Doctor’s internal debate, weighing the merits of defending himself against the likelihood that Jackie would dump the glass of water over his head. In the end, he only rolled his eyes and said, “Thankfully, the fate of the universe has never rested on my ability to put together furniture named after obscure Scandinavian locales.”

Jackie handed them the water and sat down on a folding chair. “Speaking of strange places, we haven’t seen Jenny and Donna lately. Where are they at now?”

Rose blinked. “You’ve seen them?”

Her mum raised an eyebrow. “You would have seen them too if you hadn’t been off to Neptune doing whatever,” she retorted. “They stopped by a few weeks ago before catching a plane to New York.”

Rose sipped at her water to cover up the urge to sigh. The trip to Paris had whetted Jenny’s interest in seeing more of the Earth. By airplane, she’d insisted, because that was how humans did it.

Donna had been happy to travel the world with her. Rose suspected the trip was a way for her to keep her mind off the fact that they still hadn’t found Lee. Four months had passed since the Library, and the TARDIS still hadn’t picked up even a trace of him.

Rose abruptly realised her mum was staring at her expectantly. It only took her a second to remember what they’d been talking about.

“They’re in Sydney,” she said. “They’ll be back for your big housewarming party, but they really wanted to see Australia before coming home.”

“Hah!” Jackie wagged her finger at Rose. “Now you know what it’s like, having your only child go off travelling by herself.”

Rose pursed her lips. “It’s not that,” she argued. “Well, not only that,” she amended. “It’s fun having other people on the TARDIS with us. I miss it.”

“What do you miss?” Pete asked. He pulled a second folding chair over and sat down beside Jackie.

“Having friends travel with us.”

“Apparently I’m not enough company,” the Doctor added, earning a poke in the side from Rose and a snort from Jackie.

“More like you’re a bit too much,” Jackie countered. “Can’t imagine being married to an alien.”

“No, you just married a man from a parallel universe,” Pete interjected.

Jackie rolled her eyes, then looked at Rose. Rose groaned at the look in her eye. Interrogation time, she warned the Doctor.

“Speaking of marrying an alien…” Jackie raised an eyebrow and looked at Rose, then at the Doctor, and back again. “You mentioned something about weird alien rituals.”

Rose opened her mouth, but before she could start explaining the bond, her mother started rambling.

“I’ve been thinking, maybe you had to wear funny hats? Or defeat someone in armed combat?” She pointed at the Doctor. “Maybe Rose had to go back in time to ask your family for your hand in marriage.”

“Nothing like that, Mum,” Rose said quickly before Jackie could continue on that train of thought and bring back painful memories of Gallifrey.

“Well, what was it then?” She narrowed her eyes. “You better not have been naked for this wedding.”

“No! We were fully clothed.” The Doctor felt his neck heat up.

Help!

Rose took his hand and he let out a slow breath. “Leave ‘im be, Mum,” she scolded. “It was mostly just like a wedding. I wore a beautiful dress and we exchanged vows and rings and everything.”

“Well that doesn’t sound too weird.”

“Yeah…” Rose squeezed his hand and he squeezed back, agreeing with her sudden decision. “I was mostly teasing when I said that.”

Jackie crossed her arms over her chest. “So your wedding was completely normal?” she asked, dubious.

Rose bit her lip. “Well, we were alone in the TARDIS,” she said slowly. “And we did a handfasting because that’s part of the Doctor’s tradition.”

“Hmmm…” Jackie raised an eyebrow.

Rose knew she didn’t believe her, but explaining the bond was a far longer conversation than she wanted to have right now. Some day she’d try, but not today.

“It was perfect,” she said, wanting to move away from the alienness of their wedding.

As she thought about that day, something occurred to her. “And our wedding anniversary is only two weeks away,” she added.

The Doctor blinked, and she was glad she wasn’t the only one who’d lost track of time. “We’ll have to go someplace to celebrate.”

“Mind if I plan this trip?”

He smiled and brushed his thumb over her wrist. “I’d love it.”

“Rose?”

The childish voice drew everyone’s attention, and they all looked over at Tony, standing in the doorway.

“Yes, Tony?”

He shuffled forward, a book in his hand. “Will you and the Doctor read to me?”

The Doctor scooted over and patted the cushion in between himself and Rose. “You bet!”

The little boy grinned, then darted across the room and jumped up onto the couch. Rose grabbed the book from him before he could stab himself in the eye with it or something.

“Under the Deep Blue Sea.”

As Rose turned to the first page, she suddenly knew exactly where she wanted to take the Doctor for their anniversary.

oOoOo

The Doctor followed Rose as she pushed her way to the front of the crowd waiting at Heathrow. “The board says their flight landed half an hour ago,” she told him. “They should be almost through customs by now.”

When the first passengers started trickling in a few minutes later, the Doctor gave Rose one end of the sign they’d made. Around them, other people likewise held up their signs—Limousine for Mr. Arbuckle, etc.

The trickle turned into a solid wave of people. “Can you see them, Doctor?” Rose asked as she strained to look through the crowd.

“No… Wait! Yes! Hold the sign up, Rose.”

They waved it madly, and a moment later they were rewarded by familiar laughter. Rose leaned sideways and saw Jenny and Donna walking towards them, wheelie bags in tow.

“TARDIS for Miss Noble and Miss Tyler?” Donna rolled her eyes.

The Doctor turned the sign around and studied it. “Well, we wouldn’t want anyone else to think they could get a free ride.”

“We told you we’d take the train to Cardiff, though,” Jenny said.

Donna nudged her gently with her elbow. “You owe me ten quid, Jenny. I told you they wouldn’t be able to resist surprising us.”

The Doctor’s mouth fell open, and when he looked over at Rose he was thankful to see that at least she was as surprised as he was.

Jenny hitched her backpack up on her shoulders. “I still say giving them the flight information was cheating.”

“I didn’t realise we were so predictable,” the Doctor muttered.

Donna smirked and turned her suitcase so he could take the handle. “We just know you too well.”

Rose shook her head and grabbed Jenny’s suitcase. “Come on, we should get out of the way. The TARDIS is just a short bus ride away.”

Thirty minutes later, the Doctor unlocked the door and held it open while Rose, Donna, and Jenny walked inside. He heard Donna and Jenny sigh in unison, and raised his eyebrows at them.

“Glad you don’t have to take a train after travelling for over twenty-four hours?” he guessed.

“Definitely,” Donna said fervently.

“And glad we can hop into the Vortex and get some sleep without Gran knowing we didn’t go straight to Cardiff,” Jenny added.

The Doctor and Rose exchanged a glance, then Rose gave Donna and Jenny a sly smile. “About that… Are you set on going to Cardiff?”

Donna crossed her arms over her chest. “The housewarming party is next week. I’ve only met your mum a few times, but I have a pretty good idea of what will happen if you miss it.”

The Doctor grimaced and rubbed at his cheek, making everyone laugh.

Rose chuckled and shook her head. “Yeah, you’re right about that. But our anniversary is the day after tomorrow, so we’re going on a short holiday before the big shindig. We can drop you in Cardiff for the week, or—”

“Or,” Donna said before Rose could continue.

Jenny nodded eagerly. “You mean you’ll drop us off on another planet, yeah?”

“If you want,” Rose said.

Jenny and Donna exchanged a look, then broke out in matching grins. “Yes!”

Rose hugged Donna and kissed Jenny on the cheek, then gently pushed them both towards the corridor. “Go lie down. We’ll drop you off in the morning after you’ve slept off some of the jet lag.” She leaned against a strut and watched them go, while the Doctor sent them into the Vortex just like Jenny had asked.

He slid the dematerialisation lever into place, and the time rotor quietly chugged up and down. The transition into the Vortex was so smooth that Rose hardly felt it.

A soft mental tug caught her attention, and she looked over at the Doctor. He’d sat down on the jump seat, and now he patted the seat beside him.

Rose pushed off from the strut and walked around the console, hopping up to sit beside the Doctor like she’d done a thousand times. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him.

“What are you thinking?”

“This life,” she said, talking slowly so she could put the words together as they came to her. “It’s… so much more than I thought it would be.”

She paused, and the Doctor left the silence empty so she could think.

“I thought I’d lost this at Canary Wharf,” she said finally.

“Lost what?”

“Just… human things,” she said, testing the words as she went. “Helping family move. Meeting them at the airport.”

She tilted her head back so she could look at the Doctor. “I love our life, traveling through time and space. And if I could never have anything else, this is what I’d choose. Every time.”

“But we get to have more,” he supplied, understanding what she was trying to get at. “Our life in the TARDIS, and a family on Earth.”

“Yeah. Time and space… and family.”

#ficandchips #ten x rose #dwfic #fic by Nancy #doctorroseprompts #series: being to timelessness #cq's fic: forever timeless #i'm back!!#finally!!#i hope you like this chapter #also you will get a second chapter this week #on thursday #and then we'll settle into a chapter a week #tenth doctor #rose tyler #jenny tyler #donna noble #lee mcavoy #donna x lee

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mophobia · 4 years

Text

Imagine 11’s potential.

10 has just lost/said goodbye to everybody he had in his life: his entire family, his true love, his best friend, everyone. He’s just had to make the horrible choice to send his own people back to Hell along with the Master who he only wanted to help and save and be close with. All this causes 11 to be born out loneliness and despair. It’s not the same as 9 being born out of war and bloodshed, but 11 is clearly darker than 10 (who was born out of love).

As a result we see 11 struggle, but he doesn’t want to admit it to himself or anyone else. He isn’t pompous and rude and idolizing himself. Why would he be like that when everything he has done has resulted in failure in his eyes? Rather, he’s scared and untrusting. He isn’t demeaning and horrible to people, he’s just avoiding creating close attachements to protect himself and others. He isn’t carefree and shortsighted and ignorant. He obsesses over every decision he makes and just pretends like he’s always living on a whim so people don’t think he’s in pain (hence the childish persona he builds). He still cares, but it’s also so hard for him to decipher between what’s right and wrong now when it seems like doing the “right” thing only ever leaves himself and those he cares about in pain. He doesn’t know how to trust anything anymore. Even the closest person he has at this point (River) only pops in and out of his life and he still barely knows her, so how can he be trusting when he doesn’t have anyone/anything to count on.

He meets Amy Pond (who doesnt have a crush on him, who was never obsessed over him her entire life, who is quite lonely and untrusting herself after losing her own family, who loves Rory with all her heart but is so scared they will lose each other that she’s looking for a way to sabatoge their wedding-think Amy in Sondheim’s musical Company). But the Doctor struggles to let her in because how can he trust the universe to not hurt her therefore hurting him? He still invites her to join him though because all they both want is run away. They are lonely and hurt and understand each other’s pain. And thus the building blocks behind their faith in humanity may start to be restored.

Amy is able to transform into a more open person as she travels with the Doctor and so eventually Rory joins them and they all become more of a family unit. The Doctor is slower to change, though. He can’t trust that there’ll always be there because he knows something Has to happen to them (that’s just how it goes), but he loves them and loves being a part of their family as much as he doesn’t want to. He isn’t careless with their lives, but when he’s able he tries to leave them out to protect them. It isn’t that he doesn’t believe in their abilities and can’t trust them so much as he doesn’t believe in or trust himself/the world. They don’t let him push them out of the way though, and slowly, we start to see him trust more and more. He isn’t scared to have them on board as much as he was, and rather than just acknowledging their family-type relationship, he leans into it. He’s not alone.

Then that family is threatened from him and he stoops down to a low point in his life (close to 10s timelord victorious) where he’s willing to do anything he can to save them and prove that humanity is on his side. The audience doesn’t praise him for committing genocide or blowing up a spaceship to get a piece of information, but sees that he is dissenting into madness. He rescues the Ponds, but he’s never quite the same and they know that too. Still, they stay with him because he is part of their family and they know he needs their help. As audience members, we only pray he can pull himself out of this horrible place he’s found himself in.

Eventually, he loses Amy and Rory like he’s lost everyone else in his life. He chooses to continue alone (because he’s not just going to mope about for hundreds of years in a cloud cuz that’s not who the doctor is). But he’s alone for so long that he starts to lose whatever perspective he had left before losing the Ponds. He flat out refuses to work as a team with anyone anymore no matter who they are because somehow he needs to prove to himself that he’s worthy and he just can’t trust them. He keeps imagining (if not physically seeing) those he knew before- Rose, Jack, Mickey, Jackie, Sarah Jane, Martha, Donna, WILFRED, Amy, Rory, River. He can see their faces and see the pain in what he’s become in their eyes but he chooses to ignore it. Because maybe if he had taken his place of power seriously like this before, maybe he would still have them so who were they to judge. That dissent into madness is wreaking havoc on his life even more now. But he’ll be damned if more good/deserving people are lost because of his foolishness, even if it means killing off entire races and planets and galaxies in the process. None of this is ever used for laughs, or to show how “good and strong and god-like” the Doctor is, it’s taken just as seriously and scarily and gut wrenching as it’s meant to be.

Eventually he meets Clara (who isn’t just a mystery wrapped in an enigma in a tight skirt, who is a very loving and protective and smart person in her own right, who’s willing to go to hell and back if it means helping and saving the people she loves because she couldn’t help her own mom and feels guilty for it) and after seeing the pain in his eyes she flat out refuses to leave his side. He almost begrudgingly takes her along because she literally just won’t budge out of the TARDIS without being physically thrown out. But deep in his heart he knows he’s tired of being alone and does enjoy her presence.

Clara never gives up on the Doctor, but she damn well points out when he’s losing his mind and doing the wrong thing. She doesn’t let him stoop to his lowest points and she’s always there for him, always fighting right alongside him to do what’s right. Again, he starts to trust, he starts to see what he’s become. They go somewhere that reminds him of who he was as 9 (NOT GALLIFREY BECAUSE GALLIFREY IS GONE) and how he had to heal from that time and move foward and with his FRIEND Clara by his side supporting him he knows it’s possible again. He knows he can be the Doctor again.

In the end there’s a big battle standing between life and death, not only for him but for humanity. He’s taken all of these lessons away and when it matters he decides to choose life. He’s so tired of killing out of the “sake of goodness” so tired of lying to himself, and he decides to take a stand and do the right thing. If he can do just one right thing in his entire life as this man, that would be enough.

Everyone else survives, but he doesn’t make it. His last act as the man he is is life, and he’s more proud of it than anything else in maybe all his regenerations. But it wasn’t enough for him to survive. And maybe that’s okay with him because maybe it’s time to move on from being this inherently lonely and mad man and become someone better.

He regenerates and recognizes his new face, the face that proves he was right. The face that represents that even if he can’t stop the rest of the world from going into flames, if all he can do is save just one family, do one right thing, then he will be okay. That he can be the man he once was. That even through loss and pain, he is never alone.

He starts to pick up the pieces.

#just something thats been on my mind #dw #anti moffat #original

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wykart · 4 years

Text

Oneshot fic where I try to piece together Thirteen’s character post spyfall part 2, and extend the episode’s final scene. (read on ao3)

The Promise

She stands, bathed in blue, with three pairs of eyes boring holes into her back. Inquisitive eyes, reproachful, skeptical. Dissatisfied. She thinks that’s probably fair enough.

Behind her, the ship puts on a pale imitation of its usual golden hue – which is partly her fault, because the strength of her anguish resonates within the temporal engines. The ship mourns with her. It had been her home too.

She’s taken on more than she can handle; three humans – she hasn’t had to deal with that many at once in a long while. It’s exhausting, because behind her back, they talk. They conspire. They formulate attacks in the form of questions and furrowed brows. It’s her against them, and it has been for a while now. Her against them; how had it ever come to this? Friends or enemies? She’s always found it difficult to tell the difference.

It would be easy, perhaps, to drop them back on Earth, waltz off with a grin and a lie through bared teeth, and never return. She’s done it before.

But the promise she made claws at her, raging at her behind pale eyes. Eyebrows; with his lined face and harsh expression – easy to intimidate, with a face like that. Easy to lie. She craves that mask of lines, that icy stare. Maybe if she still wore that face, they wouldn’t ask so many questions.

He wanted to die, old Eyebrows had, and she’s starting to think that maybe he had the right idea. “Be a Doctor,” She had promised, but she doesn’t feel like the Doctor anymore. It all just feels like a game.

And what was the rest of the promise? Never be cruel, never be cowardly... oh, but she is a coward – she’s been afraid of the dark since she was a boy, and she’s been running for – how long? About three thousand years, half of her assures (more like four and a half billion, the other half answers). And – though this is harder to admit – she is cruel. She’s crueller, colder, older. Be a Doctor, but the Doctor is a lie. Now more than ever, she’s hiding behind a title. For the first time, stranded without her friends, marooned in history, the cruelty had boiled over, and she’d found that she was full of so much of it that it scared her, but she couldn’t stop it from spilling out. At least the Master knows he’s cruel, he revels in the fact. She is something worse, because she’s convinced herself that her cruelty is some sort of justice. Some sort of twisted kindness, because the rules of time are not hers, and she is just a traveller. Walking away, in Montgomery and the Punjab, leaving a young boy to burn and a horde of innocent creatures to starve, that was cruel, but it was necessary, because sometimes she loses. Because the rules of time were never hers.

Wiping Ada’s mind should have shaken her, it should have reminded her of pleading eyes and words of power; Donna, Clara, Bill. But it didn’t. (If you ever stop, I think the universe might just go cold). And what if I go cold, she asks no one, what happens to the universe then?

Always try to be nice. This one, she has down to an art. She can’t remember ever being nicer. She’s bubbly and hopeful and sweet - at least, when her friends are around. When she’s putting on a show, because the Doctor is a lie. Even when she’s cruel, she’s sweet. She’s nice. All wicked smile and steely eyes, teasing. A trickster’s stare. It was fun, at first, the youth, the constant movement and chatter and quirky quips. It was fun, because they didn’t question her. She revelled in their awe and their reverence in a way that filled her with sour guilt. She kept herself mysterious, confident, infallible. Vague. She stuck to the rules, when her friends were around. No weapons, no interference. Hasn’t she already seen where breaking the rules can get her? She is just a traveler; not a god or a monster or an impossible hero. Not anymore. She’s holding herself in, but the shell is too small. Jagged edges of her past jut through the edges of her silhouette, so she keeps her friends distracted. She keeps them moving and she never stays for tea, because the quiet is when questions are asked, and linear time makes her head ache and her fingers twitch. She’s hooked on the adventure. The lie. (It is Clara, she answers an old question, weary, it is like an addiction).

Never fail to be kind. But she was always failing. She’s told her friends who she is, using empty words robbed of their usual pride and significance. Her voice and her manner had been waspish, impatient. Cruel. (There, happy?). Their unending curiosity, their kindness, it grated against her in a way that told her she was becoming something awful. She holds them, her new best friends, at arm's reach, and never closer, because she knows what happens when she lets herself get too invested.

Oh, and never tell anyone your name. Well, that’s one promise she can keep - because everyone who can understand the cadence of her true name is dead. Killed by the only other person who still knows it. She will never be able to tell anyone her name again.

Laugh hard. She’s done all sorts of laughing. Triumphant exclamations of wonder, because she’s just a traveller, and everything is new to these dark eyes, everything inspires hope. Belly-clutching, strained reels of laughter when her friends are cracking jokes. When they’re travelling, never stopping, never still. The real sort of laughter comes when she’s alone. Low, cruel chuckles to the enemy that roil in her gut, that make her feel alive. Wind whistling through newly spun blonde hair, cold air against new bared teeth, old tattered clothes hanging loose as she shed the one she was before. It was a good feeling, intimidating. Darkness biting through the nice.

Run fast. She’s faster than ever. She’s running so fast that she can barely keep up with herself. Hands always moving, fixing, tweaking, tinkering. Mouth running off at a hundred miles an hour spouting tidbits and anecdotes that even she isn’t sure are truth or lie. That night on the train, she had hit the ground running, and hasn’t stopped since. Not until she’d taken a trip home, and she’s stopped dead in her tracks. All the adrenaline she’s been running off it gone, now. All she has is anger.

Be kind. And that’s the most difficult part of all. Nice is just a show you put on to the people around you, and pretending is easy. Kindness is deeper, and difficult to fake. Difficult, especially, because she can feel him – the Master – in the back of her mind like an itch, gloating. The ghost of a laugh, bright and spitting and maniacal, because this is exactly what he wanted. Where he is, that dark, dead dimension, the walls are thin. He can see her. Exiled to an unknown dimension, foiled and hopeless and alone, he’s still won. Laughing. Gloating. (Why would it stop). He tore apart the life she’d been building, ripped away the veil to show a glimpse of her true face; to her friends, and to herself. And she hates him. She hates him so much she wants to scream. Who is he but a reminder that it can never, ever stop. The grief and the running, and her, growing colder by the moment. A snarl twists at her face. She’s all anger, prowling, body wracked with energy that makes her want to break something, break him. The thought only makes him laugh harder.

“Doctor?” A voice that doesn’t come from inside her head. A voice without the bite of the telepathic. Simple, human. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

It’s Yaz. The Doctor turns, blinking against the golden light of the console and its amber pillars. Graham and Ryan stand under its canopy, concern knotted through their features. Yaz is closer, because she’s the only one who’s brave enough. Her eyes are wide and dark and kind. The sort of kind she hasn’t been in a long while.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m just tired, it’s been a long few days.” Five days, five planets. No trouble, just relaxing. She did it for them rather than herself, because her ideal vacation involved a lot more running and danger and mystery. Instead of sickly sweet ice cream and soft golden sands, she craved blood and ash, the slick oil and grease of weathered machines, the smell of fear and panic. The calm and emboldening feeling of being in charge, weaving together a solution, saving the day and bounding off on the next adventure. The past five days have been hell, because hell is quiet. Hell is being left to your own devices and thoughts and left to stew out in the sun like the the rocks baking on the shoreline by her faded luxury deck chair. Decaying. And all the while, his laughter, echoing inside her skull.

“Doctor?” The voice tries again, impatient.

“Hmm?” She murmurs, absently meandering back towards the console, looking for something to tinker with. Something to do with their hands to make herself look busy. Behind her back, she feels them shifting, casting glances at each other that speak a thousand words. Inwardly, she sighs. Friends or enemies?

Graham is the first to venture forth. “Look, I, err, we” – he amends, and nods pass between her friends, still behind her back – “we’ve been meanin’ to ask you something.” Of course it’s him, the most skeptical. She sees the way he looks at her, the way he worries. It’s true that she prefers the company of the young, because the young haven’t yet had the chance to learn what old eyes look like. They don’t recognise those eyes in her. “Why are you travelling with us, I mean really…” Because you were there. You were human and you were there and I was lonely, she doesn’t say, because that would be cruel.

“Yeah, and who are you? We’ve tried asking’ so many times but you always dodge the question.” Ryan cuts across, emboldened. She turns around, away from the nothing she was doing with her hands. She stares at them and tries to look nice, but fails to look kind.

“‘Cause we’re putting’ our metaphorical foot down, Doc,” Graham says, with a hint of a smile. Keeping it light. “We’ve been talkin’, and we think, if we’re gonna keep on travellin’ together, we should get to know who we’re travellin’ with.” There was a time when they wouldn’t have dared. They were so caught up in the adventure and so scared that it was going to end that they would never have asked her that question, not when she’d been so adamantly obvious about dodging it. They were afraid to lose her, but now, they know just how much power they hold. Her against them. They know she’s lonely, that she needs them just as much – maybe more – than they need her. Running from grief, from abandonment, from boredom. Human problems. Simple reasons. The other reason they are asking now is, she knows, because they’re afraid. She slipped up. All that time carefully calibrating the ultimate TARDIS experience; controlled, self-contained adventures, and never to those voluminous corners of the galaxy where the people knew her name; in reverence or in fear, because she’s just a traveller. Now they know that she can make mistakes, that she has a history, old enemies. It scares them, because they wanted, needed to believe that she was infallible. It made following her seemingly arbitrary and ever-shifting rules all too easy. Now, suddenly, travelling is difficult. Scary. Real.

“Not that we don’t want to keep on travellin’ with you,” Yaz assures her with that officer calm. “We just think we’re entitled to know a bit more, seein’ as you know us so well.”

“And I don’t mean some made up words that don’t mean anythin’ to us” Ryan says. Gallifrey, Kasterberous, Time Lord – what did any of that mean to them? Nothing, especially when her voice had been so cold, deflated, deflective. Trying to make them feel guilty for daring to ask. “I mean, why are you runnin’?” What a question... Of course, he doesn’t realise what he’s asking, the gravity of it. Boredom or exile or fear – or a mixture of all three. (And why, he asks, with his eyes, not his mouth, because he can’t quite articulate the feeling, why do we trust you?) It had been going so well. In her head, the Master laughs some more, and she doesn’t know whether he’s really there or if she’s imagining it.

“And who were you before we met you?” Yaz asks, eyes softening, begging her. “Who were you before that night on the train?” It’s the final question that makes her muscles seize up and her eyes go cold. It’s what makes the anger bubble to the surface and the laugher break from background noise to a shrill cackling inside her head. She had been a white-haired scottsman, and she made a promise. A contract, and she’d broken every clause.

“Why should I have to tell you?” She snaps. Maybe the ferocity should surprise her, but it doesn’t. Cruelty is becoming normal, for her, something that’s always lurking there, just below the surface. Yaz steps back from her stare, shocked. “I’m just a traveller, didn’t I already say, I’m nobody. Isn’t this enough for you?” she pleads, and he laughs. “Aren’t you having fun?” a different angle, because they can’t deny that. It’s been fun, it’s been lighthearted. It’s been good. “Why can’t you just let me be this?” her voice comes in strangled, breaking gasps, because there isn’t just cruelty under the surface, there’s grief as well. “Why can’t you just let me leave it all behind?” The ship rages beneath her; lights flashing, sparks spitting, crystalline pillars spiralling with blue and harsh red. It casts them all in shadow. The remnants of her voice rings out in the hollow space, the ship whirring back into silence, echoing her, understanding her like none of her new friends ever will.

In the silence, Graham hums, his mouth folded into a line. Ryan is staring at the ground, chest rising and falling with subsiding panic. Worse, though, is Yaz, because she’s staring right at her. There’s no fear in her eyes, just kindness and a twisted sort of satisfaction. Her face says ‘I was right,’ and in her cruellest moment yet, the Doctor hates her for it.

“I’m sorry – I…” she knows what she has to do, and all her previous faces are looking at her in disdain. In disgust. Shut up, she swats their images away. They aren’t her, not anymore. The Doctor is a lie, and she is just a traveller. “Yaz, I’m really, really sorry,” she whispers, voice like silk. Beckoning. The girl can’t resist.

“I know, it’s okay,” Yaz smiles, walking forwards. But the Doctor isn’t apologising for what she said, instead, she’s apologising for what she’s about to do, because she won’t get the chance after it’s done. More faces; Donna, Clara, Bill. Ada. She ignores them, and takes comfort in the cruelty of the act.

The Doctor reaches out, and Yaz leans in to her touch, thinking that she’s offering comfort. The Doctor places outstretched fingers against her temple and searches her mind. As she sifts through her timeline, the act pressed into the space of a moment, it occurs to her that she could pick apart the strands of her memories and pluck out the parts that don’t fit. The doubts, the fear. The time she spent in that horrible dimension; lost and alone in the endless forest. She could make her better. The ship hums a dissonant note; a warning, and she realises that she isn’t quite that cruel. Not yet, anyway. She only takes the past minute. It’s barely a touch upon her mind, barely a dent, so she stays conscious. Yaz sways for a moment, dizzy, while the Doctor strides over to the two boys. They aren’t paying attention. They’re talking amongst themselves in low, harsh whispers. Behind her back. Her against them.

There’s a moment when they notice her purposeful steps clanging against the metal floor, and they look up. They see her expression; flat and cold. Unyielding; and their eyes flash with fear. Graham opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, she raises both hands towards their heads. She takes Ryan in one hand and Graham in the other; outstretched arms reaching, the pads of her fingers running over the surface of their thoughts as their eyes brush closed. She could take back the memory of the Master, the panic on the plane, the bone-burrowing fear of being on the run - but she doesn’t. She thinks she will regret it later, when she’s grown a little colder still.

In their moment of confusion, time rewinding, she takes her position at the top of the stairs. The blue light on her face feels right, it feels honest. She waits for their eyes to open and adjust, once again trained on her back, and she walks away before they can pose their carefully constructed questions. She leaves them standing under the fading gold of the console, sharing those transparent, conspiratorial glances, forming a new plan to get her cornered. Her against them. She makes a new promise, and the promise is this; they can never know. You are nobody. You are just a traveller.

The Doctor is a lie, and they can never know.

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seethekraken · 4 years

Text

No Mistletoe?

Merry Christmas @castielangeldelaguarda So I am your Secret Santa <33 I chose to do a Reverse AU for you. I’ll admit I patched it up a little from the main post lol I hope you like it!! Have a Wonderful Day, Lovely!!

—

It was always hard for Sam to return to Heaven after heavy assignments and even more so when he couldn’t tell if he’d done something right or not.

Underestimating Luc had unfortunately resulted in the fight getting bloodier than Sam hoped for. He tried his hardest to resolve things peacefully. He’d begged his assignment to come in quietly, that he wouldn’t win this one.

Maybe it was that comment that salted the wound. Maybe if he knew more about what he was meant to stop, maybe then his missions’ outcome would not end in bloodshed.

Heaven rarely gave him a reason though, wary of Sam’s ability to experience and understand human emotion. He was ‘defective’ they’d whispered the first time it had happened on an assignment.

He ran solos now, mostly hitman like jobs: no details of what this human or that creature had done to receive judgement.

He’d think the Angels would value knowledge as power, but maybe in his hands was too terrible? As a result of nothing else to go on, it took a lot more strategy to win—if he didn’t know any better, he might think they wanted him to perish on mission. Those were the orders though and the notion of disobedience, nonexistent.

Being weak from time-travel was standard, but bundled with the exhaustion of preventing a future happening, Sam’s Grace needed time to recover. It wasn’t even an excuse, he was simply too weak to make his trip Up.

Drained of energy—Sam knew he’d get into trouble for taking a self imposed vacation, but he needed that break and the only way to get one was if he took it himself.

Dropping into a random timeline, perhaps a couple years into the future, Sam read the sign stating he was in ‘Cottage Grove’. What was with these humans and randomly selecting names for their homebase?

Angels were everywhere these days, only the smallest of towns were clear of them—the streets, shops too close together to be comfortable space for wings. Of course that applied to him too, even more so as his wingspan was wider. Not archangel wide by any means but enough for him to be aware of his bulk in more cramped places. The idea was to avoid detection from all Angels however, so it served his purpose for now.

Judging from the gaudy decor and overbearing smell of pine, Sam guessed it was December where they celebrated a “Saviour”. It wasn’t the first time he’d witnessed the ‘season to be jolly’ having been more than a little irked about the lack of angel statues with brown hair and brown wings in shops. Dean, of course, found it hilarious.

Slipping his wings into the ethereal plain, he landed in an alleyway and blended with the main crowd walking down the busy street, following the sound of loud music. These places usually had town parties and it seemed like a good place to hide and unwind before having to return to Heaven.

Gabriel was in charge now, and to everyone’s shock, was doing a fantastic job. He sent the right Angels to get orders done. Of course there were few mishaps but they were few and far between. As much as he was proud of Gabriel for being so efficient, Sam was also exhausted.

Sam let himself into the townhall where the town residents were celebrating. The only human that looked his way, was a black-haired man at the snack bar, and only briefly. — A slight breeze and the door opening pulled Castiel’s attention away from his task. The banquet hall was in full capacity, each plate and seating accounted for, and unless someone had left the party, he didn’t see any reason why a stranger would walk in.

Between refilling the water jugs and looking back, the giant had gone out of sight. Half an hour later and Cas spotted him again, looking awkward in the corner, not talking just watching the crowd with tired eyes. Snapping the attention of a waiter, Cas instructed him to serve that niche where the brunette was sitting, before seating himself a little away from the crowd.

Cas stared at him then, a truly beautiful specimen. Go figure his type would walk into a party while he was working. Glancing down at the suit he had on, Cas loosened his tie, starting to feel the humidity that came from large crowds crammed in a room together. Offering the tray of appetizers at passing guests with a put on smile, Cas curiously turned back to his eye candy.

Shit.

—

Sam had a hard time not tracking the man with his eyes. There was just something, a weird pull he didn’t entirely understand, which caused time and time again for him to seek that face in the crowd.

And then it happened.

Striking blue eyes found his hazel ones with such accuracy, Sam had a suspicion the human had been observing him too. Neither looked away, in fact his gaze seemed to intensify. What was that colour? He’d seen creation come alive, knew every shade, hue, tint in existence…and yet he’d never seen this shade before, speckles of dark and light dancing around his pupils.

He looked to be some point between his late 30’s to early 40’s. Ruggedly handsome, there were bags under his eyes, a sharp scruffy jaw like he’d forgotten to shave that morning and pink lips with pleasantly tanned skin.

Sam tried not to stare. He also tried not to knock things over because despite his wings tucked in the ethereal plain, they needed to mind and he was using all his energy to simply keep him upright.

The next time he glanced at the table, Blue Eyes was gone. Baffled by his disappointment, Sam gingerly walked to a lesser crowded corner and rearranged himself comfortably. Even if he was simply human, it would be a challenging feet regardless.

Trays of food were being passed along with plates, so despite not needing to eat, Sam helped himself to some. Time passed slowly as he watched the crowd mingling with familiarity and began missing Dean. His brother was the only one who understood him, who even stood up for him despite moving up in ranks like Gabriel, though not as top-tier. Dean never made him feel like he was…less.

A heavy feeling in his heart, Sam took a walk, smiled at people politely and interjected a lie whenever appropriate. Yes, he was passing through, no he came alone, staying the night? maybe.

Weirdly, women seemed to wait for a specific moment to speak with him. Sam wasn’t fooled. He knew the tradition of mistletoe, knew a kiss was mandatory. He didn’t like the way they looked at him though, and the one he wanted to he could see now, was deliberately avoiding doing so.

Unsure how to act like he belonged there, Sam stopped at a doorway easily looking over heads, for more reclusive spots where humans would leave him alone…

“Hi,” a gravelly voice said from behind and Sam turned towards them, being snared almost immediately by two mesmerizing pools of blue. It was him. There was a soft smile on his lips and shyness in his eyes as he went to speak further.

“You are…kinda blocking the pathway,” he offered, holding a tray with both hands in front of him. Sam stared in surprise, accidentally twitching his wings in the ethereal plain, toppling some items off a nearby table. For whatever reason, they seemed to still have a physical presence in the material world but invisible to plain sight. This never happened. Maybe his control was slipping?

“I should go,” he said aloud.

“No! I mean you don’t have to leave…”

This man didn’t want him to leave but only move? Move where? Like he could read the Angel’s mind, Blue eyes put his tray down on the conveniently bare space—curtesy of Sam’s malfunctioning limbs—and walked towards him, pushing Sam a little to the side.

Sam let him.

Getting the Angel to budge was equivalent to trying to move a boulder. Despite achieving their goal, the hands stayed on his chest, like its owner had forgotten about them.

Sam looked down at the man at least four inches shorter than him, and raised his eyebrows in question. “All good?”

Blue eyes’ had yet to move so fast, like Sam was hot to the touch. “Right. Well now that you’re out of the way, I can—“ he gestured behind him where Sam was sitting only a few minutes ago, but still didn’t budge until the sound of someone clearing their throat made them both turn.

There was a blonde woman standing in front of them, giggling delightfully at the human as she pointed up upwards. — Castiel groaned internally. Even before he looked up, Cas already knew what he’s going to find. Donna had been trying to hook him up with some of the town folk, and here this stranger was caught neatly in her web.

He had a job to do. Catering was tiresome work but the Christmas party was his biggest event, so he had to do it in order to stay afloat.

Instead, Jack refused to stay with anyone but him, and he had to bring the kid to a booze approved party. On top of it, of course the *one* person he’d actually been interested in would show up in an environment where service staff and guests weren’t allowed to mingle.

“Donna,” he sighed softly. “I’m working,”

“Shut the front door, I had no idea!” his best friend jested, “You’re the boss, you don’ count..” Donna whispered, smiling widely still and pushing him gently towards the guy.

Knowing better than to argue with the Sheriff, Cas reasoned this was probably the only time he was ever going to see this man. And Donna was right, he was the owner of the company…

This reason in mind, instead of introducing himself, Castiel grabbed the lapels of the suede coloured jacket, and tugged it enough to get the man to bend to meet him in the middle. He was going to savour this moment however long it lasted, and he had every aim to drag it out.

Just when he’d determined it an appropriate time for a mistletoe kiss, mystery man leaned in closer, arm wrapped around his waist, practically smooshing him against a wall of lean muscle.

Long strands of hair fell onto his face, and Castiel briefly wondered if they would feel as soft as they looked, wrapped around his fingers.

Caving into the urge, he gently carded his fingers through this tall man’s beautiful hair. So silky and smooth, he thought as he tugged at the strands, urging the brunette to bend down some more, going on the tips of his toes to close the height difference. — Sam was more than a little shocked at the forwardness of this seemingly awkward man but melted into the kiss anyhow. The gentle caress of his hair was turning him into goo and just as he was getting into it, he felt a double tug on his feathers.

His feather still in the ethereal plain.

Surprised he hadn’t sensed them, Sam broke the kiss abruptly and spun around expecting an Angel from the garrison, not a child looking at him. No, that wasn’t right…he was looking behind Sam.

“Soft!”

Sam froze in shock but the child was caressing his dark wings in wonder. It had blonde hair and blue eyes and were it a cartoon, it would probably have stars in them.

It could see his wings? How was that even possible? If it could see his wings, then there was no guarantee this thing was actually human, and from experience he knew looking like a human and being human were two entirely different things.

The thing kept touching him, though with utter care, like a loose feather would pain him. If there was a creature of this sort here in this town, was it being watched? Guarded? Would they think Sam was there to protect it or kill it…there were so many gue—

“Jack,” the man sighed, and picked up the little boy, “I told you to sit in the corner. Are you hungry? What can I get you?”

Jack shook his head, signalling he didn’t need anything, to which the boy got set down and the human sighed gustily, turning back to Sam, “Well, this was nice…”

“Uh huh,” Sam’s eyes were still on Jack, mind racing.

“I’m Castiel. Not that you asked, but I figured it is the most I can do aft—“

“Castiel?” Sam eyebrows jumped in surprise. A quick survey and nope, still human.

“Yes, I know its the angel of Thursday,” Castiel rolled his eyes, “No, I’m not religious,”

“Uhhh…okay,” Sam gave a small laugh under his breath. “I’m Sam by the way,”

“Well Sam, this was nice. Really nice actually, but I have to get back to work, so…enjoy the party I guess,”

Sam couldn’t have him leave though. This..thing..seemed harmless enough but what was it? Did the man know the child was not a child? Was he safe? He had to find out!!

“Oh, but…do you know where I can book a room? It’s too late in the night to leave, and I’m kind of on vacation and this place looks like a nice place to stay.” Sam gave his best form of persuasion—puppy dog eyes. It worked.

It always worked.

Castiel hesitated for about a quarter of a second and then grabbed Sam’s arm gently. “Come with me,” leading him to another guest. Quick words were exchanged and Sam heard the gist of it. The County inn was all booked up, as well as the motel at the edge of town.

“Looks like—“

“What about that big ol’ bed of yours, Cas? Think it will fit him?” — Cas sometimes wished his life was simpler.

That he did not have a cute eight year old shaped walking and talking weather and news app for a son, a gorgeous man didn’t walk into his party room hoping to find a place to sleep, and his best friend not inviting said man to sleep in his own bed.

“Donna I don’t think Sam would appreciate that,” Cas protested lightly, trying to remember if he’d even made his bed that morning. When was the last time he’d washed his sheets? When was the last time he’d cleaned the house..?

“Actually that sounds perfect!” Sam pitched in, and Cas didn’t have anything left as far as excuses went.

“And the party’s almost over anywhooo, the staff will clean up!” Donna chirped right in.

With four pairs of eyes watching him, Cas caved, “O-okay, I guess,”

Then to both Cas and Sam’s shock, little fingers reached up clasping two of Sam’s because that’s all he could reach and began pulling him toward the door. — “You can sit in the front room, I have to change the sheets. I suppose you’ll need clothes to change into something as well..let’s see what we can do..you’re not exactly small..” Castiel kept muttering, but Sam was sure it was more for himself than to inform his guest.

Sure enough, the man went up stairs the without a word, still saying things under his breath.

This human confused him. More that, he intrigued Sam. And then there was the boy who could see his true form. Which..right. Was the more pressing matter. Or at least should have been.

Sam sat in the front room as Castiel suggested with Jack, who nuzzled against his feathery side—reminding him yet again that this small human may not be human at all. He pet the kid’s soft hair absently, wondering if maybe he should do his own tests before he reported this unusual occurrence—when Jack crawled into the space his crossed legs made, and promptly fell asleep like a pup in the middle of a nest.

Sam froze not daring to move a muscle least he hurt Jack. He didn’t know how long he sat there staring at Jack blankly, but was deep enough in his head, not to detect company when Castiel came back.

“It seems he has adopted you.” Sam looked up to see Cas leaning against the doorway, watching them with a soft expression.

“Adopted me?”

“He doesn’t usually warm up to people right away. It took him more than half a year to like Donna, and she’d a literal angel! Doesn’t even cuss, that woman. But as you see, he took a real liking to you. I’ve never seen him like that with anyone else but me.”

Sam was not sure what to say to that. He couldn’t possibly explain that Jack’s fascination with him was only because of his wings. It was the only explanation. “What does sleeping in my lap got to do with anything?”

“Plenty.” Cas smiled softly as he kneeled beside Sam, gently picking up the lightly snoring boy, carrying Jack into his room. When he returned, he took up the exact same place on the floor as before.

They talked about everything and nothing as they sat by the fire roasting marshmallows. The marshmallows might as well be sponge in his mouth, but watching as Castiel tried to make him a perfectly roasted one, crowing in delight when he succeeded, well Sam would eat the entire packet if Cas wished.

After they settled back comfortably leaning against throw pillows, Cas told him about how he’d ended up adopting Jack though it wasn’t in the plans, and in turn Sam shared stories of his job helping people and how challenging it could be but also rewarding when sucessful, omitting all the supernatural aspects of course.

Cas fell asleep with his head resting on Sam and the Angel waited until he was fast asleep, before he moved Cas to the couch. He didn’t want to go to Heaven. Didn’t want another assignment but he needed to know what in the universe was that child.

—

“About time!” were the first words Sam heard, when he returned to the garrison. “Off in Bali?”

“Hi Dean,” he sighed. “Why would I go to Bali?”

“Sun. Scenery. What isn’t good about Bali.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Gabriel. You do know all his ‘disgustingly sweet’—as you love to complain about—drinks come from there?” Dean grunted in reply and Sam’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, “Wow. You’re in a mood…What happened?”

“Gabe called me a dickless hoe-bag,” Dean grumped.

“Well..to be fair—“

“If you want to live another century I suggest you shut up,” Dean scowled, but then his expression switched to confusion. “Hey, what’s with the wings? Why are there streaks of blue in them?”

“Wha—“ Sam took a look for himself and oh no..Dean was right. He didn’t even know Angel wings could do that, could change in design…

It was a good thing for him, that Dean was more distracted than usual. “You actually came at the perfect time. we have a Nephilim on our hands. We have to find it, and fast, before the Demons do.”

“A Nephilim? There’s no such thing De—“ Sam stopped. Jack.

It had to be Jack!

“There is now,” Dean said, not noticing Sam’s frozen expression. “We almost had it earlier and then it disappeared from the radar. The Host wants to keep it hush hush for now. I’ve got my hands full, so does Gabriel. You’re the only one we trust with this. Look, it should be a quick job. Some human is hiding it and all you have to do is eliminate them and bring the Nephilim to Heaven.”

“I—what?” Sam’s mind was running a mile a minute. Panic raised within him, he couldn’t give—and Cas he couldn’t even imagine ‘eliminating’ him!! Instead he responded with a question, “How could you lose it??”

“It’s not like you can use an EMF tracker on Earth, Sammy,” Dean growled, frowning heavily.

“Dean—“

“Just find the human and take them out. The Nephilim’s young, easily trusting. It will probably follow you even you offered it something as simple as candy.”

Dean had no idea how right he was. It would be the easiest job yet, since Sam was at Castiel’s.

He spent the entire night debating what to do, before laying down on the floor beside the couch so that was where Cas spotted him the next morning. — Snow.

Heaps of snow fell the previous night, this wasn’t even in the forecast..but so much that the front door would not budge and it stood on top of four stone steps! Cas looked out one more time before quietly sneaking past Sam who like a gentleman, slept on the floor.

Opening Jack’s door softly, Cas sat on his son’s bed. “How did you sleep last night?”

“Mr. Sam stay?”

“Well..he doesn’t have much of a choice now, does he?” Cas sighed but held Jack’s hand to let him know he wasn’t upset. “Thank you though. It was very sweet of you, Jack,”

This was their own little secret and as long as no one knew, Jack could stay with him. Jack understood that too thankfully, despite being such a young kid. Cas suspected that type of knowledge was something unusual too. “Why today?”

“You wanted him to stay…”

“…so you made it happen,” Cas finished. Kissing Jack on the forehead, Cas tucked the bedsheets against this small human who’d won his heart the moment he’d stepped into the adoption agency and said, “Come down later, okay?”

“Okay Dad,” Jack wiggled back into the pocket created and promptly fell asleep.

Walking down the stairs, Cas startled to find Sam at the bottom of them. “H-hi. How did you sleep?”

“I’m a little sore,” Sam dimpled, mischief in his eyes. Cas grinned.

“Are you hungry?”

“I could eat..” Sam replied, putting his hands in his pant pockets. Last night they had discovered none of the pyjamas Cas owned would fit him, but there was a loose sleep shirt and on Sam’s broad shoulders, were so tight it might as well have been second skin.

He looked absolutely delectable. Cas stopped when he was eye level with Sam, which meant at least two steps off the ground.

“See something you like?”

“Oh don’t even pretend you don’t know!” Cas scoffed, cupping the nape of Sam’s neck, and pressing his chapped lips against soft ones. Sam caressed his thigh before easily picking him up and Cas wrapping his legs tightly around the taller man’s waist, was carried like that into a brightly lit room that could only be the kitchen.

Set down on the counter, Sam stood between his legs, hands roaming the expanse of Cas’ back, fingers just about dipping under his shirt, when he spoke, “I could do this forever,” Sam murmured against his lips.

“Hmm..” Cas buried his fingers in Sam’s soft hair, barely breathing since he didn’t want to part from Sam, when his stomach rumbled loudly.

“I guess my body disagrees.”

“Not all of you,” Sam quipped slyly.

Cas pushed him aside playfully and hopped onto the tiled floor. “Oh by the way, you need to know…it snowed a ton last night. Tons like can’t open the front door because its packed against it.”

“Oh. The forecast said sunny skies?” Sam sounded surprised, but there was a hint of something else that Cas couldn’t place. He wasn’t overly bothered by it. Snowed in, he had Sam all to himself.

Well him and Jack, but he didn’t mind sharing. — Sam knew he was sinking deeper and deeper.

Seeing Jack trusting him so easily last night, Sam now knew it was because Jack was part Angel. That’s why he felt safe with Sam, felt protected, they were kin in a way. There was no way he’d cause harm to the pup now. Jack really was innocent…he was oblivious of the dangers of the world and introducing him to violence would tip that scale, might even destroy him. As long as that didn’t happen, Sam was sure Jack would continue to be a happy boy.

And then there was Cass. Cas who’d besides the initial hesitation—Sam realized was more embarrassment than fearful—had been open and welcoming. He didn’t put up any pretense and he had no shame expressing his attraction to the Angel, but not in a pushy manner. Cas was changing his perception and there wasn’t even a little bit where he fought it.

Instead he enjoyed his time with just Cas, flinging pancake batter on him while the human was trying to be serious and not burn whatever was on the stove. Their shenanigans continued up until Jack arrived.

They made cookies the next morning, Sam and Jack making a mess of themselves and after a lot of rolling of the eyes, Cas joined them. Later that night, Sam lay down on Cas’ bed. Donna was right in the sense of the bed being wide. Having never needing to lay down, Sam found the whole thing weird, feet still managing to stick out.

“You can tuck your feet under, you know?” Cas laughed softly beside him, spotting Sam’s expression. Sam turned to face him instead. They stared at one another just like the time in the party hall.

“You have beautiful eyes, Cas”. Sam watched as a deep blush rose in Cas’ cheeks.

“And you have beautiful hair.”

“Is that why you like playing with them so much?”

Cas smiled at him lazily, a retort quick on his tongue. “as if you don’t enjoy it.”

Sam only hummed. Cas scooted closer and kissed his nose, linking Sam’s fingers with his, in the most intimate gesture Sam was yet to experience, “I wish you didn’t have to leave…” his voice trailed off, before he fell into a deep sleep.

With the knowledge that Cas definitely wouldn’t wake Sam allowed his wings to materialize, draping them onto Cas.

The meaning of Cas’ words finally made sense the next day, when Sam glanced out. The snow had completely melted, given creating slush and a lot of puddles but other than that, if he were human, it would be safe to travel.

What this revealed however, was that Cas knew something, otherwise how would he have been able to predict the extreme switch of weather? Honestly Sam wished Jack would stop, not only because it meant he no longer had an excuse to stay with Cas, but the Angels would definitely take notice.

That still meant he had to leave though. Breakfast was a somber meal, Cas not saying much. He did hold Sam’s hand throughout, even if it made it hard for him to eat. Sam didn’t resist because he realized he needed it too. Maybe if he was built the same as other Angels, it wouldn’t be so hard.

But he wasn’t. And it was.

One of the last moments they had was when Cas pulled out his fone and suggested they exchange numbers, “Just in case” he’d said. It read more as ‘I’ll miss you, please don’t disappear on me.’

Following suit, Sam pulled out his and typed his contact space as ‘Cass’. Castiel reached over his shoulder, again standing on a higher step and reverse linked their fingers so both palms were up, so he was now holding the device and pushed the delete button once, so it read ‘Cas’ instead.

“Does it matter?” Sam asked confused.

“Trust me, it matters,” with a fond smile, Cas quickly pecked Sam on his cheek.

Cas thankfully didn’t see when Sam gave Jack one of his downy feathers. “Our little secret okay?”

“Secret.” Jack nodded, smiling so brightly, Sam felt a pang in his heart. No matter what happened, he hope Jack would retain his innocence. It was Sam’s favourite thing about him. That and how he’d crawl into Sam’s lap, as Cas looked on.

“Take care, okay? Promise me.”

“I’ll try. Okay yes, yes I will take care,” Cas amended after Sam glared at him. “And..you too.”

“Sure.” — “Cas! Cas you here?!” Sam’s panicked voice carried easily up the stairs, where Cas was getting ready to use the shower. Strange. He didn’t recall hearing the door open with a ‘ping’, but something in Sam’s tone didn’t allow him dwell on.

“Sam? What is it?” Castiel rushed down the stairs, and Sam upon seeing him, looked like a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders, but he wasn’t relaxing, not completely.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I tried. I tried every which way but—the storm maybe I’m not sure—they can’t find you, Cas! I can’t please—“ Sam’s frame shook. Cas had never seen him so undone and it scared him.

“Sam what are you talking about?”

“Mr. Sam?” Jack’s sweet voice called behind them and Sam turned, dropping to his feet fluidly, practically swallowed Jack in his arms.

“Jack..oh than-k you, you’re safe,”

“Sam?”

Sam’s shoulders tightened again and it hurt Cas to see him like this. Their parting had been bittersweet, and Cas had missed Sam’s warmth for the last couple weeks. Good Lord his dimples! Cas yearned to see them again.

Sam finally stood up and took a deep breadth. “I need you to close your eyes.” Seeing Cas about to ask why, he insisted, “Please. You trust me? Please, Cas.”

Feeling slightly foolish, Cas did as was requested, when he felt that familiar sensation of wind but not wind. Then he was being enveloped in a hug, comforting and warm and…safe. He’d thought he’d dreamt this up, but this feeling felt so good.

“Now open your eyes.”

Cas blinked once. Twice. Sam’s hands were by his side..then what was…Dark brown walls the same colour as Sam’s hair had materialized and wrapped around him like a cocoon.

“I’m an Angel, Cas. I know this must be hard to digest right now, and I understand if you…” Sam bit his lip in a nervous gesture. Not knowing what to say, Cas backed up only to feel a wall of feathers at his back. Despite looking like steel, it felt—

“Soft?” His eyes widened with shock and darted towards Jack. How he’d taken so easily to Sam, how he cuddled up like a puppy, how mesmerized he seemed early on.

“Soft!” Jack clapped happily that his dad finally got it.

“He’s been able to see them this entire time?!” Sam nodded solemnly.

“I know he’s not like…everyone else. He..he knows when people are coming even before they’re on our street. He knows if something terrible is going to happen and prevents me from going out of the house. He brought rain when there was a drought—“

Something must have tipped Sam off to reply “—excessively. But the flood happened in California?”

“He was watching TV, Sam.” Cas felt a brush against his cheek. Unknowingly, he’d moved his head to rest on them, feather’s tickling his cheek. “So. He is..”

“He is not dangerous, he is in danger, Cas. So are you. I’m going to try to fight them off, but first this is going to sting,” Sam put each of his large hands on Cas and Jack’s chest and Cas felt a surge of energy pass through him. “I’ve carved sigils on your ribcage that prevent Angels from tracking you. “That should give us some time.”

This was all too much for Cas. Sam wasn’t human, he had wings—beautifully majestic wings he could appreciate later—but what they were being hunted? Why? In his confusion his tone took a sharper edge.

“Some time for what? Because I’m not leaving, Sam. This is my home.”

“It will be temporary, I promise.”

“Temporary for how long? My mom always told me it was temporary that we stayed in motels in a new town. She would promise a house, a mailbox, a permanent school. I never got that house Sam—I was relocated to another town, another motel, another “temporary”. So I ask you again. How long? And if the answer is ‘I don’t know’, then Jack and I are staying put.

“If my son is wanted by the supernatural, it means he’s powerful. If they feel threatened, he’s really powerful. We can stay. You can stay.” Cas prayed Sam knew what what he really meant.

“If I stay, I’d fall. I’d lose my wings, I’d be human..” Sam’s voice went quiet.

“Would being human really be so bad?” The words were out of his mouth before he could consider them. Cas dropped his eyes to his feet, feeling vulnerable. He hadn’t opened himself to another in a really long time. He was being selfish; he was being a hypocrite.

“I’m sorry. No, no you’re right,“ he swallowed the lump in his throat. “You should go. If th-that’s what is best for you, I und—“

“I love you too, Cas. And I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Cas felt weightless at the confession and tugged Sam to him, kissing him slowly, softly. Lovingly.

“No mistletoe?” said a small confused voice and it caused both Cas and his angel to smile into the kiss. — In the end things were pretty anticlimactic. The door was busted off its hinges as five Angels streamed through, Dean leading them.

Sam stood at the front, Cas on his left holding an Angel blade and Jack on his right, looking completely uninterested as he sat on the floor playing with plastic dinosaurs.

“I don’t want to fight you brother,” Sam said, looking solely at Dean, wings spread. “But I will, if I must.”

Dean glanced towards the human with an Angel’s name, looking unfazed at the appearance of Sam’s wings, or that Sam was shielding him from them. Narrowing his eyes, Dean realized Castiel’s eyes were the same colour as the new streaks on Sam’s wings. There was only one explanation for the change.

Dammit Sam! This was the worst ‘man walks in the bar’ joke. Except it wasn’t a joke. It was his brother in love.

He took his first good look at the Nephilim in question. It was looking right back, the delight plain in his eyes as it squealed, “Mo’ wings!” It was..it was a child. Part child anyways but Dean couldn’t sense any maliciousness coming from it.

There was no way Dean was going to take it away from its family now.

Just for the sake of reporting an interrogation, Dean said, “He caused a severe snowstorm that hit seven other states. That level of damage is hard to explain in places not known for snow!”

“Mr. Sam was leaving. Dad sad. Then Dad happy. Then Dad very happy!”

“Jack!” both Sam and Cas reprimanded him, blushing furiously. Dean smirked inwardly, okay this just got entertaining. He decided he liked the kid.

“The flood?”

“There was a drought,” Castiel added, despite Sam advising him to leave the talking to the Angels.

“And the hurricane in Africa?”

Sam frowned as did Cas, “I don’t know that one…”

“The lions wanted to eat the baby elephant. Elephants are nice. Lions were not nice.” Jack frowned disapprovingly.

“So he relocated the pack…that is kind of adorable,” said an Angel behind Dean.

To which another muttered, “I’m not arresting Sam’s son. Might relocate me too..” There were multiple muttered agreements. Cas looked over at Sam, who seemed as confused as he felt.

“Okay one last question,” Dean said, and all eyes snapped to him. “When’s the wedding?”

“DEAN!” —

#Sastiel #samstiel #castiel #sastielcc #sassy love #sam x castiel #castiel x sam #cassam #samcas #sastiel fic #sastiel fanfic #reverse au #sastiel secret santa 2019 #jack kline #angel!sam #human!cas #human!castiel

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chasingthecosmos · 4 years

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Three Hearts to Own

Fandom: Doctor Who Rating: G Pairing: The Doctor/Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Chapters: 1/10 Read on AO3 here.

A (sort of) season re-write centering around the Doctor's touch telepathy and the many ways that it makes his life difficult while he attempts to move on from the loss of Rose Tyler. This work is based around Seasons 3 & 4 and the Tenth Doctor. It's the final entry in the "A Hand to Hold" series, but it can also be read as a stand-alone. The first four or five chapters will just be short excerpts from the Doctor's time away from Rose, but there will be a Journey's End fix-it and a happily ever after at the end. Tags will be updated as I go. Chapters will vary in length.

Chapter One: Martha (Part One)

---------- The Runaway Bride ----------

Life without Rose was surprisingly simple - or perhaps simple wasn't the right word. Maybe numb non-acceptance would be a more apt description.

The Doctor had exactly thirty-six seconds to wallow in silent self-pity before a new glorious, much-needed distraction came in the form of a feisty red-headed human dressed in a long, white wedding dress. She introduced herself as Donna, and even though she asked far too many questions about the Doctor's recent, crushing loss, he was surprised to find that he quite enjoyed her company. Even when she was yelling at him and calling him rude names, it was better than the overwhelming silence that had reigned inside of the Doctor's head for those first agonizing thirty-six seconds.

Having a new partner at his side who looked and acted nothing at all like Rose was a strange new shift, but one that he welcomed nonetheless. The Doctor didn't think he could go back to being alone the way that he had been before Rose - that road was madness. But if he was going to start chaperoning companions again, then he knew that he needed a change - someone who wouldn't constantly be reminding him of the woman who he had loved and lost.

He found that he was being more cautious than ever as he carefully put up every mental shield that he could possibly think of before he took Donna's hand in his and slipped the bio-damper onto her finger in an attempt to keep her safe. He had never before wished so desperately that his species wasn't so telepathically enabled. The Doctor refused to risk even the slightest bit of connection with another sentient being right now - not when his own mind and hearts were still so shattered and aching.

He felt an overwhelming amount of sympathy for the brash, over-confident Donna when she suddenly discovered that her picturesque, idyllic wedding was nothing more than a ruse - an attempt to use her for the nefarious purpose of yet another alien invasion. The Doctor knew that he should have felt more remorse for drowning the Empress of the Racnoss and her children and putting an end to an entire species - however sinister they might have been - but as he stood over the empty ravine left behind by the river Thames, he couldn't quite seem to make himself feel anything more than that same grim, numb purpose that was quickly solidifying around his hearts and erasing all of that gray moral space that he had been operating in for centuries.

He took Donna back home afterwards, but he couldn't force himself to leave without asking first - without at least extending the offer for her to run away from her life and to help keep him distracted for just a little bit longer. She refused, just as she should have, but that didn't mean that it didn't hurt twice as much when the Doctor returned back to his empty TARDIS alone.

She offered him Christmas dinner before he left, but the Doctor knew immediately that such a request was completely outside of the question. There were simply too many memories - too many reminders of pink cracker crowns and holding hands in the snow and Christmas dinner with the family that he would never be able to visit again.

So instead, he did the one thing that Donna refused to do - he ran, and he didn't once look back.

center---------- Smith and Jones ----------

After that, the Doctor's life quickly unraveled into a meaningless, colorless blur. He smiled because it was easier than crying. He made jokes with the individuals who he crossed paths with because it was kinder than yelling at them. He saved innocent people from evil because it was the right thing to do - but all the while he felt nothing but a numb, burning ache in all of the places that he knew that Rose should be occupying.

Thankfully, a new distraction came to him in the form of a young woman named Martha Jones. The Doctor liked her almost immediately - she was kind and clever and kept up with him as easily as though she had been doing it all her life. The two of them fell quickly into an easy rhythm with one another - a fact that both concerned and excited the Doctor.

Martha made him believe that maybe finding a replacement for Rose wouldn't be such a hopeless endeavor after all. She made him think that maybe he didn't have to be alone anymore. She gave him hope that maybe he could finally move on and leave his dreams of pink and yellow behind ...

He could feel Martha's interest in him when he went against his better judgement and kissed her in order to get the genetic transfer that he needed in order to save the innocent lives of all of the people that the judoon had transported to the moon. Even with all of his mental barriers up in an attempt to shield his telepathic abilities as much as possible, her sharp spike of attraction and desire hummed against the sensitive skin of the Doctor's lips and quickly reminded him that there were other options - he didn't have to be heartbroken and alone forever if he didn't want to. There were plenty of other women out there in the universe who were no doubt just as clever and brilliant and beautiful as his Rose.

However, the Doctor didn't want any of those other women - he only wanted the one, and she was trapped away in a universe that he couldn't ever reach.

The Doctor still went back for Martha, though. Even after the world was safe again and she had returned back to her family and her normal life, the Doctor still couldn't leave well enough alone - instead deciding to show off with cheap tricks and slight-of-hand in order to entice her into his old time ship. Unlike with Donna, it was an offer that Martha couldn't refuse, and he knew without her having to tell him that she was coming along.

"Where is everyone?" she asked suspiciously as she finally stepped aboard the TARDIS and glanced around at the expansive console room with wide, shocked eyes.

"Just me," the Doctor stated plainly, already setting their destination for some place that he thought she might enjoy. He didn't give her a choice for her first trip like he had with Rose. He couldn't risk Martha choosing some place that held too many painful memories.

"All on your own?" she insisted curiously.

"Well, sometimes I have ... guests - I mean, some friends, traveling alongside me," he explained haltingly, hating the way that his mouth still seemed to have a tendency to run away without his conscious permission. "I had ... It was recently ... a friend of mine. Rose, her name was - Rose. And ... we were together ..." Her name on his lips after so long without her was like a balm to his wounded hearts that both stung and soothed him at the same time.

"Where is she now?" Martha asked quietly, her dark eyes seeming to see straight through him.

"With her family, happy. She's fine," the Doctor muttered dismissively, forcing himself to meet her gaze so that he could prove to her (and, more importantly, to himself) that he wasn't lying. "Not that you're replacing her!" he added quickly, pointing a condemning finger in the young woman's face instead of directing the blame at himself where it really belonged.

"Never said I was," Martha replied with a small, teasing smile.

"Just one trip, to say thanks!" the Doctor continued insistently. "You get one trip, then back home! I'd rather be on my own."

Martha's smile faded as she watched him, and the Doctor suspected that he wasn't fooling either of them with his bitter, desperate lie. Thankfully, all of time and space was at their disposal, and he was able to dodge the rest of her flirtatious banter as he always did by busying himself with the TARDIS controls.

Still, the Doctor couldn't seem to shake the feeling that he was making a very big mistake in bringing Martha aboard - but he also couldn't deny the fact that he was tired of being alone, and he ran headlong into the bad decision anyway. He simply had to trust that he would be able to find some way to work everything out before it all fell apart around him.

---------- The Shakespeare Code ----------

Meeting Shakespeare was a laugh, and even running into the carrionites was exciting, but spending the night in a medieval inn with Martha ended up being the most dangerous part of their first trip out in the TARDIS. The bed that they had to share was small, and the Doctor turned towards her to stare deep into Martha's eyes as though he could somehow will her into being the blonde-haired, brown-eyed face that he most longed to see. He barely dared to blink as he stared hard at Martha's features in fear that if he closed his eyes for even a second, his own imagination and traitorous hearts would take over and convince him that the longing that he felt burning against his skin was coming from a different woman.

Later on, the Doctor was forced to lower his mental shields so that he could communicate telepathically with the architect of the Globe Theatre in order to find answers about what was going on, but that left him weak and vulnerable when one of the carrionite sisters suddenly descended upon them and began to use her words to devastating effect.

"The naming won't work on me," the Doctor warned the woman dangerously as she smirked down at him with an air of cool confidence.

"But your heart grows cold," she murmured in mock sympathy. "The north wind blows and carries down the distant ... Rose."

The name stung, just as the carrionite had intended it to, but instead of further wounding the Doctor, it only managed to fill him with a deep, burning rage.

He ended up being as merciless with the carrionites as he had been with the racnoss - sending them all back into their strange crystal ball where they could scream and rage into eternity with no hope of ever being released. The Doctor had once described himself as a man of "no second chances". He found that without Rose there to hold him to a better standard, he was certainly living up to the description.

---------- Gridlock ----------

They went to New Earth next because the Doctor was an old, weak fool and he thought that maybe he just might be able to hold on to Rose by visiting the places where they had traveled to before. He was wrong, of course - not only did he and Martha end up landing in the middle of a planet-wide bio-disaster, but when they finally did manage to make it up to the city, the clear sky and the smell of apple grass did nothing but sting the Doctor's already bruised and battered hearts.

Martha made him explain, of course, once it was all said and done. She was good at that - making him answer for himself. The Doctor thought that it was probably a good thing, but at the moment, he was too hurt to acknowledge the healing process.

"But what did he mean, the Face of Boe - 'you're not alone'?" Martha asked quietly.

The Doctor tried to dodge the question, but Martha really was too clever for her own good. "I lied to you," he finally admitted quietly, hating the way that his empty tone rang off of the dirty walls of the surrounding slums, "because I liked it. I could pretend. Just for a bit, I could imagine they were still alive, underneath a burnt orange sky. I'm not just a Time Lord - I'm the last of the Time Lords. The Face of Boe was wrong, there's no one else."

Rose had asked him once if he was sure. Martha only wanted to know what had happened. The Doctor forced himself to tell her - to relive the memories, both good and bad - in grim repentance of all that he had done. The old images of Gallifrey in his mind still burned like they always did, but there was a new empty ache in the place where his people were meant to be - an ache that only the presence of a bondmate could ever soothe. The Doctor didn't tell Martha about that part, though - he just let it sit and fester for another day. After all, it was the least of what he deserved.

---------- Daleks in Manhattan & Evolution of the Daleks ----------

He took her to New York next - the proper, Earth one this time, though the TARDIS happened to land them a few decades shy of the present. The longer he carted Martha around, the harder it was getting for the Doctor to ignore the blatant way that she looked at him, and for the first time in his many lives, he was almost ironically grateful for the distraction of a dalek invasion that wedged its way between them.

However, it was the first time that the Doctor had seen the elusive Cult of Skaro since the Battle of Canary Wharf, and their sudden reappearance now did nothing to ease his troubled mind.

Leaving Tallulah and Lazlow behind in a turbulent time and place where even half-human hybrids could live out their lives and go largely unnoticed did spark something in the Doctor, though ... It was an idea, as crazy and impossible as the strange couple themselves.

He wondered curiously if they really could do it - could they live a life of contentment together despite their many trials and differences? Could they really make a happily ever after out of the strange cards that the universe had dealt them?

The love that the Doctor saw in their eyes gave him a surprising amount of hope - another thing that he hadn't encountered since Canary Wharf - and when he and Martha eventually stepped back onto the TARDIS again, he continued his current trend and didn't give her any input at all as he determinedly set their destination towards modern-day London to take her home.

---------- The Lazarus Experiment ----------

"Where are we?" Martha asked as soon as they'd landed, glancing up at him with that eager, expectant look that he had come to recognize from many of his companions over the centuries.

"The end of the line," the Doctor answered cryptically, giving her nothing more than a pointed look as he waited for her to take the initiative to open the doors and see for herself.

Martha, unsurprisingly, wasn't pleased to see that he had brought her back home, just about twelve hours after they had left (he was certain that he had gotten the timing right this time - one good slap from Jackie Tyler had gone a long way in teaching the Doctor his lesson, it seemed). However, he spared very little sympathy for the shocked, hurt look in Martha's eyes as he let the TARDIS doors fall closed between them and prepared to carry out his plan to leave her to her normal, human life back on Earth.

The Doctor had more than fulfilled his promise of "one trip", after all, and he knew that the longer that Martha stayed on the TARDIS, the more awkward things would become when he inevitably had to turn down her increasingly bold flirtations. However, the strange and impossible Professor Lazarus had caught the Doctor's attention quite against his will, and Martha had a direct family connection to him, so it only seemed prudent to bring her along while he did a little bit of investigating.

The Doctor realized his mistake as soon as Martha announced that the event that they would be attending was "black tie required", which all but guaranteed that she would be watching him appraisingly out of the corner of her eye for the entirety of the night while she, herself, wore a dress that exposed far more skin than normal.

However, eyeing Martha's knee-length flowing skirt and heels only served to remind the Doctor of what a fool he had been when he had forced Rose into a maid's uniform back in Pete's World instead of allowing her to dress up as she had desired. Over nine-hundred-years-old and he was still just a daft old idiot who never knew how good he had it until the opportunity was gone and lost forever.

The Doctor made a pointed effort to keep his hands tucked firmly into his pockets throughout the entirety of the event - becoming even more cautious after he was introduced to Martha's family and her eagle-eyed, suspicious mother. However, when Lazarus's experiment eventually went wrong, as it was always going to do, the Doctor suddenly found himself crammed into a tiny capsule that didn't really allow for much modesty between him and Martha at all. Every single one of his telepathic abilities was crying out against the forced closeness, and it took all of the Doctor's (admittedly limited) self-control to keep himself from fleeing from the capsule and running straight into the jaws of the monster waiting for them outside.

However, when it came down to it, the Doctor was still nothing more than a weak, old fool, and when the night was over, he still asked Martha back for one more trip on the TARDIS. He was shocked into dumbfounded silence when she quietly refused him - he was certain of the lingering glances that she had been passing him all night, and he knew that he hadn't misinterpreted her anger when he had tried to leave her behind earlier.

"I can't go on like this - 'one more trip', it's not fair!" Martha clarified heatedly.

"What are you talking about?" the Doctor asked in confusion.

"Well, I don't want to be just a passenger anymore - someone you take along for a treat!" she insisted desperately. "If that's how you still see me, I'd rather stay here."

The Doctor felt a twinge of guilt as he stared at Martha's back and silently cursed himself for being such a useless, sentimental old man. He knew that he should leave her behind - he really, really should - but he just couldn't. He needed the company, he needed Martha's lingering glances and adoring looks, he needed to feel as though he meant something to someone, somewhere. And so he relented, just as he always knew that he would.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" Martha cried excitedly as she ran up to him and eagerly threw her arms around his neck in gratitude. The Doctor held his breath as he willingly hugged her back, craving the physical affection she so easily offered, but knowing that he would only be disappointed when he was met with a smell that was not Rose's familiar shampoo.

"Well, you were never really just a passenger, were you?" he muttered as he graciously allowed Martha to step into the TARDIS before him.

She flashed him a wide, hopeful grin over her shoulder as she skipped eagerly into the console room and the Doctor just knew that the mouth on this body was going to get him into trouble in one way or another. He could only hope that Martha truly was as clever as she appeared - maybe she would be able to see through his brash, confident exterior to the wounded, ugly thing that lay beneath. Maybe then she would stop looking at him with such adoration in her eyes and finally run away from him as she should.

#doctor who #dw #fanfiction #fanfic #dw fanfic #dw fanfiction #doctor who fanfiction #doctor who fanfic #the doctor #tenth doctor #rose tyler #ten/rose #tenxrose #the doctor/rose #the doctorxrose

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yesokayiknow · 5 years

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companion swap pt2

ninth doctor

tenth doctor s1

did you think i was gonna split up the dream team that is ten and donna???? never. except this donna’s got a lil extra now bc guess what! their dna and their brains kind of mixed a bit when they were re-materialising out of the library!!! and it’s almost like having another time lord with him again but instead of someone who sees him as an outcast and an outsider it’s donna. and also instead of the whole ‘are you guys married’ thing that they got a lot back before he regenerated they get a lot of ‘are you guys like twins or something???’

donna & ten, every time, through tears: y e a h

also also it’s like having the master and the rani back but without the murder and mind control and highly unethical experiments!

donna: is there anyone from your planet that wasn’t messed up

ten: doubtful!

and yeah maybe it’s a little weird bc instead of her northern grump she has this pretty boy with a posh accent who speaks very fast and has a ridiculous number of catch phrases but like. she’s basically sharing a mind with him. weird is relative right now.

it’s not that long after the doctor regenerated when wilf calls them back to earth bc he has a weird feeling about this atmos thing? ppl keep dying and no one seems to be talking about it and maybe it’s nothing but could they please take a look into it??

and of course it is something! go wilf!!

ten, two days later: hey wilf since you kind of saved the world, all of time and space, fancy a trip?

donna: did you. did you just use your chat up line on my grandfather

ten: …..oh god i did didn’t i i didn’t mean it like that i promise i would never chat up your grandfather you have my word

wilf: hey so i’m still here

they take wilf on a few trips (which he loves. they chase dinosaurs on a spaceship and they chill out with the oods and they find a nice shopping planet so he can take souvenirs and by the end of it he’s missing home a little but he really did have fun) and he tells ten he can call him granddad since he’s basically donna’s brother now and ten maybe cries a bit whatever it’s cool.

the problem of course is that a human with a time lord brain is an impossible thing and they both know it. the whole season they’re both racing to find a solution that will let donna keep her memories without dying but they just?? can’t??? about ¾ of the way through they just kind of give up and there’s like this defeated energy between them as they try to make the most out of the last of their time together.

donna makes a bucket list

ten: number 1 on the list is don’t die

donna: you’re not helping

and they travel around crossing things off it and saving people and seeing things they’ve never seen before. they help ace mcshane take down a corrupt company and they babysit the brigadier’s five year old daughter and they spend way too long with past versions of river (who?? already knows this doctor’s face?? how????) and they rebuild k9 from scratch and they break christina out of jail a few times (she loves the doctor’s new face btw) and they stargaze with wilf at least every couple of days and they just live.

they’re thinking about accepting an invitation to the orient express (in SPACE!!!) when donna’s mental functions start to fail.

and it plays out the same way with donna wanting him to just let her die and him refusing to allow that except they don’t actually speak about it because they’ve spent so long in each other’s heads that they both know how they’re going to react. so. it happens. she nearly dies and he wipes her mind to keep her alive and takes her back to her family and just. yeah.

he walks back to the tardis alone and is welcomed with donna’s sad face. because of course she recorded a last message for him. tells him to make sure he’s not alone and to not blame himself too much (but like. still a little because that was kinda a dick move ten) and to not take it out on the tardis or him or whoever his next companion ends up being and to like? maybe check in on her and her family from time to time please?

and one last thing, she says, something fierce and proud in her voice, i love you spaceman. and i don’t regret a single second.

he cries alone against the tardis floor.

—

!christmas special time!

so ten just wants to be alone but also he really desperately doesn’t, so he picks trains at random and just rides them. hides himself in crowds of busy humans too preocupied with the holidays to notice him or talk to him or expect him to save them. except of course one of those trains ends up being invaded?? by some kind of weird glowy thing?? and like he doesn’t want to help but also yeah. he really does. so he helps out and!! meets some new friends!!! yaz and ryan and graham and grace are so good and brave and donna would love them and they fight some new aliens and invite him to christmas tea at the sinclairs’ and oh it’s been so long okay since he’s laughed and these people don’t mind whenever he goes quiet and introspective and yaz is so smart and curious and ryan is so determined and bright and graham reminds him of wilf without hurting and grace is so quick and brave and just !

he has so much fun for the first time in a long time and for a moment he can almost forget all the people he lost and—

and then grace dies.

he sticks around for the funeral bc it’s what donna would’ve done and there’s a moment where yaz is like does this kind of thing happen every day for you and he knows the look in her and ryan’s eyes, knows they would probably come with him if he asked and he just can’t do that to anyone else ok?? so he leaves

(tbc)

#doctor who #the doctor #ten #donna noble #ryan sinclair #yasmin khan #graham sinclair #grace sinclair #companion swap au #my fanfic #bc fight me #was gonna split these up by doctor but like. theyre really long my dudes whoops #ok gn

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dayna-scully · 5 years

Text

ncis/tiva liveblog...the dregs

11x01

the real whiskey tango foxtrot is the writing on this show

at the moment, you

😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖

want some company?

yes :-)

murder me???????

“this is good”

that fake typing though

you’ll always be an agent in her heart

is mcgee Abby’s Shannon

after what happened to secnav, how can I stay?

oh gut punch

clonk

I mean, someone’s gonna get a souvenir from Tony’s trip to Israel

a living, breathing, tiny human souvenir…

maybe it’s not the brightest idea, but we’re not coworkers anymore, so

Anthony!!!!!!

he was so happy

I’ll travel for good hummus

I didn’t know that “hummus” was, uh, some kind of new…slang

but all of their stuff is still there?

mid century mob hit

where’s ziva?

thank you dick

he reminds me of the terrible sweets clone bones got after sweets died

which was a terrible decision, btw

who would she trust

TONY

SHE WOULD TRUST TONY

oh tony

11x02

don’t worry tony, we will be okay

can you put the hammer down please

perhaps the him is you

baby ziva hadn’t yet been weaponized by the men in her life

gibbs absolutely knows who Captain Kirk is

why should she have the man that she loves

wow that’s really dark

and cruel

he looks good with some hair on his face

Tim does not

I can’t believe they’ve kept that goatee on him for multiple seasons

tony should have stayed in Israel

baby!!!!

“I meant to do that this morning”

HE DIDNT FORGET HE WAS JUST TOO BUSY GETTING BUSY

confession: I don’t think I’ve ever actually watched this episode

I didn’t watch s11 because at that point we (obvs) knew cote wasn’t staying

yeah dinozzo can sure feel somethin

maybe you could try saying what you’re saying

he already found her, dad

you know how hard that was

you did not have to do any of this

except???? He did????

her “old life” man fuck these writers

finally I found you here, of course

FUCK THESE WRITERS

the center of all this pain is me

I’ll kill whoever wrote that

I hate these people!!!!

this is what Eli made of her

bad adr

tony should have stayed

it’s a start

you don’t have to do this alone

ziva was a fantastic investigator, regardless of what she did for Mossad

she loved being an investigator

this doesn’t make sense

just come home

I remember after truth and consequences came out I sat down with a notebook and my iPod and whittled down a tiva playlist

it was a very intense project

I just want you to come home with me

oh tony

I can change with you

he should have just…stayed

that’s a very bad fake black eye

did he clip Tobias’ ass

you shot me in the ass!

I’m the one got shot in the ass for it

they done did it

I want to make him proud

😖😖😖😖😖 her daddy

alone

that’s horseshit

horseshit!

tony you are so…loved

I wanna be done with this

this hurts more than I remember

I am more angry about all this than I remember

then came tali

pick up the phone!!!

hey ziver

13x24

who made these terrible styling choices

why does tony look like an old man

I bet it’s the same person who thinks that goatee McGee has now was a good idea

I can’t stay here

surely she would have told gibbs

right??

he wouldn’t have told tony

maybe she wouldn’t have told him tony was the father

oh tony

ah, dinozzo

oh are you just fucking figuring that out now gibbs??????

ten years later??????

really???

I hate these writers

I need to know what happened

I’ll breathe when Trent kort is dead

are these writers fucking serious

his ziver???????

fuck

stop with the monologue

something about you running off with her father

friends don’t let friends get hit by mortar fire

you’re Mossad you know everything

like, this whole ass house was leveled to nothing but tali’s room just…survived intact

how convenient!!!!! Almost like ziva had planned this!!!!

tali girl

tali is ziva’s daughter

and your daughter, tony

what a clusterfuck

no doubts

that was not her decision to make

it wasn’t

it was, for once, in character

but it was a shitty decision nonetheless

she knew you wouldn’t be pleased/then she never knew me at all

we cannot lose sight of Anthony

daddy tony

tali’s aba

your mom always packed a go bag

because she was always one step ahead

and she would have been ahead of this

you’re a single dad now, tony

were you and ziva an item the whole time

because lbr of all of them, McGee would absolutely be the last one to figure it out

and he wouldn’t even figure it out, Abby would tell him

I loved her, Tim

ima and aba

ziva must have told her

tony must have always had that with him

I think I’ve decided against watching 16x13

I know the gist of what happens, I’ve seen the screenshots

I don’t read Hebrew, so the fantranslations are all I really need anyways

I don’t really want to watch them write gibbs badly again

how did he get his eyeball back

selective morality

she was my family

I’ve never been anybody’s everything before

abby knew

abby 100% knew

aaand I’m done

I don’t even really know how to summarize all of this. I don’t understand the thought that will-they-won’t-they is somehow more exciting and fulfilling than consummation of slowburn. Shows keep doing it over and over again, and sometimes they get it right at the last minute (see: josh and Donna, tww) but most of the time they get it wrong. Like at least with something like Olivia and Elliot (svu) there was a reason that they couldn’t be together - he was married (though I think they could have and should have handled Chris leaving better than him just vanishing).

Bones kind of fumbled through it all - I don’t think that they would have put b/b together if Em hadn’t gotten pregnant. Maybe eventually, but I think they had and would have made the same mistakes the ncis writers did.

Clearly that could have been handled better, but like b/b being together was so good?? They were happy, there was still drama, but god it wasn’t a poorly written tease (well, actually, let’s not get into the quality of the writing on Bones)

Cote is such a fantastic actor, and as horrible as MW is, he is (was??) a really good match for her (was if only because bull kind of sucks and I’m not sure if it’s shitty writing or him sucking or him not wanting to be there??). There was so much emotion and intensity in all of their scenes, romantic or not, it’s absolutely astounding. I really appreciate them for all the effort that they put into tiva, because they were really the heart of it.

How often do you have couples that are written but not acted? Couples with absolutely no on-screen chemistry, and actors who can’t or won’t put the effort in to make it work. And they had that! They could have done so much with it. But the writers failed. Over and over again, they failed to deliver consistent characterization and complex plots beyond the same old.

Tony was so much more than a frat boy.

Ziva was so much more than a weapon and a perpetual victim.

I was trying to find good fanfic while I was watching (I…didn’t find much), but there was one where the author decided that Ziva, who was alive, had only put the message out that tali was Tony’s because she knew it would get his attention, and that tali was just some random guy’s. And that really pisses me off. Ziva (the writers) made some really poor choices in regards to Ziva’s impulse control, but that’s too far - Ziva wouldn’t intentionally hurt tony, and that would be the worst thing she could do.

Ugh. I’m tired.

basically how I feel about the series:

#ncis #tiva #liveblog #show: ncis #ship: tiva

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icariamusing · 4 years

Photo

CHARACTER BASICS

FACECLAIM: Jared Padalecki

NAME: Elijah Roman

AGE: Thirty-Three

BIRTHDAY: January 16th, 1987

OCCUPATION: Owner and CEO of Roman Enterprise

HOMETOWN: Seattle, Washington

PETS: A golden Retriever named Roulette

POWERS

Tychokinesis (Probability/ Luck Manipulation & Combat)

BIOGRAPHY

Elijah John Roman was born Elijah John Adams to Donna Adams and the god of Luck and Probability Karios. Donna was one of those humans trusted with Greek God affairs- which is how she eventually found herself in one with the god Kairos. Their fling was short-lived, but it did result in the birth of their son Eli. At first things seemed great, and Donna was over the moon to be a mother. For the first few years things went well for the business woman turned mother, however after Eli turned 4 things started to go downhill. The stresses of her jobs and the constant demands of being a mother began to wear her down. It wasn’t that she was abusive mother, but she was highly neglectful towards her son as she tried to get back into work and her image as a socialite. Kairos would check in on his son periodically, but was never able to truly intervene to raise his son due to the rules of the gods. As luck would have it, Donna would again find another suitor in her work as a god advisor- the god Dionoysus, which she eventually found herself pregnant by. By the time Donna had given birth to her second child, she’d begun to experiment heavily with drugs and alcohol, eventually spiraling by the time Florence was 3 months old.

Despite his mother’s erratic and drug-induced behavior, Eli was over the moon at having a sister- someone to love and play with, so he wouldn’t feel alone. He eventually found himself taking care of Florence during his mom’s binges at the age of nearly six years old. Eventually Kairos and Dionysus caught wind of what was going on in the Adams household and were quick to remove the children from the woman’s custody. Eli and Flo soon found themselves in Icaria- and in the custody of the Roman’s. They were mortals who’d been trusted to live on Icaria to assist those in the safe haven, and could not have children of their own. They had prayed and prayed to the gods for their intervention, and were thrilled at the prospect of the blessing of not one but two children. Juliet wouldn’t hear of separating the siblings, and was quick to taken in both siblings when they were offered the opportunity. The family was well off and quite a pair- a total 180 to the life Eli had grown up with in his early childhood.

Although they were now in a safe environment, Eli couldn’t help but still be protective of his baby sister. It took a long time, and some counseling, but eventually Eli was able to learn to trust, and eventually love, his new parents. A small part of him always wondered about his biological mother, but he refused to ever have anything to do with her. The Roman’s did everything they could to provide for their new children, and everything that Donna hadn’t. They went to great schools on the island, were put in extracurriculars to learn skills and to learn their powers, and were treated as if they were Juliet and Peter’s own flesh and blood. Through spending time with his adoptive father, Eli learned a love of building and construction. It was something that brought him joy as he learned to build new things. This is what eventually led with him going to college for business and construction. With the help of his powers and his families ties, he was able to continue this passion interning at other successful businesses and into creating his own. It took years of hard work but he eventually developed a wildly successful and international business for real-estate and construction, Roman Enterprise- something he felt so much pride in.

Throughout growing up, and even into college and traveling for work, Eli never stopped caring and worrying about his sister. They two had an inseparable bond, and if there was anyone that Eli would do anything for-it was his sister. Throughout his success, he tried to include her in it as much as possible. He had tried to give her jobs within the company, continues to give her allowances for her to live a lavish lifestyle, and never went a single day without talking to her. Even as Eli began to see her going down the same path that their mother did during her time of excessive partying, he refused to give up on her. Eventually through tough love and the resources his money could by, he was able to set her back on a good path. He still worries about her, and the possibility of her falling back into their mother’s footsteps, but he trusts that he would be the first to know if it got that bad again.

Eli always considered Icaria his home, having grown up there since he was six years old. Even during his travels for business, he always tried to capitalize his time on the island with his family, friends, and most importantly his sister. Icaria was where he learned his skills and where his business took off, so he tries to give back and work with other local businesses as much as possible. Lately he’d been caught up in deals in America, but once he heard about those in town going missing, he began to fear for his family’s safety and quickly made arrangements to go back. He has been back in town for the last few months, to not only protect his town- but ensure that he keeps his sister and those he loves safe.

JESS| SHE/HER | TWENTY-FOUR | CENTRAL

#kairos

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raywritesthings · 6 years

Text

If They Knew Sweet Little You 4/7

My Writing Fandom: Doctor Who Characters: Donna Noble, Wilfred Mott, Martha Jones, Mickey Smith, Sarah Jane Smith, Jack Harkness Pairing: Doctor/Donna Summary: Donna’s dull, regular life is turned upside-down thanks to an incident from the past she can no longer remember. AO3 link

Donna had another dream. This time, she and John Smith — only she never remembered calling him John in the dreams; it just didn’t seem to fit — were making their way down a series of underground passages looking for Doctor Jones, who did have an engagement ring on her finger. There was a girl with them, too; a girl named Jenny, and Donna kept trying to convince him he could be a father. Yet the look on his face remained so impossibly sad, and somehow Donna knew with a heavy heart Jenny was dead.

“Guess that’s why I liked that name so much for you,” she said to the growing bump in her stomach when she woke up that morning. “But maybe we’ll look at names for your own.”

Even more importantly, it was clear now that Doctor Jones was in on it, whatever it was. All those asides with her grandad at hospital yesterday, and now she was having dreams where she knew her already, too. Did they all think she was thick?

Donna took out a notepad. It was clear she was on her own about this, and she needed to get organized. She wrote down everything she could remember from her dreams. The failed wedding, giant insects, the girl named Jenny, a dinner in a meadow filled with sweetly scented candles instead of wildflowers where he’d taken her hand across the table and she’d kissed him for real for the first time — Karass Don Slava, said a voice in her head, one that sounded suspiciously like him.

Once or twice she had to stop and rub at her temples for a moment, but she’d feel the baby move or place her hand over the bump and the pain would fade. Her headaches of late were getting fewer and less intense than before. She hardly noticed them now.

The real question was why it had been hurting her to remember, and how she had forgot what seemed to be the most amazing time of her life in the first place. What had happened to her? On a rainy night in summer she’d been brought back home by him, though he hadn’t seemed at all happy about it. He’d introduced himself as though he’d known she’d forgotten and then just up and left. Had he thought she’d never remember? Had he known about the baby?

Was that why he’d left?

Donna needed to get out of the house. She took the car keys out of her mother’s purse and went for a drive before anyone could ask where she was going. It wasn’t like she had a destination in mind.

But she found herself driving past businesses with new company signs that she swore used to be called HC Clements and Adipose Industries. Then past the reception hall for the wedding that never happened, where all this seemed to have started. At last, Donna parked the car and walked across one of the bridges that went over the Thames. She stopped halfway, leaning slightly over the railing and squinting at what she somehow knew was the flood barrier despite never having had an interest in such a thing in her life.

In her mind’s eye, Donna could picture herself standing on it. It was night, and she was soaked to the skin and freezing, but she was hugging his arm to her and laughing harder than she could ever remember.

And now she was here by herself — not all by herself, she supposed, touching a hand to her stomach briefly. Still, Donna couldn’t help but feel desperately lonely facing all this on her own.

“Miss? Are you alright?”

Donna straightened back up and turned to face the man who had called out to her.

“Why’d you say Miss? And why wouldn’t I be?”

He shuffled back a step. “Sorry. It’s just, you sort of looked like…” His eyes darted to the water below them.

Donna’s eyes widened. “Oh! No, no, it’s not like that. I’d have to be some kind of nutter, trying to do that in broad daylight!”

He managed a brief chuckle and repeated, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say you were. You just, well, you looked sad.”

The smiled she’d forced dimmed. “Yeah. Yeah, I suppose I am. Still, wouldn’t be very fair of me to this one.”

“Oh.” His eyes went to her hand resting on her stomach, and she noticed him falter another half-step back. “Well, there goes my offer to buy you a drink to cheer you up.”

“There it goes,” she agreed with a nod. “Thanks anyway. I should be getting home.”

“Do you need someone to walk you back?” He offered.

Donna shook her head. “No, I’m parked close. I’ll go straight back to my car, promise.”

“Okay. Well, I’m glad you weren’t — you know.” He began to walk away.

“Oi! What’s your name?”

He half-turned back. “Er, Shaun. Shaun Temple.”

“Better luck with the next nutter, Shaun.”

He had a nice smile. A nice everything, Donna realized, watching his broad shouldered back disappearing into the crowd on the other side of the Thames. He was overall just...nice.

Nice would have been more than she would have hoped for once. Donna could envision herself calling him back, introducing herself properly, going for dinner instead of drinks. If they didn’t hate each other she’d probably go ahead and decide they were dating, then rush through all the other steps like she did with Lance.

But that just wasn’t enough for her anymore. She wasn’t willing to settle for nice. Not for her, and certainly not for her baby. There was something else waiting for her out there, if not a someone. Donna twisted the gold ring on her finger, turned her back on Shaun Temple, and made her way back to the car.

—

Martha had just gotten her drink at the bar and was about to turn around when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

“Hey,” said Mickey with a grin. “Am I the first one here?”

“You are. What are you having?”

“Just a beer, but I can get it.” He began to reach for his wallet, but Martha halted him with a hand on his arm.

“I’ve got a tab going since I asked you all out. Anyway, if you and me are going into business together we’re probably going to be trading off on buying, Mister.”

“Yeah, suppose you’re right. Everything’s going through with UNIT okay? That’s not what this is about?”

“No, but I’ll explain when the others get here. Meet me at that table in the back.” She left him to order his drink and set her purse and jacket down at the booth to secure their spot. Martha was glad Mickey had arrived first; over the last few months she’d gotten to know and like him rather well. Working alongside him rather than for a superior was an experience she looked forward to, even if her mother tutted about her throwing away a steady income.

But steady just hadn’t worked out, with UNIT or with Tom. Maybe Martha was ready for a little adventure again.

Scarcely had Mickey rejoined her before she saw Sarah Jane Smith come through the door. The journalist scanned the room until her eyes alighted on the pair of them, and she made her way straight over.

“Sorry if I’m running late. I just had to make arrangements with K9 to let me know if Luke tries to have Clyde over while I’m out,” she explained as she took a seat at the booth. “Those boys can get into quite the mischief if left unwatched.”

“That’s alright, we’re still waiting for one more,” said Martha.

“Really, who?”

Before she could respond, a familiar voice hailed them. “Martha Jones!”

“Oh bloody hell, here we go,” Mickey muttered into his glass.

Jack made his way across the room to their table, shaking Mickey’s offered hand and kissing hers with a wink. “So, what’s the news that’s so important I needed to make the drive from Cardiff? Unless this is double-date night,” he remarked, sliding into the booth next to Sarah Jane. “Miss Smith, always a pleasure.”

The journalist shook her head with a smile. “I’m afraid this is strictly business, Captain, according to Martha.”

He looked to her now, the leer leaving his face. “Last time we all talked over business we were being invaded by Daleks.”

“It’s nothing like that,” she hastened to reassure them all. “But it, well, you two might want a drink for this one.”

“So it is about the Doc?”

Martha didn’t return his teasing grin. “Not exactly...it’s about Donna.”

“Donna?” Sarah Jane repeated. “Isn’t she still traveling with him?”

“That’s what I thought until she turned up as my patient with her grandfather.” Martha cupped her hands around her glass and spoke more to it than them as she continued. “Human-Time Lord metacrises aren’t meant to happen, apparently, so to keep her alive the Doctor had to take away all her memories of traveling with him. She didn’t even recognize me when I walked in,” she added with a bitter smile.

“But how long was she traveling with him?” Asked Mickey. “I mean how much did she have to forget?”

“A few months to a year, I think. I don’t know what she believes happened instead, but...she was just so different. I don’t know how to describe it.” Martha wondered if she had to; they’d all been indelibly changed as a result of their own experiences traveling with the Time Lord. And no matter what had happened during it, she couldn’t imagine any of them ever giving those times up.

There was a long, heavy silence at the table. Jack finally broke it with a solemn, “Sarah Jane, what are you having?”

Nobody spoke when the Captain left to order his and the journalist’s drinks, nor when he returned. He passed Sarah Jane her glass and then raised his in a toast.

“To the woman who saved the universe.”

Martha met his eyes and nodded, then raised her own. Mickey’s glass clinked against hers to her left and Sarah Jane’s across.

There was still so much more to say, however, so Martha took a long sip and a deep breath. “The thing is, Donna got UNIT’s attention and not because of the metacrisis. She’s pregnant.”

Mickey’s eyes went wide and Sarah Jane coughed a little. “Pregnant? Why would that be UNIT’s concern?”

“Her family thinks it happened while she was traveling, and the early tests indicate…”

“It’s not fully human,” Jack guessed.

“I wasn’t able to determine one way or the other,” she said weakly. Jack’s only reply was to let out a low whistle.

“Wait, but if it’s alien, what if that makes her remember all the stuff she’s not supposed to know anymore?” Mickey asked.

She shrugged. “I promised Mr. Mott, Donna’s grandfather, I’d do everything I could and not involve UNIT. Neither of us thought it’d be a good idea for them to get involved since Donna knew about them. It’s lucky enough she didn’t remember me.” Martha chose not to mention the moment with the engagement ring. She had to hope for Donna’s sake it had been a fluke.

“But you couldn’t figure out what kind of alien?” Jack checked.

Martha shook her head. “The technology just wasn’t cooperating.”

“I don’t suppose we could come up with a good explanation for her to come and have some diagnostics run by Mr. Smith,” said Sarah Jane.

“Pretty sure giant supercomputers are off limits,” Mickey agreed.

Jack drained the last of his glass. “Well how does Donna’s grandfather want to proceed?”

“Honestly, he’s convinced we need to get the Doctor back here.”

“And shock him into another regeneration?” Jack laughed. “I’m pretty sure he likes to pretend us companions don’t get up to that sort of stuff behind his back.”

“Like you didn’t shatter that illusion, Cheesecake,” Mickey snorted.

“Well this Mr. Mott might not be entirely wrong.” Sarah Jane folded her hands on the tabletop. “The Doctor would be better able to identify the species than any of us, and possibly the other party in this relationship as well. He was supposed to be, ah, chaperoning, as it were.”

“Oh, believe me, if Donna had felt he was sticking his nose in unasked, he wouldn’t have one anymore.” Martha sighed. “Anyway, I can’t reach him. He’s turned the mobile off.”

Jack frowned. “Guess he’s taking it pretty hard.”

“Nobody likes feeling forgotten about,” said Sarah Jane. “I can try reaching out discreetly to some contacts of mine, see if they’ve come across him.”

“What do the rest of us do?” Asked Mickey.

“Well, I promised Mr. Mott I’d oversee Donna’s pregnancy once my time at UNIT is up. This’ll be our first job, Mister.”

“Great, and I bet it pays well, too.”

“Come on, Mickey Mouse, we all owe Donna for the rest of our lives,” said Jack. He smirked and added, “So have fun on the nursery run.”

Mickey raised his beer again. “Oh cheers, mate.”

—-

It had been nearly a week since the appointment with Doctor Martha Jones, and her Gramps didn’t seem to be making any move to schedule a follow-up. Donna decided it was best to take the matter into her own hands and phoned the hospital. Only, as with everything else in her life, things only seemed to get weirder.

“What do you mean she’s not on staff?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Noble, but we have no Martha Jones in residence. Did you perhaps see —”

“I know who I saw,” she stated bluntly. She wasn’t about to be told the memories she actually did have were false. “My grandfather and I were just there.”

Her grandad chose that moment to enter through the front door. “Donna, love, who’s on the phone?”

“The hospital. They’re saying they’ve got no Doctor Jones,” she hissed, hand over the receiver. Then she removed it to continue the conversation. “Listen, all I want is to schedule a follow-up. Have you got your bloody equipment fixed yet?”

“I’m afraid I don’t —”

“Oh, Doctor Jones was, er, moving hospitals,” said her Gramps. When she looked back at him again, she noticed his eyes were wide and a bit panicky. “I’ve got the number for it somewhere, Donna, let me handle it.”

She wouldn’t have been surprised if he started reaching for her phone, he seemed so nervous. “Alright, alright.” Donna sighed. “Look, nevermind me, crazy pregnant lady,” she said down the line, then hung up. “How come she didn’t mention she was moving hospitals? What, was the hospital faulty, too?”

“That was my fault. She, uh, she told me, and I forgot to mention it once we’d got home.”

“So she wants us to switch hospitals instead of just referring us to one of her old colleagues.”

“Oh, I said we could move. It’s no trouble, really, Donna. She’s good at what she does, and she seemed like a good fit.”

Donna could have pointed out that they’d yet to see Doctor Jones really do anything, but all she said was, “Alright, Gramps. If you think it’s best.”

She had her own ulterior motive of sticking with the other woman, of course; somehow Martha Jones was mixed up in all this, and she couldn’t very well let her vanish. Donna left her Gramps looking much calmer than he had been once he’d seen her on the phone and climbed the stairs up to her room.

If she was going to prove some kind of link between Doctor Jones and John Smith, she had to have evidence that didn’t come from her dreams. Donna turned on her laptop and began searching for whatever information she could find on the woman.

She wasn’t listed on the staff at the hospital they’d seen her at, nor could she find any current place of employment. There was a bit about her completing some internship at the Royal Hope early. So at least she definitely actually was a medical doctor.

Further down in the results, there was something about the Prime Minister, the one they’d had for a few days before he died. Donna had nearly forgotten all about that. When she clicked the link, it was some kind of archive of a news bulletin that had come out about the very same Martha Jones barely after the election.

Donna stared. Her OBGYN had been on the most wanted list? What the hell was going on?

And then she noticed his picture, labelled as an unidentified man but increasingly familiar to her. John Smith had been on the most wanted list.

“No way.”

Her baby possibly had some kind of convict for a father? Was he on the lam? God, what had she been doing with him?

There was a third man, too, but other than a vague feeling like she’d seen his face before there was little for her to puzzle over him for. At the bottom of the archived page some moderator had left a note that the bulletin had been withdrawn barely twenty-four hours after it had been released and all those involved had an official pardon. Well, what did that mean, then?

She could feel the baby stirring a bit. “Are you enjoying this? You think this is funny? Your mummy is driving herself mad trying to figure out what is with your dad, and you think this is a joke?”

Donna thought she felt an actual kick that time.

“Oh, thanks, you.”

—-

Martha did her best to patiently wait out the remaining days at UNIT. She couldn’t help feeling she should already be devoting her time to Donna’s case, but the best thing for her friend was to not arouse any sort of suspicion. She didn’t know what would end up happening if UNIT’s protocols on an extraterrestrial pregnancy went into effect.

Her caution ended up being well worth it when she found herself summoned to the office of Captain Magambo near the end of the week. Seeing as she hadn’t been given any assignments since the Donna one, she had a feeling she knew what it was about.

Martha knocked on the captain’s door before opening it. “You wanted to see me, ma’am?”

“Yes, Doctor Jones. Please, have a seat.”

Martha did so and waited as the other woman perused a familiar looking file.

“This is your official report on the possible extraterrestrial impregnation of a human.”

“Yes, ma’am. I met with the patient and her grandfather, and we were able to determine that no such incident had occurred.”

“I understand the patient in question was a Donna Noble.”

Martha gave a slow nod. “That is correct.”

The captain flipped open another file that had been sitting in front of her on her desk and scanned it. “And would that be the same Donna Noble included in the Sontaran report from earlier this year? The Doctor’s companion?”

“Former companion,” Martha corrected. Magambo looked up from the file. “She returned home after the planets incident.”

“Because she was pregnant?”

“I believe so, yes,” Martha lied. She didn’t know what interest UNIT might take in Donna’s status as half of a human-Time Lord metacrisis, either.

“It seems to me Miss Noble would have been at greater risk than the average woman for extraterrestrial impregnation. Nevertheless you put in your report that the pregnancy is not extraterrestrial in origin.”

“I did. Donna was unable to identify the father, but the baby appears to be, um, normal.”

The captain pursed her lips, and Martha tried not to feel too guilty for the type of reputation she was giving Donna. “The Doctor has nothing to say on the matter?”

“Ma’am?”

“I assume this isn’t typical of his companions.”

Martha felt her cheeks heat up. “No, ma’am. Uh, I was not able to speak with the Doctor personally. He’s out of contact.”

“Hm.”

“Is there anything unclear in my report, Captain?” She didn’t want to appear nervous or on edge, but she’d rather get to the point if there was one rather than beating around the bush.

“Just trying to be thorough, Doctor Jones.” Magambo looked up from the files again. “You understand, of course, that if Miss Noble were to have become pregnant via an extraterrestrial, it is not a punishable offense. It is simply a situation that requires close monitoring to ensure the safety of everyone involved, mother and child included if possible. If you are merely trying to protect a friend, I want you to understand we wish to do the same.”

“Of course. But there’s really no need for monitoring, ma’am. It’s not the situation.” Martha held the captain’s steady gaze until the other woman glanced away.

“Very well. You’re dismissed, Doctor Jones.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

She stood and returned to her office, doing her best to keep her pace slow and measured. Once she arrived, Martha locked the door and took out her mobile, dialing the familiar number and achieving the same result as usual. Straight to voicemail.

“Mister, come on! UNIT’s breathing down my neck. For all I know, they’ll go over my head and put surveillance on Donna anyway. I don’t know what’ll happen to her if they get too close. Please just answer your phone!”

Martha hung up and dropped into her chair. For now, her soon-to-be former superiors seemed to believe her. But that could change. Then there was the matter of the baby itself. She felt certain there had to be something alien about it going on, and if so what might that mean for the pregnancy? Or when it was born?

On top of that, any one of these things had the potential to trigger Donna’s memories, and they didn’t remotely have a plan to deal with it. Without the Doctor, she wasn’t sure they’d be able to.

“What are we gonna do?”

#ten x donna #doctor x donna #donna noble #wilfred mott #doctor who #martha jones #mickey smith #sarah jane smith #jack harkness #my writing

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briarlovesclara · 4 years

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I Can’t...

Two-part one shot fic (Spoilers: Doctor Who Series 4-9, Classic Who companion spoilers for characters Jamie and Zoe). A little over 3k words

Whouffaldi if you really squint and turn your head

12/Donna and 10/Clara (both nonromantic)

...remember

It was very, very stupid.

The Doctor knew it. The TARDIS knew it. Heck, even the universe itself was probably screaming to get himself under control.

But he didn’t listen.

Because there was one person, only one, who could even begin to understand how he was feeling. Sure, maybe he could track down Jamie, or Zoe. But he needed something more dangerous than that. With the Time Lords gone, what would their punishment be? No, he needed to walk a terrifying line between life and death. Maybe he would finally lose his mind.

Maybe then he could remember Clara.

Donna looked out her window at the perfect time to see the man fall.

She had just finished lunch, and was tucking the rest of the sandwiches away, but she set them down nonetheless and raced out to the stranger on the sidewalk.

“Oi! You alright, mate?” She said as she approached, and the stranger looked up.

“Ah, yes. Sorry. Must have let my mind wander.”

“Nice accent. So not from around here, huh?”

Oh, his Donna hadn’t changed a bit. Smiling gently, the Doctor brushed himself off, accepting the hand up she extended. It was hard to fall, even if on purpose.

“Thank you.” He said when he was upright, but she didn’t let go of him immediately.

“You in a hurry? Or in need of some lunch? Because I’ve got too many leftovers, and Shaun will kill me if he sees them all. He doesn’t approve of the diet.”

The Doctor almost fell over again, this time from the staggering pain in his hearts. His Donna, his beautiful, smart, amazing Donna, back to her old ways. Dieting, never feeling good enough. Being ashamed of her secrets and her pain.

“I think you look beautiful.” He whispered, trying to keep composure. Donna dropped his hand and stepped away. “I just mean-- the dieting. You don’t have to. I think you look fine.” He saw the tension in her shoulders ease, though there was still a small hint of mistrust there. “And I would love a sandwich, if you’ll eat one with me.”

“Alright. But only because you’re old and you fell.” She said with a smile. “Come on in.”

“It must be hard to have lost your friend.”

Donna’s voice was quiet, contemplative, as she washed the dish in the sink. The Doctor (under the alias Jamie McCrimmon) was sitting at the dining table, staring up at her and clutching the glass of water that had been offered to him.

“Yes, I believe it was.”

“You believe?”

“Well, I-- I can’t quite remember.” Donna’s methodical strokes of the plate slowed.

“Whaddya mean, ‘you can’t remember’?” She said, a note of anger seeping into her tone.

“Well, I, uh, have some slight memory issues. I must have fallen again right after. I don’t know much… well, about her at all, really.” At that Donna stopped completely, setting the dish down and turning around to face him. Wiping her hands on a towel, she sunk into the chair opposite him.

“Well, that really sucks.” She said, tossing the towel back and attempting to crack a smile.

“It does.”

“I mean, that REALLY fucking sucks.”

“Language!”

And with that, the conversation started to flow; was he married? Yes, his wife Melody was at home. Any kids? One, who passed years ago. Was she married to this ‘Shaun’? Yes, she was. Any kids? None. Parents? Her mother. Her grandfather passed quite recently.

“It was weird, y’know.” She said, taking the Doctor by surprise. “When his time was ending, Gramps used to go on these long tangents. Something about needing a doctor, and then refusing to talk to one when they were brought in. We would ask him which doctor and he would say ‘The Doctor’, as if there was only one. Can you believe that? And well we asked him, right, ‘Doctor Who?’ And he had a right old laugh about that. Never did figure out who he was lookin’ for. You alright?”

“Yes! Yes. Fine.” The Doctor said, sitting up and setting forth a large smile that he hoped wasn’t too obviously fake. “I think I better get going. The wife will be wondering where I was-- I was only going for a walk.”

“Well, it was quite a riot talking to you, Mr. McCrimmon.”

“Please, Donna, call me Jamie.” He stood up and shook her hand before walking to the door. “It was lovely to see you.” Stepping out, he turned back before he could stop himself, and Donna paused closing the door. “Donna?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever feel like you’re missing someone? Or something?”

“Odd question. I used to.” She said, eyes glazing over for a moment. “About when I married Shaun, maybe ten years back? But I think it was just worry over what to do with my last name. Went the hypon-ed approach. Donna Temple-Noble. Why?” And her gaze was blank again, only marred by slight confusion. The Doctor’s stomach dropped, and he scolded himself for it. Of course she didn’t know. Of course she couldn’t know.

“No reason. Farewell, Mrs. Temple-Noble.” And with that, he left.

...forget

It was very, very stupid.

Clara knew it. Me knew it. Heck, even the universe itself was probably screaming at her to get it under control.

But she didn’t listen.

Because she had to see him, one more time. Crossing her own timeline would be too dangerous, so it couldn’t be either of her Doctors. She didn’t know the temperament of any others. So that only left one. And, by chance (or fate? She wasn’t sure what she believed anymore), it happened to be the one that might just be able to understand what she was going through.

The Doctor looked out to the ocean from his bench. The sun, about to set, cast long shadows across the rock-strewn beach below the cliff. From his high vantage point, he could see families screaming and splashing as the tide rolled them around. They were so fiercely brave, humans. Always throwing themselves into fun just to feel the rush. So breakable. On the sand below, a man in odd black clothing read a newspaper, hat down low over his face.

His musings were interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming near.

“Can I sit here?” He looked up to see a young woman, in a large jacket not unlike his own, smiling down at him.

“I’m not very great company, but you’re welcome to stay.” He said with a weak smile. Clara noticed the emptiness in his eyes, the fakeness of the cheer in his voice. Settling down, she noticed that he looked tired. Exhausted. As if he hadn’t slept in years.

“How long has it been since you slept?”

“Well, that’s rude.” He tried to scrape up a joking tone, but his mind was spinning. How long had it been? “I’m somewhat of an insomniac. Few days.” Not that a few days was long for him. More like a few months.

“And what do you do with all that time? Mope?”

“I’m not moping!”

“And I’m not human.” Clara said, and for a second she saw him tense before he relaxed back, faking nonchalance. He must be more tired than she thought.

“What is there, besides humans?” He softly mused, looking back at the water.

“A lot.” She whispered, and she reveled in the way his face froze in surprise. “There’s Zygons. Weeping Angels. Silence, but you wouldn’t know about them yet. Time Lords.” At the last two words, the Doctor jumped up, sonic pointed at her, and back away a few feet.

“Who are you?” He asked in a low voice, and even though Clara knew the Doctor wouldn’t hurt her, fear trickled down her spine. Her heart sank even lower as it came to her that this was not her Doctor, that he didn’t know her. It was ripped completely to shreds as she remembered that none of them knew her now. Before she knew what was happening, she was shaking with sobs.

The Doctor looked at the crying woman, startled. The sonic had read her as perfectly human, but she knew about other planets and species. Specifically, she knew about the Time Lords. And there was a… not a scent, exactly, but a very similar sense that his species had. She smelled of the Time Vortex with a hint of something weird that made his nose itch. He immediately thought of Jack, but it wasn’t him; the smell of wrongness wasn’t as pronounced. It was the smell of something uncomfortable, but not repulsive. Who was she travelling with?

Another sob broke his train of thought. Whoever she was, she was hurting, and he was the Doctor. Slowly he lowered the sonic and sat down next to her, surprised when she leaned into his touch instead of away from it. Softly, he wrapped his arms around the stranger, and her sobs became muffled as she twisted closer to him and buried her face in his jacket.

Clara knew it was stupid. This man, this Doctor, didn’t care about her any more than he would any other crying girl on a cliff. These arms were not the ones she craved to hug her again. This tenderness was a show over his confusion. But she didn’t care. For then, the Doctor was holding her again, stroking her hair softly and murmuring comfort, and she didn’t care.

Ten minutes later, the woman in his arms calmed and stilled. Bewildered, the Doctor gently pulled away, looking into her tearstained face. It shocked him, really, the way she looked at him. Obviously she knew him, but it seemed he didn’t know her. The image of Professor River Song’s face flashed before his eyes, but he tossed it aside. The Professor had obviously wanted him to know her. This person had the desperate look of someone who had lost hope.

“I’m sure you already know this, but it feels rude not to say it.” The Doctor carefully scooted to give her space on the bench and extended his hand. “I’m the Doctor.” The woman shook his hand, the glimmer of fresh tears in her eyes as she did so, but still smiling. Humans had an odd smile sometimes. Like they were sad. But then why would they smile?

“Clara Oswald.” She said, before a laugh escaped her. “Sorry for the weird first impression.” She took a deep breath, watching as his face tensed for a second, as if half remembering something.

“Have we--”

“--Met before, yes. Twice, once with this face. But don’t worry about that just yet.” She settled herself into a more comfortable position, facing him. “It was a really stupid idea to come here. I just needed to see you again, and I couldn’t cross my own timestream, so--”

“Clara.” Her name brought up another round of tears, which she quickly blinked away. The way he said it was so different, and not just the accent-- it was more like the way the Doctor had said it when they had first started travelling. Near the end of their adventures, though he threw it around often, her name had seemed to be something especially precious.

“Yeah?” She said, trying to sound casual. She couldn’t tell if it worked.

“How do you know me? In the future?” He swallowed hard. “Clara, did I die? I need to ask, even if you say you can’t tell me. Is that why you had to go backwards in time to see me again? Because you saw me really die?” His breathing all but stopped as the question hung between them, Clara looking more thoughtful then resigned.

“That’s not why, no, though you did die.” He felt like he had been punched in the gut, and he was surprised when she let out a little laugh. “Not for long, though. You never do.”

“That’s impossible.”

“That’s my job.” The Doctor stared at her a bit longer before breaking out into a huge grin that quickly slid off of his face.

“I’m not supposed to know this. How did I even manage--- no. You shouldn’t be telling me this. I should go.” He went to stand up.

“Please!”

Sometimes things happened in the wrong order. A premonition, remembering backwards. A ripple through time, a heartbeat ringing in the ears of its creator. Whatever you liked to call it. But when Clara cried out, his hearts seemed to rip in half, as if she was linked to them, as if the universe needed them to be here, at this point, together.

The Doctor sat back down.

Clara caught her breath, which had fled as soon as he got up, and offered him a small smile. Gently, she placed her right hand on his cheek, looking into those eyes that could tell her everything.

“Oh, my clever boy.” She sighed. “You never see yourself clearly. Of course you found a way. We worked it out. And yeah, you were a bit peeved that you’d wasted a regeneration to impress a girl--” The Doctor snorted, but didn’t deny it-- “but it was fine. You were… amazing.”

Gingerly, as if it were a live snake, the Doctor took her hand from his face and pressed a kiss to it. He had no idea who she was, but it was obvious that he would eventually. And she had saved him, at least for a while. He would travel! Travel, like he always did, before he died. Maybe he should see the Trojan War, or explore Pangea. He could check up on some people, some old friends. But that seemed too final. And how would he even see some of them? Sarah Jane, easy, and Martha. But Donna--

“Please.” He said, impulsivity charging through him. “What happens to Donna? Do I ever say?” Clara recoiled slightly, and he dropped her hand in case she wanted to pull back further, but she stayed still after her initial reaction.

“That’s actually why I came.” His hearts dropped. “Well, not Donna explicitly. Noble, correct? I don’t know too much about her. Things here and there. She gets married. You see Wilfred again, her grandfather, right? You have so many adventures left.” She watched his face turn from determination to hope, then resignation. She took a deep breath. “It hurts, doesn’t it? Having someone forget you?”

“It does.”

“And how do you cope with that? How can you possibly?” He felt like she was trying to say something through the intensity of her stare, but he couldn’t possibly see what she was getting at.

“I don’t know.” He answered. Her face dropped, and he felt compelled to explain a bit more. “Think about them, I guess. To make up for how they can’t think of you. It’s silly, really, but it works for me. The first few weeks were… rough. I was chasing ghosts. Talking to holograms and hallucinations.” He looked out at the sea, at the screaming and laughing families. “But life goes on, I guess.”

“Thank you.” Clara shifted, and the Doctor’s gaze swept back to her. She scratched her ear, thinking how weird the waves sounded without her heartbeat, and she saw his attention go to her hand. Then her ear. Then her neck. He waited for a moment, frozen, as she slowly put her hand down. “Doctor?”

He looked up at her, concern and fear written over his face, and she got it. Ah. Right. No pulse.

He leaned over to her as she jumped away, smoothing out her clothes.

“Thank you for the talk--”

“Clara, you don’t have a pulse--”

“--but I really must be going now.”

“--I need to make sure you’re--” Clara strode forward and placed a hand over his mouth. She was still warm, which confused the Doctor to no end, but explained how he hadn’t noticed it sooner. Listening now, he only heard his two hearts.

“I’m fine.” He nodded, and she took her hand off of his mouth. Swallowing, the Doctor reached out his arm (to hug her? to make her stay?), and she shook his hand firmly.

“Goodbye, Doctor.”

“Goodbye, Clara Oswald.” He felt her small hand fall from his grip, and she walked away towards a diner he hadn’t noticed. She placed her hand on the front door, moving as if to push in, before looking back with that curious smile.

“Oh, and check your pockets.” And with that, the door swung open and she disappeared inside. The Doctor looked in his pockets, searching through them thoroughly (they were, after all, bigger on the inside), when a noise took him off guard. It was very faint, as if muted, but distinctly there. As he looked up in shock, the diner faded from his view, taking the TARDIS brake noise with it, and his hand found a folded piece of paper. He read it and rushed to the cliffside again, scanning the beach below, but the man in the bulky dress with the newspaper had vanished.

The Doctor slammed the doors to the TARDIS shut, relieved to be done with his strange mission. Unzipping his black coat, he threw it onto one of the seats, taking off his hat in the process. He left the sunglasses on, though. They suited him.

He had left the newspaper in the trash, as he had long since gotten bored with it; it had taken him three minutes to read, even dragging it out. He had memorized it front to back and was starting to make a wordsearch out of the first sentences in his mind when he had gotten the signal.

Sighing, he took off his suit jacket, throwing it onto the TARDIS columns next to him, and looked at the strange note once more. He didn’t quite remember how he had gotten it, just that he had been told to find it in his pocket. He supposed he would always wonder.

Doctor,

I know this is going to be very confusing for you. It’s quite timey-wimey, to borrow a phrase of yours. But I need you to do something for me, and you can’t ask questions. Your entire future is at stake.

I just met up with you, and in our conversation I said a lot of things I should not have. If you know them before they happen, fixed points will fall apart. So, I have devised a plan.

Put on a strong disguise and go to the beach off of Ptósi Fýllon Avenue at 11:00 am on the 23rd of November, 1997. Go down the cliff and onto the sand, but don’t stray too far. I have included a special set of earplugs that will account for your good hearing. I need you to read a newspaper that will be waiting for you there and find a place to sit.

I will be having a conversation with past you up on the cliff face. You must cross your time stream to make sure you don’t remember this. You must not look for me. You must not turn around. You may leave when you hear the noise of a TARDIS taking flight-- the earplugs are designed to let you hear it. This doesn’t mean I have a TARDIS-- I just know you get distracted sometimes and need a signal you won’t forget.

I’m sorry, but this needs to happen. Soon, you’ll forget it even did. Get rid of this note before that happens. It will be like we never spoke.

Thank you.

Love,

A friend

P. S. Before you go, see Donna again. At least once.

FIN

#doctor who #whovian #doctor who fanfic #dw headcanon #petercapaldi #twelfthdoctor #donnanoble #donna temple noble #catherinetate #davidtennant #timeywimey #tenthdoctor #claraoswald #jennacoleman #doctorwhoseries9 #doctorwhoseries4

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chocolatequeennk · 7 years

Text

Forever and Never Apart, 9/42

Summary: After taking a year to recover from the Master, the Doctor and Rose are ready to travel again. But Time keeps pushing them forward, and instead of going back to their old life, they slowly realise that they’re stepping into a new life. Friends new and old are meeting on the TARDIS, and when the stars start going out, the Doctor and Rose face the biggest change of all: the return of Bad Wolf.

Series 4 with Rose, part 7 of Being to Timelessness; sequel to Taking Time (AO3 | FF.NET | TSP)

Betaed by @lastbluetardis, @rudennotgingr, @jabber-who-key, and @pellaaearien. Thank you so much!

AO3 | FF.NET | TSP

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8

Chapter Nine: The Circle Must Be Broken

Guards chased after Rose, the Doctor, and Donna as they ran through the complex, but above the shouting and feet stomping on the hard pavement, Rose heard something else. Singing.

She grabbed the Doctor’s arm and held a hand to her lips when he tried to pull away. “Shhh. Don’t you hear it, Doctor?”

He tilted his head for a moment, then a smile spread across his face. “Oh, you’re brilliant, Rose.” He took her hand, then looked over at Donna, who was frowning at the both of them. “Come on, Donna, this way!”

They followed the song to another metal building, and Rose sonicked the door open. The three of them filed inside, then she watched with raised eyebrows as the Doctor turned his sonic on the lock, frying the mechanism.

“Hold on. Does that mean we’re locked in?” Donna demanded.

“Listen.” He held up a hand. “Listen, listen, listen, listen.”

Rose and the Doctor both set their sonic screwdrivers to the torch setting and followed the sound of singing deeper into the facility.

The song grew louder as they walked down a metal staircase, and when they reached the bottom, they paused and put a hand to their heads. “My head’s killing me,” Rose muttered.

“Yeah,” the Doctor said, his voice raspy.

“What is it?” Donna put her hand on Rose’s shoulder, and looked at her and the Doctor.

“The Ood.” Rose rubbed at her temple. After almost four years of practice, her telepathic barriers were adequate to keep most chatter out. But the Ood… “They’re singing telepathically. It’s… haunting. And really, really loud.”

The Doctor shone the torchlight around the room, and they all sucked in a breath when they realised they were surrounded by cages. He walked slowly to a switch and turned the lights on.

Cages full of Ood.

They stared into one cage, and the captive Ood trembled and slowly turned their backs to them. The implication of an entire group of Ood cowering at the sight of humans horrified Rose.

“The only humans they’ve ever met have been cruel,” she whispered.

Staring at the cages, Donna wondered why she’d thought it would be a good idea to travel with the Doctor and Rose. First Pompeii, and now an entire species, enslaved. “They look different to the others,” she said.

The Ood seemed to be aware they were being discussed, because they shifted again. They were still squatting on the floor, holding something protectively inside their cupped hands, but they weren’t turned completely away from them anymore.

The three of them knelt down in front of the cage and looked through the bars at the Ood.

“That’s because they’re natural born Ood,” the Doctor explained, “unprocessed, before they’re adapted to slavery. Unspoilt.” He took a breath, and when he spoke again, she could hear tears in his voice. “That’s their song.”

Donna shook her head. They kept talking about a song. “I can’t hear it.”

In her peripheral vision, Donna saw the Doctor turn to look at her. “Do you want to?” he offered quietly.

Donna looked at the Ood, then at the Doctor and Rose. “Yeah.”

“It’ll make you cry, Donna,” Rose warned, wiping tears away from her eyes as she did.

She swallowed hard, then looked at the Doctor. “Let me hear it.”

“Face me.”

Donna turned to face the Doctor, and he closed his eyes and pressed his hands to her temples. A moment later, she felt something brushing against her mind, and she shuddered at the sensation.

“Open your mind,” he instructed.

She didn’t have a clue what that meant, but she closed her eyes and forced herself to relax into the pressure, rather than fighting against it.

“That’s it,” the Doctor whispered. “Hear it, Donna. Hear the music.”

Donna’s head filled with the haunting sound of a single voice rising and falling, like the descant of a Gregorian chant. When Rose told her the song was sad, she hadn’t realised that meant she’d be able to feel the overwhelming sorrow of an entire species in captivity, separated from each other in a way that was never meant to be.

She pulled back from the Doctor’s hands, but whatever he’d done to let her hear the song didn’t go away when she broke physical contact with him. A sob got stuck in her throat as the mournful song echoed around her.

Donna looked at the Ood in the cage, seeing them with new eyes. Hearing how sad they were gave her compassion for them a depth it had been missing earlier. This captivity was truly destroying their lives. One of the Ood looked directly at her, and suddenly the shared sorrow of the species narrowed down to this individual.

Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked up at the Doctor. “Take it away,” she sobbed.

His eyes were sad, but understanding. “Sure?”

The song swelled, as the Ood seemed to sense her sadness on their behalf and add it to their lament.

Donna nodded frantically. “I can’t bear it.”

The Doctor pressed his fingers to her temples again, and the song was gone. Donna sniffed and swallowed back her remaining tears before swiping at her face, trying to regain some composure.

A hand on her shoulder surprised her, but when Rose offered a one-armed hug, she accepted it gratefully. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, not sure if she was talking to the Doctor and Rose, or to the Ood, who could never get away from the song.

Rose squeezed her shoulder, then stepped away. “It’s okay.”

Donna took a deep breath and looked into the cage. The Ood looked just as dejected, as downtrodden as they had a moment ago, even though she could no longer hear the song. “But you can still hear it,” she said, not sure if she was talking to her friends, or to the Ood.

“Yeah,” Rose whispered hoarsely. “An’ it hurts.”

“All the time,” the Doctor agreed, taking Rose’s hand.

Donna watched them for a long moment, taking in the way they comforted each other in this shared sorrow. Her curious side was still intrigued by the hints of telepathy she saw in their relationship, but the pragmatic side could only see the resigned acceptance in their eyes. This wasn’t new for them.

All the beauty, all the incredible things she’d imagined seeing if she got to travel with them… she never imagined this. Never imagined that she would have to help kill twenty thousand people to save the planet, never imagined that in two thousand years, humanity had still not gotten past its need to enslave those it believed to be less than themselves.

The now-familiar buzz of the sonic screwdriver pulled her out of her thoughts. When she shook off her melancholy, the Doctor already had the cell door open.

But Donna heard something else, something coming from above. Something that sounded like bolt cutters. “They’re breaking in.”

“Ah, let them.” The Doctor threw the door back and walked slowly into the cell. The song still playing in his head made him reckless—he wanted that confrontation with the management of this company.

The Ood huddled in a corner, and he realised they were picking up on his anger but couldn’t tell who it was directed at. He took a deep breath and started to crouch down in front of them, but Rose was already there, kneeling on the floor with her empty hands held out, palm up.

One Ood raised his head and made eye contact, and Rose smiled at it. “It’s all right,” she said, her gentle voice a counterpoint to the banging coming from above. “We’re not going to hurt you. We’re here to help, if we can.”

Their hunched shoulders relaxed slightly as she projected a solid wave of compassion, and Rose’s smile widened a bit. “Will you show us what you’re holding?” she asked. “You can trust us. I’m Rose, and this is the Doctor and Donna. We’re your friends.”

The Doctor watched breathlessly as the Ood shuffled forward, still keeping whatever he had in his hand covered protectively. But when he reached Rose, he carefully removed his top hand.

They all stared at the pale pink, fleshy sphere the Ood held in his hand. “Is that…?” Donna whispered.

The Doctor nodded as the mystery of the blank personality of the Ood suddenly made sense. “It’s a brain. A hindbrain. The Ood are born with a secondary brain.” Now he could see a fleshy cord connecting the brain to the Ood’s head, just below the tentacles on the face. “Like the amygdala in humans, it processes memory and emotions. You get rid of that, you wouldn’t be Donna any more. You’d be… like an Ood. A processed Ood.”

Tension radiated off of Rose, but she was trying to control it, to not alarm the Ood. “They cut off their brains, and stitch on the translator,” she said, her voice flat.

“Like a lobotomy,” Donna agreed. The Doctor looked over at her, and his hearts sank at the disillusionment on her face. “I spent all that time looking for the two of you because I thought it was so wonderful out here.” She shook her head. “I want to go home.”

He wanted to argue, but a final, loud bang indicated that the door had finally been opened. He spun around and saw a guard leading the same businessman they’d spotted earlier down the stairs.

“They’re with the Ood, sir,” the guard said.

The Doctor jumped to his feet and pulled the door shut with a hard clang of metal on metal. “What you going to do, then?” he snarled, his chest heaving with rage. “Arrest me? Lock me up? Throw me in a cage? Well, you’re too late. Ha!”

The businessman rolled his eyes. “I don’t know how three idiots managed to infiltrate this far into the facility,” he muttered as he gestured for the guard to unlock the cage. Which… yes, it should have occurred to the Doctor that they would have keys, but honestly, he was only trying to make a clear statement at the time.

“What should we do with them, sir?” the guard asked. The Doctor was relieved to see that he kept his gun trained on him, though his gaze did wander to Rose and Donna frequently, keeping an eye on all of them.

“Bring them to the office,” the man said. He smiled cooly at the three of them. “I’d recommend that you follow without any protests or attempts at heroism. It would be a shame if Kess here fired accidentally.”

The barrel of Kess’ gun shifted from the Doctor to Rose. The Doctor’s jaw clenched. “Mr…. What was your name?”

“Halpen,” the businessman said.

“Excellent. Mr. Halpen, I think you’ll find that we’ll come peacefully enough. There’s no need to point weapons at anyone.”

A sly smirk twisted Halpen’s mouth. “Kess, keep your gun trained on Mrs. Tyler. If any of them try to escape, shoot her.”

The Doctor clenched his hands into fists, and Halpen chuckled. “Oh yes, Dr. Tyler—Solana mentioned that you were married to one of these two ladies. Thank you for offering me the perfect leverage.”

Rose tried to push calm over the bond as she climbed the stairs, but the Doctor wasn’t interested. His anger and rage had been building ever since they’d realised exactly how the Ood were processed, and the threat to her had pushed his temper to the limit.

Outside, she blinked a few times as the glare of the sun off the snow blinded her. “Move along,” Kess growled, poking her in the back with the gun.

Rose stumbled a few steps, then wheeled around and glared at him, which had the dual effect of letting the Doctor see she was absolutely fine. “God, humans can be so thick,” she growled. “If I’m your boss’ leverage, what do you think my husband will do if something happens to me?”

Kess’ gaze shifted to the Doctor, taking in his wild eyes and heaving chest. He took an involuntary step back, and the barrel of the gun swung around to point at the Doctor.

Mr. Halpen rolled his eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake, Kess, be careful. It would be nice if we could all reach the office in one piece—and without any weapons fire to alert the buyers to potential problems. Do you understand?”

Kess nodded slowly, but Rose watched him out of the corner of her eye as they crossed the compound, and noticed that he never really looked away from the Doctor.

The rest of their walk was uneventful. Solana must have kept the buyers occupied so no one noticed three people being led across the compound at gunpoint.

When they reached a sterile, white office, Kess handed them off to other guards and disappeared. Rose, the Doctor, and Donna were all dragged over to some exposed pipes and handcuffed there. Rose tugged at her restraints, but these didn’t seem like the kind that would pop open if you pulled just right.

Halpen leaned against a table as an Ood in a simple black outfit looked on. “Why don’t you just come out and say it?” he demanded. “FOTO activists.”

“Friend of the Ood?” Rose guessed, the long-ago conversation with Danny and Scooti coming back to her. “I was asked that once before, and I’ll say the same thing I did then. Maybe I am—because as far as I’m concerned, humans have no right taking slaves.”

Halpen’s eye twitched and he raised his voice. “The Ood were nothing without us, just animals roaming around on the ice.”

“That’s because you can’t hear them,” the Doctor spat out.

“They welcomed it,” Halpen insisted. He shook his head and chuckled. “It’s not as if they put up a fight.”

“You idiot,” Donna hissed.

The man’s smile disappeared, but Rose watched the Ood standing behind him as Donna delivered a merciless blow to Halpen’s egotism. He’d tilted his head curiously when Donna spoke, and Rose got the sense that he was… intrigued by their outspoken support of his species.

“They’re born with their brains in their hands,” Donna continued. “Don’t you see, that makes them peaceful. They’ve got to be, because a creature like that would have to trust anyone it meets.”

“Oh, nice one,” the Doctor muttered approvingly.

“Thank you.”

Rose agreed with the Doctor’s praise and hoped it would convince Donna to stay with them, but she hadn’t looked away from the Ood. Unless she was wrong—and it was hard to say, given how difficult it was to read an Ood—he was both pleased and grateful for Donna’s scathing rebuttal.

Halpen’s eyes narrowed, then he stood up. He took a few steps forward and tried to intimidate the Doctor into obedience, but the Doctor just straightened his back and looked down his nose at the human.

“The system’s worked for two hundred years,” Halpen said angrily. “All we’ve got is a rogue batch. But the infection is about to be sterilised.” He raised his wrist to his mouth and spoke into a comms unit. “Mr. Kess. How do we stand?

Kess’ voice filled the office, a tinny, hollow sound. “Canisters primed, sir. As soon as the core heats up, the gas is released. Give it two hundred marks and counting.”

The Doctor sucked in a breath. It was bad enough when the humans had just been enslaving the Ood, but the slaughter he was suggesting now was outright genocide. “You’re going to gas them?”

“Kill the livestock,” Halpen said coldly, a hint a smirk curling the corners of his mouth. “The classic foot and mouth solution from the olden days. Still works.” He chuckled, and the Doctor wanted to smack the smirk right off his face.

The Ood song crescendoed, fear harmonising with the sorrow as anger solidified into a pulsing bass line. The Doctor pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth, biting back a groan of discomfort. They were reaching out for each other, trying to help each other in this moment. They knew they were going to be slaughtered, and they weren’t going to let it happen.

He wasn’t surprised when an alarm blared throughout the complex. The red-eyed Ood were obviously causing enough havoc to cause alarm.

Mr. Halpen had turned around to talk to Dr. Ryder, but he spun back around when the alarm started. “What the hell?”

The two men and the Ood that followed Halpen around left the office through the private, outdoor staircase. They left the doors open, so the Doctor, Rose, and Donna could all hear the gunfire and screams sounding from outside.

Doctor. He turned around to look at Rose. I don’t think Mr. Halpen’s favourite Ood is quite as domesticated as he thinks. It’s just a guess… but that might be a point in our favour, later on.

The Doctor craned his neck in an attempt to see the Ood she was talking about, but they were already out of sight. Well, we need to get out of here before that can do us any good, he replied, tugging at his cuffs.

Halpen and his entourage reentered the room a moment later. “Change of plan,” he said curtly.

“There are no reports of trouble off-world, sir,” Dr. Ryder told his boss. “It’s still contained to the Ood Sphere.”

Halpen straightened his spine and stared down at the scientist. “Then we’ve got a public duty to stop it before it spreads.”

“What’s happening?” the Doctor asked, looking at the two men and trying to put together some reasonable course of events.

“Everything you wanted, Doctor,” Halpen said bitterly. “No doubt there’ll be a full police investigation once this place has been sterilised, so I can’t risk a bullet to the head.” He smiled viciously. “I’ll leave you to the mercies of the Ood.”

The Doctor called after him as he left the room. “But Mr. Halpen, there’s something else, isn’t there?” Halpen stopped and looked back at him. “Something we haven’t seen.”

“What do you mean?” asked Donna.

“A creature couldn’t survive with a separate forebrain and hindbrain. They’d be at war with themselves.” Mr. Halpen’s eyes had widened during his explanation, and the Doctor knew he was right. “There’s got to be something else, a third element. Am I right?”

“And again, so clever,” the businessman said condescendingly.

“And that’s where the red eye is coming from, isn’t it?” Rose guessed. “What is it?”

Halpen strode forward and got right in her face. “It won’t exist for very much longer,” he snarled. “Enjoy your Ood.”

The Doctor made eye contact with the Ood before they left the room. Rose was right; there was something in the eyes… He glanced down at the Greek letter printed on the pocket of the Ood’s jumpsuit and made note of his designation: Ood Sigma.

After they were gone, the Doctor let part of his brain ruminate over what Halpen could possibly have meant. Whatever was tying the Ood together, he was planning to destroy it. That would essentially kill any chance they ever had of going back to their natural state.

He tugged again at his handcuffs; they couldn’t let that happen. “Come on,” he grunted when they didn’t give.

“Well, do something,” Donna ordered. “You’re the one with all the tricks. You must have met Houdini.”

On his other side, Rose huffed as she tried to get the restraints open. “Yeah… the thing is, Donna, these are really good handcuffs.”

“Oh well, I’m glad of that,” Donna snarked, and they could hear the eye roll in her voice. “I mean, at least we’ve got quality.”

The door slid open and they froze for a moment when they caught sight of three Ood standing on the other side, their eyes red and their translator balls in their hands. Then Rose panicked and tugged frantically at her cuffs.

A moment later, calm washed over the bond, but Rose shook her head violently.

They use that thing as a weapon! she explained to the Doctor. She shared the memory of watching the young crew woman die when a translator ball had been pressed to her head. The Doctor sucked in a breath, and she nodded quickly.

Then she forced herself to calm down enough to talk to the Ood. They were telepathic; couldn’t they tell the three of them meant them no harm? “We’re here to help,” she insisted as she yanked at her bindings. “You can trust us,” she said, just as she had in the cage with the unprocessed Ood.

The Doctor nodded frantically. “That’s right. Friends. Rose, Doctor, Donna—friends.”

Donna jumped into the round a moment later, saying, “The circle must be broken.”

Rose nodded; she’d almost forgotten about the first Ood they’d met, and the way the Ood in the cargo container had repeated that phrase in unison.

“We’re here to help. You can trust us,” she said over and over, while the Doctor and Donna likewise repeated their own phrases. The Ood didn’t seem to understand, though—they kept advancing, with the translator balls held at the ready.

Rose and the Doctor both tried to reach out to the Ood telepathically at the same time. It should be easy, if the species was as telepathic as they seemed to be. But something… something seemed to be blocking the full signal, and all the Ood could do was project emotion.

The circle must be broken, Rose realised, finally getting an idea of what exactly that line meant. The circle was the thing cutting the Ood off from that third brain the Doctor had mentioned—a third brain that let them connect telepathically.

The Ood song swirled around them, and Rose closed her eyes and opened herself up to it. We’re here to help. You can trust us. The circle must be broken, she said, adding the last in there on a random instinct.

The translator balls were only inches from their faces now, and she cringed back from it as far as possible. We’re here to help! Rose cried out telepathically. We’re your friends.

She held her breath when the Ood froze. A moment later, the lights in the translator balls turned off, and as one, the Ood dropped them and clutched their heads, listening to a message. “Friends,” they said a moment later. “Rose, Doctor, Donna. Friends.”

Rose sagged back against the wall, while the Doctor and Donna agreed exuberantly.

“Yes. That’s us. Friends. Oh, yes,” they said, their words spilling out on top of each other chaotically.

The Ood clipped their translator balls to their shirts, and one of them found a set of keys in Mr. Halpen’s desk. “You must hurry,” he said as he unlocked their handcuffs. “The circle must be broken.”

Rose was the first to be released, and she looked at the Ood as she rubbed at her sore wrists. “Thank you… er, what’s your name?”

“Omega Twenty.”

“Thank you, Omega Twenty.” She looked at all of them. “Thank you.”

As soon as he was free, the Doctor grabbed Rose and Donna’s hands and they ran out of the office and down the stairs, straight into a war zone. Guards were firing blindly into the worsening blizzard, trying to kill the Ood.

They hunkered down behind the corner of a building. “I don’t know where it is. I don’t know where they’ve gone.”

“What are we looking for?”

Donna’s question echoed behind him as he took off running again, trusting they would both follow him.

“It might be underground, like some sort of cave, or a cavern, or…” He stopped and spun in a circle, trying to find some clue to where they needed to go.

Rose and Donna ran by him, Rose grabbing his hand as she passed. Come on, Doctor. No time to stand still. Follow the singing.

He’d tried to keep them out of the worst of the fighting, but doing as she said and following the Ood song to its source meant leading them directly into the fray. “Keep your head down!”

The force of an explosion behind them knocked them all to the ground, thankfully covered by a soft blanket of snow. When the vibrations stopped, the Doctor knew, thanks to the bond, that Rose wasn’t in any pain, so he looked over at Donna first.

“All right?”

She nodded shakily, and he rolled onto his side so he could look over his shoulder. The air was filled with smoke, and as it cleared, Ood Sigma appeared. Before the Doctor could worry about his intentions, he spoke.

“Rose, Doctor, Donna—come with me. The circle must be broken.”

The Doctor jumped to his feet and helped Rose and Donna up. “Ood Sigma. Rose said she thought you might have a bit of a mind of your own.”

“All Ood have a mind of our own, Doctor.”

The Doctor felt his ears get hot at the mild reproof. “Right, of course. Ah… I’ll let you lead the way, shall I?” he said, pointing in a random direction.

Ood Sigma set off at a fast pace, leading them around the fighting to another warehouse. The Doctor pointed the sonic at the lock box, destroying the controls instead of just unlocking the door.

Like the warehouse that housed Ood Conversion, they were immediately met with a set of stairs. The song grew louder as they ran down them, and when they reached the main level of the building, the Doctor darted over to a railing and looked down on an enormous brain.

“The Ood Brain,” he said in a hushed voice. “Now it all makes sense. That’s the missing link. The third element, binding them together. Forebrain, hindbrain, and this, the telepathic centre.”

A sudden surge of anger from Rose took him by surprise, and he looked over at her. “They’re supposed to be connected,” she said, grinding out the words. “The song, it’s like our bond, Doctor.”

Before the Doctor could respond to the memories she’d dragged out, he heard the sound of chains clinking on his right. He turned cautiously and wasn’t surprised to find Mr. Halpen, pointing a pistol at them.

“Cargo. I can always go into cargo,” he said as he walked slowly towards them, Dr. Ryder behind him. “I’ve got the rockets; I’ve got the sheds. Smaller business. Much more manageable, without livestock.”

“He’s mined the area,” Ryder said, the anger in his eyes making it clear what he thought of that fact.

“You’re going to kill it?” gasped Donna.

Halpen reached the railing and looked down on the brain. “They found that… thing, centuries ago beneath the northern glacier.”

“Those pylons,” the Doctor said, noticing them for the first time. He’d been too excited to find the brain before to realise what he was looking at.

“In a circle,” Donna agreed. “The circle must be broken.”

“A telepathic dampening field,” Rose spat out. “Keeping them from connecting for two hundred years.”

The Doctor shuddered; he knew that pain very well. Five months had nearly been enough to drive him mad. He couldn’t imagine going on without their bond for two hundred years.

Halpen frowned at the Ood who’d brought them there. “And you, Ood Sigma, you brought them here. I expected better.”

“My place is at your side, sir,” Ood Sigma said smoothly as he walked around the Doctor, Rose, and Donna to stand with Mr. Halpen.

The man chuckled. “Still subservient. Good Ood.”

“If that barrier thing’s in place,” Donna said, waving at the railing and the Ood Brain beneath it, “how come the Ood started breaking out?”

The Doctor nodded; he’d been wondering that himself. “Maybe it’s taken centuries to adapt. The subconscious reaching out?”

Dr. Ryder stepped forward. “But the process was too slow. It had to be accelerated.” He shot a scathing glance at Halpen. “You should never give me access to the controls, Mr. Halpen. I lowered the barrier to its minimum. Friends of the Ood, sir. It’s taken me ten years to infiltrate the company, and I succeeded.”

Halpen narrowed his eyes, then smiled “Yes. Yes, you did.”

The Doctor recognised the intent in Halpen’s voice a second too late to stop him from pushing Dr. Ryder over the catwalk and onto the Ood Brain. He tried, darting forward to lean over the railing, but he wasn’t in time. Instead, he watched, horrified, as Ryder sank into the neural tissue, slowly absorbed by the species he’d come to save.

Donna and Rose were hanging over the railing with him, and it was Donna who found her voice first. “You—you murdered him.”

The Doctor straightened up and glared at Mr. Halpen, who was busy rolling his eyes at Donna, as if she were a naive child. “Very observant, Ginger.”

He pointed his pistol at the three of them, and the Doctor shifted to put himself in front of Donna and Rose.

“Now, then.” He coughed as he looked down at the gun in his hand. “Can’t say I’ve ever shot anyone before.”

He gagged, and the Doctor tensed, ready to take advantage of the smallest weakness on Halpen’s part that might let him overpower him.

“Can’t say I’m going to like it,” Halpen continued. Then he shrugged and smirked. “But er, it’s not exactly a normal day, is it? Still.” He raised the gun to fire.

“Would you like a drink, sir?” Ood Sigma asked, holding out a shot glass.

Halpen chuckled. “I think hair loss is the least of my problems right now, thanks.”

The Doctor watched Ood Sigma smoothly position himself between Halpen and his gun, and the Doctor, Rose, and Donna.

I told you he was different from the other Ood, Rose said.

“Please have a drink, sir,” Ood Sigma said—no, that was an order. Calmly given, but clearly an order.

“If—” Halpen gagged again. “If you’re going to stand in their way, I’ll shoot you too.”

By the end of his sentence, it was obvious his body was trying to push something up through his throat. Somehow, the Doctor didn’t think it was a typical regurgitation.

“Please have a drink, sir,” Ood Sigma insisted.

Halpen’s eyes widened in fear, and the gun shook in his hands. “Have, have you poisoned me?”

“Natural Ood must never kill, sir.”

“What’s in that drink?” Rose asked.

Ood Sigma half-turned, so he could look at them and keep a watchful eye on Halpen at the same time. “Ood graft suspended in a biological compound, Rose Tyler.”

Halpen pressed his hand to his head. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Oh, dear.” The Doctor took in Halpen’s appearance, from the balding head to the way he was sweating, looking like something was trying to force its way out of his oesophagus.

“Tell me!” Halpen demanded.

The Doctor was happy to oblige. He couldn’t have thought of a more fitting punishment for the man who’d spent his entire life subjugating the Ood.

“Funny thing, the subconscious. Takes all sorts of shapes,” he explained. “Came out in the red eye as revenge, came out in the rabid Ood as anger, and then there was patience.” The Doctor looked down at the Ood Brain, listening to the inherent compassion in the Ood song and imagining how that would have swayed the patient creature. “All that intelligence and mercy, focused on Ood Sigma.”

He leaned forward and looked closely at the trembling businessman. “How’s the hair loss, Mr. Halpen?” he taunted.

Halpen reached up and pulled a whole hank of hair out of the back of his head. He looked at it in shock, then looked at Ood Sigma, somehow daring to look betrayed, even after all he had done to the Ood.

“What have you done?” he sobbed, still trying to hold the gun in his shaking hands.

The Doctor straightened and shook his head. “Oh, they’ve been preparing you for a very long time. And now you’re standing next to the Ood Brain. Mr. Halpen, can you hear it? Listen.”

Sweat beaded up on Mr. Halpen’s forehead as he listened to the Ood song, truly hearing it for the first time, but certainly not for the last.

“What have you…” He gagged before he could repeat his earlier question. “I’m not…”

He tried swallowing, but a moment later, he dropped the gun and slowly raised his hands to the top of his scalp. The Doctor felt a shiver of disgust mixed in with his curiosity when the man bent forward and peeled his skin off. The tentacles that had been pushing their way up his throat finally dropped out of his mouth, and when he stood up again…

“They, they turned him into an Ood?” Donna said breathlessly.

The Doctor put his hands in his pockets and nodded. “Yep.”

“Oh, that’s brilliant,” Rose breathed. “I mean… don’t get me wrong, it’s disturbing, but what an ingenious revenge and punishment.”

The Ood formerly known as Mr. Halpen groaned in dismay, and the Doctor wondered how long he would retain his memories of his former life.

A moment later, he coughed up a hindbrain, catching it in his hand. The Doctor couldn’t help wondering, as he looked at it, how exactly natural born Ood got their hindbrains. Did it happen like this? Were Ood born, or hatched?

Ood Sigma put his hand on the shoulder of his new brethren, interrupting the Doctor’s musings. “He has become Oodkind, and we will take care of him,” he said serenely.

Donna pressed her hands to her temples. “It’s weird, being with you,” she said, sounding a bit dazed. “I can’t tell what’s right and what’s wrong any more.”

Rose put her arm around Donna’s shoulders. “Yeah, it’s better that way though. People who know for certain tend to be like Mr. Halpen.”

The Doctor jolted forward when something started beeping. He’d forgotten that Halpen had rigged the entire enclosure to explode. “Oh!” He reached over the railing and turned the detonator off. “That’s better.”

That left only one thing left to be done. He jogged over to the control panel for the telepathic dampening field, then spun around and looked from Rose to Ood Sigma. “Now, no one here has been more upset on your behalf than Rose. Would you let her be the one to set you free?”

Ood Sigma bowed slightly to Rose. “A song has been sung for generations of a Wolf who would break the circle. The honour is yours, Rose Tyler.”

The Doctor purposely ignored the second reference to Bad Wolf in a week, and gestured for Rose to come forward.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” she warned him as she walked across the catwalk to join him.

He pointed at the dials on the control panel. “Turn those all the way down first.” The electric crackling intensified as she did. “And now, flip the switch, Rose.”

She threw a final lever with gusto, and after a few more seconds of crackling, the electrical current flowing through the pylons shut off. Ood song filled the room, no longer the song of captivity, but the song of unity.

“I can hear it!” Donna gasped, her face lighting up at the joy in the song that hadn’t been there before.

The Doctor looked at Rose and reached for their bond, warm contentment burning in his hearts when she reciprocated the touch, twining their minds together in a gesture that, had he been forced to describe it, he would have said felt like holding hands.

“We should rejoin the others outside,” Ood Sigma said.

The Doctor blinked. “Yes, right. After you, Ood Sigma. And…” He gestured at the Ood formerly known as Halpen. “Whatever you end up being called.”

After ten minutes in the dark cellar, the sunlight was blinding. But the sight they saw when they blinked the light out of their eyes was even more dazzling. The Ood were standing together in groups, hands raised in supplication as they joined in the song.

And the humans? The humans had laid down their weapons and were watching, awestruck, as they finally learned the true majesty of this species they had belittled for far too long.

“Time for us to be going,” the Doctor said quietly, taking Rose’s hand.

“We will see you off,” Ood Sigma said, gesturing to the ten Ood in the circle closest to them.

The Doctor made one last stop as they left the compound, poking into the operations centre to catch the chatter on the radio. He grinned when he heard the message he’d hoped for.

The Ood song followed them on their trek back to the TARDIS. It filled the entire planet now, echoing and resonating in the atmosphere, the way it had always been meant to do—the way it had done for generations before humans arrived on the planet.

“The message has gone out,” the Doctor said when they reached the TARDIS. The Ood deserved to know what he’d learned from eavesdropping on the radio. “That song resonated across the galaxies. Everyone heard it. Everyone knows. The rockets are bringing them back. The Ood are coming home.”

“We thank you, Rose, Doctor, Donna, friends of Oodkind,” Ood Sigma said. He cocked his head in that almost avian fashion the Ood had, and a shiver ran down the Doctor’s spine. “You would be welcome to stay with us if you wished, but I think that your song is not yet over.”

Rose smiled at the Ood and squeezed the Doctor’s hand. “Our song never ends,” she said, for once feeling confident enough to say that definitively.

Ood Sigma bowed and took a step back, into the semicircle of Ood gathered around the TARDIS. “Then we will say goodbye for now, but not, I think, forever.”

“Yeah…” the Doctor drawled. “We’ll be off, then, I think.”

Ood Sigma raised his hands, and the Ood behind him mirrored the gesture. The Ood song crescendoed around them, and Rose blinked back tears at its beauty.

“Take this song with you.”

“We will,” Rose and Donna promised together.

The Doctor nodded. “Always.”

“And know this, Rose, Doctor, Donna. You will never be forgotten. Our children will sing of the ones who freed us from captivity, and our children’s children, and the wind and the ice and the snow will carry your names forever.”

The weight of what they’d done hit Rose, and she couldn’t speak. She settled for a smile and a nod, and then followed the Doctor and Donna back into the TARDIS.

“Ready?” the Doctor asked quietly as she closed the door.

Rose nodded, then glanced at Donna as the Doctor sent them into the Vortex. “Do you still want to go home?”

Donna shook her head firmly, and Rose was relieved to see a smile on her face. “No. Definitely not.”

“Good,” she said fervently. “I won’t tell you there isn’t ugliness out there, Donna, but that’s not all the universe is. There’s so much beauty, so many amazing things to see and amazing people to meet.”

Donna nodded. “I know. I think I get it now. You can’t be afraid to see a little ugliness, not if you want to see some of the tremendous beauty.”

“And there is beauty, Donna. So much.” Rose tilted her head and bit her lip, then said, “I could show you some of my photo albums, if you like. We could sit in the library tonight and share some stories?”

A slow smile lit up Donna’s face. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

Rose had already taken a step up the ramp towards the corridor when Donna’s voice stopped her. “There’s just one more question I have. Ood Sigma, he said you have a song of your own. What did he mean?”

Rose and the Doctor exchanged a look. On one hand, this was only Donna’s second trip with them. It had been two months before they’d explained their bond to Martha. On the other hand, Martha had needed that information on their very next adventure, and Donna had just seen up close and personal how much a part of their lives telepathy was.

Finally, the Doctor tugged at his ear and cleared his throat. “Right, so… we’re not human.”

Donna rolled her eyes. “Got that, thanks,” she snarked. “Bigger on the inside spaceship is kind of a dead giveaway.”

“And! Just like different human cultures have different marriage customs, Time Lords took a life partner in a way that would be completely foreign to humans.”

“But you’ve got wedding rings,” Donna said. “And you said you were engaged last Christmas.” A new memory came back, and she frowned at Rose. “You said your mum was from Peckham,” she argued, remembering the sadness on Rose’s face as she’d pointed out her home while they were on top of the office building in the City.

Rose winced. “Well, I used to be human… only I’m not so much anymore.” She shrugged. “It’s hard to explain.”

“The important thing,” the Doctor interjected, “is that she’s telepathic enough to share a marriage bond.”

Donna tilted her head and looked at the Doctor and Rose. “You mean like… you can read each other’s thoughts?”

“That’s part of it,” Rose said carefully. “But it’s also feeling each other’s emotions, being able to find each other, things like that.”

“Oh!”

Rose jumped a little at Donna’s exclamation.

“That’s why you were so upset, back there with the big Ood brain. Because you were imagining what it would be like if someone made it so you couldn’t communicate, like the humans had done to the Ood.”

“Pretty much,” the Doctor agreed.

His voice was tight, and Rose smiled at him and placed a soothing touch on the bond. We’re together now, she reminded him.

Then she turned to Donna. “Come on, let’s get into comfortable clothes and relax in the library. I bet we’ll find food waiting for us when we get there.”

“Yeah, all right,” Donna agreed. “I’m definitely ready to hear more of your stories.”

#ficandchips #ten x rose #dwfic #series: being to timelessness #cq's fic: forever and never apart #planet of the ood #love this episode #loved adding rose to it #she's so fierce in her anger #fic by Nancy

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therothwoman · 7 years

Text

TV: The Doctor Who Chapter (To Have a Home, chapter 5)

Words: 3,387

Relationship: Stucky

Characters: Bucky, Steve, with brief cameos from Natasha and Sam.

Content warnings: Bucky gets triggered and has a panic attack, but through outside help and his own coping mechanisms he pulls through just fine.

Summary: Warm. Pictures. Company. Stray. TV. Share. Loved. Months after the events of Re-establishing Contact, a security mishap forces Steve and Bucky to be placed in different apartments at distant ends of the city. With a small but brand-new place to call his own, functional in society but still laying low and still wrestling with voices in the night, Bucky begins building a new home. This is a story about friendship, love, photography, books, movies, television, cats, prank wars, and having somewhere to go in times of need. This is a year in the life of Bucky Barnes. (New tags added with new chapters. This fic can be read as a complete story or as a series of vignettes. Each chapter’s opening notes will state chapter-specific tags.)

Chapter: Bucky decides to check out some 21st century sci-fi television and gets just a little bit more than he bargained for.

Notes: In which I take a few steps further and get Even More Self-Indulgent than the Pokemon scene from Re-establishing Contact. As a geeky BA-in-English-holder and certified Whovian, futzing around with reactions and thematic parallels between my favorite media like this was probably inevitable. Add to that the fact that Simmons referencing the TARDIS in Agents of SHIELD means that Doctor Who does exist as an actual series in the MCU. So I figured hey, why not make it a bit of a narrative? When I was first writing this chapter, it was mostly in the form of Bucky's text reactions to each season. But then I got stuck as I approached Season 6-8 because I felt like I knew them a lot less intimately (even though I watched them when they aired). Also, I didn't want to overwhelm non-Whovian Stucks with what was essentially turning into Twitter Who: Bucky Barnes Edition. To compromise, I've set those aside in a separate fic.

Chapter-specific tags: Television Watching, doctor who - Freeform, Panic Attacks

From the beginning

Previous chapter

On AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8353570/chapters/21823745

Bucky: [Okay I just finished the first episode.]

Bucky: [We’ve already got alien time travelers, some sort of space war, murder mannequins, and exploding buildings.]

Bucky: [I’m not sure how much crazier this show can get.]

Sam: [oh]

Sam: [oh man you just wait]

It had started with a fairly simple question. While Banks the cat did a good job of keeping Bucky company during the day, his presence had not stopped Bucky’s nightmares. He hadn’t reasonably expected it to, though. There was a decrease, and Bucky having something warm and freely affectionate to hold in the aftermath every time was certainly a blessing, but he still kept up his repertoire of staying up and doing something to keep his mind and/or body active for a bit before attempting sleep again, if at all. During a group video call, Bucky brought up a desire for something a little more structured.

“Whenever I need a distraction by turning on the TV, I always just watch whatever’s on,” he said. “I’d like something to actually watch, something that I can keep up with and get engaged in.”

There was a smattering of affirmative murmurs before Natasha said, “Easy enough, what are you interested in watching?”

Bucky considered for a moment. “Hmm. I want…something with adventure. Something about the little guys beating the odds. Something that doesn’t take itself too seriously but respects the weight of a situation when it needs to. Something with love. Something with…” His eyebrows lowered, thoughtfully. “Something with a home base. Someplace the characters can always come back to.”

The others looked contemplative for a second before Steve snapped his fingers. “I know one I’ve been enjoying.”

Sam smirked. “Are we thinking of the same one?”

“Is it the same one I stopped watching after Season 6?” asked Natasha.

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

And then all three of them in unison: “Doctor Who.”

For the most part, it was a great time. Bucky actually found himself watching it of his own accord instead of for nightmare balm more often than not. He loved all the characters and the wild stories, identified with some, and took offense at others (he had some angry caps-lock words to say about the two-parter that took place in 1930’s New York). If there was one issue he did have, it was with any story that involved memory erasure or reality alteration. And there were a number of those. He was fine through Human Nature and The Family of Blood, because there was an established sure-fire way for the Doctor-turned-John-Smith to be returned to his old self in a moment. The ending of Journey’s End, with poor Donna and her forced mind-wipe, was a significantly tougher sequence to go through. The one episode he couldn’t bring himself to finish at all was Amy’s Choice, because it was one thing to have an entire episode about switching between two perceived realities and being forced to determine which one was real, but the event’s orchestrator looking like the spitting image of Arnim Zola was a step too far. Still, ever-eager to know what happened next, he pressed on.

Nearly two hours later, his shaking fingers were hastily tapping to Steve’s number on his phone. The dial tone rang twice before Steve picked up. It had been months since Bucky was so relieved to hear his voice.

“Steve, I just…it was the ending of Cold Blood,” Bucky stumbled, trying to keep breathing. “…Rory died…Amy had to watch him die…and then he got swallowed by the crack…Steve, the universe itself made her forget him. She…she was willing to die instead of live in a world without him…yes I know, I looked up the rest of that episode…but I just…Steve…when I fell off the train…when you fell into the river…what if we’d…Jesus, Steve, I can’t…I just can’t…” He heard Steve trying to make reassuring noises over his anxious chattering.

“Hey hey hey, listen, Buck,” Steve said, “first of all, there’s no crack in the universe that’s going to make us forget each other…”

“But the technology…!”

“…was destroyed with that arm of Hydra. Second,” Steve continued, “I’m coming over now. You haven’t sounded this bad in weeks. Third, can I tell you a spoiler if it’ll help you feel better?”

Bucky nodded, even though Steve couldn’t see him. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

“Okay,” said Steve. “Rory comes back.”

Bucky was amazed that he had the mental energy to be puzzled. “O-kay…I’ll question it later. But yeah, c’mon over, I’m so sorry that…”

“Bucky,” Steve interrupted, “whatever you’re about to apologize for, you don’t need to. Just hang tight for a bit, okay? I’ll be right there.”

“I will, thanks.”

They wrapped up, and Bucky went to turn on the lights as he brought up the next episode of a podcast he’d been enjoying to put on as background noise. He scooped up Banks from the towel-cushioned cardboard box he’d fashioned as a cat bed (cheaper and more likely to actually be used than a real cat bed, according to the Internet) and sat back down on the couch to stroke the purring fluffball while listening to the animated rambling of the two podcast hosts. It was nice to have a source of such variety of listening in one show, with topics as mixed as flags and computers and human consciousness and promoting widespread availability of those little plastic sticks you used to plug up the hole in your coffee lid. He did tend to get a bit unsettled when the Australian guy talked about plane crashes with such zeal. Bucky usually skipped those segments when they came up. Thank god the American host wasn’t going on another lecture about how free will was probably an illusion, because Bucky really didn’t think he could handle that right now. It was about one podcast episode later when the intercom finally buzzed. Banks vacated Bucky’s lap as the less-distressed man went to let Steve in.

“Hey,” said Steve as he entered.

“Hi.”

“C’mere.” Bucky welcomed Steve’s warm embrace and the soothing hand rubbing his back, feeling the solidness of touching and knowing that Steve really was there and wasn’t about to vanish into a crack in time and space and make Bucky forget about him for another seventy years, or worse. They moved to lie down on the couch and just held each other for a while, Bucky stroking Steve’s shoulder blade with his right hand while Steve breathed calmly for him and gave Bucky occasional kisses to the forehead. Bucky had half a mind to reach up and try to drape the blanket over them, to just let them sleep in the comfort of each other’s company, but the thought kept nagging at the back of his mind: seriously, how the hell did Rory come back from the dead?

“Y’know,” he said at last, “I kinda still want to watch the next episode.”

Steve had his left hand in Bucky’s hair, giving him fond scratches around his crown. He stopped and patted Bucky’s head. “Ordinarily I’d say you could stop here if you wanted,” he said, “but I actually do really think you should see Vincent and the Doctor. It’s…I dunno how else to put it…it’s a healing episode.”

“Alright,” said Bucky, turning over to set up the next episode. “Let’s do this.”

After the dire straits of the previous story, switching to the subject of a troubled artist in the French countryside occasionally tormented by an invisible space monster was a welcome change for Bucky. He found himself nodding solemnly at Vincent’s talk about how the others in the village treated him horribly because they believed him to be the cause of their problems. Bucky thought back to his days in Bucharest, how that looming sensation followed him everywhere he went: that feeling of do they know? Do they know what I am? What I was? Oh, the number of times he had expected something to be thrown at him, or for a crowd in front of him to suddenly bolt as he approached, or for a distant siren to herald a swarm of armed soldiers with their guns trained on him and ready to finish him off. The fact that the invisible space monster in the episode was, in death, revealed to be a scared, wounded, and lonely creature itself did not help much. But it was in the aftermath of that scene that Bucky began to understand what Steve meant by this being a “healing episode.” For those few days, Vincent didn’t have to face his demons alone. More importantly, he was given the incredible chance to take a trip forward in the TARDIS to see the effect his work would have on future generations; to be reminded that just because you don’t get to see the impact of your time on this earth in your lifetime, it doesn’t mean you didn’t have an impact at all. For a minute, Bucky was worried that the episode had shot itself in the foot with the reveal that the Doctor and Amy’s visit ultimately didn’t prevent Vincent’s suicide, but then the Doctor rolled out the “pile of good things” speech and Bucky started to get sniffle-y again.

“’The good things don’t always soften the bad things, but the bad things don’t always spoil the good things or make them unimportant,’” Bucky repeated once the episode was over. “That’s one hell of a line. Come to think of it, there’ve been a lot of great lines on this show. Maybe that’s my next collage project: a Doctor Who quote wall.”

“I’d love to see it when you’re done,” said Steve. “Oh hey, the sun’s coming up.”

Bucky looked away from the TV and towards the kitchen window where the first rays of dawn were shimmering outside. The start of a new day. “Huh. So it is. Only got three episodes of the season left, I think I’m gonna keep going. You staying or…? You can crash on my bed if you want.”

Steve yawned. “Why don’t I make us some coffee first?” He patted Bucky’s shoulder as he got up from the couch.

“Hope you like espresso, ‘cause that’s all I’ve got,” said Bucky.

They blazed through the rest of the season, musing on the themes of protecting those you love (and using temporary superhuman abilities to do so. “He waited two thousand years for her and you only waited about seventy for me? Jesus, step up your game, Rogers,” Bucky had quipped with a playful elbow to the ribs) and the idea of “if something can be remembered, then it can come back.”

“Wow,” said Bucky at the conclusion. “What d’you think, Steve? Remembering things just…brings them back?”

“Not that literally, that’s for sure,” said Steve. “But…what do memories do other than bring back echoes of events, people, feelings, smells, places?”

“Easy,” said Bucky, stretching his shoulders a bit as though he subconsciously felt the need to physically assert himself as a perfect example of a response to Steve’s question. “Memories inform us. They tell us where we’ve been and how we got here. They give us context for being. I spent decades knowing and remembering nothing but Hydra, and then you showed up in Washington. Things started to come back. I knew that there’d been something to me before Hydra. There were other people I knew…another man I’d been…more context to me that had been blocked out.” He paused thoughtfully, gazing at the blank wall above the TV. A thought flitted by his mind ever so briefly that this was more blank wall space where he could put something up if he wanted to. “What d’you think, Steve?” he said again. “Have I gotten enough context back that I’m who I used to be?”

Steve lowered his eyebrows and took a few moments to answer, presumably searching for the right words. “I think it’s unreasonable to expect that you’d be the exact same James Buchanan Barnes I lived with in Brooklyn and fought with in the war. Like you said, memories inform you. I had faith that enough of the old you would come back that I could look into your face and see the man I loved again, but...” he sighed, “…that doesn’t change what happened in between. But if there was a way to…”

“Steve, don’t,” Bucky interrupted. “I know what you’re going to say, I know you’ve told me about how Wanda can mess with people’s heads and how she could probably use that power to my benefit. But quite frankly, it wouldn’t…it wouldn’t feel right. What right do I have to forget everything that I did? Or…sorry, right…what I was made to do? Or even to feel better about it? What kind of disrespect is that to all the lives I was made to shatter? Besides…” he laced his fingers together and closed his eyes in a very slow blink, curling his mouth up in the faintest of smiles, “…I…think I like what I am now. I’m a man living his own life, and I think that’s all anyone can ask for. I’m someone who’s already given his service to his country, but I know there’s more I can do, and I want to stick around for that day. I’m alive and I want to keep living. I want to stay someone who can give and receive love. And if anything that’s happened to me, good or bad, has helped me become that, I want to remember it.”

Steve took a few moments to respond, eventually lifting a hand and resting it on Bucky’s shoulder. “You’re right, Buck, I’m sorry,” said Steve. “Your mind, your memories, your decision.”

Bucky nodded, turning half his attention to the rest of the room. “Y’know, it’s funny,” he said. “The details I can remember and the ones I can’t. If you gave me a sheet of paper and a pencil, I could probably trace a rough floor plan of our old place. I could tell you where the couch was, where the stove was, where the bed was, but I couldn’t tell you…” his brow furrowed, “…the colors and patterns are things I have trouble with. I want to say the old bed sheets were sky blue, but that’s just because of the ones I have now. I think we had books, too. We must’ve had books.”

“We did have books. Not a lot, but…” Steve turned to look at Bucky’s current bookcase against the wall next to him. “Maybe a shelf or two of what you’ve got there? There wasn’t a lot of time for reading, not with the hours we had to keep to afford rent sometimes.”

“I remember some of the stuff I read, but more vague plot things than actual titles, unless it was one of The Classics,” Bucky continued. “I know a read a bunch of H.G. Wells, I’m pretty sure I read Frankenstein, I must’ve read Alice in Wonderland at some point because I know there was something in there somewhere about a girl going on a goddamn trip. When I first remembered it existed, it took me a while to stop getting it mixed up with The Wizard of Oz. If we had any P.G. Wodehouse books, they were definitely yours. You liked them a lot more than me, I remember that. Or at least the Jeeves books. I never really understood what you got out of stories of bored rich guys getting almost-married every few weeks.”

“Honestly, I think it was more the writing than the stories,” said Steve with a light chuckle. “Maybe I’m just a sucker for a good well-worded sentence. Or, in this case, a lot of them in a row.”

Bucky tilted his head with a smile. “I might have to give those another shot,” he said, “because one of them has the only specific sentences I remember from back then.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “You remember actual lines from the books?”

“Just barely,” said Bucky. “I know you got me to read the Jeeves short stories, and there was one…” he closed his eyes, “…I can’t remember the name of the story or which book it was or anything else that happened in the actual plot but…Bertie Wooster and some other guy got stuck on the roof of a gazebo in the middle of a lake or something and they couldn’t get back to the boat because there was an angry swan in the way. So Jeeves has to come save them and…again, I don’t remember the meat of that one paragraph but I know it started ‘every young man starting life ought to know how to cope with an angry swan, so I will briefly relate the proper procedure’ and it ended with ‘that was Jeeves’s method, and I cannot see how it could have been improved upon’.” Bucky turned to look at Steve again, whose eyes were still wide and whose mouth was slightly open in pleasant surprise.

“Oh my god,” he said with the slightest of pauses. “I remember that. I remember you reading that. I was tidying up the kitchen and you were laughing your ass off in the next room and suddenly you rushed in with the book and yelled ‘STEVE, I’VE JUST…’”

“’…FOUND THE FUNNIEST SHIT I’VE EVER READ IN MY LIFE’,” they finished in unison.

“Yeah,” Steve continued. “You tried doing a dramatic reading of it, but you barely got to the end before you were on the floor with one hand over your stomach and the other slapping the rug.”

Bucky grinned. “Ohhh man, when the hell was the last time I found something that funny?”

“You know they made a TV show out of that?” said Steve.

“Wait, out of the Jeeves books?”

“Yeah, it’s just called Jeeves and Wooster. I haven’t seen it yet, but I’d like to.”

“Well then,” said Bucky, leaning back into the couch, “I bet I know what we’re watching after I catch up on Doctor Who.”

Bucky: [Holy shit]

Bucky: [Hoooooooooly shit]

Bucky: [Steve, I just realized something about season 9.]

Bucky: [That was us. That was basically us.]

Steve: [It…wait]

Bucky: [I mean, think about it:]

Bucky: [There’s a protagonist and his best friend who mean the universe to each other and fight evil together]

Bucky: [And one day the protagonist has to watch his best friend die, shortly before he himself gets agelessly aged by a lot]

Bucky: [And then the protagonist learns there might be a way to get his friend back, so he goes through hell and high water to make it happen, maybe crossing a few lines along the way]

Bucky: [And when the protagonist finally gets his friend back, something happens to separate them again.]

Bucky: [Plus there’s forced memory loss and a part where one of them tries to kill the other because they don’t recognize them.]

Steve: [You know, it’s freaky]

Steve: [I feel like I thought that too when I first watched it, but I hadn’t put it into words like that.]

Bucky: [I think you and I won out in the long run, didn’t we?]

Steve: [Yeah, we did. We absolutely did.]

Steve: [Wait, what’s with this me being “the protagonist”? This isn’t a movie of my life, Buck.]

Bucky: [Yeah, but it fit the metaphor.]

Steve: [Maybe you should stick that somewhere on your quote wall: “I am the protagonist of my own story.”]

Bucky: [That’s a thought. I’ve already got the rest of it laid out though.]

Bucky: [Maybe it’s just because we just watched it earlier this week and it’s still fresh in my head, but I’m giving a really good space to that one line about]

Bucky: [“Never be cruel and never be cowardly, and if you ever are, always make amends.”]

Bucky: [I only hope I can achieve that someday.]

Steve: [You do tend to apologize a lot these days.]

Bucky: [If it’s a coping mechanism, let’s just say it works for me and leave it at that.]

Steve: [Hey, what works for you that isn’t hurting yourself, works for me.]

Bucky: [Sounds fair. Thank you.]

Steve: [Speaking of “leaving it at that,” have you seen that Christmas special with River Song yet?]

Bucky: [RIGHT, THAT. NO I HAVEN’T, LET ME FIX THAT.]

#stucky #bucky barnes #steve rogers #captain america #winter soldier #bucky #doctor who #my fics #fanfikshun

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