[oncoming_storms] - The Things That Matter
Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter. - Martin Luther King
Where are you going?
When will you be back?
Do you not want to stay?
Why are you acting this way?
Are you well?
What is taking so long?
What changed you?
Will I ever see you again…?
She stopped asking after the first fifty years, when each question was met with angry retorts or, worse, silence. She stopped asking when it became apparent asking was pointless. She didn’t stop caring, of course, but the words and the reasons didn’t correlate anymore.
So instead of asking, she simply talked - and remembered.
* * *
“Would you be quiet? I don’t want to get caught.”
“You’re not very fun, you know.”
“Yes, well, it’s very unbecoming for someone of my station to be down here.”
“Pfft, station. You’re with me! That’s all that matters.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Now you’re just being contrary. Hold on, I think I’ve got it. Just … a little more … there!”
“I have the passcodes, you know.”
“Koschei, we’re sneaking in. What’s the point if we use passcodes? Now come on.”
“Oh, you’re right. How forgetful of me to think breaking and entering into my own family’s docking bay is some sort of grand adventure.”
“Exactly. Now hurry up. I can’t wait to see-“
“Theta?”
“Oh wow. It’s beautiful.”
“It’s just a bunch of old ships.”
“Maybe to you. But to me? This is freedom. And she’s amazing.”
* * *
She awoke after a century, flexing long-unused systems, a shudder running through her frame as engines rumbled for the first time in decades, cooling systems stuttered and shook, wheezing from the sudden strain of life. She felt old, certainly, her rickety insides protesting at the movement, but she ignored it all, her mind reaching out for that familiar presence she’d seen in her dreams.
Finding none, she fought back despair.
He wasn’t gone, she told herself. He was simply busy doing what he did best. But he’d never leave her. That just wasn’t in his nature.
It wasn’t.
* * *
“It’s okay, girl. I’m gonna get you out of here. I promise.”
“Stop him! He’s stealing one of the Capsules!”
“They just don’t give up, do they?”
“Get out of there, boy!”
“Grandfather, they’re almost here!”
“Yes, well, I can’t move any faster. Just … distract them a minute.”
“Distract them?”
“Yes, yes, distract them! Do I have to repeat myself?”
“Get out of the TTC or we’ll be forced to remove you!”
“Grandfather!”
“Oh for goodness - here. Hit this when I tell you to.”
“Why? What does it do?”
“Haven’t the foggiest. Just do it.”
“We said come out!”
“You’d think they’d take a hint, the blasted fools. Are you ready? All right, push!”
“Aah!”
“They’re dematerialising! Stop them!”
“Haha! We did it! It’s just the three of us now, my dear. Just the three of us.”
* * *
Fifteen hundred years have passed and she has trouble waking this time. The creak of her interior echoes off large, cavernous areas that once housed so many things - a planetarium, a mountain range, oriental hot springs, a Norwegian forest. The butterflies are slowly dying off, unable to sustain their populations after a millennium of isolation. Her books, once pristine and beautiful are now time-worn and ragged, covered in the dust her sleep has been unable to keep at bay.
Everything is covered with the thin film of age and decay. Even her console, which once saw so much use from a man who hasn’t spoken to her in centuries.
She hasn’t woken because she wants to speak with him, though. She hasn’t dragged herself from pleasant memories of times gone by so she can remind him she’s still here, still waiting, after all this time. She hasn’t returned to the world of the living to find out her entire reason for being is dead.
She’s awake because he’s calling to her. She’s awake because, for the first time in so long, she can feel him - properly feel him. And maybe it’s time and age that make him feel wrong; maybe it’s the separation of years that paints his mind different, covers him in darkness she doesn’t remember; maybe it’s her own desperate need to not be alone that allows her to ignore it all to welcome him home properly.
She doesn’t have the energy to do much, but she can at least clear away the dust in the console room, brighten the walls just a touch. She can be home, as she’s always been before.
My ship … my TARDIS…
That's it, I've been renewed. It's part of the TARDIS. Without it I couldn't survive.
There there, old girl.
It's been a great, great partnership old girl.
We’ve been together for a long time. We've grown together.
Everybody leaves. Everybody. When it comes down to it, it’s just me and the TARDIS.
Somehow, she finds the strength to hum, to sing, and waits with a patience a thousand years in the making for her Doctor - her precious, beautiful Doctor - to finally come home.
Muse: The TARDIS
Word Count: 862
A companion/prelude to this fic by rude_not_ginger
Where are you going?
When will you be back?
Do you not want to stay?
Why are you acting this way?
Are you well?
What is taking so long?
What changed you?
Will I ever see you again…?
She stopped asking after the first fifty years, when each question was met with angry retorts or, worse, silence. She stopped asking when it became apparent asking was pointless. She didn’t stop caring, of course, but the words and the reasons didn’t correlate anymore.
So instead of asking, she simply talked - and remembered.
* * *
“Would you be quiet? I don’t want to get caught.”
“You’re not very fun, you know.”
“Yes, well, it’s very unbecoming for someone of my station to be down here.”
“Pfft, station. You’re with me! That’s all that matters.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Now you’re just being contrary. Hold on, I think I’ve got it. Just … a little more … there!”
“I have the passcodes, you know.”
“Koschei, we’re sneaking in. What’s the point if we use passcodes? Now come on.”
“Oh, you’re right. How forgetful of me to think breaking and entering into my own family’s docking bay is some sort of grand adventure.”
“Exactly. Now hurry up. I can’t wait to see-“
“Theta?”
“Oh wow. It’s beautiful.”
“It’s just a bunch of old ships.”
“Maybe to you. But to me? This is freedom. And she’s amazing.”
* * *
She awoke after a century, flexing long-unused systems, a shudder running through her frame as engines rumbled for the first time in decades, cooling systems stuttered and shook, wheezing from the sudden strain of life. She felt old, certainly, her rickety insides protesting at the movement, but she ignored it all, her mind reaching out for that familiar presence she’d seen in her dreams.
Finding none, she fought back despair.
He wasn’t gone, she told herself. He was simply busy doing what he did best. But he’d never leave her. That just wasn’t in his nature.
It wasn’t.
* * *
“It’s okay, girl. I’m gonna get you out of here. I promise.”
“Stop him! He’s stealing one of the Capsules!”
“They just don’t give up, do they?”
“Get out of there, boy!”
“Grandfather, they’re almost here!”
“Yes, well, I can’t move any faster. Just … distract them a minute.”
“Distract them?”
“Yes, yes, distract them! Do I have to repeat myself?”
“Get out of the TTC or we’ll be forced to remove you!”
“Grandfather!”
“Oh for goodness - here. Hit this when I tell you to.”
“Why? What does it do?”
“Haven’t the foggiest. Just do it.”
“We said come out!”
“You’d think they’d take a hint, the blasted fools. Are you ready? All right, push!”
“Aah!”
“They’re dematerialising! Stop them!”
“Haha! We did it! It’s just the three of us now, my dear. Just the three of us.”
* * *
Fifteen hundred years have passed and she has trouble waking this time. The creak of her interior echoes off large, cavernous areas that once housed so many things - a planetarium, a mountain range, oriental hot springs, a Norwegian forest. The butterflies are slowly dying off, unable to sustain their populations after a millennium of isolation. Her books, once pristine and beautiful are now time-worn and ragged, covered in the dust her sleep has been unable to keep at bay.
Everything is covered with the thin film of age and decay. Even her console, which once saw so much use from a man who hasn’t spoken to her in centuries.
She hasn’t woken because she wants to speak with him, though. She hasn’t dragged herself from pleasant memories of times gone by so she can remind him she’s still here, still waiting, after all this time. She hasn’t returned to the world of the living to find out her entire reason for being is dead.
She’s awake because he’s calling to her. She’s awake because, for the first time in so long, she can feel him - properly feel him. And maybe it’s time and age that make him feel wrong; maybe it’s the separation of years that paints his mind different, covers him in darkness she doesn’t remember; maybe it’s her own desperate need to not be alone that allows her to ignore it all to welcome him home properly.
She doesn’t have the energy to do much, but she can at least clear away the dust in the console room, brighten the walls just a touch. She can be home, as she’s always been before.
My ship … my TARDIS…
That's it, I've been renewed. It's part of the TARDIS. Without it I couldn't survive.
There there, old girl.
It's been a great, great partnership old girl.
We’ve been together for a long time. We've grown together.
Everybody leaves. Everybody. When it comes down to it, it’s just me and the TARDIS.
Somehow, she finds the strength to hum, to sing, and waits with a patience a thousand years in the making for her Doctor - her precious, beautiful Doctor - to finally come home.
Muse: The TARDIS
Word Count: 862
A companion/prelude to this fic by rude_not_ginger