Prompt 8/15 - An Empty Picture Frame
Title: Ginger
Rating: General (need a hankie, though)
Characters: The Last Doctor, the Tardis
Spoilers: None, as I totally ignoring the possibilities that were raised in the beginning of Series 6.
***
The last frame was hung, yet remained blank on her walls, the pose yet undecided. She knew, every time, what would fill that canvas even before the atron radiation had finished its task, knew who and what would be holding onto her levers, what the voice would sound like, the feel of his thoughts (for her Doctor always is a ‘he’, no matter what), how rough those hands will be, the strength of those arms to hold the universe together.
She knows, too, what will happen to him, and she cannot stop time from happening, events from unfolding, but sometimes she can push them away, let him play a little longer, run that little bit farther until, finally, the universe must be saved, the planets rescued, the people preserved.
The sacrifice made.
She sees that day, and she knows it draws closer, and she cannot stop it. The day her thief, her Doctor, her wonderfully brave Time Lord that she has travelled with for so many centuries that he made up his age at least four times now, doesn’t come back to her. The day when she feels him slip away, his fate sealed with the final stroke of a universe that can be so cruel and so kind to the very last of the Time Lords.
She knows that day is coming, as sure as her Doctor’s thoughts are focused on the pain of regeneration, the fear of not knowing whether he will regenerate, the agony of losing yet another persona, and the heartfelt plea to the cosmos to please, please, this last time, let me be ginger.
Rating: General (need a hankie, though)
Characters: The Last Doctor, the Tardis
Spoilers: None, as I totally ignoring the possibilities that were raised in the beginning of Series 6.
***
The last frame was hung, yet remained blank on her walls, the pose yet undecided. She knew, every time, what would fill that canvas even before the atron radiation had finished its task, knew who and what would be holding onto her levers, what the voice would sound like, the feel of his thoughts (for her Doctor always is a ‘he’, no matter what), how rough those hands will be, the strength of those arms to hold the universe together.
She knows, too, what will happen to him, and she cannot stop time from happening, events from unfolding, but sometimes she can push them away, let him play a little longer, run that little bit farther until, finally, the universe must be saved, the planets rescued, the people preserved.
The sacrifice made.
She sees that day, and she knows it draws closer, and she cannot stop it. The day her thief, her Doctor, her wonderfully brave Time Lord that she has travelled with for so many centuries that he made up his age at least four times now, doesn’t come back to her. The day when she feels him slip away, his fate sealed with the final stroke of a universe that can be so cruel and so kind to the very last of the Time Lords.
She knows that day is coming, as sure as her Doctor’s thoughts are focused on the pain of regeneration, the fear of not knowing whether he will regenerate, the agony of losing yet another persona, and the heartfelt plea to the cosmos to please, please, this last time, let me be ginger.