What if we had ideas that could think for themselves?
Are you ready for the finale? We've only got a week left before it all ends. What better way to celebrate than... A WEEK-LONG SERIES 5 DOCTOR WHO FICATHON!
eta: THE FICATHON IS CURRENTLY: CLOSED. Thanks to all that have participated, you made this a lot of fun. You can keep track of the stories written for the ficathon with the Bowties Are Cool ( Read more... )
eta: THE FICATHON IS CURRENTLY: CLOSED. Thanks to all that have participated, you made this a lot of fun. You can keep track of the stories written for the ficathon with the Bowties Are Cool ( Read more... )
It's not out of spite or bitterness or any of the other hundred thousand reasons they come up with, sitting alone at home, waiting to hear whirring noise and see a mysterious blue box, the doors open just for them.
If the Doctor were to think about it, which he likes to think he doesn't, he'd say that it was simply out of absentmindedness than anything else. He just forgets to come back again.
And maybe, just maybe, he likes to feel a little bit lonely now and again. He likes the idea that he's missed; the melancholy feeling that comes with saying goodbye: but goodbye isn't goodbye unless it's forever.
(And forever, for him, is a very long time.)
It's purely by accident that the TARDIS takes him to a nondescript street in the north of London.
When he sees a lovely young woman stroll down the street toward him, he starts to question the randomness of his trip here, because you never ignore a coincidence. And it certainly is coincidence that the young woman happens to be none other than Martha Jones.
She sees him, and takes little notice at first, until the blue of the TARDIS catches her eye. She looks around for a moment, scattered, excited, and sees him standing there. He smiles at her, and takes a step toward her.
"Doctor?" she asks, her face incredulous.
"Good work, Jones," he answers.
"But...what happened? You look...different."
"Really? I hadn't noticed."
She rolls her eyes, but the grin stays on her face. "Blimey, you look younger than me."
"Thank you," he says.
There's a pause. She looks him over, every once in a while glancing back at the TARDIS, as if she's waiting for someone else to emerge. Someone different, and familiar.
"Is it really you?" she asks, and he can feel her hold her breath.
"Yes," he answers. "And before you say anything, I'd like to say that bowties are cool."
She shrugs, smiling. "I would have never thought anything different."
"Oh, Martha. Give us a hug," he says, opening his arms.
He holds her tight, and realizes that he missed her more than he knew. He missed her brilliance, her compassion, and the way she always smelled of soap and nothing more.
They part, and he puts his hands in his pockets. "What do you say you come along with me, just for a little bit?" he asks. "A trip to the moon, perhaps? We could do that one right, finally."
She smiles, and takes his hand. "I'd love to, Doctor."
"Very good! Right then, we're off," he says, and starts to walk. But he feels a weight on his arm and realizes that Martha isn't walking with him.
"I'd love to, Doctor," she repeats, "But I can't."
He looks at her. "Oh," he says. "Well, that's all good. But, really, if there's anything you need to be back in time for, I've got, well, a time machine."
"It's not about time, Doctor, it's just..." she trails off, and for the first time looks away. "I didn't wait for you. I didn't wait for you to come back for me, and I have a life now. I have a beautiful baby, and a husband and dinner to cook and a job to get back to and even though we could travel the stars and see all the wonderful things I know there are to see and get me back in time to heat up the bottle for my little boy, I can't. I can't run away anymore, because what I have now is worth it."
There hands are still linked, and neither lets go.
"It was really nice seeing you," she tells him. "And thanks. For coming back."
He smiles. "It was my pleasure, Martha Jones."
They let go of each other, and they don't touch again before Martha nods her head and starts walking past him.
He waits for her to look back, but she doesn't.
He closes the TARDIS doors behind him and walks up to the controls. "What are you trying to tell me?" he whispers to his machine.
He leans against the control panel, and lets his head drop down. He shuts his eyes tightly, and thinks.
It's not about time, he hears.
He gives a sigh, and then brings his hands to his face to rub his eyes.
For the first time in a while, he feels that forever is an awfully long time.
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But very, very lovely. :)
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Thank you for reading!
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