Doctor Who Fanfic
I realized that this fic is from January (I started writing random fics about Ten II in January, after dreaming that I wrote one on the last night of my vacation, and then actually writing one on the plane ride back. So, um, yeah.) So I'm going to bite the bullet and post it, before I can change my mind again.
Warning: This is not a shippy fic. It's sort of anti-shippy, honestly.
Title: After The Fall
Characters: Ten II, Rose
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Journey's End
Warnings: Um. Angst?
He wakes with a start, wrenching up violently, as if he’s just been awakened by a very direct slap to the face. But nothing of the sort has happened. The room around him is utterly calm, the air blanketed with the peaceful sound of breathing. His own breath, though, is starting to come in dangerously quick little gulps, hitching every second or so, his chest rising unevenly and growing damp with sweat.
Disoriented, he moves as if to sit upright, every breath a struggle, until he puts a hand to his chest. He bolts upright at the feeling, gasping out in a voice still drugged with sleep.
“I’ve-I’ve only got one heart working.” He blinks hazily, unable to shake off that last bit of drowsiness despite his rising panic. Fragments and broken questions flash through his mind before he even has the chance to have a look around, to remember where he is. What’s happened?
He remembers something about a DNA replication module-one of them had stopped working, then. 1599. Was he still in 1599? No, of course he isn’t; that was all over now. That had happened ages ago. With Martha, he remembers. But she’s long, long gone. And Donna, afterwards. Those days, too, are long gone.
He blinks into the darkness and can’t make sense of any of this. Hunching forward, he puts his fingers to his temples, tries to think, draws his knees up to his chest, long legs folding with difficulty. Those days….
Rose appears over his shoulder. She bites back a yawn, postponing it until after she’s had a chance to respond to what he’s said.
“I know you have.” She waits a few seconds-it doesn’t register. She puts a hand on his arm as if to steady him, to ground him. “Doctor, I know you have.”
She sees the look in his eyes as it all comes back, that sudden rush as he remembers who he is, who he has become, the world where he’s living, the life he’s living. He continues to stare into the darkness for a few moments as the pieces of his life try and fail to fit together. Although he remembers every bit of it now, there’s a gap, somewhere. There will always be a gap.
There’s no use in speaking to her; that would only lead to overly-long, awkward explanations. Looking quite calm-and, somehow, defeated, she thinks-he lies back down again, silently, gazing fixedly at the ceiling now instead of blindly into the dark.
Satisfied that everything’s been sorted for the moment, she gives his arm a cursory pat, frowning sleepily at the feeling of his sweat-soaked pajamas against her palm, before dropping her golden head down onto the pillow again. She slips easily off into sleep, leaving him awake in the dark, alone, counting the beats of his empty-sounding pulse.
It’s always the worst after nightfall, when the stars come out. The worst for both of them, when they both begin to dream of being somewhere else. Now, quite awake, he recalls what it was like to wander moodily through the deserted halls of the TARDIS, mind full of recollections of past centuries, past companions, long gone, having breathed their last or else happily living on a planet somewhere with families of their own. To think, that he used to regard them with a vague sort of envy-no, not that, never quite that-but a morbid kind of curiosity, more like.
He used to flit so carelessly from world to world, spinning gracefully between the stars in that ship. He well remembers those long nights, floating in empty, dead space, where measuring the hours of the days had no meaning, occasionally wondering about those countless companions of his that inevitably left, one after the other. Occasionally wondering, of course, rather than always-the ‘occasional’ bit was very important. After all, it wouldn’t do to dwell on such things. He’d lived long enough to know that some things are best forgotten or, failing that, pushed to the side and only remembered and wondered about very, very occasionally.
When he let himself wonder, though, as he wandered through the TARDIS, time seemed to lose all meaning, the minutes dragging on and on as he roamed through halls that seemed emptier than ever before.
And yet, even compared to those days, those nights spent traveling and wondering about them all-
-now, right here, living out fixed days and nights on the planet Earth, surrounded by six billion humans and one constant companion-
-he’s never felt so alone.
Warning: This is not a shippy fic. It's sort of anti-shippy, honestly.
Title: After The Fall
Characters: Ten II, Rose
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Journey's End
Warnings: Um. Angst?
He wakes with a start, wrenching up violently, as if he’s just been awakened by a very direct slap to the face. But nothing of the sort has happened. The room around him is utterly calm, the air blanketed with the peaceful sound of breathing. His own breath, though, is starting to come in dangerously quick little gulps, hitching every second or so, his chest rising unevenly and growing damp with sweat.
Disoriented, he moves as if to sit upright, every breath a struggle, until he puts a hand to his chest. He bolts upright at the feeling, gasping out in a voice still drugged with sleep.
“I’ve-I’ve only got one heart working.” He blinks hazily, unable to shake off that last bit of drowsiness despite his rising panic. Fragments and broken questions flash through his mind before he even has the chance to have a look around, to remember where he is. What’s happened?
He remembers something about a DNA replication module-one of them had stopped working, then. 1599. Was he still in 1599? No, of course he isn’t; that was all over now. That had happened ages ago. With Martha, he remembers. But she’s long, long gone. And Donna, afterwards. Those days, too, are long gone.
He blinks into the darkness and can’t make sense of any of this. Hunching forward, he puts his fingers to his temples, tries to think, draws his knees up to his chest, long legs folding with difficulty. Those days….
Rose appears over his shoulder. She bites back a yawn, postponing it until after she’s had a chance to respond to what he’s said.
“I know you have.” She waits a few seconds-it doesn’t register. She puts a hand on his arm as if to steady him, to ground him. “Doctor, I know you have.”
She sees the look in his eyes as it all comes back, that sudden rush as he remembers who he is, who he has become, the world where he’s living, the life he’s living. He continues to stare into the darkness for a few moments as the pieces of his life try and fail to fit together. Although he remembers every bit of it now, there’s a gap, somewhere. There will always be a gap.
There’s no use in speaking to her; that would only lead to overly-long, awkward explanations. Looking quite calm-and, somehow, defeated, she thinks-he lies back down again, silently, gazing fixedly at the ceiling now instead of blindly into the dark.
Satisfied that everything’s been sorted for the moment, she gives his arm a cursory pat, frowning sleepily at the feeling of his sweat-soaked pajamas against her palm, before dropping her golden head down onto the pillow again. She slips easily off into sleep, leaving him awake in the dark, alone, counting the beats of his empty-sounding pulse.
It’s always the worst after nightfall, when the stars come out. The worst for both of them, when they both begin to dream of being somewhere else. Now, quite awake, he recalls what it was like to wander moodily through the deserted halls of the TARDIS, mind full of recollections of past centuries, past companions, long gone, having breathed their last or else happily living on a planet somewhere with families of their own. To think, that he used to regard them with a vague sort of envy-no, not that, never quite that-but a morbid kind of curiosity, more like.
He used to flit so carelessly from world to world, spinning gracefully between the stars in that ship. He well remembers those long nights, floating in empty, dead space, where measuring the hours of the days had no meaning, occasionally wondering about those countless companions of his that inevitably left, one after the other. Occasionally wondering, of course, rather than always-the ‘occasional’ bit was very important. After all, it wouldn’t do to dwell on such things. He’d lived long enough to know that some things are best forgotten or, failing that, pushed to the side and only remembered and wondered about very, very occasionally.
When he let himself wonder, though, as he wandered through the TARDIS, time seemed to lose all meaning, the minutes dragging on and on as he roamed through halls that seemed emptier than ever before.
And yet, even compared to those days, those nights spent traveling and wondering about them all-
-now, right here, living out fixed days and nights on the planet Earth, surrounded by six billion humans and one constant companion-
-he’s never felt so alone.