30) There's Nothing You Can Do
A/N- This idea and then the writing of this story had me in tears, and I thought it only fair you share my pain. I blame Moffat. Please review.
All the lights were off in the once cheery TARDIS blue- doored house. The Doctor half- sonicked the lock, then roughly finished opening the door as he jammed his way violently into the front foyer. He looked around, all the happy memories still framed on the walls, prized belongings shelved for all the world to see. As if memories brought happiness. As though belongings were worth seeing.
He’d already been to Stormcage, wreaking havoc on Cell 46, making it permanently uninhabitable by any future prisoner, as well as etching a stone memory into each of the walls of the once- blessed prison.
The university’s archeology department would soon find a large, untranslatable tablet with ancient words from a lost red world in a classroom whose Professor would never again be returning. The boulder was large enough to put Stone Hedge to shame, filled with past love poems, lyrics, letters, and tears of a broken man’s hearts. An epitaph nearly worthy of its inspirer.
No previous residence or haunt of one deceased River Song had escaped the Doctors wrath, nor his desire to make her remembered everywhere she once walked. Even his beloved ship had been victim to his pain, so haunted was he by her memory that he rearranged his TARDIS, who herself had been grieving her child. Were his late wife to walk in there now, the console would look so different to the ship that had (in the Doctor’s mind) failed to save her.
He had gone from location to location, letting his anger push aside any grief he feared to feel. The abandoned Temple of the Aplans was desecrated and broken. The Golden Waters of Asgard ran red for one year. The deserted comet of Demons Run had been crashed into the diamond cliffs of Planet One, blotting out the message he would never again receive. The last surviving lonely assassins in Manhattan were bound in an impenetrable prison of zero- balance dwarf star alloy underneath the silent ground of Stone Hedge. The Towers had sung their last song.
Even his particularly new suit and hat, specially bought and lovingly worn that last night had fallen prey to the misery of the lonely Time Lord. He had unconsciously re-donned his tweed as he rampaged sorrowfully through the stars.
But now, he faced this house. This house where he not only once had his beloved wife, but his little Amelia Pond and her Rory with him. This house of happy tears and reunions and hugs and places always set waiting for him. And he couldn’t bear it.
He let memories wash over him as he weaved his path of destruction. River, laughing on the sofa at a joke he’d been the one privileged enough to make. River, silently holding a crying Amy’s hand on that table as she told them she truly would be the only one of her kind. River, fawning over car magazines with Rory on the floor of the sitting room. River, gardening outside with Brian as he and Amy chased one another through the house mercilessly. River, grabbing his bowtie as she pulled him into the nearby coat cupboard for a quick snog. River, scolding him in that kitchen for leaving an Ood in her parents’ house.
Everywhere he looked brought tears to his eyes, and violence to his hands. It wasn’t until he stood in the middle of the wreckage that his mind caught up to his actions and he saw that he had done his best to smash, tear, step on, or break every object in this blasted room that reminded him of his wife or his Ponds. Then he glanced at himself in the mirror, panting and angry and tears threatened his anguished face as he stood there in his light- colored tweed and bowtie that now seemed too happy in this dark, sad place. He marched angrily into his TARDIS, a plan set firmly in his mind.
When he re- entered the ravaged house, it was to build a fire. One by one he threw his ridiculous, mad professor clothes in there, cleansing the universe of the silly old man he’d become. First went the red bowtie from the second time he’d left his dear Amelia. Then followed the suit from the first night on Calderon Beta. Then the white bowtie from when he and River had endangered the Commonwealth with a fish- queen. The ridiculously high trousers he’d worn that time with River and Marilyn. The green coat he’d been sporting for centuries now. The pink shirt he once wore when he first met this new body, and met the Last Centurion for the first time. Then, when that didn’t stop his pain, he took off his tweed jacket, taken from a hospital oh so long ago. He unsnapped his braces, adding them to the Raggedy Doctor’s funeral pyre.
He was on his knees now, throwing article after article into the fireplace, hoping it would burn the pain that was currently tearing his hearts. Finally, he untied his bowtie from around his neck, reaching out to add it to the holocaust of the man he once was.
It was blue. He hadn’t realized-
He reached out his other hand, carefully, slowly wrapping the strip of cloth around his hand as he had once done when he bound his life and hearts up to the one woman he trusted, completely. This time, there was no one on the other side. He pulled the bound hand to his lips, kissing it delicately, before pressing his hand hard to his mouth, trying to use this last tie to his wife to hold in the sobs that finally racked his body.
“RIVER!!!!” the word was wrenched from him with a shout, a loud cry to the universe that stole away his wife. Anguish and sorrow threatened to tear him apart as he fell to the ground, weeping hysterically.
“River! My River! I’m sorry, Love! I’m so sorry. River!!!” Her name became a mantra, a repeated wound and balm as he hiccupped the name again and again. He rolled up in a ball clutching his bowtie- bound hand to his chest, his grief making him incoherent as he lie there, for seconds or hours or days he didn’t know. He didn’t care.
So wrapped up in heartsache was he that he had missed all the changes that had happened around him throughout the night. He had missed the lights turning on once he had started tearing at the sofa, his anger giving him extraordinary strength. He had missed the footsteps on the stairs as he tore frames from the walls and threw them to the ground in a rage. And he had missed the two people who had been standing silently in a corner, arms crossed as they literally held themselves together, tears flowing quietly as they watched and allowed the older Time Lord to break.
But, he could not miss the hands that now gently reached out for him in his agony. Those strong hands that pulled his weary body into an embrace that was warm and familiar and comforting. The other arms that wrapped tightly around him, engulfing him in love and consolation and forgiveness. He should have known.
He knew she grieved her child, knew it by how quickly and drastically she had changed her interior at his urging. Knew it by how accurately she would land at each of their special places. By how she had almost immediately, reverently preserved every special item in her depths. But oh, his wonderful, faithful, ever present companion. She had once again taken him where he didn’t even realize he needed to go, arriving at his family’s house long before Manhattan, refusing to let her beautiful thief begin his mourning alone. And mourn he did.
He wept the rest of the night for his wife, best friend, lover- held frailly together by the two who silently shared his pain. Never once did they quiet him. Never once did they question or blame him. Never once did they let their pain overshadow his. And never once did they release him. They just held onto him tightly and let him hurt securely in their arms, faithfully doing what they had always done for him. They waited.
All the lights were off in the once cheery TARDIS blue- doored house. The Doctor half- sonicked the lock, then roughly finished opening the door as he jammed his way violently into the front foyer. He looked around, all the happy memories still framed on the walls, prized belongings shelved for all the world to see. As if memories brought happiness. As though belongings were worth seeing.
He’d already been to Stormcage, wreaking havoc on Cell 46, making it permanently uninhabitable by any future prisoner, as well as etching a stone memory into each of the walls of the once- blessed prison.
The university’s archeology department would soon find a large, untranslatable tablet with ancient words from a lost red world in a classroom whose Professor would never again be returning. The boulder was large enough to put Stone Hedge to shame, filled with past love poems, lyrics, letters, and tears of a broken man’s hearts. An epitaph nearly worthy of its inspirer.
No previous residence or haunt of one deceased River Song had escaped the Doctors wrath, nor his desire to make her remembered everywhere she once walked. Even his beloved ship had been victim to his pain, so haunted was he by her memory that he rearranged his TARDIS, who herself had been grieving her child. Were his late wife to walk in there now, the console would look so different to the ship that had (in the Doctor’s mind) failed to save her.
He had gone from location to location, letting his anger push aside any grief he feared to feel. The abandoned Temple of the Aplans was desecrated and broken. The Golden Waters of Asgard ran red for one year. The deserted comet of Demons Run had been crashed into the diamond cliffs of Planet One, blotting out the message he would never again receive. The last surviving lonely assassins in Manhattan were bound in an impenetrable prison of zero- balance dwarf star alloy underneath the silent ground of Stone Hedge. The Towers had sung their last song.
Even his particularly new suit and hat, specially bought and lovingly worn that last night had fallen prey to the misery of the lonely Time Lord. He had unconsciously re-donned his tweed as he rampaged sorrowfully through the stars.
But now, he faced this house. This house where he not only once had his beloved wife, but his little Amelia Pond and her Rory with him. This house of happy tears and reunions and hugs and places always set waiting for him. And he couldn’t bear it.
He let memories wash over him as he weaved his path of destruction. River, laughing on the sofa at a joke he’d been the one privileged enough to make. River, silently holding a crying Amy’s hand on that table as she told them she truly would be the only one of her kind. River, fawning over car magazines with Rory on the floor of the sitting room. River, gardening outside with Brian as he and Amy chased one another through the house mercilessly. River, grabbing his bowtie as she pulled him into the nearby coat cupboard for a quick snog. River, scolding him in that kitchen for leaving an Ood in her parents’ house.
Everywhere he looked brought tears to his eyes, and violence to his hands. It wasn’t until he stood in the middle of the wreckage that his mind caught up to his actions and he saw that he had done his best to smash, tear, step on, or break every object in this blasted room that reminded him of his wife or his Ponds. Then he glanced at himself in the mirror, panting and angry and tears threatened his anguished face as he stood there in his light- colored tweed and bowtie that now seemed too happy in this dark, sad place. He marched angrily into his TARDIS, a plan set firmly in his mind.
When he re- entered the ravaged house, it was to build a fire. One by one he threw his ridiculous, mad professor clothes in there, cleansing the universe of the silly old man he’d become. First went the red bowtie from the second time he’d left his dear Amelia. Then followed the suit from the first night on Calderon Beta. Then the white bowtie from when he and River had endangered the Commonwealth with a fish- queen. The ridiculously high trousers he’d worn that time with River and Marilyn. The green coat he’d been sporting for centuries now. The pink shirt he once wore when he first met this new body, and met the Last Centurion for the first time. Then, when that didn’t stop his pain, he took off his tweed jacket, taken from a hospital oh so long ago. He unsnapped his braces, adding them to the Raggedy Doctor’s funeral pyre.
He was on his knees now, throwing article after article into the fireplace, hoping it would burn the pain that was currently tearing his hearts. Finally, he untied his bowtie from around his neck, reaching out to add it to the holocaust of the man he once was.
It was blue. He hadn’t realized-
He reached out his other hand, carefully, slowly wrapping the strip of cloth around his hand as he had once done when he bound his life and hearts up to the one woman he trusted, completely. This time, there was no one on the other side. He pulled the bound hand to his lips, kissing it delicately, before pressing his hand hard to his mouth, trying to use this last tie to his wife to hold in the sobs that finally racked his body.
“RIVER!!!!” the word was wrenched from him with a shout, a loud cry to the universe that stole away his wife. Anguish and sorrow threatened to tear him apart as he fell to the ground, weeping hysterically.
“River! My River! I’m sorry, Love! I’m so sorry. River!!!” Her name became a mantra, a repeated wound and balm as he hiccupped the name again and again. He rolled up in a ball clutching his bowtie- bound hand to his chest, his grief making him incoherent as he lie there, for seconds or hours or days he didn’t know. He didn’t care.
So wrapped up in heartsache was he that he had missed all the changes that had happened around him throughout the night. He had missed the lights turning on once he had started tearing at the sofa, his anger giving him extraordinary strength. He had missed the footsteps on the stairs as he tore frames from the walls and threw them to the ground in a rage. And he had missed the two people who had been standing silently in a corner, arms crossed as they literally held themselves together, tears flowing quietly as they watched and allowed the older Time Lord to break.
But, he could not miss the hands that now gently reached out for him in his agony. Those strong hands that pulled his weary body into an embrace that was warm and familiar and comforting. The other arms that wrapped tightly around him, engulfing him in love and consolation and forgiveness. He should have known.
He knew she grieved her child, knew it by how quickly and drastically she had changed her interior at his urging. Knew it by how accurately she would land at each of their special places. By how she had almost immediately, reverently preserved every special item in her depths. But oh, his wonderful, faithful, ever present companion. She had once again taken him where he didn’t even realize he needed to go, arriving at his family’s house long before Manhattan, refusing to let her beautiful thief begin his mourning alone. And mourn he did.
He wept the rest of the night for his wife, best friend, lover- held frailly together by the two who silently shared his pain. Never once did they quiet him. Never once did they question or blame him. Never once did they let their pain overshadow his. And never once did they release him. They just held onto him tightly and let him hurt securely in their arms, faithfully doing what they had always done for him. They waited.