LET'S JUST CRY (for witchesreign)
fandom: Doctor Who (series 1-5)
title: Let's Just Cry
author: playerpin
word count: 2,674.
rating: PG-13 to be safe.
It started with the Time War. Those blessed burnt orange skies burned like nothing else could.
The screams of his mother, his father, his children, his grandchildren, he heard them meld together in a cacophony of voices, until it was just noise, along with all the EXTERMINATE!s in the universe. He felt them burn underneath his fingertips, felt two whole empires screech to a halt because of his hand. It scorched holes in both hearts, and when he crawled back into his TARDIS and tried his best to get a hold of himself, he could feel himself wracking with the cries of a boy of losing his family, his friends, everything dear. Losing one's home, it changed someone. It changed the Doctor. He was never the same.
The pain of regeneration. The ninth hour. And then, he felt a heavy leather jacket on his person. His hair was cut short, and as alien as he felt, he remembered walking the steps up to a simple girl's apartment. The Doctor remembered peering into her doggy door and smiling at her face. He remembered holding her hand, smiling.
And the world revolved as they stayed on ground. The scene melted, melted into a stream of colors and into grey, until he was at the bottom of a warehouse, trapped with the last Dalek in the universe.
The Doctor remembered his rage. The rage that coursed through him, the Oncoming Storm, he could feel himself laughing in spite, screaming and yelling and kicking at that survivor of genocide, the greatest in the universe, and one had survived. The only thing that had made his people dying worthwhile was still alive.
"The Daleks have failed! Now why don't you finish the job, and make the Daleks extinct?! Rid the universe of your filth! Why don't you just die?!"
"... YOU WOULD MAKE A GOOD DALEK."
His hearts stopped. The sheer horror that coursed through his system made him stick. He wanted that Dalek to die. He wanted to exterminate it.
And then--oh, and then, there were half. Half a million Daleks in the sky. And.
He sent her home.
So this is what you should do: let the TARDIS die. Just let this old box gather dust. No one can open it; no one will even notice it. Let it become a strange little thing standing on a street corner. And over the years, the world will move on and the box will be buried. And if you wanna remember me, then you can do one thing, that's all, one thing.
Have a good life. Do that for me...
Rose.
Have a fantastic life.
But she came back, oh--she came back, defying his orders, absorbing the Time Vortex into herself. And the only way he could figure to take it back out was o gently press his lips to hers. The Doctor almost lost Rose because she loved him, so much, and he couldn't stand to watch her die, so he died.
The pain of regeneration. Rose... before I go, I just want to tell you: you were fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. And do you know what?
He had grinned, still in pain as every molecule, every cell divided into a new person.
So was I!
The tenth hour struck.
He was in London. It was Christmas. Oh, his Christmases were always like this. He had hair that stuck up in places, he had changed into a long brown coat, and once again, he took her hand. His fingers laced with hers, in every groove, and they took off into the sky once more, into the whole of time. They ran into Sarah-Jane. They ran into K-9.
The day Rose stood in front of him, bright eyes blazing, screaming at him with her words but whispering with her tone.
Now, this is really seeing the future. You just leave us behind. Is that what you're gonna do to me?
He hung his head, he spoke words he didn't mean. Not to you. Not to her. Not to the woman he--
The Doctor couldn't remember the last time he felt like a little, scolded child. No, he didn't want that. No, he didn't want to leave her.
Her kiss on his forehead before he lowered himself down into the Pit.
He believed in her, with all his hearts.
And she slipped away.
Into another dimension, into Bad Wolf Bay.
Donna.
Donna Noble.
Oh, his future mate, good old Donna Noble.
The Racnoss.
I warned you. You did this. His final words before he unleashed the rage within, sent her children drowning and the Empress ablaze.
Water burned his skin as it poured down his face, his skin, in a semblance of the tears he should've shed for murdering yet another race. Donna had yelled, pleaded with him to stop. She couldn't stand the horror of watching an alien--even one who deserved it--die. He watched on, because he knew it was what needed to be done. This was no fixed point in time.
He kept on, for minutes, before saving her.
She refused. She refused to go with him, and though he never told her, it broke him just a tad. She was brilliantly normal and clever.
But Donna couldn't stand to go with him, and he disappeared. Disappeared to a little hospital with a brand-new doctor in training, the amazing Martha Jones.
The sting of disappointment. The pain of almost losing her, all too soon, much too soon, to his own callow actions. He ran after her, his throat wailed her name as she disappeared into the depths of New New York. Car hopping, that's what he did--all the way to the bottom level, to watch and devise a plan to set Martha free. He had lied to her.
Lied about the Time Lords. To relieve past glories, to pretend that, maybe, they were all still alive.
And he didn't know it. Just to pretend.
The Doctor never wanted to lead her astray, and in that little corner of Pharmacy Town, he sat down and told Martha Jones--soon to be a legend--everything of the wonderful planet of Gallifrey as it tore him down bit by bit, the legend of a stolen city, of a world that died far before it should've.
John Smith.
Oh, John Smith.
His smiles and terror and pain, all in humanity, to think that the Doctor had it in him to be John Smith, biologically. He loved. He lost. He gave all he could, in those few months, and then his terror. His pure, unadulterated terror. He didn't want to go. He didn't want to go, he didn't want to leave Joan behind, because he loved her!
John Smith, the most human human there was, and he was only the Doctor. A slap in the face.
He's like fire and ice and rage. He's like the night, and the storm in the heart of the sun. He's ancient and forever. He burns at the centre of time and he can see the turn of the universe. And... he's wonderful.
Tim's words burned his skin as a human. He, he, the Doctor, but no--The Doctor was less than a human. The longer one lived, the less they really held inside. How many times had he killed? Wonderful? No.
He only did what he had to do. What no one else would. Because he had to sacrifice.
And then... the drums.
Holding the Master in his arms, pleading for his regeneration. The Master just refused. Refused, even though they were the last two Time Lords in the entire universe. He refused and laughed as the Doctor cried, for his lost friend. His lost enemy. He was a part of him--no matter what he did, the Doctor stopped the Master, and they always met once again.
No, it couldn't have ended this way. It just couldn't. They were friends, they had been friends. When they were small... barely a lord at all, just two kids absorbed the multitude of stars. He felt the Master dying in his arms, refusing to regenerate repeatedly in his hands, and it wasn't just for him, it was for himself. He burned the body.
And Martha left. She had to... her family was alone, they needed her help.
And she had to get out. She loved him... but the Doctor. He didn't love her. Rose, roses were still fresh in his mind, and she walked away with a tired smile that she had learned from him, to become a doctor all on her own.
He backstepped.
Back to Donna, Donna Noble, who had searched for him all that while. She wanted to see the stars, she said that she must've been crazy to turn him down.
She was emotional, she was there, and like she had said before, she was that someone he needed to pull him back.
Donna was not like Rose, she was not like Martha. She was his best mate.
She heard the news, with him.
I think your song must end soon.
Donna held his hand, clasped it as Pompeii burned, and they retreated back into the TARDIS.
DoctorDonna.
The Library. Oh, the Library--he almost lost Donna. He almost lost Donna, he lost River. He remembered looking into her eyes as she saw the death of a beautiful girl, calling out for her, pleading that Donna wouldn't tell the others of her story, of her secret. The Doctor felt her unshed tears at the horrid things in the universe. He felt her rage, her terror, her heartache.
She had been saved. And then, she looked right through him, in her softest tone of words, holding onto his hand and looking into his life, his heart.
"Is 'alright' special Time Lord code for... really not alright at all?"
"Why?"
"... 'cause I'm alright, too."
They came, out of nowhere. The Daleks. The Earth: stolen.
And DoctorDonna.
Donna, with a part of him. He remembered her shining eyes, brimming with tears, because she didn't want to go. He had heard her words before.
I was going to be with you... forever.
His best mate. But he couldn't cry, as he placed his fingers to her temples and took away everything--their adventures, who she had become, the shining Donna Noble that had been birthed by so much heartache, into someone worthy of her name. Donna Noble; the noblest woman in the world. For a moment... she had been the most important person in the universe.
And everyone would know that. Everyone in the entire universe would know that, would sing of her.
But not Donna. Donna would never remember, and he could feel it. He could feel it, how hard and how horrible, how much of a killer he felt when he watched Donna awaken and turn away from him like he was nothing.
And he walked out of her life, her home. For good?
No, not for good, no matter how much he had tried.
Because the Master was brought back to life.
The Master race.
And his childhood friend disappeared, sparing his life, ending his own.
Wilf. Oh, Wilf. The man he would've been proud of, to have as his father. He was so caring, so normal, it hurt.
And he was the key. Four knocks. His four knocks. The Doctor knew him all that time, as Donna's grandfather, and he had no clue. And even then, he insisted he leave him die!
Oh, and if he was any less of a person he would've. He would've.
But no. The Doctor wouldn't let Wilf die, not even if he was near death himself. Radiation, it all flooded into his systems as Gallifrey and Rassilon and the Master vanished into the Time War.
The Doctor postponed his regeneration.
He wanted to see his reward.
Martha.
Donna.
Wilf.
... and Rose. Before her time.
And when the pain of the radiation overload became too much...
The pain of regeneration.
I don't want to go.
The eleventh hour.
Too long. He regenerated into the body of a young man, with older eyes than he ever had. Small, tiny little Amelia Pond. The girl fit for a fairytale, her own prince to take her away.
It really was just like yesterday. He held her small hand as he closed the crack in her bedroom door.
But the TARDIS. She was regenerating, too, and he had to speed off.
Twelve years. Twelve years, he was gone, and little Amelia grew up. Into Amy. The girl who waited. He never meant to do that to her, but as they traveled more, it became so apparent to him--to her--that his reason wasn't because he 'was lonely'.
He was not her lonely angel.
Gotcha, she had whispered into his ear, clinging to him on the decks of Starship UK. "Very old, and very kind, and the very very last... sound a bit familiar?"
Her first adventure, to the horrors of the human kind--in retrospect, she reminded him of Donna.
But no, she was so much different. Amy was brilliant and fire and she burst through the crust of the Earth to shine like the diamond she was. He thought so highly of her.
And then, her choice. It was her choice.
She was on the floor of a dream, it was only a dream, by psychic pollen, and she stared up at him with those eyes, full of fire and hate and fury ablaze. No. He was the Doctor, he didn't make miracles. She pleaded. Save him. Save Rory--her boyfriend, her future husband, the father of her dream baby--and no.
His answer was no. Because he couldn't. He was dead, he died, he couldn't save him. And she looked straight at him, with a voice that could tear through him, worse than the Oncoming Storm, it even scared him. Self-hate was nothing like this. The only person that hated him more than himself in that moment was Amy.
Then what... is the point of you?
The Doctor couldn't breathe.
Even if it was just a dream. Just a dream. A nightmare.
Her choice. Rory was her love.
In the depths of the Earth, he took the shot meant for him. And then--erased.
Amy wouldn't even remember him. She cried, she cried for him, and even Vincent told her that she was crying, and Amy knew nothing, and it tore the Doctor apart as he looked at her.
She didn't remember him.
And he blamed himself.
But then... then, the Pandorica opened.
Rory returned.
He threatened, he felt big, he yelled at all the spaceships of all his foes in the sky and warned them to not even go near the Pandorica or he would make sure they would never live to think twice about it. He boasted--it was the thing he did best, boast--
And the world turned on its heel and killed Amy.
He had bruises. The Doctor had bruises from when he was dragged into the Pandorica, kicking and screaming and pleading and begging, just wanting to be heard by his deadliest enemies.
Listen to me!
What felt like an eternity in the Pandorica was merely seconds.
And yes, he skipped around time, when Amy was inside, restored by the Pandorica.
The weight of two Pond hands in his grasp felt right.
Her forehead pressed against his, softly speaking, her voice so quiet. She didn't want to forget him. Ha--after all that, forgetting Rory... and she didn't want to forget him. He laughed bitterly.
He'd fly the Pandorica into the exploding TARDIS. For her. For her empty house, for the pain he felt inside of himself. Oh, Amy--she deserved that. A family. A mum and dad. She had them, and the universe ripped them away from her. The Doctor wouldn't let that happen. He wanted Amy, the girl who didn't make sense, to make sense, and be happy. Even if it was at the cost of him.
"You'll have your family back. You won't need your imaginary friend anymore."
Oh, he laughed, soft and weak, because he was almost dying.
"Amy Pond, crying over me, eh?"
"What?"
He smiled, torn lip and all. "Gotcha."
And then, with one last shout: Geronimo! right into the heart of the explosion. Big Bang II.
title: Let's Just Cry
author: playerpin
word count: 2,674.
rating: PG-13 to be safe.
It started with the Time War. Those blessed burnt orange skies burned like nothing else could.
The screams of his mother, his father, his children, his grandchildren, he heard them meld together in a cacophony of voices, until it was just noise, along with all the EXTERMINATE!s in the universe. He felt them burn underneath his fingertips, felt two whole empires screech to a halt because of his hand. It scorched holes in both hearts, and when he crawled back into his TARDIS and tried his best to get a hold of himself, he could feel himself wracking with the cries of a boy of losing his family, his friends, everything dear. Losing one's home, it changed someone. It changed the Doctor. He was never the same.
The pain of regeneration. The ninth hour. And then, he felt a heavy leather jacket on his person. His hair was cut short, and as alien as he felt, he remembered walking the steps up to a simple girl's apartment. The Doctor remembered peering into her doggy door and smiling at her face. He remembered holding her hand, smiling.
And the world revolved as they stayed on ground. The scene melted, melted into a stream of colors and into grey, until he was at the bottom of a warehouse, trapped with the last Dalek in the universe.
The Doctor remembered his rage. The rage that coursed through him, the Oncoming Storm, he could feel himself laughing in spite, screaming and yelling and kicking at that survivor of genocide, the greatest in the universe, and one had survived. The only thing that had made his people dying worthwhile was still alive.
"The Daleks have failed! Now why don't you finish the job, and make the Daleks extinct?! Rid the universe of your filth! Why don't you just die?!"
"... YOU WOULD MAKE A GOOD DALEK."
His hearts stopped. The sheer horror that coursed through his system made him stick. He wanted that Dalek to die. He wanted to exterminate it.
And then--oh, and then, there were half. Half a million Daleks in the sky. And.
He sent her home.
So this is what you should do: let the TARDIS die. Just let this old box gather dust. No one can open it; no one will even notice it. Let it become a strange little thing standing on a street corner. And over the years, the world will move on and the box will be buried. And if you wanna remember me, then you can do one thing, that's all, one thing.
Have a good life. Do that for me...
Rose.
Have a fantastic life.
But she came back, oh--she came back, defying his orders, absorbing the Time Vortex into herself. And the only way he could figure to take it back out was o gently press his lips to hers. The Doctor almost lost Rose because she loved him, so much, and he couldn't stand to watch her die, so he died.
The pain of regeneration. Rose... before I go, I just want to tell you: you were fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. And do you know what?
He had grinned, still in pain as every molecule, every cell divided into a new person.
So was I!
The tenth hour struck.
He was in London. It was Christmas. Oh, his Christmases were always like this. He had hair that stuck up in places, he had changed into a long brown coat, and once again, he took her hand. His fingers laced with hers, in every groove, and they took off into the sky once more, into the whole of time. They ran into Sarah-Jane. They ran into K-9.
The day Rose stood in front of him, bright eyes blazing, screaming at him with her words but whispering with her tone.
Now, this is really seeing the future. You just leave us behind. Is that what you're gonna do to me?
He hung his head, he spoke words he didn't mean. Not to you. Not to her. Not to the woman he--
The Doctor couldn't remember the last time he felt like a little, scolded child. No, he didn't want that. No, he didn't want to leave her.
Her kiss on his forehead before he lowered himself down into the Pit.
He believed in her, with all his hearts.
And she slipped away.
Into another dimension, into Bad Wolf Bay.
Donna.
Donna Noble.
Oh, his future mate, good old Donna Noble.
The Racnoss.
I warned you. You did this. His final words before he unleashed the rage within, sent her children drowning and the Empress ablaze.
Water burned his skin as it poured down his face, his skin, in a semblance of the tears he should've shed for murdering yet another race. Donna had yelled, pleaded with him to stop. She couldn't stand the horror of watching an alien--even one who deserved it--die. He watched on, because he knew it was what needed to be done. This was no fixed point in time.
He kept on, for minutes, before saving her.
She refused. She refused to go with him, and though he never told her, it broke him just a tad. She was brilliantly normal and clever.
But Donna couldn't stand to go with him, and he disappeared. Disappeared to a little hospital with a brand-new doctor in training, the amazing Martha Jones.
The sting of disappointment. The pain of almost losing her, all too soon, much too soon, to his own callow actions. He ran after her, his throat wailed her name as she disappeared into the depths of New New York. Car hopping, that's what he did--all the way to the bottom level, to watch and devise a plan to set Martha free. He had lied to her.
Lied about the Time Lords. To relieve past glories, to pretend that, maybe, they were all still alive.
And he didn't know it. Just to pretend.
The Doctor never wanted to lead her astray, and in that little corner of Pharmacy Town, he sat down and told Martha Jones--soon to be a legend--everything of the wonderful planet of Gallifrey as it tore him down bit by bit, the legend of a stolen city, of a world that died far before it should've.
John Smith.
Oh, John Smith.
His smiles and terror and pain, all in humanity, to think that the Doctor had it in him to be John Smith, biologically. He loved. He lost. He gave all he could, in those few months, and then his terror. His pure, unadulterated terror. He didn't want to go. He didn't want to go, he didn't want to leave Joan behind, because he loved her!
John Smith, the most human human there was, and he was only the Doctor. A slap in the face.
He's like fire and ice and rage. He's like the night, and the storm in the heart of the sun. He's ancient and forever. He burns at the centre of time and he can see the turn of the universe. And... he's wonderful.
Tim's words burned his skin as a human. He, he, the Doctor, but no--The Doctor was less than a human. The longer one lived, the less they really held inside. How many times had he killed? Wonderful? No.
He only did what he had to do. What no one else would. Because he had to sacrifice.
And then... the drums.
Holding the Master in his arms, pleading for his regeneration. The Master just refused. Refused, even though they were the last two Time Lords in the entire universe. He refused and laughed as the Doctor cried, for his lost friend. His lost enemy. He was a part of him--no matter what he did, the Doctor stopped the Master, and they always met once again.
No, it couldn't have ended this way. It just couldn't. They were friends, they had been friends. When they were small... barely a lord at all, just two kids absorbed the multitude of stars. He felt the Master dying in his arms, refusing to regenerate repeatedly in his hands, and it wasn't just for him, it was for himself. He burned the body.
And Martha left. She had to... her family was alone, they needed her help.
And she had to get out. She loved him... but the Doctor. He didn't love her. Rose, roses were still fresh in his mind, and she walked away with a tired smile that she had learned from him, to become a doctor all on her own.
He backstepped.
Back to Donna, Donna Noble, who had searched for him all that while. She wanted to see the stars, she said that she must've been crazy to turn him down.
She was emotional, she was there, and like she had said before, she was that someone he needed to pull him back.
Donna was not like Rose, she was not like Martha. She was his best mate.
She heard the news, with him.
I think your song must end soon.
Donna held his hand, clasped it as Pompeii burned, and they retreated back into the TARDIS.
DoctorDonna.
The Library. Oh, the Library--he almost lost Donna. He almost lost Donna, he lost River. He remembered looking into her eyes as she saw the death of a beautiful girl, calling out for her, pleading that Donna wouldn't tell the others of her story, of her secret. The Doctor felt her unshed tears at the horrid things in the universe. He felt her rage, her terror, her heartache.
She had been saved. And then, she looked right through him, in her softest tone of words, holding onto his hand and looking into his life, his heart.
"Is 'alright' special Time Lord code for... really not alright at all?"
"Why?"
"... 'cause I'm alright, too."
They came, out of nowhere. The Daleks. The Earth: stolen.
And DoctorDonna.
Donna, with a part of him. He remembered her shining eyes, brimming with tears, because she didn't want to go. He had heard her words before.
I was going to be with you... forever.
His best mate. But he couldn't cry, as he placed his fingers to her temples and took away everything--their adventures, who she had become, the shining Donna Noble that had been birthed by so much heartache, into someone worthy of her name. Donna Noble; the noblest woman in the world. For a moment... she had been the most important person in the universe.
And everyone would know that. Everyone in the entire universe would know that, would sing of her.
But not Donna. Donna would never remember, and he could feel it. He could feel it, how hard and how horrible, how much of a killer he felt when he watched Donna awaken and turn away from him like he was nothing.
And he walked out of her life, her home. For good?
No, not for good, no matter how much he had tried.
Because the Master was brought back to life.
The Master race.
And his childhood friend disappeared, sparing his life, ending his own.
Wilf. Oh, Wilf. The man he would've been proud of, to have as his father. He was so caring, so normal, it hurt.
And he was the key. Four knocks. His four knocks. The Doctor knew him all that time, as Donna's grandfather, and he had no clue. And even then, he insisted he leave him die!
Oh, and if he was any less of a person he would've. He would've.
But no. The Doctor wouldn't let Wilf die, not even if he was near death himself. Radiation, it all flooded into his systems as Gallifrey and Rassilon and the Master vanished into the Time War.
The Doctor postponed his regeneration.
He wanted to see his reward.
Martha.
Donna.
Wilf.
... and Rose. Before her time.
And when the pain of the radiation overload became too much...
The pain of regeneration.
I don't want to go.
The eleventh hour.
Too long. He regenerated into the body of a young man, with older eyes than he ever had. Small, tiny little Amelia Pond. The girl fit for a fairytale, her own prince to take her away.
It really was just like yesterday. He held her small hand as he closed the crack in her bedroom door.
But the TARDIS. She was regenerating, too, and he had to speed off.
Twelve years. Twelve years, he was gone, and little Amelia grew up. Into Amy. The girl who waited. He never meant to do that to her, but as they traveled more, it became so apparent to him--to her--that his reason wasn't because he 'was lonely'.
He was not her lonely angel.
Gotcha, she had whispered into his ear, clinging to him on the decks of Starship UK. "Very old, and very kind, and the very very last... sound a bit familiar?"
Her first adventure, to the horrors of the human kind--in retrospect, she reminded him of Donna.
But no, she was so much different. Amy was brilliant and fire and she burst through the crust of the Earth to shine like the diamond she was. He thought so highly of her.
And then, her choice. It was her choice.
She was on the floor of a dream, it was only a dream, by psychic pollen, and she stared up at him with those eyes, full of fire and hate and fury ablaze. No. He was the Doctor, he didn't make miracles. She pleaded. Save him. Save Rory--her boyfriend, her future husband, the father of her dream baby--and no.
His answer was no. Because he couldn't. He was dead, he died, he couldn't save him. And she looked straight at him, with a voice that could tear through him, worse than the Oncoming Storm, it even scared him. Self-hate was nothing like this. The only person that hated him more than himself in that moment was Amy.
Then what... is the point of you?
The Doctor couldn't breathe.
Even if it was just a dream. Just a dream. A nightmare.
Her choice. Rory was her love.
In the depths of the Earth, he took the shot meant for him. And then--erased.
Amy wouldn't even remember him. She cried, she cried for him, and even Vincent told her that she was crying, and Amy knew nothing, and it tore the Doctor apart as he looked at her.
She didn't remember him.
And he blamed himself.
But then... then, the Pandorica opened.
Rory returned.
He threatened, he felt big, he yelled at all the spaceships of all his foes in the sky and warned them to not even go near the Pandorica or he would make sure they would never live to think twice about it. He boasted--it was the thing he did best, boast--
And the world turned on its heel and killed Amy.
He had bruises. The Doctor had bruises from when he was dragged into the Pandorica, kicking and screaming and pleading and begging, just wanting to be heard by his deadliest enemies.
Listen to me!
What felt like an eternity in the Pandorica was merely seconds.
And yes, he skipped around time, when Amy was inside, restored by the Pandorica.
The weight of two Pond hands in his grasp felt right.
Her forehead pressed against his, softly speaking, her voice so quiet. She didn't want to forget him. Ha--after all that, forgetting Rory... and she didn't want to forget him. He laughed bitterly.
He'd fly the Pandorica into the exploding TARDIS. For her. For her empty house, for the pain he felt inside of himself. Oh, Amy--she deserved that. A family. A mum and dad. She had them, and the universe ripped them away from her. The Doctor wouldn't let that happen. He wanted Amy, the girl who didn't make sense, to make sense, and be happy. Even if it was at the cost of him.
"You'll have your family back. You won't need your imaginary friend anymore."
Oh, he laughed, soft and weak, because he was almost dying.
"Amy Pond, crying over me, eh?"
"What?"
He smiled, torn lip and all. "Gotcha."
And then, with one last shout: Geronimo! right into the heart of the explosion. Big Bang II.