TM Prompt 192 - Write about a recurring dream you've had.
He's been sleeping a lot, lately - that is, more than usual, which is still less than a human, but she notices, and she worries.
Not much has changed, superficially. They'll land on a random world or a pivotal point of history and save lives, save planets, save Time. Except when he jokes he sounds said, when he shouts he sounds resigned, and his passion burns too brightly to last for long.
It's almost like he's going through the motions.
Except, of course, where her safety is concerned.
She knows why; it's the same reason she's so nervous, why she complains more than usual, why it's so hard to care as much as she used to.
It's the same reason she doesn't go to him for some time, because it will hurt too much to say the words, to confront the grief. She knows how he is; it's easier to run from the past, run from everything, just keep going and going and going.
One day, or she supposes it's a day, she meets him in the library, staring down at a dusty tome. His expression is blank, and his eyes are tired.
When she clears her throat, his head snaps up, a faint smile curves his lips, and the exhaustion is gone but she remembers it and she knows she can't wait anymore.
"Hello, Peri! Were you looking for something?" Cheerful. He sounds cheerful and it's so hollow it hurts. As she continues to stare at him the smile fades away.
"Is there something wrong?"
Her hands curl into fists and she wants to say that of course there's something wrong you stupid, repressed, miserable alien.
She doesn't. She walks to the table and sits down, and clutches it until her knuckles turn white. He tilts his head as if he doesn't know what's going on but he must, and she's tired of him always pretending. They haven't even said her name and she should now but she can't, she's silent and he's silent and finally she needs to ask something, anything, just so he'll answer her.
"What do you dream about?"
He stares at her, and for a moment he closes his eyes. He knew it would come to this, eventually. He knew she would notice, because at this time, at this moment, she is his very best friend, and they share so much more than grief.
It overshadows everything, of course. Every smile, every touch, every memory. They know, each time they laugh or run or fight that something is missing, something irretrievable.
She won't let him ignore it anymore, and he can't begrudge her that.
Slowly, his hands folded over thin pages, and after a moment, he spoke.
"I remember," he said softly. Peri was staring down at her hands but her head jerks up at the words.
She looks so very vulnerable. So very young. The very picture of the way he shouldn't be feeling.
"Not just Erimem. Not usually." She tenses; he knew she would, they haven't spoken her name for some time. His fault, really.
the cries of approaching soldiers drown their thoughts, steal their breath, lash aching limbs; when hope dawns again a spear whistles past, and then another steals her forever
"The images, the voices, they…tend to blend together."
he will watch her fall and her body will wither and her bones will turn to dust, and she isn't a young pharaoh anymore, she's a reformed assassin, and then she's being torn away from him, innocent and young, a sacrifice twisting in the stars
"Sometimes, when I awake, I'm not certain…"
he will awake saying "terrible waste"
"It's...not always the same, then." Her voice is weak, strained, and she never quite meets his eyes.
"No," he says softly.
the spear alights, and an explosion swallows them all but he can see her figure, burning and screaming, with a young boy's voice, and the flames begin to burn his hearts away
"How many..." Her eyes meet and they're wide, and her voice trembles.
"Too many." She looks down, and he continues.
"Sometimes they aren't...memories. Sometimes I simply imagine."
a death bed of velvet roses caressing pale skin and auburn curls, the only colour in a stagnant laboratory, becomes a worn mattress and a young man weeping over passion wilting with futility
"I don't always know...how, precisely, or when, but you see the probability..." He wishes he couldn't calculate it so easily.
the battlefield shifts, the soldiers change, and it is someone else who falls, just as young and brave and full of wonder, and he whispers a name he no longer knows
"Sometimes they..." He trails off, then, because he doesn't know how to explain.
used and discarded like so many others and he begs for death and it would be cruel to refuse
A shake of his head. He doesn't tell her that sometimes he can still hear the Master's screams. That was just, wasn't it, not at all like Erimem's death. She died selflessly, and suddenly he is very tired of selfless companions. Suddenly, he wants to tell Peri to be selfish.
He gazes at her with such sorrow, such dread, and she knows. She knows that sometimes it's her dying, or Turlough, or anyone else who lived on. Someday it will be the ones after her.
So many people she will never know, so many people he can never forget.
She swallows, and suddenly leans over the table, covering his hands with hers.
"You don't have to do this alone, you know." His eyes widen, and he simply stares at her for a moment, before a faint, weary smile curves his lips.
"No," he says quietly. He stands, then drawing his hands away; when she rises as well, he embraces her.
She weeps, and he holds her until the tears have dried. Though he sheds none, she likes to think he's finding catharsis as well, in his own way.
When he pulls back there's a faint smile on his lips, and though it's sad she returns it because it's real.
"Let's go somewhere quiet, hmm?" Peri looks up at him with scepticism in her eyes, and is relieved to find amusement in his.
"Like where?" Her voice trembles, and she's not sure if it's with grief or humour.
He seems to consider - he gets that distant look as his brow furrows and it become useless to talk to him - and then steps back, taking her hand, squeezing it. Now it is he who offers comfort, and she accepts it readily.
"I want to show you something." Her eyes widen, declaring surprise and curiosity, and then her fingers entwine with his. She doesn't know what's going to happen next, but she thinks it must be a good step.
It must get better after this.
He's silent as he leads her through the halls. It's been a long time since he's shown anyone, not least because the collection has long remained in his room. He feels he owes her this, though; not simply a rest, but something to renew their friendship, something intimate he can share.
When he pauses in front of the door she looks at him, tilting her head, raising her eyebrows, and he smiles again as he turns the knob.
There's a faint gasp beside him; she must have immediately realised where they were. Perhaps it's the walls, the perfect imitation of a summer sky; perhaps it's the endless shelves of books, the tables of various experiments; perhaps it's the cricket equipment immaculately organised in a corner.
She looks everywhere, obviously marvelling, as he takes her to a large cabinet, and opens the door.
"…Bottles?" She squints, leaning closer to read the labels below each one.
"Made from the sand of every planet I've visited," he said softly. "I started it back on Gallifrey; the Academy allowed expeditions sometimes, and I managed to smuggle a large amount of sand back with me." She gapes up at him, and he's smiling again.
"You made these? All of them?" He nods, smile lingering as she looks back with wide eyes; he waits patiently as she inspects every last one.
"Thanks." Her voice is quiet as she meets his eyes, and he knows that she realises how much they've come to mean to him, and what it is to share them.
A softer, warmer smile, and he steps forward, tapping an empty space on the first shelf between Algol and Aneth.
"I've managed to lose one; I think I'd like to replace it."
"Somewhere nice?"
He turns his head, smile widening.
"Sand as far as the eyes can see..."
Not much has changed, superficially. They'll land on a random world or a pivotal point of history and save lives, save planets, save Time. Except when he jokes he sounds said, when he shouts he sounds resigned, and his passion burns too brightly to last for long.
It's almost like he's going through the motions.
Except, of course, where her safety is concerned.
She knows why; it's the same reason she's so nervous, why she complains more than usual, why it's so hard to care as much as she used to.
It's the same reason she doesn't go to him for some time, because it will hurt too much to say the words, to confront the grief. She knows how he is; it's easier to run from the past, run from everything, just keep going and going and going.
One day, or she supposes it's a day, she meets him in the library, staring down at a dusty tome. His expression is blank, and his eyes are tired.
When she clears her throat, his head snaps up, a faint smile curves his lips, and the exhaustion is gone but she remembers it and she knows she can't wait anymore.
"Hello, Peri! Were you looking for something?" Cheerful. He sounds cheerful and it's so hollow it hurts. As she continues to stare at him the smile fades away.
"Is there something wrong?"
Her hands curl into fists and she wants to say that of course there's something wrong you stupid, repressed, miserable alien.
She doesn't. She walks to the table and sits down, and clutches it until her knuckles turn white. He tilts his head as if he doesn't know what's going on but he must, and she's tired of him always pretending. They haven't even said her name and she should now but she can't, she's silent and he's silent and finally she needs to ask something, anything, just so he'll answer her.
"What do you dream about?"
He stares at her, and for a moment he closes his eyes. He knew it would come to this, eventually. He knew she would notice, because at this time, at this moment, she is his very best friend, and they share so much more than grief.
It overshadows everything, of course. Every smile, every touch, every memory. They know, each time they laugh or run or fight that something is missing, something irretrievable.
She won't let him ignore it anymore, and he can't begrudge her that.
Slowly, his hands folded over thin pages, and after a moment, he spoke.
"I remember," he said softly. Peri was staring down at her hands but her head jerks up at the words.
She looks so very vulnerable. So very young. The very picture of the way he shouldn't be feeling.
"Not just Erimem. Not usually." She tenses; he knew she would, they haven't spoken her name for some time. His fault, really.
the cries of approaching soldiers drown their thoughts, steal their breath, lash aching limbs; when hope dawns again a spear whistles past, and then another steals her forever
"The images, the voices, they…tend to blend together."
he will watch her fall and her body will wither and her bones will turn to dust, and she isn't a young pharaoh anymore, she's a reformed assassin, and then she's being torn away from him, innocent and young, a sacrifice twisting in the stars
"Sometimes, when I awake, I'm not certain…"
he will awake saying "terrible waste"
"It's...not always the same, then." Her voice is weak, strained, and she never quite meets his eyes.
"No," he says softly.
the spear alights, and an explosion swallows them all but he can see her figure, burning and screaming, with a young boy's voice, and the flames begin to burn his hearts away
"How many..." Her eyes meet and they're wide, and her voice trembles.
"Too many." She looks down, and he continues.
"Sometimes they aren't...memories. Sometimes I simply imagine."
a death bed of velvet roses caressing pale skin and auburn curls, the only colour in a stagnant laboratory, becomes a worn mattress and a young man weeping over passion wilting with futility
"I don't always know...how, precisely, or when, but you see the probability..." He wishes he couldn't calculate it so easily.
the battlefield shifts, the soldiers change, and it is someone else who falls, just as young and brave and full of wonder, and he whispers a name he no longer knows
"Sometimes they..." He trails off, then, because he doesn't know how to explain.
used and discarded like so many others and he begs for death and it would be cruel to refuse
A shake of his head. He doesn't tell her that sometimes he can still hear the Master's screams. That was just, wasn't it, not at all like Erimem's death. She died selflessly, and suddenly he is very tired of selfless companions. Suddenly, he wants to tell Peri to be selfish.
He gazes at her with such sorrow, such dread, and she knows. She knows that sometimes it's her dying, or Turlough, or anyone else who lived on. Someday it will be the ones after her.
So many people she will never know, so many people he can never forget.
She swallows, and suddenly leans over the table, covering his hands with hers.
"You don't have to do this alone, you know." His eyes widen, and he simply stares at her for a moment, before a faint, weary smile curves his lips.
"No," he says quietly. He stands, then drawing his hands away; when she rises as well, he embraces her.
She weeps, and he holds her until the tears have dried. Though he sheds none, she likes to think he's finding catharsis as well, in his own way.
When he pulls back there's a faint smile on his lips, and though it's sad she returns it because it's real.
"Let's go somewhere quiet, hmm?" Peri looks up at him with scepticism in her eyes, and is relieved to find amusement in his.
"Like where?" Her voice trembles, and she's not sure if it's with grief or humour.
He seems to consider - he gets that distant look as his brow furrows and it become useless to talk to him - and then steps back, taking her hand, squeezing it. Now it is he who offers comfort, and she accepts it readily.
"I want to show you something." Her eyes widen, declaring surprise and curiosity, and then her fingers entwine with his. She doesn't know what's going to happen next, but she thinks it must be a good step.
It must get better after this.
He's silent as he leads her through the halls. It's been a long time since he's shown anyone, not least because the collection has long remained in his room. He feels he owes her this, though; not simply a rest, but something to renew their friendship, something intimate he can share.
When he pauses in front of the door she looks at him, tilting her head, raising her eyebrows, and he smiles again as he turns the knob.
There's a faint gasp beside him; she must have immediately realised where they were. Perhaps it's the walls, the perfect imitation of a summer sky; perhaps it's the endless shelves of books, the tables of various experiments; perhaps it's the cricket equipment immaculately organised in a corner.
She looks everywhere, obviously marvelling, as he takes her to a large cabinet, and opens the door.
"…Bottles?" She squints, leaning closer to read the labels below each one.
"Made from the sand of every planet I've visited," he said softly. "I started it back on Gallifrey; the Academy allowed expeditions sometimes, and I managed to smuggle a large amount of sand back with me." She gapes up at him, and he's smiling again.
"You made these? All of them?" He nods, smile lingering as she looks back with wide eyes; he waits patiently as she inspects every last one.
"Thanks." Her voice is quiet as she meets his eyes, and he knows that she realises how much they've come to mean to him, and what it is to share them.
A softer, warmer smile, and he steps forward, tapping an empty space on the first shelf between Algol and Aneth.
"I've managed to lose one; I think I'd like to replace it."
"Somewhere nice?"
He turns his head, smile widening.
"Sand as far as the eyes can see..."