Fic/One-shot: Who You Used to Be
Title: Who You Used to Be
Rating: PG
Words: 2179
Characters: Donna, Doctor
Warning/Spoilers: Journey's End spoiler, angst, angst, and angst.
Summary: Another angsty post-JE fic. There are never too many out there!
Disclaimer: My ownership does not bring Doctor Who to the yard.
A/N: bas_math_girl 's angsty post-JE fic pushed me to do this. bwahha.
The Doctor sits against the doors of the TARDIS. She had brought him to Chiswick, of all places. He'd tried multiple times to get them to move, but the old girl was too stubborn. She didn't want to leave, as if she were waiting for someone to climb onboard first. She streams hums of woe and despair, and the Doctor only rolls his head against the doors to look up at his ship.
"She's not coming back," he says sharply and it hurts him to, "She wasn't coming back then, she's not coming back now, nor will ever. So please."
The TARDIS continues her quiet and silent suffering. The Doctor doesn't want to hear it. He's sorry he's being harsh to her but he can't help it. He loved her as much as she did. He's suffering too.
"Right," he dismisses, standing up. He takes his coat that hung on the coral, shrugs it on and in a moment he's out the door, leaving the TARDIS to cry by her lonesome.
He steps out and the cold air hits him like a bat. The sky is dark with moon rising and storm clouds, and he swears he can hear the low grumbling thunder wailing in the same tone as the TARDIS.
"Oh, would the world stop whining?" he mutters. But he knows it'll never stop. It'll never stop so as long as he keeps it up as well. Because in truth, he's angry about everything--at the world, at the universe, at the timelines, but mostly at himself. He shoves his hands in his pockets and with a sigh he walks on, trying to go far away.
But he ends up in the general direction of her house. That's not what he had in mind. He looks from his distance at the little house, and no one's home anyhow, whatever his subconscious was hoping for. Maybe he'd run into her somewhere then?
No. He couldn't. He shouldn't, anyway.
The Doctor makes an attempt to kick himself as he pivots around and walks away, trying not to follow, well, his hearts. So he finds himself absently making his way towards a small flower shop. He'd rather not go in, but it's starting to rain hard, and he didn't need another soaked pair of clothes.
"Good evenin', sir," the florist greets him and he responds with a meek smile and nod. "Lookin' for anything in particular?"
"Oh, no, not really. Just... skimming," he stammers.
A few minutes later he walks out with a single tiger lily.
"Tiger lily. It's my favorite, d'you know that? My dad would say it was like me. Red and beautiful. Though I hardly believed the beautiful part."
He doesn't quite know what he's exactly thinking. The TARDIS should have never landed here. He's practically losing control being in the same grounds as her.
It's still raining, harder than when it started, so he has no choice but to get himself soggy all over again. Plus, it might do some good for the lily.
The Doctor walks alone on the streets. He doesn't know where he's going at this point. It's completely dark, only some lights emanating from distant houses and shops and lamp posts. He steps on slippery grass and assumes he's in a park. Before he can make it to a soaked bench, his foot slides across mud, sending him to the floor.
"Blasted--" he curses to himself. He gives up entirely and just sits on the pavement, not even attempting to get up and move a foot to sit down on the bench. He clutches at the stem of the lily, and he feels like throwing it onto the floor and leaving it there to rot.
He used to be so much stronger than this. What happened?
"John.. Smith? Was it?" he hears a soft voice at his side and then notices that the rain was hitting everywhere else but him.
The Doctor looks up, and he sees her, holding an umbrella over him. He's speechless for a moment, he's engulfed by a conflict of fear and longing and sadness and joy, all at the same time.
"Ah, ya," he manages to respond. Now he feels stupid sitting soaking wet with dirt all over his shirt and face.
"What do you think you're doing out here in the rain?" she asks with concern.
"Well, I, uh... I'm lost," he says in a very not convincing manner. Donna tries to hide her laughter.
"Come on then, you must be freezing."
She takes him by his wet arm and his only reasonable options are to refuse and leave. He does neither.
"Come in, my granddad and mum are out for the week somewhere," she says as she closes the dripping umbrella and pulls him indoors.
"Why haven't you gone with them?" His life would probably be much easier if she had.
"Didn't feel like it," she answers flatly without looking at him. "Get yourself into the bathroom, yeah? You'll be literally sweeping the floors" She basically tows him there.
"Alright, alright! No need to push!"
She takes his coat and shoes and places them over the side of the tub. Converse, she notes. Nice. Not exactly proper rainwear, though.
"What were you doing on the floor all moping about? You haven't been drinkin', have you?" She takes a towel out and throws it over the Doctor's head and begins to rub his hair dry.
"You don't really have to do that," his muffled voice says as his raises his hands to try and stop her, "I can do that myself."
She removes the towel and wipes the dirt from his face. "Says the man who leaves himself sitting in the midst of a bloody storm."
He puts down his hands and doesn't argue with her, but instead watches her intently as she focuses on obliterating the mudstains on his face. She always was so maternal.
She notices the wistful look in his eyes, and he immediately averts them.
"Right, so," she says, handing him the towel. "I'll be with you in a moment, I'll get you some spares--they might be a funny fit, but I won't have you sit down in this house with damp pants."
With that she left the room, and the Doctor buried his face into the damp towel, wanting to shout everything into it.
He emerged from the halls, slightly awkward with the bagginess of these pants. Donna was in the kitchen, preparing tea for the both of them.
"Really, your grandfather's clothes?" he attempts to tease.
She turns her head to face him. "Oh, no," she replies with a trace of sadness, "my dad's."
"Oh." Idiot.
"Don't tell my mother," Donna says in a lighter tone, "She'll kill me for touching them."
"I promise," he half smiles. "Oh, and..." he picks up the tiger lily that he left on the table before she pushed him into the bathroom. "I don't really...ah...have anywhere to put this. Do you maybe...want it?"
"You buy a flower when you have no place for it," she says with an arched eyebrow. "You're quite odd, aren't you?"
She accepts it nonetheless.
"Tiger lilies. They're my favorite, d'you know that?"
The Doctor gives her a look she doesn't understand. "Oh. No. Glad you like them, then."
Donna gives him a seat on the table and places his tea in front of him before seating herself and her cup, scooting a bit closer to him. They took simultaneous sips, and were relieved with the heat that went down into their stomachs.
"So," he starts. "How are you...and things?"
"Fine, I suppose," she answered dishonestly. "I'm still struggling with--I don't know if my granddad told you, though I'm sure he did. I was apparently in an accident last year, hit my head pretty bad. Was in the hospital for months. Now I can't remember what happened that year or the one before. It's just gone." She looks down at her light brown reflection of in her tea. "I feel like I've..."
"Lost someone?" he absently finishes her sentence. She looks up at him, and he immediately wants to stitch his mouth closed.
"Yeah. Actually...yeah." She fills in the silence after that with another lengthy sip from her cup. "So you know how that is, then?"
He wants to avoid all of her questions, but it's Donna. He can't resist Donna.
"Well, yes, I, uh..." he circles his mind for the right words that said enough without saying it all. "I recently lost a...friend."
She places a hand over his on the table upon hearing the broken crack of his voice; he feels comfort right away.
"I miss her, quite a lot, actually. Probably more than a lot. Maybe so much that I don't bother to get up after slipping in the rain, or...something."
He flips his hand over and allows hers to fit in the gaps of his fingers, and they lay there comfortably. He missed the feel of her hand, too. Whether he took it to drag her while they ran, or whether he merely needed to. Before he realizes it, tears fall from his eyes.
"Hey, now, it's alright," Donna says as she removes her hand from his to put on his face, brushing the warm misery off his cheeks with her thumb.
The Doctor blinks them away and everything he wants to say is forced to stay in his throat. He looks into her eyes with pain and his vision goes blurry and it stings.
She look at his face, his glossy sullen eyes, his frown, hearing the chokes he's making.
"John..." she says softly. "You look at me as if you know me." When he makes a fearful expression and slightly pulls back, she retreats her hand as if his skin was too hot.
"John? Who was I to you?"
"I need to go," he evades, and gets up from the chair and heads to the bathroom to retrieve his damp clothes.
Donna comes after him and stops him by grabbing hold of his hand. "Answer my question," she demands with a trill of someone about to break into tears. "I'm missing two years of my life. Anyone I could have ever met, anyone who could have ever made me happy, I don't know and they're suddenly gone. You show up, and--you come and talk to me like you used to everyday, you look at me, like--like you used to see me everyday--I need to know who you used to be."
He puts down his head and shakes it, trying not to wipe his eyes with Donna's father's sleeve. He could've answered her question with the safest answer; he could've said, "no one." Instead, he went for, "I can't tell you that."
"Why not? Why does everyone..."
The Doctor wraps his arms around her shoulders into an embrace. "Please stop asking questions," he nearly begs. "Don't think of it. Please. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but please."
She clings to him, burying her head in his shoulder. Her head feels warm. "My head hurts," she whimpers.
"I know," he says, "and I'm sorry."
He pulls back, holding her face with his hands, cold fingers at her temples, and in a moment she stops crying because he's taken away 5 more minutes worth of memories.
"Oh," she says absently, "who needs tylenol with that?"
He gives a meek smile but he hopes he never ever has to do that again.
"I should get going, thanks for cleaning me up and for the tea."
"So soon? You sure you don't want to stay the night instead? Your clothes are still sopping wet."
"Nah. I'll be fine."
He and Donna take about half an hour trying to dry his clothes with her hairdryer after ten minutes of her insisting. He holds up his coat as she dries it on full blast. They're silent for most of it.
"You know I could've just popped it into the dryer," is all she says the whole while.
The stormed had silenced by the time he made for his leave.
"Well, I'll see you around then? Preferably not drenched?"
The Doctor turns back to face her leaning on the doorframe. If I'm lucky. "Maybe."
She gives him a sad smile, pitying him, and then approaches him to kiss his forehead. He ducks his head because she's too short to reach, and feels her lips softly press on his skin.
"Take care."
"Yeah."
He turns back and walks off, and she watches his figure disappear into the night.
The Doctor returns to the TARDIS, hands in his damp pocket. He looks up at her blue walls apologetically. She forgives him.
And so he steps into the TARDIS, hearing her hum a little song of comfort, trying to soften him as he sat at the console, wiping at the tears that didn't cease, and this time she obeyed the clicks of his buttons and brought them far away.
He remembers what Donna said not so long ago. She needed to know who he used to be. And, well, frankly, he didn't really know the real answer to that either.
Rating: PG
Words: 2179
Characters: Donna, Doctor
Warning/Spoilers: Journey's End spoiler, angst, angst, and angst.
Summary: Another angsty post-JE fic. There are never too many out there!
Disclaimer: My ownership does not bring Doctor Who to the yard.
A/N: bas_math_girl 's angsty post-JE fic pushed me to do this. bwahha.
The Doctor sits against the doors of the TARDIS. She had brought him to Chiswick, of all places. He'd tried multiple times to get them to move, but the old girl was too stubborn. She didn't want to leave, as if she were waiting for someone to climb onboard first. She streams hums of woe and despair, and the Doctor only rolls his head against the doors to look up at his ship.
"She's not coming back," he says sharply and it hurts him to, "She wasn't coming back then, she's not coming back now, nor will ever. So please."
The TARDIS continues her quiet and silent suffering. The Doctor doesn't want to hear it. He's sorry he's being harsh to her but he can't help it. He loved her as much as she did. He's suffering too.
"Right," he dismisses, standing up. He takes his coat that hung on the coral, shrugs it on and in a moment he's out the door, leaving the TARDIS to cry by her lonesome.
He steps out and the cold air hits him like a bat. The sky is dark with moon rising and storm clouds, and he swears he can hear the low grumbling thunder wailing in the same tone as the TARDIS.
"Oh, would the world stop whining?" he mutters. But he knows it'll never stop. It'll never stop so as long as he keeps it up as well. Because in truth, he's angry about everything--at the world, at the universe, at the timelines, but mostly at himself. He shoves his hands in his pockets and with a sigh he walks on, trying to go far away.
But he ends up in the general direction of her house. That's not what he had in mind. He looks from his distance at the little house, and no one's home anyhow, whatever his subconscious was hoping for. Maybe he'd run into her somewhere then?
No. He couldn't. He shouldn't, anyway.
The Doctor makes an attempt to kick himself as he pivots around and walks away, trying not to follow, well, his hearts. So he finds himself absently making his way towards a small flower shop. He'd rather not go in, but it's starting to rain hard, and he didn't need another soaked pair of clothes.
"Good evenin', sir," the florist greets him and he responds with a meek smile and nod. "Lookin' for anything in particular?"
"Oh, no, not really. Just... skimming," he stammers.
A few minutes later he walks out with a single tiger lily.
"Tiger lily. It's my favorite, d'you know that? My dad would say it was like me. Red and beautiful. Though I hardly believed the beautiful part."
He doesn't quite know what he's exactly thinking. The TARDIS should have never landed here. He's practically losing control being in the same grounds as her.
It's still raining, harder than when it started, so he has no choice but to get himself soggy all over again. Plus, it might do some good for the lily.
The Doctor walks alone on the streets. He doesn't know where he's going at this point. It's completely dark, only some lights emanating from distant houses and shops and lamp posts. He steps on slippery grass and assumes he's in a park. Before he can make it to a soaked bench, his foot slides across mud, sending him to the floor.
"Blasted--" he curses to himself. He gives up entirely and just sits on the pavement, not even attempting to get up and move a foot to sit down on the bench. He clutches at the stem of the lily, and he feels like throwing it onto the floor and leaving it there to rot.
He used to be so much stronger than this. What happened?
"John.. Smith? Was it?" he hears a soft voice at his side and then notices that the rain was hitting everywhere else but him.
The Doctor looks up, and he sees her, holding an umbrella over him. He's speechless for a moment, he's engulfed by a conflict of fear and longing and sadness and joy, all at the same time.
"Ah, ya," he manages to respond. Now he feels stupid sitting soaking wet with dirt all over his shirt and face.
"What do you think you're doing out here in the rain?" she asks with concern.
"Well, I, uh... I'm lost," he says in a very not convincing manner. Donna tries to hide her laughter.
"Come on then, you must be freezing."
She takes him by his wet arm and his only reasonable options are to refuse and leave. He does neither.
"Come in, my granddad and mum are out for the week somewhere," she says as she closes the dripping umbrella and pulls him indoors.
"Why haven't you gone with them?" His life would probably be much easier if she had.
"Didn't feel like it," she answers flatly without looking at him. "Get yourself into the bathroom, yeah? You'll be literally sweeping the floors" She basically tows him there.
"Alright, alright! No need to push!"
She takes his coat and shoes and places them over the side of the tub. Converse, she notes. Nice. Not exactly proper rainwear, though.
"What were you doing on the floor all moping about? You haven't been drinkin', have you?" She takes a towel out and throws it over the Doctor's head and begins to rub his hair dry.
"You don't really have to do that," his muffled voice says as his raises his hands to try and stop her, "I can do that myself."
She removes the towel and wipes the dirt from his face. "Says the man who leaves himself sitting in the midst of a bloody storm."
He puts down his hands and doesn't argue with her, but instead watches her intently as she focuses on obliterating the mudstains on his face. She always was so maternal.
She notices the wistful look in his eyes, and he immediately averts them.
"Right, so," she says, handing him the towel. "I'll be with you in a moment, I'll get you some spares--they might be a funny fit, but I won't have you sit down in this house with damp pants."
With that she left the room, and the Doctor buried his face into the damp towel, wanting to shout everything into it.
He emerged from the halls, slightly awkward with the bagginess of these pants. Donna was in the kitchen, preparing tea for the both of them.
"Really, your grandfather's clothes?" he attempts to tease.
She turns her head to face him. "Oh, no," she replies with a trace of sadness, "my dad's."
"Oh." Idiot.
"Don't tell my mother," Donna says in a lighter tone, "She'll kill me for touching them."
"I promise," he half smiles. "Oh, and..." he picks up the tiger lily that he left on the table before she pushed him into the bathroom. "I don't really...ah...have anywhere to put this. Do you maybe...want it?"
"You buy a flower when you have no place for it," she says with an arched eyebrow. "You're quite odd, aren't you?"
She accepts it nonetheless.
"Tiger lilies. They're my favorite, d'you know that?"
The Doctor gives her a look she doesn't understand. "Oh. No. Glad you like them, then."
Donna gives him a seat on the table and places his tea in front of him before seating herself and her cup, scooting a bit closer to him. They took simultaneous sips, and were relieved with the heat that went down into their stomachs.
"So," he starts. "How are you...and things?"
"Fine, I suppose," she answered dishonestly. "I'm still struggling with--I don't know if my granddad told you, though I'm sure he did. I was apparently in an accident last year, hit my head pretty bad. Was in the hospital for months. Now I can't remember what happened that year or the one before. It's just gone." She looks down at her light brown reflection of in her tea. "I feel like I've..."
"Lost someone?" he absently finishes her sentence. She looks up at him, and he immediately wants to stitch his mouth closed.
"Yeah. Actually...yeah." She fills in the silence after that with another lengthy sip from her cup. "So you know how that is, then?"
He wants to avoid all of her questions, but it's Donna. He can't resist Donna.
"Well, yes, I, uh..." he circles his mind for the right words that said enough without saying it all. "I recently lost a...friend."
She places a hand over his on the table upon hearing the broken crack of his voice; he feels comfort right away.
"I miss her, quite a lot, actually. Probably more than a lot. Maybe so much that I don't bother to get up after slipping in the rain, or...something."
He flips his hand over and allows hers to fit in the gaps of his fingers, and they lay there comfortably. He missed the feel of her hand, too. Whether he took it to drag her while they ran, or whether he merely needed to. Before he realizes it, tears fall from his eyes.
"Hey, now, it's alright," Donna says as she removes her hand from his to put on his face, brushing the warm misery off his cheeks with her thumb.
The Doctor blinks them away and everything he wants to say is forced to stay in his throat. He looks into her eyes with pain and his vision goes blurry and it stings.
She look at his face, his glossy sullen eyes, his frown, hearing the chokes he's making.
"John..." she says softly. "You look at me as if you know me." When he makes a fearful expression and slightly pulls back, she retreats her hand as if his skin was too hot.
"John? Who was I to you?"
"I need to go," he evades, and gets up from the chair and heads to the bathroom to retrieve his damp clothes.
Donna comes after him and stops him by grabbing hold of his hand. "Answer my question," she demands with a trill of someone about to break into tears. "I'm missing two years of my life. Anyone I could have ever met, anyone who could have ever made me happy, I don't know and they're suddenly gone. You show up, and--you come and talk to me like you used to everyday, you look at me, like--like you used to see me everyday--I need to know who you used to be."
He puts down his head and shakes it, trying not to wipe his eyes with Donna's father's sleeve. He could've answered her question with the safest answer; he could've said, "no one." Instead, he went for, "I can't tell you that."
"Why not? Why does everyone..."
The Doctor wraps his arms around her shoulders into an embrace. "Please stop asking questions," he nearly begs. "Don't think of it. Please. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but please."
She clings to him, burying her head in his shoulder. Her head feels warm. "My head hurts," she whimpers.
"I know," he says, "and I'm sorry."
He pulls back, holding her face with his hands, cold fingers at her temples, and in a moment she stops crying because he's taken away 5 more minutes worth of memories.
"Oh," she says absently, "who needs tylenol with that?"
He gives a meek smile but he hopes he never ever has to do that again.
"I should get going, thanks for cleaning me up and for the tea."
"So soon? You sure you don't want to stay the night instead? Your clothes are still sopping wet."
"Nah. I'll be fine."
He and Donna take about half an hour trying to dry his clothes with her hairdryer after ten minutes of her insisting. He holds up his coat as she dries it on full blast. They're silent for most of it.
"You know I could've just popped it into the dryer," is all she says the whole while.
The stormed had silenced by the time he made for his leave.
"Well, I'll see you around then? Preferably not drenched?"
The Doctor turns back to face her leaning on the doorframe. If I'm lucky. "Maybe."
She gives him a sad smile, pitying him, and then approaches him to kiss his forehead. He ducks his head because she's too short to reach, and feels her lips softly press on his skin.
"Take care."
"Yeah."
He turns back and walks off, and she watches his figure disappear into the night.
The Doctor returns to the TARDIS, hands in his damp pocket. He looks up at her blue walls apologetically. She forgives him.
And so he steps into the TARDIS, hearing her hum a little song of comfort, trying to soften him as he sat at the console, wiping at the tears that didn't cease, and this time she obeyed the clicks of his buttons and brought them far away.
He remembers what Donna said not so long ago. She needed to know who he used to be. And, well, frankly, he didn't really know the real answer to that either.