oncoming_storms: Weakness
Written for brigadiertardis, because she provides wonderful fodder for Doctor/TARDIS love (especially Seven/TARDIS luuuurve), and is an enabler, and we both wanted to see what would happen if the TARDIS was threatened in some way...
He awoke with a memory of a heart screaming. Not a heart. Her heart; its arresting power, sinew, life, suddenly dimming as easily as her lights so often did when they conversed. The pulse of her lifeforce was tremulous, not the steady song it should be. The Doctor fought desperately to regain his equilibrium, grasping at consciousness as he sat abruptly, and immediately, instinctively, reached for her console.
His own body trembled, his skin clammy, and he was inundated with the unfamiliar sensation of being slightly chilled. He tried to stand, but his legs were as rubber, almost stoutly refusing to support him. The Doctor's mind was frenetic as he tried to shift through the torrent of images on his periphery, tried to remember what had happened to make him so weak and disoriented. He shifted closer to his TARDIS, drawing unspoken strength from her, as he often did.
What happened? Why were you crying? he asked of her, worry lacing his mental query.
// You cannot remember, // she stated simply, curtly, as though her own thoughts were focused on some overriding concern.
Why...what's happened? He began to shake more violently, actively shivering now. He felt an array of voices, presences, assaulting his mind, as though something had slipped through his mental barriers and was making him physically and mentally ill.
// I must turn my attention to the assailant, Doctor. //
What? His thoughts were increasingly sluggish, and he began to slide slowly to the floor again. He couldn't even recall where they were.
// It is this planet. It is a malevolent entity, and it seeks to harm you. It draws strength from the lives it takes. //
You were...in pain. I felt you screaming...
// That has not happened yet. Your mind is opened, suffused with images of things that have happened, that might happen, and things yet to come. I will remove the pernicious force from your mind. //
But then you will be in pain...
// If it must happen that way, then so be it. You are in pain, and I will not permit it. If I do not shield you, it will kill you. I would sooner die myself than lose you. //
“But you will!” The Doctor shouted, his face contorting with grief at the mere thought of harm befalling her. He tried to sit up again, only to feel his TARDIS push him gently back down. Under other circumstances, he would have had the strength to resist.
// I will absorb the pain so that you may be spared. //
“No...” His hand reached out weakly to brush against her console. He felt her humming hypnotically, and though the sensation was reassuring, it lulled him into a languor he wanted to defy. Even as he tried to protest once more, he felt himself closing his eyes against his volition, felt his TARDIS stroking his hair as she soothed his mind. As he drew away from her, into unconsciousness, he felt her weakening, felt a sliver of pain flare within her Heart that he had feared so desperately. And he resented her for allowing it to happen, for taking it from him so that she would have to endure it now.
His eyes had shut for mere moments; she had quieted him enough so that she could fully absorb the entity, which was made much easier without the mental and verbal protestations of the Doctor. The sight of his even breathing, his skin shining with a healthy complexion once more, calmed her while a mental attack concurrently distracted her from any relief she might have felt in knowing she had kept her Doctor safe.
When he awoke this time, the Doctor stood quickly, bracing himself against her console and setting his jaw firmly in anger. He was disappointed with her for risking herself, but he was angry at the presence bringing harm to her, and that superseded his wish that she would have let him be. She still hummed beneath his fingers, but it was quieter, less vibrant. He gripped at her fervently when she stopped responding to his mental inquiries. It was when the symphony of her Heart began to fade to a whisper that he felt terror, unlike any he'd ever known before, seize him.
“TARDIS,” the Doctor's voice nearly broke, his breaths stunted as he waited impatiently for even the most infinitesimal response, anything to assure him she was still cognizant, still with him. He reached out for her central column, his fingertips trembling with fear as her engines began to power down, her lights dimming. She was leaving him. No, she was being taken from him, by some beast in the atmosphere surrounding them.
His hearts beat uncertainly, their rhythms tenuous without the accompaniment of hers.
When at last she fell completely, unnervingly silent, the Doctor moved away from her console, his fists clenching at his sides as reason and pragmatism fled his mind, replaced with irrational and overwhelming loathing a breath away from hatred. In the scant steps it took him to reach her doors, he fought to keep himself from embracing the unredeemable darkness so easily within reach now. He tempered that irrationality by thinking of the agony his TARDIS would feel, knowing he had succumbed to impetuous violence for her. Still, it was with a merciless temperament that he opened her doors, looking fearlessly upon the tiny planet that had pulled them here simply to sustain itself by depriving them of life.
He could feel the presence, on the edge of his consciousness, and it felt like a swollen, satiated glutton, throbbing with satisfaction; it only angered him more to know that its satisfaction had been derived solely from his TARDIS. And while she sat there in stasis, silent in his hearts and mind, this planet shimmered with light and life. The Doctor closed her doors carefully, running a tender hand down her paneling. He knelt close to the ground, watching vegetation begin to sprout beneath his feet, as it harvested the life it had stolen. Calmly, he reached out to pull at the roots of one sapling, tearing it violently from its home in the earth, extinguishing its existence as he kept one hand firmly against his TARDIS; he felt a flicker of her in his mind, and smiled briefly. It was a trade-off, of course. The planet had invaded her mind, absorbed her so that it could thrive. And she would remain silent so long as it continued to do so. The decision was an easy one to make, but the Doctor realized he would gain immense satisfaction by doing this slowly.
He stood again, shouting, “It's so easy to steal from others, to live without having to struggle in any way. You needn't worry about weakening, dying, so long as there's an abundance of life in the universe to take. Well, it's not yours to have! If you can't sustain yourself, you aren't meant to live.”
Even as he spoke, the words sounded so uncharacteristically unsympathetic and cruel to him. But he couldn't find an ounce of empathy within himself for any of the life on this planet. He felt it, felt the veins of trees bursting with energy, felt the tiny creatures scurrying across the earth, felt the very air surrounding him throb with song. But it meant nothing to him, because his TARDIS was quiet, still, absent. And without her, he was but an uncultivated bud, a flower wilting in shadow, a lone creature seeking purpose and meaning and home. She gave him all of those things, and he refused to even contemplate an existence without her.
“She is mine, and your continued existence keeps her from me. I won't allow it.”
The Doctor pulled another flower from the ground, feeling the planet scream in protest as he turned back to his TARDIS and went inside. He moved determinedly through her corridors, retrieving a small vial from the laboratory he hadn't been inside for ages. When he stepped outside again, he bent close to the ground, finding a tiny fissure in the planet's surface in which to pour the toxic liquid. He tossed the vial carelessly to the ground, watching with almost unsettling contentment as the ground began to shake and split. The wealth of flora covering the ground all wilted almost simultaneously, and the air overhead began to grow hazy with pollution. It cried out to him, begging him to stop, to reverse it. The cries grew to screams, but he didn't flinch. Instead, he stood resolutely, watching as all around him turned to dust and decay, absent any life with which to sustain itself. At last, he returned to his TARDIS, closing the doors and sighing with relief as he felt her strengthening, returning to vitality.
He wasn't finished with the planet yet, but he quelled his desire for retribution for now, focusing on her. His lips brushed lovingly against her walls as he rested his palms against her, anxious to feel close to her again.
// Doctor? //
The Doctor's eyes closed briefly as he smiled. I'm here, TARDIS.
// It was...within me. It invaded me, my mind... //
It's gone now. I've taken care of it.
// It was a clamor inside. Why did it have to come into my mind, Doctor? I do not wish to be known by any other but you. //
Though it was never intentional, in their many travels together, his TARDIS had endured physical pain before. It was mental invasion that alarmed her, that she thankfully felt rarely. And it only incited his anger more.
Why did you risk yourself that way? You should have let it harm me.
// It would have been no easier for me to see you harmed than it was for you to witness my pain. //
But I can't lose you, TARDIS.
// Nor I you, Doctor. //
Don't do that again, please.
// I cannot promise that. //
The Doctor sighed, opening his mind more so that he could envelop her, comfort her. He could almost feel her trembling with latent fear, and that wasn't something he expected from her. It made him feel helpless, ineffectual, and regretful. With his mind, he held her close to him, stroking her with the ghostly presence of his fingers and arms.
It won't harm you again, nor anyone else. I can assure you of that.
// Doctor? //
Though his TARDIS never saw moral issues as he did, she at least understood that he struggled deeply with things like this. It would have been easy enough for her to destroy something that had harmed him, but it was never so effortless for him. The trouble was that this time, it was easy for him. And it terrified him almost as much as the thought of losing her had, not so long ago.
It's done.
With the planet near death, the TARDIS was able to leave it easily enough, returning to the Vortex. Before the last image of the surface had disappeared from view, however, the Doctor watched it explode, ensuring it could never return, could never be brought to life by the survival of even one of its children. That he felt no remorse for the screams suddenly dimmed to silence was something he would spend the ensuing nights trying to remove from thought enough to sleep without nightmares.
// You destroyed it. //
It harmed you.
// Things are never so absolute with you, Doctor. There is always grey area, as you call it. //
Not this time, my girl.
He kept her presence close to him so that he could feel her Heart.
// Will you forgive yourself? //
The Doctor drew back slightly. It alarmed him that for once, he had felt no remorse for such a heinous act, and yet--
There's nothing--
// Will you? //
He didn't resist when he felt her pull him close again, even let her pet him, though a small part of him felt as though he didn't deserve such affection right now, not when he had been the harbinger of so much death so recently.
In time, he finally responded. But then he thought of all that he had done, all that he believed would be easier to live with, given time, and knew it was a lie, like so many, many other things.
Muse: Seventh Doctor
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 2,039
And a shout-out and special thanks to brigadiertardis for being a stellar beta.
He awoke with a memory of a heart screaming. Not a heart. Her heart; its arresting power, sinew, life, suddenly dimming as easily as her lights so often did when they conversed. The pulse of her lifeforce was tremulous, not the steady song it should be. The Doctor fought desperately to regain his equilibrium, grasping at consciousness as he sat abruptly, and immediately, instinctively, reached for her console.
His own body trembled, his skin clammy, and he was inundated with the unfamiliar sensation of being slightly chilled. He tried to stand, but his legs were as rubber, almost stoutly refusing to support him. The Doctor's mind was frenetic as he tried to shift through the torrent of images on his periphery, tried to remember what had happened to make him so weak and disoriented. He shifted closer to his TARDIS, drawing unspoken strength from her, as he often did.
What happened? Why were you crying? he asked of her, worry lacing his mental query.
// You cannot remember, // she stated simply, curtly, as though her own thoughts were focused on some overriding concern.
Why...what's happened? He began to shake more violently, actively shivering now. He felt an array of voices, presences, assaulting his mind, as though something had slipped through his mental barriers and was making him physically and mentally ill.
// I must turn my attention to the assailant, Doctor. //
What? His thoughts were increasingly sluggish, and he began to slide slowly to the floor again. He couldn't even recall where they were.
// It is this planet. It is a malevolent entity, and it seeks to harm you. It draws strength from the lives it takes. //
You were...in pain. I felt you screaming...
// That has not happened yet. Your mind is opened, suffused with images of things that have happened, that might happen, and things yet to come. I will remove the pernicious force from your mind. //
But then you will be in pain...
// If it must happen that way, then so be it. You are in pain, and I will not permit it. If I do not shield you, it will kill you. I would sooner die myself than lose you. //
“But you will!” The Doctor shouted, his face contorting with grief at the mere thought of harm befalling her. He tried to sit up again, only to feel his TARDIS push him gently back down. Under other circumstances, he would have had the strength to resist.
// I will absorb the pain so that you may be spared. //
“No...” His hand reached out weakly to brush against her console. He felt her humming hypnotically, and though the sensation was reassuring, it lulled him into a languor he wanted to defy. Even as he tried to protest once more, he felt himself closing his eyes against his volition, felt his TARDIS stroking his hair as she soothed his mind. As he drew away from her, into unconsciousness, he felt her weakening, felt a sliver of pain flare within her Heart that he had feared so desperately. And he resented her for allowing it to happen, for taking it from him so that she would have to endure it now.
His eyes had shut for mere moments; she had quieted him enough so that she could fully absorb the entity, which was made much easier without the mental and verbal protestations of the Doctor. The sight of his even breathing, his skin shining with a healthy complexion once more, calmed her while a mental attack concurrently distracted her from any relief she might have felt in knowing she had kept her Doctor safe.
When he awoke this time, the Doctor stood quickly, bracing himself against her console and setting his jaw firmly in anger. He was disappointed with her for risking herself, but he was angry at the presence bringing harm to her, and that superseded his wish that she would have let him be. She still hummed beneath his fingers, but it was quieter, less vibrant. He gripped at her fervently when she stopped responding to his mental inquiries. It was when the symphony of her Heart began to fade to a whisper that he felt terror, unlike any he'd ever known before, seize him.
“TARDIS,” the Doctor's voice nearly broke, his breaths stunted as he waited impatiently for even the most infinitesimal response, anything to assure him she was still cognizant, still with him. He reached out for her central column, his fingertips trembling with fear as her engines began to power down, her lights dimming. She was leaving him. No, she was being taken from him, by some beast in the atmosphere surrounding them.
His hearts beat uncertainly, their rhythms tenuous without the accompaniment of hers.
When at last she fell completely, unnervingly silent, the Doctor moved away from her console, his fists clenching at his sides as reason and pragmatism fled his mind, replaced with irrational and overwhelming loathing a breath away from hatred. In the scant steps it took him to reach her doors, he fought to keep himself from embracing the unredeemable darkness so easily within reach now. He tempered that irrationality by thinking of the agony his TARDIS would feel, knowing he had succumbed to impetuous violence for her. Still, it was with a merciless temperament that he opened her doors, looking fearlessly upon the tiny planet that had pulled them here simply to sustain itself by depriving them of life.
He could feel the presence, on the edge of his consciousness, and it felt like a swollen, satiated glutton, throbbing with satisfaction; it only angered him more to know that its satisfaction had been derived solely from his TARDIS. And while she sat there in stasis, silent in his hearts and mind, this planet shimmered with light and life. The Doctor closed her doors carefully, running a tender hand down her paneling. He knelt close to the ground, watching vegetation begin to sprout beneath his feet, as it harvested the life it had stolen. Calmly, he reached out to pull at the roots of one sapling, tearing it violently from its home in the earth, extinguishing its existence as he kept one hand firmly against his TARDIS; he felt a flicker of her in his mind, and smiled briefly. It was a trade-off, of course. The planet had invaded her mind, absorbed her so that it could thrive. And she would remain silent so long as it continued to do so. The decision was an easy one to make, but the Doctor realized he would gain immense satisfaction by doing this slowly.
He stood again, shouting, “It's so easy to steal from others, to live without having to struggle in any way. You needn't worry about weakening, dying, so long as there's an abundance of life in the universe to take. Well, it's not yours to have! If you can't sustain yourself, you aren't meant to live.”
Even as he spoke, the words sounded so uncharacteristically unsympathetic and cruel to him. But he couldn't find an ounce of empathy within himself for any of the life on this planet. He felt it, felt the veins of trees bursting with energy, felt the tiny creatures scurrying across the earth, felt the very air surrounding him throb with song. But it meant nothing to him, because his TARDIS was quiet, still, absent. And without her, he was but an uncultivated bud, a flower wilting in shadow, a lone creature seeking purpose and meaning and home. She gave him all of those things, and he refused to even contemplate an existence without her.
“She is mine, and your continued existence keeps her from me. I won't allow it.”
The Doctor pulled another flower from the ground, feeling the planet scream in protest as he turned back to his TARDIS and went inside. He moved determinedly through her corridors, retrieving a small vial from the laboratory he hadn't been inside for ages. When he stepped outside again, he bent close to the ground, finding a tiny fissure in the planet's surface in which to pour the toxic liquid. He tossed the vial carelessly to the ground, watching with almost unsettling contentment as the ground began to shake and split. The wealth of flora covering the ground all wilted almost simultaneously, and the air overhead began to grow hazy with pollution. It cried out to him, begging him to stop, to reverse it. The cries grew to screams, but he didn't flinch. Instead, he stood resolutely, watching as all around him turned to dust and decay, absent any life with which to sustain itself. At last, he returned to his TARDIS, closing the doors and sighing with relief as he felt her strengthening, returning to vitality.
He wasn't finished with the planet yet, but he quelled his desire for retribution for now, focusing on her. His lips brushed lovingly against her walls as he rested his palms against her, anxious to feel close to her again.
// Doctor? //
The Doctor's eyes closed briefly as he smiled. I'm here, TARDIS.
// It was...within me. It invaded me, my mind... //
It's gone now. I've taken care of it.
// It was a clamor inside. Why did it have to come into my mind, Doctor? I do not wish to be known by any other but you. //
Though it was never intentional, in their many travels together, his TARDIS had endured physical pain before. It was mental invasion that alarmed her, that she thankfully felt rarely. And it only incited his anger more.
Why did you risk yourself that way? You should have let it harm me.
// It would have been no easier for me to see you harmed than it was for you to witness my pain. //
But I can't lose you, TARDIS.
// Nor I you, Doctor. //
Don't do that again, please.
// I cannot promise that. //
The Doctor sighed, opening his mind more so that he could envelop her, comfort her. He could almost feel her trembling with latent fear, and that wasn't something he expected from her. It made him feel helpless, ineffectual, and regretful. With his mind, he held her close to him, stroking her with the ghostly presence of his fingers and arms.
It won't harm you again, nor anyone else. I can assure you of that.
// Doctor? //
Though his TARDIS never saw moral issues as he did, she at least understood that he struggled deeply with things like this. It would have been easy enough for her to destroy something that had harmed him, but it was never so effortless for him. The trouble was that this time, it was easy for him. And it terrified him almost as much as the thought of losing her had, not so long ago.
It's done.
With the planet near death, the TARDIS was able to leave it easily enough, returning to the Vortex. Before the last image of the surface had disappeared from view, however, the Doctor watched it explode, ensuring it could never return, could never be brought to life by the survival of even one of its children. That he felt no remorse for the screams suddenly dimmed to silence was something he would spend the ensuing nights trying to remove from thought enough to sleep without nightmares.
// You destroyed it. //
It harmed you.
// Things are never so absolute with you, Doctor. There is always grey area, as you call it. //
Not this time, my girl.
He kept her presence close to him so that he could feel her Heart.
// Will you forgive yourself? //
The Doctor drew back slightly. It alarmed him that for once, he had felt no remorse for such a heinous act, and yet--
There's nothing--
// Will you? //
He didn't resist when he felt her pull him close again, even let her pet him, though a small part of him felt as though he didn't deserve such affection right now, not when he had been the harbinger of so much death so recently.
In time, he finally responded. But then he thought of all that he had done, all that he believed would be easier to live with, given time, and knew it was a lie, like so many, many other things.
Muse: Seventh Doctor
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 2,039
And a shout-out and special thanks to brigadiertardis for being a stellar beta.