(l)oneliness, Eleven/John Smith, PG-13 (Humanity)
Pairing: Eleventh Doctor/ John Smith
Challenge: 49 Humanity
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Incest of the in-most kind, sort of … I mean, they’re DNA would be completely different, right? It’s more of a psychological/moral incest? -- It's squicky, perhaps! There.
Spoilers:. Up to and including Season 5 Casting.
Note: Title taken from e.e. cumming's poem: here
(l)oneliness
He meant it when he said it: No more. Never again. He hasn’t done it since - which isn’t to say he’s been without companions.
“You’re a bit young to be travelling on your own,” John Smith tells him in the privacy of his quaint, familiar rooms.
“Ah, but I’m not alone, you see. I’ve got me, and that, Mister Smith, is more than enough company.” They share a secret smile, while only one of them is in on the secret. They share many things, the Doctor knows, while Smith is only aware of one: loneliness. Humans are particularly susceptible to the emotion, being such social creatures, and the Doctor has become so sentimental in his age.
“I’ve missed you, though. I’ve missed you so much more than I thought I would. The wonderful hair, those charming teeth, the freckles, the skinny stomach, and,” the Doctor curves his smile into a smirk, “that mole between your shoulder blades.”
While John’s eyes widen, the Doctor laughs, stripping 1913 of its pretentious ideas about personal space and private decency. “A man is never truly alone. Not when he is with the one who knows him best.” he says, hand covering John’s own, eyes flicking over to the Journal. “May I?”
Silence pervades. The Doctor keeps his hand clasped around the one that was once his own. In John’s (his) eyes are the lights of thought and decision. Patiently, the Doctor waits.
“We,” John says in a corrective tone. “I believe you meant, ‘May we?’”
“Yes,” the Doctor grins, “That’s right, John. We.”
He knows John better than anyone, certainly better than he knows himself; but the catch is, John knows him. He’s known him from the start, and that makes it so much easier. No illusions. No expectations. They will be “we” until the sun rises over the hills, and then John will be John, will choose not to write of this particular dream in his Impossible Journal, and the Doctor will be the Doctor, walking confidently up to his TARDIS, the doors opening for him with barely a thought.
He’s all alone, except that he never is. He takes those who he is given for the short amount of time he allows himself, but when that is not enough, he runs off in search of one to take. He could never subject anyone to himself, not anymore, so he chooses the only one who he cannot feel sorrow for.
Challenge: 49 Humanity
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Incest of the in-most kind, sort of … I mean, they’re DNA would be completely different, right? It’s more of a psychological/moral incest? -- It's squicky, perhaps! There.
Spoilers:. Up to and including Season 5 Casting.
Note: Title taken from e.e. cumming's poem: here
(l)oneliness
He meant it when he said it: No more. Never again. He hasn’t done it since - which isn’t to say he’s been without companions.
“You’re a bit young to be travelling on your own,” John Smith tells him in the privacy of his quaint, familiar rooms.
“Ah, but I’m not alone, you see. I’ve got me, and that, Mister Smith, is more than enough company.” They share a secret smile, while only one of them is in on the secret. They share many things, the Doctor knows, while Smith is only aware of one: loneliness. Humans are particularly susceptible to the emotion, being such social creatures, and the Doctor has become so sentimental in his age.
“I’ve missed you, though. I’ve missed you so much more than I thought I would. The wonderful hair, those charming teeth, the freckles, the skinny stomach, and,” the Doctor curves his smile into a smirk, “that mole between your shoulder blades.”
While John’s eyes widen, the Doctor laughs, stripping 1913 of its pretentious ideas about personal space and private decency. “A man is never truly alone. Not when he is with the one who knows him best.” he says, hand covering John’s own, eyes flicking over to the Journal. “May I?”
Silence pervades. The Doctor keeps his hand clasped around the one that was once his own. In John’s (his) eyes are the lights of thought and decision. Patiently, the Doctor waits.
“We,” John says in a corrective tone. “I believe you meant, ‘May we?’”
“Yes,” the Doctor grins, “That’s right, John. We.”
He knows John better than anyone, certainly better than he knows himself; but the catch is, John knows him. He’s known him from the start, and that makes it so much easier. No illusions. No expectations. They will be “we” until the sun rises over the hills, and then John will be John, will choose not to write of this particular dream in his Impossible Journal, and the Doctor will be the Doctor, walking confidently up to his TARDIS, the doors opening for him with barely a thought.
He’s all alone, except that he never is. He takes those who he is given for the short amount of time he allows himself, but when that is not enough, he runs off in search of one to take. He could never subject anyone to himself, not anymore, so he chooses the only one who he cannot feel sorrow for.