Not All Right 1/1
Fic: Not All Right
Author: wmr
wendymr
Characters: Donna Noble, Tenth Doctor
Rated: G
Spoilers: Introspection/character moment from Midnight, so definite spoilers for that
Summary: Doesn’t the universe owe him a break? One good day? One day, just one, when everything goes well and he’s happy? Is that too much to ask?
With very many thanks to
sc_angel72for beta goodness.
Not All Right
He’s not all right.
He lets her hug him - more than that, he lets her see how much he needs the hug, how much he needs to be held and comforted and to know that he’s not alone. That someone cares enough to want to look after him and help him to be, if not all right, then at least a little better.
Something happened. Something bad. Again.
Doesn’t the universe owe him a break? One good day? One day, just one, when everything goes well and he’s happy? Is that too much to ask?
What could possibly go wrong? he said when she told him to be careful. Right. It’s him. Something always goes wrong. If there’s trouble, he finds it. Trouble follows him around, she thinks, though she won’t say it. Not now. This isn’t the time for I told you so.
“What happened?” she asks as he finally loosens his death-grip hold on her and she no longer feels that if she lets him go he’ll crumble, splinter into tiny fragments in front of her and she won’t be able to put him back together. He’s never seemed this fragile, not even when Jenny died to save him - or, probably truer, he’s never allowed her to see him this fragile.
He won’t tell her, of course. Yes, this once he’s allowed her to see him devastated, on the verge of breaking, but now he’s had time to pull himself together. She knows him, and he’s so bloody predictable. He might be an alien, but he’s still such a bloke.
I’m all right. That’s what he’ll tell her. It’s all right now. It’s over. Don’t worry about me. I’m always all right.
But he’s not all right. It’s still there in his eyes as he looks back at her, that terrified, haunted look that tells her how bad this was. Bad enough, this time, that he can’t keep up the act in front of her - or, maybe, he finally trusts her enough that he doesn’t need to.
“I’m...” he begins, and here he goes again. Shutting her out. Denying that there’s anything wrong.
But his voice trembles, and it’s different, too, and that’s really beginning to scare her. It sounds... rusty, as if from misuse. His hands grip her shoulders, as if he can’t bear to let her go. “I’m... I can’t...”
Oh, god, did he actually flinch from the sound of his own voice?
“Shh.” She wraps her arms around him again, pulling him back to her. “You don’t have to say anything. Just let me hold you. Then we’ll go for dinner, yeah? Anti-gravity restaurant? Bibs, yeah?”
“Yeah.” He makes a sound against her shoulder that she thinks maybe he meant as a laugh, but it doesn’t quite come off. “Dinner.” His arms clench around her, and then he pulls back to look at her. “Chicken or beef? Did you know they make something that’s both at the same time? You should try it. It’s...” He trails off, and he looks like he’s about to shatter right in front of her.
“Later, yeah?”
“Yeah.” He swallows, then abruptly drops his arms and steps back. “Later.”
He stands there, looking strangely helpless in his grubby, creased suit, hair even more messy than usual, gaze flitting from place to place as if he’s... it seems weird, but as if he’s actually afraid to look at her, to look at anything.
“Doctor?” she begins, hesitant, wanting to help, not wanting him to feel that she’s pushing. “Can I-?” Can she do something for him? Get him a drink? Somewhere quiet to sit? Another hug?
“I just... all I wanted... I thought it needed help! It was copying... it wanted-” He breaks off, swallowing, looking around as if he’s afraid of being overheard. “It wanted to learn. I didn’t... and they thought... I didn’t!”
He talks and talks and talks all the time, the Doctor does. She’s never seen him this tongue-tied.
“Doctor.” She holds out her hand; he grips it as if it’s a lifeline. “Please tell me. What happened to you?”
He nods, and lets her lead him to a table and two chairs, where they sit facing each other and he grips her hand across the table as he talks at last, hesitant and first, but then the words tumbling from his lips as he finds his voice again. His voice, not an echo of someone else’s.
They talk; she asks what he thinks it was, but that’s not what’s foremost on her mind.
He’s not all right. He will be, but right now he’s not.
And, for the first time since she’s known him, he's not pretending that he is.
- end
Author: wmr
wendymr
Characters: Donna Noble, Tenth Doctor
Rated: G
Spoilers: Introspection/character moment from Midnight, so definite spoilers for that
Summary: Doesn’t the universe owe him a break? One good day? One day, just one, when everything goes well and he’s happy? Is that too much to ask?
With very many thanks to
sc_angel72for beta goodness.
Not All Right
He’s not all right.
He lets her hug him - more than that, he lets her see how much he needs the hug, how much he needs to be held and comforted and to know that he’s not alone. That someone cares enough to want to look after him and help him to be, if not all right, then at least a little better.
Something happened. Something bad. Again.
Doesn’t the universe owe him a break? One good day? One day, just one, when everything goes well and he’s happy? Is that too much to ask?
What could possibly go wrong? he said when she told him to be careful. Right. It’s him. Something always goes wrong. If there’s trouble, he finds it. Trouble follows him around, she thinks, though she won’t say it. Not now. This isn’t the time for I told you so.
“What happened?” she asks as he finally loosens his death-grip hold on her and she no longer feels that if she lets him go he’ll crumble, splinter into tiny fragments in front of her and she won’t be able to put him back together. He’s never seemed this fragile, not even when Jenny died to save him - or, probably truer, he’s never allowed her to see him this fragile.
He won’t tell her, of course. Yes, this once he’s allowed her to see him devastated, on the verge of breaking, but now he’s had time to pull himself together. She knows him, and he’s so bloody predictable. He might be an alien, but he’s still such a bloke.
I’m all right. That’s what he’ll tell her. It’s all right now. It’s over. Don’t worry about me. I’m always all right.
But he’s not all right. It’s still there in his eyes as he looks back at her, that terrified, haunted look that tells her how bad this was. Bad enough, this time, that he can’t keep up the act in front of her - or, maybe, he finally trusts her enough that he doesn’t need to.
“I’m...” he begins, and here he goes again. Shutting her out. Denying that there’s anything wrong.
But his voice trembles, and it’s different, too, and that’s really beginning to scare her. It sounds... rusty, as if from misuse. His hands grip her shoulders, as if he can’t bear to let her go. “I’m... I can’t...”
Oh, god, did he actually flinch from the sound of his own voice?
“Shh.” She wraps her arms around him again, pulling him back to her. “You don’t have to say anything. Just let me hold you. Then we’ll go for dinner, yeah? Anti-gravity restaurant? Bibs, yeah?”
“Yeah.” He makes a sound against her shoulder that she thinks maybe he meant as a laugh, but it doesn’t quite come off. “Dinner.” His arms clench around her, and then he pulls back to look at her. “Chicken or beef? Did you know they make something that’s both at the same time? You should try it. It’s...” He trails off, and he looks like he’s about to shatter right in front of her.
“Later, yeah?”
“Yeah.” He swallows, then abruptly drops his arms and steps back. “Later.”
He stands there, looking strangely helpless in his grubby, creased suit, hair even more messy than usual, gaze flitting from place to place as if he’s... it seems weird, but as if he’s actually afraid to look at her, to look at anything.
“Doctor?” she begins, hesitant, wanting to help, not wanting him to feel that she’s pushing. “Can I-?” Can she do something for him? Get him a drink? Somewhere quiet to sit? Another hug?
“I just... all I wanted... I thought it needed help! It was copying... it wanted-” He breaks off, swallowing, looking around as if he’s afraid of being overheard. “It wanted to learn. I didn’t... and they thought... I didn’t!”
He talks and talks and talks all the time, the Doctor does. She’s never seen him this tongue-tied.
“Doctor.” She holds out her hand; he grips it as if it’s a lifeline. “Please tell me. What happened to you?”
He nods, and lets her lead him to a table and two chairs, where they sit facing each other and he grips her hand across the table as he talks at last, hesitant and first, but then the words tumbling from his lips as he finds his voice again. His voice, not an echo of someone else’s.
They talk; she asks what he thinks it was, but that’s not what’s foremost on her mind.
He’s not all right. He will be, but right now he’s not.
And, for the first time since she’s known him, he's not pretending that he is.
- end