Doctor Who ficlet: A Split in the Skin of the World
Title: A Split in the Skin of the World
Characters: The Doctor, Amy
Rating PG
Spoilers: Doctor Who, informed by up to 5x05
Notes: ~800 words, not much Master in this one sadly, tentatively feeling out the characters' voices, and scrambling to keep up with/adjust to canon's revelations and still tell the story I want to tell. Follows this.
The fracture collapses, leaving a bank of snow with an ordinary line in it where the ice crystals fall away. It's a strange and jagged shape where the crack used to be, but it's just snow. Snow, and the absence of snow.
The Doctor stands before this afterimage with a silent and sober regard, and then he turns abruptly and strides away, leaving Amy to hurry after him.
"Wait!" she says, reaching him quickly and moving around to cut him off. "Wait. Doctor, that was important. That thing that just happened, that was important. That was a crack in the skin of the universe, like the one in my wall. Exactly like the one in my wall--"
The Doctor has begun to walk again, sidestepping Amy. She keeps up with him because she's not finished. The footprints they leave circle one another, like a diagram describing a dance. "--which you closed. Which had somebody on the other side, who almost destroyed the world. The world! The whole Earth!"
She plants herself in front of him again. "But this crack we didn't even notice. This crack..."
She pauses. The Doctor has stopped trying to get away, but he's looking at her with that expression, the woebegone, why-are-you-asking-me-to-talk-about-this expression. Usually he likes it when she asks questions. Not about this, whatever this is.
"It was the man on the other side, wasn't it? He opened and closed it, just like you did. And" --it's there, just on the edge of comprehension, and her voice goes slow with thought-- "he knows you."
For a moment, she thinks he isn't going to answer after all, and that he is going to resume walking away, definitively this time. But then, with that exhilarating suddenness of his, he pivots and heads back towards the bank of snow.
He eyes the crack askance, as though he doesn't want to confront it straight on. She can understand that; it's like the Cheshire cat's grin, turned cruel, and it makes Amy feel like a mouse that knows it's about to be toyed with.
"Yes," the Doctor says at last, "that man opened the crack. Yes, that man knows me. And...I know him. Or at least I think I do! A Time Lord always knows, but it's the end of the universe--he's fond of that, the end of the universe--the rules don't apply, not in the same way; everything is twisted and you can't be sure of what you're sure of. But it was him! I know that in here" --he taps his hearts-- "and I'd bet my screwdriver on knowing it, even at the end of time itself. Which this is."
"This is the end of time itself?" Amy's alarm is like a surge of adrenaline, but lately it's been different. It's fear, yes, but also anticipation. Excitement.
"Well. Which that is." He jabs his finger at the line in the snow, pointing out its jagged curve. "If it gets out here. As long as that world stays where it is, and we stay where we are, we're fine."
He goes quiet and still. He stares at the split in the skin of the world as though he could still see through it to the other side. "That's the end of the world, too, Amelia. The whole world. And I did it. I locked him up in it forever on the day of its destruction. And we're fine."
Something helpless and angry washes over his face, and with startling fierceness he kicks at the mute white wall. It shudders, and what snow doesn't dislodge itself the Doctor knocks out of place with violent swipes of his hands, obliterating the mocking smile. All the while, he's yelling. "Yes, we're fine! We're all fine! Everyone is just fine living out the rest of their oblivious lives out in the oblivious universe while you--!
"--while you burn." The Doctor stands heaving in breaths, which is strange because he's never out of breath. He seems deflated, almost sullen. The snow is really just snow now; not even a reminder remains of the flash of light and the pale, intense eyes, and the voice with an echo of an accent she could place, if only she'd heard more. The top layer of loose powder is all on the ground, leaving a blank wall of ice slanted imperceptibly away.
The Doctor leans in to it, his fingers gentle after all that against the spot where two worlds touched, so briefly. Then he eases back, exhaling. Slipping his hands into his pockets, once again he turns away to go.
"Come on, Amy," he says. "This crack is closed now. These worlds are sealed. There's nothing left here."
Characters: The Doctor, Amy
Rating PG
Spoilers: Doctor Who, informed by up to 5x05
Notes: ~800 words, not much Master in this one sadly, tentatively feeling out the characters' voices, and scrambling to keep up with/adjust to canon's revelations and still tell the story I want to tell. Follows this.
The fracture collapses, leaving a bank of snow with an ordinary line in it where the ice crystals fall away. It's a strange and jagged shape where the crack used to be, but it's just snow. Snow, and the absence of snow.
The Doctor stands before this afterimage with a silent and sober regard, and then he turns abruptly and strides away, leaving Amy to hurry after him.
"Wait!" she says, reaching him quickly and moving around to cut him off. "Wait. Doctor, that was important. That thing that just happened, that was important. That was a crack in the skin of the universe, like the one in my wall. Exactly like the one in my wall--"
The Doctor has begun to walk again, sidestepping Amy. She keeps up with him because she's not finished. The footprints they leave circle one another, like a diagram describing a dance. "--which you closed. Which had somebody on the other side, who almost destroyed the world. The world! The whole Earth!"
She plants herself in front of him again. "But this crack we didn't even notice. This crack..."
She pauses. The Doctor has stopped trying to get away, but he's looking at her with that expression, the woebegone, why-are-you-asking-me-to-talk-about-this expression. Usually he likes it when she asks questions. Not about this, whatever this is.
"It was the man on the other side, wasn't it? He opened and closed it, just like you did. And" --it's there, just on the edge of comprehension, and her voice goes slow with thought-- "he knows you."
For a moment, she thinks he isn't going to answer after all, and that he is going to resume walking away, definitively this time. But then, with that exhilarating suddenness of his, he pivots and heads back towards the bank of snow.
He eyes the crack askance, as though he doesn't want to confront it straight on. She can understand that; it's like the Cheshire cat's grin, turned cruel, and it makes Amy feel like a mouse that knows it's about to be toyed with.
"Yes," the Doctor says at last, "that man opened the crack. Yes, that man knows me. And...I know him. Or at least I think I do! A Time Lord always knows, but it's the end of the universe--he's fond of that, the end of the universe--the rules don't apply, not in the same way; everything is twisted and you can't be sure of what you're sure of. But it was him! I know that in here" --he taps his hearts-- "and I'd bet my screwdriver on knowing it, even at the end of time itself. Which this is."
"This is the end of time itself?" Amy's alarm is like a surge of adrenaline, but lately it's been different. It's fear, yes, but also anticipation. Excitement.
"Well. Which that is." He jabs his finger at the line in the snow, pointing out its jagged curve. "If it gets out here. As long as that world stays where it is, and we stay where we are, we're fine."
He goes quiet and still. He stares at the split in the skin of the world as though he could still see through it to the other side. "That's the end of the world, too, Amelia. The whole world. And I did it. I locked him up in it forever on the day of its destruction. And we're fine."
Something helpless and angry washes over his face, and with startling fierceness he kicks at the mute white wall. It shudders, and what snow doesn't dislodge itself the Doctor knocks out of place with violent swipes of his hands, obliterating the mocking smile. All the while, he's yelling. "Yes, we're fine! We're all fine! Everyone is just fine living out the rest of their oblivious lives out in the oblivious universe while you--!
"--while you burn." The Doctor stands heaving in breaths, which is strange because he's never out of breath. He seems deflated, almost sullen. The snow is really just snow now; not even a reminder remains of the flash of light and the pale, intense eyes, and the voice with an echo of an accent she could place, if only she'd heard more. The top layer of loose powder is all on the ground, leaving a blank wall of ice slanted imperceptibly away.
The Doctor leans in to it, his fingers gentle after all that against the spot where two worlds touched, so briefly. Then he eases back, exhaling. Slipping his hands into his pockets, once again he turns away to go.
"Come on, Amy," he says. "This crack is closed now. These worlds are sealed. There's nothing left here."