Days to Come
Rating: PG
Prompt: #013 - Tomorrow
Claim: The Time War
Table: Here
Spoilers: Time Crash
Characters: The Doctor (5)
Summary: After meeting his older self in Time Crash the Doctor has some time to wonder and worry.
Note: Congratulations, me! I have finally managed to write another story I can't stand at all!
The corridors of the TARDIS were deserted but didn’t seem empty. Her gentle humming filled the halls, travelled between walls that were white and carried bright light. The Doctor shuddered a little and drew his coat closer around himself, more relieved than he’d like to admit about being able to close it again.
Wandering slowly through his ship he lifted one hand, inspected the skin of its back, thoughtfully. It had been weird to see it so old and wrinkled. Unsettling. Of course he had had bodies that were old before but this one wasn’t meant to be old. Time Lords didn’t age and he had not been prepared to feel like that again during this regeneration. It had felt wrong.
He didn’t feel old, and was old enough to stop pretending that he did.
(“You know, I loved being you. Back when I first started, at the very beginning, I was always trying to be old and grumpy and important, like you do when you're young. And then I was you! And it was all dashing about and playing cricket and my voice going all squeaky when I shouted.”)
Around him it was silent except for the noise of the ship that was more felt than heard and his own heartbeats. The ground beneath his feet was solid, not made of grate. That other TARDIS, that older TARDIS had felt dark and claustrophobic and the Doctor wondered, while trying not to, what kind of man he would become, one day, to make it look like that, to think it fitting.
He tried very hard not to think about that. It made him nervous. (It was forbidden.)
There was no night on the TARDIS, and no day, but there was a time when his friends agreed to sleep and he was left alone with his thoughts. The Doctor felt both grateful for that and slightly lost. He didn’t want his mind to wander.
It didn’t, when he reached a certain door, looking exactly like any other door in the ship. Behind it Adric’s room had been, when he’d still needed one. The Doctor’s steps didn’t falter when he passed it. Now Turlough was sleeping in that room. It had been passed on, as it should be. Even Tegan had come back, had let it go. The Doctor carried his guilt in silence.
There had been no guilt in the eyes of the man he had met on the future of his TARDIS. Surprise at first, then humour, mischief, and glee. He’d seemed cheerful and happy and it worried the Doctor, made him fear whatever might be hidden beneath that smile.
It hadn’t been the first time the Doctor had met another version of himself. It was the second time it had happened in this regeneration alone, and knowing of the dangers he had always made sure that his younger selves would not get any information they should not yet have, had never tried too hard to gain the knowledge of those older than him. Still there had always been some kind of telepathic contact on a certain level - nothing conscious, nothing dangerous, just that feeling that he was not alone. An echo of his own feelings, reflected through time.
This time there had been nothing. He hadn’t recognized the boyish, skinny stranger as a future version of himself and even though, in retrospect, he had no doubt that the man was who he had claimed to be he had not felt like him. He’d felt like nothing, as if he wasn’t even there.
He’d closed himself off completely. Had shared nothing with him, not even that echo, and that alone was terrifying, to an extend. The Master would be back, he’d said, but that was not a surprise. (And some part of the Doctor was almost, but not quite, relieved, the way he was always almost, but not quite, relieved when he found out that the other Time Lord had evaded death once again.) Apart from that there had been no hint; not even traces, stray emotions travelling through the inevitable telepathic link without having been sent. That silence unnerved the Doctor even now. One day, in the far future, he would met himself and do his utmost to smile and babble and keep his secrets. And he dreaded the day he would find out what secrets that would be.
Even the TARDIS had felt alien and far away, and though it had still felt like his ship it had told him nothing.
The Doctor had no way of telling how many years would pass before he relived those events from the other perspective. It could happen in his very last life or in the next one but something told him that many, many years would pass in his personal timeline until that day. That other Doctor had felt too far away to be separated only by a few metres of distance.
But maybe that had been an illusion, caused by the lack of contact. Maybe he was just scared.
Maybe one day he would regenerate and find himself in that body, knowing that whatever was about to break him would happen before the next time he died. All he knew was that something would happen, and that it would change him and shape his life in a way he wouldn’t want himself to know about. One day it would, because it had - an inevitable shadow waiting for him somewhere down the road.
The dark eyed stranger had tried to protect himself from the knowledge of something he wouldn’t be able to change and still the Doctor had recognized behind his bright grin the sad smile of a man who’d lost everything. Had it been anyone else he would have felt pity; knowing with absolute certainty that one day it would be him in that position it unnerved him and a part of him wanted to forget all about this meeting, live his life in blissful ignorance for as long as he could. But he had to remember, because he knew he would. If he forgot the universe would be lost.
But he could push it back, and he would. Eventually he’d manage to occupy his mind with other things until one day his older self would rest in his memory only to resurface when something reminded him.
The future was written. Until then the Doctor would do what he always did: zooming around space and time, saving planets, fighting monsters, and being pretty sort of marvellous. And it would be all dashing about and playing cricket and his voice would go all squeaky when he shouted. Because somewhere in the future another man was still doing it. And the Doctor owed it to that man to make the most of the time he had before everything went to hell. For one day he might be broken and lonely in a cosmos that didn’t feel right, but he would still have his memories of this present, if nothing else.
March 1, 2008
Prompt: #013 - Tomorrow
Claim: The Time War
Table: Here
Spoilers: Time Crash
Characters: The Doctor (5)
Summary: After meeting his older self in Time Crash the Doctor has some time to wonder and worry.
Note: Congratulations, me! I have finally managed to write another story I can't stand at all!
The corridors of the TARDIS were deserted but didn’t seem empty. Her gentle humming filled the halls, travelled between walls that were white and carried bright light. The Doctor shuddered a little and drew his coat closer around himself, more relieved than he’d like to admit about being able to close it again.
Wandering slowly through his ship he lifted one hand, inspected the skin of its back, thoughtfully. It had been weird to see it so old and wrinkled. Unsettling. Of course he had had bodies that were old before but this one wasn’t meant to be old. Time Lords didn’t age and he had not been prepared to feel like that again during this regeneration. It had felt wrong.
He didn’t feel old, and was old enough to stop pretending that he did.
(“You know, I loved being you. Back when I first started, at the very beginning, I was always trying to be old and grumpy and important, like you do when you're young. And then I was you! And it was all dashing about and playing cricket and my voice going all squeaky when I shouted.”)
Around him it was silent except for the noise of the ship that was more felt than heard and his own heartbeats. The ground beneath his feet was solid, not made of grate. That other TARDIS, that older TARDIS had felt dark and claustrophobic and the Doctor wondered, while trying not to, what kind of man he would become, one day, to make it look like that, to think it fitting.
He tried very hard not to think about that. It made him nervous. (It was forbidden.)
There was no night on the TARDIS, and no day, but there was a time when his friends agreed to sleep and he was left alone with his thoughts. The Doctor felt both grateful for that and slightly lost. He didn’t want his mind to wander.
It didn’t, when he reached a certain door, looking exactly like any other door in the ship. Behind it Adric’s room had been, when he’d still needed one. The Doctor’s steps didn’t falter when he passed it. Now Turlough was sleeping in that room. It had been passed on, as it should be. Even Tegan had come back, had let it go. The Doctor carried his guilt in silence.
There had been no guilt in the eyes of the man he had met on the future of his TARDIS. Surprise at first, then humour, mischief, and glee. He’d seemed cheerful and happy and it worried the Doctor, made him fear whatever might be hidden beneath that smile.
It hadn’t been the first time the Doctor had met another version of himself. It was the second time it had happened in this regeneration alone, and knowing of the dangers he had always made sure that his younger selves would not get any information they should not yet have, had never tried too hard to gain the knowledge of those older than him. Still there had always been some kind of telepathic contact on a certain level - nothing conscious, nothing dangerous, just that feeling that he was not alone. An echo of his own feelings, reflected through time.
This time there had been nothing. He hadn’t recognized the boyish, skinny stranger as a future version of himself and even though, in retrospect, he had no doubt that the man was who he had claimed to be he had not felt like him. He’d felt like nothing, as if he wasn’t even there.
He’d closed himself off completely. Had shared nothing with him, not even that echo, and that alone was terrifying, to an extend. The Master would be back, he’d said, but that was not a surprise. (And some part of the Doctor was almost, but not quite, relieved, the way he was always almost, but not quite, relieved when he found out that the other Time Lord had evaded death once again.) Apart from that there had been no hint; not even traces, stray emotions travelling through the inevitable telepathic link without having been sent. That silence unnerved the Doctor even now. One day, in the far future, he would met himself and do his utmost to smile and babble and keep his secrets. And he dreaded the day he would find out what secrets that would be.
Even the TARDIS had felt alien and far away, and though it had still felt like his ship it had told him nothing.
The Doctor had no way of telling how many years would pass before he relived those events from the other perspective. It could happen in his very last life or in the next one but something told him that many, many years would pass in his personal timeline until that day. That other Doctor had felt too far away to be separated only by a few metres of distance.
But maybe that had been an illusion, caused by the lack of contact. Maybe he was just scared.
Maybe one day he would regenerate and find himself in that body, knowing that whatever was about to break him would happen before the next time he died. All he knew was that something would happen, and that it would change him and shape his life in a way he wouldn’t want himself to know about. One day it would, because it had - an inevitable shadow waiting for him somewhere down the road.
The dark eyed stranger had tried to protect himself from the knowledge of something he wouldn’t be able to change and still the Doctor had recognized behind his bright grin the sad smile of a man who’d lost everything. Had it been anyone else he would have felt pity; knowing with absolute certainty that one day it would be him in that position it unnerved him and a part of him wanted to forget all about this meeting, live his life in blissful ignorance for as long as he could. But he had to remember, because he knew he would. If he forgot the universe would be lost.
But he could push it back, and he would. Eventually he’d manage to occupy his mind with other things until one day his older self would rest in his memory only to resurface when something reminded him.
The future was written. Until then the Doctor would do what he always did: zooming around space and time, saving planets, fighting monsters, and being pretty sort of marvellous. And it would be all dashing about and playing cricket and his voice would go all squeaky when he shouted. Because somewhere in the future another man was still doing it. And the Doctor owed it to that man to make the most of the time he had before everything went to hell. For one day he might be broken and lonely in a cosmos that didn’t feel right, but he would still have his memories of this present, if nothing else.
March 1, 2008