thecricketer | Entries tagged with oncoming storms

It's a cosy enough mind, I suppose.

It can't hope to truly contain me – she's only human, after all, and a very young one at that – but she does give it a good try. She fumbles, of course, but so do we all.

Really, my greatest complain is that she can't seem to write anything happy. Bittersweet, certainly, but purely cheerful? Oh, no, not in over a year of knowing me. It's distinctly unfair, really. (Well, except for that birthday part Peri and Erimem threw, but she thinks that one's a bit rubbish. Typical.)

Aside from that, she does rather well – checks her facts, rewatches my stories. She really does love them, and my companions, and the rest of my incarnations. I'd shudder to think what she'd do if she didn't, considering. (Did you know she had me murdered in one universe? I'll come back, yes, but the principle of the matter!)

Sometimes I get a bit neglected, in favour of others, but the break is usually appreciated. Most of them are lovely company.

In fact, I'm due to have tea with Remus and Simon, so I'll be off, if you don't mind. I'll be sure to answer any questions once I return.

Time Lords don't have graveyards, as such.

The idea of a field of decomposing bodies doesn't suit them at all, and the suggestion will, at best, receive a scoff.

They do, however, have a great hall of monuments to the dead.

The last time the Doctor was here, he was wracked by grief and uncertainty, and it was only a small, trembling hand that could pull him away into rekindled dreams.

"I'm ready, grandfather. We must go."

"Yes. Yes, of course, my dear."

He never thought he'd return.

Now he stands before it, saviour (tool) of Gallifrey, slayer (murderer) of Omega, favoured (tolerated) renegade, and feels distinctly out of place.

"I must say, Doctor, I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

Surprise, suspicion, in his old teacher's eyes.

"Nor I you, but I assure you, it's a personal visit."

A softening of voice and gaze.

"I see."

A moment of silence, stretching between them until it's ready to break.

"As President of Gallifrey, I order you to do whatever you like, provided you don't stir up trouble."

A wry smile from the wayward student.

"Me? Never."

It's a grand building, of course. Bigger on the inside, naturally, but the exterior is nothing to dismiss. No, the elegant spires sore above his head, the walls gleam in the amber sunlight, the doors are great and sturdy beneath his touch. Impenetrable, but to those with lost companions within.

They open for him, of course, and he suddenly feels very small indeed in his battered coat and alien trimmings.

They're here, somewhere. The family he failed, the pieces of him forever lost, the kin that sleep in his mind.

Oh, how he'd fought to give them that last honour, acceptance in death if nowhere else.

"You expect us to allow – "

"Yes, I do, and if you plan to argue with me we shall be here a very, very long time."

"She couldn't even manage to – "

"Oh, I wouldn't finish that sentence, Castellan."

He will fight for Hedin, soon. He would fight for Koschei. One day, he may fight for Susan.

He has as much right to be here as anyone, so why can't he bring himself to take those first steps?

"You're not the same man mother loved."

"Of course I'm not! Your mother is dead!"

Her sobs still echo in his mind, though her features have faded.

Everything has faded. Centuries and lives and eras have passed, and will continue to pass.

He doesn't belong here anymore, and as he turns away, he whispers one last goodbye.

Someone who has changed my life.

I could list them all, you know. From Susan to Erimem. That would be either very long or very dull, however, and it wouldn't cover everyone anyway. There are the people I knew as a child, the people whose presence was only fleeting.

After Gallifrey, of course, Barbara had the most impact. She changed my life by changing me – without her influence I certainly wouldn't be the man I am today, perhaps nowhere near.

Susan, of course, had a part in that as well, and Ian, but Barbara was the one who challenged me the most, who reminded me of the person I once wanted to be.

Before that, before I ran away, it was Koschei.

I can admit that. We were best friends, after all. We pushed each other into being something greater than we were, into striving for something more. I'll be the first to admit that we had troubles, that the relationship wasn't always beneficial – that I wasn't always a very good friend.

There are, of course, things I would have done differently – not simply because of how it all turned out, but because he deserved better. Some things I wish he had done differently.

I wouldn't take it back.

No. No, that's not true. If I knew, with certainty, that without me his life would have been better, that he wouldn't have become who he did, then I would.

It's all of it moot, of course, and regardless, I can't say I regret having known him.

"Doubt is not a pleasant condition, but certainty is absurd." –Voltaire

He's sitting in his bed, leaning wearily against the headboard. It is one of those few times he truly needs sleep, but it won't come to him. Old images bite at closed eyes, leaving the darkness too raw to soothe; old words sting his mind and chase dreams away.

The Doctor knows that his life is never certain.

It has been proven, again and again, that everything changes; his appearance, his mind, his hopes, his beliefs, his friends. A constant state of flux - and he wouldn't know how else to live. A wry, hidden smile curves his lips.

He knows how to say goodbye. He's done it so many times over the centuries, and sometimes it was perfectly all right, if wistful. Sometimes it was time, and they were both content with fond memories. They would miss each other, on occasion, but they would go on.

Then there were times when it was dreadfully painful, because his friends were torn from him, mercilessly, utterly.

"I'll never forget you, you know."

Times when it was bittersweet, because he waited too long to do, to say something that would have made all the difference.

"In a funny way, he reminds me of a sort of... younger you."

Times when it stung horribly because he couldn't shield them from the horrors of the universe; couldn't stop them overshadowing the wonders.

"It's just I don't think I can go on."

Times when he couldn't…

He tenses, because he doesn't want to think about that, not now. He doesn't want to think about Katarina or Sara or Adric, of sacrifices he never wanted to make. It is always a possibility, even now…

A deep breath, and he pulls himself back to his train of thought, such as it is.

The point of it all is that anything could happen, at any time at all, and in a blink he would lose his best friend.

A shudder, then, just slight, hardly perceptible even to him.

Promising eternity isn't fair. Certainty of anything is absurd.

He swallows, eyes opening for the first time since he whispered good night. He isn't alone in his bed; this distant place, with walls the colour of morning and shelves cluttered with his past, is shared with two, both pressed close to his side.

The problem is that he has promised. He has, despite everything, vowed never to let them go.

His gaze is tender as he reaches out, caressing a warm cheek, brushing the curls from his eyes; then it turns, and he's stroking auburn hair, the touch gentle, almost reverent.

The problem is that he can't bear the thought of losing them to anything, and if he does he fears he would fall apart at the seams.

So many centuries of not allowing himself this intimacy, and now that he has, for that to be taken from him as well…

There is, quite suddenly, a change in his demeanour. His eyes are harder, back straighter, lips a thin, determined line. He looks, in the darkness, like the ancient renegade he is.

No.

No, he won't allow it, no matter what came to pass. Time, Death or Pain, none will separate them, not this time. He is the Doctor, and he does not give up, he does not yield.

Not this time.

Slowly, he relaxes, content in that silent vow, in a resolute confidence that's saved hundreds of lives.

Careful not to disturb them, he lowered, slid himself beneath the covers, rests his head. His hands slide down and find theirs, and he clutches them loosely.

Certainty is absurd. He'll hold on to it anyway.

When the Doctor returned to Terminus, he expected to find Nyssa in one of its many laboratories, hard at work on perfecting a cure, or perhaps sitting beside a patient, clasping their hand and speaking gentle, sensible reassurance.

It was a very different place, he realised it the moment he stepped from his TARDIS into one of the winding corridors; it gleamed, but more than that, the distant voices held hope and determination, not despair or resignation. His steps echoed on the pristine floor as he wandered, occasionally happening upon a visitor. Terminus seemed to have proper rooms for patients now, and their families and friends had full access.

When he asked these strangers if they knew Nyssa, they would give him a strange look, and sometimes laughed. He took this to mean they didn't, and walked on, looking through the many doors as discreetly as possible. He found no trace of her until he found his way into the reception hall. He wasn't entirely sure what it had been once, but now it was bustling with concerned relatives, with the newly ill who were quickly taken away – for their safety and those of everyone around them.

It was a moment before he saw it. The flawless sculpture dominated the wall farthest from him, and he hurried forward, as quickly as he could without pushing anyone aside.

Her face was level with his, framed with delicately rendered curls that fell to shoulders covered in an elegant, modest gown.

She was as beautiful as marble as she had been in life.

He felt rather numb as he knelt to read the plaque she stood on, fingers tracing the words as his chest began to ache.

NYSSA OF TRAKEN

Saviour of Terminus

"There used to be more." The Doctor started, and looked up – an elderly man, one of the nurses it seemed, was looking down at him with an odd expression on his face; something like resigned mourning.

"Did there?" His voice sounded empty to his ears.

"Yes, but it was thin, shallow, faded away eventually." He knelt beside the Doctor, fingers ghosting over the marble much like his had done. There was reverence in his touch.

"This should never break, because of what they used, but…words can fade." He sighed, shaking his head.

"We never did understand what it meant. Who she was talking to." The Doctor stared at him, and the man must have seen the desperate yearning in his eyes because he went on, voice hushed as though for a funeral.

"'I told you I was indestructible.'"

Current Mood: Bereaved

It is perilous, and rash, what he's planned, but he cannot ignore what should not be allowed to go on, and neither can she. They tear open a veil in the stars, and become the hunters and the hunted.

One thing, at least, is familiar.

Running through corridors.

Running through corridors with a hand clasped tightly in his.

Running through corridors with a hand clasped tightly in his as streaks of lethal light shatter the corner behind them.

EX-TER-MIN-ATE!

Yet she has as much endurance as he, and there is a double pulse beating frantically against his fingers, and she knows them just as well.

EX-TER-MIN-ATE!

They share their strength, and their hatred, and their hope; their eyes burn, twin suns that have been dead forever.

EX-TER-MIN-ATE!

It is enough for them to survive. It is enough for them to hide in this labyrinth torn long ago from Time and Space, and to plan together in the dark.

When it is over, they are burnt, and worn, and swathed in the acrid flesh of mutants.

When it is over, they embrace.

He knew this was coming.

She lingers at the inner door for a moment before walking towards the console, where he was fixing something he allowed to stay broken for this very purpose. She waits, patiently, for him to straighten, for him to look at her.

It has been several days, or the nearest equivalent. They've saved the world since then, and brought Tegan home. Their makeshift family has been whittled down to two, and now he must tell her why.

"The first rule of Time travel, the most important rule," he begins, and he's staring right at her but he can't bear to actually look at her, "is that one cannot interfere with their own past." His hand tightens around a tool older than them both, enough to hurt, enough to leave a mark.

Her gaze is sad, and gentle, and it inflicts a far deeper wound.

"If I...if I were to be tempted...the consequences…" He's not used to this. He's not used to stumbling over words and falling into silence.

"I wish I could," he says, finally, and the words are fervent.

"You must know that, I just – "

"Doctor." The word is soft, but firm, and she steps closer and rests her hand on his where it grips the console.

"I wanted to say that I understand." His eyes widen, and then close, and his arm wraps around her and pulls her close.

It is an awkward embrace, in the way walking is awkward for those just learning, but she returns it, and they are no longer alone in their grief.

Current Mood: guilty

I will remember this moment, forever.

I will remember the distant steel bursting silently into flame as it approaches the Earth, christening a new dawn with the death of a child.

I will remember the tears they shed, the accusations in their eyes, the trembling of their words.

I will remember the feel of shattered brilliance piercing my palm and falling with my blood.

I will remember feeling utterly, uselessly helpless.

I remember so that it will never happen again.

I will remember this moment, forever.

I will remember the quiet determination on her features, and knowing then that I could not change her path.

I will remember the chaste feel of her lips on my skin, a silent goodbye imprinted in my senses.

I will remember those words, harbinger of the image of her vacant body, giving all it could give and dying alone.

I will remember feeling utterly, uselessly helpless.

I remember so that it never happens again.

I will remember this moment, forever.

I will remember the fierce obstinacy in her eyes, so familiar, so much more infuriating than usual.

I will remember the sound of her laughter, the fond words as she says goodbye, the feel of her embrace.

I will remember gazing at her and knowing that I could fix it, and being unable

I will remember feeling utterly, uselessly helpless.

I remember, long after I die as well.

Current Mood: melancholy

"Doctor. When you travel, what do you look for?"

"That's easy. I explore possibilities. I look for things I could never imagine. I want to know how they work and perhaps help them work better."

"And do you share that?"

"With my companions, yes. Some people call it meddling. Others actually thank me for it. It all depends on what side they're on."

"Doctor. I could be more than just a companion."

- Loups-Garoux

This wasn't supposed to happen.

I tend to say that a great deal, particularly, it seems, in this incarnation. Usually it's accompanied by bloodshed or explosions.

I've more experience with broken bodies than broken hearts.

There is a death toll here as well, however.

( I was, of course, walking with wolves. )

She was not supposed to fall in love with me. I was not supposed to wish, for however briefly, that I could stay.

Peri?

(everything is stopping, he can feel all he needs to live slowing down, grinding to a halt and it might not start anew, he doesn't know)

Peri, you must listen, I don't have much Time…

(Time is slow and he can still see her face, pale with dread and drawn with exhaustion, still young)

I know you're scared.

(so is he, the darkness bites at his vision but he can't let it not yet not yet, he needs to finish, doesn't matter if she can't hear)

I know you're still grieving.

(so is he, everyone dies, and so does he and he can't leave her alone, not her too)

No matter what happens…

(he can't see her anymore, replaced by visions of his past, cherished memories pressing him into new life)

I need this one thing from you.

(never forget, stay strong, don't give up, keep your compassion, don't let this break you, remember remember remember)

Live.

Current Mood: drained

"Doctor, why do you wear a stick of celery on your lapel?" He glanced over at Erimem with a faint smile on his lips, pulling his hand from beneath the console.

He could tell her that it's a powerful restorative, that he can't afford to walk about without one, not when his friends were with him.

He could tell her that it was the first sign of something familiar through new eyes in a fabricated world.

He could tell her that it was another small, private rebellion against conventions.

He could tell her that, sometimes, something silly, something odd, gave him just enough seconds to save a life.

"Just my little fashion statement, Erimem."

He is not a Lord when the Doctor meets him. He is a young musician playing his violin on a street corner, lost in classical music amid the rotting streets and the scornful orphans.

The Doctor almost walks past him, but he cannot, and he stops, and listens as the song comes to a mournful end.

They talk. His compliments are sincere, and they talk of music and philosophy and what's wrong with the universe.

"Have you ever wanted to change the world, Darzil?"

"I can't say I have. What's the point? I'm only a musician, and honestly, I'm fine with that."

The Doctor smiles, a sad, resigned smile that the other man won't understand for a long time.

"It's a fine calling, but I think you have another."

It is the first war they will end together, an efficient bloodbath run by apathetic aristocrats.

The Doctor slams his hand on the polished desk as the new negotiator nervously looks on, wondering why he's here at all.

"There is no such thing as an acceptable loss."

"These people died fighting for freedom – "

"They died in a futile battle so you could prove your patriotism!"

When the Doctor slams the door behind him, Darzil glances at him dubiously.

"Shouldn't you be a bit more…diplomatic?"

He smiles then, a light smile.

"Oh, Darzil, that's your job."

Lord Carlisle is renowned on countless worlds, a beacon of peace and civility. He is not what people believe he is but he has always retained the determined compassion of a musician.

He is also a fine speaker when he knows what to say.

"It takes both sides to end a war. I need the cooperation of all of you to end this bloodshed, to save your families and lovers and friends. Please, help me stop this violence and lead this world to what it should have been!"

The Doctor meets him on his way out of the council, grinning and applauding. Lord Carlisle is buoyant with relief, and it's entirely too endearing.

They have settled an ancient conflict on Solis Pass.

Their thirty-sixth triumph.

The Doctor stands in front of his TARDIS, gazing at the man he's plucked from a simpler life. He's confided in him more than he ever meant to, laughed with him, fought with him.

He would never see him again.

"You are my best friend, Darzil."

He cannot change what is to come. One more lost companion, one more sacrifice to the Web of Time.

There is no such thing as an acceptable loss.

"Do not judge a book by its cover."

"Things are not always as they seem."

"Appearances are often deceiving."

These mantras persevere in some form for generations on many a planet, and yet so few listen to them.

Look at me, for instance. What do you see?

You see youth, and innocence.

You see passivity, and fragility.

You see always the man who holds his friend's hand, and never the man who has burned another to death.

That is why you always lose.

I have seen more death than you can possibly imagine, lived more lives than you can dream.

I am a tired renegade, a bitter exile, a disillusioned meddler. I will not stand for your cruelty, your corruption, your oppression.

You would do well to know this, but I will never tell you.

I have encountered my fair share of mindless beasts. I don't mind them really, but for the carnage they cause – they brew excitement, quick thinking, courage. They allow people to realise their full potential, to find that within themselves that they never would have expected.

It is not their fault, in the end; they do not, can not realise the misery and devastation they leave behind. Creatures like Drashigs and Mandrels and Myrkas do not have the capacity for mercy, for compassion, for remorse. They do only what they must to survive, if they've any free will at all.

As fearsome and dangerous as they may be, they are not chilling. They do not threaten your ideals, your hopes, your convictions.

The scariest monsters are those who choose to be.

"We need help, Doctor." Peri's voice trembled, only slightly. Erimem's head turned feverishly in her lap; she held a wet cloth against her forehead that the Doctor had soaked in a stream reflecting a red sun.

He nodded absently, focused on creating a fire with unfamiliar kindling. He didn't even know what kind of smoke signals there were here, if they were even recognised as such, but he had to try.

They were in a clearing, full of pale grass that turned to sparse shades in the gloomy night. They'd been running before Erimem collapsed, and it was daylight when the Doctor carried her here, Peri alert and anxious at his side.

They were both tired, hungry, worried out of their minds. If they were found it might well be by the wrong people.

They couldn't take the chance of waiting until morning, of resting and recovering. He didn't know what was wrong, how serious it was, how fast it worked.

He worked in relative silence for a time, punctured only by clashing wood and ghostly wind and deep breaths.

"Doctor, I know you don't like guns but I did manage to grab this thing and–"

"I'll show you the stun setting," he murmured.

"...Right. Good. When?"

"When I get this fire going!" he shouted, turning to glare at her before his expression softened.

"I'm...sorry, Peri." She swallowed, and nodded, and took one of his hands.

"We'll be okay. She'll...she'll be okay." He offered a faint, assuring smile and set back to work.

"I trust you," a hopeful whisper on the fretful wind, and he could only hope it wasn't misplaced.

Current Mood: distressed

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The Doctor | Doctor Who

April 2013

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Page Summary

OS - Muse, Introduce Your Mun
OS Prompt 39.3 - Return
Oncoming Storms - Prompt 30 - 3
OS Prompt 1.15 - Certainty is Absurd
OS Prompt 1.12 - Time and Tide Wait For No Man
OS Prompt 1.11 - Running in corridors
OS Prompt 1.10 - The first rule is...
OS Prompt 1.9: I will remember this moment, forever.
OS Prompt 1.9: This wasn't supposed to happen.
OS Prompt 1.8 - I need this one thing from you.
OS Prompt 1.7 - My fashion statement...
OS 1.6 - Acceptable Losses
OS Prompt 1.5 - Appearances Can Be Deceiving...
OS Prompt 1.4 - Scary Monsters
Oncoming Storms Prompt 2 - Distress Signal

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Small, Beautiful Events

Entries tagged with oncoming storms

OS - Muse, Introduce Your Mun

OS Prompt 39.3 - Return

Oncoming Storms - Prompt 30 - 3

OS Prompt 1.15 - Certainty is Absurd

OS Prompt 1.12 - Time and Tide Wait For No Man

OS Prompt 1.11 - Running in corridors

OS Prompt 1.10 - The first rule is...

OS Prompt 1.9: I will remember this moment, forever.

OS Prompt 1.9: This wasn't supposed to happen.

OS Prompt 1.8 - I need this one thing from you.

OS Prompt 1.7 - My fashion statement...

OS 1.6 - Acceptable Losses

OS Prompt 1.5 - Appearances Can Be Deceiving...

OS Prompt 1.4 - Scary Monsters

Oncoming Storms Prompt 2 - Distress Signal