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Jun. 30th, 2012 11:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladyofleithianTitle: Permanence and Remembrance
Summary: In which the Doctor can't sleep.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Prompt: Kidnapping.
Author's Notes: Yes, I'm aware of how much I'm stretching here. Hush. XD.
The Doctor wakes, feeling almost sick, about to vomit, from another one of those nightmares. He hates these nightmares -- about fire, and Toclafane, and so many other things, but at the same time, he can't quite get rid of it. He groans, rubbing his forehead almost as if hoping to vanquish the images of the Toclafane swarming down, of fire and blood, of people screaming in pain. He wants to get rid of the images of his old friend laughing, laughing like one possessed, and yet at the same time...
Growling to himself at how bloody useless he is at the whole idea of just getting to sleep for once (it's just odd to be able to wake up on the TARDIS, and not in that dog kennel. It's almost as if he's subconsciously missing the dog kennel, although he can't even see why. If anything, he can't imagine why he would miss it), he goes to the TARDIS study and begins to write.
Of all the recurring nightmares I have about the VALIANT, one of the most recurring ones is fire...
He continues to write from there, writing about his earliest memories of fire. Of the parallel universe burning. Of the Master burning. Of the Daleks attacking the Cruciform. And from there, he writes of Davros and his fleet heading into the jaws of the Nightmare Child, and the Time Lords' plans, and what he had to do if only to save the universe from Dalek and Timelord alike.
It's odd how, somehow, that one mention of the Time Lords goes back to the Master. He writes now of Professor Yana, and as he does, something in him aches. He still remembers sitting with Professor Yana, and toasting (in a sense) to the success of the Utopia project. He still remembers Chantho, sweet, gentle, brave Chantho, and how she died if only to stop Yana after he opened the watch. He writes it all down as he remembers it, and he writes about him attempting to cheer Yana about the Utopia project when the man seemed to have lost all hope.
Of all the disguises the Master has pulled over the years, he writes, This was the most convincing one. Especially considering that the Master all but believed it himself. Perhaps, like me when I became John Smith for a time, Yana was a reflection of what could have been. Or one of many possibilities for what could be. If not for the drums. His restlessness. His desire for power. His helpless love for the Time Lady Ailla. The sum of all of these.
He writes then of Ailla, and the Master's love, and his being driven to madness after seemingly killing her by mistake. He writes of Darkheart and the Hand of Justice, and Koschei's love. He writes of leaving Gallifrey never to return. He writes of Koschei's previous affection turning to hatred, and a vow to take vengeance on the Doctor. He writes of how leaving Koschei behind was all but leaving behind everything he ever wanted. He writes of red grass and how he and Koschei ran through it calling up at the sky. He writes of a shy, almost sad child wanting to do his father proud growing into a cocky, brash (if still aspiring to be responsible) teenager.
He writes of the group he joined -- including people such as Ushas -- and he writes of them too, but at the same time, Koschei sticks the most. He writes of Koschei's warm, vibrant grin and gentle, soft laughter, a stark contrast to how he was as the Master. A smile gone cold, eyes gone mad.
He writes of all of it. Finally, when he manages to stop at the beginning of the part about Torvic, he sighs in relief. There's just so much. Bottled in his head. And he loathes the Master, yet he can't help but love him.
It's when he returns to his room that he finds a gentle breeze caressing his hair. Even now, the Doctor cannot help but smile, slightly, through the sadness that haunts him.
The TARDIS knows. After all, she has had to deal with the Master as well.
Tenderly, he runs a hand alongside one of her walls. They're warm to the touch, but not unpleasantly so. The wind again gently caresses his hair, then his cheek, almost as if an invisible presence is reassuring him. //You'll be all right. You're safe with me.//
And he is. And yet even now, someplace, he's back on the VALIANT, watching the Earth fall victim to attack...
It's warm in the TARDIS however. So warm. And in the next room, he thinks he can hear Jack and Rose laughing at some joke only they understand. He can hear Martha and Lucy talking, and even now, somehow, the sounds soothe him. It's the sort of warmth, the sort of camaraderie, that even now, managed to get them through the worst of times on the VALIANT. Because they had each other, and that was enough.
The Doctor vainly wants to join them, but at the same time, he's so low on proper sleep, so worn, that he falls asleep before he even knows it, in the warm bed on the TARDIS, *home*. The TARDIS is his home.
He isn't sure his long it will take to recover from the VALIANT, but even now, he's sure writing about it may help, at least, to vocalize what he saw.
Summary: In which the Doctor can't sleep.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Prompt: Kidnapping.
Author's Notes: Yes, I'm aware of how much I'm stretching here. Hush. XD.
The Doctor wakes, feeling almost sick, about to vomit, from another one of those nightmares. He hates these nightmares -- about fire, and Toclafane, and so many other things, but at the same time, he can't quite get rid of it. He groans, rubbing his forehead almost as if hoping to vanquish the images of the Toclafane swarming down, of fire and blood, of people screaming in pain. He wants to get rid of the images of his old friend laughing, laughing like one possessed, and yet at the same time...
Growling to himself at how bloody useless he is at the whole idea of just getting to sleep for once (it's just odd to be able to wake up on the TARDIS, and not in that dog kennel. It's almost as if he's subconsciously missing the dog kennel, although he can't even see why. If anything, he can't imagine why he would miss it), he goes to the TARDIS study and begins to write.
Of all the recurring nightmares I have about the VALIANT, one of the most recurring ones is fire...
He continues to write from there, writing about his earliest memories of fire. Of the parallel universe burning. Of the Master burning. Of the Daleks attacking the Cruciform. And from there, he writes of Davros and his fleet heading into the jaws of the Nightmare Child, and the Time Lords' plans, and what he had to do if only to save the universe from Dalek and Timelord alike.
It's odd how, somehow, that one mention of the Time Lords goes back to the Master. He writes now of Professor Yana, and as he does, something in him aches. He still remembers sitting with Professor Yana, and toasting (in a sense) to the success of the Utopia project. He still remembers Chantho, sweet, gentle, brave Chantho, and how she died if only to stop Yana after he opened the watch. He writes it all down as he remembers it, and he writes about him attempting to cheer Yana about the Utopia project when the man seemed to have lost all hope.
Of all the disguises the Master has pulled over the years, he writes, This was the most convincing one. Especially considering that the Master all but believed it himself. Perhaps, like me when I became John Smith for a time, Yana was a reflection of what could have been. Or one of many possibilities for what could be. If not for the drums. His restlessness. His desire for power. His helpless love for the Time Lady Ailla. The sum of all of these.
He writes then of Ailla, and the Master's love, and his being driven to madness after seemingly killing her by mistake. He writes of Darkheart and the Hand of Justice, and Koschei's love. He writes of leaving Gallifrey never to return. He writes of Koschei's previous affection turning to hatred, and a vow to take vengeance on the Doctor. He writes of how leaving Koschei behind was all but leaving behind everything he ever wanted. He writes of red grass and how he and Koschei ran through it calling up at the sky. He writes of a shy, almost sad child wanting to do his father proud growing into a cocky, brash (if still aspiring to be responsible) teenager.
He writes of the group he joined -- including people such as Ushas -- and he writes of them too, but at the same time, Koschei sticks the most. He writes of Koschei's warm, vibrant grin and gentle, soft laughter, a stark contrast to how he was as the Master. A smile gone cold, eyes gone mad.
He writes of all of it. Finally, when he manages to stop at the beginning of the part about Torvic, he sighs in relief. There's just so much. Bottled in his head. And he loathes the Master, yet he can't help but love him.
It's when he returns to his room that he finds a gentle breeze caressing his hair. Even now, the Doctor cannot help but smile, slightly, through the sadness that haunts him.
The TARDIS knows. After all, she has had to deal with the Master as well.
Tenderly, he runs a hand alongside one of her walls. They're warm to the touch, but not unpleasantly so. The wind again gently caresses his hair, then his cheek, almost as if an invisible presence is reassuring him. //You'll be all right. You're safe with me.//
And he is. And yet even now, someplace, he's back on the VALIANT, watching the Earth fall victim to attack...
It's warm in the TARDIS however. So warm. And in the next room, he thinks he can hear Jack and Rose laughing at some joke only they understand. He can hear Martha and Lucy talking, and even now, somehow, the sounds soothe him. It's the sort of warmth, the sort of camaraderie, that even now, managed to get them through the worst of times on the VALIANT. Because they had each other, and that was enough.
The Doctor vainly wants to join them, but at the same time, he's so low on proper sleep, so worn, that he falls asleep before he even knows it, in the warm bed on the TARDIS, *home*. The TARDIS is his home.
He isn't sure his long it will take to recover from the VALIANT, but even now, he's sure writing about it may help, at least, to vocalize what he saw.
