Drabble: Clocks. (PG, Ten/Rose-ish, Regeneration.)
Monday, October 6th, 2008 09:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
orange_crushedClocks. PG-ish, vaguely Doctor/Rose. This is just a short, spacey, sad drabble about the possibilities of regeneration. Don't read if you're not feeling up to thoughts of Tennant leaving... ever. Heaven knows I'm not really up to it.
"We did it," the nice person tells him, feeling that this will somehow encourage everybody. "We did it, and the rockets are going up and they'll finally find us. You saved us. You can't die."
"You and what army ?" he asks, drunkenly.
Sometimes, it's a relief.
It's a relief because it hurts- it hurts it hurts it hurts and to his starring eyes the world is like thirty different worlds and all of them hurt- and he can't stop thinking about standing on the roof of the estate after Christmas and teaching her to swear in any alien tongue he could remember. Does she swear like that now, still- holding a kitchen knife and sucking her thumb and muttering t'klla t'ko under her breath like a crazy woman ? Does Donna still flirt with waiters ?
"Mister, are you hurt ?" someone asks him. "Can you move ?"
"I was at Pompeii," he says, to nobody. "I went to the mall- there were robots. Jack's got a dinosaur. Basement in Cardiff. I met Charles Dickens. He had a funny beard. Oh, there's so many places to die."
"You're not going to die," says that young voice, making itself heard again over the departing sound of rocket engines. "Don't you die."
He might really, this time. There's no telling what happens to the body of a time lord who's already split a great big chunk of himself off and given it as a gift to the only person who wouldn't be disgusted by something like that. Rassilon. He might really just die. He might really just turn into a big pile of sparkles or a corpse and oh by the beards of the founders, why is there a chunk of metal in his thigh ? The blood seeping into his pants is nice and warm. "Don't close your eyes," begs the young companion that he can't quite see anymore. There seems to be cotton wool over his eyes, filling his mouth. "We did it," the nice person tells him, feeling that this will somehow encourage everybody. "We did it, and the rockets are going up and they'll finally find us. You saved us. You can't die."
"You and what army ?" he asks, drunkenly.
He can feel his fingers curling up and that's alright, really, he's tired of these fingers. They were born to fit hers and never will again and that's an ugly, maudlin thing to face at the moment. He'd rather not. He'd rather think about clipping new fingernails that are funny-shaped and maybe even dirty. Martha would be disgusted with him- she always used to complain that he didn't wash his suits enough. Maybe he'll stop washing altogether, or take dust baths like a sparrow. Fun.
His eyes, quite of their own volition, begin to close. The TARDIS protests a little in his head. "Yes, I know, it's alright," he murmurs, in her direction. "I promise to be just as demonstrative in my next body."
She feels quite close.
I want you safe, my Doctor. The feeling drowns him and re-makes him and he'll live again, this time- and it has never left him, not really, not this sensation. Not since the awe and the flood and the time he saw inside the TARDIS, inside himself, inside everything. Inside her, her complex winding heart. It was like a clock, really, after all. There was time, endless time, and hands that met. I can see everything. What good sense it had all finally made. If only for a second between this one and the next.
That second is all there ever is.
"What's wrong with you ?" somebody yells, above him. "Stealing a dead man's wallet is still a crime !"
Sometimes, it's a relief.
"We did it," the nice person tells him, feeling that this will somehow encourage everybody. "We did it, and the rockets are going up and they'll finally find us. You saved us. You can't die."
"You and what army ?" he asks, drunkenly.
Sometimes, it's a relief.
It's a relief because it hurts- it hurts it hurts it hurts and to his starring eyes the world is like thirty different worlds and all of them hurt- and he can't stop thinking about standing on the roof of the estate after Christmas and teaching her to swear in any alien tongue he could remember. Does she swear like that now, still- holding a kitchen knife and sucking her thumb and muttering t'klla t'ko under her breath like a crazy woman ? Does Donna still flirt with waiters ?
"Mister, are you hurt ?" someone asks him. "Can you move ?"
"I was at Pompeii," he says, to nobody. "I went to the mall- there were robots. Jack's got a dinosaur. Basement in Cardiff. I met Charles Dickens. He had a funny beard. Oh, there's so many places to die."
"You're not going to die," says that young voice, making itself heard again over the departing sound of rocket engines. "Don't you die."
He might really, this time. There's no telling what happens to the body of a time lord who's already split a great big chunk of himself off and given it as a gift to the only person who wouldn't be disgusted by something like that. Rassilon. He might really just die. He might really just turn into a big pile of sparkles or a corpse and oh by the beards of the founders, why is there a chunk of metal in his thigh ? The blood seeping into his pants is nice and warm. "Don't close your eyes," begs the young companion that he can't quite see anymore. There seems to be cotton wool over his eyes, filling his mouth. "We did it," the nice person tells him, feeling that this will somehow encourage everybody. "We did it, and the rockets are going up and they'll finally find us. You saved us. You can't die."
"You and what army ?" he asks, drunkenly.
He can feel his fingers curling up and that's alright, really, he's tired of these fingers. They were born to fit hers and never will again and that's an ugly, maudlin thing to face at the moment. He'd rather not. He'd rather think about clipping new fingernails that are funny-shaped and maybe even dirty. Martha would be disgusted with him- she always used to complain that he didn't wash his suits enough. Maybe he'll stop washing altogether, or take dust baths like a sparrow. Fun.
His eyes, quite of their own volition, begin to close. The TARDIS protests a little in his head. "Yes, I know, it's alright," he murmurs, in her direction. "I promise to be just as demonstrative in my next body."
She feels quite close.
I want you safe, my Doctor. The feeling drowns him and re-makes him and he'll live again, this time- and it has never left him, not really, not this sensation. Not since the awe and the flood and the time he saw inside the TARDIS, inside himself, inside everything. Inside her, her complex winding heart. It was like a clock, really, after all. There was time, endless time, and hands that met. I can see everything. What good sense it had all finally made. If only for a second between this one and the next.
That second is all there ever is.
"What's wrong with you ?" somebody yells, above him. "Stealing a dead man's wallet is still a crime !"
Sometimes, it's a relief.
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no subject
Date: Tuesday, October 7th, 2008 02:40 am (UTC)OH MY GOOOOD
STOP THAT.
*cries*
Now Ten's regeneration is going to be EVEN SADDER FOR ME because he will probably be thinking about Rose won't he 'cause she was there last time and hnnnnn!!
Thank you thank you thank you, I was just craving a fic from you and there we go. That last long paragraph is so perfect, too. ♥ ♥
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Date: Thursday, October 9th, 2008 03:36 pm (UTC)AHHHHHHHHH. God, I know, why do I do this ? WHYYYY. It's just torture to think about regeneration, but I guess it's inevitable. All we can do is hope it goes well, when that time finally comes. ;)
Thanks, darling.
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Date: Tuesday, October 7th, 2008 02:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Thursday, October 9th, 2008 03:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Tuesday, October 7th, 2008 02:48 am (UTC)Anyway, I love this. The bit about his hands made for hers literally made me pause and like, take a breath. And the part about her complex winding heart...you just, you do me in man. And I love it.
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Date: Thursday, October 9th, 2008 03:39 pm (UTC)Aww, Rose's windy heart. Tis true. YOU SO KNOW THEY SLOW-DANCED TO "KILLING ME SOFTLY" IN THE CONSOLE ROOM AT LEAST ONCE.
SHOT THROUGH THE HEART (and you're to blame)
Date: Tuesday, January 11th, 2011 07:19 am (UTC)Pretty please???
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Date: Tuesday, October 7th, 2008 02:56 am (UTC)There's no telling what happens to the body of a time lord who's already split a great big chunk of himself off and given it as a gift to the only person who wouldn't be disgusted by something like that.
What good sense it had all finally made. If only for a second between this one and the next.
That second is all there ever is.
Beautifully written. Really.
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Date: Thursday, October 9th, 2008 03:40 pm (UTC)I'm very glad you enjoyed this.
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Date: Tuesday, October 7th, 2008 04:25 am (UTC)that's exactly where my eyes fogged up and needed to be cleared so i could finish. was so impatient with myself. didn't realize i was dying until the end. uuuuugh.
oh, it's all lovely, yes, but (and, okay, might be wrong here, but it's *my* reading and *my* interpretation and *my* broken heart) him being equal measures of pissed and scared he'll lose the feeling of Rose is just gut-punchingly good. and having to reassure the TARDIS that he'll do his best to come back -- and WTF THERE'S SHRAPNEL IN MY THIGH, HOLY FUCK.
yeah.
the things you think about when you're pretty sure this is the moment you're going to die.
i'm assuming that's Rose, or it could even be Donna, sliced her thumb open, all tomato seeds and red like you don't see in food, pissed and hissing in an alien language, sucking the wound and using the curse for the next week until she's tired the words out and the meaning mixes with all the others. and yet another moment of Donna we'll never be able to experience. didn't realize until she was gone that she wasn't just one big, broad personality, she was minute little important things that all measured up to Fucked Up Yay! and Serious Jesus Business all at the same time.
and that he can't have any of that back. and that when he comes back, he likely won't ever be the same spaz he was before. he'll flail the hands and they won't feel right, so he won't bother doing it again. shoes won't look right on the feet and we'll never see them again. might have some calm, reassuring presence that would simply never have fit the other ones and in this body it will just have to do. and maybe, one day, it will fit well in places that Ten didn't but (same as Nine for me) no matter how well it fits, it will not be the same and it will not be as full.
god, that's fucked. god, i wouldn't want that to happen.
fics like this that make me hate the River Song episode. i keep thinking, fuck if he gets to start looking older (more bitter?) than THIS-- well, i'm not sure i can HANDLE what's to come, in that case. he's got reality separating him from so much of what he loves on so many sides, it's a wonder he hasn't given up on coming back during a previous death. like his life is as precious as any little pest's, and yet is replaceable, and YET STILL is way the fuck more important than some entire groups of beings.
geeze. and if he kept going for so long that our feeling for Rose was almost completely forgotten or eclipsed by others? that
fucking feels goodhurts, man. oh, HELL. and MOAR. and i'll be in my CORNER, ignore the meep-ing.no subject
Date: Thursday, October 9th, 2008 03:47 pm (UTC)<3's the Doctor.
i keep thinking, fuck if he gets to start looking older (more bitter?) than THIS-- well, i'm not sure i can HANDLE what's to come, in that case.
That's exactly what her comment made me think. I mean, OMG, Tennant's already been playing him more world-weary and broken, I can't even imagine what he'd be like if he suffered much more than he already has. I really, really don't want Tennant to go- like, ever- but I do want the Doctor to be able to live a happy life, in whatever form he's in. I would rather that he gets a fresh start, in some ways, than see him get dragged down or changed into a character I no longer recognize.
Anyway- yeah. <3
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Date: Tuesday, October 7th, 2008 05:57 am (UTC)He might really, this time. There's no telling what happens to the body of a time lord who's already split a great big chunk of himself off and given it as a gift to the only person who wouldn't be disgusted by something like that.
This is a very interesting point; I hadn’t thought of it before. I also like the thought of him giving himself as a gift to Rose. Even with all of the issues involved, I do think that that’s what he was trying to do.
He can feel his fingers curling up and that's alright, really, he's tired of these fingers. They were born to fit hers and never will again and that's an ugly, maudlin thing to face at the moment. He'd rather not.
Yeah, this was the part that broke me. It’s so true and tragic and in-character, and his disjointed thoughts as he dies…of course he'd be thinking of her. Ten is so damaged, but now the outside matches the inside, and it kind of makes me want to cry.
Inside her, her complex winding heart. It was like a clock, really, after all. There was time, endless time, and hands that met.
What a gorgeous metaphor! Your descriptions always remind me of poetry. <3
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Date: Thursday, October 9th, 2008 03:51 pm (UTC)There's no higher praise ! Thank you so.
This is a very interesting point; I hadn’t thought of it before. I also like the thought of him giving himself as a gift to Rose. Even with all of the issues involved, I do think that that’s what he was trying to do.
Yeah, that's something that I've started to think about lately. Like you said, the whole emotional setup was so fraught- but he's clearly trying to do something good for her. Even Donna's line, something like "can't you see what he's trying to give you," made me look at it again.
Poor darling Ten. :)
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Date: Tuesday, October 7th, 2008 06:45 am (UTC)This is lovely, and heartbreaking, and sad, and... and... beautiful. You're amazing. ♥
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Date: Tuesday, October 7th, 2008 11:07 am (UTC)WIN.
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Date: Thursday, October 9th, 2008 03:52 pm (UTC)Thank you so, so much.
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Date: Thursday, October 9th, 2008 04:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Tuesday, October 7th, 2008 03:47 pm (UTC)Everytime you write, I feel like singing classic love songs to you.
There was time, endless time, and hands that met. I can see everything. What good sense it had all finally made. If only for a second between this one and the next.
This. Thisthisthisthisthis. This is what I fucking live for, right there. There was time, endless time, and hands that met, and there was me, trying not to cry my heart out in front of everyone in the library, and WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN LATELY, GOD, I HAVE MISSED YOUR FIC LIKE I MISS ROSE.
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Date: Thursday, October 9th, 2008 03:54 pm (UTC)Also, don't cry in the library ! Unless you are Alice in Wonderland, and then you can have a swimming race with adorable mice in all the tears.
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Date: Tuesday, October 7th, 2008 04:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Tuesday, October 7th, 2008 04:57 pm (UTC)Curses, that story was great.
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Date: Tuesday, October 7th, 2008 05:22 pm (UTC)Ah, this is amazing and sad and wonderful. I can completely picture the way his mind would ramble and you wrote it beautifully!
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Date: Tuesday, October 7th, 2008 06:15 pm (UTC)(Still, beautifully written...)
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Date: Tuesday, October 7th, 2008 06:28 pm (UTC)I will cry.
Will say more later when I'm not...you know, in class.
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Date: Wednesday, October 8th, 2008 07:38 pm (UTC)"I went to the mall- there were robots. Jack's got a dinosaur. Basement in Cardiff."
"You and what army ?" he asks, drunkenly.
Maybe he'll stop washing altogether, or take dust baths like a sparrow. Fun.
"What's wrong with you ?" somebody yells, above him. "Stealing a dead man's wallet is still a crime !"
BUT IN BETWEEN THAT, THERE WAS THIS:
It's a relief because it hurts- it hurts it hurts it hurts and to his starring eyes the world is like thirty different worlds and all of them hurt
He can feel his fingers curling up and that's alright, really, he's tired of these fingers. They were born to fit hers and never will again and that's an ugly, maudlin thing to face at the moment. He'd rather not.
and it has never left him, not really, not this sensation.
Inside her, her complex winding heart. It was like a clock, really, after all. There was time, endless time, and hands that met. I can see everything. What good sense it had all finally made. If only for a second between this one and the next.
That second is all there ever is.
And now I just don't know what to do with myself. And I just love, and I totally believe, that he would be thinking about her, that beautiful little Earthling shopgirl he fell so in love with, as he regenerates. When did I become that fangirl? The one who believes that Rose is, now and forever, his true love? I didn't used to be like that. But I totally am now, and I'm fairly sure you're somewhat to blame.
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Date: Tuesday, October 7th, 2008 09:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Tuesday, October 7th, 2008 10:46 pm (UTC)It's beautiful and heartbreaking and so exquisitely perfect, and it's made me cry.
Thank you for sharing.
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Date: Tuesday, October 7th, 2008 10:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Tuesday, October 7th, 2008 11:00 pm (UTC)and I got to agree with anyone who pointed at a part of this story and went "this! this right here! was was did it." because there is not a part of this piece that I didn't go "oh, wow." though very possibly the hand thing especially.
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Date: Wednesday, October 8th, 2008 02:42 am (UTC)Your narrative is gorgeous, of course...
- it hurts it hurts it hurts and to his starring eyes the world is like thirty different worlds and all of them hurt-
...But it's the dialogue that kills me. It's placed so perfectly, and the characterization is just spot on. It's insanity.
"I went to the mall- there were robots. Jack's got a dinosaur. Basement in Cardiff. I met Charles Dickens. He had a funny beard. Oh, there's so many places to die."
"You and what army ?" he asks, drunkenly.
"Yes, I know, it's alright," he murmurs, in her direction. "I promise to be just as demonstrative in my next body."
Just brilliant. Your fic always brightens my day, despite the melancholy. Or actually, I think the melancholy might be what I like about it. Yes, thank you for restoring the angst to this fandom, that's always what I've loved about it anyway! ...In any case, thank you for writing. ♥
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Date: Wednesday, October 8th, 2008 06:43 am (UTC)(That was beautiful, btw.)
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Date: Wednesday, October 8th, 2008 08:51 am (UTC)Also love: There's no telling what happens to the body of a time lord who's already split a great big chunk of himself off and given it as a gift to the only person who wouldn't be disgusted by something like that. Rassilon.
*sighs*
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Date: Wednesday, October 8th, 2008 11:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Friday, October 10th, 2008 07:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Monday, October 13th, 2008 04:13 am (UTC)