The Doctor

The DoctorDonna || John Smith - Donna - The Doctor

'I must be insane', Donna thought, because she was actually buying what she was being told. She was being abducted and still she dared to believe them! Come on! What had just happened to the reasonable Donna? Perhaps they weren’t even martians at all. What if this was something like what the americans did with the first expedition to the moon? What if she was only standing in some sort of movie set and this two idiots were just about to do something worse than just kidnapping her?

For once, she allowed them both to explain themselves before thinking of what to say, her suspicious eyes alternating glances between the one in front of her and the one at the console. “I don’t trust you. In fact, I don’t like you.” She confessed at last, but this was not for the both of them, just to the one who seemed to hide from her. Really? She was the one lost in here and still he thought it was better to hide from her? For an instant, she got worried for those memories of her they claimed to have. Could be something in there that made her actually dangerous in some way?

"As for you… I’ll let you know." She pointed at the taller one at this before crossing her arms, glancing at the both of them once again. "Fine, you’ve kidnapped me already. Don’t you have manners? You could at least offer me a seat."

Fortunately, the TARDIS seemed to be working quickly enough. Good on the old girl, she never let them down. He nearly groaned when the Doctor directed his words at him rather than Donna - surely talking over her head wasn’t going to go down well. And “’wizard’ and all that jazz”? Blimey, wasn’t that just the most helpful thing.

He smiled in a manner that he hoped lent credence to the alleged truthworthiness of his face, but restrained himself from further outbursts. “Oh, don’t say that!” he said quickly, when Donna pointed The Finger of Doom at the Doctor, along with the declaration that she didn’t like him. “He’s great once you get to know him. Very nice. Dubious taste in fashion, but, you know, that’s just a little quirk to cover up the hearts— um. Heart of gold.”

"So, as we were saying," he continued, stalling for time. "I sort of met you by accident. Back in, uh—" ‘outerspace’ did not seem like the wisest thing to say. He swiftly bypassed the issue. "It was your wedding day, actually. You’d gotten a bit lost and needed a cab, and well, I gave you a lift." Loosely. In a very technical sort of way. "Except that we took a bit of a wrong turn, and ended up missing the wedding entirely. Still, got there in time for the reception. Which was why you never ended up actually married to Lance, in the end. Which turned out to be a good thing, because he was really only trying to use you."

"Right!" he yelped, when Donna mentioned manners. "Seat, yes, of course. There’s … the pantry. Fancy a cuppa?" He glanced at the Doctor, wondering if it was safe to step out of the console room, and hoping that the TARDIS hadn’t rearranged her interior too much. It would be terrible if he were to, for instance, lead Donna right into the engine room with the eye of harmony crackily merrily overhead. All the smooth talking in the world probably wouldn’t stop her from flipping out there and then.

The Doctor's genuine smile of reassurance towards Donna faded when she said those words to him. I don't trust you. In fact, I don't like you.

Those were amongst some of the worst words he'd ever had a former companion speak to him. He was stunned that Donna -- clever Donna Noble -- would look at him with dislike, even if without recognition. His eyes flickered from her to the Metacrisis Doctor, then dropped down completely to watch the progress on the console with a quietly voiced acknowledgment. "Right." At least she was responded well to that other face. He listened while keeping focused on the TARDIS' readings. It wasn't that he needed to keep an eye on it, since the ship would do that for him, but the Doctor found it suddenly quite labourious to watch them talking. John Smith's praising words filtered through yet didn't penetrate into his brain. He'd got himself stuck on those words from Donna. It had struck a nerve he'd thought fully healed. There had been many failures on his part when it came to those who trusted him, both recent and in distant years. The cycling of his Regenerations had brought them close to his memory again. Those he had not done right by. Those who had died because of him. Katarina and Sara Kingdom and Adric. Gallifrey -- no, but that hadn't been destroyed. He needed to remind himself of that. But would Gallifrey have ever been in its situation without his interference? Rory and Amy and Clara. Jack, Rose, Martha, Donna. All let down somehow. The Doctor roused himself when the Metacrisis Doctor mentioned the pantry. He gestured, a small motion, to indicate an affirmative to that questioning glance. "You both go on ahead. She's about got this all tied up. I'll meet you there."

#para: the doctordonna

Points of Intersection || The Doctor and John Smith

"I was actually meaning to ask how long it’s been since we last met, but … that’s alright. I can work backwards." He ventured a smile. "Blimey. It’s been a while for you, then."

Three hundred years, in fact. It seemed a bit strange that this, rather than being separated from the Time Lord by an entire universe, was the thing that finally made him realise - truly realise, not just intellectually - that his path was well and truly separated from the Doctor’s. On the other hand, maybe it wasn’t strange at all - he’d always been better at thinking in terms of relative temporal distance rather than spatial distance.

Still. He was suddenly cognisant of the fact that this wasn’t just a case of running into a future incarnation and all his days to come; those were years he was never going to live, things that he was never going to see. What was truly surprising, to him at least, was the realisation that he didn’t mind. He’d had a glimpse of where the Doctor’s path would take him, to a distant, uncertain future past his designated regeneration cycle, and he had no particular desire to tread that path himself. No, the remaining years this body had were his alone, his own adventure, his book of unwritten days, bursting with potential.

An adventure that he now had a chance to have with someone who knew him better than anyone else in two universes. Three, if you counted this one. The thought was, frankly, a little mind-boggling.

He could hear the humming of the TARDIS from where he’d rested his head against the wall, and it brought a smile to his face. “If you’d even thought of junking the old girl once you got back to Gallifrey, I swear I’d have to hunt you down and give you a good thumping. Oh, and steal her off you.”

The Doctor’s next words, however - made his eyes go wide. He lost the smile as his mind simply went blank for a moment, staring and utterly floored as the Doctor hunted in his pocket for—

—he’s serious. He’s actually serious—

—a key; and not just any key.

His eyes snapped from the tiny sliver of metal in the Doctor’s palm, to the Time Lord’s face. He read in the other’s gaze a hint of - hopefulness? Eagerness? As though there was any chance whatsoever that John wouldn’t jump at the chance to have a key to the TARDIS? A key to a place he’d called home for so many centuries?

Almost reverently - no, no almost about it - he lifted the key gently from the Doctor’s hand, holding it up for a moment and just staring at it. “Not fair at all, I’d say,” he murmured, almost dazed. Then, springing to sudden life, he wrapped his arms around the Time Lord, dragging him into a massive hug, laughing and trying to pretend that the stinging in his eyes was nothing. “If I want it?” he exclaimed. “As though that was ever in doubt?! Blimey, it’s only been two years for me, I haven’t changed that much.”

#para: points of intersection

"It has been a while, yes. And you're so young." The Doctor puffed out a breath, working over the numbers in his head, trying not to let them press onto him like a weight. Those years, those centuries. If he wasn't careful, Time would catch him unawares, and if he did not remain its Master, then it would master him, and the Doctor didn't want to contemplate what he would be like if all of that lived time finally caught up. "Two years old? Such a strapping young tot you are. Completely housebroken and everything. I'm proud." He chuckled quietly at John's threats. Never in another twelve hundred years would he consider ever being rid of the TARDIS. She was tied to him, in his veins and part of his DNA, locked together for the rest of Time. Or at least for as long as Time gave them to remain together. It also still felt bizarrely bittersweet to hear such words as /when you get back to Gallifrey/. This was not the end of his timeline -- the emergence of another Regeneration hinted as much -- yet he still wanted to set eyes upon that orange sky, see the reflection of light on silvery leaves, and watch another Gallifreyan dawn set it all ablaze with the illusion of fire. Given the fact that he was stuck here, there wasn't much chance of that happening. What he feared most, in both of his fearful hearts, was that his Time would run out before he was able to escape. This was not where he had envisioned going. The Fields of Trenzalore would just have to be disappointed. Or satisfied with an alternate. "I'll not junk her. Never, ever. If I have to build a house around her so she'll fit, then I will. Then we'll spend many nights together in front of a fire, both snug and cozy." John's reaction to his offering of that key was just as he'd hoped. He didn't expect the sudden embrace from the other man, yet once he had recovered from the initial shock, returned it easily. The Doctor's arms curled around him, feeling the shape of that familiar figure in his arms, so strange to be on the outside of it. If he could give his past regeneration hugs, he would. "Good! I'm glad. You'll probably get more use out of her than I've been getting. With all these faces trying to run the show, I barely have room to even speak to her. I think she's begun doing what she can to help. When I'm in here it's not as frequently that I'm changing." The Doctor couldn't resist further extending that affection with a ruffling of John's hair. He smiled warmly at the other man, looking so very much like a mirror into the past, especially in the fit of that jacket. Getting his hair ruffled would have bothered him. Did John harbour the same sensitivity with it? "I'm.. sorry. I haven't been very clever with getting us all out of here. Maybe I'm losing my touch. That might be why the TARDIS brought me here. Perhaps she decided that I've reached the age of retirement. You don't think it could be that, do you? Have I been put out to pasture?"

ROOOSSSEEE

Don’t shout things like that when I’m vulnerable. Goodness. I might have broken something.

The Doctor Who Waited — Amy/Eleven

xmeliawilliams-blog

Amy paled at the mention of Rory and death in the same sentence. Normally, she would understand what the Doctor was trying to say but in this context, when she didn’t have the foggiest idea of where he is, or whether he was okay, the thought frightened her beyond words.

A sliver of hope that Amy didn’t even know that she had was killed by his words. Back to New York? Can’t we come with you? Amy wanted to ask, but he continued on without so much as a pause.

She suddenly felt at ease in the Doctor’s short-lived embrace and let her eyes close for a moment as he held her close. He soon pulled away, very soon, too soon. When she met his gaze, he looked flustered and fooled awkwardly with his bow-tie. Her heart sank. Why were things so uncomfortable between them now? It had only been a year. They’d been apart for way longer than that and not had any tension. What made things different now?

Anyhow, he kept talking.

“Did you find a house here? Perhaps River might want to share with you until Rory arrives, or you get home? She’s here as well. One big reunion.”

"Yeah," Amy liked that idea. A reunion. It was good to try to think about this situation in a positive light. Hell, she got to see the Doctor and River! That was more than just a “positive” — to Amy, it was practically a miracle.

There was one thing about his sentence, however, that seemed very odd to her. “You mean you’re not living with River?” Amy asked, frowning. The tears on her cheeks tickled as they began to dry. “Aren’t you traveling together? Doctor?”

Amy took advantage of her turn to talk, addressing his reassurance that Rory was alright.

"Also, um…when I was…teleported here, or whatever you call it…the last thing I remember is standing next to Rory, looking at this weird vortex-y hole in our back garden,” she took a breath, “Why didn’t it take him too? What if he’s in another pocket universe? How will I ever find him?” Amy had to bite her lip to keep it from quivering. God, she was a wreck.

#para: the doctor who waited

"I... no. No, I've not been traveling with River." That question pitched him into a new level of melancholy that he hid, fiercely, from view. It was how he had chosen to live and conduct himself in this incarnation; the smiling, friendly, playful young lad that never, ever let on to the bad things. Humans always liked it best when he'd smiled. For him, being anything except bright and cheerful in front of Amy was unthinkable. He gestured over his shoulder. "Actually, I've lately been traveling with a clever, charming girl named Clara. She's been keeping me company for my latest adventures. I might not have returned to traveling after you'd gone without her to nudge me along. I also might not have ended up here but I'm not going to fault her on that." The Doctor's mouth twisted, before he pinched two fingers in the air. "Okay, maybe that much blame on her. Though I'm sure she didn't mean for it to happen. I was probably most likely the one that landed us here by accident." His hands rested upon Amy's arms again to try and coax her back from another emotional breakdown. "It's likely the same for Rory. You came here by accident because you are curious, Amy, a curious young woman that isn't afraid of anything. And we both know that Rory, practical, cautious fellow, is probably just accessing things before he follows you with leaping into the unknown. You know... checking that the oven's not on, all the lights are off, and that the doors are locked. One shouldn't just go jumping into vortex holes without at least making sure their home isn't going to suffer in their absence!" "He'll be here before you know it. There is nowhere you'd go where Rory wouldn't follow. That man has haunted you down across all of Space to find you; he'd do it again here too. Have faith in Rory, as I do, and I'm sure we'll both see him again soon." He squeezed her arms gently. "I feel it in my hearts. Promise."

Points of Intersection || The Doctor and John Smith

Whipping the coat around his shoulders in a practised gesture that felt as natural as it ever had, he pulled it on, almost breathing a sigh of relief at its familiar weight. He hadn’t realised how incomplete he felt without it, and he couldn’t stop himself from sneaking a glance in the mirror. It was as brown and swishy as it ever was.

It was almost impossible to feel down when he’d just been reunited with his beloved coat. He turned towards the Doctor, the grin still etched on his face, and glanced briefly in the indicated direction. “Ohh good. I’ll be sure to grab a pair. Or two. Or three. The boutique doesn’t carry these - believe me, I’ve checked. And besides, there’s something very different about a good pair of shoes that’s been properly broken in.” Curious, he glanced at the Doctor’s feet, assessing this regeneration’s choice of footwear. Boots - more practical when it rained, he supposed, or when trekking through copious amounts of mud or snow, but … naw. He wasn’t going to give up his trainers any time soon.

Leaning against the nearest wall, he folded his arms, unconsciously mirroring the Doctor’s posture. “More than anything,” he admitted, looking around the room, drinking in the sight of it.

"It’s difficult, honestly," he said, his expression fading to something more serious. "Oh, I still have that fragment of coral - thanks for that, by the way - and I’ll grow my own one day, but the TARDIS is so much more than just a ship or a place, isn’t she? She’s entire lifetimes of shared memories. I’m almost afraid to linger lest I get too attached."

He almost, almost wanted to bring up the subject of Rose. The words ‘she misses you too' were on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't tell with this Doctor whether he wanted to know, or whether it was best to leave the past well buried. What use would that knowledge serve him? Would the modicum of bitter comfort in it outweigh the pain of being reminded of someone he might well never see again?

He found himself deflecting instead, that old, bad habit, falling back on conversation topics that were more neutral. Safer.

"How long has it been for you, then?" he queried.

#para: points of intersection

"How long? You mean how long have I been kicking around the universe?" His head tilted, that smile softening the lines of his face, deepening them just enough to lend the impression of the Doctor's advanced age. He didn't need an outwardly old face. The youth of this one was a clear deception for any that cared to observe him with lasting scrutiny. "Oh. Twelve hundred or so? Really, though, who's counting? I'm a bit old for tracking the numbers." When John mirrored his pose, he pushed himself up straighter. Striding forward with his gaze sweeping around the wardrobe, there was visible proof here and there of those shared memories that were mentioned. "This is home. The only home still afforded to a creature like me. Should I truly happen upon Gallifrey again I might just park her somewhere and continue to live inside. As beautiful as the architecture is, I've grown accustomed to these walls." Stopping near to where John was leaning, he faced him more directly. Out of everyone here, John was the most attuned to him. Knowing where he'd come from, the journey that brought them both together and then apart. John understood just as well that in the vast infinity of the stars, one man traveling alone occasionally felt very small. The echo of warnings from those in his past; 'Never travel by yourself'. And how they seemed to be offering him insight that he never found in himself. "You're welcomed to drop in as much and as often as you'd like. We'd both love to have you around. I think I've.." The Doctor quieted with a thoughtful frown as he patted hands at his pockets, finally fishing into one to pull free a small flash of silver, "Ah HA, there it is. Right, yes, a key. Since I keep her locked up from the curious public. Can't have just anyone wandering in." "If you want it, anyway. Seems only right that you should have access." He thumbed his empty hand around at the assortment of clothing surrounding them. "Doesn't strike me as fair that I should get to hog all the cool clothes to myself." His eyes were curious. Hopeful. Watching John over the offering of that tiny key in an upturned palm. He'd have easily accepted a refusal. After all, once things went back to normal, they'd all be returning to their scattered points in the universe. Still, for now, the idea of John having a key -- a solid bridge between himself and humanity, realised fully in the flesh -- sounded comforting.

I'm fairly sure that you are not the real Doctor. How could you be him?

My dear Inquisitive Anonymous Admirer:

As flattered as I am by your obsession with the notion that I may not be the one and only Doctor, I am concerned that this tangent of thought is bordering into ignoble territory. I am, as I have ever been, known to myself as the Doctor. Indeed, it renders me quite aghast to consider that the response of my esteemed future self did not warrant an end to the discussion as to my rightful identity.

I will answer the same as I did when dear Peri thought to question my identity; if I am not myself — then who am I?

#Doctor: Asks #Doctor: 6th

Points of Intersection || The Doctor and John Smith

It was finally still aboard the TARDIS - as still as it ever got, aboard the living time ship. In the absence of raised voices and the desperate scramble to save Donna’s life, he could hear her singing, beautiful and haunting and soul-achingly familiar. Caught up in the melody, he didn’t even realise that he had wandered off, leaving the Doctor to fiddle in the console room with whatever final adjustments he thought were necessary. He found himself in a corridor, trailing his fingers across the walls, marvelling at the new design (really rather cool, even if he wouldn’t admit it to the Doctor’s face), letting his feet take him where they would. Where was it he had been going? Pantry, right. Cup of tea. Just the sort of thing for the post-adventure adrenaline crash. Or the pre-confrontation nerves.

He didn’t like to think about it, but there was a tiny part of him that was entirely too apprehensive about meeting the Doctor. The Doctor, emphasised definitive article and everything. The Time Lord Doctor. Possibly, the proper Doctor.

The Doctor had regenerated. Young of face, ancient of gaze - he would wager that decades, if not centuries, had passed for the other since their last meeting. That was more than enough time to change even a Time Lord, but when he added in the complexities of regeneration, it was possible that he could be dealing with a complete stranger. This regeneration seemed mellower, but it would always be a mistake to underestimate the one the Daleks had named The Destroyer of Worlds. Yet, at the same time, he was still the Doctor. The man who made people better. Maybe the mellowness was simply a result of the passage of time taking off the raw edge of the Time War and all its accompanying guilt and horror. Maybe he’d learnt to move on. The Time Lord part of him was horrified at the very thought; the other, quieter part of him, the part that didn’t see the universe and all of time with the same rigid clarity of the Time Lords, was relieved on his counterpart’s behalf.

His wandering feet and the TARDIS’ collusion had brought him to a door. He opened it, expecting the pantry - and paused when he found himself in the wardrobe room instead. His eyes surveyed the length of it, a nostalgic smile flickering across his face as he spotted old and beloved (and some not so beloved) outfits, then paused on a long brown coat that was hanging on one of the racks.

He held his breath, bounding over to it and pulling it off the rack, the smile on his face morphing into a full-blown grin as he ran a hand over the coat. “That’s it,” he said. “I’m nicking this.”

#para: points of intersection #moremetathanmeta

"The shoes are probably in here as well." The Doctor's voice said behind him. Still the voice of the Eleventh, still that Raggedy Man in his bow tie. He was leaning against the opened door, shoulder rested comfortably on the frame to look in upon John perusing through the extensive closet. Not just of those garments that had been beloved of his former selves, no. A collection of other admired items were cataloged throughout his adventures, manifested as copies for the sake of filling this room of momentos of the past, marked in leather, silk, velvet and lace. Bits of iron here and there, sure, yet the TARDIS didn't seem to appreciate the aesthetic of military apparel. He'd left his jacket off from where it had been removed during their business with Donna, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. It was as casual as a man in a bow tie and braces could get. His arms were folded across his chest in a loose clasp, yet even now one hand was floating out to gesture a finger in a general direction near the floor. "Probably hiding somewhere amongst the boots and nice, polished loafers. Hard to miss them, what with their colouring and all. You're welcomed to them as well. They don't fit me. I tried." Without the distraction of a third party here with them, this was the first real opportunity he was getting to speak with John alone. It felt like forever since he had seen the resulting Meta-Crisis in the flesh. When he'd sent him off with Rose Tyler it didn't seem possible that he'd ever encounter either again. Back then there had not been enough time to take a full measure of this other entity, partially him and mostly not. Plus, he fancied himself having been rasher back then, younger and a little mad with cleverness. There had been several hard lessons to mature him since then. "How does it feel, being home again? I doubt you could say that you haven't missed this. I know that I would. She's in our DNA."

Who do you wish would pop up in the pocket the most?

If I had to pick from any number of faces I’d love to see again… hm.

I think everyone is expecting the obvious choice, but in all fairness, I think I’d really love to see Wilfred Mott again. He’d be a delight to spend time with here.

What's your favorite face?

This one. It’s the one that’s rightfully supposed to be here.

Though I am sure if you asked the same question to any other Regeneration of mine and they’d claim that their face was their favourite one too.

However, I’ll admit that my previous incarnation was handsome enough — if you go for that type of look. If you see him don’t tell him I said so.

Census Time

Alright. Bit of a quick survey for all the inhabitants of our charming town. Brought to you by, ah, the committee for pocket welfare and general statisticky stuff.

Hands up all of you who remember dying before you got here. Other hand up if you remember getting here as a result of dying. Actually, if you don’t have any experience with death, do let us know too. And by us, I mean me. Any kind of death counts, even the small fiddly ones. We’re not out to discriminate.

Oh, and, thank you for your cooperation.

#c: john smith #(Needs more hands.)

I haven't enough hands to cover all of the times I've died. Sorry.

No direct deaths shortly before my arrival! Not that I'm sure if that means anything.

Have you considered the fact that you might not be the real Doctor?

If I were not the real Doctor, then who precisely might I be? I feel like myself, think like myself, exist like myself. I know who I have been in the past and who I am now.

The only doubts that I have about myself is that I am not sure how many incarnations of me this body has beyond mine. I might no longer be the most clever if there are more seasoned versions of me running about through Time. It’s difficult accepting the idea that another me might know a little more about everything than I do.

Dodgy ?? Doctor.

The DoctorDonna || John Smith - Donna - The Doctor

As obfuscated as she felt for the place, the two men, the situation itself, Donna couldn’t just yet decide if she was more outraged by the way the taller man blocked what seemed to be the only way out, or confused for the way he spoke. As dizzy as she felt, words seemed to float to her ears through a thick fog that made them lose their meaning. There was, however, one thing that she did understood entirely. Perhaps the worst she could have gotten right now.

“Alien. Abduction." Her voice was calm and paused, yet, filled with that low-pitched tone that seemed to hold all of England’s sarcasm at once. Yes, the one that could make even two hearts shiver in fear at the very well known calm before the storm of Donna Noble’s temperament. "Did you just say alien-abduction?”

And so it happened. A bomb, perhaps just a little less dangerous than the one she had been just a few seconds before, exploded.

"Oh no. Nononononono. No. NO. You are NOT abducting me! Do you understand!? You better let me go right-bloody-now!!!” Her hands wandered through her pockets, looking for something, anything to threat them with. She had seen them in movies, there was no way they would only let her walk away unless they feel threatened.

"Do you see this?!" She yelled as she finally found something large, pointy, if she was lucky enough perhaps it could be even… a pen. Seriously? Was this really the best she got? "This…" She doubted just for a second, before her voice became as firm as if she knew what she was talking about. "This! This is a weapon! Oh yes! A dangerous weapon! You better let me go right now before I unleash all the… dangerousness of this… biologic bomb of… of… ebola! In all your ship, you bloody martians!”

She could barely hear them above her own screaming, but then, when the one who seemed to shield himself beneath that strange-looking machine said her mother’s name, and then her grandfather’s name, she had no option but shut up at once and pay attention. Still with her ‘mortal weapon’ raised, of course.

It was nonsense. Everything they were saying was. But what scared her the most was that she still trusted this… spacemen. “Why should I trust you?” She barked, her voice a little tremulous by now, since the question was more to herself than for them.

He winced as Donna repeated the words ‘alien abduction’ in that oh-so-calm voice of hers that wasn’t in the least calm. Right. Actually, not right. Wrong. Very wrong choice of words.

A second later, he was ducking half a step backwards as the Donna Explosion happened (seriously, and the Daleks called him the Oncoming Storm?). He barely had a chance to see what it was she was waving at him (pen? pencil? eyeliner pencil?) before she was screaming in fury. He fought the urge to cringe, apologies already bubbling up, when she said the word. Martians.

Martian.

Oh, he’d missed that.

Taking a deep breath, he took a leaf from the Doctor’s book and tried to explain in a more coherent manner. “Because we’re trying to help,” he said, in what he hoped was a calmer, more rational tone of voice. “Donna, long story, but you’ve been sick, and we’re. Well, we’re doctors.” In a manner of speaking. “You’ve been having some memory lapses, haven’t you? The thing about planets in the sky that everyone was talking about, Lance, remember Lance? The wedding? Checking out Adipose Industries, and how you can remember how that started but not how it ends?”

He hadn’t done the memory wipe, but he was pretty sure that the effects would have been something similar. In any case, the Doctor would be able to correct any inconsistencies.

"Basically, we’re friends, and we’re trying to fix this … amnesia problem. Thing."

Doctor-Donna. Friends. It felt like an instant and another lifetime ago.

But how, indeed, did he convince her to trust them? If he told her that they were restoring her memories, it was equally possible that she could conclude that they were manipulating said memories, implanting modified… or fake ones. Flipping quickly through his memories of their adventures together, he glanced at the Doctor, letting him take over the reins of the conversation while he tried to think of a reason.

#para: thedoctordonna #(Sorry it's short.)

Things could have gone worse. They also could have gone better. The Doctor fought the urge to groan when Donna's temper brought her to wielding that ballpoint. He pinched at the bridge of his nose while she threatened them with it. At least the Meta-Crisis Doctor was keeping things a little calmer with his new choices of words. He nodded encouragingly to the other. They couldn't rely on Donna's memories of the end but they could remind her of things that were relevant to her. Convince her of their good intentions by proving that they had knowledge of those shared experiences. His gaze dropped away from the pair when the console blipped with an update. At least something here was functioning properly. He patted lovingly at the console's controls. "There's a good girl. Keep going." He turned his face back in John's direction to signal to him. Eighty-nine percent. They were nearly there if they could keep the situation -- i.e. Donna -- under control a little longer. Really, with the both of them present, this should have gone better. Both hands snapped fingers at John to try to prompt him along and keep the open dialogue going. "Say more things that she'd know. 'Wizard' and all that jazz. I'm sure she'll recall something if you keep it up." He grimaced a nervous smile at Donna to apologise for speaking about her as if she weren't standing right there listening to them. One of his snapping hands transitioned to a pointing at John. "Yes, yes. He's your chum. Mate. Not mate mate -- buddy, pal? And just look at that face. That's a trusty face." Hopefully John didn't suddenly begin leering or make any expressions with his face that would contradict that. "He's right about you being sick, Donna. You were in danger just now and we're going to set everything right for you. So you keep your.. er.. mortal weapon if it makes you feel safer but we're not intending any harm."

Worth the Hard Work -- Jack/Nine

torchwoodshead

Jack lifted his head and listened intently to what the Doctor was telling him. “Well,” Jack let out a heavy sigh through his nostrils as he readjusted himself on his seat as he crossed his right leg over his left. “Do you know of anything else we could pursue? As in-another idea? Because at this point, I’m willing to try for anything.” Jack bowed his head for a moment before looking back up to meet the Doctor’s gaze. “No matter how dangerous.”

Jack, for what it was worth, held the Doctor’s gaze for as long as he could. The captain had perfected one of his own-at least one similar to it. But he knew, and just as it was being proven to him, that it would be nothing in comparison to the one that the Doctor was bearing down upon him. Tightening his jaw, Jack looked away and let out a much more tested sigh. “And risk the town panicking? Look, Doctor, I get what you’re saying but these people-not all of them are as logical or understanding as you and I. They could hurt others or worse-themselves.” Frowning, Jack looked down into his lap and tried to find the words to say. “There’s no way we can sit idly by and let those that are still alive waste away in here. The dead are dead, Doctor. They have no futures.”

Jack analyzed the Doctor’s every move while the man opposite him stayed quiet. He was in deep thought, and as much as Jack wanted to continue arguing, he too soon fell into his own deep thoughts. …And that was when something occurred to him. “Doctor…” Jack spoke up, making sure to capture the Time Lord’s attention first. “If you’re stuck here and I’m stuck here… and even Sherlock Holmes, and whoever is the so-called heroes of the demon’s worlds are here… what’s happening to our homes?” Shaking his head, Jack swallowed thickly. “Who’s doing the saving? Obviously not us.”

But then the Doctor was back to the topic about the dimensional cannon and Jack began to grow restless. “If it would make you feel better I can get Martha-” As soon as he said her name, Jack grew quiet. It was bad enough he’d betrayed John’s trust, but to have brought Martha up was worse. But even so, he’d already said it and it was too late. “I can ask Martha to talk to the town about it. She’s better with people and I’m sure she could phrase it in a nicer light.”

Sitting up, Jack met the Doctor’s gaze with a fixed one of his own. “I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I don’t try.” His tone was flat, but that small hint of darkness was there. “I enjoy John’s company, but he’ll never be you, and he knows that. But he made a good point with the cannon and I’m sorry, but, it’s the best lead we have right now. So yes, I’m willing to follow him with this.”

Jack’s voice became calm as his face began to show hints of sorrow and pain. “Like I said Doctor, I’ll talk it over with my team, Martha can tell the rest. But since you asked, yes, things have definitely changed since then.”

#para: worth the hard work

"D'you hear how contradictory you are? You're worrying about whether these 'dead' will hurt themselves, and then turn around and say that they have no futures." He pursed his lips as his mind carried forward on a new track of thought. "How do you know for sure that they don't, anyway? This place has proven capable of ignoring the laws of Time and Space. What's to stop it from continuing with the same defiance to drop your friends off in... what year was it? ... 2012? Have you considered the possibility that this might be a chance, or even a reward? A way to have those that you love back with you again?" His head dropped forward with a deep sigh. Sitting here to lecture Jack was helping nothing. He had only ever intended that they might meet, enjoy the company of each other, and leave it at a peaceful point. Sinking into this argument was off the script he'd desired. The Doctor's head lifted to look across at Jack. No matter what happened from here on, there wouldn't be a guarantee that he would surface again. In fact, a glance at the timepiece on his wrist showed just how little time he had left. The Doctor pushed himself up from Jack's chair with a small shake of his head. "I didn't want it turning out like this. Mostly, I'd just wanted to see the face of an old friend. You have already made up your mind, Jack. Whatever course of action you continue to follow from here has nothing to do with me. All I can do is advise you and hope for the best. If this plan works, then all the better. If it fails, then at least it won't be done in the name of the Doctor. And if things do start to go horribly wrong, I'll take everyone that I can into the TARDIS to try and weather through it, if we can." Lifting his forearm, he tapped at the face of the complex watch when it began beeping. "I'm out of time. I should get back before the next one comes along. No telling who it might be. My being here might raise questions and you don't want those future selves of mine poking about. I promised not to say anything to them about it and I will keep my word. Just don't make me regret it, Jack." He lowered that hand to settle on the immortal's shoulder, squeezing gently. It was clear that the Doctor was still mired in that feeling of disappointment. What sort of man was he these days that people didn't trust him? In a way, Nine felt that it was for the best not to share this knowledge with his later incarnations. They might have been heartbroken. Doubled. He moved his hand off Jack's shoulder to head for the door, checking at the growing persistence of those beeps. "I hate goodbyes, so I'll just say... see you around?"

Worth the Hard Work -- Jack/Nine

torchwoodshead

Jack opened his mouth to protest but ultimately just nodded and sighed when the Doctor made his point about Rose. He wanted to say that John was possibly very worried about Rose and that Rose was probably just as equally worried and more than likely tearing up her own universe looking for him, but he didn’t. And part of him knew that the Doctor probably already guessed that already. So, instead, Jack focused on the hand hold the two were sharing.

And then, the grip grew tighter and Jack knew he was in trouble. Frowning, the captain dared a glance up and almost immediately regretted it, but he didn’t look away. He knew that the Doctor was right, and no matter how good intentions he and John were being, there was the greater fact that so many could die if anything went wrong. However, he still felt the need to argue.

"But, Doctor, what else do we have? We can’t just… just sit here!"Jack didn’t mean to raise his voice, but he was growing on desperation and if his pleading eyes weren’t an indicator then his sudden attachment of his other hand onto the Doctor’s arm was. Gripping the leather of the jacket tightly, Jack continued to stare at the time lord with widened eyes just a few moments more before he let go and released the jacket. Clearing his throat, Jack refocused his gaze onto where their hands were once touching.

"I know you’re right, and I know and understand all the risks, Doctor. I’m not the same guy you picked up in London all those years ago. I grew up…sort of-" Cutting himself off, he listened to the rest of what the Doctor had to say and nodded to show that he was listening and was truly absorbing the information. But it was when the Doctor mentioned his team that caught his full attention once more.

"I don’t know, but I know they can’t come back. I’ve already acknowledged this and accepted it. It doesn’t mean they have to know that, but I know it.” He didn’t want to say too much more on the subject and was in fear that the Doctor actually would want to.

Bowing his head once more and slumping his shoulders, Jack decided to do one thing that he almost never did. When he looked back up, he had dropped all masks and walls that he always had up, essentially bearing his soul to the time lord. “I’m willing to stay behind if it means giving everyone a chance. After all, you said it yourself, I’m an ‘Impossible thing’, I’m a fixed point, I technically shouldn’t even exist. I died on that satellite. We both know it, that’s my true resting place, that’s when I stopped really living.” Shaking his head, Jack adopted a morose smile. “I’ll be fine, I promise.” And just like that, the walls were back up.

#para: worth the hard work

“I’m not saying that you should drop the idea, Jack.” The Doctor answered with a quick shake of his head. It seemed that his words had caused the immortal man to think that he was entirely opposed to giving it a chance. “If it’s the only one that we’ve got going then it might be the best option. A dangerous one and yet still a possible means of escape.”

He examined Jack with that piercing, soul-deep gaze that his future selves could not master quite as effectively. “What I’m saying is that you shouldn’t take their choice to live away just because you don’t want to be here. And that is, in essence, what you’re going to do if you let this dimension cannon rip apart this universe. You’re invalidating their existence here. I suppose, reasoning out that they are dead and therefore have no future, you could look at it entirely from that perspective and justify it.”

The Doctor went quiet, trying to think of this from all sides. Jack and the ones that wanted to escape this pocket had the right to return to their lives. On the other side of that were those who did not have the same option to return to anything except for their own demise. And considering that he too was a wraith of the past, his sympathies went more into the direction of the latter.

“You should be talking to them about this. They should know what you are doing. This secretive plot isn’t fair to them. If you want to make their time to be alive again short then they should at least be made aware of how soon they’ll lose their chance to live. No matter how you or the Metacrisis Doctor try to paint it, the fact is – you’ll both be wiping them all out in one fell swoop.” His face was set into grim lines, yet his eyes were without judgment upon Jack. He wanted to impress the importance of this act into the other man’s mind. Once it was done there would be no going back.

“Is the cost of their lives worth your freedom? Apparently that’s the case for this man you’re following into this plan.” The Doctor’s eyes lifted to the ceiling as he smirked darkly, a little bitter. “And he’s going around calling himself ‘The Doctor’? A man that would act in the interests of self at the expense of others… That man went by a different name.”

"If you want to risk the lives of your friends, and those who trust you, then you should be giving them the choice. Not stealing it from them in secret. Not that, Jack. That's not what we do. Or is that how things run these days?"

The Doctor Who Waited — Amy/Eleven

xmeliawilliams-blog

Grown up.

Amy practically cringed at his wording. Even though she knew that he meant well, the fact that it was coming from the Doctor’s mouth made her self-conscious. She awkwardly straightened out the skirt of her dress and nonchalantly fooled with her hair. She never remembered needing his approval before, but things were…different, somehow.

Clara? Was she the new Amy and Rory? Amy’s face fell. Had he moved on so quickly?

No, this was good. This was brilliant. She was worrying over him for the past year, praying he wouldn’t be depressed for their sakes. This was what she wanted, right? Then why was her heart suddenly stung with jealousy?

However, she quite enjoyed his “legs” comment. At least Amy’s got one thing over this girl.

Amy didn’t get a chance to ask the Doctor about this Clara before he asked if Rory was with her. Rory could’ve been anyone in the universe if that portal got to him, too. The thought pricked her eyes like needles, feeling them well up again.

"No. No, he’s…I don’t know where he is, Doctor," her voice broke on the last word. She hoped that he wouldn’t notice but it was difficult not to.