Didn't Have It In Myself to go With Grace
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (you’re here!) | Part 4 |
Pairing: 10th Doctor x Reader
Word Count: 5,812
Warnings: major character death, regular death, violence, possession, some body horror, (we’re in for a doozy)
Summary: The orchestra conductor has been possessed by a parasitic alien who feeds off of fear. It is up to you, The Doctor, Donna, and the Queens of Arteides to save the day... But not without a deeply personal cost.
A/N: Sorry this is a tad late, covid is a bitch. I’ve been really excited be the reception this has gotten, thank you so much! Hope you enjoy this - feel free to yell at me if you do!
Donna Noble was a resourceful woman. She learned fast, had memorised the Dewey-decimal system, and was quick to read the emotions of others. Besides, when travelling with the Doctor, being resourceful was just the tip of the iceberg of the various skills she needed. Now, it wasn’t like she wasn’t resourceful before meeting him. She was just… quicker, now. Joined the dots faster, was lighter on her feet.
Which was why she whacked her bag into the nearest drone head.
The head spun into the orchestra pit, hitting another head like a pin ball. It floated there, spritzing, red light sparking around the eyes.
The Doctor’s hand was out in a flash, fingers clasped over his sonic screwdriver. It whirred quickly, and he pulled it back to inspect.
With a yell, a woman’s handbag was flung into the air, soaring over your heads as it met the growing crowd running to leave. It brought the noise into focus. Suddenly – except, it couldn’t have been, and this was a testament to your focus that you hadn’t heard it, droves of people were storming through the area, their cries matching the weight of their running feet.
You turned in a daze. It was panic. The bright colours which had delighted you only moments ago were now overwhelming, wrapped around terrified faces and too fast people. Masses of people were gathering in any available surface, clustering closer as they tried to escape.
A head shot down an old woman, her terrified cries caught in her throat. Her body shuttered, going bright with red light, before toppling over.
Your body went cold.
This was going to be devastating.
The Doctor’s groan caught your attention. “Oh – oh no,” he narrowed his eyes at the sonic, as if doing so would change the data. “It’s a Krusqet. Oh, of all the things it could bloody well be, it had to be a Krusqet.”
“For the non-space men in the crowd Doctor,” Donna said, pulling the rack of clothes in front of the Queens.
After all, she was quicker now. Hit the weird scary alien? Done. Protect the Queens? In progress.
“A parasitic race,” The Doctor replied, voice pitching as he began to look around the room. You recognised the look, could see the cogs turning. “They bury themselves into your mind, feeding off of emotions, off of fear,” his voice fell as his eyes met the crowd, grim. “And this place is full of it.”
All the blood left Karyia’s face, leaving her with an ashen grey complexion. Her voice was hollow when she spoke. “We have been warring with them for centuries.”
“Let me call the guards,” Inari added, voice rising in frustration. She brushed at one of her many earrings, and bloomed into bright red. “This is a party,” she added in anger. “Security is by the entrance.”
You turned to the Queens. “Which is where?”
“The edge of the city.”
You went to reply – perhaps to ask why their guards were so far away – but Inari had already moved. She came to a still in the centre of the crowd, weaving through the crowd like water. Her voice pulled at the people surrounding her, drawn to her like moths to a flame. Using sweeping motions, she began directing them to various exists around the space. Here, she stood as an imposing figure, the blue of her gown making her appear taller, elevating her above the people. She was a beacon they followed.
Karyia remained by your side, a tablet in hand – where she had gotten it, you didn’t ask. Her eyes flitted across the screen. “I can’t see how it got through our biosecurity.”
The Doctor scrunched up his face. “That can’t be your most pressing concern right now.” He turned back to the sonic.
Karyia snapped the tablet against her wrist, and you watched as it folded into a golden bangle around her. “You’re right,” she turned to the Doctor. “What do you suggest, old friend?”
Something cracked, the sound echoing through the space. You turned, the wall of tear-drop crystals splintered, threatening to topple the whole thing down. In the distance, the possessed conductor, with a shrill, distorted tone, laughed.
The Doctor spun around, sonic waving. His hand fell to his side. “They’re scared – everyone is scared.”
The Doctors comment was punctuated by a shrill cry from the crowd, as a woman was targeted by one of the drone heads. Its eyes locked onto her. She froze, paralysed. Her body, in a wave of red light, marking her bones and her heart, crumpled to the ground.
Her final cry swallowed into your mind, latching itself beside your ear. It ran like repeat, in time with every breath.
Your voice was airy, brittle with worry. “Well, they’re being attacked,” you waved your hand in a ‘well-obviously’ motion, earnest as you gestured around the room. “Of-course they’re scared.”
“So what do we do?” Donna asked. “Do we just make them not scared – is that even possible?”
Your gaze fell to the hanging gowns. Gowns of vibrant reds, rich purples, deep blues, brilliant royal colours that were stacked against each other. On the end rested a bright silver gown, glimmering in the light, as if already plucked for someone – most likely Donna – to wear.
It would be near impossible, among the chaos and the noise, to stop people feeling fear. Emotions weren’t controlled by a valve, with the ability to close and switch them off at will.
Behind you, someone cried out, calling for their friend. You forced yourself not to turn around. You forced yourself to tune it out. Fear would only make things worse.
Karyia’s eyes followed yours, scanning over the gowns. Her eyes brightened, stress brewing into something warmer, something you would almost define as hope. Hope however, wasn’t something you thought a Queen would ever lose. Slowly, her face grew into a conspiratorial smirk, and she met your gaze.
Your eyes flitted back to the ballgowns. Now, it would be near impossible to assuage people’s fear. But that didn’t mean there weren’t other options.
“You may be right Donna,” Karyia said. “It may just be possible to distract the conductor.”
Donna’s eyes fell from you, Karyia, and the dresses. With each movement, her eyebrows knitted closer together. It took her a beat.
But Donna was faster now. Joined the dots together.
Her face fell with her mouth. “Okay, if you’re suggesting some sort of song and dance to distract a parasitic alien from murdering people-,”
“Oh, that’s brilliant,” understanding dawned on the Doctor, his face brightening in his interruption. “You lot are brilliant. Might not be enough on the conductor,” he regarded the drones. “But it might work on these things. It’s worth a try.”
Donna’s voice was near breathless when she spoke. “If one of you big-brains could fill me in here,” Donna said ‘big brain’ with the same air of sarcasm as she said her witty insults. “That’d be great.”
The Doctor took Donna by the shoulders, pulling at the solution. “What’s the one thing people do when they’re not afraid?”
Donna’s face fell. “That’s absurd. We need to be getting people out of here, not waving our – our,” she gestured at the Doctor. “Our noodle arms around!”
Karyia’s hands were already on the silver ballgown. Her eyes twinkled as she smiled at you – and you wondered, briefly, if she was plotting something more.
“And we are,” Karyia said. “Now, we may give my wife the fright of her life, but she is more than equipped to lead people from the space,” she held out the silver ballgown towards Donna, like it was a token, or a dance card. “Donna, I would be honoured if you danced with me.”
Donna groaned. “Why’s it gotta be me,” she gestured to you. “What about this sprightly young thing?”
“This sprightly young thing has a name,” you gawked. “And sure,” you continued. “I guess I’ll dance.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t possible,” Karyia shook her head, eyes still sparkling with that same… you weren’t sure what to call it. Mirth? This was where her smirk grew, and it dawned on you that Karyia was using this as a plan to keep you and the Doctor together.
Talk about priorities.
“Excluding myself,” she said. “You know the layout of this space better than anyone, we need you as our first line of defence.”
“Hold on, absolutely not,” the Doctor said, and looked to you. “You’re not the first line of anything.”
You ignored him, keeping your focus on Karyia. She had a point. “What are you thinking?”
Karyia practically threw the dress onto Donna, which folded into the floor at her feet. “We will dance, do what we can to provide a distraction. My lovely wife will secure reinforcements,” she turned to you and the Doctor. “Doctor, I am asking the two of you to deal with the conductor.”
The Doctor’s mouth bobbed, processing the fact that he hadn’t been the one to come up with the plan. It was rare that this was the case, and it often took him a moment to come to terms with it. You frowned at Karyia; it was a convoluted plan at best – anything that involved dancing was. But the Doctor nodded. Convoluted was right up his alley.
Donna’s eyes mapped the room, flitting over the people and the destruction. She let out a heavy breath. “Do you really think dancing will help?”
The Doctor nodded solemnly. “Anything that makes people less afraid is worthwhile.”
Donna nodded once, determined, before scooping the dress off the ground. “Surely we’ll get to whack more of those drone heads out of the sky too.”
Karyia grinned. “I’m counting on it.”
“Well then, you two better get your macarena on,” The Doctor said before pointing at you. “Follow me.”
Donna scoffed. “If you’re making me dance, you best believe I’m doing better than the macarena.”
The Doctor took out his hand, which, instinctively, you folded yours into. You met Karyia’s eye, who was giving you a small, self-satisfied smirk. Part of her had planned this.
“Good luck,” you nodded to her and Donna.
Karyia laughed, looking at Donna. “I expect you can foxtrot, yes?”
The Doctor pulled you away, the distant sound of Donna’s startled half-laugh bidding farewell.
The Doctor weaved you through the crowds, which, with Inari organising them, were a lot more structured than they had been. Already, the large dance floor by the orchestra was clear.
The smell hit you then; pungent and volatile. The Doctor guided you over bodies – actual bodies, that were strewn around the floor. Their flesh sizzling and bright red. If you hadn’t seen what happened to them, with the red laser eyes and half-stifled cries, you would think all they were was sunburnt.
The smell rolled with your gut and bubbled up your throat. You retched, focusing on the Doctors hand in yours as he walked you over them.
“What’s the plan?” You asked him, hoping your voice was louder than the commotion around you.
The conductor – or whatever was left of her, hadn’t left the stage. She stood where she had been when she first revealed herself. Black tendrils leaked out from her base, wrapping like spider legs off the stage and into the people who were on the ground. She was talking, but the speech was the wrong pattern, a mixture of words that should make a sentence, but instead were left like a jumbled soup you had to interpret.
“We need to work out how to starve the parasite inside her,” he said, nodding towards the conductor.
You nodded, before pausing. “How do we do that?”
The Doctor’s mouth was set in a grim line. “I don’t know, it’s never been done before.”
You frowned. “So how do we know if we hurt her?”
“We don’t.”
His reply hung heavy in the air. It was chilling.
He was right of course, there was no way to know if you could help her. There wasn’t even a way to know if you should. The parasite was cruel, and the woman, the poor conductor, was nothing more than a conduit.
It sounded like a fate worse than death.
“Hey Maleficent,” the Doctor called out – and okay, you were doing this then. “C’mon and let us have a look at you. Sad you weren’t invited to the party?”
The conductor’s head was so fast, when it spun towards you it momentarily dislodged from her spine. It came out with a pop, before snapping back into place. “Gleeful,” her voice clawed at your back, like nails on a chalkboard. “It gives my friends and I and excuse to have so much fun.”
“They’re not your friends,” the Doctor shot back. “You’ve killed these people.”
She waved a hand, nails as black as the congealed smoke that pooled at her fingertips. “Those are schematics, tall one. A friend is a friend regardless of how it is made.”
A stringy, sinew, and knuckle finger stretched forward, pointing at the pair of you. “Maybe you will be next.”
The Doctor scoffed, his eyes flitting around her. Cogs turning, ideas slotting into place. “Not likely,” he spoke with that signature voice of authority he had, the decibels building and slotting into place, rising above the collection of noise around you with sheer audacity alone. This was the voice he used when he began one of his save the world speeches. When a plan was about to unfold.
“People like you,” he continued. “Species like you, you bloody Krusqets, so souped up on your own arrogance that you can’t see past the end of your nose.”
The stage was empty around her, head kept moving away from you. She couldn’t keep her whole focus on you, not entirely. Some of it was saved for the drones.
You followed her gaze, subtle about it, twisting your whole body into a would-be stretch. Donna and Karyia really were dancing, their bright dresses capturing the light. They weaved around angry red beams, Donna’s trusty handbag knocking them out of the sky. Karyia used her tablet.
They were distracting.
It wasn’t perfect. The heads didn’t fly as dramatically as the first one Donna hit. Sparks crackled around their eyes, but their fire held firm.
Maybe though, just maybe, it would be enough.
Those same wiry fingers folded around her nose, fingers latching into her jawline. “Are bipedal simians supposed to see their noses I wonder,” she mused, humour coating every crackle of her voice, thick like oil. “I would say it was interesting, but that is not my purpose here.”
“And what is it?” You asked, eyes following the Doctors gaze. You could only guess what he was planning. Capturing her alone? Using the fabric, the wires holding the lights above the stage to tangle into her?
Her smile stretched in humour, rows of teeth as sharp as her shrill voice. The conductors gaze fell onto you. “Why young thing,” her smile grew large, jaw dislodging at the strain. It hung lose, giving the grin an uncanny lopsided effect, dangling with every movement. “I’m here to kill the Queens. They seem oh-so-delicious when terrified.”
Her words left you as cold as her smile – if you could call it that – crawling through your spine and settling at the base of your neck. It itched, eliciting goosebumps on your skin.
“Well, that’s not going to happen,” the Doctor said, pulling her focus back to him. Her jaw bobbed, swaying with the same movement as an abandoned swing left in a soft breeze. It was equally chilling. “I’m the Doctor, you might have heard of me. You might have also heard that never, not once, has anyone in your species been able to follow through on one of your plans here.”
The grin stretched wider, the skin around her lips sagging with the weight of it. You recoiled; her molars black with the same tar as substance she leaked onto the stage. “Doctor,” her voice crooned his name, tongue scraping against yellow teeth. “You will most certainly be first.”
The Doctor squeezed your hand three times, and in instinct you looked towards him. He was nodding slightly by the base of the stage, where a lone power socket sat, unattended. A power chord was plugged into one of the sockets, but the chord led nowhere. You tried to connect the dots, to build the Doctor’s plan in your mind, but it was too far gone.
Then, he spoke. “Well yeah of course, that’s a lofty plan of yours,” his eyes twinkled. “Let me help you out, give you the energy you need for it!”
And he pulled you into a run. His sonic was held in front of him, light bright as it met the electrical outlet.
His plan hit you, and in a leap, you wrapped your fingers over the chord. You tugged once, the chord slipping from your grasp as it came loose from the fitting. The electrical socket sparked once, twice, until lightning crackled around it. It shot upwards, meeting the metal that lined the stage. The black, tar like substance was like liquid. The electricity caught, snapping through the conductor’s frame.
And she was alight.
She was blue. Her oily, pale skin bubbled. The golden sheen to it went bright, like the reflection of a streetlight in a pool of water. Her hair stretched beyond her frame, thrown back with her head. Her voice fell, her scream dwarfed by the sheer volume of the power that ran through her small frame.
The electricity echoed around you. You turned and found Donna as she knocked a drone head away from her. The same black smoke pooled out of its ears, gathering around her dress. She hit at it again, yelling something that was lost to the space between you both. It, along with the rest of the drones that were circling her Karyia clattered to the floor. Eyes as blank as the dead.
The Doctor called your name. “It needs more energy,” he told you
“Like the emotions,” you breathed, and it hit you. The emotions it was feeding on, those were just as powerful, just as filled with energy, as any electrical currant.
“Exactly,” the Doctor grinned at you, the bright, delighted one he always gave when you clocked on to his plans. “Give it enough and it’s catastrophic.”
You looked up the stage, at the same wires from earlier. “Would they work?”
The Doctor followed your gaze. “If we’ve got the time to get up there, yeah.”
But you wouldn’t have time.
The conductor slumped forward, her body racking with pearls of broken laughter. With singed skin, smoking into her hair and dress, she stood.
“You fool,” she seethed, and her voice was firmer now. “I feed off mad energy. Why do you think we chose fear? You have made me more powerful.”
She didn’t look human; she didn’t look normal. Everything recognisable, everything that made her alive and whole, was gone. Her clammy, pale skin glittered under the sunlight, her black, tar like hair dripped like jewels onto the floor, snaking outwards towards all they could reach. It was awful. Fear embodied into a broken figure; a person made doll.
You couldn’t tell if she really was more powerful. The drones left scattered among the hardwood; among the people they had frozen mid-run. She was angrier though, and anger might just be enough.
In the now empty space, without the drones, she looked near fragile. One gust of wind and she would shatter. Your heart pressed into your sternum, mind going to the conductor – who she had been before she had been possessed. How awful.
For the first time, you met her eyes. If nothing else, her eyes were her own. The black and red from the drones, the black that made up her skin and mouth, that wasn’t there.
And she was desperate. Terrified.
She was dying.
That knowledge left you near broken. She was just as much of a victim as anyone else here.
And they were her own eyes.
Without thinking you pulled away from the Doctor, running towards her. She didn’t deserve to die. No one here did. So many had died and hell, there were so many you couldn’t save. But her. Maybe you could save her.
And maybe that would be enough.
You reached for her, not thinking. You had no plan, no sense of what you could do to help. It just felt right. Her eyes flickered to your hand, to your face, meeting your eyes. Was that hope?
Your hand met hers, tar and dust squelching in your grasp. She cried out a harsh, grating yell, tendrils whipping out from her throat.
They flung towards you. You went to move but her grip held firm. Her eyes remained fixed on you. Sorrowful. Pleading. Hopeful.
It was like a beanbag to the chest. It was painful, throbbing, ripping the air from your lungs. You stumbled backwards, clawing for breath. The tendrils snaked their way up your sternum. You choked as it weaved through your throat, griping into the back of your eyes.
You cried out, throwing your hands against your eyes, pushing against the pressure. You wouldn’t let it take your sight. You couldn’t.
Your clothes felt like lead, tightening around you. It coiled hot, scratching against your skin. Someone called your name, and new pressure folded itself around your arms. You shook at it violently. The pressure stabbed at your nerves. It was pins and needles. It was fire.
You hated it. You hated this.
A low, scratched voice – distorted and all consuming, racked in your brain. “Let me in,” it breathed, its heavy voice shaking against your ribs, crawling down your spine. “Let me feel what you feel.”
Something pounded, and the vice on your arms tightened.
The conductor had been scared, terrified – wasn’t that right? That’s what this parasite had fed on, her fear.
The voice let out a guttural laugh. It almost sounded like a growl. “Of course she was scared,” it mused, the voice itched its way along the hair on the nape of your neck. “It was delicious.”
It moulded itself into the base of your mind, pooling in the spot where you head met your neck. Energy was its power, it latched onto anything powerful enough that it could warp it into its own fuel.
So what gave you energy? Something had to give you life that it wouldn’t give the Krusqet.
You thought of the way she had looked at you. Terrified.
Hopeful.
Oh.
You forced your palms away from your eyes, pulling at the hands that held you. Desperately, you ripped your eyes open. Familiar brown eyes stared into yours, and you nearly sobbed in relief.
Love. Hope. That was how to end this.
The Doctors hands weren’t hot anymore, peeling against your skin like an ice scraper. They were solid, grounding. You wondered if, without them, you would have blown away. Become dust and tar like the conductor before you.
“Let go of me,” you said softly, voice strained. “It feeds off of fear.”
The Doctor nodded absentmindedly. His focus was on you. “We know that,” his eyes flickering across your person. Distressed. Heartbroken. “You’re brave, you can fight this.”
You shook your head, and, distantly, you felt yourself smile. “It runs when it feels hope.”
Your eyes flicked to the conductor. She stood on shaking legs. Donna held her.
Briefly, you wondered how Donna was here, how long you had spent clawing at your own skin as the Krusqet consumed you.
But the conductor was safe. She was alive.
You pulled away from the Doctor, watching his face fall with his empty hands. You balled your hands into fists. They were tingling.
“It’s the one energy it can’t feed off,” you continued, voice strained. “Because that’s what we use to survive.”
A deep, guttural cry rang against your head. There were no words. Only anger.
You had hope.
“So love…” a violent yell curled against your ears, silencing your voice. Sharp pain bowled you over, folding you in two. Your hand flew to your stomach, a curled fist held tight against the pressure point.
Your skin twisted, peeling like wet paper, rattling into your bones. It felt like lighting was dancing across your skin, itching, burning – desperate for release.
You pulled yourself away. You couldn’t let yourself touch anyone.
“Love,” you tried again, your voice sharp with pain. “Love will kill it.”
Like thunder your body bowled open, hanging in the air. Smoke hung from your feet, from your hair, from your hands. It folded into the air like steam. Near lifeless, you dangled off the cliff, with nothing but dead air to cushion your inevitable fall.
A broken cry came from Donna. It was a shattered word that sounded, distantly, like your name. “What are you doing?”
The tendrils twisted in your gut. They clawed against your skin, hot and heavy, ripping at your insides. Yet still, your body felt weightless.
You held a hand in front of you, smoke making way for… were they sparks? It was something. Something bright. Something new.
“What sort of chemical reaction is this?” Your voice weaved into the air, breathy, separate. It was difficult to believe it came out of your mouth.
The Doctor looked at you, eyes assessing. “High energy emotions, love, anger, fear, they all release cortisol and adrenaline. Artificial versions, they’re the bonds of the body’s chemical compounds, which is what energy is stored in. It doesn’t make sense – it should all be the same!”
You shook your head, or maybe your whole body shook, and your head simply joined in. “No, it’s more than that. Hope,” you breathed the word, trying to drive the point home. “It can’t feed on what it doesn’t understand.”
A yell shattered your mind, dark and visceral, snaking its way through every neuron, every pathway that stitched your mind together.
You knew you were right.
Donna’s gaze flickered between you and the Doctor, eyes widening in understanding. She ran a hand across her forehead, wiping at the blood there. Her voice was small when she spoke. “You’re dying.”
“I’m killing it,” you corrected, although – maybe you would die. The parasite rattled inside you, lighting your veins, pulsing burning hot blood through you. You let out a hiss, the veins against your wrist lighting into a startling yellow.
“It can’t feed if Y/N isn’t afraid,” the Doctor said. His voice was brittle. “It’s starving.”
Smoke boiled into tar, raining from the frayed edges of your jeans.
You shook your head, forcing your thoughts into consciousness. “You’re angry,” you said, although your voice hung for no one in particular.
It was like a switch. The Doctor’s sad eyes hardened, and he ran a hand through his hair. Tufts of hair stuck upright, and in an instant, he was moving. “Not yet,” he said, voice raised, frenzied. You tried to follow his movements, but sparkling dots met his footfalls. No – that wasn’t right. It was your own eyesight failing you.
“You’ve been thick, oh so bloody thick,” he was near shouting, talking in that animated way when he had a crazy, stupidly successful plan. He turned suddenly, a collection of wires wrapped under his arms. You weren’t sure when he had gotten them – perhaps above the stage. His eyes locked on yours. “But I will save you. I’m going to win!”
You shook your head again. No, this was wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be doing this. The smoke clung to your skin, lifting goose bumps against it. Your skin writhed, every little bump crawling like bugs.
It gripped into your spine, tar wrapping against your spleen. It pulled you taught, and your body was flung into the air with the force of a ragdoll. You hovered there, tar oozing from your fingers and toes.
“Doctor,” your voice shook, but it was harder. It was firm against the dots in your vision and the low buzzing that surrounded you. “Doctor you need to listen to me-,”
“Donna,” the Doctor pointed towards her, ignoring you. “I need you to run this cord to the stage.”
She nodded, setting the conductor into Karyia’s arms. The Doctor moved onto Inari. “What’s the voltage power on those lights?”
Her reply was lost against a sharp ringing. You whipped your head to follow the noise, but no one else reacted.
They were moving, Donna was running with a chord, her gown gathered under one arm. Lights flickered. They danced like streetlights. Karyia gripped her tablet, knuckles paling to the shade of her palm. Collections of maps, code, and data swam in the air, holograms appearing like magic. She spoke, but you couldn’t make out the words.
The Doctor held his sonic against your form, feet planted on the ground. He was determined. He was afraid.
Your head buzzed, the parasite ripping itself against your skull. It was dying.
Whatever the Doctor’s plan was, it wouldn’t be fast enough.
But it was never going to be.
“Doctor – enough,” your voice was strong, cutting sharp through the ringing and their chatter.
The sonic flickered off.
“Listen to me – no. Don’t argue with me,” your voice was hot, unwavering. The Doctors mouth tightened to a close. In the corner of your eye, you saw Donna had hooked the chord into something, and was running back.
“For once in your life,” you continued. “You are going to listen, and you’re going to listen well. There isn’t enough time.”
The Doctor’s voice was hard. “There’s always enough time, I own time.”
You shook your head. “Not today. It needs a host. You know it does. It needs to be me.”
“No,” his jaw clenched, and he called out a series of numbers to Karyia. He turned back to you. “It doesn’t. It is never meant to be you.”
His words crushed into you. It was desperate, frayed at the edges. But it had to be you.
Donna came by the Doctors side, but her gaze sat on you. Her movements slowed, understanding lacing her features, building into a devastated, broken frown. Her gaze flickered across you, against the smoke and the tar and the air under your feet.
She knew.
Of course she did, Donna had always been quick.
Her voice was broken when she spoke. “If not you,” she said, her breath quicker. “Then it would be Karyia or Inari.”
“Because it is killed by love,” Karyia said softly. She was looking at a new graph, her eyes sad. “The stronger the love, the faster it dies.”
It was one of the more creative assassination attempts that you’d witnessed.
Your gaze fell onto the Doctors. Your smile was small, sad. “I’m sorry Doctor. You don’t have time,” you gave him a meaningful look. “It’s dying too quickly.”
The Doctors face fell. Shattered.
“Doctor, there’s one thing – one key thing you must remember, okay,” you said, voice warm. “If there is one thing I have learnt travelling with you two it’s this: you, Doctor, are a good man. You save people. Maybe not everyone, not always, but you always save someone.”
"Then let me save-"
"No, Doctor. No interruptions," you turned to Donna. "And you Donna Noble,” you couldn’t help your grin. “You’re brilliant. You’re going to be the most important person in this universe, I just know it.”
Donna shook her head, eyes glassy. “Well you should bloody well get down here,” she said, although there was no heat in her voice. You struggled to hear, the ringing growing louder. “We need to be important together. Who else is gonna conspire with me?” She flung her thumb towards the Doctor. “This lump of a beanpole?”
You let out a watery laugh. “He better, you’re going to do big things Donna.”
Your gaze fell back to the Doctors. “Please don’t get angry. Keep saving people. I need you to promise me that.”
The Doctor swallowed, his jaw wobbled.
It was the way he looked at you though, with his big, round eyes, familiar even with the grief. It was then that it really, truly clicked for you.
The Doctor never looked at you like you were grand, like you restructured the planets you walked on, that you grasped onto individual matter and shaped it into golden stardust. You had never needed to.
The Doctor had always, always, looked at you like you were home. His home. And he was losing it.
He loved you, just as you loved him.
That’s what did it.
The ringing in your eyes cracked into the horizon, drowning his reply. It pulled your body taught, lifting you higher into the air. You strained against the pressure, it built against your ears, your eyes, your throat. The parasite writhed, its grip pulling against the insides of your cheeks and against your toes.
Distantly, you heard a scream. It sounded like your own.
Your head lolled behind you. Hanging against your back. This should have hurt, should have pulled and ripped against the muscles in your neck.
But it didn’t. All you could see was the land beyond you. The view was stunning. The sunset dipped into the red earth, its oranges, purples, pinks, and blues reflected in the river. It was wide, stretching into the mountaintops that were scattered in the distance. They were blanketed in white - you wondered if it was snow.
The water seemed to capture the music. It played it back to you, the way it ebbed and flowed playing a private melody that only you seemed to hear. It swam into your mind, drowning out the cries. Silencing the buzzing, ringing, that had consumed you. It was peaceful. It was perfect.
Of all the ways to die, this certainly wasn't the worst. Your fists fell open, and new energy twirled its way through you. It pulsed, dancing through your muscles, twisting against the tar.
It didn't hurt - a part of you, the rational part that knew you were dying, knew it should. You weren’t afraid of that though. You weren’t afraid of anything. Not even death. How could you be when the hills sung your name, and the river flowed with the stories you would never live to see. Your head was left buzzing, dizzy as your skull vibrated. Something bright leaked from your mouth, your eyes, your fingers. It was golden. It was hope. It was love.
It was you.
The river flowed strong, the water sparkling under the starlight. Huh. The time had changed. How long had your body been suspended here? Time had moved. Time continued. As it should do. As it always would do.
You couldn't see the view anymore, you couldn't see anything.
You weren’t golden anymore. Your body plummeted to the planet below.
A/N^2: whew this was much longer than expected. The final part is almost done (although, when I said that for this part it jumped from 2k to. um. this. so we’ll see) and will be out ASAP! Let me know if you’d like to be on the tag list!
Tag list - @fizzymilkduds @justfloatingthroughtime @girl-inthestars @howdidthishapen @hopefulfuturenovelauthor @felicitybane1412 @fanthiccs @distinguishedmakerpandapatrol @yeehawbrothers @ghostyv @charleslec-airlines @jutima55