"What an odd thing it is... to envy one self after death. To wish to be himself"
The place was lit by with white light, clean and proper, no color to muddle and confuse a researcher, the whole laboratory was like this. It is standard to a renowed scientist to have, such as them
The body was laid bare on a metal table, no straps needed, for he is already dead, has been for about two hours, the wrinkled face now smothered into the familiar grumpy expression he was so found of bearing alive
Eight made sure of it
The child segment watched as the others worked, one who did not know them would call the scene uncanny, for how many could say they were studied by themselves? No-one that he knew
The blue hair now coated in grays laied untouched, soon it too would be choped and send to analysis by Thirty-five or twenty. The organs were being separated for Fourty, the eyes for Eighteen, the nails back to Thirty if his five years senior wouldn't notice first, and the bones would go to Fifthy... and nothing to him
For he was the youngest, and was only permitted to watch the procedure, perhaps, he thought, as a little ceremonial burrial for Zandik in itself. All of him is here after all, all the ages and the perspectives and the experiences, above, Prime, formerly Twenty-eight, watched in silence, an oddity Eight noted
But not unusual, he supposed, although he did felt... nothing, for the human man laying on the autopsy table in front of him. For he isn't him is he?
He is no human, no person, no boy, he was a segment of a boy who has died at the age of Eight-five, a boy... that never felt human anyways
So he doesn't cry, for he can not, nor does he grief, for he never did prior to being made. Eight stares and watches as slowly what remains of Zandik is carefuly catalogued, separated and sent away
But a curious part of him wonders, if he was Zandik, who he isn't, if he was once alive, for he wasn't, if he was the man that once was a boy. He could be able to answer a question he has heard children like him tend to have
What would he be like, when he grew up? The answer was The Doctor, yes, but more than that, for Zandik was never a simple child was he?
What was he like, his body, his mind, his existence, his bonds...
Now, that, the segment could work with, he wanted to know... if he grew up, the man on the table is who he would become. If he was human, his lungs would be black, Eighteen sneared when he had to discart it, one of his eyes would be failing him more than the other, as twenty had mused, his throath would be full of spores and his livers would be failing in about three more years if he had lived longer
Zandik... no, his designation is Eight, noted all of that, but something probed in his mind, something... strange, something he was instructed that wouldn't happen, after all he is forever an eight year old echo of a boy, he could never feel what he did not already knew
And Zandik, when he was trully Zandik once, does not remember feeling this... hollow...
It isn't for his death, not really, but more like, his end, he continued, as one with segments tends to do, but he also stopped... and that, brings in a question, one that no human can answer, but he... he could, for he is no human...
A question, that Eight remembers being his first
When the lab was lit in green, and tubes were being tested, and he woke thinking he was still a boy. Before he knew the truth, when he was needed to be a child, when someone so like him told him he would be working togheter for a while until the right time came
He remembers asking, in a night where he had failed yet again to see the mysterious mitical beings that are the Aranaras. He asked the older man, with red eyes and mesy hair, now more blue than teal, longer than they once where two years ago...
"Do you think someone misses me?"
His answer had been a tap on his notes, a hum, and a smile, small, cruel, and cold
"No" he had said, and Zandik noded, accepting the truth he already expected
That man, is now Prime, and Eight, as he looks up after the operation was finally finished, and notices the segment no longer there, wonders briefly if he is thinking the same thoughts as the youngest is too
Zandik is dead... would anyone miss him?
With no burrial and many Doctors to create an illusion if continuity, no-one trully should miss him
He was every where, in many places, knew plenty of difernet people and had diferrent experiences, The Doctor is alive... but Zandik...
The answer, Eight thought, would still be the same
......
It isn't
Two weeks
It took two weeks for him to be missed, and that was the closest thing little Eigh felt to a shortage
Seventy, the closest one in appearance they had for Zandik, had walked back to the closest lab in the borders of Snezhnaya with a stranger. Twenty was furious with him then, for this laboratory is a closet space, no-one but the segments knew of it, no-one but them should know
But Seventy... in a way the older in maturity but younger in production, had the presence of a man who is too tired to deal with teenage rebellion and just walked past his other as if he where a shadow
The stranger did the same, yet, Eight heard, as they passed him a sad chuckle from them. And it clicked in place when Fouty was interrupted in his cleaning
"You..." the segment looked the closet he coukd to surprise, given the black mask covering where his eyes are supposed to be "so you could not be fooled"
Seventy continued forward as the stranger stopped and turned to Fourty
"You did try it trice when looking like that" their voice was raspy, they where not an adult, not a child, not a teen "what made you think you could now?"
"And you seem to always forget that I am not him, I don't remember ever doing such sloopy job" Furty answered, mirth in his voice as if this where a game, as if you where amusing, as if you two, where close
On the background Twenty complained "Fine, be that way, compromise years of research because of that old mans' play thing! See if I care! You all will regret not listening to me!"
"And yet you remember me, don't you?" You answered like him, but patience danced in your tongue and yet it did not tamper your mischief, a knowing timber in your throat rang as you added "Boy"
Twenty had barked a laugh, and Fourty in such display of revulsion sneered "do not treat me like-"
Seventy called their name then, neutral, in a way only Zandik could, it silenced the lab, but not your humming. You, the child understood, had just teased Fourty
Eight, seeing an opportunity for something that he never once did see, leaped behind the pair once the stranger walked forward, quietly as he could
He does not know you, but Zandik... Zandik did, you are a stranger, a stranger that, if he where to grow, he would met, he would be teased by, he would know someone that could joke with him, someone, who was not of the same stature as him
A true stranger, that he would not have needed to know the name off... who could you be... to have earned Seventys' trust enough for him to bring you here?
The place the older segment had guided you to had been the old Zandiks' quarters, nothing of note, not even his clothes where there, now in use by others versions of himself that continue what he called legacy
Eight watched in the corners of the door, as you looked around the place, and Seventy stepped back, he let you to yourself, Instinctively, perhaps a by product of their manufactured minds, connected, the boy knew that the older man was as curious, if not fascinated, by you as he is
Both, the child understood, where looking at something they had... that the could have...
"You really did never sleep in a proper bed most of the time... bet your spine was busted"
"He had the starts of a bone spur when I last saw the exams"
"and you don't?" The stranger accused, a smile in their lips
"I have more important things to watch than my own medical exams. If anything, I can fix it, whether he could not"
"You are still dodging my questions, Zandik" they laughed then, weak and true "never changed no matter the age indeed... too prideful for anything"
That shut Seventy up quickly, an uncomfortable notion hit Eights' mind then. True, they did not helped Zandik when asked, they are not Zandik, they are better, they are eternal... but... if the same happened to them... would they help?
Would they change what their future looked like?
"And yet you still thought me a fool, didn't you?"
"... so you knew?"
"Of course I did, you hardly masked your own opinion, specially after ten shots"
"Perhaps he was humanly wrong in that notion then"
They snort "you are trying to run away from yourself again? Really now? After dissecting your own body?"
"I am not him"
"You were him once. This will never change..."
"My existence is already a divide"
"... and yet you still remember- There it is!" With a triumph the stranger picks something from the closet, a standard white coat
Nothing that Eight couldn't have picked off the labs himself
"..."
They search inside it and look close at the wrists
"This one, I'll burn it on my next trip"
Zandiks heart dropped, fire... it had many connecting memories to his segments of life. But fire... the act of burning something, he knows it is supposed to be important, it is special it is...
"Such sentimentality is uneeded"
A burrial
"And yet, I will do it anyway..." they mused, and Eight felt... he felt a pang in his core "thank you, for permitting me a last farewell"
"..." seventy is quiet for a moment, contemplating, but... his voice "ending this last connection will free me of needless pretending, you are doing me a favor"
He is... bitter... his heart... it hurts, something is wrong, what is wrong?
"...I see" the way you say words, you... this is like a goodbye, he is supposed to be good at those, why does this hurt
The steps get closer, and Eight jumps into the shadows before his feet fail him
The laboratory continues it's work, segments pretend to not see the stranger and their host as they make way back to the outside world. But Eight... the child sees... he notices, the older ones, the ones that know of you, they spare a glance, a nod, an acknowledgement, you where something to him, you are supposed to be something to him
And when you finally reached the elevator, Seventy froze in place whe the doors opened and you stepped inside, face taht once looked all of him now solely focused on the white coat
"Goodbye Doctor" you say, and it feels wrong for his name to not be the last thing they hear from you "For all that is worth, I will miss you"
Eights' beath stops, he understands now, you... you where theirs, you were his, and now you are gone, just like Zandik. The silence that follows you is a realization. The younger segments get irritated easily by it to the point they take charge for once, but Eight...
For a moment, brief as it is, the segment forgot who he was, and in that moment, like a ghost of a boy he wasn't supposed to be, he hoped... that one day, he would meet that same stranger again
That one day he would grow old, and meet a friend who would miss him
Older!Dottore x immortal!reader. Light angst mayyybe?? Short one shot, characters might not be lore accurate!!
Being punished by the gods with immortality certainly did not sound all that awful. Staying young forever and having the opportunity to continue your research without any disturbances, such as death, felt like more of a dream than a curse.
Days, months, years passed fairly quickly. Yet your body remained youthful, skin flawless, with no signs of aging. Only the knowledge, learnt over time, allowed people to make assumptions about your experience in this world.
Seems like the same cannot be said about everyone.
Zandik had long since lost his battle against the effects of time. No magical elixir had granted him the satisfaction of preventing his age from catching up to him. Gray, split hair, aching muscles, sore knees, unpreventable wrinkles all across the body from head to toe. He really was becoming old.
Dottore never was a good man. He was quite selfish, in fact, and many would describe as *evil*. But that, under no circumstances, stopped you from establishing a connection with him.
Were you friends? No, you wouldn't say that. Were you enemies? No, not most of the time atleast. Were you lovers? No, not lovers...
Then what were you?
"Well, what did you come here for?" He asked.
"Youre still working?"
"Is that a problem?"
"No, but shouldn't you be resting?"
Some silence followed after as he lifted his head from the documents.
"Is that really all you see me as now? Someone incapable of taking care of myself just because of my body. If so, don't bother to pity me, I do not need it."
"That is not it and you know it. Stop driving yourself to an early grave."
"My time left here is quite limited. I will not waste it by loafing around, my experiments shall be finished." He stood up from his seat. "The concept of me dying seems to affect you in some kind of way. It is rather interesting, really. Would it be safe to make the assumption that there is a part of you that cares?"
His body now stood a few steps away from you. Tall, confident, but not as much as years ago. No, not anymore.
You kept quiet. Not because you did not care. You did. But it felt somewhat pathetic to admit it to a man who was constantly preoccupied with his work and had no care in the world for others.
"..Maybe." Your voice came out faint.
The touch of a rough, yet gentle hand on your head pulled you out of your thoughs as your forehead hit his chest.
"It is indeed disappointing that our time together is cut short by such a fragile thing as my mortality. Alas, do not fret. Do not take my distance as an answer - although it is too late for me, I merely do not want you to get attached, as it would only be a bother. Even if I wish things were different, it seems that my fate cannot be changed. Accept it, Y/n"
Were you friends? Lovers? Worse. You did not know. But what was known, was that moments like these- quiet, careful, truthful- they were what you cherished. And maybe, maybe it was still possible to save them, even if it seemed impossible.
This is my first ever fanfic, so I apologise if its not that great.. I feel like I got a little off point. It is short, but I hope to make longer ones in the future! Tysm for reading🤍
