[oncoming_storms] - First Memory
'Why hello, there.'
Words. Phrases. Syllables. She knows these, but she doesn't know how. They are new to her, foreign, and yet so familiar, as is the voice that speaks them. Speech. This is speech. Will she ever have speech? She doesn't know, but she believes she will.
There is more, as well. There is a sense of things, of the elements, of living beings, of Time. The last she knows intimately, can feel twining through her entire being, filling her, completing her. The voice that speaks to her feels of it, too, if not as much. It's sad -- sadness? Emotion. She knows these things, but what are they? Why should she know them? How do they help? Where do they come from? -- sad and lonely, because she knows he is missing a part of himself. She wants to fix him, complete him.
She wants to give him the universe.
He visits her often, always greeting her the same way, cheery and energetic, his demeanour strangely gentle for all the other emotions she feels in him -- anger, pain, uncertainty, arrogance, strength, loneliness, tenseness, fury, pity, inquisitiveness, curiosity, desire, impatience, love. It does not strike her as strange that she can feel him, see into him -- after all, it's all she's known. Since she was first aware, since thoughts and words and emotions were known to her, he has been there. She finds she yearns for his presence, singing quietly when he's there, and she knows he smiles when he hears it, though she isn't certain what a smile is, nor why he should do so.
Time passes. She can feel each moment grow, even as she grows. The world comes into focus, her mind expanding, her Heart filling with each new realisation, with each new piece of knowledge she gleans from his mind, from her own experiences, with each brilliant smile he gives her.
'Hello there, old girl,' he says, amused. 'We-ell, guess I can't call you that, can I? Not really old anymore, are you? Still brilliant, though. Always brilliant.' He pets her and she sings, thrilled at the feeling. It makes her feel stronger, better, completely and utterly alive. He laughs at her energy. 'That's my girl! You keep that up and I'll be showing you the universe in no time.'
The concept of the universe excites her, drives her, and she shivers in anticipation of dancing among the stars. He encourages her, of course, telling her stories, painting pictures in her mind of all the things he's seen, all the places he's gone in a beautiful blue police box -- what is a police box, she wonders? It seems so familiar, yet so alien. She wants soothe the pain she can feel in his words, the ache that spears through him as he tells her all these wonderful things.
He misses them, she realises. He can't have them anymore and he wants them. More than anything, she wants to give him that.
It's years and years later when she finally can, when he steps inside her, his hands running against her console, built of haphazard parts that she cannot know aren't proper. He's anxious, desperate, lonely, and she hums loudly to soothe his aching heart, the only heart she's ever heard outside her own. He smiles and her own Heart soars as he flips her switches, turns her levers, and she flies for the first time of many, out among the stars he's told her of since birth.
This is for salvagestime, because she deserves a happy alt!Ten.
Muse: The TARDIS
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 579