Can't run from me
Title: Can't run from me.
Author: fate_incomplete
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angst
Spoilers: None
Characters: Eleven, Amy, Rory
Word Count: 920
A/N: Written for the who_contest prompt - War & Peace
Summary: The one thing he can't run from, is himself...
.......................
The Doctor slumped against the console, head throbbing as his vision blurred alarmingly. He fought off mild and completely unhelpful panic, as he tried to remember what had happened. Before he could figure it out, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head, trying to focus on whatever it was.
"Doctor, Doctor, Doctor."
The Doctor stilled at the sound of the voice. The pain in his head making it near impossible to concentrate as spots of light continued to swirl across his vision. Through the haze he saw a set of legs come to a stop in front of him. Whoever they belonged to leaning down. The Doctor felt a heavy hand on his shoulder as he tried to struggle to his feet, keeping him in place on the floor.
"But Doctor who?"
"Who are you?"
"Don't you know?" The voice continued with a chuckle that was cold and completely humourless.
Whoever it was, knelt down in front of him. The Doctor couldn't make out the man's face, vision now so blurry he could see little more than hazy shapes of light and dark.
"You claim to be peaceful, a pacifist even, with your hatred of guns and blatant disapproval of violence. But you don't need a gun do you? Why bother with something so...primitive, so messy. Not when you have something far more dangerous."
"Who are? What do you want?" The Doctor asked.
The voice was somehow familiar, but he couldn't place it. He closed his eyes, trying to settle his breathing, attempting to push away the pain so he could concentrate on figuring out what had happened, and how to get himself out of whatever mess this was.
"What is it you tell them? That the interior of the TARDIS is in a state of temporal grace?" The man continued, ignoring his questions.
The Doctor felt the man lean forward, whispering into his ear. "A clever lie, but then again, your whole existence is a clever lie isn't it?" The words dripping with contempt.
"Do you tell them about the worlds you've destroyed? About all the places you've left in ruins in your wake? About the multitude of lives you have shattered?"
The Doctor's hands fisted futilely by his side, as he opened his eyes, trying to focus on the room, to find Amy and Rory, but he couldn't see them.
"Of course you don't."
The man squeezed the Doctor's shoulder painfully.
"You're the Doctor. You just plaster that idiotic grin on your face, flash that boyish charm and they all follow you to their death. That's what you do. They follow you blindly, willingly, as you lead them by the hand to their inevitable, sticky end."
The Doctor swallowed at the words, some dark place inside of him aching at the truth of them.
"And you make yourself feel better, by just every now and then, saving some of them. Does it make you feel like a god? To hold their lives in your hands, to pick and choose which ones you'll save, and which ones you will destroy?"
"No," the Doctor whispered.
"Oh but it does, doesn't it? The enigmatic Doctor who sweeps in and saves the day, has them begging for just another moment with you, and then you leave, never to be seen again."
The Doctor's vision finally started to clear. He looked up at the man, every muscle stilling as he saw his own face, sneering down at him.
"You can't escape me, can you?" The man, leaned forward, kneeling mere centimeters away. "You bring a storm of war and death with you wherever you go."
"No," the Doctor whispered again, forcing himself to ignore the words that cut too close to the truth.
He closed his eyes again briefly, breathing in slowly as he willed his body to cooperate, before he lunged forward, grabbing the man who looked just like him by the throat. Almost growling, he thrust with all his strength, both losing their balance. The Doctor rolled so he could pin the other man to the floor beneath his own body.
"Who are you?" The Doctor asked again, snarling the question into the man's, or whatever he was, ear.
The Doctor watched as his own face twisted into a mocking smile.
"I'm the one thing you can't run far enough from."
The Doctor groaned, feeling hands shaking him. Amy's hands he realised as she spoke.
"Rory, he's waking up."
The Doctor opened his eyes to see Amy and Rory looking down at him with concern written all over their faces.
"What happened?" He asked groggily.
"We don't know, but you need to get up. The TARDIS is all wonky," Amy answered.
"You said something about a psychic blast, and then sort of fainted," Rory added.
"Fainted?"
"Yes, fainted. What was that?"
"I don't know, but we need to get away from here. Very far away."
Rory helped the Doctor to his feet. He grabbed hold of the console to steady himself, pushing buttons without any real thought of where they were heading as long as it was somewhere, anywhere else. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the monitor over head, closing his eyes as he thought it smiled contemptuously at him. The only survivor of a war he had ended by killing millions, the ghost of every life extinguished because of him was hidden in that smile.
He slammed the lever harder then was necessary, and did what he did best.
He ran.
.......................
Author: fate_incomplete
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angst
Spoilers: None
Characters: Eleven, Amy, Rory
Word Count: 920
A/N: Written for the who_contest prompt - War & Peace
Summary: The one thing he can't run from, is himself...
.......................
The Doctor slumped against the console, head throbbing as his vision blurred alarmingly. He fought off mild and completely unhelpful panic, as he tried to remember what had happened. Before he could figure it out, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head, trying to focus on whatever it was.
"Doctor, Doctor, Doctor."
The Doctor stilled at the sound of the voice. The pain in his head making it near impossible to concentrate as spots of light continued to swirl across his vision. Through the haze he saw a set of legs come to a stop in front of him. Whoever they belonged to leaning down. The Doctor felt a heavy hand on his shoulder as he tried to struggle to his feet, keeping him in place on the floor.
"But Doctor who?"
"Who are you?"
"Don't you know?" The voice continued with a chuckle that was cold and completely humourless.
Whoever it was, knelt down in front of him. The Doctor couldn't make out the man's face, vision now so blurry he could see little more than hazy shapes of light and dark.
"You claim to be peaceful, a pacifist even, with your hatred of guns and blatant disapproval of violence. But you don't need a gun do you? Why bother with something so...primitive, so messy. Not when you have something far more dangerous."
"Who are? What do you want?" The Doctor asked.
The voice was somehow familiar, but he couldn't place it. He closed his eyes, trying to settle his breathing, attempting to push away the pain so he could concentrate on figuring out what had happened, and how to get himself out of whatever mess this was.
"What is it you tell them? That the interior of the TARDIS is in a state of temporal grace?" The man continued, ignoring his questions.
The Doctor felt the man lean forward, whispering into his ear. "A clever lie, but then again, your whole existence is a clever lie isn't it?" The words dripping with contempt.
"Do you tell them about the worlds you've destroyed? About all the places you've left in ruins in your wake? About the multitude of lives you have shattered?"
The Doctor's hands fisted futilely by his side, as he opened his eyes, trying to focus on the room, to find Amy and Rory, but he couldn't see them.
"Of course you don't."
The man squeezed the Doctor's shoulder painfully.
"You're the Doctor. You just plaster that idiotic grin on your face, flash that boyish charm and they all follow you to their death. That's what you do. They follow you blindly, willingly, as you lead them by the hand to their inevitable, sticky end."
The Doctor swallowed at the words, some dark place inside of him aching at the truth of them.
"And you make yourself feel better, by just every now and then, saving some of them. Does it make you feel like a god? To hold their lives in your hands, to pick and choose which ones you'll save, and which ones you will destroy?"
"No," the Doctor whispered.
"Oh but it does, doesn't it? The enigmatic Doctor who sweeps in and saves the day, has them begging for just another moment with you, and then you leave, never to be seen again."
The Doctor's vision finally started to clear. He looked up at the man, every muscle stilling as he saw his own face, sneering down at him.
"You can't escape me, can you?" The man, leaned forward, kneeling mere centimeters away. "You bring a storm of war and death with you wherever you go."
"No," the Doctor whispered again, forcing himself to ignore the words that cut too close to the truth.
He closed his eyes again briefly, breathing in slowly as he willed his body to cooperate, before he lunged forward, grabbing the man who looked just like him by the throat. Almost growling, he thrust with all his strength, both losing their balance. The Doctor rolled so he could pin the other man to the floor beneath his own body.
"Who are you?" The Doctor asked again, snarling the question into the man's, or whatever he was, ear.
The Doctor watched as his own face twisted into a mocking smile.
"I'm the one thing you can't run far enough from."
The Doctor groaned, feeling hands shaking him. Amy's hands he realised as she spoke.
"Rory, he's waking up."
The Doctor opened his eyes to see Amy and Rory looking down at him with concern written all over their faces.
"What happened?" He asked groggily.
"We don't know, but you need to get up. The TARDIS is all wonky," Amy answered.
"You said something about a psychic blast, and then sort of fainted," Rory added.
"Fainted?"
"Yes, fainted. What was that?"
"I don't know, but we need to get away from here. Very far away."
Rory helped the Doctor to his feet. He grabbed hold of the console to steady himself, pushing buttons without any real thought of where they were heading as long as it was somewhere, anywhere else. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the monitor over head, closing his eyes as he thought it smiled contemptuously at him. The only survivor of a war he had ended by killing millions, the ghost of every life extinguished because of him was hidden in that smile.
He slammed the lever harder then was necessary, and did what he did best.
He ran.
.......................