for muse_shuffle: 05. ...Takes more than just a memory to make me cry
05. But Ah! Who needs that sentimental bullshit, anyway // Takes more than just a memory to make me cry
(Cold Chisel - ‘Flame Trees’)
Twisting and turning and walking corridors. Experiencing things he remembers, but has never REALLY experienced. There’s a room with butterflies. He remembers that. He thinks he would like to see it. It’s all a bit like a film. You see pictures and films of the Sistine Chapel, but it looks completely different in person.
Butterflies look different in person, as well. A room full of them. Fluttering. Colors moving shifting shaping as they cross paths. He laughs at the sight. Reaching out towards one, only to have it flutter away in fear.
He’s not sure anyone knows he’s here. He might have told Donna. Piloting the TARDIS, towing the Earth home, it’s all a bit exciting. All he wanted to do was to explore rooms he remembers but doesn’t know.
“I forgot about this.”
He turns around. Rose is looking around, smiling so largely it nearly breaks his heart. Another thing he remembers but hasn’t experienced until right now. She looks like she’s so happy she might cry. He wants to hold her hand, but the Doctor and Donna are here as well. Neither one of them look quite as happy as he and Rose feel.
“Tell them,” Donna says, pushing the Doctor.
The Doctor looks back at Donna. Hushed voice that isn’t hushed at all. Everyone can hear Him. “We should wait.”
“No, tell them now. You can’t just,” and Donna looks at him and Rose, and hisses something at the Doctor. It’s funny, she seems much better at the hushed tones than the Doctor. Donna was never one to be known for things like that.
“Tell us what?” Rose asks. Her smile still there, tugging at the corners of her mouth. A bit of worry has crept into that smile as well. She turns away from him, facing the Doctor and Donna.
The Doctor looks at Donna. Looking very much like a little boy whose mum is forcing him to apologize. Own up to something. A sinking feeling in his gut tells him he knows exactly what the Doctor is owning up to. He doesn’t want to hear it, there are too many rooms left to rediscover.
“Bad Wolf Bay.”
He only sees Rose’s back as she’s facing the Doctor. He can see her body language shift, change. Confusion pushing her shoulders down. Tilting her head to a certain angle.
“What about it?”
The butterflies are all over the place. They move between the four of them. The Doctor and Donna side by side. Him and Rose on the other side of the room. Her in front, him behind. Waiting to hear their punishment. His gaze follows the path of one butterfly moving around the door. Trying to escape. An entire lifetime locked away in a room that shouldn’t be. He doesn’t have to look at Rose’s back or Donna or the Doctor when he finds something else to distract him.
“We’re going back.”
He wonders what happens to them all. They can’t live forever. Their life spans are fleeting. What happens when that one near the door flutters those wings to death. Does the TARDIS just hide him away. Send him out into space somewhere. Tuck him away in another room, full of dead butterflies and fish and all the other things that have lived within these walls.
“I know that. Mum and Mickey. Mum knows.”
It’s trying too hard to get away now. It doesn’t want to be here anymore. The others are fluttering around, oblivious. But that one, he just keeps fighting and fighting. Moving around, looking for escape. He’s going to burn himself out if he keeps moving the way he is.
He’s not sure how long there’s been silence. Donna’s voice breaks it. “Tell them. You owe them that much.”
“It can wait.”
“No, it can’t.”
“Doctor?”
He turns back to face them. Her voice breaks his heart in a completely new way. Different than the way the smile broke his heart. He remembers voices like that, saying that name like that. It’s all so different when it really happens.
“You two will be going back as well.”
There is a silence. Rose’s shoulders slumping. He’s glad he can only see her back. He can still see the Doctor’s face. He wishes he couldn’t.
“But…but I came all this way. I can’t just - “
The Doctor wants to move towards Rose. He can see it in His eyes. He doesn’t of course. Look but don’t touch.
“We saved the universe, but at a cost.”
The Doctor’s eyes move away from Rose. The tenderness, the need to move forward, to touch and to feel, vanishes. It’s replaced with a new face. Cold. Ancient. Unforgiving. He never could figure out how to forgive Himself. He can’t be expected to forgive someone who has the audacity to walk around with His face and then commit the same crimes He has committed. It’s not surprising. He remembers this is what should happen. It doesn’t make his insides twist any less when He looks at him that way.
“And the cost was him.”
He remembers being able to bury things. Emotions and pain. Bury them in that cold, ancient place. This is something he’ll never really know. He doesn’t have a cold ancient place. He’s too new. He can’t hold it in, he can’t bite his tongue. He can’t help but feel like his insides are ripping apart at the seams.
“You made me!”
“Exactly…”
He goes on about being born in battle, and blood and rage and other words He knows well. The only word he needed to hear was that exactly. He made him, so of course He needed to be rid of him. Exactly.
“You made me better, and now you can do the same for him.”
He’s not sure if the Doctor is doing this purely for Rose. Maybe this is His way of being kind. A second chance for His not quite self. A life with Rose. The one adventure He could never have. It’s not kindness. Not to him, not to Rose.
“But he’s not you.”
Those words make his stomach twist and turn, and a pain hit his chest. He worries something might be wrong with the one heart, having to work double time.
“He needs you, that’s very me.”
Donna interrupts the Doctor and Rose. “But it’s better than that, though. Don’t you see what he’s trying to give you?”
Donna looks at him. Eyes locking. She thinks this is kindness as well. Maybe it is, and he just remembers thinking it’s not. Maybe when he’s there he will know something else. Donna looks at him, and he thinks memories might not live up to the reality. Slow paths might not be so slow. Donna wouldn’t send him that way if she thought it was a bad thing.
Rose turns around to face him. She looks so devastated. Another memory turned into experience. It’s a bit much, seeing things in the flesh. He remembers thinking He might feel a certain way about her. A way that could never be said. Standing here now, the memories are worthless. He knows how he feels. She’s so much better in reality.
“I look like Him and I think like Him…same memories, same thoughts, same everything. Except I’ve only got one heart.”
It’s a lie, he thinks. Not the same everything. But one heart seems to capture that sentiment just enough. Missing a heart must translate into something.
“Which means?”
“I’m part Human. Specifically the aging part. I’ll grow old and never regenerate. I’ve only got one life…Rose Tyler.”
He looks at her, and he’s unsure how the Doctor could bottle up His feelings the way He did. Maybe that’s where that second heart comes in useful. Or maybe being human has made him over sentimental.
“I could spend it with you. If you like.”
She steps forward, hand on his chest, looking at him. He can see her searching for that second heartbeat. She won’t find it.
“You’ll grow old at the same time as me?”
“Together.”
“We have to get back to the console room,” the Doctor says, “Almost time to drop the others off.”
The Doctor and Donna make their way towards the door. Rose pulls away, running to the Doctor. Quite right, too.
“But it’s still not right.”
They turn around, the Doctor’s gaze fixed on Rose. He catches Donna looking at him. He doesn’t hold her gaze for long, because that butterfly was so close to escape. A door almost opened. Still shut. So he scooted around the room. Looking for another door. Up towards the fake sky. Searching for a crack. Escape. The room was much too small for him. He wonders if the Doctor has ever noticed. He doesn’t remember that.
“The Doctor’s still you.”
“And I’m him.”
“All right. Both of you, answer me this.”
He’s being called away so he follows. The mass of butterflies still flying around. The lone one looking for escape forgotten by his brothers and sisters. They are still beautiful, except for that one looking to get away. Ruining the scene.
“The worst day of my life, standing on that beach. What was the last thing you said to me?”
She looks at the Doctor. Waiting.
“Go on, say it.”
“I said ‘Rose Tyler’.”
“Yeah and how was that sentence going to end?”
“Does it need saying?”
The Doctor looks so lonely. He remembers how lonely He is. It’s awful to actually witness.
“And you, Doctor? What was the end of that sentence?”
She’s looking at him now. Waiting. He knows he’s different than the Doctor, because it does need saying. When she looks at him that way, he can’t help but say it.
He leans in and whispers. Words that had been waiting years to be said.
She kisses him. He remembers what kisses should feel like, but it’s still new. He can hear the flapping of butterfly wings. He can hear footsteps as well. A door opening. He wonders if that butterfly got out quickly enough. He wonders why kissing Rose feels like kissing a stranger. Why it feels like she is somewhere else.
She pulls away at the sound of the door closing. Runs out, follows them. He lingers in the room for a moment. That butterfly still moving around. Desperate. Frightened. Exhausted.
“You can stop now.”
Of course it doesn’t listen. It’s a butterfly. He doesn’t understand what he’s saying. It looks like it will stop anyway. It’s patterns becoming erratic, looking almost drunk. Weaving and rising and finally unable to fly anymore it sinks, falling. Forgotten by his brothers and sisters. Never even really noticed, if anyone thought about it. He bends over and picks it up. Some traces of life still there. The other butterflies oblivious to their brother’s pain. Flitting around their meadow. Daring to look beautiful and happy and graceful. It’s still alive, though. It wants nothing more than to be out of this room. He can give it that much.
He exits the room. The butterfly still not ready to fly. Wanting out of these walls all together. Wanting real air. A real world.
“…for you.”
He’s not sure what was said, but whatever Rose said has made the Doctor smile. Donna looks on, smiling, happy for her friend. She hears him enter the corridor, and looks away from the Doctor and Rose, the smile vanishing from her lips. Looking at him with so much sadness it makes him sick.
Rose and the Doctor don’t notice him or Donna at all. Too caught up in each other.
“Doc-”
“I’m fine.”
The Doctor looks away from Rose. The coldness returning.
“We need to find something to do with you.”
“Yeah.”
“You killed the Daleks, you can’t-”
“I know.”
Rose is holding His hand now. Supportive. Loving Him. He feels so stupid. He now has the experience to know why the Doctor bottles His emotions.
The Doctor holds her hand as well, fingers lacing. He’s not alone for now, good for Him.
The Doctor sniffs, thinking. “I could ask Martha.”
“Whatever you want,” he smiles. He wants to cry. He buries the urge. Memories becoming experiences. His fists clenching. He forgets and then remembers too late he’s still holding the butterfly. One more thing to add to the list. One more piece of sorrow to pack away. How stupid is that, sadness over a butterfly that was probably dead already. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, buries his thoughts. Donna reaches out for him and he walks around her.
He ignores them. He heads for another corridor. Wanting to cram as much experience as possible in before it’s too late.
“You should go back to the console room. You’ll be home soon.”
He turns on the balls of his feet. Moving past them. Not looking. Heading back to the console room. Wishing he could cling to these walls and never leave.
Heartbreak was another memory. Memory is nothing close to experience. He didn’t know until now just how many ways it could be experienced.
ooc: This is a sort of prologue to the AU verses concerning Martha where 10.5 gets left in Martha's care instead of Rose's.