Fic: Yesterday Once More (1/1)
Title: Yesterday Once More
Rating: PG
Pairing: Ten/Donna
Word Count: 1,105
Summary: There was a time and a place where they were together, and for those small, simple moments, the whole of the universe could wait.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot. Story title inspired by The Carpenters.
Author’s Notes: As real life has thrown me a tad of late, and Eclipse is being slightly difficult, I needed a bit of a break. So; something of a venture back into stream-of-consciousness (because my concentration has been waaay off lately...), this is just a tiny speck of an angsty ficlet, really. But I do hope you enjoy it nonetheless.
Yesterday Once More
There was a place, and a time, where the sparkling rays of a toxic sun through barriers of crystal caught the auburn tones in her hair just right, illuminating the singular strands so that it seemed as if the flowing waves of her hair had caught aflame.
He couldn’t run into himself, but he was a clever man; there were countless vantage points to position himself at, all safely out of his own line of sight - and when that plan of action had been thoroughly exhausted, he took to making certain that he watched nothing but her. That way, he was able to stand just beside himself on more than one occasion, silently fixing his eyes on the vision stretched upon the sand, and not a word would be spoken between his two selves. It didn’t matter if he was remembering not to speak, not to stare, or if instead he had yet to remember - didn’t matter when and where the version of himself he was brushing shoulders with was from, really - that was inconsequential. All that mattered was her, in those moments. All that had ever mattered was her.
In time - when the weeks without her bled slowly, ruthlessly out into the tendrils of months - they learned to unconsciously accommodate one another, his various selves; all overstepping timelines and threatening to create enough paradoxes to rip the whole of reality into shreds so infinitesimal they would be essentially nonexistent. It suddenly didn’t matter, though - didn’t even register that with every consecutive time he stepped back out onto the sparkling sand of the dunes from that one particular afternoon in time, that he was risking the lives of thousands; he didn’t even consider that with each breath she took of the sweet air of sunset - each breath she stole from his lungs time and again - that he was endangering civilizations - millions upon millions of innocent lives that could be lost forever simply because he was childish, petulant; selfish.
Heartbroken.
Even if he had realized it, it wouldn’t have made any difference; because for the first time in a very long time - perhaps ever - the problems of the cosmos could wait an eternity, for all he cared; the whole of the universe could go straight to hell.
He tried to remember the day, so vivid in his mind and yet so vague - but he never could manage it. The only thing he could recall about it, the only thing that made it seem so singular, so special, was the image of her burned in his mind, and the sudden burst of flame that seared and singed and tingled in the blackened, deadened hole inside his chest every time he thought about it; the way in which the empty, vacuous chambers of his hearts suddenly swelled, suddenly clenched where they had long since frozen solid, had long since dried up; stiffened with the knowledge that the one person who had caused them to beat a little harder, with just a little more zeal, was lost forevermore.
He couldn’t remember, and that fact burned in the very depths of his soul like the foulest sort of betrayal. He should have been able to remember everything; every moment - she was unforgettable, and it seemed that in the end, he wasn’t worthy of her. He never had been.
He would watch, though, and in that he would always feel - always. Sometimes, when the pearly sheen of her teeth caught just so in the unforgiving beams of dusk and gleamed, shone like the moon, glassy and full on a starless night - when he saw that heart-stopping, soul-melting smile grace her features, sometimes he would feel weak. Sometimes he would feel hopeless. Sometimes he would feel giddy, his pulses quickening without relent and galloping through his veins as he swooned a little, the heat and recollection and the way the breeze toyed with the ripples in her simple skirt all just becoming too much. Sometimes he’d frown as he watched himself, wishing he’d smiled just as broadly in return, wishing he’d never held back, not with her. Wishing he’d known then, but knowing by the stir, the tight pull of agony embedded deep within his chest that it was impossible, that it wouldn’t have changed anything.
Every time her chest rose, he felt himself pause - the very blood in his veins hanging suspended for the barest of instants while her tender, throbbing, beautiful human heart stilled between beats, counterpoised to the wisp of air that escaped her lips as she exhaled, slowly; her eyelids fluttering closed in sheer, blissful release as her muscles went lax and her head lulled to her shoulder, her breathing eventually evening out to match the cadence of the tide. He watched himself, every time - the self that had lived it for real, the first time through - and he only ever grew increasingly appalled at his own impatience, his own restlessness in response to her serenity, her spectacular communion with the world around her; the peace that smoothed her forehead and defined her cheekbones and hung languidly about the spirals at the bottom of her curls.
Each and every time, it became harder to resist the urge to go to her, to throw caution to the wind and slaughter half a galaxy just to touch her, to feel the warmth of standing next to her. Each and every time, it hurt more to walk away; he lasted less time in between returning to her. Each and every time, he felt weaker, more hollow - his hearts beat with less conviction after every parting, and he greatly suspect that one day, they would simply give out altogether. He hadn’t quite decided yet whether or not he would mind when that day finally arrived.
He’d been such a fool.
And so there was a place, and a time, where the radiance of a particular woman’s physical beauty almost managed to match the sheer brilliance of her soul. A place and a time where she was his, and they were together; a place and time that wasn’t now, and would never be again.
But once, there had been; and that was enough.
His every breath was wasted, now - devoted - to the silent vigil of keeping what was left of this perfect memory of her safe for the rest of his days; and as solar systems collapsed and races disappeared from existence, he didn’t so much as bat an eyelash; he barely even noticed.
This was his burden - his charge, his curse; and he would bear it always, if just to see her smile out towards the horizon one more time.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Ten/Donna
Word Count: 1,105
Summary: There was a time and a place where they were together, and for those small, simple moments, the whole of the universe could wait.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot. Story title inspired by The Carpenters.
Author’s Notes: As real life has thrown me a tad of late, and Eclipse is being slightly difficult, I needed a bit of a break. So; something of a venture back into stream-of-consciousness (because my concentration has been waaay off lately...), this is just a tiny speck of an angsty ficlet, really. But I do hope you enjoy it nonetheless.
Yesterday Once More
There was a place, and a time, where the sparkling rays of a toxic sun through barriers of crystal caught the auburn tones in her hair just right, illuminating the singular strands so that it seemed as if the flowing waves of her hair had caught aflame.
He couldn’t run into himself, but he was a clever man; there were countless vantage points to position himself at, all safely out of his own line of sight - and when that plan of action had been thoroughly exhausted, he took to making certain that he watched nothing but her. That way, he was able to stand just beside himself on more than one occasion, silently fixing his eyes on the vision stretched upon the sand, and not a word would be spoken between his two selves. It didn’t matter if he was remembering not to speak, not to stare, or if instead he had yet to remember - didn’t matter when and where the version of himself he was brushing shoulders with was from, really - that was inconsequential. All that mattered was her, in those moments. All that had ever mattered was her.
In time - when the weeks without her bled slowly, ruthlessly out into the tendrils of months - they learned to unconsciously accommodate one another, his various selves; all overstepping timelines and threatening to create enough paradoxes to rip the whole of reality into shreds so infinitesimal they would be essentially nonexistent. It suddenly didn’t matter, though - didn’t even register that with every consecutive time he stepped back out onto the sparkling sand of the dunes from that one particular afternoon in time, that he was risking the lives of thousands; he didn’t even consider that with each breath she took of the sweet air of sunset - each breath she stole from his lungs time and again - that he was endangering civilizations - millions upon millions of innocent lives that could be lost forever simply because he was childish, petulant; selfish.
Heartbroken.
Even if he had realized it, it wouldn’t have made any difference; because for the first time in a very long time - perhaps ever - the problems of the cosmos could wait an eternity, for all he cared; the whole of the universe could go straight to hell.
He tried to remember the day, so vivid in his mind and yet so vague - but he never could manage it. The only thing he could recall about it, the only thing that made it seem so singular, so special, was the image of her burned in his mind, and the sudden burst of flame that seared and singed and tingled in the blackened, deadened hole inside his chest every time he thought about it; the way in which the empty, vacuous chambers of his hearts suddenly swelled, suddenly clenched where they had long since frozen solid, had long since dried up; stiffened with the knowledge that the one person who had caused them to beat a little harder, with just a little more zeal, was lost forevermore.
He couldn’t remember, and that fact burned in the very depths of his soul like the foulest sort of betrayal. He should have been able to remember everything; every moment - she was unforgettable, and it seemed that in the end, he wasn’t worthy of her. He never had been.
He would watch, though, and in that he would always feel - always. Sometimes, when the pearly sheen of her teeth caught just so in the unforgiving beams of dusk and gleamed, shone like the moon, glassy and full on a starless night - when he saw that heart-stopping, soul-melting smile grace her features, sometimes he would feel weak. Sometimes he would feel hopeless. Sometimes he would feel giddy, his pulses quickening without relent and galloping through his veins as he swooned a little, the heat and recollection and the way the breeze toyed with the ripples in her simple skirt all just becoming too much. Sometimes he’d frown as he watched himself, wishing he’d smiled just as broadly in return, wishing he’d never held back, not with her. Wishing he’d known then, but knowing by the stir, the tight pull of agony embedded deep within his chest that it was impossible, that it wouldn’t have changed anything.
Every time her chest rose, he felt himself pause - the very blood in his veins hanging suspended for the barest of instants while her tender, throbbing, beautiful human heart stilled between beats, counterpoised to the wisp of air that escaped her lips as she exhaled, slowly; her eyelids fluttering closed in sheer, blissful release as her muscles went lax and her head lulled to her shoulder, her breathing eventually evening out to match the cadence of the tide. He watched himself, every time - the self that had lived it for real, the first time through - and he only ever grew increasingly appalled at his own impatience, his own restlessness in response to her serenity, her spectacular communion with the world around her; the peace that smoothed her forehead and defined her cheekbones and hung languidly about the spirals at the bottom of her curls.
Each and every time, it became harder to resist the urge to go to her, to throw caution to the wind and slaughter half a galaxy just to touch her, to feel the warmth of standing next to her. Each and every time, it hurt more to walk away; he lasted less time in between returning to her. Each and every time, he felt weaker, more hollow - his hearts beat with less conviction after every parting, and he greatly suspect that one day, they would simply give out altogether. He hadn’t quite decided yet whether or not he would mind when that day finally arrived.
He’d been such a fool.
And so there was a place, and a time, where the radiance of a particular woman’s physical beauty almost managed to match the sheer brilliance of her soul. A place and a time where she was his, and they were together; a place and time that wasn’t now, and would never be again.
But once, there had been; and that was enough.
His every breath was wasted, now - devoted - to the silent vigil of keeping what was left of this perfect memory of her safe for the rest of his days; and as solar systems collapsed and races disappeared from existence, he didn’t so much as bat an eyelash; he barely even noticed.
This was his burden - his charge, his curse; and he would bear it always, if just to see her smile out towards the horizon one more time.