(no subject)
Some of the prompts I've written for thecricketer are just as much Peri's, so I thought I'd post them here as well.
Peri wasn't snooping per se. She hadn't meant to find the Doctor's room; she'd just sort of stumbled across it and, well, there was no harm in taking a peek, right?
"And if you're going to leave a box just lying open on the bed…" she muttered, eyes glinting. There was paper beside it - or it looked enough like paper - and envelopes. This was promising.
She perched on the edge of the bed, pulling the box close and gingerly removed a letter.
Okay, so she felt a bit guilty, but he was the one who never talked about himself so other means were necessary.
A name was scrawled, neatly and carefully, on the envelope, and her eyes widened as she recognised it - Turlough. Carefully, she slipped out the letter.
You are a far better man than you ever realised. You are capable of such courage and compassion behind that smug, apathetic veneer of yours. Granted I've grown rather fond of that, too. I even miss your sarcasm on occasion.
The next bit was scratched out. Peri shook her head; apparently he couldn't even open up to a piece of paper.
I enjoyed travelling with you. I miss your wit, your cunning, your experience. There were things we shared that we never spoke of but the connection was there and sometimes I wish we had.
There is a great deal I will never learn of your past, Turlough, but what matters is the man you are now, and he is magnificent. I am glad to have known him.
I hope your are well, and safe, and content. Or, at the very least, still fighting.
Peri swallowed, the guilt rising several levels as she placed the letter back into its proper place. She took the next, though, because now that she'd started she couldn't just stop.
Tegan. A name she didn't know.
You are one the most stubborn, hot-headed, infuriating women I have ever known in my lives and I wouldn't have had you any other way.
You challenged me. Sometimes it was unwarranted, mind, but I could always count on you to keep me on my toes, so to speak, even if you were loud about it.
We didn't always get on. You frustrated me severely at times, and I you I'm sure. Yet we were friends, or became so. You were there when I was born, in a sense, and I…would not have had it any other way. I only wish we could have parted on better terms.
Please have found a life for yourself on Earth once more. Please be happy, and remember our times together with some fondness despite…despite everything else.
I will miss you, my friend.
She stared at the letter in her heads, head buzzing with speculation. What was this woman like? What was their relationship like? Does he still miss her?
"Well, not like I can ask," she muttered, sliding the letter back in and gently setting it atop Turlough's.
Nyssa.
I miss you dreadfully. I know why you left, and I'm so very proud of you, but that doesn't mean I don't still wish for your company. You always…understood. Listened, not only to my instructions - which I very much appreciated - but to me. You were my confidante as much as my companion, and for that I will always be grateful.
You were the centre of our odd little family, the eye of the storm so to speak. The TARDIS shall never be the same without you. I think she misses you as well. Tegan certainly does.
I wish
"Oh, for heaven's sake, not again."
I will never forget you.
That was sweet. She didn't know he could be that sweet, really. Does he only do it when we're not there?
She should have stopped then, put the three back and left, but there were so many left unopened. Someone else should carry the memories of these people, someone should share them with him at least a little.
Adric.
You were brilliant, but you knew that quite well. Flaunted it, I would say, though I suppose I can't throw stones.
I remember spending hours in the library with you as you tried to broaden your horizons. Sometimes I grew frustrated and I apologise; I was often hard on you, but it was only because I wanted to push you. So much potential.
You were so brave, yes, but also naïve and arrogant like many other children - and don't pout, Adric, you were. So young.
I'm so sorry.
She closed her eyes tightly for a moment. She never should have come in here, never should have done this.
It was an invasion of privacy, of emotions he'd never wanted her to glimpse, history he'd never wanted her to know - and now she knew that, someday, all she'd be to him was a piece of paper in a box, one among dozens.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, and her voice trembled with her hands.
"You're forgiven," said a soft voice from the corridor, and she looked up to meet the Doctor's eyes. Initial fury had faded into quiet sympathy, so quickly she could still see the embers.
She set Adric's letter on the mattress, eyes downcast as she rose and approached him. With hardly a look up, she wrapped her arms around her best friend.
Slowly, hesitantly, he returned the embrace, and they stayed that way for a while.
Then, as always, life moved on.
"I cannot believe I am being thrown out of my own TARDIS!" the Doctor shouted as the doors closed behind him; he caught rather devious giggling before they shut. Sighing, he paced in front of the police box and reviewed what had led to this travesty.
His companions had insisted on a break, and he could hardly refuse - he had, after all, lost them for two years in late 15th century England. He had a sneaking feeling that the two of them would be holding that over him for quite some time.
So he had set the coordinates to the Eye of Orion. Peri and Erimem, to his chagrin, expected mishaps so had retired to their rooms.
He did land in the midst of several battles and minor revolutions before getting them there, and of course he had to sort them out. Luckily he was able to use his diplomatic skills and a few lock picking techniques, because they hadn't come out. He knew, at that point, they were planning something.
When the TARDIS finally landed amidst the rolling fields, he had been promptly shoved out of it. The TARDIS herself didn't seem to want to cooperate with him either - of course he did get her drunk, she might still be a bit tetchy.
"Think, Doctor," he muttered, clasping his hands behind his back. "What were they discussing when they requested this...vacation?" He couldn't think of it at first - fresher memories of frantic shouting and cold bars blocked the way - but after a few moments he knew.
Age. Of course after two linear years they would be wondering how old they must be. He'd tried calculating with them, and somehow it had turned towards his age which was quite presumptuous, he thought, and then -
He froze as the doors opened, rushing through them in an instant. His eyes widened considerable at the sight before him.
Peri and Erimem were standing behind the console with barely concealed smiles on their faces. Off to the side of them was a small table - light, easy enough to carry between the two of them - supporting several plates. Surrounding that was a crowd of colourful packages.
"We didn't know what kind of cake you would like, Doctor," Erimem began, "so we made crumpets, one for each century. That plate has your favourite teas on it, and over there is the platter of celery. It was easy enough, you do have a lot of kitchens."
Peri beamed as she took over.
"Then when you stopped on that last planet - "
"You said it was a moon, didn't you, Doctor? Of - "
"Whatever. Anyway, we snuck out to go shopping after those guards led you off - oh, don't look like that, we knew you'd get out of it - and apparently they accept trivia as currency so we went a little crazy."
"I do hope you like them," Erimem interjected. "There were objects from all over the galaxy, so they said."
"Yeah, we found some pretty cool stuff. And we decorated the Cloister Room, there are some games in there that might be fun, and the pool isn't frozen anymore so maybe we could go for a swim..."
The Doctor had remained near the doors, caught in stunned silence After several moments of it, the blooming smiles of the girls wilted. It was Peri who finally spoke, eyes fixed on the Time rotor.
"We thought you might like a birthday party, I mean who knows how long it's been since the last time you had one, and there've been at least eight hundred." She began to speak faster, barely intelligible when she finished. "But I don't know, maybe Time Lords don't do that sort of thing and I guess going behind your back was kind of crappy and - "
"Peri," the Doctor said firmly, and she looked up at him with vulnerable defiance as he crossed over to them. Erimem remained quiet, eyes meeting his but giving nothing away.
He placed his hands on their shoulders, a faint smile bringing infinite warmth and gratitude to his eyes.
"Thank you," he said softly, and after a moment they beamed back up at him.
"Happy Birthday, Doctor."
He's been sleeping a lot, lately - that is, more than usual, which is still less than a human, but she notices, and she worries.
Not much has changed, superficially. They'll land on a random world or a pivotal point of history and save lives, save planets, save Time. Except when he jokes he sounds said, when he shouts he sounds resigned, and his passion burns too brightly to last for long.
It's almost like he's going through the motions.
Except, of course, where her safety is concerned.
She knows why; it's the same reason she's so nervous, why she complains more than usual, why it's so hard to care as much as she used to.
It's the same reason she doesn't go to him for some time, because it will hurt too much to say the words, to confront the grief. She knows how he is; it's easier to run from the past, run from everything, just keep going and going and going.
One day, or she supposes it's a day, she meets him in the library, staring down at a dusty tome. His expression is blank, and his eyes are tired.
When she clears her throat, his head snaps up, a faint smile curves his lips, and the exhaustion is gone but she remembers it and she knows she can't wait anymore.
"Hello, Peri! Were you looking for something?" Cheerful. He sounds cheerful and it's so hollow it hurts. As she continues to stare at him the smile fades away.
"Is there something wrong?"
Her hands curl into fists and she wants to say that of course there's something wrong you stupid, repressed, miserable alien.
She doesn't. She walks to the table and sits down, and clutches it until her knuckles turn white. He tilts his head as if he doesn't know what's going on but he must, and she's tired of him always pretending. They haven't even said her name and she should now but she can't, she's silent and he's silent and finally she needs to ask something, anything, just so he'll answer her.
"What do you dream about?"
He stares at her, and for a moment he closes his eyes. He knew it would come to this, eventually. He knew she would notice, because at this time, at this moment, she is his very best friend, and they share so much more than grief.
It overshadows everything, of course. Every smile, every touch, every memory. They know, each time they laugh or run or fight that something is missing, something irretrievable.
She won't let him ignore it anymore, and he can't begrudge her that.
Slowly, his hands folded over thin pages, and after a moment, he spoke.
"I remember," he said softly. Peri was staring down at her hands but her head jerks up at the words.
She looks so very vulnerable. So very young. The very picture of the way he shouldn't be feeling.
"Not just Erimem. Not usually." She tenses; he knew she would, they haven't spoken her name for some time. His fault, really.
the cries of approaching soldiers drown their thoughts, steal their breath, lash aching limbs; when hope dawns again a spear whistles past, and then another steals her forever
"The images, the voices, they…tend to blend together."
he will watch her fall and her body will wither and her bones will turn to dust, and she isn't a young pharaoh anymore, she's a reformed assassin, and then she's being torn away from him, innocent and young, a sacrifice twisting in the stars
"Sometimes, when I awake, I'm not certain…"
he will awake saying "terrible waste"
"It's...not always the same, then." Her voice is weak, strained, and she never quite meets his eyes.
"No," he says softly.
the spear alights, and an explosion swallows them all but he can see her figure, burning and screaming, with a young boy's voice, and the flames begin to burn his hearts away
"How many..." Her eyes meet and they're wide, and her voice trembles.
"Too many." She looks down, and he continues.
"Sometimes they aren't...memories. Sometimes I simply imagine."
a death bed of velvet roses caressing pale skin and auburn curls, the only colour in a stagnant laboratory, becomes a worn mattress and a young man weeping over passion wilting with futility
"I don't always know...how, precisely, or when, but you see the probability..." He wishes he couldn't calculate it so easily.
the battlefield shifts, the soldiers change, and it is someone else who falls, just as young and brave and full of wonder, and he whispers a name he no longer knows
"Sometimes they..." He trails off, then, because he doesn't know how to explain.
used and discarded like so many others and he begs for death and it would be cruel to refuse
A shake of his head. He doesn't tell her that sometimes he can still hear the Master's screams. That was just, wasn't it, not at all like Erimem's death. She died selflessly, and suddenly he is very tired of selfless companions. Suddenly, he wants to tell Peri to be selfish.
He gazes at her with such sorrow, such dread, and she knows. She knows that sometimes it's her dying, or Turlough, or anyone else who lived on. Someday it will be the ones after her.
So many people she will never know, so many people he can never forget.
She swallows, and suddenly leans over the table, covering his hands with hers.
"You don't have to do this alone, you know." His eyes widen, and he simply stares at her for a moment, before a faint, weary smile curves his lips.
"No," he says quietly. He stands, then drawing his hands away; when she rises as well, he embraces her.
She weeps, and he holds her until the tears have dried. Though he sheds none, she likes to think he's finding catharsis as well, in his own way.
When he pulls back there's a faint smile on his lips, and though it's sad she returns it because it's real.
"Let's go somewhere quiet, hmm?" Peri looks up at him with scepticism in her eyes, and is relieved to find amusement in his.
"Like where?" Her voice trembles, and she's not sure if it's with grief or humour.
He seems to consider - he gets that distant look as his brow furrows and it become useless to talk to him - and then steps back, taking her hand, squeezing it. Now it is he who offers comfort, and she accepts it readily.
"I want to show you something." Her eyes widen, declaring surprise and curiosity, and then her fingers entwine with his. She doesn't know what's going to happen next, but she thinks it must be a good step.
It must get better after this.
He's silent as he leads her through the halls. It's been a long time since he's shown anyone, not least because the collection has long remained in his room. He feels he owes her this, though; not simply a rest, but something to renew their friendship, something intimate he can share.
When he pauses in front of the door she looks at him, tilting her head, raising her eyebrows, and he smiles again as he turns the knob.
There's a faint gasp beside him; she must have immediately realised where they were. Perhaps it's the walls, the perfect imitation of a summer sky; perhaps it's the endless shelves of books, the tables of various experiments; perhaps it's the cricket equipment immaculately organised in a corner.
She looks everywhere, obviously marvelling, as he takes her to a large cabinet, and opens the door.
"…Bottles?" She squints, leaning closer to read the labels below each one.
"Made from the sand of every planet I've visited," he said softly. "I started it back on Gallifrey; the Academy allowed expeditions sometimes, and I managed to smuggle a large amount of sand back with me." She gapes up at him, and he's smiling again.
"You made these? All of them?" He nods, smile lingering as she looks back with wide eyes; he waits patiently as she inspects every last one.
"Thanks." Her voice is quiet as she meets his eyes, and he knows that she realises how much they've come to mean to him, and what it is to share them.
A softer, warmer smile, and he steps forward, tapping an empty space on the first shelf between Algol and Aneth.
"I've managed to lose one; I think I'd like to replace it."
"Somewhere nice?"
He turns his head, smile widening.
"Sand as far as the eyes can see..."
Her eyes are dull.
They're not supposed to be. They're supposed to be bright with defiance, or excitement, or anger, or something, anything that makes her the strong, vibrant girl he's come to care so much for. The girl who helps him forget the loss, the tragedy, as they run through space and time together.
It shouldn't be so easy to snuff out that light. It should take so much more than a slip on
And yet, as they sit against the cold stone with her head against his shoulder, he can see it fading, slowly but surely. She is dying, just as he is, and there is nothing he cam do to save her.
Not again.
She doesn't deserve to die in a place like this.
He won't let her.
No matter what it takes, what it costs, he will see that fire in her eyes again.
He shouldn't die like this. He's the Doctor and she's bent over him as he takes trembling breaths, gaze losing focus as his limbs grow limp.
It isn't right. She's seen him do so much, survive so much, and now he's dying from toxemia and there's nothing she can do for him, nothing. This isn't how heroes are supposed to die. Heroes aren't supposed to die at all.
It's all her fault. If she hadn't been so clumsy, so useless, so scared, he might not be sprawled on the TARDIS floor staring up at nothing as she tries not to sob.
I'm so sorry, Doctor.
He's dying for her.
She won't let it be in vain.
Peri wasn't snooping per se. She hadn't meant to find the Doctor's room; she'd just sort of stumbled across it and, well, there was no harm in taking a peek, right?
"And if you're going to leave a box just lying open on the bed…" she muttered, eyes glinting. There was paper beside it - or it looked enough like paper - and envelopes. This was promising.
She perched on the edge of the bed, pulling the box close and gingerly removed a letter.
Okay, so she felt a bit guilty, but he was the one who never talked about himself so other means were necessary.
A name was scrawled, neatly and carefully, on the envelope, and her eyes widened as she recognised it - Turlough. Carefully, she slipped out the letter.
You are a far better man than you ever realised. You are capable of such courage and compassion behind that smug, apathetic veneer of yours. Granted I've grown rather fond of that, too. I even miss your sarcasm on occasion.
The next bit was scratched out. Peri shook her head; apparently he couldn't even open up to a piece of paper.
I enjoyed travelling with you. I miss your wit, your cunning, your experience. There were things we shared that we never spoke of but the connection was there and sometimes I wish we had.
There is a great deal I will never learn of your past, Turlough, but what matters is the man you are now, and he is magnificent. I am glad to have known him.
I hope your are well, and safe, and content. Or, at the very least, still fighting.
Peri swallowed, the guilt rising several levels as she placed the letter back into its proper place. She took the next, though, because now that she'd started she couldn't just stop.
Tegan. A name she didn't know.
You are one the most stubborn, hot-headed, infuriating women I have ever known in my lives and I wouldn't have had you any other way.
You challenged me. Sometimes it was unwarranted, mind, but I could always count on you to keep me on my toes, so to speak, even if you were loud about it.
We didn't always get on. You frustrated me severely at times, and I you I'm sure. Yet we were friends, or became so. You were there when I was born, in a sense, and I…would not have had it any other way. I only wish we could have parted on better terms.
Please have found a life for yourself on Earth once more. Please be happy, and remember our times together with some fondness despite…despite everything else.
I will miss you, my friend.
She stared at the letter in her heads, head buzzing with speculation. What was this woman like? What was their relationship like? Does he still miss her?
"Well, not like I can ask," she muttered, sliding the letter back in and gently setting it atop Turlough's.
Nyssa.
I miss you dreadfully. I know why you left, and I'm so very proud of you, but that doesn't mean I don't still wish for your company. You always…understood. Listened, not only to my instructions - which I very much appreciated - but to me. You were my confidante as much as my companion, and for that I will always be grateful.
You were the centre of our odd little family, the eye of the storm so to speak. The TARDIS shall never be the same without you. I think she misses you as well. Tegan certainly does.
I wish
"Oh, for heaven's sake, not again."
I will never forget you.
That was sweet. She didn't know he could be that sweet, really. Does he only do it when we're not there?
She should have stopped then, put the three back and left, but there were so many left unopened. Someone else should carry the memories of these people, someone should share them with him at least a little.
Adric.
You were brilliant, but you knew that quite well. Flaunted it, I would say, though I suppose I can't throw stones.
I remember spending hours in the library with you as you tried to broaden your horizons. Sometimes I grew frustrated and I apologise; I was often hard on you, but it was only because I wanted to push you. So much potential.
You were so brave, yes, but also naïve and arrogant like many other children - and don't pout, Adric, you were. So young.
I'm so sorry.
She closed her eyes tightly for a moment. She never should have come in here, never should have done this.
It was an invasion of privacy, of emotions he'd never wanted her to glimpse, history he'd never wanted her to know - and now she knew that, someday, all she'd be to him was a piece of paper in a box, one among dozens.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, and her voice trembled with her hands.
"You're forgiven," said a soft voice from the corridor, and she looked up to meet the Doctor's eyes. Initial fury had faded into quiet sympathy, so quickly she could still see the embers.
She set Adric's letter on the mattress, eyes downcast as she rose and approached him. With hardly a look up, she wrapped her arms around her best friend.
Slowly, hesitantly, he returned the embrace, and they stayed that way for a while.
Then, as always, life moved on.
"I cannot believe I am being thrown out of my own TARDIS!" the Doctor shouted as the doors closed behind him; he caught rather devious giggling before they shut. Sighing, he paced in front of the police box and reviewed what had led to this travesty.
His companions had insisted on a break, and he could hardly refuse - he had, after all, lost them for two years in late 15th century England. He had a sneaking feeling that the two of them would be holding that over him for quite some time.
So he had set the coordinates to the Eye of Orion. Peri and Erimem, to his chagrin, expected mishaps so had retired to their rooms.
He did land in the midst of several battles and minor revolutions before getting them there, and of course he had to sort them out. Luckily he was able to use his diplomatic skills and a few lock picking techniques, because they hadn't come out. He knew, at that point, they were planning something.
When the TARDIS finally landed amidst the rolling fields, he had been promptly shoved out of it. The TARDIS herself didn't seem to want to cooperate with him either - of course he did get her drunk, she might still be a bit tetchy.
"Think, Doctor," he muttered, clasping his hands behind his back. "What were they discussing when they requested this...vacation?" He couldn't think of it at first - fresher memories of frantic shouting and cold bars blocked the way - but after a few moments he knew.
Age. Of course after two linear years they would be wondering how old they must be. He'd tried calculating with them, and somehow it had turned towards his age which was quite presumptuous, he thought, and then -
He froze as the doors opened, rushing through them in an instant. His eyes widened considerable at the sight before him.
Peri and Erimem were standing behind the console with barely concealed smiles on their faces. Off to the side of them was a small table - light, easy enough to carry between the two of them - supporting several plates. Surrounding that was a crowd of colourful packages.
"We didn't know what kind of cake you would like, Doctor," Erimem began, "so we made crumpets, one for each century. That plate has your favourite teas on it, and over there is the platter of celery. It was easy enough, you do have a lot of kitchens."
Peri beamed as she took over.
"Then when you stopped on that last planet - "
"You said it was a moon, didn't you, Doctor? Of - "
"Whatever. Anyway, we snuck out to go shopping after those guards led you off - oh, don't look like that, we knew you'd get out of it - and apparently they accept trivia as currency so we went a little crazy."
"I do hope you like them," Erimem interjected. "There were objects from all over the galaxy, so they said."
"Yeah, we found some pretty cool stuff. And we decorated the Cloister Room, there are some games in there that might be fun, and the pool isn't frozen anymore so maybe we could go for a swim..."
The Doctor had remained near the doors, caught in stunned silence After several moments of it, the blooming smiles of the girls wilted. It was Peri who finally spoke, eyes fixed on the Time rotor.
"We thought you might like a birthday party, I mean who knows how long it's been since the last time you had one, and there've been at least eight hundred." She began to speak faster, barely intelligible when she finished. "But I don't know, maybe Time Lords don't do that sort of thing and I guess going behind your back was kind of crappy and - "
"Peri," the Doctor said firmly, and she looked up at him with vulnerable defiance as he crossed over to them. Erimem remained quiet, eyes meeting his but giving nothing away.
He placed his hands on their shoulders, a faint smile bringing infinite warmth and gratitude to his eyes.
"Thank you," he said softly, and after a moment they beamed back up at him.
"Happy Birthday, Doctor."
He's been sleeping a lot, lately - that is, more than usual, which is still less than a human, but she notices, and she worries.
Not much has changed, superficially. They'll land on a random world or a pivotal point of history and save lives, save planets, save Time. Except when he jokes he sounds said, when he shouts he sounds resigned, and his passion burns too brightly to last for long.
It's almost like he's going through the motions.
Except, of course, where her safety is concerned.
She knows why; it's the same reason she's so nervous, why she complains more than usual, why it's so hard to care as much as she used to.
It's the same reason she doesn't go to him for some time, because it will hurt too much to say the words, to confront the grief. She knows how he is; it's easier to run from the past, run from everything, just keep going and going and going.
One day, or she supposes it's a day, she meets him in the library, staring down at a dusty tome. His expression is blank, and his eyes are tired.
When she clears her throat, his head snaps up, a faint smile curves his lips, and the exhaustion is gone but she remembers it and she knows she can't wait anymore.
"Hello, Peri! Were you looking for something?" Cheerful. He sounds cheerful and it's so hollow it hurts. As she continues to stare at him the smile fades away.
"Is there something wrong?"
Her hands curl into fists and she wants to say that of course there's something wrong you stupid, repressed, miserable alien.
She doesn't. She walks to the table and sits down, and clutches it until her knuckles turn white. He tilts his head as if he doesn't know what's going on but he must, and she's tired of him always pretending. They haven't even said her name and she should now but she can't, she's silent and he's silent and finally she needs to ask something, anything, just so he'll answer her.
"What do you dream about?"
He stares at her, and for a moment he closes his eyes. He knew it would come to this, eventually. He knew she would notice, because at this time, at this moment, she is his very best friend, and they share so much more than grief.
It overshadows everything, of course. Every smile, every touch, every memory. They know, each time they laugh or run or fight that something is missing, something irretrievable.
She won't let him ignore it anymore, and he can't begrudge her that.
Slowly, his hands folded over thin pages, and after a moment, he spoke.
"I remember," he said softly. Peri was staring down at her hands but her head jerks up at the words.
She looks so very vulnerable. So very young. The very picture of the way he shouldn't be feeling.
"Not just Erimem. Not usually." She tenses; he knew she would, they haven't spoken her name for some time. His fault, really.
the cries of approaching soldiers drown their thoughts, steal their breath, lash aching limbs; when hope dawns again a spear whistles past, and then another steals her forever
"The images, the voices, they…tend to blend together."
he will watch her fall and her body will wither and her bones will turn to dust, and she isn't a young pharaoh anymore, she's a reformed assassin, and then she's being torn away from him, innocent and young, a sacrifice twisting in the stars
"Sometimes, when I awake, I'm not certain…"
he will awake saying "terrible waste"
"It's...not always the same, then." Her voice is weak, strained, and she never quite meets his eyes.
"No," he says softly.
the spear alights, and an explosion swallows them all but he can see her figure, burning and screaming, with a young boy's voice, and the flames begin to burn his hearts away
"How many..." Her eyes meet and they're wide, and her voice trembles.
"Too many." She looks down, and he continues.
"Sometimes they aren't...memories. Sometimes I simply imagine."
a death bed of velvet roses caressing pale skin and auburn curls, the only colour in a stagnant laboratory, becomes a worn mattress and a young man weeping over passion wilting with futility
"I don't always know...how, precisely, or when, but you see the probability..." He wishes he couldn't calculate it so easily.
the battlefield shifts, the soldiers change, and it is someone else who falls, just as young and brave and full of wonder, and he whispers a name he no longer knows
"Sometimes they..." He trails off, then, because he doesn't know how to explain.
used and discarded like so many others and he begs for death and it would be cruel to refuse
A shake of his head. He doesn't tell her that sometimes he can still hear the Master's screams. That was just, wasn't it, not at all like Erimem's death. She died selflessly, and suddenly he is very tired of selfless companions. Suddenly, he wants to tell Peri to be selfish.
He gazes at her with such sorrow, such dread, and she knows. She knows that sometimes it's her dying, or Turlough, or anyone else who lived on. Someday it will be the ones after her.
So many people she will never know, so many people he can never forget.
She swallows, and suddenly leans over the table, covering his hands with hers.
"You don't have to do this alone, you know." His eyes widen, and he simply stares at her for a moment, before a faint, weary smile curves his lips.
"No," he says quietly. He stands, then drawing his hands away; when she rises as well, he embraces her.
She weeps, and he holds her until the tears have dried. Though he sheds none, she likes to think he's finding catharsis as well, in his own way.
When he pulls back there's a faint smile on his lips, and though it's sad she returns it because it's real.
"Let's go somewhere quiet, hmm?" Peri looks up at him with scepticism in her eyes, and is relieved to find amusement in his.
"Like where?" Her voice trembles, and she's not sure if it's with grief or humour.
He seems to consider - he gets that distant look as his brow furrows and it become useless to talk to him - and then steps back, taking her hand, squeezing it. Now it is he who offers comfort, and she accepts it readily.
"I want to show you something." Her eyes widen, declaring surprise and curiosity, and then her fingers entwine with his. She doesn't know what's going to happen next, but she thinks it must be a good step.
It must get better after this.
He's silent as he leads her through the halls. It's been a long time since he's shown anyone, not least because the collection has long remained in his room. He feels he owes her this, though; not simply a rest, but something to renew their friendship, something intimate he can share.
When he pauses in front of the door she looks at him, tilting her head, raising her eyebrows, and he smiles again as he turns the knob.
There's a faint gasp beside him; she must have immediately realised where they were. Perhaps it's the walls, the perfect imitation of a summer sky; perhaps it's the endless shelves of books, the tables of various experiments; perhaps it's the cricket equipment immaculately organised in a corner.
She looks everywhere, obviously marvelling, as he takes her to a large cabinet, and opens the door.
"…Bottles?" She squints, leaning closer to read the labels below each one.
"Made from the sand of every planet I've visited," he said softly. "I started it back on Gallifrey; the Academy allowed expeditions sometimes, and I managed to smuggle a large amount of sand back with me." She gapes up at him, and he's smiling again.
"You made these? All of them?" He nods, smile lingering as she looks back with wide eyes; he waits patiently as she inspects every last one.
"Thanks." Her voice is quiet as she meets his eyes, and he knows that she realises how much they've come to mean to him, and what it is to share them.
A softer, warmer smile, and he steps forward, tapping an empty space on the first shelf between Algol and Aneth.
"I've managed to lose one; I think I'd like to replace it."
"Somewhere nice?"
He turns his head, smile widening.
"Sand as far as the eyes can see..."
Her eyes are dull.
They're not supposed to be. They're supposed to be bright with defiance, or excitement, or anger, or something, anything that makes her the strong, vibrant girl he's come to care so much for. The girl who helps him forget the loss, the tragedy, as they run through space and time together.
It shouldn't be so easy to snuff out that light. It should take so much more than a slip on
And yet, as they sit against the cold stone with her head against his shoulder, he can see it fading, slowly but surely. She is dying, just as he is, and there is nothing he cam do to save her.
Not again.
She doesn't deserve to die in a place like this.
He won't let her.
No matter what it takes, what it costs, he will see that fire in her eyes again.
He shouldn't die like this. He's the Doctor and she's bent over him as he takes trembling breaths, gaze losing focus as his limbs grow limp.
It isn't right. She's seen him do so much, survive so much, and now he's dying from toxemia and there's nothing she can do for him, nothing. This isn't how heroes are supposed to die. Heroes aren't supposed to die at all.
It's all her fault. If she hadn't been so clumsy, so useless, so scared, he might not be sprawled on the TARDIS floor staring up at nothing as she tries not to sob.
I'm so sorry, Doctor.
He's dying for her.
She won't let it be in vain.