theatrical_muse #189: a conversation when what you said wasn't what you were thinking
"I was just passing through. I'm a long way from home."
Passing through and saving their stupid sorry arses once again. Long ago and far away, and those blundering little apes aren't even aware enough to realize there was a War; of course he's far from home, a home that doesn't even exist anymore. Passing through only means there's a problem he's here to fix, because apparently that's just what the universe intends for him to do. It's something for him to do to get back on track. Something to find himself again. He's here because he is.
"This is who I am, right here, right now, alright? All that counts is here and now, and this is me!"
And who the hell is he, anyway? Here and now is subjective, and time wraps around. She's way in over her head; she's traveling with a man who lost his sense of self. So who is he? Whatever he happens to be. Here. Now. The grump in the black leather yelling at her to leave it alone. She should know better, but she doesn't. It doesn't matter. He doesn't want it to need to matter.
"You can go back and see days that are dead and gone and a hundred thousand sunsets ago. No wonder you never stay still."
"Not a bad life."
It's actually pretty frequently a horrible life, but he wouldn't have it any other way. The dead and gone are never that when you've got a frankly fantastic time traveling machine. She's got it all backwards, just a bit, because he never stays still for a hundred thousand reasons, and it's dangerous, and it's deadly, and it's awful. But it's beautiful. He supposes it just depends on who you ask.
"It's just a bit human in there for me. History just happened, and they're talking about where you can buy dodgy top up cards for half price. I'm off on a wander, that's all."
He's actually about to pop off for a quick peek around at this alien business and disappearing like she told him not to, but don't worry, because he's going to lie to her since he knows she'd protest like she just did, and she'll never even notice if she just trusts him enough.
"It's just tea."
"Not to me it isn't."
It'd domesticity and family and dinner and tea and pretty soon he's gotten himself attached to the lot. Become part of it. He can't let them go, they can't let him go, and then what happens? They die off, he goes back to being him? He dies and changes, they push him away? He gets caught up in all of this wonderful family life and lets go of his roots in traveling? Too many things could happen. It means too much to get involved, and he won't allow it.
"An old friend of mine--well, enemy. The stuff of nightmares reduced to an exhibit. I'm getting old."
Metal marching along. No emotions, but oh, they know too well his weakness in them. They kill because they can. The sunlight gleams on their armour, and trouble is coming. Can't be reasoned with. What an awful way to go. That was years ago. That was decades ago. But the memories surface as if it was last week. One killing machine after another. They always come back. No matter how old he gets, no matter how young he looks, they come.
"I'm the Doctor, she's Rose Tyler. We're nothing, we're just wandering."
He hates pleading, but he can't take the risk that she'll be hurt because of you. And he hates playing himself down. Nothing. He's nothing. She's nothing. They are no one. Like bloody hell. They are everything to each other and to the universe. They are alpha and omega and everything in-between. They are everything, and it might just get them killed.
"Can I try again?"
Rose and her tear-streaked cheeks keep you quiet. The question's so innocent. All she wants is to make sure her father has someone with him when he dies, and how can he not allow that? It's hard to die alone. But he knows it's wrong. He knows how easily trying again could make everything spin wildly out of control, damage time, he's been against this sort of thing, crossing timelines, very bad idea. Very, very bad idea. An idea he shouldn't even consider. But he doesn't say anything, because he can't say no like he knows he should.
"Before this war began, I was a father and a grandfather. Now I am neither. But I am still a doctor."
"Yeah, know the feeling."
All too well. He'd been a lot of things before the War, and now what was he? Just a lonely traveler. But still the Doctor. Still a doctor. He's still him, but it's an odd feeling being just him. Family gone. Susan gone. Everything but the Doctor was gone. He knew the feeling more than he could ever describe.
"Nine hundred years old, me. I've been around a bit. I think you can assume that at some point I've danced."
He's good at dancing. And obviously he's danced. They dance around the idea. And he knows quite well that Rose wouldn't mind either definition. He's been around the block a few million times and knows what he's talking about. Might even know more than this Captain she's so infatuated with. And yet it's still awkward. A million thoughts run through his head, dozens of things he could say, but he chooses the more humble, bumbling response, because that sounds better than 'I've shagged more people than you even knew could exist', because, well, that's not quite true, and that's not the image he wants, but honestly, everything with the bloody apes comes down to dining and dancing.
"Don't worship me, I'd make a very bad God."
He's seen gods of all kinds. And he's not one of them. He's been worshipped and hated and none of it turns out well. He's not a god. He never wants to be a god. Never wanted to be. He only knows he'd make a bad god because he's been a bad god before. In fact, nobody can be a good god. There are no good gods. He knows it. He won't elaborate. It needs none.
"I'm just a traveler, wandering past. Believe it or not, all I'm after is a quiet life."
Believe it not. All he's after is history and adventure and excitement. If he wanted a quiet life, he would've stayed on Gallifrey. No, he's a rule-breaker. All he's after is life, but either way, he's sure that sweet little Lynda-with-a-y would want to come with. He's a traveler. A traveler doesn't seek quiet. But a break now and then wouldn't be bad.
"They're insane! A hundred years hiding in silence, that's enough to drive anyone mad. But it's worse than that. Driven mad by your own flesh. The stink of humanity. You hate your own existence. And that makes them more deadly than ever."
Half a million or more, but he can still feel pity for these poor Daleks that are not Daleks. He's shoved aside his seething hatred because he can feel for them. Insanity creeps at the edges always, deadly with hatred, deadlier still when the rage of the inside is expressed outwardly. He's not what he used to be, and neither are they. They're both out of their element, and while they go about following orders and living and having an existence, they hate it. They're pitiable creatures, but perhaps he is, too.
Passing through and saving their stupid sorry arses once again. Long ago and far away, and those blundering little apes aren't even aware enough to realize there was a War; of course he's far from home, a home that doesn't even exist anymore. Passing through only means there's a problem he's here to fix, because apparently that's just what the universe intends for him to do. It's something for him to do to get back on track. Something to find himself again. He's here because he is.
"This is who I am, right here, right now, alright? All that counts is here and now, and this is me!"
And who the hell is he, anyway? Here and now is subjective, and time wraps around. She's way in over her head; she's traveling with a man who lost his sense of self. So who is he? Whatever he happens to be. Here. Now. The grump in the black leather yelling at her to leave it alone. She should know better, but she doesn't. It doesn't matter. He doesn't want it to need to matter.
"You can go back and see days that are dead and gone and a hundred thousand sunsets ago. No wonder you never stay still."
"Not a bad life."
It's actually pretty frequently a horrible life, but he wouldn't have it any other way. The dead and gone are never that when you've got a frankly fantastic time traveling machine. She's got it all backwards, just a bit, because he never stays still for a hundred thousand reasons, and it's dangerous, and it's deadly, and it's awful. But it's beautiful. He supposes it just depends on who you ask.
"It's just a bit human in there for me. History just happened, and they're talking about where you can buy dodgy top up cards for half price. I'm off on a wander, that's all."
He's actually about to pop off for a quick peek around at this alien business and disappearing like she told him not to, but don't worry, because he's going to lie to her since he knows she'd protest like she just did, and she'll never even notice if she just trusts him enough.
"It's just tea."
"Not to me it isn't."
It'd domesticity and family and dinner and tea and pretty soon he's gotten himself attached to the lot. Become part of it. He can't let them go, they can't let him go, and then what happens? They die off, he goes back to being him? He dies and changes, they push him away? He gets caught up in all of this wonderful family life and lets go of his roots in traveling? Too many things could happen. It means too much to get involved, and he won't allow it.
"An old friend of mine--well, enemy. The stuff of nightmares reduced to an exhibit. I'm getting old."
Metal marching along. No emotions, but oh, they know too well his weakness in them. They kill because they can. The sunlight gleams on their armour, and trouble is coming. Can't be reasoned with. What an awful way to go. That was years ago. That was decades ago. But the memories surface as if it was last week. One killing machine after another. They always come back. No matter how old he gets, no matter how young he looks, they come.
"I'm the Doctor, she's Rose Tyler. We're nothing, we're just wandering."
He hates pleading, but he can't take the risk that she'll be hurt because of you. And he hates playing himself down. Nothing. He's nothing. She's nothing. They are no one. Like bloody hell. They are everything to each other and to the universe. They are alpha and omega and everything in-between. They are everything, and it might just get them killed.
"Can I try again?"
Rose and her tear-streaked cheeks keep you quiet. The question's so innocent. All she wants is to make sure her father has someone with him when he dies, and how can he not allow that? It's hard to die alone. But he knows it's wrong. He knows how easily trying again could make everything spin wildly out of control, damage time, he's been against this sort of thing, crossing timelines, very bad idea. Very, very bad idea. An idea he shouldn't even consider. But he doesn't say anything, because he can't say no like he knows he should.
"Before this war began, I was a father and a grandfather. Now I am neither. But I am still a doctor."
"Yeah, know the feeling."
All too well. He'd been a lot of things before the War, and now what was he? Just a lonely traveler. But still the Doctor. Still a doctor. He's still him, but it's an odd feeling being just him. Family gone. Susan gone. Everything but the Doctor was gone. He knew the feeling more than he could ever describe.
"Nine hundred years old, me. I've been around a bit. I think you can assume that at some point I've danced."
He's good at dancing. And obviously he's danced. They dance around the idea. And he knows quite well that Rose wouldn't mind either definition. He's been around the block a few million times and knows what he's talking about. Might even know more than this Captain she's so infatuated with. And yet it's still awkward. A million thoughts run through his head, dozens of things he could say, but he chooses the more humble, bumbling response, because that sounds better than 'I've shagged more people than you even knew could exist', because, well, that's not quite true, and that's not the image he wants, but honestly, everything with the bloody apes comes down to dining and dancing.
"Don't worship me, I'd make a very bad God."
He's seen gods of all kinds. And he's not one of them. He's been worshipped and hated and none of it turns out well. He's not a god. He never wants to be a god. Never wanted to be. He only knows he'd make a bad god because he's been a bad god before. In fact, nobody can be a good god. There are no good gods. He knows it. He won't elaborate. It needs none.
"I'm just a traveler, wandering past. Believe it or not, all I'm after is a quiet life."
Believe it not. All he's after is history and adventure and excitement. If he wanted a quiet life, he would've stayed on Gallifrey. No, he's a rule-breaker. All he's after is life, but either way, he's sure that sweet little Lynda-with-a-y would want to come with. He's a traveler. A traveler doesn't seek quiet. But a break now and then wouldn't be bad.
"They're insane! A hundred years hiding in silence, that's enough to drive anyone mad. But it's worse than that. Driven mad by your own flesh. The stink of humanity. You hate your own existence. And that makes them more deadly than ever."
Half a million or more, but he can still feel pity for these poor Daleks that are not Daleks. He's shoved aside his seething hatred because he can feel for them. Insanity creeps at the edges always, deadly with hatred, deadlier still when the rage of the inside is expressed outwardly. He's not what he used to be, and neither are they. They're both out of their element, and while they go about following orders and living and having an existence, they hate it. They're pitiable creatures, but perhaps he is, too.