Roleplay Transcript “Ghost of Christmas Past”
The story of Astrid Peth, citizen of Sto. The woman who looked at the stars and dreamed of traveling... according to not_from_mars, watch_is_me and stardustflying.
watch_is_me: Seems like proms attract Doctors. Well, Christmas parties attract Doctors-perhaps he's branching out. Or perhaps his TARDIS just felt like zigging a little when it should have zagged.
Regardless, leaning against a wall, one black-Conversed leg crossed casually across the other, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat (it's not the traditional Ten pinstriped version, but something darker-this Doctor still has his Ninth's taste for black) is the Doctor. A Doctor. Yes.
He's watching the shindiggers thoughtfully, a bit remote. For anyone with the telepathic senses to overhear it, he's got a certain 1-2-3-4 beat to his psychic presence.
not_from_mars: "Oh, hello!" This Doctor would recognize that Doctor's getup anywhere! It's nice to see a familiar face - well, aside from the fact that it's his own, but specifics - so the Doctor heads over to the Doctor, grinning.
"Fancy meeting you here, eh?"
Somehow vague telepathic abilities are rly convenient this way, the Doctor (this Doctor) recognizes the Doctor (the Doctor coming his way, wearing their traditional party tux). He instantly breaks out into a grin of his own and pushes off from his wall-leaning to greet himself.
"Hello!" He's pleased to see this other version of himself. "Had this happen before, but not usually with the one regeneration. Lovely not worrying about paradox."
"Isn't it? That's what I like about these nexuses. Pop in for a visit with yourself and the universe remains as intact as you like it." He adjusts the bowtie of his Unlucky Tux of Certain Danger, the thing having been tied a little lopsidedly.
"Partying on your own, I see. -- Well, so'm I. What've you been up to?" In his other hand he holds a banana daiquiri, because no party is ever complete without one.
That tux does mean one has to be on the lookout for asteroids, old men turning into young men turning into scorpion creatures, etcetera, etcetera-but, really, you have to take advantage of those few excuses for tux-and-Converse you get. This Doctor wonders why he didn't think to wear his-though it might have made the party look like it had an all-Ten waitstaff.
"TARDIS even keeps working, it's having your cake and eating it too. Cheers to multiverses!" Oh, look, a waiter's just looped by with a tray of champagne, so he even has a glass of bubbly to toast with.
He takes a sip-it's no banana daiquiri, but it's not half bad-and considers. "Nothing, really. Had a look-in on this icemining fiasco at S'meth 22-9, saved some whales, had the TARDIS by the Rift." He shrugs-same old, same old, right?-and very carefully doesn't mention that he spent some time in there hunting down and wiping out, systematically and with definite satisfaction, a few Daleks he'd found hiding back in the Civil-War-era American South. A certain tension to his shrug may indicate that he's leaving something out, though.
The Doctor raises his glass to the multiverse toast. Hear, hear! He slugs a bit of it back.
He, of course, picks up on the body language, but decides not to press -- he knows he hates being harried, especially about things he deliberately leaves out, even though he does want to know everything about his other self's deviance. Another time, perhaps. "Ooh, S'meth 22-9. Passed by there recently, actually -- well, not that recently, but anyway." Ten might notice that his other self keeps glancing away as if expecting someone, though he's indeed alone.
Ten does, indeed, notice-and looks out over the crowd himself, wanting and not wanting to see whomever it is his other self is looking for. Martha? Rose, whom his others always mention? He doesn't know how well he could deal with that, watching her, whoever she is, this wonderful, mythical person, come smiling out of that crowd, to greet his other-knowing that she never happens to him.
"Brought someone with you?" Again, hands in pockets, his usual attempt at casual.
Realizing he's been caught - although not really realizing that he'd been doing it in the first place - the Doctor shrugs, inclining his head slightly, doing that non-commital but-really-it's-no-big-deal frown. He takes a sip of his drink.
"No. Not this time. S'just me, all by my onesies." He doesn't want to think about Donna, so he moves on -- "more of a chance to meet people when you're alone, anyway, though, yeah?" It's clear that he's gone from genial party-mode to slightly edgy.
He definitely recognizes that mode-it's the one he's in, himself, right now. Both of himself, apparently. He remembers, back before the war, when he kept companions with him regularly; the time between always felt empty, as though there'd never be another. Always looking for the plus-one who wasn't there anymore, and for the next face, that spark in a crowd, the stranger with wanderlust who might keep him going for the next year or so.
Being with this Ten makes him feel more alone than he's felt in years-it makes him think about what he's chosen to put aside.
"Yeah. Though," a wry little quirk to one side of his mouth and a raise of the eyebrow, "sometimes you end up the odd chap in the corner, talking to himself."
He nearly laughs at that - just an abrupt grin - and nods. "Very true. Look what's become of me! -- Not that I mind, really; I do make for very good conversation." He waggles his eyebrows, takes another drink, and when the glass comes away the smile is gone again, leaving him looking just as lonely and wayward as his other self.
stardustflying: The room may be lit in blue and green, shards of watery colour dancing and reflecting off the sea of balloons, but amongst the sparkles of prom lighting there is a cluster of blue light particles floating. You'd be forgiven for thinking they were all part of the decor, but closer inspection might reveal them to be something a little different, to an astute brilliant mind of course.
They weave in and out of the crowd, darting in seemingly random directions, as if they were looking for something.
This Doctor has not yet-and may never, his timeline being vastly divergent-found himself on the interstellar Titanic, so the lights catch his eye, but only in the way that unusual happenings at supposedly peaceful parties usually do.
"Huh." He points his chin at the lights, directing the other Doctor's attention to them. "Our luck at parties may be holding."
Eyebrows coming together with curiosity, the Doctor follows the other Doctor's gaze as the light particles twinkle and float through the air.
They're so graceful -- they look sentient, almost, searching; there's a familiarity about them, too. A sadness -- and that's when he realizes.
His expression stills completely, and his eyes widen very slightly.
"... No way..."
Behind people's backs, under legs they waltz, circling, perpetually seeking something. Then as they near the Doctors, it's as if they knew they were near. They pause, shimmering like dust suspended in sunlight as the breeze changes direction.
Astrid can feel him. Just to be close, even like this, scattered into tiny particles. She shines a little brighter.
The Doctor pulls his glasses out of a pocket-seems he wears them, just like he wears Converse, in spite of the Nine-ness of the rest of his taste. He notes the other Doctor's reaction sidelong as he dons the glasses and takes a step closer to the lights, fascinated.
"What are they?" It's clear his other self knows. He extends a hand towards the particles, curious, enthralled. "I do believe in fairies."
The Doctor doesn't take his eyes away from the lights, enthralled and excited and sad all at once. "That's..." he swallows. "Self, meet Astrid Peth."
He extends a hand, too, that night coming back to him more vividly than he'd like.
Astrid wishes she could speak, wishes she could tell him how long she's looked for him, wishes she could tell him it was her. She hears his voice, but the words are too distant to decipher. But it's his voice! The Doctor's voice! It floods through her like the warmth of a fire when you come in from the cold, and it makes her feel whole again.
She flits from hand to hand, thinking they are both from the same Doctor, her atoms moving as one more now, no stray twinkles being dragged back into orbit, staying as one.
These moments of wonder can still drown out the drums in this Doctor's mind-they're the purest instants of time he has, the astonishment at the beauty and complexity and endless surprise of the universe washing over his memories of genocide and imprisonment. He travels and sees so much darkness, and then, always, there's Hope, shining at the bottom of Pandora's Box.
"Astrid Peth." He pulls an amused "hm" face which turns upwards into a smile. "No idea who or what you are, but it's a pleasure to meet you." He looks across at his other self, through the sparkle of particles moving between them, wondering if there'll be further explanation. But there's no rush-no need to brush the moment away.
This Doctor has truly gone completely silent as the glittering, sentient stardust of Astrid Peth hovers over his hand, and he can touch it now -- touch her, that brave, brave girl from Sto who gave her life to save the Earth -- to save him. He didn't think he'd see her again, not like this. That's when the corners of his mouth twitch up into a smile that only shows the barest hint of sadness.
"How did you find me?" His voice is quiet, speaking mostly to himself, since he knows she might not even understand him in that form, much less be able to answer.
More than hope had brought her here, hope alone couldn't have found that crack between universes. A broken line of golden light had pulled her here, drifting aimlessly for so long, and then it had pulled her in, drawing her in like a magnet. Until... she was here, feeling him and forever hoping that his brilliance would find a way.
If she never spoke again, never heard his tales again, never shared her dreams...she was here, by his side. And that glittering cluster of light would follow him to the end of the universe and back again.
He pulls his hand back, hearing, in his other self's voice, the depth of this meeting, the echoes of another story that he has never shared. This sparkling presence, this fairydust will-o-the-wisp-he wishes, almost, that she could be his discovery, a new puzzle to apply his mind to, to learn from.
But she isn't, he can tell; and he moves away slightly, gives his other self space. Let these two crazy kids get reacquainted.
It's almost as though those twinkling lights are surrounded by an aura of feeling; the Doctor feels warmth on his hand, now, on his face, a sort of longing satisfaction that can only be coming from this sparkling cluster. When his other self steps away, he turns his head briefly to look at him. He feels as though something should be said about this, about her, but he's not entirely sure what.
Slowly the particles of shimmering dust try to reshape themselves, distancing themselves from one another. No longer the dense cluster as they spread apart, fluid movement forming a new shape. It's the vague silhouette of a girl, a haze of transparent light, trying desperately to retain its new form. It takes everything Astrid has to hold out the illusion of an arm, its almost invisible hand cupping the Doctor's cheek for the briefest of moments. It doesn't last though, her strength sapped by the effort and the particles of pale blue dust fall to the floor like sand slipping through an hourglass.
He nods to his other self, his expression serious, eyes dark behind the glasses, understanding-there's no need to say anything, every moment, any moment gained with someone thought lost is precious, and he can see that's what this is. It's alright. Go ahead.
When the particles form themselves into the figure of a girl, he smiles, very slightly, the saddest kind of smile in the world-the kind that says, 'I hurt, but that's nothing new, is it? Okay. I accept this.' Such a lucky man, his other self. And also so unlucky. No matter the universe, they always lose so much.
When Astrid, that ghost of her, is there for a moment - that one blink-and-you-miss moment -, the Doctor smiles a sad, happy smile. That image in front of him is like a memory (Astrid Peth, citizen of Sto, woman who looked at the stars and dreamt of traveling...), ethereal, translucent and luminescent, but then she falls apart, and he finds himself crouching, hands to the floor. "Astrid --"
And here's a situation he never thought to find himself in. He's watched companions suffer loss and fleeting reunion, and been there for them, afterwards, a hand to guide them, the TARDIS door opened to lead them back onto the road, away from hurt.
But this is himself, and he's not sure what to do. He grieves alone, he always has-sometimes, people have tried to help, but they can never really ease the ache.
Finally, he walks over to his other self, kneels down beside him, and puts an arm around his shoulders. The drums pick away at the back of his mind, a quiet rage at the pain he sees in this other self and its mirror in his own hearts.
It's like a wound that had nearly healed has been torn open, now. Flickering particles litter the floor and it only reminds the Doctor that he failed that Christmas night, failed to save her, that it was too late. He wonders if there's anything he can do now; if he had only given up because of Mr. Copper and there's some sort of solution sitting out there, just waiting for him to grasp it like so many glittering, searching lights.
He feels his other self's arm around his shoulders and tenses slightly, fighting back a flare of anger. It's not sympathy that he wants. He wants to fix her -- but this is a mirror of himself; he must know that. The one thing he doesn't have to worry about with this particular friend is misunderstanding or lack of connecting; they're the same person, and only he knows how his own mind works. The tenseness ebbs away, but his jaw is clenched with a certain amount of grief and regret, eyes unmoving from the floor.
The luminescent particles are still, shining as if they were nothing more than spilled glitter. Astrid in her exhaustion from forming the apparition is forced to rest.
Astrid won't give up though, she never was one to quit. After a few minutes they seem to start breathing, at first it's barely perceptible, barely recognisable beyond the prom lights refracting off them. Slowly though, they muster strength, moving as one like the gentle lull of the tide lapping at his feet and hands.
Nothing is promised, nothing is expected, but somehow she seems to be drawing strength from him, sensing every raw emotion, swimming around his crestfallen form with ever increasing verve.
'You're flying Astrid' In her mind, the echoes of that night ignite her like a sparkler. A sudden burst of energy and she's flying again, as bright and as enchanting as any fairy. She can't throw her arms around him, but she envelops him, swirls of dancing lights wrapping around him. She wants to take away the regret more than anything.
He doesn't understand, completely, any of this; but he knows that what's happening now, the girl formed from the bright dust, the sadness so clear in his other self, is important. Something stands on a knife's edge, the potential to correct an old mistake, to save a life, to bring someone back, bring them home.
The warmth of the contact from the particles, the almost-sentience, quiets the drums, and he's awed and grateful for that. It helps him think, helps him get past his own regret-the genocides, the losses that all of this brings sharply to mind.
"Tell me how to help." Because he will, he'll do anything his other self needs, to make this one thing right.
The Doctor closes his eyes in that moment, when he's surrounded by the glinting lights, by Astrid, and for a fleeting moment he feels all right. Hopeful. Found, even, but then his other self speaks, their eyes meet and their intensity becomes identical. Their determination. (No more.) To save a life, just one; one he hadn't wanted to accept was too late to save.
Letting Astrid's warmth fill him for a moment, he waits before returning to the reality of it, and it returns full-force. "She fell into the nuclear drive while wearing a teleportation bracelet on this - this - this cruise liner. It was supposed to keep her molecules in stasis, but the system was too damaged to restore her fully -- all that was left was this." He gently runs a hand through the cluster of stardust between them. "I've always thought -- there's got to be a way to restore her. It can't be impossible."
They bounce, springing upwards in a gesture of hope and excitement. Hovering between the two Doctors, suspended, waiting, eager. She feels their stoic determination, the cogs of their brilliant minds whirring. There has to be a way, there are a million stories they never shared, a million dreams she never realised, it can't end like this.
If Astrid knew she were in a multiversal nexus, she'd know that anything was possible, but she doesn't know. The endless possibilities tingle though, the infinite universes that collide here, time intermingling with no meaning. A thousand Astrids might have been here before her.
He hasn't been in this particular Nexus before, but he understands the theory behind it-the idea that all possibilities, all universes that could ever be, meet here-that the place itself seems to draw in sentient beings, to encourage meetings, to animate and bring life. In some esoteric sciences on distant worlds, philosophers have conjectured that nexuses like this-the loci of reality-are the source of life energy itself-that they sparked the cosmos, all cosmos, into motion.
It's like the heart of the TARDIS. It may even be the same-that same force, trying to make things be, to answer all wishes and bring all timelines into reality at once.
"Yes. Yes, yes, yes." He runs a hand through his hair, ruffles it up, completely lost in thought. "Right, good, she's a potential, then, a memory? A memory, echo in time and space, and you want her to exist and she wants to exist and the rudimentary connection still remains, physically, these particles-" and he's up and pacing, waving his hands through the particles as he walks "-it's the mimeo-valence energy, electrons there but not, jumping back and forth, fill in the dots, attract some atoms, get the pattern right..."
He spins, arms outspread, taking in the whole of the Nexus. "Can't you feel it? It's all right here! Me, you, look, we shouldn't exist, we can't exist next to each other, it can't happen, paradox, universe jerks, spasms, it's over. But here. It can happen here. She could happen here." And he's waving his other self to him, but he's too impatient, he closes the distance between them and grabs his other self by both arms, pulls him up.
"C'mon. Remember her. Clap your hands if you believe in fairies." And, if his other self lets him, he'll put his hands on his other self's temples-it's time to, literally, bring that combined mindpower into play.
The more his other self talks, the more excited his other self gets, the faster the Doctor's mind starts working, catching up to and keeping on par with where this Doctor is going -- why hadn't he thought of that? It makes sense. These nexuses, full of creation and life, fed by that life, by thoughts and desires of anyone who manages to slip through the cracks of their own universe! He's pulled up by his other self as Astrid's light dances about them, and he can see the hope in her, too.
He allows his other self to put his fingers to his temples, to enter his mind, for the two of them to connect; an act of trust and a show of determination.
He tries not to wince at the sudden onset of drumming.
Astrid's particles oscillate, trembling almost with a fear of the unknown - or do they know? Momentous kinetic energy poised, holding itself at the brink of creation.
As the Doctors connect, the twinkling lights seem to disperse, easing them selves apart. Some of them moving slowly and steadily, fluid grace marking their path; others chasing random paths, darting furiously in a rush to find their place.
They know. They're making room for the missing pieces. She knows. It can happen. Her Doctor is the key, and the other is the lock. Between them, the door of creation can be unlocked and she can step through it.
He'd been so enthused, so certain of what needed to be done, that he hadn't thought, hadn't even remembered the drums.
And now they're there, unavoidable, beating in both of their minds-the call to action, to violence, to fight forever on the frontlines of the Time War, never resting, never granting mercy, never the coward. As he touches his other self's mind, the shame cuts deep into him-shame and longing, to have what his other self has had. Friends, redemption-pain, yes, and loss, but company and hope and light and names and faces, precious individuals to struggle for and by. He sees Rose and how much she did for him, sees the other way his life might have gone, on the Game Station. Sees Jack, alive forever, and Martha and Donna and the faint memories of John Smith, gone now, in his other's world. And he wants to throw up walls in his own mind, covering his singleminded hunts for surviving Daleks; the Earth, dead by his hand; the anger and the years of imprisonment.
But he doesn't. They need all of their resources, for this, and he can't hide anything, can't weaken their link.
And then there's Astrid, beautiful and brave and the hope of another companion, another friend in the dark and the stars. He hooks into his other's memory of her, encourages it, embraces it, lending it the strength of his own mind and will. Let it be, let this one death never have happened. Please. For all three of them, for potential lost, let this work.
It's a battle of emotions, thoughts and feelings inside his mind when they make Contact, and he almost desires to dig blindly through his other self's mental cacophany, to walk unseeingly through whatever he might have hidden behind all that drumming; that visage of "I'm always all right" that he, himself knows all too well; the things this version of himself has done without having Rose there to save him from himself, but he can't. He sees it as he reaches for his own memory; the War, still the same; finding the Daleks that had survived and ending them (no, don't, don't get angry, you would've done it too); the destruction of all life on Earth by the Delta Wave (no, don't; you were ready and willing) ; the Family, running, hiding, hiding for so long -- so much longer than himself --
And he reaches it, finally, that memory of Astrid, the Titanic. All that running. There's an old tradition. And she's brilliant. She wants to get out there, experience the universe, and the Doctor's alone again -- he's more than happy to have her. And even now, he's lost so much again - they both have -, he wants more than anything to gain something back, to do something about this more than undeserving fate. It's like putting a wind to a fire, coaxing it out, making it stronger. Let this work, he thinks. Please. Please.
She can see him! She can actually see him! The Doctor! Standing here, in front of her. If light particles could smile, they are doing - brilliantly! Something's happening, something absolutely amazing is happening, filling her with life, with form, with solidity.
She's still no more than a translucent wall of stardust, but she's shining that much brighter as she draws from their will. Glowing like a shaft of moonlight, but she's there now, a ghostly apparition again. And she really is smiling, wonderment and excitement twinkling in her eyes.
This feeling, the intensity of shifting molecules; it seeps through her, overwhelming her. It's making her heart beat, she can hear it gently thudding as it finds its beat. And she can smell him! This place, a hundred different senses all attacking her at once. The excitement is almost unbearable, bewildering, fascinating, intense, joyous. It's everything, everything she ever felt, at the same time.
The memory shifts and turns in his/their mind/minds, grows stronger; and he can feel some other force, some outside force, neither he nor his other, drawing on it, encouraging it, willing it to fill out, into more than memory-into life.
It's working! His shame dies away in the rush of that recognition-the stuff of the Nexus is responding to them, to the combined will of two Time Lords and a ghost of atoms and memory. It's working!
Oh, and he can feel it, too, amplified double by the connection to his other self -- he can feel it, feel her, feel the life and it's absolutely amazing. The drums have been drowned out, now, those memories of his other pushed aside. It's working and he thinks he might burst with ecstasy, unable to keep the grin from his face.
"I never stopped believing in you."
The words came out hushed, distant, a voice that had been so close to being lost forever. Astrid's form was becoming reality, and they were doing it! And there were two of them! A muscle, she could feel a muscle, forgotten fingers flexed and she breathed. A breath that actually took in air!
Astrid had never experienced anything like it; simple actions that she'd done over and over without even consideration before, and now she felt every nuance, every subtle function as she absorbed the life that the Doctors and the Nexus were feeding her.
She was hungry, hungry for adventure and knowledge and this new life, and him.
As she smiled through lips that were pink not blue, a real tear fell down peachy flesh and she beamed, radiated with hope and new life, riding on the crest of bouyant euphoria.
"YOU'RE AMAZING!" Elation bursting in her voice as she shouted out. Astrid threw her arms around the Doctor's neck and kissed him with more passion than she'd ever kissed anyone before. And then she turned to the other, grabbing him with as much energy as the first and repeated the same excited kiss.
"Both of you!" The words exploded with joy and a hint of misunderstanding that clearly did not matter as her eyes flitted from one to the other with energy and gratitude.
"Oh, yes!" Of course, he's amazing-he'd forgotten just how amazing, but this reminds him-her kiss, which takes him entirely by surprise, and this unqualified success, no strings attached, everyone lives and no one dies, after so long.
He whips his glasses off and tucks them away in his leather jacket, grabbing her up in a swinging hug, laughing. "Welcome back, Astrid Peth!" For this moment, she's his Astrid, not his other's, as he rides on the borrowed memories, the afterimages of the past he never shared with this brilliant, determined starlight woman.
The only time he stops grinning is when Astrid kisses him - and, while surprising, it's in no way unwelcome - and even then he's hard-pressed not to, gaining his sense enough at the tail end of it to kiss her back. He watches as she repeats the motion on his other self, the happiness in this corner of the room practically tangible.
As soon as she's set down by his other self this Doctor wraps her up in a tight hug, grinning hard, lifting her up off the ground and noticing that he'd forgot just how much shorter than him she was -- that case, the case she'd had to stand on to kiss him, and now he's laughing at the memory and at the wonder of the fact that she's here, now, okay and alive.
Astrid doesn't know whether to laugh or cry, so she'll do both. Months and months of wanting, waiting, searching; and it's all culminating here in an eruption of sheer emotion. Every lonely minute is forgotten, because every moment of being alone and lost was worth it. She found him, and not only did she find him, she found two of him!
"Thank you!" She sobs in response, grinning so brightly her cheeks ache as the other Doctor swings her up, holding her. Arms clasped tightly around his neck still from pulling him down for the kiss.
Then she's in the arms of her Doctor, she didn't understand the alternate universes thing yet, and had barely stopped to even consider it, but he felt right. The way he kissed her back, his smell, the warm musky familiar scent. The Time Lord from Gallifrey had given her back the life she'd so gladly sacrificed for him.
In his arms, her legs kicking out behind her as she hung from his neck, she spoke softly into his ear, pressing her cheek up hard against his. "I'm alive. I gave you my life, and you gave it back. It's the best present I ever got. Happy Christmas Doctor!"
He watches the two of them, the warmth of their embrace; and distance begins to reassert itself, in his mind. The memories he responded to, sweeping her up, so grateful to see her alive and whole, never belonged to him. He's the Other Doctor, and this reunion isn't his. It's theirs. Think of them as two people, just two people, you've helped, he tells himself. How many couples have you reunited? How many lives have you saved, and then gone on, never demanding thanks? You've watched this scene before. Be happy for them. It's okay.
But it's not, and he feels that, the slow outrage curling up with the drums. He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, to stop himself from tapping out the beat, and takes a few steps back from the couple.
Laughing slightly at the comment - but, well, as far as he's concerned, with his timelessness, it's Christmas somewhere - he swings her around once before setting her back on her feet. "Happy Christmas, Astrid." Beaming and unspeakably pleased, he looks to his other self to match expressions, share the moment, send along the nonverbal 'we did it!', but his grin falters when he notices the look on his other's face.
Of course.
"Astrid, this is my other self. -- He's from an alternate universe; a reality where everything's fundamentally the same but a little bit different." Or a lot different, he thinks, and now that that happy moment between the three of them has simmered a bit, he tries not to let what he saw in the other Doctor's mind poison his opinion. "He never met you in his reality."
There are a million unshared thoughts and dreams shining from her glassy eyed grin as he puts her down. Too much to say, too much to ask, that all she can do is smile at him; losing herself in his eyes.
She turns to the other Doctor as he's introduced, somehow she knows that it was different for him. More than his stance, more than his hands in pockets distance from them, a kind of innate empathy that's confusingly new to her, she can feel his regrets and melancholy.
"You're still you Doctor. You're still..." She searches for the right words, "brilliant and giving and selfless and all those wonderful things that everyone should be."
She's standing by him, a gentle hand reaching up and tracing over his jawline.
He reaches up and puts his hand over hers, gentle, the depth of his need for contact clear in the quiet pressure of his touch and in his eyes-very dark now, dark and hurting, with the bittersweet pain of her presence, her concern.
"Thank you, Astrid." He smiles at her, for her and for his other self, to lighten the mood; but something in the expression shows he doesn't believe entirely in the goodness she attributes to him-he's made too many mistakes.
The Doctor watches, knowing; realizing the weight of their situation now. Astrid's going to have to leave with someone, and he has the feeling that it's not going to be his other self. Along with his thoughts his expression has turned serious, watching the two of them, hands in the pockets of his trousers.
He quirks a smile, though, when his other does, hurting for him but at the same time unable to keep those borrowed memories from his mind; the killing, all that death, more than he, himself would ever be willing to undertake.
She's torn. His need for purity, self forgiving, acceptance that his choices were necessary evils pouring into her through the touch of his hand and she wants so much to be able to give them to him. But she doesn't know how.
"You shouldn't ever look back Doctor, only forwards. Forwards is where everything new and fantastic is. Forwards is life."
She doubts she's given him anything though, even as she hopes he can see how all those months of drifting for her, weren't drifting at all. She was always moving forwards, towards better things.
His smile gains sincerity, finally reaching his eyes, and he moves her hand from his face, clasps it in both of his.
"Right. No dwelling in the past, allons-y, seize the day!" He looks over at his other self, a quick glance of approval and shared understanding-she's a quick study, this Astrid Peth, the right kind of person to take with you to the stars. They'll be a gift to her, and never a regret.
He releases Astrid's hand and takes a step back, deliberately putting some of his usual swing into that step. One hand rubs the back of his neck, and he bounces on his heels. "Well. Tricky things, alternate universes." Which is as close as he's going to get to apologizing outright for his lapse into selfishness and regret.
The Doctor nods, shifting his weight a little. "Aren't they. Never know what you might end up with, lacking certain important aspects -- everything goes off-kilter." Was that a shot at him? Perhaps. But he smiles at Astrid.
Astrid quietly backs away from him, perhaps a tiny bit grateful that it wasn't she who had to reject him. The way he bounces on his heels, lays the blame on the alternate universe.
"Thank you Doctor, for everything you did for me." She smiles sadly at the man she can't help, and slips her hand into her Doctor's. The one she died for, the one she can truly believe in.
He gives his other a hard look, at what definitely sounds like a crack-one eyebrow raised and his expression assessing, a look that asks, 'Did that mean what I thought it meant?' Because if his other self is going to draw that line between them, well, he won't forget that.
It's all he can do to let her go, to watch her back away, and take his other's hand. The drums beat at the back of his mind, insisting that she should be his, that his other self could never have brought her back on his own, that he should insist she come with him. Rub it in his other's face, that he couldn't accomplish this alone, that he always needs help.
"No trouble. Good to meet you, Astrid." And, because he really needs to get away from them, because they look so right together... "I'll go see about drinks, how's that?"
The Doctor scratches his head in a gesture of, 'well, it wasn't intended to be, but I suppose if that's what it sounded like...' but he doesn't dwell on it, just waves it away; it was a statement, and it'll go away as soon as they stop thinking about it.
And then the Doctor knows. He can see it in his other self, and he knows. He knows what he intends to do, 'see about drinks', indeed... and somewhere, mingling with that small, angry fire is a feeling of regret, empathy. He's standing here with Astrid's hand in his, but he's also standing there, alone, watching himself with someone he knows he'll never have. Two Doctors, one Astrid, one odd man out. He'll run away, he knows it. Slip off, out of the nexus, back into his own universe -- perhaps never to be seen again. He knows this because it's exactly what he'd do; always running away, always the coward. All this is communicated in a look, one long look, from one Doctor to the other. (I know what you're doing, and you really don't have to go.) (You don't have to be alone.) (If that's what you really want.) (You shouldn't be alone.)
The tension between them is evident, she wishes she could split herself in two, not have to make a choice between them. They both gave equally, she owes them both. She's not ready to say goodbye to either of them, but 'good to meet you' sounded so final.
"I'll get the drinks. I'm trained in getting drinks. Need to check if I've still got it." She cracks a smile, attempting to inject some humour as she squeezes his hand before releasing it. She's had enough goodbyes.
"No, you just...rematerialized, I can-" But he doesn't talk fast enough-not something you can say often, about any Doctor from any universe-and she's already off in the crowd.
Leaving him standing here alone, with himself. He curses under his breath, in Gallifreyan, looking-well, not exactly panicked, but definitely eager to be elsewhere.
The Doctor lets out a breath, one hand in his pocket, the other tugging at his bowtie again. He steps over to his other self slowly, casually, watching Astrid leave before brown eyes meet brown.
"Taking off, then?" He's quieter now. It's not a snide question, nor an accusation; just a question.
He knows his other understands-he saw it in his memories, that he's played this trick himself many times before. But he also knows that the anger, the drums, those are his alone.
So he meets his other's eyes and, behind the regret, there's almost-fear. The fear of losing control-whether through entanglement in relationships or through lashing out and hurting others. He's dangerous, now; has been dangerous since he woke up and killed an innocent in order to live. Maybe even before that.
"I can't stay." You saw his memories, other; you know why, his tone says.
And that's exactly what motivates him, having seen those memories, having heard those drums. It's not quite pity in his eyes, nor complete concern. He knows that he's dangerous, for his altered past alone; come right out the War full of anger and hatred with no Rose to dampen that, change it. But there's the drumming, too, and he knows exactly what happens to those who suffer it -- but who suffer it alone. The Master heard them for centuries, suffered them, let them drive him into madness, and the Doctor does not want that happening to him, to this alternate self of his. He's lost too much already; he doesn't want him to lose himself, too. Where he couldn't help the Master, he wonders if he can help the Doctor.
"We can help." He doesn't know for sure. But when has he ever been completely sure about anything?
And now he's torn, because he wants to believe his other, wants to share this burden. But he knows himself-he knows his selfishness, his impatience, how poor he really is at sharing.
He knows how arrogant he is-his companions, yes, he can let them help him, he always has, but that's safe. At the end of the day, no matter how much help he needs, he remains unquestionably their superior.
But to be the shadow, the mission of redemption, for himself...
He runs a hand through his hair. "I have to go. They need me, I have to keep looking..." The human race, he means-he spends much of his time looking for survivors. But he's wavering, his voice rough. It's an excuse, and he knows it.
The Doctor looks at him evenly for a long moment, stepping just an inch closer. His voice is low, tone the same one often heard when persuading, talking people down, appealing.
"You'll keep looking. All on your own, and that drumming will just get louder and louder, more and more aggressive. Please... let me help. Let me try, at least."
Hearing that voice, from the other side-he knows that tone, and he knows that when he sounds like that, he means every word he says. When people don't listen to that voice, they die, victims of their own stubbornness or ignorance or hubris.
He summons up a weak grin. "That bad?" Meaning his other sees in him, now, enough wrong to merit That Voice. "Well." He sighs, and its hands in pockets again, body language relaxing ever so slightly. "Physician, heal thyself, they always say."
And that's it, he's in. Though he looks like the decision has used up about all of the emotional resources he's got, right now.
The Doctor smiles a little, slowly realizing the familiarity of the situation; it hadn't even been that long ago, now, that he'd left himself - the Time Lord/Human metacrisis born from his spare hand - behind in an alternate universe. It's strange; he left him behind because he was dangerous, volatile, and yet he's offering to take a much similar - worse, even, because he's still completely a Time Lord - self with him. It's the drumming, he thinks, that factors in here. A ticking time bomb that someone has to diffuse. He's better off with us.
"Welcome aboard," the Doctor says with the slightest of smiles.
"And I think that deserves a toast!" Astrid smiles, balancing three champagne flutes in her hands and offering one to each of the Doctors as she catches the tail end of the conversation.
"To the stars... and to us!"
He grins at Astrid, relieved by her well-timed reappearance-the grin's a little apologetic and embarrassed, as they appear to have made some fairly serious travel plans without consulting her. But! A toast! Nothing like a nice celebratory ritual for breaking up seriousness.
Taking the glass she offers him, he raises it to them both. "Cheers! The Pair-of-Docs and the Starwoman from Sto. Could form a band."
He grins as he takes the glass, relieved that she doesn't seem to mind what's just been decided between the two Doctors, raising it as well.
"Cheers."
“What we are today comes from our thoughts of yesterday, and our present thoughts build our life of tomorrow: Our life is the creation of our mind.” by Buddha
So much love for this thread and the 2Doctors+1!verse that has emerged from it ♥
watch_is_me: Seems like proms attract Doctors. Well, Christmas parties attract Doctors-perhaps he's branching out. Or perhaps his TARDIS just felt like zigging a little when it should have zagged.
Regardless, leaning against a wall, one black-Conversed leg crossed casually across the other, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat (it's not the traditional Ten pinstriped version, but something darker-this Doctor still has his Ninth's taste for black) is the Doctor. A Doctor. Yes.
He's watching the shindiggers thoughtfully, a bit remote. For anyone with the telepathic senses to overhear it, he's got a certain 1-2-3-4 beat to his psychic presence.
not_from_mars: "Oh, hello!" This Doctor would recognize that Doctor's getup anywhere! It's nice to see a familiar face - well, aside from the fact that it's his own, but specifics - so the Doctor heads over to the Doctor, grinning.
"Fancy meeting you here, eh?"
Somehow vague telepathic abilities are rly convenient this way, the Doctor (this Doctor) recognizes the Doctor (the Doctor coming his way, wearing their traditional party tux). He instantly breaks out into a grin of his own and pushes off from his wall-leaning to greet himself.
"Hello!" He's pleased to see this other version of himself. "Had this happen before, but not usually with the one regeneration. Lovely not worrying about paradox."
"Isn't it? That's what I like about these nexuses. Pop in for a visit with yourself and the universe remains as intact as you like it." He adjusts the bowtie of his Unlucky Tux of Certain Danger, the thing having been tied a little lopsidedly.
"Partying on your own, I see. -- Well, so'm I. What've you been up to?" In his other hand he holds a banana daiquiri, because no party is ever complete without one.
That tux does mean one has to be on the lookout for asteroids, old men turning into young men turning into scorpion creatures, etcetera, etcetera-but, really, you have to take advantage of those few excuses for tux-and-Converse you get. This Doctor wonders why he didn't think to wear his-though it might have made the party look like it had an all-Ten waitstaff.
"TARDIS even keeps working, it's having your cake and eating it too. Cheers to multiverses!" Oh, look, a waiter's just looped by with a tray of champagne, so he even has a glass of bubbly to toast with.
He takes a sip-it's no banana daiquiri, but it's not half bad-and considers. "Nothing, really. Had a look-in on this icemining fiasco at S'meth 22-9, saved some whales, had the TARDIS by the Rift." He shrugs-same old, same old, right?-and very carefully doesn't mention that he spent some time in there hunting down and wiping out, systematically and with definite satisfaction, a few Daleks he'd found hiding back in the Civil-War-era American South. A certain tension to his shrug may indicate that he's leaving something out, though.
The Doctor raises his glass to the multiverse toast. Hear, hear! He slugs a bit of it back.
He, of course, picks up on the body language, but decides not to press -- he knows he hates being harried, especially about things he deliberately leaves out, even though he does want to know everything about his other self's deviance. Another time, perhaps. "Ooh, S'meth 22-9. Passed by there recently, actually -- well, not that recently, but anyway." Ten might notice that his other self keeps glancing away as if expecting someone, though he's indeed alone.
Ten does, indeed, notice-and looks out over the crowd himself, wanting and not wanting to see whomever it is his other self is looking for. Martha? Rose, whom his others always mention? He doesn't know how well he could deal with that, watching her, whoever she is, this wonderful, mythical person, come smiling out of that crowd, to greet his other-knowing that she never happens to him.
"Brought someone with you?" Again, hands in pockets, his usual attempt at casual.
Realizing he's been caught - although not really realizing that he'd been doing it in the first place - the Doctor shrugs, inclining his head slightly, doing that non-commital but-really-it's-no-big-deal frown. He takes a sip of his drink.
"No. Not this time. S'just me, all by my onesies." He doesn't want to think about Donna, so he moves on -- "more of a chance to meet people when you're alone, anyway, though, yeah?" It's clear that he's gone from genial party-mode to slightly edgy.
He definitely recognizes that mode-it's the one he's in, himself, right now. Both of himself, apparently. He remembers, back before the war, when he kept companions with him regularly; the time between always felt empty, as though there'd never be another. Always looking for the plus-one who wasn't there anymore, and for the next face, that spark in a crowd, the stranger with wanderlust who might keep him going for the next year or so.
Being with this Ten makes him feel more alone than he's felt in years-it makes him think about what he's chosen to put aside.
"Yeah. Though," a wry little quirk to one side of his mouth and a raise of the eyebrow, "sometimes you end up the odd chap in the corner, talking to himself."
He nearly laughs at that - just an abrupt grin - and nods. "Very true. Look what's become of me! -- Not that I mind, really; I do make for very good conversation." He waggles his eyebrows, takes another drink, and when the glass comes away the smile is gone again, leaving him looking just as lonely and wayward as his other self.
stardustflying: The room may be lit in blue and green, shards of watery colour dancing and reflecting off the sea of balloons, but amongst the sparkles of prom lighting there is a cluster of blue light particles floating. You'd be forgiven for thinking they were all part of the decor, but closer inspection might reveal them to be something a little different, to an astute brilliant mind of course.
They weave in and out of the crowd, darting in seemingly random directions, as if they were looking for something.
This Doctor has not yet-and may never, his timeline being vastly divergent-found himself on the interstellar Titanic, so the lights catch his eye, but only in the way that unusual happenings at supposedly peaceful parties usually do.
"Huh." He points his chin at the lights, directing the other Doctor's attention to them. "Our luck at parties may be holding."
Eyebrows coming together with curiosity, the Doctor follows the other Doctor's gaze as the light particles twinkle and float through the air.
They're so graceful -- they look sentient, almost, searching; there's a familiarity about them, too. A sadness -- and that's when he realizes.
His expression stills completely, and his eyes widen very slightly.
"... No way..."
Behind people's backs, under legs they waltz, circling, perpetually seeking something. Then as they near the Doctors, it's as if they knew they were near. They pause, shimmering like dust suspended in sunlight as the breeze changes direction.
Astrid can feel him. Just to be close, even like this, scattered into tiny particles. She shines a little brighter.
The Doctor pulls his glasses out of a pocket-seems he wears them, just like he wears Converse, in spite of the Nine-ness of the rest of his taste. He notes the other Doctor's reaction sidelong as he dons the glasses and takes a step closer to the lights, fascinated.
"What are they?" It's clear his other self knows. He extends a hand towards the particles, curious, enthralled. "I do believe in fairies."
The Doctor doesn't take his eyes away from the lights, enthralled and excited and sad all at once. "That's..." he swallows. "Self, meet Astrid Peth."
He extends a hand, too, that night coming back to him more vividly than he'd like.
Astrid wishes she could speak, wishes she could tell him how long she's looked for him, wishes she could tell him it was her. She hears his voice, but the words are too distant to decipher. But it's his voice! The Doctor's voice! It floods through her like the warmth of a fire when you come in from the cold, and it makes her feel whole again.
She flits from hand to hand, thinking they are both from the same Doctor, her atoms moving as one more now, no stray twinkles being dragged back into orbit, staying as one.
These moments of wonder can still drown out the drums in this Doctor's mind-they're the purest instants of time he has, the astonishment at the beauty and complexity and endless surprise of the universe washing over his memories of genocide and imprisonment. He travels and sees so much darkness, and then, always, there's Hope, shining at the bottom of Pandora's Box.
"Astrid Peth." He pulls an amused "hm" face which turns upwards into a smile. "No idea who or what you are, but it's a pleasure to meet you." He looks across at his other self, through the sparkle of particles moving between them, wondering if there'll be further explanation. But there's no rush-no need to brush the moment away.
This Doctor has truly gone completely silent as the glittering, sentient stardust of Astrid Peth hovers over his hand, and he can touch it now -- touch her, that brave, brave girl from Sto who gave her life to save the Earth -- to save him. He didn't think he'd see her again, not like this. That's when the corners of his mouth twitch up into a smile that only shows the barest hint of sadness.
"How did you find me?" His voice is quiet, speaking mostly to himself, since he knows she might not even understand him in that form, much less be able to answer.
More than hope had brought her here, hope alone couldn't have found that crack between universes. A broken line of golden light had pulled her here, drifting aimlessly for so long, and then it had pulled her in, drawing her in like a magnet. Until... she was here, feeling him and forever hoping that his brilliance would find a way.
If she never spoke again, never heard his tales again, never shared her dreams...she was here, by his side. And that glittering cluster of light would follow him to the end of the universe and back again.
He pulls his hand back, hearing, in his other self's voice, the depth of this meeting, the echoes of another story that he has never shared. This sparkling presence, this fairydust will-o-the-wisp-he wishes, almost, that she could be his discovery, a new puzzle to apply his mind to, to learn from.
But she isn't, he can tell; and he moves away slightly, gives his other self space. Let these two crazy kids get reacquainted.
It's almost as though those twinkling lights are surrounded by an aura of feeling; the Doctor feels warmth on his hand, now, on his face, a sort of longing satisfaction that can only be coming from this sparkling cluster. When his other self steps away, he turns his head briefly to look at him. He feels as though something should be said about this, about her, but he's not entirely sure what.
Slowly the particles of shimmering dust try to reshape themselves, distancing themselves from one another. No longer the dense cluster as they spread apart, fluid movement forming a new shape. It's the vague silhouette of a girl, a haze of transparent light, trying desperately to retain its new form. It takes everything Astrid has to hold out the illusion of an arm, its almost invisible hand cupping the Doctor's cheek for the briefest of moments. It doesn't last though, her strength sapped by the effort and the particles of pale blue dust fall to the floor like sand slipping through an hourglass.
He nods to his other self, his expression serious, eyes dark behind the glasses, understanding-there's no need to say anything, every moment, any moment gained with someone thought lost is precious, and he can see that's what this is. It's alright. Go ahead.
When the particles form themselves into the figure of a girl, he smiles, very slightly, the saddest kind of smile in the world-the kind that says, 'I hurt, but that's nothing new, is it? Okay. I accept this.' Such a lucky man, his other self. And also so unlucky. No matter the universe, they always lose so much.
When Astrid, that ghost of her, is there for a moment - that one blink-and-you-miss moment -, the Doctor smiles a sad, happy smile. That image in front of him is like a memory (Astrid Peth, citizen of Sto, woman who looked at the stars and dreamt of traveling...), ethereal, translucent and luminescent, but then she falls apart, and he finds himself crouching, hands to the floor. "Astrid --"
And here's a situation he never thought to find himself in. He's watched companions suffer loss and fleeting reunion, and been there for them, afterwards, a hand to guide them, the TARDIS door opened to lead them back onto the road, away from hurt.
But this is himself, and he's not sure what to do. He grieves alone, he always has-sometimes, people have tried to help, but they can never really ease the ache.
Finally, he walks over to his other self, kneels down beside him, and puts an arm around his shoulders. The drums pick away at the back of his mind, a quiet rage at the pain he sees in this other self and its mirror in his own hearts.
It's like a wound that had nearly healed has been torn open, now. Flickering particles litter the floor and it only reminds the Doctor that he failed that Christmas night, failed to save her, that it was too late. He wonders if there's anything he can do now; if he had only given up because of Mr. Copper and there's some sort of solution sitting out there, just waiting for him to grasp it like so many glittering, searching lights.
He feels his other self's arm around his shoulders and tenses slightly, fighting back a flare of anger. It's not sympathy that he wants. He wants to fix her -- but this is a mirror of himself; he must know that. The one thing he doesn't have to worry about with this particular friend is misunderstanding or lack of connecting; they're the same person, and only he knows how his own mind works. The tenseness ebbs away, but his jaw is clenched with a certain amount of grief and regret, eyes unmoving from the floor.
The luminescent particles are still, shining as if they were nothing more than spilled glitter. Astrid in her exhaustion from forming the apparition is forced to rest.
Astrid won't give up though, she never was one to quit. After a few minutes they seem to start breathing, at first it's barely perceptible, barely recognisable beyond the prom lights refracting off them. Slowly though, they muster strength, moving as one like the gentle lull of the tide lapping at his feet and hands.
Nothing is promised, nothing is expected, but somehow she seems to be drawing strength from him, sensing every raw emotion, swimming around his crestfallen form with ever increasing verve.
'You're flying Astrid' In her mind, the echoes of that night ignite her like a sparkler. A sudden burst of energy and she's flying again, as bright and as enchanting as any fairy. She can't throw her arms around him, but she envelops him, swirls of dancing lights wrapping around him. She wants to take away the regret more than anything.
He doesn't understand, completely, any of this; but he knows that what's happening now, the girl formed from the bright dust, the sadness so clear in his other self, is important. Something stands on a knife's edge, the potential to correct an old mistake, to save a life, to bring someone back, bring them home.
The warmth of the contact from the particles, the almost-sentience, quiets the drums, and he's awed and grateful for that. It helps him think, helps him get past his own regret-the genocides, the losses that all of this brings sharply to mind.
"Tell me how to help." Because he will, he'll do anything his other self needs, to make this one thing right.
The Doctor closes his eyes in that moment, when he's surrounded by the glinting lights, by Astrid, and for a fleeting moment he feels all right. Hopeful. Found, even, but then his other self speaks, their eyes meet and their intensity becomes identical. Their determination. (No more.) To save a life, just one; one he hadn't wanted to accept was too late to save.
Letting Astrid's warmth fill him for a moment, he waits before returning to the reality of it, and it returns full-force. "She fell into the nuclear drive while wearing a teleportation bracelet on this - this - this cruise liner. It was supposed to keep her molecules in stasis, but the system was too damaged to restore her fully -- all that was left was this." He gently runs a hand through the cluster of stardust between them. "I've always thought -- there's got to be a way to restore her. It can't be impossible."
They bounce, springing upwards in a gesture of hope and excitement. Hovering between the two Doctors, suspended, waiting, eager. She feels their stoic determination, the cogs of their brilliant minds whirring. There has to be a way, there are a million stories they never shared, a million dreams she never realised, it can't end like this.
If Astrid knew she were in a multiversal nexus, she'd know that anything was possible, but she doesn't know. The endless possibilities tingle though, the infinite universes that collide here, time intermingling with no meaning. A thousand Astrids might have been here before her.
He hasn't been in this particular Nexus before, but he understands the theory behind it-the idea that all possibilities, all universes that could ever be, meet here-that the place itself seems to draw in sentient beings, to encourage meetings, to animate and bring life. In some esoteric sciences on distant worlds, philosophers have conjectured that nexuses like this-the loci of reality-are the source of life energy itself-that they sparked the cosmos, all cosmos, into motion.
It's like the heart of the TARDIS. It may even be the same-that same force, trying to make things be, to answer all wishes and bring all timelines into reality at once.
"Yes. Yes, yes, yes." He runs a hand through his hair, ruffles it up, completely lost in thought. "Right, good, she's a potential, then, a memory? A memory, echo in time and space, and you want her to exist and she wants to exist and the rudimentary connection still remains, physically, these particles-" and he's up and pacing, waving his hands through the particles as he walks "-it's the mimeo-valence energy, electrons there but not, jumping back and forth, fill in the dots, attract some atoms, get the pattern right..."
He spins, arms outspread, taking in the whole of the Nexus. "Can't you feel it? It's all right here! Me, you, look, we shouldn't exist, we can't exist next to each other, it can't happen, paradox, universe jerks, spasms, it's over. But here. It can happen here. She could happen here." And he's waving his other self to him, but he's too impatient, he closes the distance between them and grabs his other self by both arms, pulls him up.
"C'mon. Remember her. Clap your hands if you believe in fairies." And, if his other self lets him, he'll put his hands on his other self's temples-it's time to, literally, bring that combined mindpower into play.
The more his other self talks, the more excited his other self gets, the faster the Doctor's mind starts working, catching up to and keeping on par with where this Doctor is going -- why hadn't he thought of that? It makes sense. These nexuses, full of creation and life, fed by that life, by thoughts and desires of anyone who manages to slip through the cracks of their own universe! He's pulled up by his other self as Astrid's light dances about them, and he can see the hope in her, too.
He allows his other self to put his fingers to his temples, to enter his mind, for the two of them to connect; an act of trust and a show of determination.
He tries not to wince at the sudden onset of drumming.
Astrid's particles oscillate, trembling almost with a fear of the unknown - or do they know? Momentous kinetic energy poised, holding itself at the brink of creation.
As the Doctors connect, the twinkling lights seem to disperse, easing them selves apart. Some of them moving slowly and steadily, fluid grace marking their path; others chasing random paths, darting furiously in a rush to find their place.
They know. They're making room for the missing pieces. She knows. It can happen. Her Doctor is the key, and the other is the lock. Between them, the door of creation can be unlocked and she can step through it.
He'd been so enthused, so certain of what needed to be done, that he hadn't thought, hadn't even remembered the drums.
And now they're there, unavoidable, beating in both of their minds-the call to action, to violence, to fight forever on the frontlines of the Time War, never resting, never granting mercy, never the coward. As he touches his other self's mind, the shame cuts deep into him-shame and longing, to have what his other self has had. Friends, redemption-pain, yes, and loss, but company and hope and light and names and faces, precious individuals to struggle for and by. He sees Rose and how much she did for him, sees the other way his life might have gone, on the Game Station. Sees Jack, alive forever, and Martha and Donna and the faint memories of John Smith, gone now, in his other's world. And he wants to throw up walls in his own mind, covering his singleminded hunts for surviving Daleks; the Earth, dead by his hand; the anger and the years of imprisonment.
But he doesn't. They need all of their resources, for this, and he can't hide anything, can't weaken their link.
And then there's Astrid, beautiful and brave and the hope of another companion, another friend in the dark and the stars. He hooks into his other's memory of her, encourages it, embraces it, lending it the strength of his own mind and will. Let it be, let this one death never have happened. Please. For all three of them, for potential lost, let this work.
It's a battle of emotions, thoughts and feelings inside his mind when they make Contact, and he almost desires to dig blindly through his other self's mental cacophany, to walk unseeingly through whatever he might have hidden behind all that drumming; that visage of "I'm always all right" that he, himself knows all too well; the things this version of himself has done without having Rose there to save him from himself, but he can't. He sees it as he reaches for his own memory; the War, still the same; finding the Daleks that had survived and ending them (no, don't, don't get angry, you would've done it too); the destruction of all life on Earth by the Delta Wave (no, don't; you were ready and willing) ; the Family, running, hiding, hiding for so long -- so much longer than himself --
And he reaches it, finally, that memory of Astrid, the Titanic. All that running. There's an old tradition. And she's brilliant. She wants to get out there, experience the universe, and the Doctor's alone again -- he's more than happy to have her. And even now, he's lost so much again - they both have -, he wants more than anything to gain something back, to do something about this more than undeserving fate. It's like putting a wind to a fire, coaxing it out, making it stronger. Let this work, he thinks. Please. Please.
She can see him! She can actually see him! The Doctor! Standing here, in front of her. If light particles could smile, they are doing - brilliantly! Something's happening, something absolutely amazing is happening, filling her with life, with form, with solidity.
She's still no more than a translucent wall of stardust, but she's shining that much brighter as she draws from their will. Glowing like a shaft of moonlight, but she's there now, a ghostly apparition again. And she really is smiling, wonderment and excitement twinkling in her eyes.
This feeling, the intensity of shifting molecules; it seeps through her, overwhelming her. It's making her heart beat, she can hear it gently thudding as it finds its beat. And she can smell him! This place, a hundred different senses all attacking her at once. The excitement is almost unbearable, bewildering, fascinating, intense, joyous. It's everything, everything she ever felt, at the same time.
The memory shifts and turns in his/their mind/minds, grows stronger; and he can feel some other force, some outside force, neither he nor his other, drawing on it, encouraging it, willing it to fill out, into more than memory-into life.
It's working! His shame dies away in the rush of that recognition-the stuff of the Nexus is responding to them, to the combined will of two Time Lords and a ghost of atoms and memory. It's working!
Oh, and he can feel it, too, amplified double by the connection to his other self -- he can feel it, feel her, feel the life and it's absolutely amazing. The drums have been drowned out, now, those memories of his other pushed aside. It's working and he thinks he might burst with ecstasy, unable to keep the grin from his face.
"I never stopped believing in you."
The words came out hushed, distant, a voice that had been so close to being lost forever. Astrid's form was becoming reality, and they were doing it! And there were two of them! A muscle, she could feel a muscle, forgotten fingers flexed and she breathed. A breath that actually took in air!
Astrid had never experienced anything like it; simple actions that she'd done over and over without even consideration before, and now she felt every nuance, every subtle function as she absorbed the life that the Doctors and the Nexus were feeding her.
She was hungry, hungry for adventure and knowledge and this new life, and him.
As she smiled through lips that were pink not blue, a real tear fell down peachy flesh and she beamed, radiated with hope and new life, riding on the crest of bouyant euphoria.
"YOU'RE AMAZING!" Elation bursting in her voice as she shouted out. Astrid threw her arms around the Doctor's neck and kissed him with more passion than she'd ever kissed anyone before. And then she turned to the other, grabbing him with as much energy as the first and repeated the same excited kiss.
"Both of you!" The words exploded with joy and a hint of misunderstanding that clearly did not matter as her eyes flitted from one to the other with energy and gratitude.
"Oh, yes!" Of course, he's amazing-he'd forgotten just how amazing, but this reminds him-her kiss, which takes him entirely by surprise, and this unqualified success, no strings attached, everyone lives and no one dies, after so long.
He whips his glasses off and tucks them away in his leather jacket, grabbing her up in a swinging hug, laughing. "Welcome back, Astrid Peth!" For this moment, she's his Astrid, not his other's, as he rides on the borrowed memories, the afterimages of the past he never shared with this brilliant, determined starlight woman.
The only time he stops grinning is when Astrid kisses him - and, while surprising, it's in no way unwelcome - and even then he's hard-pressed not to, gaining his sense enough at the tail end of it to kiss her back. He watches as she repeats the motion on his other self, the happiness in this corner of the room practically tangible.
As soon as she's set down by his other self this Doctor wraps her up in a tight hug, grinning hard, lifting her up off the ground and noticing that he'd forgot just how much shorter than him she was -- that case, the case she'd had to stand on to kiss him, and now he's laughing at the memory and at the wonder of the fact that she's here, now, okay and alive.
Astrid doesn't know whether to laugh or cry, so she'll do both. Months and months of wanting, waiting, searching; and it's all culminating here in an eruption of sheer emotion. Every lonely minute is forgotten, because every moment of being alone and lost was worth it. She found him, and not only did she find him, she found two of him!
"Thank you!" She sobs in response, grinning so brightly her cheeks ache as the other Doctor swings her up, holding her. Arms clasped tightly around his neck still from pulling him down for the kiss.
Then she's in the arms of her Doctor, she didn't understand the alternate universes thing yet, and had barely stopped to even consider it, but he felt right. The way he kissed her back, his smell, the warm musky familiar scent. The Time Lord from Gallifrey had given her back the life she'd so gladly sacrificed for him.
In his arms, her legs kicking out behind her as she hung from his neck, she spoke softly into his ear, pressing her cheek up hard against his. "I'm alive. I gave you my life, and you gave it back. It's the best present I ever got. Happy Christmas Doctor!"
He watches the two of them, the warmth of their embrace; and distance begins to reassert itself, in his mind. The memories he responded to, sweeping her up, so grateful to see her alive and whole, never belonged to him. He's the Other Doctor, and this reunion isn't his. It's theirs. Think of them as two people, just two people, you've helped, he tells himself. How many couples have you reunited? How many lives have you saved, and then gone on, never demanding thanks? You've watched this scene before. Be happy for them. It's okay.
But it's not, and he feels that, the slow outrage curling up with the drums. He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, to stop himself from tapping out the beat, and takes a few steps back from the couple.
Laughing slightly at the comment - but, well, as far as he's concerned, with his timelessness, it's Christmas somewhere - he swings her around once before setting her back on her feet. "Happy Christmas, Astrid." Beaming and unspeakably pleased, he looks to his other self to match expressions, share the moment, send along the nonverbal 'we did it!', but his grin falters when he notices the look on his other's face.
Of course.
"Astrid, this is my other self. -- He's from an alternate universe; a reality where everything's fundamentally the same but a little bit different." Or a lot different, he thinks, and now that that happy moment between the three of them has simmered a bit, he tries not to let what he saw in the other Doctor's mind poison his opinion. "He never met you in his reality."
There are a million unshared thoughts and dreams shining from her glassy eyed grin as he puts her down. Too much to say, too much to ask, that all she can do is smile at him; losing herself in his eyes.
She turns to the other Doctor as he's introduced, somehow she knows that it was different for him. More than his stance, more than his hands in pockets distance from them, a kind of innate empathy that's confusingly new to her, she can feel his regrets and melancholy.
"You're still you Doctor. You're still..." She searches for the right words, "brilliant and giving and selfless and all those wonderful things that everyone should be."
She's standing by him, a gentle hand reaching up and tracing over his jawline.
He reaches up and puts his hand over hers, gentle, the depth of his need for contact clear in the quiet pressure of his touch and in his eyes-very dark now, dark and hurting, with the bittersweet pain of her presence, her concern.
"Thank you, Astrid." He smiles at her, for her and for his other self, to lighten the mood; but something in the expression shows he doesn't believe entirely in the goodness she attributes to him-he's made too many mistakes.
The Doctor watches, knowing; realizing the weight of their situation now. Astrid's going to have to leave with someone, and he has the feeling that it's not going to be his other self. Along with his thoughts his expression has turned serious, watching the two of them, hands in the pockets of his trousers.
He quirks a smile, though, when his other does, hurting for him but at the same time unable to keep those borrowed memories from his mind; the killing, all that death, more than he, himself would ever be willing to undertake.
She's torn. His need for purity, self forgiving, acceptance that his choices were necessary evils pouring into her through the touch of his hand and she wants so much to be able to give them to him. But she doesn't know how.
"You shouldn't ever look back Doctor, only forwards. Forwards is where everything new and fantastic is. Forwards is life."
She doubts she's given him anything though, even as she hopes he can see how all those months of drifting for her, weren't drifting at all. She was always moving forwards, towards better things.
His smile gains sincerity, finally reaching his eyes, and he moves her hand from his face, clasps it in both of his.
"Right. No dwelling in the past, allons-y, seize the day!" He looks over at his other self, a quick glance of approval and shared understanding-she's a quick study, this Astrid Peth, the right kind of person to take with you to the stars. They'll be a gift to her, and never a regret.
He releases Astrid's hand and takes a step back, deliberately putting some of his usual swing into that step. One hand rubs the back of his neck, and he bounces on his heels. "Well. Tricky things, alternate universes." Which is as close as he's going to get to apologizing outright for his lapse into selfishness and regret.
The Doctor nods, shifting his weight a little. "Aren't they. Never know what you might end up with, lacking certain important aspects -- everything goes off-kilter." Was that a shot at him? Perhaps. But he smiles at Astrid.
Astrid quietly backs away from him, perhaps a tiny bit grateful that it wasn't she who had to reject him. The way he bounces on his heels, lays the blame on the alternate universe.
"Thank you Doctor, for everything you did for me." She smiles sadly at the man she can't help, and slips her hand into her Doctor's. The one she died for, the one she can truly believe in.
He gives his other a hard look, at what definitely sounds like a crack-one eyebrow raised and his expression assessing, a look that asks, 'Did that mean what I thought it meant?' Because if his other self is going to draw that line between them, well, he won't forget that.
It's all he can do to let her go, to watch her back away, and take his other's hand. The drums beat at the back of his mind, insisting that she should be his, that his other self could never have brought her back on his own, that he should insist she come with him. Rub it in his other's face, that he couldn't accomplish this alone, that he always needs help.
"No trouble. Good to meet you, Astrid." And, because he really needs to get away from them, because they look so right together... "I'll go see about drinks, how's that?"
The Doctor scratches his head in a gesture of, 'well, it wasn't intended to be, but I suppose if that's what it sounded like...' but he doesn't dwell on it, just waves it away; it was a statement, and it'll go away as soon as they stop thinking about it.
And then the Doctor knows. He can see it in his other self, and he knows. He knows what he intends to do, 'see about drinks', indeed... and somewhere, mingling with that small, angry fire is a feeling of regret, empathy. He's standing here with Astrid's hand in his, but he's also standing there, alone, watching himself with someone he knows he'll never have. Two Doctors, one Astrid, one odd man out. He'll run away, he knows it. Slip off, out of the nexus, back into his own universe -- perhaps never to be seen again. He knows this because it's exactly what he'd do; always running away, always the coward. All this is communicated in a look, one long look, from one Doctor to the other. (I know what you're doing, and you really don't have to go.) (You don't have to be alone.) (If that's what you really want.) (You shouldn't be alone.)
The tension between them is evident, she wishes she could split herself in two, not have to make a choice between them. They both gave equally, she owes them both. She's not ready to say goodbye to either of them, but 'good to meet you' sounded so final.
"I'll get the drinks. I'm trained in getting drinks. Need to check if I've still got it." She cracks a smile, attempting to inject some humour as she squeezes his hand before releasing it. She's had enough goodbyes.
"No, you just...rematerialized, I can-" But he doesn't talk fast enough-not something you can say often, about any Doctor from any universe-and she's already off in the crowd.
Leaving him standing here alone, with himself. He curses under his breath, in Gallifreyan, looking-well, not exactly panicked, but definitely eager to be elsewhere.
The Doctor lets out a breath, one hand in his pocket, the other tugging at his bowtie again. He steps over to his other self slowly, casually, watching Astrid leave before brown eyes meet brown.
"Taking off, then?" He's quieter now. It's not a snide question, nor an accusation; just a question.
He knows his other understands-he saw it in his memories, that he's played this trick himself many times before. But he also knows that the anger, the drums, those are his alone.
So he meets his other's eyes and, behind the regret, there's almost-fear. The fear of losing control-whether through entanglement in relationships or through lashing out and hurting others. He's dangerous, now; has been dangerous since he woke up and killed an innocent in order to live. Maybe even before that.
"I can't stay." You saw his memories, other; you know why, his tone says.
And that's exactly what motivates him, having seen those memories, having heard those drums. It's not quite pity in his eyes, nor complete concern. He knows that he's dangerous, for his altered past alone; come right out the War full of anger and hatred with no Rose to dampen that, change it. But there's the drumming, too, and he knows exactly what happens to those who suffer it -- but who suffer it alone. The Master heard them for centuries, suffered them, let them drive him into madness, and the Doctor does not want that happening to him, to this alternate self of his. He's lost too much already; he doesn't want him to lose himself, too. Where he couldn't help the Master, he wonders if he can help the Doctor.
"We can help." He doesn't know for sure. But when has he ever been completely sure about anything?
And now he's torn, because he wants to believe his other, wants to share this burden. But he knows himself-he knows his selfishness, his impatience, how poor he really is at sharing.
He knows how arrogant he is-his companions, yes, he can let them help him, he always has, but that's safe. At the end of the day, no matter how much help he needs, he remains unquestionably their superior.
But to be the shadow, the mission of redemption, for himself...
He runs a hand through his hair. "I have to go. They need me, I have to keep looking..." The human race, he means-he spends much of his time looking for survivors. But he's wavering, his voice rough. It's an excuse, and he knows it.
The Doctor looks at him evenly for a long moment, stepping just an inch closer. His voice is low, tone the same one often heard when persuading, talking people down, appealing.
"You'll keep looking. All on your own, and that drumming will just get louder and louder, more and more aggressive. Please... let me help. Let me try, at least."
Hearing that voice, from the other side-he knows that tone, and he knows that when he sounds like that, he means every word he says. When people don't listen to that voice, they die, victims of their own stubbornness or ignorance or hubris.
He summons up a weak grin. "That bad?" Meaning his other sees in him, now, enough wrong to merit That Voice. "Well." He sighs, and its hands in pockets again, body language relaxing ever so slightly. "Physician, heal thyself, they always say."
And that's it, he's in. Though he looks like the decision has used up about all of the emotional resources he's got, right now.
The Doctor smiles a little, slowly realizing the familiarity of the situation; it hadn't even been that long ago, now, that he'd left himself - the Time Lord/Human metacrisis born from his spare hand - behind in an alternate universe. It's strange; he left him behind because he was dangerous, volatile, and yet he's offering to take a much similar - worse, even, because he's still completely a Time Lord - self with him. It's the drumming, he thinks, that factors in here. A ticking time bomb that someone has to diffuse. He's better off with us.
"Welcome aboard," the Doctor says with the slightest of smiles.
"And I think that deserves a toast!" Astrid smiles, balancing three champagne flutes in her hands and offering one to each of the Doctors as she catches the tail end of the conversation.
"To the stars... and to us!"
He grins at Astrid, relieved by her well-timed reappearance-the grin's a little apologetic and embarrassed, as they appear to have made some fairly serious travel plans without consulting her. But! A toast! Nothing like a nice celebratory ritual for breaking up seriousness.
Taking the glass she offers him, he raises it to them both. "Cheers! The Pair-of-Docs and the Starwoman from Sto. Could form a band."
He grins as he takes the glass, relieved that she doesn't seem to mind what's just been decided between the two Doctors, raising it as well.
"Cheers."
“What we are today comes from our thoughts of yesterday, and our present thoughts build our life of tomorrow: Our life is the creation of our mind.” by Buddha
So much love for this thread and the 2Doctors+1!verse that has emerged from it ♥