Fic: Worlds Apart 1/1
Title: Worlds Apart
Author: Helen
shootingstars88
Character/Pairing: Ten, Martha. Mentions of Rose
Spoilers: Set early S3 but no major spoilers beyond the end of S2.
Disclaimer: Not remotely mine and no copyright infringement is intended.
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: My first real attempt at angst. Not sure I like it myself, but it's been sitting on my computer for a while so I decided to share since I got such a welcoming response from my first shared fic a while back. It was written during exam season which probably explains all the angst that crept in.
His body remains beside her, his hand is still warm in hers but everything that makes him who he is, is gone, is in a different place in a different time and it's not her hand he's holding. They’re worlds apart.
Sometimes she thinks she knows him. She thinks they're on the same page, the same wavelength, she thinks they're standing in the same place at the same time under the same sky. Together.
But sometimes she looks at him and knows it's different. Sometimes his smile freezes in place, the light dies in his eyes and he's somewhere else. His body remains beside her, his hand is still warm in hers but everything that makes him who he is, is gone, is in a different place in a different time and it's not her hand he's holding. They’re worlds apart.
It happens at the oddest times and it drives her scientific mind crazy that she can't find a pattern. They'll just be talking, or laughing, once or twice they're even running for their lives. He's there one minute and the next he's not. His eyes gloss over and he stares right through her like he's looking at someone else and she thinks she knows who that might be. She can't even find a pattern in what it does to him. Often he emerges with a wistful half-smile gracing his features and she feels like he's forgotten she's even there. But once in a while he snaps out of it pale, subdued and so very lost, searching for her gaze like it's the only thing anchoring him to anything real.
She tries to be patient, she really does. But it's not in her nature to wait and it's not in his to open up and talk about himself.
One day she snaps.
London, England, Earth. Nowhere remarkable, she says.
Best place in the universe, he says.
They're chatting happily until they reach a grubby-looking fish and chip shop in an empty side street and he stops abruptly, smile slipping off his face as he inhales the sharp odour of vinegar with a weary sigh.
She carries on speaking but he can't hear her. "Doctor? Doctor?"
"What?" He's annoyed that she's broken their unspoken agreement about moments like this.
"Are you even listening to me?"
He blinks the memory away, forcing reality back into focus. "No," he admits quietly. "Sorry."
"You were miles away." She takes a step forward and tries to catch his eye.
Actually, he thinks to himself, he's wasn't miles away at all. He was right here, on a different day and in a different body but in this very same spot.
"Sorry, what were you saying?" He strides forward, though it's taking all the strength he's got just to put one foot in front of the other and not look back at the plastic seat where he knows she once sat.
"Doesn't matter," she shrugs. "Why do you do that though?"
He carries on, still not looking back and asks, as if he doesn't know what she's talking about, "Do what?"
"You just drift off sometimes," she presses on, curiosity overriding common sense.
"Do I?" he feigns confusion. "Sorry, just get a bit distracted I suppose."
"By what?"
"Everything. Nothing. Bit of a scatterbrain me," he says apologetically, trying to keep the tone light.
"Well yeah you are," she agrees with a slight smile, "but it's not that."
He turns back, hoping a winning smile might put a stop to this conversation. But the moment he turns, it happens again: his eyes go straight back to the fish and chip shop and his mind goes straight back to her and what it was like when he didn't have to pretend he was alright if he wasn't.
"Sometimes it's like you're not even there at all. Like you don't even see me," Martha tells him when he manages to tear his eyes away from the window and back onto her. “Like we’re worlds apart.”
“Universes actually,” he corrects her in an undertone. "What do you want me to say?" He shrugs again but can't meet her determined gaze. With a huff of annoyance he shoves his hands in his pockets and carries on.
"The truth," she challenges his retreating back.
He stops and turns, laughing humourlessly because the truth is that he's broken and bitter and if he can't stand it he knows she won't be able to.
"You're thinking about her, right?" she guesses, correctly as it happens. "About Rose. You're just ... remembering."
"Yes," he admits quietly.
It's the answer she expected and guessed at but not the one she wanted. "So why am I even here then? Do I remind you of her, is that it?"
"No!" He doesn't mean to shout but the very suggestion bothers him more than he'd care to admit. "I said you're not a replacement."
"But I make you remember," she says quietly, tears filling her eyes.
"No you don't," he admits, keeping his gaze determinedly fixed on the floor. "You make me forget."
"Forget?"
"Forget."
"And that's a bad thing?"
"Terrible." He sighs, ruffling his hair absentmindedly. "When I want to forget, you're here and you're completely brilliant and it's enough to keep me going." His voice is wavering slightly now and it breaks her heart to know she can't help him. "But sometimes I just want to remember." He looks up and his voice is barely a whisper but she catches every word. "'Cause that's the best I can do."
"I'm sorry," she tells him quietly, tears filling her own eyes as their gazes meet. She'd learnt long ago that he was world-weary and tired, stumbling along as best he could with the burden of losing everything and gaining nothing. But this pain feels new and raw and it burns in his eyes as he stares at her until she wonders how he carries on at all. "I'm so sorry."
He just sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, the pain is gone, tucked away in a corner of his brain until he lets himself feel it again. The sparkle of adventure isn't visible yet but she tells herself she'll see it soon enough, perhaps when they reach their next destination.
"We should go," he ends the discussion, offering his hand.
She doesn't resist this time, slipping her hand into his and allowing him to lead her in silence back to the TARDIS. He won't bring it up again, she knows, and she'll try not to. One day she might ask what happened, but not today. Today she'll play her part and try and help him forget for a little while, try and bring him back to this world when he strays. And tonight she'll cry herself to sleep for him, for a man content to love a memory from a world away, for the rest of his life.
Author: Helen
shootingstars88
Character/Pairing: Ten, Martha. Mentions of Rose
Spoilers: Set early S3 but no major spoilers beyond the end of S2.
Disclaimer: Not remotely mine and no copyright infringement is intended.
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: My first real attempt at angst. Not sure I like it myself, but it's been sitting on my computer for a while so I decided to share since I got such a welcoming response from my first shared fic a while back. It was written during exam season which probably explains all the angst that crept in.
His body remains beside her, his hand is still warm in hers but everything that makes him who he is, is gone, is in a different place in a different time and it's not her hand he's holding. They’re worlds apart.
Sometimes she thinks she knows him. She thinks they're on the same page, the same wavelength, she thinks they're standing in the same place at the same time under the same sky. Together.
But sometimes she looks at him and knows it's different. Sometimes his smile freezes in place, the light dies in his eyes and he's somewhere else. His body remains beside her, his hand is still warm in hers but everything that makes him who he is, is gone, is in a different place in a different time and it's not her hand he's holding. They’re worlds apart.
It happens at the oddest times and it drives her scientific mind crazy that she can't find a pattern. They'll just be talking, or laughing, once or twice they're even running for their lives. He's there one minute and the next he's not. His eyes gloss over and he stares right through her like he's looking at someone else and she thinks she knows who that might be. She can't even find a pattern in what it does to him. Often he emerges with a wistful half-smile gracing his features and she feels like he's forgotten she's even there. But once in a while he snaps out of it pale, subdued and so very lost, searching for her gaze like it's the only thing anchoring him to anything real.
She tries to be patient, she really does. But it's not in her nature to wait and it's not in his to open up and talk about himself.
One day she snaps.
London, England, Earth. Nowhere remarkable, she says.
Best place in the universe, he says.
They're chatting happily until they reach a grubby-looking fish and chip shop in an empty side street and he stops abruptly, smile slipping off his face as he inhales the sharp odour of vinegar with a weary sigh.
She carries on speaking but he can't hear her. "Doctor? Doctor?"
"What?" He's annoyed that she's broken their unspoken agreement about moments like this.
"Are you even listening to me?"
He blinks the memory away, forcing reality back into focus. "No," he admits quietly. "Sorry."
"You were miles away." She takes a step forward and tries to catch his eye.
Actually, he thinks to himself, he's wasn't miles away at all. He was right here, on a different day and in a different body but in this very same spot.
"Sorry, what were you saying?" He strides forward, though it's taking all the strength he's got just to put one foot in front of the other and not look back at the plastic seat where he knows she once sat.
"Doesn't matter," she shrugs. "Why do you do that though?"
He carries on, still not looking back and asks, as if he doesn't know what she's talking about, "Do what?"
"You just drift off sometimes," she presses on, curiosity overriding common sense.
"Do I?" he feigns confusion. "Sorry, just get a bit distracted I suppose."
"By what?"
"Everything. Nothing. Bit of a scatterbrain me," he says apologetically, trying to keep the tone light.
"Well yeah you are," she agrees with a slight smile, "but it's not that."
He turns back, hoping a winning smile might put a stop to this conversation. But the moment he turns, it happens again: his eyes go straight back to the fish and chip shop and his mind goes straight back to her and what it was like when he didn't have to pretend he was alright if he wasn't.
"Sometimes it's like you're not even there at all. Like you don't even see me," Martha tells him when he manages to tear his eyes away from the window and back onto her. “Like we’re worlds apart.”
“Universes actually,” he corrects her in an undertone. "What do you want me to say?" He shrugs again but can't meet her determined gaze. With a huff of annoyance he shoves his hands in his pockets and carries on.
"The truth," she challenges his retreating back.
He stops and turns, laughing humourlessly because the truth is that he's broken and bitter and if he can't stand it he knows she won't be able to.
"You're thinking about her, right?" she guesses, correctly as it happens. "About Rose. You're just ... remembering."
"Yes," he admits quietly.
It's the answer she expected and guessed at but not the one she wanted. "So why am I even here then? Do I remind you of her, is that it?"
"No!" He doesn't mean to shout but the very suggestion bothers him more than he'd care to admit. "I said you're not a replacement."
"But I make you remember," she says quietly, tears filling her eyes.
"No you don't," he admits, keeping his gaze determinedly fixed on the floor. "You make me forget."
"Forget?"
"Forget."
"And that's a bad thing?"
"Terrible." He sighs, ruffling his hair absentmindedly. "When I want to forget, you're here and you're completely brilliant and it's enough to keep me going." His voice is wavering slightly now and it breaks her heart to know she can't help him. "But sometimes I just want to remember." He looks up and his voice is barely a whisper but she catches every word. "'Cause that's the best I can do."
"I'm sorry," she tells him quietly, tears filling her own eyes as their gazes meet. She'd learnt long ago that he was world-weary and tired, stumbling along as best he could with the burden of losing everything and gaining nothing. But this pain feels new and raw and it burns in his eyes as he stares at her until she wonders how he carries on at all. "I'm so sorry."
He just sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, the pain is gone, tucked away in a corner of his brain until he lets himself feel it again. The sparkle of adventure isn't visible yet but she tells herself she'll see it soon enough, perhaps when they reach their next destination.
"We should go," he ends the discussion, offering his hand.
She doesn't resist this time, slipping her hand into his and allowing him to lead her in silence back to the TARDIS. He won't bring it up again, she knows, and she'll try not to. One day she might ask what happened, but not today. Today she'll play her part and try and help him forget for a little while, try and bring him back to this world when he strays. And tonight she'll cry herself to sleep for him, for a man content to love a memory from a world away, for the rest of his life.