Work Text:
It felt like it was eons ago and it felt like it was yesterday.
His hearts hurt and ached as if all the energy of the universe was still mangling them into a charade that spelled out “stay”, begged “come along”, whispered “return to the TARDIS with me”.
Their core has never been warmer than the fire in their cosy homes. It shone bright and yellow, like a twinkling of the stars and they saw the stars in their companions’ eyes, oh all those beautiful, magnificent stars, the light of which could reach through time and space just like they, the Doctor themselves, could, and the vortex was at their fingertips, and they were almost omnipotent, nearly omniscient, practically what humans called godlike –
And humans had the tendency to forget their gods.
Once shiny and adored, with time, always time, they became old, boring, unkind, an old man, an alien, who? Doctor who? Who are you and who are you to me and why should I care?
And they were fine, oh they were honestly fine, so many timelines and planets and universes to travel, so many new things to experience, places to see, beings to meet – the Doctor never has to be alone!
The Doctor is always alone. Has always been. Will always be.
All the vortex and space and time at their fingertips – and no one to touch at the end of the day, nothing but big yellow buttons and shiny square handles and rusty round levers and Allonsy! Geronimo! Onwards and upwards! Never stopping, never looking back long enough to let the past catch up to them.
Allonsy! That day on the beach, you think I’m irreplaceable? But look how easily I can be replaced, even though he will never be me, not really -- soon you will forget, soon you will not know the difference –
Geronimo! Come along Pond, come along! Come along Ponds! Come along now, Pond. Come along, Pond, please.
All the death they’ve witnessed, all the death they’ve caused. Why be happy now if they are going to be sad later? The answer is, of course, because they are going to be sad later. They are going to be so sad later. So, so sad, so unbearably, indescribably sad, the sort of sad that doesn’t go away no matter how far back you travel, no matter how much you run, no matter how many new languages you discover and how many planets you bring to ruin.
One. Two. Three. Four. One. Two. Three. Four.
Maybe they get it now. Maybe they get it just a little bit more now. The rhythm that drove the Master insane. The beat that caused so much hurt, so much heartache, so much pain and glory and sacrifice. In the Doctor’s name.
Doctor Who Are You And Why Should I Care?
Each and every one of them has travelled the universe with the Doctor and the TARDIS for eons and discovered so much.
Yet it’s the same thing always – all the impossible destinations, the unsolvable conundrums grasped just barely at the last second, victory and relief washing over them like glimmering stardust, letting in hope that perhaps, this time it will be enough, will be enough for them to stay -- but in the end, each and every one of them settles for the cosy warmth of the fireplace back at home, wherever home is.
And he’s got the orange glow of the TARDIS’ core, scalding hot to the touch as he reaches out his fingertips, trusty old TARDIS, at least we’ve always got each other, eh?
Onwards and upwards. Wherever home is – it is now gone. Just like each and every one of them.
In human music terminology, a beat of four is called “a whole”.
The Doctor has never felt less so.