FIC: A Visit to the Garden
Dec. 27th, 2010 05:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
prof_pangaeaTitle: A Visit to the Garden
Author: professor pangaea
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters/Pairings: Duplicate Tenth Doctor, Tenth Doctor, TARDIS
Rating: All Ages
Spoilers: Only the obvious ones for Journey's End (and vague mention of events from Waters of Mars)
Summary: Mortality, mistakes, loneliness, loss and love. Twenty-nine years seems like a long time for all of that, and like hardly any time at all.
Notes: Thanks to my excellent as always beta![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nonelvis, and to lizbee for looking over a draft and telling me it wasn't completely awful.
~For GR
John stared at his dark ceiling. He had a fading impression of green light bathing him, surrounding him; of panels and crystals and plugs beneath his hands, of the TARDIS singing to him, warm and reassuring. He closed his eyes again and tried to pull back the sensation of that comforting presence in the back of his mind; sometimes, if he was still close enough to sleep, he could fool himself into believing that it was still there, still linking him to her, and her to him. For a little while.
He wasn't sure how long he laid like that, eyes closed, breathing slowly and evenly. Concentrating while simultaneously trying not to focus on that concentration, just on holding that feeling. Sometimes he fell back to sleep like this, back into his dreams. Sometimes he hoped that dreams were glimpses into possible timelines, alternate dimensions, parallel planes of existence. That a dream could be more than a memory, more than just a formulation from his brain created by fluctuating chemicals and his subconscious.
Eventually his eyes slipped open once again. He was in his bed, in his house. He heard a car drive by on the street outside, lonely in the quiet night. He turned to the clock on the night table, jostling the bed a little, and the warm body next to him emitted a light snore. He smiled softly to himself.
It was about a quarter past two in the morning. Stiff muscles protested as he slipped out of bed and pulled on some thick socks, then a comfortable jumper over his pyjamas. He patted carefully around the top of the dresser, looking for his glasses, before he remembered he'd left them on the night table. He settled the spectacles on his nose and then padded quietly downstairs, into their little study. It was a pleasant place to go when he couldn't sleep, where he could read peacefully, or occupy his mind with recreational maths or meditational RPGs until he became drowsy enough to crawl back under warm blankets.
He remembered his avatar was still lost in the middle of the Enchanted Ice Caves of Lem, so he wandered to the bookshelf. He pulled A Bear Called Paddington out and curled up in the big armchair to read. Something familiar and friendly in which to envelop himself was usually the most forgiving way to bring his mind back into this universe after he dreamt of the TARDIS.
Usually being the operative word, it seemed. John laid the book down on the arm of the chair after a few minutes, pushed his glasses up his forehead, and rubbed his eyes. He hadn't had a dream that vivid in a long time. It still lingered in his mind, worrying at its edges, making everything around him feel slightly unreal, making his skin prickle like it hadn't since the first months he had been left in this universe.
He heard a footstep at the door and sighed, rubbing at his eyes.
"Oh, I'm sorry I woke you again," he began, pushing his glasses back down his nose. "You shouldn't worry so much --" He looked up and stopped abruptly, his heart, his one heart, suddenly racing.
The little table lamp next to John didn't do much to illuminate the figure standing in the doorway, but he could make out the lanky form, the wild hair, the pinstriped suit.
"Hello," said the Doctor, softly.
********
"Look at you," the Doctor said, studying the man sitting in the arm chair. The man was dressed in plaid pyjamas and a garishly patterned cardigan, which both clashed fantastically with each other. A hole peeked out from under one arm. His hair was grey, and a bit thin, mussed from sleep. His face was lined, and his shoulders had a little bit of a stoop to them. He was staring at the Doctor with a blank expression. "You're old," the Doctor said, and he didn't really know why he should have been surprised.
The other man blinked at the Doctor from behind his stylish wire-rimmed glasses.
"I'm only twenty-nine years old, really," he said, his voice dry and wary and a little hoarse. The Doctor wondered if it was an effect of age, or emotion. He walked over to the chair and plucked the book off the arm.
"Shouldn't leave your books open like that, you know," the Doctor said. "Ruins the spine. What are you reading at this time of night, then?" He turned the book over, and then started to read out loud. "The bear raised his hat, politely -- twice. 'I haven't really got a name,' he said. 'Only a Peruvian one which no one can understand.' 'Then we'd better give you an English one,' said Mrs. Brown. 'It'll make things much easier."' Hmmm. Yes, Paddington Bear, a classic. Do you have one, then?" he asked.
"One what?"
"An English name."
"Yes," he said, slowly. "John."
"John Smith?" The Doctor raised his eyebrows.
"No," John said. "Noble. My name is John Noble."
"Oh," was the Doctor's faint reply. He laid the book down over the arm of the chair again. He trailed a finger over the cover, then walked over to peer at the bookshelves. "Do you have any other Paddington books? I like the story from the second book, the one where Paddington wallpapers himself into his new room and can't find the door --"
"What are you doing here?" John interrupted.
The Doctor kept his eyes on the books. "Oh, you know how it goes, the multidimensional boundaries between universes start to fold because of repeated stress events, and, let's face it, quick fix after quick fix can only do so much before more involved methods are required." He'd looked over the titles of every book and was now investigating the knick-knacks and photographs that lined the shelves. "Obviously, you've got to have a transdimensional capsule, like, say, a TARDIS, occupy the same point in space-time in both universes simultaneously and have it work on stitching up those wounds from both sides in order to heal the stressor points and make sure the dimensions don't start to collapse completely and start to self-intersect." The Doctor glanced at John, then pulled on his ear apologetically. "Unfortunately that point in space-time seems to be in the middle of your vegetable patch. Sorry about that. You'll probably be able to salvage the carrots, but I wouldn't be too hopeful about the aubergine."
The Doctor studied a photograph of a much younger John, his arm around the shoulders of a young girl, maybe eleven or twelve years old. She was holding up a cheaply framed certificate that said, "Recognition of Journalistic Excellence in Feature Writing: Awarded to Nadira Assani". The girl was trying to look very serious and professional, which John was undermining quite effectively with the broad grin that stretched across his features. The Doctor was accustomed to seeing pictures of himself at events he didn't yet remember, being greeted by people he hadn't yet met, finding his handwriting at places he'd never been to before. He knew that some day he'd be at that event, someday he'd meet that person, someday he'd leave himself that note. But he stared at the picture of a man who looked exactly like him, just a few extra wrinkles around the eyes, a few strands of grey in his hair, and realised that he would never experience the moment it recorded. It was strangely disquieting.
"But why?" John asked, breaking into the Doctor's thoughts. For the first time there was a hint of strain in his double's voice. "Why my garden?"
"Well, it wasn't a vendetta against your aubergines," he replied, still distracted. "It was just where she wanted to land. She must have been able to sense you."
"She sensed me...," said John. "Do you mean... Donna?"
The name made the Doctor's stomach turn over. He turned to John, and the hesitant hope in his eyes made the Doctor regret ever coming into the house.
"No," he answered, quickly. His duplicate's face fell, almost imperceptibly. "No," he repeated, more quietly, "the TARDIS."
"I thought, since you were here, that maybe...." he trailed off. "But she's not, is she?"
"No," the Doctor answered again.
"Is there anyone?" John asked, eyes narrowed slightly.
The Doctor just shrugged, turning back to the shelves.
He saw a photo that made his stomach do another tumble. John was older than he'd been in the last photo, well on his way to grey and wearing a pair of spectacles -- different to the ones he was wearing right now. Rose stood opposite, and she was older too; she must have been about forty. She looked amazingly like Jackie, though she'd given up bleaching her hair at some point. In between them stood a young man with fair hair and Rose's eyes. He was dressed in graduation robes and mortarboard. Rose was smiling and the pride on John's face made the Doctor recall, with a sudden terrible clarity, how he had felt when his first child had completed her studies at the Academy. How the Cardinal had laid his hand on his daughter's bowed head and how the Doctor had hoped none of his old tutors could see him, the man who'd laughed at their tired old institution, the man who'd boasted at passing with the lowest average of the past millennium, brushing away embarrassing tears when his daughter was finally proclaimed a Time Lord.
John appeared next to him.
"Why are you here?" he asked again. He leaned close, and the Doctor shifted uncomfortably. "I mean, why are you really here? Inside my house. Looking at my photos. Cataloguing my books. Snooping around. Why?"
"Why are you hiding half a pack of fags in a bin full of Ramadan lanterns?" the Doctor countered.
John flushed. "I'm trying to quit! It's just, difficult, sometimes -- why am I explaining this to you? What are you even bloody doing looking through my storage bins?!" John ran a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration the Doctor recognised from himself.
"I was just -- curious," the Doctor admitted. John glared at him, distrustfully. "Everything I said was true," he insisted. "The TARDIS is knitting up multidimensional boundaries as we speak. We've only got about another hour, maybe two, before she's done and we'll have to be on our way, so we don't get stuck in this universe and the TARDIS doesn't die from the incompatible energies. And she did choose where we landed." The Doctor swallowed. "But once we were here, I could sense you too. And I just wanted to see -- to see if things turned out all right. For you."
"So you broke into my house in the middle of the night and started rifling through my personal belongings."
Even the Doctor had to admit that sounded a bit questionable.
"...I figured you'd be asleep," he explained. Which actually sounded like an even worse justification now that he'd said it out loud.
"I was," John said. "I was, but then... I thought it was a dream. But it was really her." Realisation dawned in his voice. "It was really the TARDIS, singing to me. Somehow." The Doctor looked at him, surprised, but nodded his head. John drew a shaky breath, and sat down on the edge of his desk.
The Doctor stood, awkwardly, not sure what to say or do. Normally he'd find an excuse to leave, but with the TARDIS occupied he was a bit stuck. His eye wandered back to the photos, the short moments they captured that he would never see for himself. John and a broad, handsome man, both in tuxedoes, both looking awkward yet also pleased. John and Jackie, Jackie laughing while John grinned and kissed her cheek. John and the young, fair-haired man from the graduation photo; he was in his early teens in this picture, and he and John were sat across from each other, playing some kind of card game. The boy was looking into the camera, holding up his hand and pointing at a particular card, with a smug, cheeky grin on his face.
"Tony," John said, motioning at the photo. Oh. Jackie and Pete's son. John smiled a little, still looking at the picture. "Idris took that," he said, and the Doctor took a moment to wonder who Idris was. "First time Tony beat me at rummy. He was fourteen. He's been beating me ever since. Got it from his mother," he said, and even though he was still smiling, there was a hint of sadness in his voice.
"So you and Rose never...." the Doctor trailed off, unsure how to finish his sentence.
John gave him a long look.
"No," he finally said. He let out a dry chuckle, then a brief cough. "Not that I think Rose was ever very interested in kids anyway." He saw the look the Doctor was giving him. "She's okay," John said. "Still works for Torchwood. Still likes to save the world on a semi-regular basis." He paused. "She's happy. She's made a life for herself."
The Doctor sighed, shoulders relaxing just a little.
"Good," he said. "That's good."
John was looking at the wall, all the little things that denoted a life that the Doctor would never experience.
"You should go," he said.
The Doctor blinked.
"I can't," he said. "Not yet."
"No, I mean, you should leave my house. Go back to the TARDIS." John suddenly seemed very tired. He brushed a piece of grey hair out if his face with one thin hand.
"Oh," the Doctor replied. "Okay." He turned toward the door, and then turned back. "I just thought you'd like to see her first."
"...What?" said John, after a moment.
"The TARDIS. Don't you want to see her before we go?"
John opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He closed it and nodded.
"Yes," he finally managed. "Very much."
********
"You weren't kidding about the aubergine," said John, stepping around some purplish vegetable remains.
"Yeah, sorry about that," the Doctor apologised again, but John wasn't listening. He was looking up at the TARDIS. The soft light spilling from her windows was the only thing illuminating John's face, and the expression of cautious wonder that was slowly spreading across it. He reached up and touched the wood of the doors, stroking it softly with the tips of his fingers, and then stepped forward and laid his forehead against it.
"I can't feel her," he whispered. "So much has faded..."
The Doctor laid his hand on John's shoulder; the first time they had ever touched. The Doctor could feel the sharp shoulderblade through the wool of the cardigan, and the human heat of the skin underneath that.
"Let's go inside," he said. He could feel John's eyes on him as he reached into his jacket and pulled out his TARDIS key, as he unlocked the doors and pushed them open.
"After you," he said to John.
John entered carefully, almost hesitantly. He stared almost like any other human had done when they first entered the TARDIS, like he couldn't believe it, like he thought it would evaporate from all around him at any moment. He touched the roundels on the walls, the coral struts, the edge of the console. The time rotor bobbed up and down in the middle of the console. The Doctor watched as John stretched up and touched that as well, saw the green glow of the rotor brighten even as John's face twisted bitterly.
"I can't feel her," he repeated, dropping his hand. "She's right here and I can't feel her at all." He looked back up, his thin face bathed in her green light. "She's so beautiful, and I can't even tell her."
"I could help you," the Doctor offered. "If you wanted."
John stared at him for a very long moment. He took a deep breath.
"Okay," he said.
The Doctor stepped close. "Here," he said, positioning John's hands on the console. "You touch her, and I'll touch you." He raised his hands to John's temples. "Relax," he told John. Even though John must have known exactly what he was going to do, the Doctor could feel his double almost vibrating with tension beneath his hands. He slowly smoothed his thumbs over John's skin until he felt that tension ebb away, and heard his breathing slow down and even out. Then he pressed forward and flowed into his mind.
He opened John up, gently, and soon John was surrounding him and it was nothing like he had expected. He had touched his own mind before, and no matter the surface differences between age or regeneration there was always a core that remained the same, fixed... and it wasn't there. Instead, the Doctor could recognise parts of himself they scared him, he couldn't face them and he had to force himself not to shy away, and parts of Donna they hurt, he missed her so much, and here she was, why hadn't he realised it all those years ago? and then there was this indefinable quality, something made up of both him and Donna, but which couldn't be broken down into either of them; something exciting and flawed and beautiful and new, and he hadn't realised that either, that he and Donna had somehow made this person -- not a copy, not a sacrifice, but a person -- together, and he burned with shame, knowing that he'd locked this person away, out of fear, instead of celebrating him, his singularity, the extraordinary improbability of his existence.
The Doctor opened his eyes and saw John looking past him with wide eyes, tears tracking unnoticed down his aged face.
"Can you hear her?" the Doctor asked.
John nodded, silently. He looked back at the Doctor. "Can you --" John stopped, sniffing. "Can you tell her, how much I miss her, can you --"
"Just think it," the Doctor said. He picked up one of John's hands and held it in his own. "Just think it, and she'll hear it. See?" He opened himself up, made himself a conduit and let John's feelings flow into the TARDIS, and let the TARDIS flow into John. He heard John's breath hitch, and he felt it. He heard the TARDIS sing and he knew it was for John, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so surrounded by love, he thought it must have been the last time John had been on board the TARDIS, the last time he'd let anyone on board the TARDIS, when all his friends had crowded round the console and flown Earth home. Before everyone left and he'd done the worst thing he'd done since the war, and violated his best friend's mind to save her life.
"It's too much," John said, voice trembling. "I'm sorry, it's too much, it's too much," and the Doctor quickly narrowed the mental conduit so that all John could hear was just a whisper of the TARDIS in the back of his mind.
"It's all right," the Doctor said. "It's all right." He still held John's hand, and he squeezed it, the way he used to squeeze Donna's hand when she was scared. John let out a wet laugh at that, and the Doctor thought he must have recognised the gesture. "Are you okay?"
John nodded, wiping his face. He looked up at the time rotor again, and the green light sparkled in his wet eyes. The Doctor felt himself overcome with an emotion he hadn't felt for a long time.
"Come with me," he said, surprising himself.
John froze.
"What?" he said, a note of incredulity to his voice.
"Come with me," the Doctor repeated, stronger. John was breathing hard, now, looking down at the console. The Doctor continued. "I should have asked you twenty-nine years ago --"
John snatched his trembling hand out of the Doctor's grip. "You can't be serious," he said, clutching his hand to himself as if it had been burned.
"You belong with us," the Doctor insisted. "You --" He was cut off by John's fist hitting him square in face. It was a hard punch, and he stumbled backwards and fell gracelessly onto the metal grating of the floor.
"What is wrong with you?!" John almost screamed. The Doctor gaped up at him in shock, holding his hand to his mouth. The sharp, metallic flavour of blood assaulted his tongue. "You leave me here for thirty years, with nothing! You strand me in one place and one time and give me nowhere else to go, ever, strand me in this human body, cut off from everybody, everything I know and make me watch as the few people I do find die, or drift away! And now, of all times, now, now you come, now you show up and try to give back everything I gave up on, and then take away everything, everything I have --" John started to cry, crumpling onto the metal grating below the console. He clutched at it with one hand, and turned his face toward it, like he might sink into it, like he could fall into the heart of the TARDIS and make everything go away. "Why did you have to let me hear her again?" he mumbled through his tears. "I could have taken anything but that. Anything..."
The Doctor stared at his weeping double, aghast. "I'm sorry," he said, and quickly moved to kneel beside him, gathering him up in his arms. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated. He moved his hands once again to John's temples, to find his contact points and close off the conduit between him and the TARDIS.
"No!" exclaimed John, sounding slightly panicked. He grabbed the Doctor's hand in a tight grip. "No, please don't, not while I'm still inside her, I couldn't stand it. Please."
"Okay," said the Doctor. He wrapped his arms around John's thin shoulders instead, and hugged him close. He was good at hugs, at least. He bollocksed up everything else, it seemed, but he could do a hug. "Okay, I won't. I promise."
********
Ten minutes later John sat on the jump seat, looking drained and a little pale. His nose was still pink. The Doctor sat next to him and offered him a cup of tea. He took it, silently.
"Looks like I bled a little on your cardigan," the Doctor said, touching a couple of dark spots on the shoulder. "Sorry about that."
"It's all right," John said. He sipped his tea. "You wouldn't have been bleeding if I hadn't punched you."
"Yeah, well." The Doctor probed his split lip gently with the tip of his tongue. "I deserved it." He sighed. "I usually do."
"So do I," John confessed, and gave the Doctor a wry half-smile. He took another sip of tea. "Is this the stuff Jackie gave you that Christmas after the Sycorax?"
"Yeah. I thought you might like it."
"I do," he said. He was looking at his cup, but it didn't seem like he was seeing it. "She's dead now," he said, quietly. "Jackie, I mean. Stroke, two years ago."
The Doctor swallowed his tea, and it suddenly felt like ice water trickling down his esophagus. He looked away from his cup and futilely wished that he could forget what John had just told him.
"We always tried to find this brand," John continued. "But it just doesn't exist in this universe."
"I'll give you some to take home with you," the Doctor offered. "I can always get more."
John let out a breath of a laugh, mouth twisting into a slight, sardonic smile, as if he'd expected the Doctor's response. "Thanks," he said.
They both sat quietly and drank their tea. The Doctor wasn't sure if he'd ever felt so useless.
"Why are you really here, Doctor?" John finally asked. He swirled the remnants of his tea around the bottom of his cup, the way Donna always had.
The Doctor thought of Adelaide, that last look she'd given him before she shut her door. The flash of her staser through the curtained windows. He remembered the exhilaration he'd felt when he thought he'd been able to change time, to make things better.
"Avoiding consequences," the Doctor said. "Poorly," he added, seeing John's questioning eyebrow. He sighed. "I think I was trying to make things better. Again. And failing. Again." He drained his cup. "I seem to do that a lot."
Just then, the cloister bell rang. Once, twice. It echoed in the silent console room. John looked at the Doctor, apprehension tightening his features.
"She's almost done," the Doctor said. "We'll have to go soon."
He stood up, and John followed suit. John was looking around the console room, like he was trying to memorise every detail.
"I'm sorry," the Doctor said. "I should have let you walk around the ship, see more of her, while there was still time."
John shook his head. "No, no, this is fine. This was always the place I loved the most." He reached out again, trailed his hand across the TARDIS's controls. "The place where I remember feeling closest to her." He stood in front of the console, gazing up one last time at the time rotor. The green light shone on his grey hair, and glinted off of the round lenses of his spectacles. He raised his fingers to his lips and kissed them, then rested them on the console. His eyes closed for a moment. When he opened them again, he turned around.
"Okay," he said, taking a deep breath. "Let's go."
The Doctor took John's hand, and John accepted it, fingers curling tight around his palm. They walked out of the TARDIS together, and John didn't look back.
********
It was almost dawn. The sky was just getting light, and a sharp, cool breeze rustled the leaves on the trees, and the undamaged tomato plants. The Doctor felt John shiver underneath his hands. The wind must have gone right through the knitting of his jumper. The Doctor removed his hands from John's temples.
"There," he said. The telepathic link was closed. John shivered once more.
"Alone again," he said. He wrapped his arms around himself. The Doctor wasn't sure what to say. He reached into his jacket.
"Here's a tin of your tea," he said. He held it out. John took it, running his fingers over the box.
"Thanks," John said.
"By the way," the Doctor said, "I threw away your cigarettes." He cleared his throat. "They're not good for you."
John looked at him, and then laughed wryly.
"No, they're not," he conceded.
The Doctor heard a car pulling up on the other side of the house. "Ah, that's my cue, I think. I should, just, yeah." He motioned at the TARDIS doors.
John nodded. "You take care of her," he said.
"She takes care of me," the Doctor answered, and John laughed, a real genuine laugh. He stepped back towards his house.
"Don't you forget it!" John said. Just then, a young woman rounded the corner. She was holding a messenger bag and when she saw the tableau before her she stopped and stared.
"Oh my God," she said.
The Doctor saw John turn towards her, to reassure her, and he figured that was his opening to slip away. Just as he was opening the TARDIS door, though, he heard John shout.
"Doctor, wait!"
The Doctor turned around and saw John jogging back down the path. Had he changed his mind? The Time Lord stood, frozen. John skidded to a stop in front of him.
"Ah," he said, catching his breath. "I'm too old for that kind of thing now." He coughed. "I want to tell you something, before you go."
"You do?" The Doctor asked.
"Don't look so scared," John said, and the way he rolled his eyes was so Donna the Doctor felt his hearts skip a beat. John's expression became more serious. "You asked me if I had an English name, and I told it to you. But I've got another name as well." He paused, to let the Doctor understand.
"And you want to share it... with me?" the Doctor asked, his eyes widening.
"Yes," John said. "If you'll let me."
"I'd be honoured," the Doctor said.
John flushed a little. "Good," he said. "There's no telepathic component, obviously, and I had to improvise some of the elements --"
"That's all right," said the Doctor. "It'll be unique. Like you."
John closed his mouth, and swallowed hard. He blinked behind his wire rims. "I've only ever shared it with two other people," he said.
"I'll keep it safe," the Doctor promised.
John hesitated, then leant forward and whispered into the Doctor's ear. The Doctor closed his eyes.
"Thank you," he said, softly. He pulled John into a hug and kissed his forehead. After a few moments John pulled away.
"Goodbye," John said. The Doctor nodded, and as John walked up the path, he slipped into the TARDIS. He checked the TARDIS's work on all the dimensional tears and stressor points. She'd done a good job. He dematerialised, and together they sealed up the last threads between universes behind them.
********
John heard the TARDIS dematerialise behind him. He turned his head and watched it slowly disappear, his hair ruffling in the breeze created by the temporal displacement. Nadira was hugging him, and he unconsciously held her closer as the last echoes of the TARDIS's engines faded.
"That was really him," Nadira said, in wonderment. "I never thought I'd see him."
John sighed. "You and me both, plum," he said.
"Well, are you glad?" she asked, after a moment.
"I don't know." John was silent a long time. "He asked me to come with him," he admitted. Nadira looked at him in surprise. "Don't tell your father," he added, quickly.
"Look, John, I don't want to end up in the middle of something here --"
"I'll tell him, Nadira, I'll tell him," he conceded. "Just... later. I don't want to get into a fight with him. Not today."
"Why would you get into a fight with him over that?"
"Because Idris will want to know why I didn't go with the Doctor."
"Well, why didn't you?" she asked him. She was starting to sound upset. John looked pained. "He could have taken you somewhere and fixed you, couldn't he? And now instead I've got to drive you to get poisonous chemicals pumped all through you, and it's going to be horrible, and then what if it doesn't work? What if it doesn't work, John?" Tears were welling up in her eyes. "What will Dad do then?" she asked. "What will I do?"
"Oh, Nadira," John sighed. He held her close. "It wouldn't have been a quick stop to a future hospital complex and then back home in time for dinner, good as new. He just closed up the last multidimensional tears. If I'd gone with him, that would have been it. No coming back."
"I'd rather you were alive in another universe than dead in this one," Nadira said, flatly.
He frowned and looked her in the eye. "I'm not dead. My surgery went well. Chemo is just the next step. Nothing's pre-determined."
"John, we both know the statistics --"
"I don't want to be a shadow," he insisted, sharply. "I want to be me. For however long I can. To be with him... to be on that ship..." He shook his head. "Nadira, I couldn't. I just... couldn't."
Nadira looked up at him, and she looked so sad, for him and for herself.
"You don't think you'll regret it, then?" she asked.
John sighed, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "I probably will," he admitted. "But not as much as I would have regretted going with him."
The horizon was still pink, but the rest of the sky had lightened to a clear, thin blue. John could hear faint, excited barking as the people down the street let out their irritating dogs for their morning run. The day had officially begun. A wave of exhaustion passed over John, and all he wanted to do was go inside and fall into bed and sleep; curl up with Idris's arms around him and fill the day with dreams about green light and a warm touch at the edges of his mind.
He missed being able to run away.
"You're cold," Nadira said, noticing his shivering. She rubbed his arms. "Let's get you inside. You need to get cleaned up and dressed so I can drive you into town for your first treatment. I've got a class to teach, so Rose is going to pick you up when you're done. Okay?" She hooked her arm through his and they started walking slowly up the rest of the path. "Be good for the nurses, will you? For once?"
"Tell Rose to bring me some sweets as a bribe," John said.
"You're not going to want sweets after chemo, John."
"Well, I might not want to eat sweets, but I would definitely not mind the satisfaction that comes with possessing sweets."
Nadira rolled her eyes, but acquiesced, "Okay, I'll see what I can do." John grinned childishly to himself. She huffed. "Just so you know, I may be keeping the Doctor thing to myself, for now, but don't think I won't immediately rat you out to Dad if I find any more cigarettes hidden around the house. 'Cause I definitely will."
John gave her a slight smile.
"Don't worry," he said, as Nadira opened the back door. "Last pack's gone now. In the trash."
end
as always, feedback and criticism is appreciated and cherished.
Author: professor pangaea
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters/Pairings: Duplicate Tenth Doctor, Tenth Doctor, TARDIS
Rating: All Ages
Spoilers: Only the obvious ones for Journey's End (and vague mention of events from Waters of Mars)
Summary: Mortality, mistakes, loneliness, loss and love. Twenty-nine years seems like a long time for all of that, and like hardly any time at all.
Notes: Thanks to my excellent as always beta
nonelvis, and to lizbee for looking over a draft and telling me it wasn't completely awful. ~For GR
John stared at his dark ceiling. He had a fading impression of green light bathing him, surrounding him; of panels and crystals and plugs beneath his hands, of the TARDIS singing to him, warm and reassuring. He closed his eyes again and tried to pull back the sensation of that comforting presence in the back of his mind; sometimes, if he was still close enough to sleep, he could fool himself into believing that it was still there, still linking him to her, and her to him. For a little while.
He wasn't sure how long he laid like that, eyes closed, breathing slowly and evenly. Concentrating while simultaneously trying not to focus on that concentration, just on holding that feeling. Sometimes he fell back to sleep like this, back into his dreams. Sometimes he hoped that dreams were glimpses into possible timelines, alternate dimensions, parallel planes of existence. That a dream could be more than a memory, more than just a formulation from his brain created by fluctuating chemicals and his subconscious.
Eventually his eyes slipped open once again. He was in his bed, in his house. He heard a car drive by on the street outside, lonely in the quiet night. He turned to the clock on the night table, jostling the bed a little, and the warm body next to him emitted a light snore. He smiled softly to himself.
It was about a quarter past two in the morning. Stiff muscles protested as he slipped out of bed and pulled on some thick socks, then a comfortable jumper over his pyjamas. He patted carefully around the top of the dresser, looking for his glasses, before he remembered he'd left them on the night table. He settled the spectacles on his nose and then padded quietly downstairs, into their little study. It was a pleasant place to go when he couldn't sleep, where he could read peacefully, or occupy his mind with recreational maths or meditational RPGs until he became drowsy enough to crawl back under warm blankets.
He remembered his avatar was still lost in the middle of the Enchanted Ice Caves of Lem, so he wandered to the bookshelf. He pulled A Bear Called Paddington out and curled up in the big armchair to read. Something familiar and friendly in which to envelop himself was usually the most forgiving way to bring his mind back into this universe after he dreamt of the TARDIS.
Usually being the operative word, it seemed. John laid the book down on the arm of the chair after a few minutes, pushed his glasses up his forehead, and rubbed his eyes. He hadn't had a dream that vivid in a long time. It still lingered in his mind, worrying at its edges, making everything around him feel slightly unreal, making his skin prickle like it hadn't since the first months he had been left in this universe.
He heard a footstep at the door and sighed, rubbing at his eyes.
"Oh, I'm sorry I woke you again," he began, pushing his glasses back down his nose. "You shouldn't worry so much --" He looked up and stopped abruptly, his heart, his one heart, suddenly racing.
The little table lamp next to John didn't do much to illuminate the figure standing in the doorway, but he could make out the lanky form, the wild hair, the pinstriped suit.
"Hello," said the Doctor, softly.
********
"Look at you," the Doctor said, studying the man sitting in the arm chair. The man was dressed in plaid pyjamas and a garishly patterned cardigan, which both clashed fantastically with each other. A hole peeked out from under one arm. His hair was grey, and a bit thin, mussed from sleep. His face was lined, and his shoulders had a little bit of a stoop to them. He was staring at the Doctor with a blank expression. "You're old," the Doctor said, and he didn't really know why he should have been surprised.
The other man blinked at the Doctor from behind his stylish wire-rimmed glasses.
"I'm only twenty-nine years old, really," he said, his voice dry and wary and a little hoarse. The Doctor wondered if it was an effect of age, or emotion. He walked over to the chair and plucked the book off the arm.
"Shouldn't leave your books open like that, you know," the Doctor said. "Ruins the spine. What are you reading at this time of night, then?" He turned the book over, and then started to read out loud. "The bear raised his hat, politely -- twice. 'I haven't really got a name,' he said. 'Only a Peruvian one which no one can understand.' 'Then we'd better give you an English one,' said Mrs. Brown. 'It'll make things much easier."' Hmmm. Yes, Paddington Bear, a classic. Do you have one, then?" he asked.
"One what?"
"An English name."
"Yes," he said, slowly. "John."
"John Smith?" The Doctor raised his eyebrows.
"No," John said. "Noble. My name is John Noble."
"Oh," was the Doctor's faint reply. He laid the book down over the arm of the chair again. He trailed a finger over the cover, then walked over to peer at the bookshelves. "Do you have any other Paddington books? I like the story from the second book, the one where Paddington wallpapers himself into his new room and can't find the door --"
"What are you doing here?" John interrupted.
The Doctor kept his eyes on the books. "Oh, you know how it goes, the multidimensional boundaries between universes start to fold because of repeated stress events, and, let's face it, quick fix after quick fix can only do so much before more involved methods are required." He'd looked over the titles of every book and was now investigating the knick-knacks and photographs that lined the shelves. "Obviously, you've got to have a transdimensional capsule, like, say, a TARDIS, occupy the same point in space-time in both universes simultaneously and have it work on stitching up those wounds from both sides in order to heal the stressor points and make sure the dimensions don't start to collapse completely and start to self-intersect." The Doctor glanced at John, then pulled on his ear apologetically. "Unfortunately that point in space-time seems to be in the middle of your vegetable patch. Sorry about that. You'll probably be able to salvage the carrots, but I wouldn't be too hopeful about the aubergine."
The Doctor studied a photograph of a much younger John, his arm around the shoulders of a young girl, maybe eleven or twelve years old. She was holding up a cheaply framed certificate that said, "Recognition of Journalistic Excellence in Feature Writing: Awarded to Nadira Assani". The girl was trying to look very serious and professional, which John was undermining quite effectively with the broad grin that stretched across his features. The Doctor was accustomed to seeing pictures of himself at events he didn't yet remember, being greeted by people he hadn't yet met, finding his handwriting at places he'd never been to before. He knew that some day he'd be at that event, someday he'd meet that person, someday he'd leave himself that note. But he stared at the picture of a man who looked exactly like him, just a few extra wrinkles around the eyes, a few strands of grey in his hair, and realised that he would never experience the moment it recorded. It was strangely disquieting.
"But why?" John asked, breaking into the Doctor's thoughts. For the first time there was a hint of strain in his double's voice. "Why my garden?"
"Well, it wasn't a vendetta against your aubergines," he replied, still distracted. "It was just where she wanted to land. She must have been able to sense you."
"She sensed me...," said John. "Do you mean... Donna?"
The name made the Doctor's stomach turn over. He turned to John, and the hesitant hope in his eyes made the Doctor regret ever coming into the house.
"No," he answered, quickly. His duplicate's face fell, almost imperceptibly. "No," he repeated, more quietly, "the TARDIS."
"I thought, since you were here, that maybe...." he trailed off. "But she's not, is she?"
"No," the Doctor answered again.
"Is there anyone?" John asked, eyes narrowed slightly.
The Doctor just shrugged, turning back to the shelves.
He saw a photo that made his stomach do another tumble. John was older than he'd been in the last photo, well on his way to grey and wearing a pair of spectacles -- different to the ones he was wearing right now. Rose stood opposite, and she was older too; she must have been about forty. She looked amazingly like Jackie, though she'd given up bleaching her hair at some point. In between them stood a young man with fair hair and Rose's eyes. He was dressed in graduation robes and mortarboard. Rose was smiling and the pride on John's face made the Doctor recall, with a sudden terrible clarity, how he had felt when his first child had completed her studies at the Academy. How the Cardinal had laid his hand on his daughter's bowed head and how the Doctor had hoped none of his old tutors could see him, the man who'd laughed at their tired old institution, the man who'd boasted at passing with the lowest average of the past millennium, brushing away embarrassing tears when his daughter was finally proclaimed a Time Lord.
John appeared next to him.
"Why are you here?" he asked again. He leaned close, and the Doctor shifted uncomfortably. "I mean, why are you really here? Inside my house. Looking at my photos. Cataloguing my books. Snooping around. Why?"
"Why are you hiding half a pack of fags in a bin full of Ramadan lanterns?" the Doctor countered.
John flushed. "I'm trying to quit! It's just, difficult, sometimes -- why am I explaining this to you? What are you even bloody doing looking through my storage bins?!" John ran a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration the Doctor recognised from himself.
"I was just -- curious," the Doctor admitted. John glared at him, distrustfully. "Everything I said was true," he insisted. "The TARDIS is knitting up multidimensional boundaries as we speak. We've only got about another hour, maybe two, before she's done and we'll have to be on our way, so we don't get stuck in this universe and the TARDIS doesn't die from the incompatible energies. And she did choose where we landed." The Doctor swallowed. "But once we were here, I could sense you too. And I just wanted to see -- to see if things turned out all right. For you."
"So you broke into my house in the middle of the night and started rifling through my personal belongings."
Even the Doctor had to admit that sounded a bit questionable.
"...I figured you'd be asleep," he explained. Which actually sounded like an even worse justification now that he'd said it out loud.
"I was," John said. "I was, but then... I thought it was a dream. But it was really her." Realisation dawned in his voice. "It was really the TARDIS, singing to me. Somehow." The Doctor looked at him, surprised, but nodded his head. John drew a shaky breath, and sat down on the edge of his desk.
The Doctor stood, awkwardly, not sure what to say or do. Normally he'd find an excuse to leave, but with the TARDIS occupied he was a bit stuck. His eye wandered back to the photos, the short moments they captured that he would never see for himself. John and a broad, handsome man, both in tuxedoes, both looking awkward yet also pleased. John and Jackie, Jackie laughing while John grinned and kissed her cheek. John and the young, fair-haired man from the graduation photo; he was in his early teens in this picture, and he and John were sat across from each other, playing some kind of card game. The boy was looking into the camera, holding up his hand and pointing at a particular card, with a smug, cheeky grin on his face.
"Tony," John said, motioning at the photo. Oh. Jackie and Pete's son. John smiled a little, still looking at the picture. "Idris took that," he said, and the Doctor took a moment to wonder who Idris was. "First time Tony beat me at rummy. He was fourteen. He's been beating me ever since. Got it from his mother," he said, and even though he was still smiling, there was a hint of sadness in his voice.
"So you and Rose never...." the Doctor trailed off, unsure how to finish his sentence.
John gave him a long look.
"No," he finally said. He let out a dry chuckle, then a brief cough. "Not that I think Rose was ever very interested in kids anyway." He saw the look the Doctor was giving him. "She's okay," John said. "Still works for Torchwood. Still likes to save the world on a semi-regular basis." He paused. "She's happy. She's made a life for herself."
The Doctor sighed, shoulders relaxing just a little.
"Good," he said. "That's good."
John was looking at the wall, all the little things that denoted a life that the Doctor would never experience.
"You should go," he said.
The Doctor blinked.
"I can't," he said. "Not yet."
"No, I mean, you should leave my house. Go back to the TARDIS." John suddenly seemed very tired. He brushed a piece of grey hair out if his face with one thin hand.
"Oh," the Doctor replied. "Okay." He turned toward the door, and then turned back. "I just thought you'd like to see her first."
"...What?" said John, after a moment.
"The TARDIS. Don't you want to see her before we go?"
John opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He closed it and nodded.
"Yes," he finally managed. "Very much."
********
"You weren't kidding about the aubergine," said John, stepping around some purplish vegetable remains.
"Yeah, sorry about that," the Doctor apologised again, but John wasn't listening. He was looking up at the TARDIS. The soft light spilling from her windows was the only thing illuminating John's face, and the expression of cautious wonder that was slowly spreading across it. He reached up and touched the wood of the doors, stroking it softly with the tips of his fingers, and then stepped forward and laid his forehead against it.
"I can't feel her," he whispered. "So much has faded..."
The Doctor laid his hand on John's shoulder; the first time they had ever touched. The Doctor could feel the sharp shoulderblade through the wool of the cardigan, and the human heat of the skin underneath that.
"Let's go inside," he said. He could feel John's eyes on him as he reached into his jacket and pulled out his TARDIS key, as he unlocked the doors and pushed them open.
"After you," he said to John.
John entered carefully, almost hesitantly. He stared almost like any other human had done when they first entered the TARDIS, like he couldn't believe it, like he thought it would evaporate from all around him at any moment. He touched the roundels on the walls, the coral struts, the edge of the console. The time rotor bobbed up and down in the middle of the console. The Doctor watched as John stretched up and touched that as well, saw the green glow of the rotor brighten even as John's face twisted bitterly.
"I can't feel her," he repeated, dropping his hand. "She's right here and I can't feel her at all." He looked back up, his thin face bathed in her green light. "She's so beautiful, and I can't even tell her."
"I could help you," the Doctor offered. "If you wanted."
John stared at him for a very long moment. He took a deep breath.
"Okay," he said.
The Doctor stepped close. "Here," he said, positioning John's hands on the console. "You touch her, and I'll touch you." He raised his hands to John's temples. "Relax," he told John. Even though John must have known exactly what he was going to do, the Doctor could feel his double almost vibrating with tension beneath his hands. He slowly smoothed his thumbs over John's skin until he felt that tension ebb away, and heard his breathing slow down and even out. Then he pressed forward and flowed into his mind.
He opened John up, gently, and soon John was surrounding him and it was nothing like he had expected. He had touched his own mind before, and no matter the surface differences between age or regeneration there was always a core that remained the same, fixed... and it wasn't there. Instead, the Doctor could recognise parts of himself they scared him, he couldn't face them and he had to force himself not to shy away, and parts of Donna they hurt, he missed her so much, and here she was, why hadn't he realised it all those years ago? and then there was this indefinable quality, something made up of both him and Donna, but which couldn't be broken down into either of them; something exciting and flawed and beautiful and new, and he hadn't realised that either, that he and Donna had somehow made this person -- not a copy, not a sacrifice, but a person -- together, and he burned with shame, knowing that he'd locked this person away, out of fear, instead of celebrating him, his singularity, the extraordinary improbability of his existence.
The Doctor opened his eyes and saw John looking past him with wide eyes, tears tracking unnoticed down his aged face.
"Can you hear her?" the Doctor asked.
John nodded, silently. He looked back at the Doctor. "Can you --" John stopped, sniffing. "Can you tell her, how much I miss her, can you --"
"Just think it," the Doctor said. He picked up one of John's hands and held it in his own. "Just think it, and she'll hear it. See?" He opened himself up, made himself a conduit and let John's feelings flow into the TARDIS, and let the TARDIS flow into John. He heard John's breath hitch, and he felt it. He heard the TARDIS sing and he knew it was for John, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so surrounded by love, he thought it must have been the last time John had been on board the TARDIS, the last time he'd let anyone on board the TARDIS, when all his friends had crowded round the console and flown Earth home. Before everyone left and he'd done the worst thing he'd done since the war, and violated his best friend's mind to save her life.
"It's too much," John said, voice trembling. "I'm sorry, it's too much, it's too much," and the Doctor quickly narrowed the mental conduit so that all John could hear was just a whisper of the TARDIS in the back of his mind.
"It's all right," the Doctor said. "It's all right." He still held John's hand, and he squeezed it, the way he used to squeeze Donna's hand when she was scared. John let out a wet laugh at that, and the Doctor thought he must have recognised the gesture. "Are you okay?"
John nodded, wiping his face. He looked up at the time rotor again, and the green light sparkled in his wet eyes. The Doctor felt himself overcome with an emotion he hadn't felt for a long time.
"Come with me," he said, surprising himself.
John froze.
"What?" he said, a note of incredulity to his voice.
"Come with me," the Doctor repeated, stronger. John was breathing hard, now, looking down at the console. The Doctor continued. "I should have asked you twenty-nine years ago --"
John snatched his trembling hand out of the Doctor's grip. "You can't be serious," he said, clutching his hand to himself as if it had been burned.
"You belong with us," the Doctor insisted. "You --" He was cut off by John's fist hitting him square in face. It was a hard punch, and he stumbled backwards and fell gracelessly onto the metal grating of the floor.
"What is wrong with you?!" John almost screamed. The Doctor gaped up at him in shock, holding his hand to his mouth. The sharp, metallic flavour of blood assaulted his tongue. "You leave me here for thirty years, with nothing! You strand me in one place and one time and give me nowhere else to go, ever, strand me in this human body, cut off from everybody, everything I know and make me watch as the few people I do find die, or drift away! And now, of all times, now, now you come, now you show up and try to give back everything I gave up on, and then take away everything, everything I have --" John started to cry, crumpling onto the metal grating below the console. He clutched at it with one hand, and turned his face toward it, like he might sink into it, like he could fall into the heart of the TARDIS and make everything go away. "Why did you have to let me hear her again?" he mumbled through his tears. "I could have taken anything but that. Anything..."
The Doctor stared at his weeping double, aghast. "I'm sorry," he said, and quickly moved to kneel beside him, gathering him up in his arms. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated. He moved his hands once again to John's temples, to find his contact points and close off the conduit between him and the TARDIS.
"No!" exclaimed John, sounding slightly panicked. He grabbed the Doctor's hand in a tight grip. "No, please don't, not while I'm still inside her, I couldn't stand it. Please."
"Okay," said the Doctor. He wrapped his arms around John's thin shoulders instead, and hugged him close. He was good at hugs, at least. He bollocksed up everything else, it seemed, but he could do a hug. "Okay, I won't. I promise."
********
Ten minutes later John sat on the jump seat, looking drained and a little pale. His nose was still pink. The Doctor sat next to him and offered him a cup of tea. He took it, silently.
"Looks like I bled a little on your cardigan," the Doctor said, touching a couple of dark spots on the shoulder. "Sorry about that."
"It's all right," John said. He sipped his tea. "You wouldn't have been bleeding if I hadn't punched you."
"Yeah, well." The Doctor probed his split lip gently with the tip of his tongue. "I deserved it." He sighed. "I usually do."
"So do I," John confessed, and gave the Doctor a wry half-smile. He took another sip of tea. "Is this the stuff Jackie gave you that Christmas after the Sycorax?"
"Yeah. I thought you might like it."
"I do," he said. He was looking at his cup, but it didn't seem like he was seeing it. "She's dead now," he said, quietly. "Jackie, I mean. Stroke, two years ago."
The Doctor swallowed his tea, and it suddenly felt like ice water trickling down his esophagus. He looked away from his cup and futilely wished that he could forget what John had just told him.
"We always tried to find this brand," John continued. "But it just doesn't exist in this universe."
"I'll give you some to take home with you," the Doctor offered. "I can always get more."
John let out a breath of a laugh, mouth twisting into a slight, sardonic smile, as if he'd expected the Doctor's response. "Thanks," he said.
They both sat quietly and drank their tea. The Doctor wasn't sure if he'd ever felt so useless.
"Why are you really here, Doctor?" John finally asked. He swirled the remnants of his tea around the bottom of his cup, the way Donna always had.
The Doctor thought of Adelaide, that last look she'd given him before she shut her door. The flash of her staser through the curtained windows. He remembered the exhilaration he'd felt when he thought he'd been able to change time, to make things better.
"Avoiding consequences," the Doctor said. "Poorly," he added, seeing John's questioning eyebrow. He sighed. "I think I was trying to make things better. Again. And failing. Again." He drained his cup. "I seem to do that a lot."
Just then, the cloister bell rang. Once, twice. It echoed in the silent console room. John looked at the Doctor, apprehension tightening his features.
"She's almost done," the Doctor said. "We'll have to go soon."
He stood up, and John followed suit. John was looking around the console room, like he was trying to memorise every detail.
"I'm sorry," the Doctor said. "I should have let you walk around the ship, see more of her, while there was still time."
John shook his head. "No, no, this is fine. This was always the place I loved the most." He reached out again, trailed his hand across the TARDIS's controls. "The place where I remember feeling closest to her." He stood in front of the console, gazing up one last time at the time rotor. The green light shone on his grey hair, and glinted off of the round lenses of his spectacles. He raised his fingers to his lips and kissed them, then rested them on the console. His eyes closed for a moment. When he opened them again, he turned around.
"Okay," he said, taking a deep breath. "Let's go."
The Doctor took John's hand, and John accepted it, fingers curling tight around his palm. They walked out of the TARDIS together, and John didn't look back.
********
It was almost dawn. The sky was just getting light, and a sharp, cool breeze rustled the leaves on the trees, and the undamaged tomato plants. The Doctor felt John shiver underneath his hands. The wind must have gone right through the knitting of his jumper. The Doctor removed his hands from John's temples.
"There," he said. The telepathic link was closed. John shivered once more.
"Alone again," he said. He wrapped his arms around himself. The Doctor wasn't sure what to say. He reached into his jacket.
"Here's a tin of your tea," he said. He held it out. John took it, running his fingers over the box.
"Thanks," John said.
"By the way," the Doctor said, "I threw away your cigarettes." He cleared his throat. "They're not good for you."
John looked at him, and then laughed wryly.
"No, they're not," he conceded.
The Doctor heard a car pulling up on the other side of the house. "Ah, that's my cue, I think. I should, just, yeah." He motioned at the TARDIS doors.
John nodded. "You take care of her," he said.
"She takes care of me," the Doctor answered, and John laughed, a real genuine laugh. He stepped back towards his house.
"Don't you forget it!" John said. Just then, a young woman rounded the corner. She was holding a messenger bag and when she saw the tableau before her she stopped and stared.
"Oh my God," she said.
The Doctor saw John turn towards her, to reassure her, and he figured that was his opening to slip away. Just as he was opening the TARDIS door, though, he heard John shout.
"Doctor, wait!"
The Doctor turned around and saw John jogging back down the path. Had he changed his mind? The Time Lord stood, frozen. John skidded to a stop in front of him.
"Ah," he said, catching his breath. "I'm too old for that kind of thing now." He coughed. "I want to tell you something, before you go."
"You do?" The Doctor asked.
"Don't look so scared," John said, and the way he rolled his eyes was so Donna the Doctor felt his hearts skip a beat. John's expression became more serious. "You asked me if I had an English name, and I told it to you. But I've got another name as well." He paused, to let the Doctor understand.
"And you want to share it... with me?" the Doctor asked, his eyes widening.
"Yes," John said. "If you'll let me."
"I'd be honoured," the Doctor said.
John flushed a little. "Good," he said. "There's no telepathic component, obviously, and I had to improvise some of the elements --"
"That's all right," said the Doctor. "It'll be unique. Like you."
John closed his mouth, and swallowed hard. He blinked behind his wire rims. "I've only ever shared it with two other people," he said.
"I'll keep it safe," the Doctor promised.
John hesitated, then leant forward and whispered into the Doctor's ear. The Doctor closed his eyes.
"Thank you," he said, softly. He pulled John into a hug and kissed his forehead. After a few moments John pulled away.
"Goodbye," John said. The Doctor nodded, and as John walked up the path, he slipped into the TARDIS. He checked the TARDIS's work on all the dimensional tears and stressor points. She'd done a good job. He dematerialised, and together they sealed up the last threads between universes behind them.
********
John heard the TARDIS dematerialise behind him. He turned his head and watched it slowly disappear, his hair ruffling in the breeze created by the temporal displacement. Nadira was hugging him, and he unconsciously held her closer as the last echoes of the TARDIS's engines faded.
"That was really him," Nadira said, in wonderment. "I never thought I'd see him."
John sighed. "You and me both, plum," he said.
"Well, are you glad?" she asked, after a moment.
"I don't know." John was silent a long time. "He asked me to come with him," he admitted. Nadira looked at him in surprise. "Don't tell your father," he added, quickly.
"Look, John, I don't want to end up in the middle of something here --"
"I'll tell him, Nadira, I'll tell him," he conceded. "Just... later. I don't want to get into a fight with him. Not today."
"Why would you get into a fight with him over that?"
"Because Idris will want to know why I didn't go with the Doctor."
"Well, why didn't you?" she asked him. She was starting to sound upset. John looked pained. "He could have taken you somewhere and fixed you, couldn't he? And now instead I've got to drive you to get poisonous chemicals pumped all through you, and it's going to be horrible, and then what if it doesn't work? What if it doesn't work, John?" Tears were welling up in her eyes. "What will Dad do then?" she asked. "What will I do?"
"Oh, Nadira," John sighed. He held her close. "It wouldn't have been a quick stop to a future hospital complex and then back home in time for dinner, good as new. He just closed up the last multidimensional tears. If I'd gone with him, that would have been it. No coming back."
"I'd rather you were alive in another universe than dead in this one," Nadira said, flatly.
He frowned and looked her in the eye. "I'm not dead. My surgery went well. Chemo is just the next step. Nothing's pre-determined."
"John, we both know the statistics --"
"I don't want to be a shadow," he insisted, sharply. "I want to be me. For however long I can. To be with him... to be on that ship..." He shook his head. "Nadira, I couldn't. I just... couldn't."
Nadira looked up at him, and she looked so sad, for him and for herself.
"You don't think you'll regret it, then?" she asked.
John sighed, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "I probably will," he admitted. "But not as much as I would have regretted going with him."
The horizon was still pink, but the rest of the sky had lightened to a clear, thin blue. John could hear faint, excited barking as the people down the street let out their irritating dogs for their morning run. The day had officially begun. A wave of exhaustion passed over John, and all he wanted to do was go inside and fall into bed and sleep; curl up with Idris's arms around him and fill the day with dreams about green light and a warm touch at the edges of his mind.
He missed being able to run away.
"You're cold," Nadira said, noticing his shivering. She rubbed his arms. "Let's get you inside. You need to get cleaned up and dressed so I can drive you into town for your first treatment. I've got a class to teach, so Rose is going to pick you up when you're done. Okay?" She hooked her arm through his and they started walking slowly up the rest of the path. "Be good for the nurses, will you? For once?"
"Tell Rose to bring me some sweets as a bribe," John said.
"You're not going to want sweets after chemo, John."
"Well, I might not want to eat sweets, but I would definitely not mind the satisfaction that comes with possessing sweets."
Nadira rolled her eyes, but acquiesced, "Okay, I'll see what I can do." John grinned childishly to himself. She huffed. "Just so you know, I may be keeping the Doctor thing to myself, for now, but don't think I won't immediately rat you out to Dad if I find any more cigarettes hidden around the house. 'Cause I definitely will."
John gave her a slight smile.
"Don't worry," he said, as Nadira opened the back door. "Last pack's gone now. In the trash."
end
as always, feedback and criticism is appreciated and cherished.
