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Jun. 14th, 2008 11:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bodldopsUm. This is evidently what happens when you watch the end of 'The Notebook'. >.>
Ten-Previous Companion, very ow. *hides*
Rose was right. He never mentions them, the companions he once had. Not Mel, Hex, nor Jamie, not surly stubborn Turlough nor sweet Victoria nor intelligent Romana(dvoratrelundar, or Fred). Not one of the countless young men and women who have traveled beside him all of these years. Not even Susan, his granddaughter, whom he left behind to grow the way she couldn't under her old Grandfather's shadow.
That does not mean he doesn't still see them.
The nurses nod in a friendly manner as he strolls down the sun-lit hallway - he must have mixed up the times again, have come here earlier at a later time. So long as he doesn't say too much, or stay too long, no one should notice. She could, but she won't. Not unless a miracle has happened since last time.
He didn't come here at all for an entire regeneration. Nine couldn't face her, not after losing Gallifrey. Too much loss, and he couldn't do it. He's... he's not better, now, but he cannot just leave her here, alone, without friends. Even if she doesn't know they are friends.
He finds her in the garden, her face streaked with dirt as she plants... he sighs. Someone let their sense of irony run away with them. She's planting startlingly blue forget-me-nots. He will have to have a chat with the director, it seems. Not that she minds, at least, she doesn't seem to mind. Some of the plants are upside-down, but they're all in very tidy rows. He leans against the greenhouse door, and watches her, his hands jammed in the pockets of his suit.
Despite the state of her room, she was always neat where it counted. He is partially to blame for that, with his rules he mostly tried to enforce (when he wasn't actively encouraging her to break them). She shouldn't be here. She would have never been content to just plant flowers, no matter how pretty or how neat, before. Before he got her involved in a fight that was too big for her, against odds he knew she couldn't possibly beat, even if he refused to think about it.
She's beginning to go grey, around the edges. He never thought he'd see the day. He thought, if he thought about it, she would be long gone before then, living her life away from him, the way they all do, eventually. She never left.
Not willingly, anyway. Not with her full consent. She can't give consent anymore, it doesn't mean anything.
He must have made a sound - she looks 'round, whipcrack fast, and for a second he can see the shadows of a long-gone planet in her eyes. Then it is gone again, replaced with a pleasantly confused expression.
"Hullo." She says, staring at him curiously. "Are you a patient here? I am."
"No." It's an effort to speak, but he owes her that much. He owes her more than that, but he won't be able to pay it now. Just this.
"No, I'm just visiting. What have you got there, hmmm?"
"Flowers." She informs him, looking away to survey her rows. "... They're a bit daft, you know. They always take them away, give me new ones. They say it is therapy, but they won't tell me what for."
She looks at him again, still curious, always curious.
"Do you know what they are for?" He can't lie to her. He used to, all the time, because it would serve a higher purpose, because it would keep her safe, because... because. He can't lie to her now.
"You were hurt." She doesn't comment, only tilts her head to one side the way she used to when he was being particularly mysterious. "You were trying to save someone, and a psionic bomb went off nearby. It damaged your memory. I..." He stops, blinking, because he didn't come here to cry at her. She doesn't need that. He's not sure what to say next, actually. She sounds like she's made some progress, but not enough, never enough. He's told her this little bit of her story seventy-six times now, and she never remembers it from one visit to the next.
"You were there? Do I know you? I'm sorry, I... I don't remember." He looks down and sees her brown eyes filled with vague distress. He crouches beside her, brushing back a loose strand of hair from her face.
"That's alright. You don't have to. I will remember for both of us." She stares at him for a long moment, assessing. Then she nods.
"Would you like to plant some flowers? I'm sure they won't mind." She offers, holding out the trowel (blunted, of course, like everything else here). He takes it slowly from her grimy hands. Back on the TARDIS, Donna is probably wondering where he's gotten off to, but he left clear instructions to the ship to not let Donna anywhere near the front doors. He'll tell her. One day. He always means to tell them.
"Of course, Ace. I'd like that." He tells her, and she grins at him, that old crooked grin of a sixteen-year-old pyromaniac that she never quite lost.
Ten-Previous Companion, very ow. *hides*
Rose was right. He never mentions them, the companions he once had. Not Mel, Hex, nor Jamie, not surly stubborn Turlough nor sweet Victoria nor intelligent Romana(dvoratrelundar, or Fred). Not one of the countless young men and women who have traveled beside him all of these years. Not even Susan, his granddaughter, whom he left behind to grow the way she couldn't under her old Grandfather's shadow.
That does not mean he doesn't still see them.
The nurses nod in a friendly manner as he strolls down the sun-lit hallway - he must have mixed up the times again, have come here earlier at a later time. So long as he doesn't say too much, or stay too long, no one should notice. She could, but she won't. Not unless a miracle has happened since last time.
He didn't come here at all for an entire regeneration. Nine couldn't face her, not after losing Gallifrey. Too much loss, and he couldn't do it. He's... he's not better, now, but he cannot just leave her here, alone, without friends. Even if she doesn't know they are friends.
He finds her in the garden, her face streaked with dirt as she plants... he sighs. Someone let their sense of irony run away with them. She's planting startlingly blue forget-me-nots. He will have to have a chat with the director, it seems. Not that she minds, at least, she doesn't seem to mind. Some of the plants are upside-down, but they're all in very tidy rows. He leans against the greenhouse door, and watches her, his hands jammed in the pockets of his suit.
Despite the state of her room, she was always neat where it counted. He is partially to blame for that, with his rules he mostly tried to enforce (when he wasn't actively encouraging her to break them). She shouldn't be here. She would have never been content to just plant flowers, no matter how pretty or how neat, before. Before he got her involved in a fight that was too big for her, against odds he knew she couldn't possibly beat, even if he refused to think about it.
She's beginning to go grey, around the edges. He never thought he'd see the day. He thought, if he thought about it, she would be long gone before then, living her life away from him, the way they all do, eventually. She never left.
Not willingly, anyway. Not with her full consent. She can't give consent anymore, it doesn't mean anything.
He must have made a sound - she looks 'round, whipcrack fast, and for a second he can see the shadows of a long-gone planet in her eyes. Then it is gone again, replaced with a pleasantly confused expression.
"Hullo." She says, staring at him curiously. "Are you a patient here? I am."
"No." It's an effort to speak, but he owes her that much. He owes her more than that, but he won't be able to pay it now. Just this.
"No, I'm just visiting. What have you got there, hmmm?"
"Flowers." She informs him, looking away to survey her rows. "... They're a bit daft, you know. They always take them away, give me new ones. They say it is therapy, but they won't tell me what for."
She looks at him again, still curious, always curious.
"Do you know what they are for?" He can't lie to her. He used to, all the time, because it would serve a higher purpose, because it would keep her safe, because... because. He can't lie to her now.
"You were hurt." She doesn't comment, only tilts her head to one side the way she used to when he was being particularly mysterious. "You were trying to save someone, and a psionic bomb went off nearby. It damaged your memory. I..." He stops, blinking, because he didn't come here to cry at her. She doesn't need that. He's not sure what to say next, actually. She sounds like she's made some progress, but not enough, never enough. He's told her this little bit of her story seventy-six times now, and she never remembers it from one visit to the next.
"You were there? Do I know you? I'm sorry, I... I don't remember." He looks down and sees her brown eyes filled with vague distress. He crouches beside her, brushing back a loose strand of hair from her face.
"That's alright. You don't have to. I will remember for both of us." She stares at him for a long moment, assessing. Then she nods.
"Would you like to plant some flowers? I'm sure they won't mind." She offers, holding out the trowel (blunted, of course, like everything else here). He takes it slowly from her grimy hands. Back on the TARDIS, Donna is probably wondering where he's gotten off to, but he left clear instructions to the ship to not let Donna anywhere near the front doors. He'll tell her. One day. He always means to tell them.
"Of course, Ace. I'd like that." He tells her, and she grins at him, that old crooked grin of a sixteen-year-old pyromaniac that she never quite lost.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-06-15 04:51 pm (UTC)Oh.
You are amazing.