4: Lunch Date

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please comment i wanna hear every opinion and thought btw :p ALSO THIS IS LATE AND NOT PROOFREAD I KNOW THIS CHAPGER ISNT GREAT </3

"Don't call me that," Y/n said, jaw clenched. "That is not my name nor title."

The Doctor looked at her strangely. He didn't know, of course, exactly what she had gone through. He only knew the same legend he was told—that everyone was told. The story of the Last Hope was heard as far as the Time War was. The name was quite literal; she was meant to be the savior. The one to end the war. She was all the Time Lords could think of creating to save them. A story of a new version of the Time Lord. One who didn't just die after twelve. One who could withstand the weapons used against them in war. A new race entirely, some called it, that were stronger and better than any before them.

He faintly remembered speaking about it, before it was set in motion. He couldn't remember why anymore but he remembered telling the High Council to stop with the preparations. To end the project entirely. He wasn't sure why anymore.

Nobody knew what happened after that. Nobody knew why the war still ended in Gallifrey falling. They all assumed the project, the creation of the new race, wasn't completed in time. Everyone heard of the one that survived the trials. Everyone heard of the Last Hope, and nothing more.

"And why is that?"

He was curious. Sure, the Doctor knew that the Time Lords weren't genuinely great people, but that didn't change that the title was a gift. It had a similar meaning to his, he considered briefly. Someone who saves and protects and helps. A good person. An important person. He ignored the dread in the back of his mind for once.

He felt a bit of resentment as well. She didn't save the Time Lords or stop the war. He's the one that had to press the button and destroy his planet and his people for the greater good. He ended the war and was feared for it, while she was nowhere to be seen in their time of need, yet she was praised. Raised on a pedestal and revered for a task she didn't even do. He knew the anger was irrational, however, and he hated himself enough to tell that it was mostly guilt eating away at him with no other way to be let out.

"My existence is nothing good, I assure you, Doctor." Y/n was glaring at the ground, holding onto the strap of her purse with a grip hard enough to imprint her nails in the palm of her hand. This conversation was a good first step and she was proud of herself (well, she would be proud of herself after she had time to process it), but that didn't mean she was mentally ready to just spill all her secrets. This wasn't gossip about boys at a 13-year-olds sleepover. This was a matter of her trauma and her past. "And it's nothing to discuss with a man I've never met before today. If you'll excuse me."

The Doctor said nothing as she opened to locker and walked inside. He caught a glimpse of the entryway and control room, noting how different it looked to his. It looked warmer, more inviting. There was a coat rack and an umbrella holder by the door, he saw, but couldn't glimpse much more that that. He took a step back and watched as the lockers, her TARDIS, vanished swiftly and silently, leaving nothing but a small breeze in its wake.

There was a strange feeling, sitting somewhere near his throat. He felt so conflicted and unsettled, and something that resembled the pain of something too long unresolved. He'd think about this later, he told himself, after an adventure or two. Rose needs a distraction after the stress, he reckoned, and he couldn't just wait because he had his own issues to think over.

What a deliberately ignorant man.

Y/n sent her TARDIS to float aimlessly somewhere and sometime far before finally taking the chance to sit down. Curled up on the plush couch with a cold water on the table beside it, she let out a shaky breath. She wanted to cry, but she couldn't. There were times where she's felt that way before, and yet she never figured out why that happened. It made her feel congested and dirty.

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