The Hybrid - Doctor Who Fanfiction

7

It's impossible, of course. The Doctor knows it is. The route of thinking he's going down, allowing himself to willingly traverse, is indeed a very, very dangerous one. He's giving life to his banished thoughts and feelings, those carnivorous fantasies that blossom into full on demons when they reach maturity. The Doctor knows he's exiled them for a reason. There's a reason he keeps them under lock and key. Those demons bring with them that dreaded and hated hope to sentiments he thought he'd given up long ago. And that hope erodes whatever resolve he's aimed for, and it shatters the delicate facade he's insisted on maintaining to keep himself at arms length.

He's tried before to travel alone, but he knows what it does. He knows the universe will always be at a weighty disadvantage when the only person in the big blue box is the broken, bitter old man who's lived far too long. He knows the companions are what make him the Doctor, and without them he knows he would be taking lives instead of saving them. But he also knows why he still tries to go it alone: because it is impossible to love them without losing them. The inevitable can only be avoided for so long before they're gone--before they leave him, or grow old, or are killed on another suicidal mission. And he would like to think that after all this time, after all the people he's lost and all the lives he couldn't save, that he'd disown those demons and slay them once and for all.

Love should become a sin, his traitorous foe whose weapon of choice, hope, promises joy but only gives him never-ending grief and pain. Because it is impossible to love them--to love her. It is impossible to love Clara. She's only human, and there will come a day when he's unable to save her from what has claimed them all in the end: time. A single star in his universe, she will flare and fade away, and he'll be powerless to stop it.

And yet he knows he'd burn whole worlds if she asked.

He's brought her into the TARDIS, ignoring the way those large brown orbs of hers watch him apprehensively. After several unsuccessful attempts of climbing up in her own, the Doctor's impatience finally reaches it's climax and he secures his hands at her waist before easily lifting her onto the examination chair. She gives a surprised squeak in protest, but he's moved away from her already.

"Doctor," comes her low voice in an endeavor to soothe his nerves. It's useless, her efforts, but he silently thanks her for trying.

Clara watches him flit all over the room, grabbing things from cabinets and turning on a large computer-like device beside the table. "Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on, or am I gonna have to guess?"

He looks up from where he stands several feet away, his eyes unreadable as he puts together some shiny object that looks like it belongs in an OB's office.

"Lie back," he instructs, his Scottish brogue harsh and cold. "Please," he adds, his voice a bit softer.

Clara just stares at him, wondering how worried she should be. She knows he's got a tendency to be dramatic, but all the theatrics of his she's memorized for her own convenience don't seem to apply. She was smart enough to guess it was serious, remembering the bizarre way he'd towed her into the TARDIS after the baby had moved. But this was chilling, how he could barely look at her and when he did something like dismay would flash in his eyes.

His spasmodic movement around the room put her on edge, and she found herself sort of cradling her middle protectively. "Doctor, you're scaring me."

"I'll explain it all in a minute," he says with a terse edge to his voice. He doesn't look up from where he works to put more pieces of equipment together. "Just need to run a few tests first."

Downplay. Clara finally finds the word for what it is he's doing. Pretending that something that is a big deal isn't anything to fret over. And that's bad. Very bad. This Time Lord's got a terrible habit of never knowing when it's the right time to make a fuss. It's a habit that's nearly gotten them killed before.