The Always More (Doctor Who Fanfiction)

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen
The Doctor

Pronunciation guide:
Cyllia: SILL-ee-uh

After she had tumbled into the vortex below, The Doctor clung to the hand railing as his spaceship turned upside down, and hoped desperately that the atmosphere ring he gave Irene would preserve her in the vortex and wherever she landed until he could reach her. Of course, if she landed in lava or acid, there would be much he could do.

The TARDIS doors swung shut, and a shower of sparks across the room lit up the dark.

He clawed his way over to the control console, and reached for a lever that he knew wouldn't work- everything was disabled; he just had to try.

With a sickening thunk, the TARDIS landed. On its side. The Time Lord fell sideways from the console to the far wall, where he lay groaning against hot metal. A soft whirring noise reached his ears, and the gentle blue lights came on again as though nothing happened he slid from the wall to the burned metal ground below the glass floor. He lay there for a moment, breathing in the scent of danger and his burning TARDIS.

Remembering his lost friend, he climbed to his feet, and limped his way back up the stairs and to the console. He wasn't sure where the drying blood on his hands came from, but decided to worry about wounds later.

Sighing heavily, he pushed a lever, but nothing happened.

A screen on the console lit up, and he looked at it. In curly letters, the words, "Don't wait up," flash on the screen.

He dropped his hands to his sides. With those three words, he knew he was beaten. Behind him, he heard the door swing open.

"Flintstone would like to see you," says a soft voice. The owner could be no more than ten, he thought. Inhaling slowly, he turned around.

He didn't expect to see anything more than he did. A flash of bright fabric and glistening red lips were all he caught before a handful of glistening dust was puffed into his face by a breath that smelled like licorice.

He slumped down, and lowered himself to the floor before the lights fully went out.

***

The Doctor wasn't fooled by the screaming. He had been here before, and he knew how the story went. He stood in the corner of an alley under the edge of a roof that jutted out easily over his head. Sheets of water swept the French town, combing the population back into their relatively waterproof homes. Those who had no roof to crowd under stood aimlessly in the rain trying to shield themselves with their flimsy overgarments.

The usually glowing streets now seemed broken and abandoned, the warm street lamps put out by the pelting rain.

Across from him was an empty crate, and from inside dreadful cries rippled through the air between raindrops. The Doctor watched himself- years ago, when he wasn't a witness to the crimes of darkness itself- pass the alleyway, and backtrack, peering down the alley. He had heard the pitiful cries. He was bundled in a soaked brown coat and scarf over his usual blazer. Just returning from a cuppa with some British immigrants who housed an alien unknowingly.

Against the will of the future Doctor, he crept down the street and crouched down to look into the crate.

The Doctor shut his eyes. He didn't want to see this. When he opened his eyes, he was in the same place as his past self, crouched and looking into a soaked wooden box, a proper memory.