RP: Log, "I Never Left You," for stardustflying

[watch_is_me]

He flies around the TARDIS console, piloting with both hands, both feet, his nose, an elbow here, an elbow there, nudge this lever this way, and that one that way, just a touch, a smidgen, there, there, can't she go any faster? Of course, it doesn't matter, faster doesn't matter, not when you're traveling through time, but it feels as though it matters. Human beings always wonder when he fails to explain the complexities of time and this is it, this is why, because time's personal and shared, everyone and no one's, relative and set, and can't she go any faster?

"Come on, old girl, come on, come on... Amps to 11, ludicrous speed, damn the torpedoes, come on."

And he jumps back from the console, bounces on his toes, because he's made all of the adjustments he can, and it's up to her now, the TARDIS. He trusts her, she'll get him where he needs to be, but he can't help the impatience.

First they'd landed in London instead of Edo, and, really, those just weren't the same. Tokugawa Japan and 21st-century London, they both had their merits, but the ukiyo—kabuki and geisha and chonin and samurai—wasn't one of London's. Well, not yet. Give it a few millenia.

So he'd settled down to repairs, and she'd gone off to see the sights and the shops; he'd given her a mobile before she'd taken off, universal roaming enabled, certain she'd be fine. If she could handle the Titanic, disintegration and reintegration, she could take on London.

Halfway through the repairs, the TARDIS had started up, of its own accord. A time scoop, he'd thought, but that was impossible, they were gone, all dead, the ones who could do that to him, summon him at will.

It hadn't been a time scoop. Temporal genetic lock, the Menagerists, an elite group of 7000th-century dilettantes who collected rare...animals of all types, all across time and space, and kept them on an elaborate prison planet. A zoo. And what rarer than the last of the Time Lords?

It had taken him minutes to escape, but months to get the rest of them out. There had been human beings there, future humans, survivors past the destruction of the Earth, and how could he leave them?

But the instant he'd had them all away, out in the Menagerists' hijacked private star-yachts, he'd shot to the TARDIS, because he couldn't leave her, either. Astrid. His Astrid.

The TARDIS sets down, and he thanks her, a mental nod, nothing spoken, as he bolts through the doors, out into an alleyway. The same place. Good. The same time? He's not so sure. Maybe. Has to be. He can't be that far off, can he?

And he fishes his own mobile out of his jacket pocket, dialing her number as he dashes out into the streets proper, eyes scanning over every passerby, every shopfront window. She's here. She's got to be here. He didn't mean to leave, and he won't let this be another parting, another failure, something to remember and regret.

Faster, faster, the phone has to dial faster, ring faster, he has to run faster, through the streets, as though velocity were like gravity, an attractive force. As though faster mattered.

Comments

[stardustflying.livejournal.com]

"No, you don't understand, I don't need a doctor, I need The Doctor." she pleaded, barely enough energy to keep her eyes from closing and slipping into unconsciousness.

"I'm fine," she protested, forcing herself to sit up straight despite her physical and mental state, still fighting, not willing to give in. "I'm just tired. I just need a bed for the night, that's all. Then I can start looking again."

And then the phone in her pocket started to vibrate against her thigh. At first she barely registered it, then her eyes grew wide with hope as she scrabbled beneath the blanket frantically to reach her pocket, tossing it aside aggressively in her desperate rush as she fought to catch her breath.

Over the last four days, she'd pressed redial on that phone so many times the R on the button had almost worn off. Nothing, just a dead line. At one point she'd flung it on the floor in temper. It had fallen apart. Components scattered on the busy footpath as she'd scrabbled on hands and knees to retrieve them, barely feeling the pain in her hand as the black boot stood on her fingers.

"You idiot Astrid," she'd cursed, "Your one lifeline and you broke it. How stupid are you?"

But now, now it was ringing. It was actually ringing. The display didn't work, but it was ringing!

"Doctor!?" she gasped as she pressed the button.

[watch-is-me.livejournal.com]

"Astrid!" He can't say anything else for seconds, because his hearts are in his throat; he doesn't know how long it's been for her, but it's been months for him and there's so much to say.

"Where are you?"

[stardustflying.livejournal.com]

"Where am I..." she answered breathlessly, her voice tinged with the threat of confused delerium but so much joy. He was here, he'd come back for her. Every stupid pathetic self doubting fear that she'd had that it had been intentional, washed away from her in floods of emotion at the sound of his voice. His voice, the Doctor's voice. Her Doctor's voice.

"Wait, where am I?" she asked of the woman whose face seemed to be fading in and out of focus. He'll have heard the response from Jean before Astrid could manage to repeat it. "Shelterline, West Houghton Road."

[watch-is-me.livejournal.com]

And he would be so pleased to know that she thinks of him as her Doctor, though he'd have to correct her, for form's sake.

He hears the response over the line, and repeats it back, already searching for street signs. Where is he? Too far away, any distance is too far away, and he's not going to call a cab, that would take too long. The TARDIS is just back around the corner, and he turns and sprints back towards it.

"Right, Shelterline, West—" Wait. "Shelterline? Are you alright? How long have I—it hasn't been—how long has it been?"

He skids around the corner, and there it is, the TARDIS. He snaps his fingers, and the doors open—a trick he picked up before many of his others, and faster than taking the time to fish out his key. Darting in, he begins prepping the TARDIS for take-off, holding the phone to his ear with one shoulder.

[stardustflying.livejournal.com]

The response he gets isn't Astrid's voice. Jean has prised the mobile phone from Astrid's reluctant fingers to speak to this person herself. The young woman seated in the waiting area still, barely looks fit to know her own name never mind relay any kind of coherent message.

"This is Jean Blythe. Who am I speaking to?" She'd presumed the caller was Astrid's doctor, but from the tail-end of what she just heard, he sounds as confused as her newest arrival.

[watch-is-me.livejournal.com]

Confused is probably a fairly good diagnosis of the Doctor, most of the time. Confusing, certainly.

He tsks into the phone. He doesn't want to speak to anyone else. Twisting a particularly stubborn valve with both hands, kicking a lever up a few notches with one foot, he loses the phone and has to scramble in the TARDIS console to retrieve it. There. "The Doctor. I need to speak to Astrid." He's abrupt and cursory, uninterested in talking to anyone else.

[stardustflying.livejournal.com]

Astrid was already on her feet, almost following the phone upwards as it had been lifted so easily from her weakened grip. But having it taken from her had given her a renewed burst of energised determination. It felt like her lifeline had been stolen and she was damned if she was going to let that happen. She needed to hear him, needed that constant contact until he arrived.

"Give me the phone, I need to talk to him. Give me back the phone." Jean raised a hand to her in a 'just a minute, relax' gesture.

"NO, NOW!" Astrid glared, through gritted teeth.

Startled by her aggression, and following Shelterline protocol with potentially violent visitors, Jean placed the phone down on the chipboard coffee table, avoiding physical contact entirely and took a few steps backwards.

"Doctor!" Astrid clung to the phone with both hands, nobody would take it from her again as she strode towards the door, running on the dregs of whatever her body had managed to bring to the surface.

[watch-is-me.livejournal.com]

The Doctor hears the altercation over the phone, and his concern rises. It doesn't sound serious, on the usual level of aliens-have-taken-my-friends-hostage-or-things-are-exploding serious, but Astrid sounds tired, distressed—and she's in the care of strangers.

How long has it been?

"Astrid, it's me. I'm here. I'm—" he flips a last row of toggles, all at once, with the flat of his hand, and the TARDIS thrums to life, phasing out of the London alleyway "—on my way. Tell me how you are. What's happened? Has anything happened?"

[stardustflying.livejournal.com]

For a moment she just closed her eyes and listened to him, a faint smile of relief spreading across her lips before she blinked herself into full alert mode, or as alert as she could manage.

She was hovering on the pavement just outside now, eyes desperately scanning the busy London road for any sign of him or the TARDIS. The noise of the traffic thumped inside her head, making her wince. People that walked towards her seemed to appear from nowhere, like she'd missed a beat here, a beat there, and then they were gone.

"I'm fine. I've just been looking for you." But the way her voice drifted like someone was playing with the volume control, she sounded far from fine.

"Where are you?"

[watch-is-me.livejournal.com]

"I'm—well, right now, I'm not anywhere, really, right outside of time and space, hello, don't know if these count as minutes or not on the plan, not that I have a plan, well, not that kind of plan, but, now, right now—" and he flips the toggles back, bangs the TARDIS hammer down on a big red button, and the TARDIS phases back into reality "—I'm on West Houghton Road. Well, I should be, let's see..."

And the vwoorp, vwoorp, vwoorp of the TARDIS "landing" sounds from just down the street from Astrid.

[stardustflying.livejournal.com]

None of his words were making sense, she was catching every other word and trying desperately to fill in the gaps, to string them together in her mind to form sentences that actually meant something. But it didn't matter, the constant stream of apparently disconnected words were enough to keep her with him.

Above the traffic, above the hiss of the air brakes of the bus that had stopped right next to her, startling her. Where had it come from? It had just appeared. She couldn't see past it, the line of alighting passengers seemed to stretch on forever. He was behind them, he had to be, she'd heard the TARDIS landing, and they were stopping her from seeing him. He was here and these people seemed to be melding into a fence between them.

"They're in my way Doctor, the people. The bus."

The queue wasn't long at all, and the view of the TARDIS was only slightly obscured. Astrid's lucidity was fading fast and the hallucinations of nearly five days and four nights with no sleep were taking hold of her panic and amplifying it.

[watch-is-me.livejournal.com]

"The bus?" Okay, she doesn't sound good. The background noise he's picking up, from her end of the phone conversation, that's all normal London street noise, though...so whatever's wrong, it must be normal wrong. Human wrong. Which leaves him far more adrift than abnormal wrong. "It's fine, Astrid, everything's going to be fine, you stay right where you are."

He leaps around the console, flings the TARDIS doors open, and strides out into the street. Right, there's the bus. A bus. Probably the bus. And that means...

"Astrid!" He flips the phone shut, jams it into a jacket pocket, and sprints across the street, dodging traffic without sparing a glance for the cars, his attention entirely on her. Something's wrong with her—what's wrong with her?

[stardustflying.livejournal.com]

"Okay." Her voice was distant, like she hadn't really heard him, but okay had just seemed the right thing to say.

That's him! That's definitely him, but he's all blurry and he's coming across the street in odd fits and starts, but he's definitely coming, isn't he?

"Doctor!" She's still talking to the phone, clutching it to her ear as she starts to move towards him, stepping out towards the road, unable to take her eyes off him incase she loses him again.

[watch-is-me.livejournal.com]

Oh, she's going to walk out into traffic. Months away, and he's going to lose her now because she walked into traffic in 21st-century London. No, thank you.

"Astrid, no! Stay there!"

He fumbles in a pocket, snapping out his sonic screwdriver and aiming it at the car closest to Astrid. The vehicle jerks to a halt with a bang, steam cascading out from under the bonnet. The driver gapes through the windshield as the Doctor sprints past, smacking one palm down on the bonnet to push off with a boost of extra speed to the curb.

To Astrid.

[stardustflying.livejournal.com]

That got her attention, she's staring at the car in surprise now. Why can't she think straight? Where did the car come from? It's frustrating her so much, everything should be clear and he's here, but it all just feels like it's an odd dream.

She turns to look at him, nothing more than sheer bewilderment in her eyes. He's the only person there now.

"You came back."

[watch-is-me.livejournal.com]

And she's the only person there now, too, for him. Never mind the bus' disembarked passengers, staring at them from a safe distance, or the horns of the cars trapped behind the one he just stalled.

"'Course I did." He holds back, for one split second, because he's suddenly unsure, uncertain, a teenage boy wondering now if he read all the signals wrong, if he should back off and let things be. He's had time to think about this, time while he was in the Menagerists' Garden, and it's not right. It's wrong and he knows it's wrong, he knows how this ended for his others and Rose, but... That was their experience, their quick joy and their longer sorrow, their grief, not his, and he has to see. For himself.

He grabs her up in a hug that's half support, holding her up, she's so small, it's so easy to do, and smiles, speaking by her ear. "Regular cosmic yo-yo, me."

[stardustflying.livejournal.com]

The moment he holds her, it's as if her body has been waiting for it, holding on until the last possible moment, until she knew she was safe with him. Until she knew she could finally give up and stop fighting. Tensed muscles collapse into his arms fluidly, her own draped around his neck, knees buckling under her in exhaustion.

She smiles widely though in response. "I missed you."

[watch-is-me.livejournal.com]

He's still not certain how long it's been, for her, but now's not the time to ask. Now's the time to get her back to the TARDIS, safe and sound, away from the cars and the city.

When her knees buckle, he catches her and swings her up into his arms, carrying her across his chest, her arms still around his neck. "Oh, I was never gone. Blink, and you missed me."

He grins down at her, answering her smile, and then inclines his head to kiss her, on the forehead, a chaste kiss, fatherly and so careful. But it lingers, longer than it should, longer than he'd intended, long enough for him to breathe in, out, to take in the scent of her hair, of her, to taste her on the air.

His hearts constrict. No. He shouldn't.


((I steal your icon, because it is too perfect for this scene :D ))

[stardustflying.livejournal.com]

Even in her sleep deprived, woozy state, that kiss reaches through to her. It feels different, something in him has changed somehow, touching her in a way that her first eager kiss hadn't done when he'd helped bring her back from stardust. Her lips are nestled at his neck, she lets her head flop against his shoulder and she kisses him back there, gently parted lips resting against his skin as her energy reserves slip away.

Everything just seems so right, she doesn't need to think about anything anymore, she doesn't need to keep herself alert, she doesn't need to look for him. And it feels more right than it ever did, more comfortable. Like she belongs here. A lifetime of not belonging anywhere, and now she does.

[watch-is-me.livejournal.com]

It is different, something has changed, and it hurts him, the change. Her kiss, her lips on his neck, he feels with an intensity beyond human (or Sto Citizen) capacity, the way he can feel things so soft, so slight, so fine that other species might miss them entirely, thick skin and clumsy fingers, and they never know what they live just on the wrong edge of feeling. This. This sharp, painful, constant awareness.

Well. People are staring, aren't they? And the driver's getting out of that car, and stamping towards him, angry and befuddled, in equal measure. Awkwardly, still holding Astrid, he slides the psychic paper from his pocket and waves it at the man. "I'm her Doctor."

He doesn't offer any further explanation, just leaves the man gaping as he carries Astrid back across the street. People get out of his way, on the sidewalks, standing back from this strange man and his distant eyes, bearing a woman away, walking with a certainty, a self-possession, a hard-edged unhurried urgency that's wrong for the crowded city streets. He's come from a battlefield, this one, holding the only survivor; Arthur with Guinevere, mourning and loving, lost and found, all at the same time.

He's wrong here, he's not of here, he's an outsider, and there's a story in his walk and his eyes, the black he wears, and the woman with her arms around his neck, the way he holds her. It's a story no one watching will ever hear.

That's who he is, and that's the wake he leaves—and he knows, but he doesn't care. Not now. Now, he ignores everything, everyone; opens the TARDIS doors without even a snap, only a question in his mind, "please," to a very old friend; and carries Astrid back to the med-bay. He lays her gently down on one of the examining tables and busies himself with the precise, quiet, centering work of calibrating instruments to Sto standards and attaching sensors to her body, delicate, hesitant, avoiding anything that might sting, for now.

"Can you hear me? This won't hurt. I won't hurt you."

[stardustflying.livejournal.com]

Where Astrid can only hope, only he can make reality. Twice now she's wandered with nothing but a dream to keep her searching. Once as nothing but sentient atoms weaving their way through universes over months and months; drifting, but never aimlessly, magnetized by only his presence that could breathe life into her. And here, right now, for five days she'd endlessly searched, never stopping, never faltering in her stoic determination to seek what she needed, what she'd always needed since before she even met his other.

Cars, people, buses, bikes, noise. The discordant cacophony of it all slipped away. She'd lived it, with nothing but hope to spur her on, and hope had provided.

His heartbeats against her lips at his pulse are all she hears now as he carries her away from it all, their beat bringing peace and clarity and sleep.

Her eyes flutter open briefly in response on the table, and for a split-second he's clear. With a small smile she whispers, "I know."

[watch-is-me.livejournal.com]

He smiles back, at her words, his hands busy applying the last of the sensors, right under the neckline of her clothing. He moves lightly, the barest pressure needed to stick the discs to her skin, afraid to linger, to invite another moment like the kiss. He doesn't need his time sense to feel those moments, the possibility of them, to know that they will happen, later if not now, that a decision is being made, between them, something irrevocable, with every touch, every one of their few words.

He should never have left her, even if it wasn't his choice. This wouldn't have happened. He could have kept them apart. He could have kept things right.

Now they're going wrong. Right/wrong, and he's afraid.

The instruments hum and beep, readouts in Gallifreyan scrolling across their screens. He steps away from the table to give them his attention, relieved at their scientific clarity, maths and numbers and graphs. Without thinking, he taps a quiet rhythm against the side of one display, as he leans in to follow the dips and peaks of one graph more closely. 1-2-3-4.

[stardustflying.livejournal.com]

The final remnants of her conscious mind drift away like her atoms did all that time ago while he works. As she sleeps she's stardust set adrift, and it's so cold. She's never felt so alone.

"Flying not falling" she murmurs deleriously, "I don't want to fall... Stop me falling Doctor... I have to stop the drums."

[watch-is-me.livejournal.com]

His eyebrows quirk at the display. Tired. That's all it is. She's just tired. More specifically, the instruments indicate she's in an advanced state of fatigue, four or five days without rest. Good. That's good—it hasn't been months, for her, only days. And bad, because she must have run herself ragged, looking for him. His fault. Good and bad, both, like everything in the past...it's been less than an hour. Has it really been less than an hour?

Time. He can barely understand it.

He runs his hands through his hair. Well. Fatigue. There's nothing he can do about that—only let her sleep and recover on her own. He'd rather it was something he could help with, do something about, make better right now, but it isn't, and all he can do is walk back to the examining table and look down at her. Sleeping.

They're so helpless, when they sleep, other races. Faces open and bodies loose and their eyes moving under their lids, and he always wonders what they're dreaming. How they can stand being so helpless, for so long.

Careful not to disturb her sleep, he sits beside her and overhears her murmuring. It bites into him, her last comment, and he knows when she wakes up, he'll offer to take her back, to him. He'll have to. Because this, what's happening now, between them, is going to be enough of a burden, for both of them, and she doesn't need the drums, too. Let this happen with him, his other; let it be even that little bit simpler, easier, for her.

He takes her hand, holds it in both of his, and can't find the words to say. No promises, no assurances. Only holding her hand in his, and waiting.

[stardustflying.livejournal.com]

Hours and hours pass as she sleeps, stardust in her dreams as she searches endlessly. Yet she can never quite get where she needs to be, her destination just over the horizon and the horizon keeps slipping further away when she nears it. Chasing it constantly, that mysterious ever moving place, that she knows will make everything alright if she could just reach it. Not once does she consider it a mirage, an empty hope, it's real and she'll get there.

She floats, ever gaining momentum and strength, she's not tired anymore and she's so close she can feel the warmth there, in her hand. She can reach out and touch it if she just opens her eyes.

And then she does, eyelashes heavy at first as the crack of light filters through. Maybe, just maybe, she made it there after all this time.

[watch-is-me.livejournal.com]

He'd been taking a kind of refuge in the stillness, her sleeping and him sitting by her side, holding her hand, getting up now and then to check the instruments, but otherwise just sitting, watching her, being with her. Stillness isn't an easy thing, for him even less so than for his others. The drums urge him to action, to movement, to nervous tapping and restless pacing, but the TARDIS helps him. It creeps into the back of his mind and makes the drums into something else—something more like music than the usual, mindless percussion. He lets it. He holds Astrid's hand, as she sleeps, and the TARDIS holds his hand, in its own way, lending him patience and a measure of peace. They watch her sleep, together.

When her eyes open, he's not ready. He'll never be ready, because the choices begin again, now, and he's so tired of choices.

"'Lo," he says, smiling, warm, his voice pitched quiet. "Feeling better?"

[stardustflying.livejournal.com]

She smiles at that, he's right there next to her, and she wonders if he ever moved and how long it's been.

Her hand squeezes his gently, "Much". It's a reassurance for him, as much as it's relief and welcomed lucidity on her part.

"Are you alright? I was worried about you."

[watch-is-me.livejournal.com]

He grins at her; she's fine now and maybe he can pretend that none of whatever's been happening has been happening. Maybe he can reassert equilibrium.

"Oh, me? Don't worry about me. I'm fine." He stands up with a hop, jamming his hands into his pockets and freewheeling over to make a show of checking the instruments, spinning from one to the another as he talks, bespectacled and wild-haired. "Had some chaps interrupt my repairs. They really wanted to meet me, burning desire, wouldn't take no for an answer. So it was hi-ho-the-dairy-o, upsy-daisy, me and the TARDIS, time-napped, off to this planet, beautiful planet, really, we should go, I should take you—no, I—he should take you, that'd be better, for the best, it..."

He trails off, finding no right way to end the sentence he's lost control of. Rubbing the bridge of his nose under his glasses, he looks over at Astrid.

"It wasn't my choice. I didn't mean to go. I'm sorry."

[stardustflying.livejournal.com]

It's wonderful just listening to him when he's so full of energy. He's talking about getting kidnapped, and it's all just a story to him. A story that shocks her and makes her smile all at the same time. She sits up while he talks, dangling her legs off the edge of the table, and he's just fantastic, everything about him is just fantastic.

Then it changes, no warning, his awe inspiring babble changes so fast into something far more reticent. He's rejecting her again, and it hurts. She can't even bring herself to question him, why doesn't she belong with him, it's so simple, so meant to be. Why can't he see that?

"I know Doctor, I know it wasn't your fault, you don't need to say sorry."

She's crushed, so she's responding to the part that doesn't matter, because it's easier than asking him why, it's easier than giving him chance to reject her again, it's easier to leave it hanging, not confront it.

[watch-is-me.livejournal.com]

He stands up straight, really looking at her, no longer avoiding her gaze. His hands are in his pockets, and he's neither tense nor relaxed, he's in that balance that comes in the moments when he decides to tell the perfect, absolute, sincere truth. When what he says has weight and meaning, to him, its not just a show, and it matters.

"I do, Astrid." And he's not just apologizing for leaving, that's secondary now, tertiary, so far away from the heart of things. He's apologizing for something greater, less definable, for what he's let grow between them, since her reconstruction.

[stardustflying.livejournal.com]

For a moment, Astrid accepts the brevity of what he's saying, her eyes meeting his, looking right at him in an unspoken understanding, thoughtful contemplation. The thud of her heart amplified in the brief silence that follows. It's clear he's talking about more than just the past few days, but what he's apologising for or what she thinks he's apologising for isn't something she wants to hear. So now it's her turn to be dismissive, to change the subject in a moment of eager evasiveness.

"Did you know that humans think they're it, the only lifeform in the universe. Can you imagine that?" She lifts her brow in surprise, an amused grin of disbelief allowing her to release the tension from the awkwardness. "Not knowing there's anything out there waiting to be discovered?"

[watch-is-me.livejournal.com]

He's more than happy to go along with her change in tone, her evasion, to slip into the bantering that has always characterized his relationships with his companions. It's familiar; it's safe; it reminds him of earlier times, better times, when he was a younger man and everything was simpler.

"Oh, they know there's something out there. They've always been looking for it. Myths and legends and constellations, they've turned their eyes to the night sky and tried to look past it, you know, through all of that dark between the stars. Always wishing for someone to come and visit them, tell them it's all true. Every word of it, every vision, every hope." He's warm, now, sincere, a man speaking on his pet subject, a true love, a source of strength. "Some of them want to be the center of the universe, star of the show, yeah, but...They're not the dreamers, Astrid. They're not the ones who'll come out and join you someday."

He pauses, and for the first time since he's seen her again, there's nothing hidden in his expression—he's happy, gratefully, unbelievingly happy. "They do, you know. I didn't think—but they were there. Year 700,000, and, well, they aren't many, wouldn't have been in the Garden if they were, bit of a rarity, an oddity, but they survive."

One of the instruments beeps and flashes a pulse of lights, demanding his attention, but he's swept up in what he learned in his months away, and he only frowns and smacks it, before turning back to Astrid. Irregular readings, must be a glitch in the system, he'd have to look at that later.