Fic: Childhood Ends (Doctor Who)
Apr. 23rd, 2008 12:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seriousficTitle: Childhood Ends
Rating: PG-13
Characters: The Doctor, the Master, Donna Noble
Word Count: 1,353
Summary: There once were two boys, a light-hearted boy and a serious-minded boy, and they made a promise to each other...
There are two boys, a light-hearted boy and a serious-minded boy. The serious-minded boy isn’t here yet, and the light-hearted boy is waiting for him. Both boys are Gallifreyan, both eight years old and late bloomers. They’re both on their first lives as well, obviously. The light-hearted boy can barely contain his excitement. Although rooted to one spot on the floor, he preens and whoops and rocks on his heels and shifts his weights and cracks his neck and even hops from one foot to the next. But throughout, his eyes are on the window. His room only has one window, and it is the only thing in the room that isn’t static. Outside, things change, even if it’s just the clouds.
Then, birds.
The birds fly past, so beautiful and fast and glorious that the light-hearted boy nearly cackles. And he does, as they get closer, but then quiets so as not to scare them off. He laughs on the inside, instead. For the first time, he breaks from his position. From his desk he summons up a writing pad and sonic pen. He watches the birds, trying to use his time sense to freeze their image. Capture a moment of time, in sight as well as paper. He draws frantically .The first two attempts are failures. He rubs them out and tears them up and throws them away. The third is good, although too lifeless. The fourth shows the bird taking wing just right. He continues in that vein, sketching how the bird must appear when landing, when soaring, when diving, when swooping. He is content.
The serious-minded boy arrives. He hesitates in the doorway, watching the light-hearted boy draw and hum to himself. After a moment, the serious-minded boy enters. The light-hearted boy stops drawing. He flips through his pad, finds the best drawing, rips it out and gives to the serious-minded boy. The serious-minded boy thanks him politely, then sits. It is always best to sit. The light-hearted boy sits next to him, although he literally can’t sit still. He fidgets constantly.
“When I regenerate, I’m gonna be a bird,” the light-hearted boy says. “And every day I’m gonna fly, under a new sky. And I’ll land in a new place each day and build a nest wherever I land. I’ll be the only bird that never stops migrating.”
“That’d be a waste of a life. Just flying around all day. What’d you be contributing to Gallifrey?”
“Aww, Gallifrey can get by fine without me.” The light-hearted boy grins. “Besides, you’ll do enough work for both of us. And it’s not like it ever does anything.”
The serious boy didn’t so much shrug as bob his head a little, as if to say that’s true. “I heard some of the Time Lords talking. They saw you’re going to run.”
The light-hearted boy jutted his chin out challengingly, though his grin somewhat ruined it. “What of it?”
“If you were smart, you wouldn’t talk about it. If you make them think you won’t run, they won’t be able to stop you when you do.”
“That’s pretty smart.”
The serious boy beamed. “One thing, though.”
“Yeah?” the light-hearted boy said, already staring back out the window.
“When you go, take me along.”
The light-hearted boy rubbed at his jaw seriously. “I don’t know… could be dangerous…”
“You’d need someone to watch out for you, to help with things. Besides, isn’t like you can fly a TARDIS worth a darn.”
“Can so!”
“Not.”
“So!”
“Not.”
The light-hearted boy gave the serious-minded boy a shove. “You’ll see! When I’m grown up, I’m gonna land the TARDIS right here, at this exact moment, and future me and future you are gonna get out and tell you how right I was.”
The serious boy got up, rubbing his elbow where he’d skinned it in the fall. “We could’ve shown up before my elbow got tore up. My dad’s gonna be angry with me for fighting before I go see the vortex.”
“Supposed to have ‘outgrown that nonsense by now’.” The light-hearted boy had a pretty good impression of the serious one’s father, who was more serious by far. “’Boy, you don’t need to cause trouble to get attention…’”
“Stop taking the piss outta my dad!” the serious boy hissed, his skinned elbow forgotten. “I don’t talk about your family, do I?”
“No, you don’t,” the light-hearted boy said seriously.
His sorrow didn’t make the serious boy at all contrite. “What’s taking our future selves so long, anyway? They should’ve gotten here by now…” He took a long, hard look at the light-hearted boy. “You must’ve forgot.”
“I wouldn’t forget!” He grabbed the drawing of a bird from the serious boy and wrote the time, date, and spatial coordinates on it in the flowing script of the Gallifreyans. Then he folded it up and slipped it into the pocket of his jacket that was tailored to be bigger on the inside than the outside. “There, now…”
Both boys stopped and listened for it. Vworp, vworp… But it never sounded.
“Maybe it’s already here!” the light-hearted boy exclaimed. “With its chameleon circuit, it could be disguised as anything! We’re probably inside right now, having a laugh at your haircut.”
“We’re going to be such wankers,” the serious boy griped. “What’s wrong with my hair?”
“Nothing,” the light-hearted boy said innocently. “Wankers, remember? Come on, help me look for our ship. I do hope they brought us some jelly babies…”
They spent all evening searching the furniture for potential TARDIS-ness, but their search bore no fruit. The serious-minded boy went to bed with a heavy heart. Why wouldn’t they have come back? Sure, it was against Time Lord code, but since when did they care about that? Crossing your own timeline was fine as long as you did it for cheap tricks. He got out off bed and ticked off yet another day on the calendar, shrinking the blank white space that separated him from his appointment with the time vortex. He couldn’t wait to see it, all of time and space folded in on itself yet constantly unfurling. He wanted to see it. He wanted to see his birthright.
***
Nine hundred years later (give or take)
***
His Companion was screaming. Which one was she? Sarah Jane? No, louder. Donna something-or-other. He’d taken a nasty bump and things were a bit jumbled. Were his ears too big still?
“Doctor, now would be a really good time to wake up if you’re not married to the whole die horribly plan!”
“Sonic screwdriver,” he said weakly, gesturing to his coat lying on the throne. “Left inside pocket.”
“You left it inside your pocket or it’s in the inside pocket on your left?”
“Latter.”
Donna dug her arm into the pocket, trying to ignore the Mechano-Wasps buzzing overhead, and came up with a piece of paper. “What’s this?”
The Doctor put on his glasses, actually needing them for once. The world swam into focus, bringing with it a bird in flight. “A promise I made. A long time ago.”
Donna tossed it aside and reached back into the pocket, up to her elbow. The Doctor, with what little was left of his strength, reached out for the paper, grasped it, folded it as delicately as a pressed flower, then tucked it into a trouser pocket. One day, maybe he’d go back and explain how he and the Master could never fulfill that old boyhood promise. How some things broke and never mended. It could save him a lot of trouble, in the long run, to teach that one little lesson to himself. That you can’t save everyone.
But then maybe he wouldn’t try, and that was just unthinkable.
So the Doctor patted his pocket and told himself once more that he and his best friend would, one day, climb into the TARDIS and set a course for home and tell their younger selves how foolish they would be, but how they’d still be friends when all was said and done.
It was a lot more comforting than the truth.
Rating: PG-13
Characters: The Doctor, the Master, Donna Noble
Word Count: 1,353
Summary: There once were two boys, a light-hearted boy and a serious-minded boy, and they made a promise to each other...
There are two boys, a light-hearted boy and a serious-minded boy. The serious-minded boy isn’t here yet, and the light-hearted boy is waiting for him. Both boys are Gallifreyan, both eight years old and late bloomers. They’re both on their first lives as well, obviously. The light-hearted boy can barely contain his excitement. Although rooted to one spot on the floor, he preens and whoops and rocks on his heels and shifts his weights and cracks his neck and even hops from one foot to the next. But throughout, his eyes are on the window. His room only has one window, and it is the only thing in the room that isn’t static. Outside, things change, even if it’s just the clouds.
Then, birds.
The birds fly past, so beautiful and fast and glorious that the light-hearted boy nearly cackles. And he does, as they get closer, but then quiets so as not to scare them off. He laughs on the inside, instead. For the first time, he breaks from his position. From his desk he summons up a writing pad and sonic pen. He watches the birds, trying to use his time sense to freeze their image. Capture a moment of time, in sight as well as paper. He draws frantically .The first two attempts are failures. He rubs them out and tears them up and throws them away. The third is good, although too lifeless. The fourth shows the bird taking wing just right. He continues in that vein, sketching how the bird must appear when landing, when soaring, when diving, when swooping. He is content.
The serious-minded boy arrives. He hesitates in the doorway, watching the light-hearted boy draw and hum to himself. After a moment, the serious-minded boy enters. The light-hearted boy stops drawing. He flips through his pad, finds the best drawing, rips it out and gives to the serious-minded boy. The serious-minded boy thanks him politely, then sits. It is always best to sit. The light-hearted boy sits next to him, although he literally can’t sit still. He fidgets constantly.
“When I regenerate, I’m gonna be a bird,” the light-hearted boy says. “And every day I’m gonna fly, under a new sky. And I’ll land in a new place each day and build a nest wherever I land. I’ll be the only bird that never stops migrating.”
“That’d be a waste of a life. Just flying around all day. What’d you be contributing to Gallifrey?”
“Aww, Gallifrey can get by fine without me.” The light-hearted boy grins. “Besides, you’ll do enough work for both of us. And it’s not like it ever does anything.”
The serious boy didn’t so much shrug as bob his head a little, as if to say that’s true. “I heard some of the Time Lords talking. They saw you’re going to run.”
The light-hearted boy jutted his chin out challengingly, though his grin somewhat ruined it. “What of it?”
“If you were smart, you wouldn’t talk about it. If you make them think you won’t run, they won’t be able to stop you when you do.”
“That’s pretty smart.”
The serious boy beamed. “One thing, though.”
“Yeah?” the light-hearted boy said, already staring back out the window.
“When you go, take me along.”
The light-hearted boy rubbed at his jaw seriously. “I don’t know… could be dangerous…”
“You’d need someone to watch out for you, to help with things. Besides, isn’t like you can fly a TARDIS worth a darn.”
“Can so!”
“Not.”
“So!”
“Not.”
The light-hearted boy gave the serious-minded boy a shove. “You’ll see! When I’m grown up, I’m gonna land the TARDIS right here, at this exact moment, and future me and future you are gonna get out and tell you how right I was.”
The serious boy got up, rubbing his elbow where he’d skinned it in the fall. “We could’ve shown up before my elbow got tore up. My dad’s gonna be angry with me for fighting before I go see the vortex.”
“Supposed to have ‘outgrown that nonsense by now’.” The light-hearted boy had a pretty good impression of the serious one’s father, who was more serious by far. “’Boy, you don’t need to cause trouble to get attention…’”
“Stop taking the piss outta my dad!” the serious boy hissed, his skinned elbow forgotten. “I don’t talk about your family, do I?”
“No, you don’t,” the light-hearted boy said seriously.
His sorrow didn’t make the serious boy at all contrite. “What’s taking our future selves so long, anyway? They should’ve gotten here by now…” He took a long, hard look at the light-hearted boy. “You must’ve forgot.”
“I wouldn’t forget!” He grabbed the drawing of a bird from the serious boy and wrote the time, date, and spatial coordinates on it in the flowing script of the Gallifreyans. Then he folded it up and slipped it into the pocket of his jacket that was tailored to be bigger on the inside than the outside. “There, now…”
Both boys stopped and listened for it. Vworp, vworp… But it never sounded.
“Maybe it’s already here!” the light-hearted boy exclaimed. “With its chameleon circuit, it could be disguised as anything! We’re probably inside right now, having a laugh at your haircut.”
“We’re going to be such wankers,” the serious boy griped. “What’s wrong with my hair?”
“Nothing,” the light-hearted boy said innocently. “Wankers, remember? Come on, help me look for our ship. I do hope they brought us some jelly babies…”
They spent all evening searching the furniture for potential TARDIS-ness, but their search bore no fruit. The serious-minded boy went to bed with a heavy heart. Why wouldn’t they have come back? Sure, it was against Time Lord code, but since when did they care about that? Crossing your own timeline was fine as long as you did it for cheap tricks. He got out off bed and ticked off yet another day on the calendar, shrinking the blank white space that separated him from his appointment with the time vortex. He couldn’t wait to see it, all of time and space folded in on itself yet constantly unfurling. He wanted to see it. He wanted to see his birthright.
***
Nine hundred years later (give or take)
***
His Companion was screaming. Which one was she? Sarah Jane? No, louder. Donna something-or-other. He’d taken a nasty bump and things were a bit jumbled. Were his ears too big still?
“Doctor, now would be a really good time to wake up if you’re not married to the whole die horribly plan!”
“Sonic screwdriver,” he said weakly, gesturing to his coat lying on the throne. “Left inside pocket.”
“You left it inside your pocket or it’s in the inside pocket on your left?”
“Latter.”
Donna dug her arm into the pocket, trying to ignore the Mechano-Wasps buzzing overhead, and came up with a piece of paper. “What’s this?”
The Doctor put on his glasses, actually needing them for once. The world swam into focus, bringing with it a bird in flight. “A promise I made. A long time ago.”
Donna tossed it aside and reached back into the pocket, up to her elbow. The Doctor, with what little was left of his strength, reached out for the paper, grasped it, folded it as delicately as a pressed flower, then tucked it into a trouser pocket. One day, maybe he’d go back and explain how he and the Master could never fulfill that old boyhood promise. How some things broke and never mended. It could save him a lot of trouble, in the long run, to teach that one little lesson to himself. That you can’t save everyone.
But then maybe he wouldn’t try, and that was just unthinkable.
So the Doctor patted his pocket and told himself once more that he and his best friend would, one day, climb into the TARDIS and set a course for home and tell their younger selves how foolish they would be, but how they’d still be friends when all was said and done.
It was a lot more comforting than the truth.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 06:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-27 05:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 06:14 pm (UTC)Hopeful though.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-27 05:36 pm (UTC)In a doomed sort of way.
Poor Doctor...
no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 06:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-27 05:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 06:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 07:24 pm (UTC)Beautiful, beautiful job. Me keeping. :)
no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 08:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-27 05:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 10:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-27 05:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 11:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-27 05:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-24 09:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-27 05:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-24 02:00 pm (UTC)That's so, so SAD. And beautiful, but very sad indeed. *crosses fingers in the hopes that they will go and see their past selves someday*
What really got me was the end, when the Doctor can't seem to remember stuff, getting Sarah Jane confuzzled with Donna and forgetting if he was still Nine or not.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-24 04:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-24 09:05 pm (UTC)That was so sad, and so fitting.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-24 09:40 pm (UTC)But very beautifully written.