Archive of Our Own ^beta

The Doctor shouldn't be here.

She should be any other place and time but here.

She can feel how wrong it is immediately. She's bending against the flow of time in a way it isn't meant to be tampered with.

She's well aware that she shouldn't be doing this...

But it's the only thing resembling home she has left.

It's late into the night, judging by the alignment of the stars above. They're incredibly bright out here, so far from the light pollution of cities. A cool breeze sweeps through with the sound of crickets and the echoes of distant creatures alive in the night.

She spins around slowly to take in the beautiful spring night. It's stunning, and yet she's not quite certain of her place in it anymore. Everything used to feel so... right. Not perfect- nothing ever was- but at least traveling felt like it was the right fit for her compared to the stuffy rules of her homeworld.

And now?

She doesn't know what to believe.

She nearly retreats back to her Tardis a half-dozen times as she crosses the short distance to the door. And another half-dozen times she hesitates.

It must have taken a good ten minutes to cross the 10 or so steps distance from her Tardis to his. But then again, time is all messed up right now. Forcing against the flow causes more strain on her senses than she likes to let on. By the time she reached his front door, she couldn't say where one minute ended and the next began.

What she does know is that there is a man inside this structure who is innocently asleep on his couch and she desperately needs to see him. She carefully turns the handle as not to wake him, and steps inside to see the familiar figure exactly as she had pictured.

It was late into the night, but he was still dressed in his usual comfy day-clothes that were each a size or two too big. He was situated across the couch where he had clearly not meant to fall asleep, but was currently still asleep nonetheless.

One of his hands was clenched tightly, even in sleep, over the spine of the notebook she had so often seen him carrying around. It suddenly occurred to her that she had never once asked why he took it with him everywhere.

She hung her head. She really hadn't paid him the attention he deserved. Maybe if she had, things would have turned out differently.

She's too lost in thought to realize which way she's going. Before she realizes it, she's knocked over a pile of papers and isn't fast enough to stop them from hitting the ground. She winces at the sound. There are so many things piled in the open living space that she was bound to run into something eventually. Even still, she felt her hearts drop as the papers pour over the nearest rug and flutter across the floor.

"Doctor?" O's low voice drifts across the incredibly still room. He sounds tired and a bit confused as he slowly sits up.

Historically, the Doctor likes sleepy O. He's very sweet, and funny, and especially clingy when he'd rather be asleep. They once spent all night hunting a lost alien, and O had elected to lock his fingers around the Doctor's left coat sleeve for the entirety of the following day as they wrapped up the investigation. He said it was so she couldn't run off, but she had found the way he would lean against her for support when he rested his eyes endearing.

He had reluctantly admitted that being near her made him feel safe enough to shut his eyes. Now she can't help but wonder if it was all an elaborate form of manipulation.

And now that she's here, in the room with him, knowing who he really is... and she doesn't know what to think.

From the corner of her eye, the Doctor sees him flick a pocketknife shut now that he's properly identified his intruder. She hadn't realized he was holding one.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asks. He returns his feet to the floor and rubs his eyes with his free hand.

A silence falls as the Doctor suddenly realizes she isn't entirely certain. She didn't have any kind of plan in mind when she'd set the coordinates to his home. She simply didn't know where else to go. She only knew that she had to go somewhere and this was the only option she could think of.

In her defense, she's been through a lot lately. Her mind isn't exactly at 100%.

There's still ash in her hair and a bit of it falls to his floor as she turns to face him.

"I-" she stutters. And then pauses again.

Suddenly it hits her- then and there- that she had run away and left him behind.

… Again.

She assumed he'd found his own way out- the Master always does- but she suddenly isn't certain.

Is she....

Is she alone again? She hadn't processed the possibility until now.

O is looking at her. She isn't certain how long he's been patiently waiting as she pieces together a new string of words.

"I'm sorry," she says. And it all comes rushing out.

She crumbles to the floor and hides her face in her arms.

She pulls her knees to her chest. The weight of it all is almost too much to handle.

She feels like she's making a fool of herself. She wants to get up- but she can't. She wants to cry, but she can't bring herself to do that either.

She doesn't know what to do- she only knows that she's stuck. There's so much to feel and she's kept all those terrible feelings boxed away because there isn’t anywhere safe enough to unpack it. Now she’s reached her limit and it’s all pouring out and she can’t stop it-

"Take my hand, Doctor," O says after... some amount of time. The Doctor has no idea how long.

The Doctor looks up to see him standing over her.

The last time he said that to her- in her personal timeline that is- was at the edge of their burning homeworld.

But now? Now it's a gentle offer. His expression is full of softness and wholehearted concern.

The Doctor slowly takes his hand and he helps her to her feet.

"Rough trip?" he asks, his eyes still half-closed and his voice rough from sleep.

The Doctor graciously takes the excuse.

"Yes," she agrees. She’ll happily give any reason not to have to explain. She doesn’t know where to even begin if he asked her to.

O coaxes her over to his couch. He sits down, and then turns so his back is pressed to a pillow next to the armrest. He gently tugs the Doctor’s hand as an invitation to follow suit.

The Doctor complies and finds herself settling down with her back pressed to his chest. He lazily rests an arm around her middle. He lets her find a comfortable position before he rests his head back and shuts his eyes once more. In only a few seconds, he’s back to the same peacefully innocent way he looked when the Doctor had entered.

"You can tell me all about it tomorrow, if you'd like," he decides, still only half awake.

The Doctor briefly wonders if he'll even remember that she was here at all by the time he wakes up tomorrow.

Part of her is certain this is all an act, but that doesn't mean she can't appreciate the show.

His body is warm against her shoulder blades and his arm is soothingly heavy around her abdomen. His breathing slows, and soon falls steady. He doesn't seem to mind her presence in the slightest as he begins to drift off again.

The Doctor breathes quietly.

"I miss you already. I didn't think I would, but I do," she whispers. There's tears at the edges of her vision, but she doesn't know what good they'll do if she allows them to fall.

She left him. Stars, maybe she shouldn't have. She was just so scared. More scared than she even understood at the time.

And when she's scared... Her instinct has always been to run.

O gives a small hum, as if he can somehow sense her painful emotions, and his arms pull her a little closer.

"I've missed you too," he agrees- clearly not having understood what she said.

The Doctor sighs and does her best to lie to herself.

She tells herself he's fine. He's right here. She's not alone. She doesn't have to feel alone ever again.

The Doctor settles against him and- for once- it doesn't take her very long to fall asleep.