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paynesgrey_ficsFandom: Doctor Who
Title: Ashes and Fears
Author: Paynesgrey
Characters/Pairings: Twelfth Doctor, slight Clara/Twelve, slight River/Twelve
Rated: PG
Word Count: 550
Spoilers: 8.01 "Deep Breath"
Warnings: none.
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who.
Notes: Written for the "River" drabble challenge at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
who_contest. Winner 2nd place.
Summary: He was too frightened, and he yearned to be soothed.
The fires had cooled, and as his new form adjusted, his mind declared war on his body. He wanted to fight sleep, but there was too much that he couldn’t quite grasp.
The dinosaur screamed and moaned outside, and he felt every urge to help her, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. It was too new - and old, he supposed, but too different and unmolded. His own thoughts were so jumbled that he found it difficult discerning his own mind from everyone else’s.
Voices buzzed around him like bees, stinging and combing at his ears.
Regeneration - like a phoenix from the ashes. He’d lived so long last time. He’d worn a young face for countless years, but his heart, his brain, and his insides had aged and withered.
Jumbled memories were like chaotic scabs, painful and scarring over. Fury screamed in his blood when his past was finally locked in place, old haunts screaming anew. Was the TARDIS near him? Could she feel his pain of putting himself back together, a broken Doctor and so far from home?
He smelled tears, and he wondered if the broken heart he felt was one of his two, or someone else’s. Then, Clara’s thoughts assaulted his, and though he was sleeping - and just living in this state, he could hear her words. He wondered if that really was Clara next to him, holding his hand as he slept.
Maybe she was an impostor. His Clara wouldn’t reject him. She wouldn’t feel such doubts.
“Give her time, sweetie,” said a recognizable whisper, and he wondered when she would show up - whether she was a ghost again or just another renewed memory in his head. He missed her touch, wishing she was here to hold him - to piece together his ruins, and chase away his demons and fears.
If River trusted Clara, shouldn’t he wait, as she said, and believe in his impossible girl?
Clara, Clara, Clara… he chanted like a mantra within his mind, in a voice he barely recognized, worn by time and mistakes, encased in a Scottish lilt. His voice had become as unrecognizable as his face. (Or maybe everyone else’s voices were wrong?)
Memories dangled in a void, still out of his reach. His heart was aching, feeling a weight and burden from centuries of denial that he couldn’t bear before. Would he bear it all now?
He wondered if this face, these lines and this old voice were lessons for him. Maybe someday he would understand the meaning of the way this body formed, this new life-cycle given by the Timelords - maybe as a gift, maybe as a curse.
He was too frightened to go on alone, and there was too much responsibility.
He could feel Clara sob, squeeze his hand, and pause before the room went cold. Darkness played like an echoing melody in the hallways of his endless mind.
At the end, only redemption beckoned him to step over the mines of his fears. Only resolve pulled him forward. He reached out his hand and hoped that familiar, grounding presence would stay by his side, sliding her warm hand into his.
Clara.
He sniffed the room, and then he roused to the cries outside. The Doctor sniffed again, smelling Clara and chalk.
END
Title: Ashes and Fears
Author: Paynesgrey
Characters/Pairings: Twelfth Doctor, slight Clara/Twelve, slight River/Twelve
Rated: PG
Word Count: 550
Spoilers: 8.01 "Deep Breath"
Warnings: none.
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who.
Notes: Written for the "River" drabble challenge at
who_contest. Winner 2nd place. Summary: He was too frightened, and he yearned to be soothed.
The fires had cooled, and as his new form adjusted, his mind declared war on his body. He wanted to fight sleep, but there was too much that he couldn’t quite grasp.
The dinosaur screamed and moaned outside, and he felt every urge to help her, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. It was too new - and old, he supposed, but too different and unmolded. His own thoughts were so jumbled that he found it difficult discerning his own mind from everyone else’s.
Voices buzzed around him like bees, stinging and combing at his ears.
Regeneration - like a phoenix from the ashes. He’d lived so long last time. He’d worn a young face for countless years, but his heart, his brain, and his insides had aged and withered.
Jumbled memories were like chaotic scabs, painful and scarring over. Fury screamed in his blood when his past was finally locked in place, old haunts screaming anew. Was the TARDIS near him? Could she feel his pain of putting himself back together, a broken Doctor and so far from home?
He smelled tears, and he wondered if the broken heart he felt was one of his two, or someone else’s. Then, Clara’s thoughts assaulted his, and though he was sleeping - and just living in this state, he could hear her words. He wondered if that really was Clara next to him, holding his hand as he slept.
Maybe she was an impostor. His Clara wouldn’t reject him. She wouldn’t feel such doubts.
“Give her time, sweetie,” said a recognizable whisper, and he wondered when she would show up - whether she was a ghost again or just another renewed memory in his head. He missed her touch, wishing she was here to hold him - to piece together his ruins, and chase away his demons and fears.
If River trusted Clara, shouldn’t he wait, as she said, and believe in his impossible girl?
Clara, Clara, Clara… he chanted like a mantra within his mind, in a voice he barely recognized, worn by time and mistakes, encased in a Scottish lilt. His voice had become as unrecognizable as his face. (Or maybe everyone else’s voices were wrong?)
Memories dangled in a void, still out of his reach. His heart was aching, feeling a weight and burden from centuries of denial that he couldn’t bear before. Would he bear it all now?
He wondered if this face, these lines and this old voice were lessons for him. Maybe someday he would understand the meaning of the way this body formed, this new life-cycle given by the Timelords - maybe as a gift, maybe as a curse.
He was too frightened to go on alone, and there was too much responsibility.
He could feel Clara sob, squeeze his hand, and pause before the room went cold. Darkness played like an echoing melody in the hallways of his endless mind.
At the end, only redemption beckoned him to step over the mines of his fears. Only resolve pulled him forward. He reached out his hand and hoped that familiar, grounding presence would stay by his side, sliding her warm hand into his.
Clara.
He sniffed the room, and then he roused to the cries outside. The Doctor sniffed again, smelling Clara and chalk.
END
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