"How can you say that?"
"Why not? My great grand-dad told me so many great stories about her!"
"Have you ever wondered why your mother didn’t tell you those stories?"
killer headache, guys. going to bed early.
leave cutesy things in my ask, pls? oh! and i have an idea for a plot: one muse is hallucinating and the other has to break them out, but they’re hallucinations that make the first muse admit their worst fears and regrets. someone wanna do this with me? we’ll plot in the morning.
"How can you say that?"
"Doctor, can’t you see? I want what my mum had. Endless adventures in time and space."
"D-Don’t say that. Please, just don’t say that."
The Master had been looking for the Doctor. He had already been trapped on that planet with those vile creatures. The time lord had no way of escaping off the planet. He knew they hated him , so he was having to keep out of the dragon creatures sight. He knew they were hostile and didn’t spare anybody they didn’t like. He knew they liked to prolong suffering.
Though upon his stay he had noticed the Doctor be captured. He had watched and waited to make the right move. He knew if he was caught too, he would be of no help. Been stuck on the planet had made him clever, not that he wasn’t already, but he knew how to stay out of their way. Laser screwdriver in hand, he made his way when the gaurds were sleeping. He smirked. Stupid lizards. He hadn’t been able to stop insulting them. He knew they were dragons.
"Doctor.?" he walked into the cell. He wasn’t sure if the other would know who he was. He helped him up. Being careful not to hurt him more. "Come lets get out of here because those vile lizards wake." He knew they had nasty venom. His eyes darkened knowing they had hurt the Doctor.
The creatures must have poisoned the Doctor recently, because he must be hallucinating. That wasn’t a dragon creature; that was a humanoid. Someone he knew, maybe. They certainly knew him.
He leaned on his savior’s shoulder. His legs could barely support him. “I feel sick,” he muttered. “I need an antidote. And rest. And a meal. And—” He stopped speaking because his eyes drifted down to the laser screwdriver. Now he knew for sure who this was.
"Master? Is it really you?" He tried to stand on his own and bore into the other’s eyes, but it was difficult when he bored into six eyes at the same time. "Please, whatever’s between us, help me this one time. I’ll owe you a favor. Please."
"You really do?"
Clara looked at him for a long while, feeling her heart melt in her chest as he spoke. “You won’t,” she assured him. “I know you won’t. But if I ever do… Please tell me. I don’t want to lose you.”
She reached up her free hand, laying it gently on his cheek. “Being without you was awful. I missed you so very very much.”
Her touch felt like medicine. “I missed you, too,” he said. “I missed you so much. If it’s not too much to ask…will you stay with me in the TARDIS for a while? I enjoy our Wednesdays, but I’d love to spend more time with you. If that’s okay.”
He gnawed on the inside of his cheek. Was he too forward? He always had a problem with forwardness.
"I’m a traveler. I do so much, I tend to lose track of time. Oh, and where we are would be extremely helpful, too. My ship’s a bit irritated, and maybe it’s something in the atmosphere.”
She nodded, brow furrowed. “Okay then , ‘just the Doctor’ I don’t suppose you wanted anything?”
He shrugged. “Not really, I suppose. Just saw Oz come up on my map, and I couldn’t resist. But now that I’m here—”
He offered his arm for her. “May I take Glinda the Good out for a walk?”
He looked at him in disbelief. “The Master? And what, the next thing you going to say is that you’re the Doctor and you travel time and space in a TARDIS disguised as little blue police box,” he scoffed, staggering to his feet and swaying slightly.
"The Master’s not real, neither is the Doctor or any Time Lord or companion that you name. They’re characters from a TV show, mate. Get it right, or I’ll have to phone the loony bin for ya." His head was getting worse and he cringed.
The Doctor held his tongue. So, his entire life was a television show, eh? Bound to be in a few universes. He couldn’t go about mucking up this one if he revealed his identity.
"Are you all right?" he said. The double of his friend-turned-enemy seemed to have trouble with his head. "Do you need a hospital?"
The Doctor’s wrists were bound to a post about waist-height. Well, it would be waist height if he stood, but he crouched before it, his torso stripped bare and bleeding profusely.
"T-Turn away, Clara," he begged. He couldn’t see her, but he knew she could see him. "Turn away, close your eyes. Just don’t look, please.”
There was a certain weight she could feel in the air around her. Everything was moving in slow motion, and yet far too quickly. Their hands, heavy upon her, the spear pressing harshly into her back. She held her head high, letting the salty tears fall as she walked towards whatever fate she had sentenced herself to.
Fear was her only ally.
The fabric of the large tan tent parted, like a door and she was shoved to the floor by a rough hand upon her shoulder. The witch doctor stood in front of her as the warriors stood by, ready for instruction.
“Ko koe te rangatira , he aha i haere mai ki a koe ? He aha i huna e koe o matou aata ki au mahi makutu ano ?” The witch doctor asked, pulling the sonic from his robe pocket and waving it at her.
"No, it’s not a weapon, it’s a tool. We didn’t mean any harm by what we did. If you would-
"PUKU!" He yelled.
Clara bit her lip and closed her eyes, she wished the TARDIS would translate, this wasn’t boding well for her. The witch doctor motioned to a guard, who came to his side as he pointed down at Clara. He went off to the side and pulled a hot poker from the fire. She looked at it, wide eyed. “No, no no no no no, wait please!” She was hoisted to her feet by two of the warriors. “You don’t want to do this!”
The poker was given to the witch doctor who took it harshly into his hands and lowered it towards her sensitive flesh. She could feel the heat radiating off it as it drew closer. Clara was shaking as her tears rolled down her cheeks, her voice wavering, “Please…please, stop this…we can help you. I saw the tent you had, filled with the sick…and the fear in your eyes when you go into the forest. We can stop whatever is causing your village to be afraid please, just…STOP!”
And it did…the poker was held mere inches above her skin as the witch doctor stared at her in wonder. His eyes wide as saucers…the warriors looking equally shocked. Clara looked around in confusion and then to the witch doctor who stepped backward.
"Magic…you speak our tongue. Where are you from?"
"The stars…we came from the stars, and we can help you, if you let us."
The witch doctor fell to his knees before her as did the other warriors. She stood on her own accord staring downward at them with confusion upon her features. She would have to thank the TARDIS later, she had saved her skin…literally.
"Goddess of the stars, please forgive our stupidity, we were confused by your way of coming. We can now see who you are and we beg you for your help." He implored.
Clara’s mouth hung open, she couldn’t believe this turn of events. Only with the Doctor would something like this happen.
The Doctor burst into the tent right when the warriors…bowed? What? They were bowing to Clara?
If she was unharmed, he wouldn’t complain.
"Clara? What’s going on?" he said, eyes sliding sideways to her. He walked over and pulled her away from the group of warriors, checking her over for injuries.
"Are you okay?" he whispered, eyeing the warriors. If they touched her, or lay so much as a finger on her…who knew what he could do?
"What happened? I don’t understand."
“Can’t you read me a story too mummy over the phone?" Imogen now asked as her words were now muffled against her father’s chest. She would not mind her father to read her a story, but the small girl would like to hear one from her mum. Imogen almost always fells asleep at night cuddling in her mum’s arms as she was read a story. This would be the first time she was not able to have her mum and it was hard for Imogen.
Listening carefully Imogen nodded as she of course did love her to hear her fathers stories. They were always very filled with action and adventure. Sometimes they were to scary for the young girl and she would refuse to let go of her mum for the rest of that night. Imogen was hoping that tonight stories would not scare her, or that she would not become scared.
“Will you be home before I wake up mummy? Can you snuggle with me all day?” Imogen said as she finally spoke after a long silence. Still unsure of how the night would go. Imogen of course knew that she was indeed safe. She let out a long yawn as she rested her sleepy head back into her fathers side.
“I can’t, sweetheart. I don’t have a story book open in front of me. If you like, your dad can take you to the TARDIS’s library. That’s a lovely place.”
"You insult my imagination!" the Doctor retorted. "And my own experiences! You think I’ll have to run to the library to tell a good story? Come on—you can’t find space pirates in any book! Well, maybe, but not an Earth one!"
He kissed Imogen’s forehead. “She’ll wake you up if that’s what you really want,” he assured. “She wouldn’t dream of being late. Right, sweetheart?”
"The Planner, interesting name," he said, looking up as he could barely feel the clap on his shoulder. "No, no, there is nothing wrong with it. Personally, I am bad with names so I can’t really complain."
Johnny kept his eyes on the planner, watching as he walked around the console. He then directed his eyes down to the floor. “Before we go anywhere, I think you should know a few things about me. See I am really just a thing. I have no sense of touch as other beings do and this isn’t even my real face.”
He changed it for a moment, looking shamefully at him. “See why I am a monster?”
The Planner tilted his head. “Well, now you’ve just called me one, too.”
He walked back around to Johnny. “You’re not a monster, mate. You just have a sort of disability. I was a Cyberman once, remember? I didn’t even have a face to call my own, or nerve endings to feel anything. But I also lacked emotion, and emotion, my friend, is what makes people people.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You can’t physically feel, but you can feel happiness and sorrow and anger and joy. You’re a person, Johnny. Don’t ever doubt it.”
"That’d be alright. I don’t mind when you’re rambling. Quite enjoy it most of the time honestly." She told him bumping him playfully with his shoulder. "Besides you always begin rambling about the most wonderful things after one, or two drinks." It would be a nice glimpse to how things used to be.
Slowly she shook her head. She had plenty of sleepless nights on her own here in Storybrooke. Oswin had been plagued with countless nightmares that had always made sleeping difficult. The most difficult thing about it was she could never remember what happened in the dreams. Shortly after she woke up she would forget what had happened save it a few images here and there, but even those would fade. She was hoping that maybe they would be gone now. Still having him there could help as well.
"You don’t have to worry about making up the guest room tonight." It would be a test run. See if the nightmares still persisted even with him there, or if he helped. If things really could start off where they stopped or if they needed to take a few steps back before they moved forward again.
He grinned and looked away. He never had much of a tolerance for alcohol; suppose it was a good thing, since he was a doctor.
No, no. He was the Doctor, not an actual medical doctor. Not anymore, at least. He just became one when the Evil Queen enacted the Dark Curse.
The Evil Queen. Oh, how he hated her.
But he’d stew over her later on. He had to repair things with Clara (he sensed that she wasn’t as enthusiastic at their reunion as he was) before anything. He had no one else to see, anyway. Just her.
"All right. We’ll sleep together. And—and I mean just sleep! Nothing else." He always got nervous when he prodded to see his boundaries. He never wanted to break them before he knew where they lie.
They finally approached his door and the Doctor fumbled for the key, letting them into a cluttered living room. “Sorry it’s a bit of a mess. If it helps, the kitchen’s sparkling clean.”
i had to use that image i’m sorry
but thanks! (is it weird to thank someone when they cried?) i’m glad you enjoyed because holy hell, that was a bitch to write and i loved every second. i’m glad you enjoyed!