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Jul. 21st, 2020 07:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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atardisofourownHe's been on something of a mission, since the sun rose on Darillium and he left it behind.
The Doctor would never call it that. It's certainly not formal, and it's barely structured. But he he's quite relentlessly revisiting his past adventures, triumphs and failures and everything in between.
It's not the first time he's done it; really, he's been a little better at that, in his last couple of lives. This time, though, it's different; this time it's a driving focus, never wavering, on potentially unfinished business; on reuniting with friends he didn't fail and avenging those he did. This time it's a distraction from everything he can't afford to change.
This time, it's pulling at the scar tissue around the hole in his mind.
He's still managed to avoid UNIT, so far. (They'll know. They'll ask how he's doing. They'll say how sorry they are.) Even now, he aims for a time when the headquarters beneath the Tower will be empty.
The last time he was here, he fought the Splinters, driving the majority of them back through Paul's reality gate, into the Void. They'd promised retribution for that, and the one trapped in the Rassilon Cube has been increasingly excitable lately. It's tucked beneath his console as he materialises where the gate used to be.
He knew going in it was some kind of trap; he didn't know it would go wrong so fast. One moment he's poked his head out the door to wave his sonic screwdriver around; the next he's thrust back inside as the TARDIS dematerialises of her own accord. Shock and panic flood his mind, and it's all he can do to soothe her as reality shrieks and tears around them.
He clings to the railing as they soar through - it must be the Void between universes, that's not good - and by the time he slips and staggers to the console they're already crashing. With his mind wide open and his hands flying over the controls he manages to avoid terminal damage, but he can't halt or redirect, can't even predict how bad the impact will be.
When it finally comes, he's thrown from the console, landing right on his back and giving his head a nasty knock. The lights flicker and dim, smoke fills the air, and he barely manages to push himself up in time to throw open the doors and gasp for air. In the back of his mind he registers that he's still in London, that it's daylight now, that there are witnesses, but for the moment all he can do is cough his lungs out and try to stop his vision from swimming so much.
The Doctor would never call it that. It's certainly not formal, and it's barely structured. But he he's quite relentlessly revisiting his past adventures, triumphs and failures and everything in between.
It's not the first time he's done it; really, he's been a little better at that, in his last couple of lives. This time, though, it's different; this time it's a driving focus, never wavering, on potentially unfinished business; on reuniting with friends he didn't fail and avenging those he did. This time it's a distraction from everything he can't afford to change.
This time, it's pulling at the scar tissue around the hole in his mind.
He's still managed to avoid UNIT, so far. (They'll know. They'll ask how he's doing. They'll say how sorry they are.) Even now, he aims for a time when the headquarters beneath the Tower will be empty.
The last time he was here, he fought the Splinters, driving the majority of them back through Paul's reality gate, into the Void. They'd promised retribution for that, and the one trapped in the Rassilon Cube has been increasingly excitable lately. It's tucked beneath his console as he materialises where the gate used to be.
He knew going in it was some kind of trap; he didn't know it would go wrong so fast. One moment he's poked his head out the door to wave his sonic screwdriver around; the next he's thrust back inside as the TARDIS dematerialises of her own accord. Shock and panic flood his mind, and it's all he can do to soothe her as reality shrieks and tears around them.
He clings to the railing as they soar through - it must be the Void between universes, that's not good - and by the time he slips and staggers to the console they're already crashing. With his mind wide open and his hands flying over the controls he manages to avoid terminal damage, but he can't halt or redirect, can't even predict how bad the impact will be.
When it finally comes, he's thrown from the console, landing right on his back and giving his head a nasty knock. The lights flicker and dim, smoke fills the air, and he barely manages to push himself up in time to throw open the doors and gasp for air. In the back of his mind he registers that he's still in London, that it's daylight now, that there are witnesses, but for the moment all he can do is cough his lungs out and try to stop his vision from swimming so much.
