THE LONELY GOD.

: ̗̀➛     inbox  count :   three.     draft  count :   four.

𝙸𝙵   𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃’𝚂   𝙷𝙾𝚆   𝚈𝙾𝚄   𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙻𝙻   𝚂𝙴𝙴   𝙼𝙴   ,   𝙸’𝙳   𝚁𝙰𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁   𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚈   𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴.   The   sentiments   and   further   implications   of   the   statement   had   lingered   at   the   back   of   the   Doctor’s   mind   well   after   the   conversation   had   taken   place   ,   sneaking   its   way   into   the   forefront   now   that   Martha   was   only   mere   meters   away.   His   newly   gained   companion   ,   so   he   was   learning   ,   was   incredibly   direct.   At   times   ,   this   was   a   bit   jarring   ,   but   nevertheless   ,   the   time   lord   found   himself   being   all   the   more   grateful   for   it.   (   𝚂𝙷𝙴   𝚆𝙰𝚂   𝙽𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁   𝙹𝚄𝚂𝚃   𝙰   𝙿𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙴𝙽𝙶𝙴𝚁   𝙰𝙽𝚈𝚆𝙰𝚈.   )   He’d   been   otherwise   oblivious   to   his   tendency   to   string   people   along   on   small   promises   ,   but   now   it   was   a   worry   that   stuck   like   an   ear   worm   of   a   pop   tune   ,   or   an   intrusive   thought   you   can’t   shake.   Paranoia   ,   maybe   ,   was   the   word   for   it. The   two   stood   in   relative   silence   as   he   fiddled   with   his   gadgets   ,   cutting   a   key   for   the   ship’s   newest   resident   with   spectacles   perched   on   the   edge   of   his   nose.   The   noiselessness   alone   was   something   the   Doctor   rarely   could   handle   ,   but   the   question   remaining   sat   on   the   tip   of   his   tongue   was   even   worse.   Features   then   screwed   together   in   confusion   and   were   paired   with   a   deep   inhale   as   the   quiet   was   finally   broken.   “   What   did   you   mean   ?   About   the   way   that   you   think   I   see   you   ?   ”

𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂   𝙸𝚂   𝙷𝙾𝚆   𝚆𝙴’𝚁𝙴   𝙼𝙴𝙰𝙽𝚃   𝚃𝙾   𝙱𝙴.   The   words   ,   lacquered   in   tragedy   ,   rang   in   his   ears   like   a   horrid   case   of   tinnitus.   This   is   how   they   were   meant   to   be   ,   yet   nothing   could   change   their   reality   ;   the   epitome   of   ‘   𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃   𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙾𝙽   ,   𝚆𝚁𝙾𝙽𝙶   𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴   ’   ,   and   oh   ,   how   unfair   it   was   that   he   had   all   the   time   in   the   world   at   his   disposal   ,   but   this   was   the   one   thing   he   couldn’t   seem   to   get   right.     (   𝙷𝙾𝚆   ?   𝙷𝙾𝚆   𝚆𝙰𝚂   𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂   𝙵𝙰𝙸𝚁   ?   ) “   Oh   ,   Rose   .   .   .   ”   he   starts   ,   looking   and   sounding   so   mournful   that   even   the   doves   weeped   at   their   story.   “   —   Rose   ,   I’m   so   sorry   we   couldn’t   have   had   more   time   together.   ”   She   had   to   have   known   ,   right   ?   She   had   to   have   known   that   his   affection   ran   deeper   than   anyone   else   could’ve   possibly   imagined   ,   and   that   with   all   of   the   love   he   was   capable   of   giving   ,   what   he   held   for   her   in   both   hearts   exceeded   expectations   entirely.   Had   things   gone   his   way   ,   the   way   he’d   yearned   for   ,   the   way   he’d   planned   —   they   would’ve   had   forever.   But   now   ,   as   he   felt   himself   slipping   ,   it   seemed   that   forever   was   to   be   cut   short.

“   Nothing   .   .   .   nothing   at   all   ,   ”   he   speaks   quietly   ,   words   marked   with   an   almost   grave   tone   ;   he   sympathises   with   the   notion   ,   getting   the   sense   that   her   upbringing   ,   her   life   ,   couldn’t   have   been   normal   by   any   means   ,   but   then   again   —   what   constituted   as   normal   ?   Surely   he   couldn’t   be   the   judge   of   that.   Whatever   it   was   ,   it   was   on   the   opposite   end   of   his   own   reality. “   —   but   I   ,   uh   .   .   .   I’m   afraid   I   can’t   really   help   you   there   ,   you   see   —   easy   ,   ordinary   .   .   .   aren’t   really   in   my   vocabulary   ,   and   let   me   tell   you   ,   as   fantastic   as   it   can   be   to   see   new   skies   ,   meet   new   people   ,   save   things   .   .   .   it   can   be   dangerous.   Awful   lot   of   running   ,   plenty   of   ,   uh   .   .   .   scary   things   afoot.   Not   exactly   what   you’d   call   easy   ,   but   .   .   .   well   ,   nice   sometimes.   Just   a   bit   ,   here   and   there.   Well   —   you   know   ,   actually   ,   I’d   give   it   fifty   -   fifty   ,   odds   actually   aren’t   so   bad   ,   taking   ,   uh   ,   all   of   time   and   space   into   consideration.   ” He   rattled   on   in   what   almost   became   a   one   -   sided   conversation   ,   hands   tucked   in   his   pockets   with   a   gaze   that   seemed   rather   far   away   ,   with   eyes   no   longer   focused   on   the   girl.   In   a   moment’s   notice   ,   he   snapped   back   to   the   present   moment   ,   inhaling   deeply   in   recognition   that   he’d   done   it   again   —   lost   in   the   maze   of   the   mind   ,   one   might   say.   “   Now   ,   you   know   ,   I   don’t   think   anyone’s   life   is   meant   to   be   easy   ,   I   mean   —   existence   is   hard.   Really   hard   !   Impossibly   so   ,   but   .   .   .   at   the   very   least   ,   I   think   we   always   have   the   choice   to   make   it   interesting.   ”

“   𝙾𝙷   ,   𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙴   𝙾𝙽   .   .   .   you’re   clever   ,   you’re   a   librarian   !   You’re   surrounded   by   books   ,   with   all   these   .   .   .   fantastical   creatures   and   characters   .   .   .   you   know   better   than   most   that   the   one   thing   they   never   lost   was   hope.   Now   ,   where   do   you   think   that   comes   from   ?   .   .   .   Humans   !   Humans   ,   you’re   a   resilient   bunch   ,   you   never   lose   hope   !   And   all   that   transfers   over   into   the   stories   you   tell   each   other   ,   it’s   .   .   .   ah   ,   well   ,   it’s   beautiful   ,   really.   ”   he   speaks   with   a   wide   ,   childlike   grin   —   honeyed   eyes   that   contained   a   spark   ,   forever   in   awe   of   humankind’s   elasticity   ;   their   capacity   to   thrive   ,   even   when   it   seemed   that   all   was   lost.   To   be   human   ,   it   seemed   ,   was   to   never   give   up.   “   Now   —   we’ve   got   work   to   do   ,   time   to   be   the   hero   of   your   own   story   ,   are   you   coming   or   not   ?   ” 

𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝙼𝙰𝙽   𝚆𝙷𝙾   𝚁𝙴𝙶𝚁𝙴𝚃𝚂.   He   regrets   ,   he   grieves   ,   and   oh   ,   you   better   believe   that   he   cries.   He   cries   with   the   weight   of   the   world   on   his   shoulders   ,   heaving   and   huffing   in   an   attempt   to   hold   it   upright   with   vision   blurred.   There   was   always   going   to   be   a   hint   of   tragedy   behind   the   man’s   stare   ,   especially   in   moments   such   as   these   —   moments   ,   in   front   of   other   people   ,   where   he   felt   the   need   to   wear   a   handcrafted   mask   that   poorly   disguised   the   truth.   He   couldn’t   cry   in   front   of   others   ,   not   when   they   were   relying   on   him.   He   was   the   Doctor.   He   fixed   things   ,   and   people   ;   saved   planets   ,   and   species.   He   mourned   when   he   could   afford   to   ,   which   was   ,   more   often   than   not   ,   𝙾𝙽𝙻𝚈   𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽   𝙷𝙴   𝚆𝙰𝚂   𝙰𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙴.   And   ,   oh   ,   he   was   so   alone.   “   Who   ,   me   ?   Well   .   .   .   you   know   ,   I’m   alright.   I’M   ALWAYS   ALRIGHT  !   ”   he   says   ,   with   just   enough   conviction   that   maybe   he   could   convince   himself   of   such   a   bold   -   faced   lie.   Much   to   his   dismay   ,   troubled   and   ancient   eyes   gave   him   away.   The   Time   Lord   shifts   his   weight   from   one   foot   to   another   ,   hands   disappearing   into   the   pockets   of   his   trousers   [   𝙰   𝙷𝙰𝙱𝙸𝚃   𝙷𝙴   𝚆𝙰𝚂𝙽’𝚃   𝚂𝚄𝚁𝙴   𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽   𝙷𝙴’𝙳   𝙳𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙻𝙾𝙿𝙴𝙳   ]   ,   and   suddenly   ,   he’s   a   bit   more   interested   in   casting   his   gaze   on   to   the   floor   ,   just   to   see   what   was   there.   “   I   should   .   .   .   probably   get   going   anyway   ,   it’s   about   that   time.   Off   to   the   next   ,   don’t   want   to   stay   in   one   place   for   too   long   —   not   really   .   .   .   my   thing.   ”   he   rambles   ,   and   he   rambles   ,   never   saying   much   of   anything   ,   yet   forcing   a   gentle   laugh   in   what   was   a   rather   poor   attempt   at   changing   the   subject.

𝚂𝚃𝙾𝙾𝙳   𝙰𝚃   𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝙷𝙴𝙻𝙼   𝙾𝙵   𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙿   ,   or   rather   ,   the   control   console   of   his   beloved   TARDIS   ,   the   Doctor   had   been   mentally   preoccupied   with   plotting   the   course   of   their   next   adventure   ;   since   his   latest   regeneration   ,   so   many   things   had   happened   —   it   wasn’t   any   wonder   that   he   was   a   bit   forgetful   about   his   more   lax   agreements. “   Ahhhh   ,   s’pose   I   did   promise   that   ,   didn’t   I   ?   What   was   it   I   said   ,   Barcelona   .   .   .      year   five   thousand   and   six   ?   October   !   Lovely   time   of   year   ,   really   ,   I   don’t   see   any   reason   why   not   —   did   you   know   the   dogs   have   no   noses   there   ?   ”   he   says   ,   speaking   in   that   nearly   haphazard   way   that   only   the   Doctor   does   ,   words   travelling   almost   as   quick   as   the   speed   of   light   ,   and   some   suspected   that   if   he   tried   ,   maybe   he’d   accomplish   such   an   impossible   task. Nimble   fingers   dance   across   various   keys   and   switches   as   he   shifts   around   the   circumference   of   the   central   console   ,   setting   the   space   -   time   coordinates   into   the   slide   controls.    [   𝙿𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙴𝚃   :   𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙴𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙰   /   𝙳𝙰𝚃𝙴   :   𝚃𝚄𝙴𝚂𝙳𝙰𝚈,   𝟷𝟺𝚃𝙷   𝙾𝙲𝚃𝙾𝙱𝙴𝚁,   𝚈𝙴𝙰𝚁   𝟻𝟶𝟶𝟼   /   𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴   :   𝟼𝙿𝙼.   ] Eyes   that   are   almost   as   bright   as   the   Sun   itself   dart   over   towards   his   darling   Rose   ,   that   ever   -   present   smile   splitting   his   face   once   more.   His   hand   rests   on   the   lever   ,   clicking   his   tongue   in   anticipatory   excitement.  ⠀ ⠀  “   READY   ?   ”

“  𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙼𝙴𝙰𝙽𝚃 𝚃𝙾 . . .  it  was  built  into  you.  Designed  for  you.  There  is  pain  here  because  it  was  meant  for  you.  [  . . .  ]  You  hurt  because  they  gave  you  ways  to  suffer  and  carved  it  into  you  when  you  could  not  breathe ,  because  the  intention  always  was  that  they  could  weaponize  your  pain  against  you.  It  is  yours.  You  are  yours.  ” [    Thanks  to   @shedirectr   for  tagging  me !   Mutuals ,  feel  free  to  steal  this  if  you’d  like.    ]