𝐢𝐟 i 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊,

     History, as tangible and fixed at the same time as it was, had a tendency of repeating itself when you weren’t careful. And after 900 years of traveling through the cosmos, forward and backward through time, sometimes The Doctor got sloppy. It wasn’t uncommon for anyone to lose track of mistakes they’ve made in the past, especially for a past as lengthy as his own, but the mistakes he’d made were so grave, so terrible, so hurtful that to forget was an act of selfishness from the most selfless person in the universe. The trouble with it all was that The Doctor did understand Nancy. An act of recklessness, selflessness for the people you love, so much so that you’d be willing to change history to save one person — he knows like the back of his hand.

 ❛ No, see, I don’t think you realize, Nancy, ❜ Fingers move across the console and rapidly tap the buttons necessary to make the trip home. He can’t even look at her, because the burning would start again. ❛ That I do get it. And that’s why I’m taking you home. What you’re feeling right now, what you want —— you can’t go back, Nancy. You can’t save her. Believe me, I’ve tried, too. ❜ The Doctor risks the pain and hurt as he looks up at her, and he sees it. Her own eyes, those big, sad, angry eyes, showed him something he was afraid of.

    ❛ It can’t happen. And I am sorry. ❜ His voice lowers, and his hands rub together. This was the burden of the Time Lord — being able to do anything, and everything, except when follow the rules when it counts.

            ❝ Liar, ❞  she says,  a quiet and heartbroken word.   She slides into the door, unwary of an accidental opening, though she supposes he’d have made it impossible to fall into the abyss of stars  ––  she wanted nothing more than that,  right now.  To jump from the ledge and float thoughtlessly.  Like nothing.  Weightless.  Hugging her legs,  she buried her head into her knees,  trying with every ounce of energy she had inside her not to cry.

            She wanted to leave;  rather, she wanted him to. But it still stung, the agreement . . .   so easy a relent to allow her to go.  It felt as though she’d become rancid, unlikable and stony to the touch.  She had to be wrong to such a laughable degree, she considered  ––  why did everyone refuse to help? Why was she the only one who cared? Noteworthy was that a part of her could realize, with perhaps a more thoughtful gaze, that the Doctor did care;  but the sensation of defeat, fresh and simultaneously repeated for the second time  (perhaps the thousandth,  by feel alone),  was so heavy that she couldn’t comprehend it.