ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴏʀᴛʜ sᴛᴀʀ

“What’s matter with you?”

A simple question. But by no means able to responded to with a simple answer. He can’t bear to look at her. There’s something in her gaze, some quiet questioning, confusion and almost fear. There’s whispers in the back of his head he silently ignores for the moment as he holds her gaze and feels a small slither of sadness sink in his bones.

He quashes it with a small smile and shake of his head.

“Nothing, I’m perfectly fine.”

Hʏᴘɴᴏᴛɪsᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴍɪʀʀᴏʀs. Yᴏᴜ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡɪɴᴅᴏᴡ. Dʀᴏᴡɴᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ sᴄʀᴇᴀᴍs ᴏғ ᴅᴇᴄᴀᴅᴇɴᴄᴇ: ᴀ ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴛᴏ ᴀʀᴍs. Tᴏᴏ ʙᴜsʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ɪᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ. Iᴛ's ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴏʟᴅ ᴅᴇᴀʀ. Sʜᴇ sᴛᴀʀᴛs ᴛᴏ ᴄʀʏ. Aɴᴅ ʜᴇʀᴇ's ᴀ sᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ.

“Irving, please.”

She breaks the silence with a sob. He stares at her, not quite focused on her tears. Something clicks inside him, very quietly, but he shuts it away. There’s so many more important things than this.

Later that night, a sound carries through the halls. Even through the walls, he can hear her voice, clear as day. A low, sad lament that even he can’t ignore from the confines of his study. It should hurt, it has to hurt – but he turns away from it.

Lᴏᴏᴋ ɪɴᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴇʏᴇs sᴏ ᴇᴀɢᴇʀʟʏ. Aɴᴅ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴄᴏʟᴅ. I ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀʟᴋ ᴀᴡᴀʏ. Bᴜᴛ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ I ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ɢʀᴏᴡ I'ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴛ ɢᴏ. I ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʟɪғᴇ ɪs ɢᴏᴏᴅ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴡᴀʏ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇɴ'ᴛ ʙᴇᴇɴ ɢᴏᴏᴅ. I ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sʜᴇ ɪs ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇɴ'ᴛ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴋɪɴᴅ.

She would question his decisions, fight with him for another way than his – tried to compromise. She couldn’t see it at first, that coldness in his eyes. Some small slither of ice she missed when she glanced across at him fervently from across his desk. Slowly, she realised, that she would be trapped here – powerless to help him from the dark path he slipped down.

When she left, she hoped to god that she could find some way to help him. It wasn’t easy, leaving him behind. She thought about him, sat alone in his study, and wondered if he actually cared that she was running away. He wasn’t the man she’d first met in that London street. Wasn’t good or kind or anything she believed he was. But she hoped he’d be alright. That when the time came for her to go back, she hoped he’d be okay.

Yᴏᴜʀ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅs ᴡɪʟʟ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ᴊᴜsᴛ ʙᴇ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡᴀʏ. Tʀᴜsᴛ ᴍᴇ, ᴛʜᴇʏ'ʟʟ ᴅɪᴇ ᴏʀ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴀʏ. Yᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ sᴀʏ I'ᴠᴇ ᴄʀᴏssᴇᴅ ᴀ ʟɪɴᴇ. Bᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sᴀᴅ ғᴀᴄᴛ ɪs I'ᴠᴇ ʟᴏsᴛ ᴍʏ ᴍɪɴᴅ. Aɴᴅ I'ᴍ ᴊᴜsᴛ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ, ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴏғғᴇɴᴅ. Tʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴠɪʟ's ɢᴏᴛ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴍᴇ ᴍʏ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅ. Aʟʟ I ᴡᴀɴᴛ ɪs ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʟᴇғᴛ ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ.

Every time, she interfered. She couldn’t possibly understand. All of this, everything he did. He did it for the sake of safety: the utmost priority. Still, he worried when she left. Is this what it felt like for the Doctor? To worry? Of course he worried.

Until the whispers of Pandora in his dreams soon caused him to shut those feelings out. He couldn’t think about her. Not anymore.

Hᴇ ʜᴏʟᴅs ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴜɴ ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀᴅ. I ᴄʟᴏsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴇʏᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴀɴɢ I ᴀᴍ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ. I ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ’s ᴋɪʟʟɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇʀᴄʏ. Hᴇ ʜᴏʟᴅs ᴍʏ ʙᴏᴅʏ ɪɴ ʜɪs ᴀʀᴍs. Hᴇ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏ ʜᴀʀᴍ. Aɴᴅ ʜᴇ ʜᴏʟᴅs ᴍᴇ ᴛɪɢʜᴛ. Oʜ, ʜᴇ ᴅɪᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴛᴏ sᴘᴀʀᴇ ᴍᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴡғᴜʟ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ɪɴ ʟɪғᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ.

The nights are deadly cold here. Her days spent dazed, skin scorched and hair bleached in the alien suns. But it’s the nights she can barely stand. What little sleep she manages to snatch from the frost is swamped with dreams of him. Sometimes there’s blood on his hands when she hugs him; he clings to her, whispering apologies into her hair.

She wakes up disturbed, shaking from the strange images that aren’t quite him. Still, his voice rings in her ear – words she can’t quite let go of: It’s because you mean so much to me that I have to keep you here. Sometimes, in the small moments of night, when she finds herself doubting what she set out to do, doubting herself – she wonders if he really was doing it all for her sake. That deep down, he never meant to hurt her. Surely he wouldn’t. No, he doesn’t. He’s never meant it.

And then she pulls herself back together. No, what he did was wrong. She had every right to leave.

Wᴏʟғ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ, ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇᴇɴ? Yᴏᴜ ʟᴏᴏᴋ sᴏ ᴡᴏʀɴ, sᴏ ᴛʜɪɴ. Yᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴀᴋᴇʀ, ᴅᴇᴠɪʟ's ᴍᴀᴋᴇʀ, ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀ ʏᴏᴜ sɪɴɢ. Wᴏʟғ ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ, ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴏʀ. Yᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ sᴍɪʟᴇ ᴀɴʏᴍᴏʀᴇ. Yᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀ ᴅʀɪғᴛᴇʀ, sʜᴀᴘᴇsʜɪғᴛᴇʀ, ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ sᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴜɴ.

The desk stands between them, some sturdy center. They stand either side, frayed edges of puzzle pieces, staring at one another in silence.

She smells of sand and earth and dust, much too thin, much too tired – her hair knotted and wild. He looks much more composed, hands behind his back, a collected front hiding a fractured mind. It’s there, in his eyes, and his mouth - so unused to curling into a smile.

Yᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ɢᴇᴛ ᴀᴡᴀʏ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ I'ᴍ ᴄᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ. Eᴠᴇʀʏ ᴅᴀʏ I ғᴇᴇʟ ᴛʜɪs ᴘᴀɪɴ ʙᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴛᴜʀɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴀʟᴋ ᴀᴡᴀʏ. I ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ʜᴀɴɢɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴇ. I ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪs ᴡʀᴏɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴇ.

“It’ll be alright.” She tries to assure him.

She has to go, needs to get away for a while. Back home. And yet she feels like she shouldn’t go. She doesn’t know what to do now. She doesn’t know how to help him; but she knows she’s neglecting herself. Her family miss her. She misses them. And he lets her go, not a word from him.

“Don’t be a stranger.” She tells him.

He manages to smile and it’s something. And yet he still can’t bring himself to hug her goodbye.

Yᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ᴍʏ ᴜɴɪɴᴛᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟɪᴠᴇ ᴍʏ ʟɪғᴇ ᴇxᴛᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ. Yᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴᴇ I'ʟʟ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ʟᴏᴠᴇ. I'ʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀs sᴏᴏɴ ᴀs I ᴄᴀɴ ʙᴜᴛ I'ᴍ ʙᴜsʏ ᴍᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪғᴇ I ʜᴀᴅ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ. Bᴇғᴏʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ.

She hears the knock at the door, rushes to get it because some small part of her hopes, prays even, that it’s him. It’s been weeks but she knows it could be any amount of time for him by the time he does go back to her.

And he’s there, stood at her door in some broken silence that she speaks his name softly and pulls him into a hug. Very quietly and very gently, he hugs her back.

“I did miss you,” he tells her, almost like a secret.