This is the first chapter of the only Doctor Who fanfic I've gotten anywhere with. Enjoy!



Doctor Who 2008 [4.01] Weltschmerz

Chapter 1

“Doctor, what did she mean? What did my mother mean, what did the Master mean?”

“Mean about what, Martha?” The Doctor wasn’t paying attention to her: he was flicking switches and pressing buttons on the TARDIS console.

“About you.” She played with the hem of her jacket, looking up at him.

“They said a lot of things about me, you’re going to have to be more specific.”

She tried to cushion what she said, but … how much could she? She needed to know - could she trust him as much as she thought she could? “About you being … a murderer. A thief. A criminal. You know … that sort of thing.”

He whipped around and loomed over her, eyes burning. “Have you not noticed yet, Martha, that wherever I go, people die? Have you not seen that those who travel with me come to sad, lonely ends? Have you not yet understood why I am who I am? You want to see? You want proof?”

“No! No … Doctor, I trust you.” She backed off, frightened.

“No you don’t. You don’t trust me at all. If you trusted me, you would have gone on.” He advanced, pinning her against a column. “Rose would have gone on. She knew I would never have hurt her - she would have said what she had to say and--”

“Fine!” Martha yelled, shoving him back. “Go on about your precious Rose! Go on about how she’s so much better than me! Go on and on and on about how I’m insignificant and useless compared to her! Did you never realize that there are other women than Rose? Where is she? Is she dead? I hope she is because I hope you hurt and burn forever!”

The Doctor levelled his cold, brown eyes onto hers, then turned to the TARDIS console, and without a word, started pressing buttons again.

“Doctor … ” He didn’t answer. “Doctor, I didn’t mean that … well I did, but … where are we going?”

He still didn’t answer. She eventually curled up on the seats and put her head on her knees, choking back tears.

After a time, the Doctor jerked open the TARDIS door … and froze.

“Doctor? Doctor, where are we? Tell me … ” Martha got up off the chair and came over. “Why won’t you talk? What is this place?”

She looked out the door and gasped. “Open space! And … a battle … this is Arcadia, isn’t it? You told me about this … Doctor?” She looked up at him, and saw his eyes were locked onto the battle below, tears welling up.

“Doctor … ” She tried to take his hand, but he pulled it away. She grumbled and returned her attention to the fight, only to notice a small blue box whisking in and out of Dalek ships. “That’s you.”

They were both silent for a few minutes as they watched the great altercation unfold, until the Doctor suddenly turned away. Martha looked back at him, then returned: the blue box let out a huge burst of light, and when her vision cleared it was gone along with all the other ships, and a fine dust was blowing in.

She closed the door and leaned her forehead against it. “What did you do?”

“Gathered energy from that star and immersed it in Huon particles. Dangerous but it worked.”

“What did it do exactly?”

“You’ve got it on you.”

“What have I got on me? The energy?”

“The ships. The aliens. The Daleks.”

“ … You … ”

“I pulled the energy then pushed it back in, infusing it with the Huon particles at the same time. The combination pulled the star into an early supernova, creating at once a temporal black hole and an explosion that pulverized every other ship but my own, which I piloted through the new hole on the shockwave of the explosion of every other TARDIS there. I don’t remember anything for a period of about three Earth hours … the unorthodox time travel and the saturation of Huon particles took a certain toll on me, and I regenerated within that time. I woke in orbit around Earth, in my ninth body.”

“You killed them all, even your own people.”

“I’ve told you that much already.”

“But you don’t even sound remorseful. You knew that would happen.”

“I also didn’t think I’d survive.”

“Good thing you did, otherwise the Daleks would have beaten us all ‘cause some of them survived.”

“No doubt they realized what I was doing and escaped. The one that Van Statten got must have ridden the shockwave somehow too - probably a strange infusion happened or I just hit it at a strange angle.”

“You killed them.”

“Yeah. I did.”

“You are a murderer.”

“I was trying to eradicate the Daleks along with us. There was no way we could have won.”

“There’s always a way.”

Silence reigned again for a good long period of time.

“Take me home.”

“Sorry, what?”

“I said, take me home. Mum was right: you are a murderer. Who knows how long it is before I end up dead?”

“Mm.” He said no more, but put in the coordinates and started up the rotor.

When they arrived, she stood and stopped him from leaving the TARDIS.

“Doctor, before you enter the battlefield that is my house, I need to tell you something that I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time. And I can’t say it in front of my mum.”

He sighed. “Alright, fine, say it.”

She bit her lip and frowned. “Doctor, I love you.”

“I know.”

“ … Oh.”

“Right then, let’s go, home you go, see ya.” He led the way out the door and closed it behind them, locking it. She hid her tears carefully and followed him through the streets, coming up to her door.

“Well, this is me.” She leaned against the door frame and tried to look jovial.

“Yep.” He was still cold, still apathetic, completely uncaring.

“This is goodbye then.”

“That it is.”

“Nothing important or special to say?”

“Nope. Well, you can tell your mother you won’t be bothered by me anymore.”

“That’ll comfort her.”

“That it will.”

“Can I … ?” She opened her arms and looked at him pleadingly.

“You want to touch bloody hands?”

“I … ” She sighed. “I don’t want to just leave you.”

“You want to feel like I love you too.”

“Well yes.”

“I don’t.”

“I know, it’s just … ”

“I can hug you, but it doesn’t mean anything.”

“You’ve already kissed me, what does it matter?”

“A point well made.” He hugged her carefully, then rang the doorbell. “Goodbye, Martha Jones. Oh, and your phone still works. Pass those exams … and treat anyone named John Smith exceptionally well, because I watch those people very carefully.”

He winked at her and flashed her a grin, then disappeared into an alley as Mrs Jones opened the door. “Martha! But you just left!”

“Mum … ”

----

He wandered along the streets of London without speaking, watching the best and worst of the human race in the world around him. Eventually he meandered into a park, making his way along the winding path for several minutes before sitting down on a weathered bench. He didn’t notice someone else was sitting on it until he had sat down himself, and looked over.

The young woman sitting beside him was not paying any attention to him: she was supporting her chin in her hands with her elbows on her knees, and staring blankly at a fountain a ways away. Her eyes were slightly red-rimmed and there were faint traces of tear trails on her cheeks. Her hair was long, blonde and somewhat unkempt, pulled back into a ponytail that hung down her back. She was in a t-shirt and jeans, a watch on one wrist and a bracelet on the other. She looked apathetic … and cold: there was a cool breeze running through the trees and she had no coat. He was quite warm in his suit and trenchcoat, but she had goosebumps all up and down her arms, not even shivering. ‘Must be numbed to it by now,’ he thought, ‘or else she doesn’t care.’

He gazed at her for a few more minutes, guessing details about her: she looked to be eighteen or nineteen, but could pass for older, and the brands on her shirt and jeans were not British, so he assumed she was from abroad. He chuckled to himself: Rose probably would have been able to pinpoint where she had come from using the labels.

He took off his trenchcoat and draped it around her shoulders, making her jump slightly and glance over at him. “Hello,” he said. “Tough day?”

She turned her head and looked at him questioningly, obviously wondering whether or not to trust him. She sighed and nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

She sat up straighter and pulled the coat around her, leaning back on the bench. He could hear her vertebrae cracking back into place after having been hunched for so long. “Very tough day.” She stopped talking and gazed at him the same way he had gazed at her. “You look like you could say the same.”

He had been right: definitely from abroad. North American - Canadian he would say. “I could, yeah.”

“Funny how people who need people seem to gravitate towards each other.”

He paused, furrowing his brow. “What do you mean?”

Her voice was calm, even and emotionless. “There’s another bench two feet away, yet you sat here and didn’t even notice me until you sat down.”

“Oh.” To be honest, he hadn’t even seen the other bench.

“This is a lovely coat, thank you again.” Her accent seemed to waver a bit - perhaps she had been living here a while and was beginning to pick a British accent up? Her speech didn’t seem quite as North American as it could.

“You were cold.”

“I hadn’t really noticed, but now I have.”

He chuckled. “Lost in thought.”

“Mm hmm.”

“Mind if I ask your name?”

“No, not at all. Emily, Emily Diehl. That’s D-I-E-H-L, good German name, get it right … ”

He laughed. “I know that feeling.”

“Yeah? What’s your name?”

“The Doctor.”

“Well I don’t see how anyone can misspell that.”

“My full name’s a lot harder.”

“Ah, I see. Not going to let me in?” She gave him a searching look.

“Nah, everyone’s called me the Doctor for years.”

“Alright, then I will too. Nice to meet you, Doctor.”

“Likewise.”

Several minutes passed in silence, both looking separate ways and not moving. Finally, Emily spoke.

“So what happened to you?” It was a quiet question, an intimate one: she was inviting him to take her into his confidence.

He took a deep breath and cracked his neck, thinking. She stayed quiet, waiting. If he did not speak, she would back off. If he did, so much the better. He seemed to be on the verge of speech several times, his mouth opening or his breath sharpening. Then he spoke.

“Well … I was called a murderer, thief, coward and heartbreaker by one woman before she left.”

She said nothing, but didn’t look too surprised.

“Trouble is, it’s all true. Not, however, in the sense that she might have considered it to be. I’m not trying to redeem myself, but … ” He trailed off, looking at his shoes.

“It’s alright, Doctor, we all make mistakes.”

“S’pose so.”

“Are you going to go after her?” she asked, after a moment’s quiet. “How were you two connected?”

“She … traveled with me. And no, I don’t believe I’ll be going back. It would be … difficult.”

“Life tends to be.”

“True. What about you?” He turned to her, and she spoke immediately.

“Eh, just a tough time with a good friend. Relationships change as people change, and it’s hard to let go. I’m a bit of an odd one out unless I’m with a certain crowd, and that’s difficult for me … I feed off of crowd energy most of the time, but when the crowd’s there and not connecting it just brings me down. I needed to leave, get some air … you know, take a break. Relax.”

“Is that why you came here?”

“To London?”

“You’re obviously not British.”

“Well no, I’m not - Canadian, from Manitoba. And you’re right, I did come here to get away, but I stay connected to my family. It feels very different, corresponding. You don’t have to live with them, eat with them, tolerate them.” She looked pensive.

“I wish I still could.” He grimaced slightly.

Her expression changed on the spot, her eyes widening. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I totally didn’t mean--”

He cut her off. “No, no, that’s perfectly alright.”

“No, it’s not perfectly alright. I’m sorry, I really am. I don’t like hurting others, even unintentionally. Can you forgive me?”

“Of course. Forgiven.”

“Thank you.” She looked assuaged, relieved.

“You seem eager to please.” He raised an eyebrow, making it more of a question than a statement.

“Yeah, I always have been. I don’t like it when people don’t like me, so I make a conscious attempt to be kind to everyone. I’m a performer - it’s my job to make people happy. I’m truthful, of course, but I can only hurt my closest friends by telling them the honest truth … and then they understand and know I’m right, because I’m quite serious about it.”

“I think I see.”

“I’m sorry, I’m in a rather dizzy state.”

“Drink?”

“No … I don’t particularly enjoy being drunk. Just … emotions. Heady. I don’t always explain things properly.”

“Oh, I know that feeling.” He laughed. “I often explain very difficult things very quickly, and then don’t understand how the person I’m explaining it to doesn’t understand what I just said.”
She laughed as well. He smiled - it was the first time she had laughed in their entire conversation. She had a lovely laugh, and he told her so.

“Why thank you.” She smiled back. Her eyes were green.

“You’re nice, Emily Diehl: I like you.”

She looked surprised. “Thank you again, I suppose.” When he didn’t speak, she looked at her watch and jumped. “Oh my goodness, is that the time? I’m so sorry, but I have to run. Tell you what - I’m acting in a Shakespeare this time tomorrow and I’ve still got a ticket. A friend bailed on me.” Digging in her purse, she extracted a ticket and handed it to him.

“Come ‘round, I’ll get you backstage after the show and we can go have a coffee or something. I’d like to talk to you more: you seem like an interesting man.” With that, she strode away, her step confident, as if she had never been down.

He looked at the ticket: A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Her Majesty’s Theatre, 8pm sharp. He smiled and put it in his pocket. Perhaps some Shakespeare was just what he needed.