Hole ('Void' entry)
May. 27th, 2016 03:42 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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who_contestTitle: Hole
Rating: PG
Genre: Introspection
Word Count: 1099
Spoilers: Season 9 finale (Hell Bent)
Warnings: None
Summary: The Doctor's mind has a hole in it. And he wants to fill it. As soon as possible.
“Uhh, do you want to lie down again for a bit? The ground’s pretty uncomfortable though…”
Blegh. What on Earth was that accent?
“No. Answer me.”
“I… Look, I could get you some water.”
The man was growing more and more annoying by the second. “I don’t need water. I need an answer. Answer me!”
“Okay, she said you’d be disoriented, but…”
“Are you dissembling?” He couldn’t keep the outrage out of his tone.
“Am I what?” The annoying man had a weird look on his face. What was that look? –he couldn’t place it. Normally it wasn’t his job to translate expressions, it was-
Was-
His thoughts seemed to ground to a halt. Wait. That wasn’t supposed to happen.
Okay. Take two.
It wasn’t his job to translate expressions, it was-
Was-
Was, was, was…
Blank.
Zip, zilch.
Nada.
The man was still droning through his nose. Good God, he had to stop.
“You need to stop,” he told him. “And answer my question.”
The man seemed startled at being interr- oh yes, startled! The man was startled. Surprised. Perplexed.
No, wait. Perplexed was what the man was to begin with. The expression he was sure he wasn’t supposed to translate.
Then who was?
“I asked you a question. Clara who?”
“Oh. Oh, I dunno. She was just here.”
“You just said that,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, I kinda did, didn’t I?” The man’s expression changed- this should be easier, seemed more familiar… Ah yes. The man was grinning.
“Sorry, I’m kinda almost as confused as you are. I’m Greg.” Still grinning, the man named Greg outstretched his hand.
He stared at it. What was he supposed to do? Scan it?
Greg’s smile faltered as he made no move, and slowly lowered his hand. “Or maybe not. Right. I was supposed to give you a lift to the nearest diner. You coming?”
“Do I have a choice?”
The challenge was lost on Greg. He simply shrugged. “I mean… you could wait for another ride, but you might have to wait for, like, a really long time.” He gestured around him, at the bright, hot emptiness.
Hmm. As loutish as Greg was, he did have a point.
“Fair enough,” he admitted. “Lead me to your vehicle.”
Greg’s vehicle, in some strange way, seemed to suit him. He turned round to the backseat to ask why it seemed so, then he stopped. Ask whom?
Greg kept glancing at him as he brought the vehicle into motion. “You… uh. You seem dazed. Were you in an accident or something?”
“Or something,” he agreed, preoccupied.
Greg stared at him with his mouth open, then quickly turned to the road.
Good. The human needed to focus on piloting. As for him… he needed to sort his head out.
Something had happened, something very wrong, and very sad. But somehow, it was something right.
That didn’t make sense at all. Then again, his thoughts very rarely made any sense. So many bits and pieces. His own thoughts. Memories. Teachings. Languages, times, places, faces. Traces of antagonistic minds that he’d absorbed to save the day, floating about like bits of murky, malevolent flotsam. Psychic hints, alternate timepoints. Telepathic whispers…
…must have Alzheimer’s or something. Poor guy…
He looked at Greg. “What?”
Greg started. “What?”
“Are you thinking?”
“What?”
He clicked his tongue. “Dear God. Just drive.”
Greg obeyed, a perplexed frown creasing his brow. Yes, that was definitely perplexed. Ten-on-
ten. Clara should be pleased.
Whoa, whoa. Hang on.
Clara?
Clara who?
Try as he might, he couldn’t get any further. It was like he was following a path in the tangled jungle of his thoughts, and he had suddenly come across an unfathomable, dark hole in his way. The pit hadn’t been there before because it was a well-worn path. But now he couldn’t traverse it any more.
Because of the hole.
“So, uh… Where’re you from? I don’t recognise the accent. Are you English?”
“Scottish,” he corrected him irritably. Before he could tell him to shut up, though, Greg continued, “Scotland, huh? Wow, you’ve come a long way. Well, I’m from around these parts… mostly. I was in Florida for a bit, but I came back. Too rainy, you know?”
He sighed mentally. Greg would very clearly not shut up for any significant amount of time. Might as well interrogate him.
“And what parts are these?”
“Oh –I thought you knew. We’re in Utah. Uh… the United States. Not too far from the Nevada border, as a matter of fact.”
Utah. LakeSilencioSilenceCantonStetsonAmyRoryRIVER-
“Utah. Always here.”
“Been here before?”
“Died here once.”
A hole in his chest. A hole in their hearts. A whole family. Utah. Empty, devoid of life, barren. A bright, dusty, lifeless hole. A hole in his heart.
And one in his mind.
Greg goggled at him. Hmm, goggled, that was nice. Quick on the uptake, he was. Just like… Clara.
Was it? Had this Clara been quick on the uptake too?
He glanced at Greg, who was still goggling. With a sigh, he said, “Yes, I have Alzheimer’s. I’m losing neural synapses in my cerebral cortex. I need… your help.” He hated saying that. “Help me remember. Who is this Clara?”
“I dunno. I thought she was your granddaughter?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. My granddaughter’s not Clara. That’s a stupid name for a granddaughter. Who'd name their granddaughter Clara?”
“What’s your granddaughter’s name, then?”
“R-Susan. Her name’s Susan.” He turned to Greg again. “Now stop beating about the bush. Who is Clara?”
“Well.” The vehicle screeched to a halt. “Maybe you should ask there.” Greg gestured with his head. He turned around, and he saw that true to his word, Greg had brought him to the first diner they saw.
He swung open the door of the vehicle; at the last moment, he glanced back and noticed a brown guitar. Oh, perfect, maybe his auditory repository would bring something back to him.
“Is that yours?”
Greg looked over. “Yeah.”
“I’m taking it.”
“Hey-”
“I’m taking it!”
Perhaps it was the way he said it, but something shut Greg up. He just nodded mutely, stiffly –as though he were scared. (He knew it was fear because he always recognised fear. Always.)
And so, guitar in hand and sonic glasses on eye –no that didn’t sound right.
And so, sonic glasses wearing, guitar bearing… No, no, no.
And so, armed with- yes!
And so, armed with his sonic glasses and Greg’s guitar, he walked over to the diner, barely registering Greg and his tedious vehicle rumbling away.
He took a deep breath.
Clara.
And he stepped inside.
Rating: PG
Genre: Introspection
Word Count: 1099
Spoilers: Season 9 finale (Hell Bent)
Warnings: None
Summary: The Doctor's mind has a hole in it. And he wants to fill it. As soon as possible.
“Uhh, do you want to lie down again for a bit? The ground’s pretty uncomfortable though…”
Blegh. What on Earth was that accent?
“No. Answer me.”
“I… Look, I could get you some water.”
The man was growing more and more annoying by the second. “I don’t need water. I need an answer. Answer me!”
“Okay, she said you’d be disoriented, but…”
“Are you dissembling?” He couldn’t keep the outrage out of his tone.
“Am I what?” The annoying man had a weird look on his face. What was that look? –he couldn’t place it. Normally it wasn’t his job to translate expressions, it was-
Was-
His thoughts seemed to ground to a halt. Wait. That wasn’t supposed to happen.
Okay. Take two.
It wasn’t his job to translate expressions, it was-
Was-
Was, was, was…
Blank.
Zip, zilch.
Nada.
The man was still droning through his nose. Good God, he had to stop.
“You need to stop,” he told him. “And answer my question.”
The man seemed startled at being interr- oh yes, startled! The man was startled. Surprised. Perplexed.
No, wait. Perplexed was what the man was to begin with. The expression he was sure he wasn’t supposed to translate.
Then who was?
“I asked you a question. Clara who?”
“Oh. Oh, I dunno. She was just here.”
“You just said that,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, I kinda did, didn’t I?” The man’s expression changed- this should be easier, seemed more familiar… Ah yes. The man was grinning.
“Sorry, I’m kinda almost as confused as you are. I’m Greg.” Still grinning, the man named Greg outstretched his hand.
He stared at it. What was he supposed to do? Scan it?
Greg’s smile faltered as he made no move, and slowly lowered his hand. “Or maybe not. Right. I was supposed to give you a lift to the nearest diner. You coming?”
“Do I have a choice?”
The challenge was lost on Greg. He simply shrugged. “I mean… you could wait for another ride, but you might have to wait for, like, a really long time.” He gestured around him, at the bright, hot emptiness.
Hmm. As loutish as Greg was, he did have a point.
“Fair enough,” he admitted. “Lead me to your vehicle.”
Greg’s vehicle, in some strange way, seemed to suit him. He turned round to the backseat to ask why it seemed so, then he stopped. Ask whom?
Greg kept glancing at him as he brought the vehicle into motion. “You… uh. You seem dazed. Were you in an accident or something?”
“Or something,” he agreed, preoccupied.
Greg stared at him with his mouth open, then quickly turned to the road.
Good. The human needed to focus on piloting. As for him… he needed to sort his head out.
Something had happened, something very wrong, and very sad. But somehow, it was something right.
That didn’t make sense at all. Then again, his thoughts very rarely made any sense. So many bits and pieces. His own thoughts. Memories. Teachings. Languages, times, places, faces. Traces of antagonistic minds that he’d absorbed to save the day, floating about like bits of murky, malevolent flotsam. Psychic hints, alternate timepoints. Telepathic whispers…
…must have Alzheimer’s or something. Poor guy…
He looked at Greg. “What?”
Greg started. “What?”
“Are you thinking?”
“What?”
He clicked his tongue. “Dear God. Just drive.”
Greg obeyed, a perplexed frown creasing his brow. Yes, that was definitely perplexed. Ten-on-
ten. Clara should be pleased.
Whoa, whoa. Hang on.
Clara?
Clara who?
Try as he might, he couldn’t get any further. It was like he was following a path in the tangled jungle of his thoughts, and he had suddenly come across an unfathomable, dark hole in his way. The pit hadn’t been there before because it was a well-worn path. But now he couldn’t traverse it any more.
Because of the hole.
“So, uh… Where’re you from? I don’t recognise the accent. Are you English?”
“Scottish,” he corrected him irritably. Before he could tell him to shut up, though, Greg continued, “Scotland, huh? Wow, you’ve come a long way. Well, I’m from around these parts… mostly. I was in Florida for a bit, but I came back. Too rainy, you know?”
He sighed mentally. Greg would very clearly not shut up for any significant amount of time. Might as well interrogate him.
“And what parts are these?”
“Oh –I thought you knew. We’re in Utah. Uh… the United States. Not too far from the Nevada border, as a matter of fact.”
Utah. LakeSilencioSilenceCantonStetsonAmyRoryRIVER-
“Utah. Always here.”
“Been here before?”
“Died here once.”
A hole in his chest. A hole in their hearts. A whole family. Utah. Empty, devoid of life, barren. A bright, dusty, lifeless hole. A hole in his heart.
And one in his mind.
Greg goggled at him. Hmm, goggled, that was nice. Quick on the uptake, he was. Just like… Clara.
Was it? Had this Clara been quick on the uptake too?
He glanced at Greg, who was still goggling. With a sigh, he said, “Yes, I have Alzheimer’s. I’m losing neural synapses in my cerebral cortex. I need… your help.” He hated saying that. “Help me remember. Who is this Clara?”
“I dunno. I thought she was your granddaughter?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. My granddaughter’s not Clara. That’s a stupid name for a granddaughter. Who'd name their granddaughter Clara?”
“What’s your granddaughter’s name, then?”
“R-Susan. Her name’s Susan.” He turned to Greg again. “Now stop beating about the bush. Who is Clara?”
“Well.” The vehicle screeched to a halt. “Maybe you should ask there.” Greg gestured with his head. He turned around, and he saw that true to his word, Greg had brought him to the first diner they saw.
He swung open the door of the vehicle; at the last moment, he glanced back and noticed a brown guitar. Oh, perfect, maybe his auditory repository would bring something back to him.
“Is that yours?”
Greg looked over. “Yeah.”
“I’m taking it.”
“Hey-”
“I’m taking it!”
Perhaps it was the way he said it, but something shut Greg up. He just nodded mutely, stiffly –as though he were scared. (He knew it was fear because he always recognised fear. Always.)
And so, guitar in hand and sonic glasses on eye –no that didn’t sound right.
And so, sonic glasses wearing, guitar bearing… No, no, no.
And so, armed with- yes!
And so, armed with his sonic glasses and Greg’s guitar, he walked over to the diner, barely registering Greg and his tedious vehicle rumbling away.
He took a deep breath.
Clara.
And he stepped inside.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-05-27 02:48 pm (UTC)I love Greg and the Doctor's conversation about granddaughter names. It made me smile so much! :)
(no subject)
Date: 2016-05-27 05:02 pm (UTC)OHHH.
*CLINGS TO YOU*
thankyou.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-06-12 01:12 am (UTC)