fic - Eighth Doctor/Romana
Feb. 4th, 2008 08:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rivendellroseTitle: Last Breath Before the Fall
Characters: The Doctor (Eight) and Romana.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Eight/Romana, the night before war came to Gallifrey. Hurt/Comfort and drama. Borrows canon from the Gallifrey audio adventures, although I admit I’ve fudged timelines a bit so it was Eight that Romana meets after her escape from Dalek captivity, rather than Six or Seven. I'm sure they're great guys and all, but... suffice to say I think Eight was the one I envisioned for this story from the start.
Notes: This is not a Happy Fic. Sorry. Happy is for the next fic I'm posting. *g*
She was not the same woman he remembered.
If regeneration had changed her, that would have been one thing - he had prepared himself for that. He’d seen her face and body change before, that was nothing new. He’d expected it, after all that she had apparently been through. But this...
It had taken a great deal of talking to convince the citadel’s guards to allow him into the presence of the newly-returned president. In the end, he’d had to accept their escort to her door, where one of them announced him in the most snide tones he’d ever heard pronounce his name... and then when he followed the guard into the room he had stopped short in the doorway, staring at the woman who greeted him. Thin, and clearly exhausted, Romana had stood - stiffly, her body moving as though every muscle protested - and acknowledged the guard, then calmly told her to leave them alone. With his escort departed, she had turned away from him and gone back to her bed. She sat on the edge of the mattress, bracing herself on either side with arms that were so much thinner than he remembered, and she’d never been heavily-built to begin with. Her skin was pale, as though she hadn’t been touched by sunlight in all the time she’d been gone, and her hair...
“I had to cut it off.” She fingered the roughly-cropped edges of dark gold that framed her face. “It was too matted to be saved. It doesn’t matter,” she added, lifting her jaw in that Romana way that she had. That way of telling the world that she knew best, even if she didn’t.
“It’ll grow back,” he agreed.
“I might keep it short.” She said it like a challenge. “It’s practical.”
“It doesn’t suit you,” he told her calmly, and crossed the room to sit by her side. He reached up without thinking and touched the short locks. That was nearly treason, a rebel like him actually touching the Lord President without permission, but she neither frowned nor smiled at his audacity. “It doesn’t suit you at all.”
Her eyes, when she at last looked up at him, were hollowed in her skull and so deeply shadowed that they looked as though they’d been bruised. He thought of the tender mercies of the Daleks, and suppressed a shudder.
“I didn’t think you would come.”
“Of course I did.”
She glared at him. “You hate to come home. I’m not a fool, Doctor. If I hadn’t sent a message...”
“I might have. Really, I might.”
“You would have thought about it, and then gotten distracted by something.” She sighed and looked at her hands. Following her gaze, he found them callused and rough, not at all the delicate instruments he remembered. “Thank you.”
It would have been better if she had yelled at him. It would have been easier, more familiar. If she had cursed, if she’d railed and made nasty remarks and sardonic commentary about his foolish behaviour, then everything would have seemed normal and he wouldn’t have felt compelled to keep looking at the evidence of pain and suffering written on her body. “Romana...”
“I still don’t know why they didn’t kill me, do you know that?” She didn’t look up, just worked carefully at cleaning black dirt from under her fingernails. “They questioned me a few times, interrogated me for information on our defenses... and then it was as though they just forgot about me, or decided that I wasn’t worth the time. They made me work in a mine, like before, but it was... The work wasn’t even important, I think they just had us doing it to break our spirits. I thought I’d never get out.”
“You did, though. You managed it. We all thought... There wasn’t a body, but...”
“I know. If it makes you feel any better,” she paused and rubbed her arms as though chilled, and then continued in a calm, hollow voice. “I thought I was dead, too.”
“It doesn’t, actually. Make me feel any better, that is.”
“Funny, isn’t it? Me either.”
Silence settled around them like a heavy snow, and then Romana stood suddenly and walked across the room. “Excuse me. I’m afraid I’m under strict orders to eat a very small meal once an hour.” She lifted a cup of something from the counter and took a shallow sip. “Vitamin and nutrient mix,” she informed him with a shudder. “Compared to the way my physicians have acted since my return, the Daleks were benevolent hosts.”
“They only want--”
“The best for me?” She snorted and drained the rest of the cup, her expression blank. He wondered if the shudder and commentary had been for his benefit, if she was really that numbed that she had to manufacture every reaction that crossed her face. “Please, Doctor. You know as well as I do that the senate would probably prefer if I were nothing more than a placid shell that they could push around and make pretty montages with. They’re probably just upset my experience didn’t manage to tame me quite well enough.”
“But you have friends here, people who’ll care for you.”
“Do I?” She set the cup aside and returned to her seat beside him. “Tell me about these friends, Doctor. Would they be the people who put me in power hoping that I would be pliable and quiet, or the ones who pretend to like me for the changes I want to make, because they hope those changes will benefit them? Or the ones who hope to win prestige by their association with me? Or, goodness, let’s not forget anyone - perhaps you mean the people who would prefer to simply have me declared unfit for office and find someone more easily-manipulated to hold the position?”
“Romana--”
“Oh, do shut up, Doctor. I didn’t summon you back to Gallifrey to comfort me and tell me what a wonderful position I have here, what great things I’ll do once I recover my strength. I could just go visit the senate if I want to hear that kind of drivel. I called you back for two reasons. The first is that you’re the only person I could trust to be blatantly honest with me, who I could count on not to be manipulating me for the purpose of politics.”
“What makes you think I wouldn’t do that?” The Doctor couldn’t resist grinning at her.
“Because you don’t give a damn about politics. Or Gallifrey for that matter.”
“That’s not true.” He shifted a bit awkwardly. “I... I’m rather fond of the old place, in my way. It’s home, after all. In all the galaxy, what place can you more honestly hate than the place you call home? I’d be lost without it.”
“Exactly my point.” She sighed and settled her arms around her abdomen, hugging herself just a bit.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She shook her head. “My body’s... not used to the food it’s been getting since I came back. I’m still learning to metabolize it again. Just a bit of nausea, just now. It will pass.”
“Maybe I should get your physician...”
“The old fool would just send me to bed and insist that I receive no more guests today. He’d like it best if I spent all my time there, sleeping the days away in a drugged stupor, propped up on pillows if I do happen to want to spend some time awake. I can’t bear it.”
“If your body is this wracked, Romana, don’t you think you should consider...”
“Regeneration? That’s rich, you bringing that up. I like the new face, by the way... I’m sorry for not mentioning it sooner. Very... romantic.” She rocked back a bit, and then stopped, steadying her hands on the bed as though willing herself to remain still. “But no, I couldn’t. I don’t want to. It feels as though regenerating would mean admitting defeat. It would mean that they won, that they really broke me. And I won’t give them that, even if they wouldn’t know the difference. And speaking of defeat...” She took a deep breath. “That’s the other reason I’ve called you home. I want to talk to you about something. About plans.”
“What for?”
“I’m going to destroy the Daleks.”
The Doctor snorted. “What, again?”
“Properly, this time. None of this fooling around and sending secret agents to kill them before they were created.”
“We’ve discussed this before--”
“And I don’t fault you for it, Doctor. You were the wrong man for the job, that’s all there is to it.”
“Now, just hold on--”
“Quiet, Doctor.”
He flinched, a bit shocked by her vehemence. No, this was definitely not the Romana he remembered, regeneration or no. She was fierce, now, almost vicious, and a coldness lingered at the edge of her eyes, chased the end of her every sentence.
“I will destroy them, Doctor, as utterly as they meant to destroy me. We’ve underestimated them in the past, and we’ve thought that they weren’t capable of cunning, that they were just machines who move from one target to the next in the order of ease. They don’t want to do that anymore. They have a plan, I know it. They’ve tried to destroy us before, but this time... this time we’ll get them before they get us. And I need you, to help me with that.”
“Romana, I... I’m not a killer.”
“You will be,” she said softly. “I know you will, if it’s necessary, won’t you? And I’m telling you, it’s necessary.”
“There must be someone better,” he offered wildly. “One of the guards, or a soldier... a true warrior, Romana, who wouldn’t fail the way--”
Romana raised her hand for silence, and she looked so tired that the Doctor found he had to obey. “You misunderstand me, Doctor. When I say ‘all,’ I mean all. All of Gallifrey must fight. We will grow more Tardises, and we will call together our forces, and we will destroy the Daleks, or be destroyed in the attempt.”
“You’re talking about all-out war, Romana. Gallifrey hasn’t been to war in... I don’t think we’ve ever gone to war, not this way, not since the time of Rassilon. All this, just for revenge? I don’t believe even you could be so proud.”
“I’m not being proud, Doctor, I’m doing what needs to be done as the leader of our people! They will kill us, if we don’t kill them first, don’t you see? It’s not like before. They know... they know about the exclusion field.” She hung her head, her strange, cropped hair brushing her cheeks and covering her eyes. “I told them. I couldn’t... They burned it out of me. They used one of the other prisoners, a telepath - they’d broken him, and he burned through my mind until he found what they wanted.”
“But if they know about that--”
“Then they can break through our defenses and attack Gallifrey proper. They’ll slaughter us, Doctor, if we don’t move first. That’s why. That’s why I’ve called you home. I’ve called everyone home, all of Gallifrey’s children throughout the galaxy. Tomorrow I’ll address the senate. By nightfall, we’ll be at war.”
“Romana...” The Doctor couldn’t think what more to say, though. He reached out and touched her cheek, the frail, bird-like bones that peeked through her pale skin, and his hearts seemed to shiver when she turned to him, her eyes dark and unspeakably sad. “You couldn’t have resisted, Romana, not if they had a telepath...”
“I know that, Doctor,” she snapped suddenly, and then took a breath, visibly steading herself. “I know. I only... I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to go to war,” she whispered. “I haven’t told anyone else, yet. I don’t know how to. But this is the only way I can think of. If Gallifrey falls, no one will stand against them.”
“So why did you really call me here, if you’re so sure of that?”
She looked away. “I told you, I called everyone home. You’ll need to fight.”
“But why now? Why did you ask to speak with me tonight, before you made the pronouncement? You had to know I’d argue against this... Ah.” He nodded. “You wanted that. You want to see what arguments the council might level.”
“No, Doctor. I knew that if I was wrong, you would talk me out of it. But I’m not, am I?”
Her eyes, when he shook his head, looked older than the oldest stars.
“So that’s it, then,” he said softly. “War. All right. Do you want...” The Doctor hesitated. “You probably need your sleep. I’ll just... I should have a technician look at the Tardis. She’s getting old, you know, and if we’re going to be fighting... The old girl might not be up to that much action, without a bit of help.”
“I’ll send someone tomorrow,” Romana told him. “One of the highest-ranking technicians. The best. She deserves my gratitude after all the traveling I’ve done with her.”
This for an old Tardis that Romana had once referred to as little more than a dilapidated antique. The Doctor watched her closely, but her face, still turned away from him slightly, betrayed nothing. “What about tonight, then?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light.
“Tonight...” Romana pressed her lips together. “I don’t know. Tomorrow, I will be the President of Gallifrey again, and I’ll lead our people to war. Tonight... I’m just Romana.”
He smiled a little. “You’ve never been ‘just’ anything.”
The ghost of a smile played at the edge of her lips. “Maybe that’s the other reason I called you here tonight, Doctor. Maybe I need someone to remind me of that. Someone who knows me for who I am.”
“Why would you need that? I’ve never met anyone more sure of herself than you are, Romana.”
“Give me the benefit of a night of doubt, then, Doctor. Give me that, just this once. Pretend that I need to be reminded. Just for tonight.”
She wouldn’t ask him to stay with her - she couldn’t, he knew her well enough to see that. That, too, would be too much like admitting defeat. But she sighed with something very much like relief when he pulled her into his arms, and he felt some of the tension slowly leach out of her taut, frail body as he kissed the crown of her head and stroked his hands slowly up and down her back. She didn’t pull away when he loosened his arms, and she didn’t let go when he tugged her hand toward the bed.
He pulled the robes up over her head, and bit back a gasp when it slipped off and revealed her naked body. The Daleks had lived up to the worst of their nature, he thought. All over Romana’s pale skin were written scars and bruises, some old and shiny-white, some livid as though they’d been inflicted only the day before. A patch of smoothly rippled burn-scar covered the underside of her left forearm. She was even thinner than he’d imagined.
“Not pretty, is it.” She tried to smile and failed, and let her eyes fall to her hands. “We don’t have to.”
“We’ve never had to.” The Doctor kissed her gently. He wished he could forget the dark, haunted look in her eyes, but he had a feeling he’d carry it with him through all his future regenerations and into his last death. “Just tell me if I’m going to hurt you. And be honest, all right? No need to prove anything, between us.”
They made love in the presidential bed, gentle and slow, and the Doctor pressed kisses on every bruise and scar that he found on her body. There were so many of them that the first sun was already rising by the time he’d finished, casting a amber-pink glow over the hills in the distance. Romana watched as though she was afraid it would all blink out at any moment.
“What’s this about, Romana? Really, I mean. Why are you so worried?” The Doctor massaged her bare shoulder gently, leaning his chin on her tousled hair. “It’s not just the Daleks, is it? We’ve fought them before, and you’ve never...” He trailed off, uncertain. He’d seen Romana solemn before, even afraid, but he’d never seen her look so unspeakably sad. “Tell me, please.”
“Don’t you know, Doctor?” Her eyes didn’t move from the horizon as she spoke, and her voice was cold and empty. “Either way, win or lose, we’ll never be the same again. Gallifrey as it is right now will never see the sun rise again. This is the end.”
The Doctor shivered and wrapped his arm around her. He wasn’t sure which of them he was trying to comfort, but he suspected it was more for him than her. Romana didn’t even seem to feel him - her eyes were already seeing into the future, he thought, and she looked as though it would break both her hearts.
Characters: The Doctor (Eight) and Romana.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Eight/Romana, the night before war came to Gallifrey. Hurt/Comfort and drama. Borrows canon from the Gallifrey audio adventures, although I admit I’ve fudged timelines a bit so it was Eight that Romana meets after her escape from Dalek captivity, rather than Six or Seven. I'm sure they're great guys and all, but... suffice to say I think Eight was the one I envisioned for this story from the start.
Notes: This is not a Happy Fic. Sorry. Happy is for the next fic I'm posting. *g*
She was not the same woman he remembered.
If regeneration had changed her, that would have been one thing - he had prepared himself for that. He’d seen her face and body change before, that was nothing new. He’d expected it, after all that she had apparently been through. But this...
It had taken a great deal of talking to convince the citadel’s guards to allow him into the presence of the newly-returned president. In the end, he’d had to accept their escort to her door, where one of them announced him in the most snide tones he’d ever heard pronounce his name... and then when he followed the guard into the room he had stopped short in the doorway, staring at the woman who greeted him. Thin, and clearly exhausted, Romana had stood - stiffly, her body moving as though every muscle protested - and acknowledged the guard, then calmly told her to leave them alone. With his escort departed, she had turned away from him and gone back to her bed. She sat on the edge of the mattress, bracing herself on either side with arms that were so much thinner than he remembered, and she’d never been heavily-built to begin with. Her skin was pale, as though she hadn’t been touched by sunlight in all the time she’d been gone, and her hair...
“I had to cut it off.” She fingered the roughly-cropped edges of dark gold that framed her face. “It was too matted to be saved. It doesn’t matter,” she added, lifting her jaw in that Romana way that she had. That way of telling the world that she knew best, even if she didn’t.
“It’ll grow back,” he agreed.
“I might keep it short.” She said it like a challenge. “It’s practical.”
“It doesn’t suit you,” he told her calmly, and crossed the room to sit by her side. He reached up without thinking and touched the short locks. That was nearly treason, a rebel like him actually touching the Lord President without permission, but she neither frowned nor smiled at his audacity. “It doesn’t suit you at all.”
Her eyes, when she at last looked up at him, were hollowed in her skull and so deeply shadowed that they looked as though they’d been bruised. He thought of the tender mercies of the Daleks, and suppressed a shudder.
“I didn’t think you would come.”
“Of course I did.”
She glared at him. “You hate to come home. I’m not a fool, Doctor. If I hadn’t sent a message...”
“I might have. Really, I might.”
“You would have thought about it, and then gotten distracted by something.” She sighed and looked at her hands. Following her gaze, he found them callused and rough, not at all the delicate instruments he remembered. “Thank you.”
It would have been better if she had yelled at him. It would have been easier, more familiar. If she had cursed, if she’d railed and made nasty remarks and sardonic commentary about his foolish behaviour, then everything would have seemed normal and he wouldn’t have felt compelled to keep looking at the evidence of pain and suffering written on her body. “Romana...”
“I still don’t know why they didn’t kill me, do you know that?” She didn’t look up, just worked carefully at cleaning black dirt from under her fingernails. “They questioned me a few times, interrogated me for information on our defenses... and then it was as though they just forgot about me, or decided that I wasn’t worth the time. They made me work in a mine, like before, but it was... The work wasn’t even important, I think they just had us doing it to break our spirits. I thought I’d never get out.”
“You did, though. You managed it. We all thought... There wasn’t a body, but...”
“I know. If it makes you feel any better,” she paused and rubbed her arms as though chilled, and then continued in a calm, hollow voice. “I thought I was dead, too.”
“It doesn’t, actually. Make me feel any better, that is.”
“Funny, isn’t it? Me either.”
Silence settled around them like a heavy snow, and then Romana stood suddenly and walked across the room. “Excuse me. I’m afraid I’m under strict orders to eat a very small meal once an hour.” She lifted a cup of something from the counter and took a shallow sip. “Vitamin and nutrient mix,” she informed him with a shudder. “Compared to the way my physicians have acted since my return, the Daleks were benevolent hosts.”
“They only want--”
“The best for me?” She snorted and drained the rest of the cup, her expression blank. He wondered if the shudder and commentary had been for his benefit, if she was really that numbed that she had to manufacture every reaction that crossed her face. “Please, Doctor. You know as well as I do that the senate would probably prefer if I were nothing more than a placid shell that they could push around and make pretty montages with. They’re probably just upset my experience didn’t manage to tame me quite well enough.”
“But you have friends here, people who’ll care for you.”
“Do I?” She set the cup aside and returned to her seat beside him. “Tell me about these friends, Doctor. Would they be the people who put me in power hoping that I would be pliable and quiet, or the ones who pretend to like me for the changes I want to make, because they hope those changes will benefit them? Or the ones who hope to win prestige by their association with me? Or, goodness, let’s not forget anyone - perhaps you mean the people who would prefer to simply have me declared unfit for office and find someone more easily-manipulated to hold the position?”
“Romana--”
“Oh, do shut up, Doctor. I didn’t summon you back to Gallifrey to comfort me and tell me what a wonderful position I have here, what great things I’ll do once I recover my strength. I could just go visit the senate if I want to hear that kind of drivel. I called you back for two reasons. The first is that you’re the only person I could trust to be blatantly honest with me, who I could count on not to be manipulating me for the purpose of politics.”
“What makes you think I wouldn’t do that?” The Doctor couldn’t resist grinning at her.
“Because you don’t give a damn about politics. Or Gallifrey for that matter.”
“That’s not true.” He shifted a bit awkwardly. “I... I’m rather fond of the old place, in my way. It’s home, after all. In all the galaxy, what place can you more honestly hate than the place you call home? I’d be lost without it.”
“Exactly my point.” She sighed and settled her arms around her abdomen, hugging herself just a bit.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She shook her head. “My body’s... not used to the food it’s been getting since I came back. I’m still learning to metabolize it again. Just a bit of nausea, just now. It will pass.”
“Maybe I should get your physician...”
“The old fool would just send me to bed and insist that I receive no more guests today. He’d like it best if I spent all my time there, sleeping the days away in a drugged stupor, propped up on pillows if I do happen to want to spend some time awake. I can’t bear it.”
“If your body is this wracked, Romana, don’t you think you should consider...”
“Regeneration? That’s rich, you bringing that up. I like the new face, by the way... I’m sorry for not mentioning it sooner. Very... romantic.” She rocked back a bit, and then stopped, steadying her hands on the bed as though willing herself to remain still. “But no, I couldn’t. I don’t want to. It feels as though regenerating would mean admitting defeat. It would mean that they won, that they really broke me. And I won’t give them that, even if they wouldn’t know the difference. And speaking of defeat...” She took a deep breath. “That’s the other reason I’ve called you home. I want to talk to you about something. About plans.”
“What for?”
“I’m going to destroy the Daleks.”
The Doctor snorted. “What, again?”
“Properly, this time. None of this fooling around and sending secret agents to kill them before they were created.”
“We’ve discussed this before--”
“And I don’t fault you for it, Doctor. You were the wrong man for the job, that’s all there is to it.”
“Now, just hold on--”
“Quiet, Doctor.”
He flinched, a bit shocked by her vehemence. No, this was definitely not the Romana he remembered, regeneration or no. She was fierce, now, almost vicious, and a coldness lingered at the edge of her eyes, chased the end of her every sentence.
“I will destroy them, Doctor, as utterly as they meant to destroy me. We’ve underestimated them in the past, and we’ve thought that they weren’t capable of cunning, that they were just machines who move from one target to the next in the order of ease. They don’t want to do that anymore. They have a plan, I know it. They’ve tried to destroy us before, but this time... this time we’ll get them before they get us. And I need you, to help me with that.”
“Romana, I... I’m not a killer.”
“You will be,” she said softly. “I know you will, if it’s necessary, won’t you? And I’m telling you, it’s necessary.”
“There must be someone better,” he offered wildly. “One of the guards, or a soldier... a true warrior, Romana, who wouldn’t fail the way--”
Romana raised her hand for silence, and she looked so tired that the Doctor found he had to obey. “You misunderstand me, Doctor. When I say ‘all,’ I mean all. All of Gallifrey must fight. We will grow more Tardises, and we will call together our forces, and we will destroy the Daleks, or be destroyed in the attempt.”
“You’re talking about all-out war, Romana. Gallifrey hasn’t been to war in... I don’t think we’ve ever gone to war, not this way, not since the time of Rassilon. All this, just for revenge? I don’t believe even you could be so proud.”
“I’m not being proud, Doctor, I’m doing what needs to be done as the leader of our people! They will kill us, if we don’t kill them first, don’t you see? It’s not like before. They know... they know about the exclusion field.” She hung her head, her strange, cropped hair brushing her cheeks and covering her eyes. “I told them. I couldn’t... They burned it out of me. They used one of the other prisoners, a telepath - they’d broken him, and he burned through my mind until he found what they wanted.”
“But if they know about that--”
“Then they can break through our defenses and attack Gallifrey proper. They’ll slaughter us, Doctor, if we don’t move first. That’s why. That’s why I’ve called you home. I’ve called everyone home, all of Gallifrey’s children throughout the galaxy. Tomorrow I’ll address the senate. By nightfall, we’ll be at war.”
“Romana...” The Doctor couldn’t think what more to say, though. He reached out and touched her cheek, the frail, bird-like bones that peeked through her pale skin, and his hearts seemed to shiver when she turned to him, her eyes dark and unspeakably sad. “You couldn’t have resisted, Romana, not if they had a telepath...”
“I know that, Doctor,” she snapped suddenly, and then took a breath, visibly steading herself. “I know. I only... I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to go to war,” she whispered. “I haven’t told anyone else, yet. I don’t know how to. But this is the only way I can think of. If Gallifrey falls, no one will stand against them.”
“So why did you really call me here, if you’re so sure of that?”
She looked away. “I told you, I called everyone home. You’ll need to fight.”
“But why now? Why did you ask to speak with me tonight, before you made the pronouncement? You had to know I’d argue against this... Ah.” He nodded. “You wanted that. You want to see what arguments the council might level.”
“No, Doctor. I knew that if I was wrong, you would talk me out of it. But I’m not, am I?”
Her eyes, when he shook his head, looked older than the oldest stars.
“So that’s it, then,” he said softly. “War. All right. Do you want...” The Doctor hesitated. “You probably need your sleep. I’ll just... I should have a technician look at the Tardis. She’s getting old, you know, and if we’re going to be fighting... The old girl might not be up to that much action, without a bit of help.”
“I’ll send someone tomorrow,” Romana told him. “One of the highest-ranking technicians. The best. She deserves my gratitude after all the traveling I’ve done with her.”
This for an old Tardis that Romana had once referred to as little more than a dilapidated antique. The Doctor watched her closely, but her face, still turned away from him slightly, betrayed nothing. “What about tonight, then?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light.
“Tonight...” Romana pressed her lips together. “I don’t know. Tomorrow, I will be the President of Gallifrey again, and I’ll lead our people to war. Tonight... I’m just Romana.”
He smiled a little. “You’ve never been ‘just’ anything.”
The ghost of a smile played at the edge of her lips. “Maybe that’s the other reason I called you here tonight, Doctor. Maybe I need someone to remind me of that. Someone who knows me for who I am.”
“Why would you need that? I’ve never met anyone more sure of herself than you are, Romana.”
“Give me the benefit of a night of doubt, then, Doctor. Give me that, just this once. Pretend that I need to be reminded. Just for tonight.”
She wouldn’t ask him to stay with her - she couldn’t, he knew her well enough to see that. That, too, would be too much like admitting defeat. But she sighed with something very much like relief when he pulled her into his arms, and he felt some of the tension slowly leach out of her taut, frail body as he kissed the crown of her head and stroked his hands slowly up and down her back. She didn’t pull away when he loosened his arms, and she didn’t let go when he tugged her hand toward the bed.
He pulled the robes up over her head, and bit back a gasp when it slipped off and revealed her naked body. The Daleks had lived up to the worst of their nature, he thought. All over Romana’s pale skin were written scars and bruises, some old and shiny-white, some livid as though they’d been inflicted only the day before. A patch of smoothly rippled burn-scar covered the underside of her left forearm. She was even thinner than he’d imagined.
“Not pretty, is it.” She tried to smile and failed, and let her eyes fall to her hands. “We don’t have to.”
“We’ve never had to.” The Doctor kissed her gently. He wished he could forget the dark, haunted look in her eyes, but he had a feeling he’d carry it with him through all his future regenerations and into his last death. “Just tell me if I’m going to hurt you. And be honest, all right? No need to prove anything, between us.”
They made love in the presidential bed, gentle and slow, and the Doctor pressed kisses on every bruise and scar that he found on her body. There were so many of them that the first sun was already rising by the time he’d finished, casting a amber-pink glow over the hills in the distance. Romana watched as though she was afraid it would all blink out at any moment.
“What’s this about, Romana? Really, I mean. Why are you so worried?” The Doctor massaged her bare shoulder gently, leaning his chin on her tousled hair. “It’s not just the Daleks, is it? We’ve fought them before, and you’ve never...” He trailed off, uncertain. He’d seen Romana solemn before, even afraid, but he’d never seen her look so unspeakably sad. “Tell me, please.”
“Don’t you know, Doctor?” Her eyes didn’t move from the horizon as she spoke, and her voice was cold and empty. “Either way, win or lose, we’ll never be the same again. Gallifrey as it is right now will never see the sun rise again. This is the end.”
The Doctor shivered and wrapped his arm around her. He wasn’t sure which of them he was trying to comfort, but he suspected it was more for him than her. Romana didn’t even seem to feel him - her eyes were already seeing into the future, he thought, and she looked as though it would break both her hearts.
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Date: 2008-02-05 05:43 am (UTC)This line, and the whole story, adds such resonance to the scene in Gridlock when the Doctor talks about Gallifrey. Good story -- I'm glad I read it!
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Date: 2008-02-05 05:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-05 08:25 am (UTC)This is the good kind of sad story, the kind that makes me ache all over and want to pat them on the heads and make it all right even though it'll never be.
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Date: 2008-02-05 04:48 pm (UTC)...That makes me sound kind of emotionally sadistic, doesn't it? ...Yay. XD
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Date: 2008-02-05 08:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-05 08:44 pm (UTC)Did my email get through okay last night? I sent it to your Gmail account, but my connection was being a real butt, so I couldn't tell if it actually sent...
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Date: 2008-02-05 04:56 pm (UTC)Utterly loved this.
*adds to memories*
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Date: 2008-02-05 04:58 pm (UTC)So glad you liked it, and thank you for commenting!
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Date: 2008-02-05 10:51 pm (UTC)“Oh, do shut up, Doctor. I didn’t summon you back to Gallifrey to comfort me and tell me what a wonderful position I have here, what great things I’ll do once I recover my strength. I could just go visit the senate if I want to hear that kind of drivel.
Soooooo her.
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Date: 2008-02-06 04:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-06 05:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-06 04:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-06 05:40 pm (UTC)It's hard work pimpin' a new comm, but you know, for Eight, I'll do it. ;-)
(Actually, it's enjoyable pimpin' a new comm. I'm just afraid that everyone is getting sick of me pimpin' it.)
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Date: 2008-02-06 05:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-06 05:54 pm (UTC)And then I will iconify it. And everyone will be able to give Eight more love. :-)
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Date: 2008-02-06 05:59 pm (UTC)...Seriously, though, somebody's gotta do that. It'd be way too cute!
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Date: 2008-02-06 06:01 pm (UTC)If I could draw, I'd totally do it. But I totally can not draw worth crap.
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Date: 2008-02-06 10:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-06 10:32 pm (UTC)If I could make one request? Could you put a short chubby gal with long hair in? (Yes, I'm one of those horrible self-insertionist fangals. What can I say?)
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Date: 2008-02-06 10:36 pm (UTC)Your icon? Lovely. XD
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Date: 2008-02-06 10:37 am (UTC)If she had cursed, if she’d railed and made nasty remarks and sardonic commentary about his foolish behaviour, then everything would have seemed normal and he wouldn’t have felt compelled to keep looking at the evidence of pain and suffering written on her body.
and this bit
Romana didn’t even seem to feel him - her eyes were already seeing into the future, he thought, and she looked as though it would break both her hearts.
make a connection between the two, some weird bridge between the almost-broken Romana and the one who's in the books and would be cold enough to start the War.
I really liked this. (And I usually don't like het.) But this was... comfortable, and slow, and hurting just a bit.
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Date: 2008-02-06 05:07 pm (UTC)Admittedly, I'm not terribly familiar with the audios or the books - they're both a bit difficult to get in America. Wikipedia is very much my friend for details. ;)
Especially glad this felt comfortable - that's exactly what I wanted to show in their relationship. Thanks so much for the kind review!
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Date: 2008-02-06 06:23 pm (UTC)I've got tears in my eyes now.
I grew up in the middle of the woods, with little to no friends. It was a beautiful place, but terribly, horribly lonely for an intelligent, extroverted child like me.
And that's EXACTLY how I feel about it now.
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Date: 2008-02-06 06:45 pm (UTC)Thanks so much for commenting. I hope your situation is better now.
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Date: 2008-02-06 06:57 pm (UTC)I think I feel much the same way about my home as the Doctor does about his.
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Date: 2008-02-06 07:10 pm (UTC)I'm glad I hit the right note, then. ;)