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Death Is Not The Greatest Loss In Life
Lol, I should stop being such a hypocrite. Here be a fic of the epic length of 572 words. It's not exactly comm material (x-posted it anway, lol), but I thought I'd share it with you guys.
Title: Death Is Not The Greatest Loss In Life
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lf2871, euclase.
Rating: All ages.
Genre: Angst, snippet, episode tag.
Character: 10th Doctor.
Disclaimer: Still not mine.
Warnings: Spoilers for the series 4 finale!
AN: Sad and depressing. The title is the first part of a Norman Cousins quote which continues, The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live..
He's not quite sure why he's come here.
Donna's room - what used to be Donna's room - is empty. The bed is still here, a Xyrillian dry water bed that they had found on a market on Ernaila Five, and so is the rest of the furniture, assorted bits and pieces that Donna had found in various places all over the TARDIS and assembled in this room with a taste in interior design as clear-cut as everything else about her.
But all her things are gone. The clothes, the shoes, the books and the knick-knacks she'd brought on board and that used to fill this room and make it seem inhabited had all gone back into her bags and were returned to her house in Chiswick. The Doctor had been careful not to pack anything Donna had acquired on their travels and found that had been a lot less than he initially assumed. Donna had loved to window-shop, but she'd rarely bought anything she hadn't had any use or need for.
It's really just another empty, abandoned room of a former companion, and usually, the Doctor knows better than to hang out in them. But for some reason, this one feels like unfinished business.
He sighs and turns to the door, intending to leave the business unfinished until some later date, when he spots something blue-and-white stored away on top of the wardrobe. He reaches up to pull it down.
It's the hatbox.
He holds it in his hands for a while, staring down at it and wondering how he could have missed it the first time around. He had been so careful when he'd cleaned out the room.
He puts the box down on the bed and opens it. There aren't all that many hats - three in all; two of them straw hats, and one Chameleon Hat that Donna had bought on their first trip to the Mall Planet - but then, he doesn't really remember her as much of a hat person.
The Doctor promised himself long ago that he wouldn't grieve for companions. He's had so many, and the ways have always parted too frequently. Over the course of his life, the Doctor has found that grief benefits nobody. This is why it surprises him when the memory of that dingy back alley, where Donna, full of excitement and enthusiasm, had more or less imposed herself on his life, makes him feel choked up. He swallows and closes his eyes, recalling that moment in his mind as clearly as possible; the apprehension he'd felt, which she'd crushed with her usual decisiveness.
Mates. That's what they are. What they were. Best mates. Not anymore, though. For Donna, none of this has happened. For Donna, all that exists is her small world, in which she is a chronically jobless temp who hasn't come further on her travels than onto a tourist bus in Egypt.
With a sudden, jerky movement, the Doctor grabs the edges of the hatbox and shoves it off the bed. A strangled sound struggles to escape his throat, but it lacks determination, and the hatbox falls to the floor with a soft thump, the cardboard not even bending on impact.
He sits down on the bed and lowers his head, pulls up his shoulders and withdraws into himself as far as possible.
The Doctor doesn't grieve. It hurts too much, and it benefits nobody. But sometimes, in very rare cases, he can't help crying anyway.
Title: Death Is Not The Greatest Loss In Life
Beta:
lf2871, euclase.Rating: All ages.
Genre: Angst, snippet, episode tag.
Character: 10th Doctor.
Disclaimer: Still not mine.
Warnings: Spoilers for the series 4 finale!
AN: Sad and depressing. The title is the first part of a Norman Cousins quote which continues, The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live..
He's not quite sure why he's come here.
Donna's room - what used to be Donna's room - is empty. The bed is still here, a Xyrillian dry water bed that they had found on a market on Ernaila Five, and so is the rest of the furniture, assorted bits and pieces that Donna had found in various places all over the TARDIS and assembled in this room with a taste in interior design as clear-cut as everything else about her.
But all her things are gone. The clothes, the shoes, the books and the knick-knacks she'd brought on board and that used to fill this room and make it seem inhabited had all gone back into her bags and were returned to her house in Chiswick. The Doctor had been careful not to pack anything Donna had acquired on their travels and found that had been a lot less than he initially assumed. Donna had loved to window-shop, but she'd rarely bought anything she hadn't had any use or need for.
It's really just another empty, abandoned room of a former companion, and usually, the Doctor knows better than to hang out in them. But for some reason, this one feels like unfinished business.
He sighs and turns to the door, intending to leave the business unfinished until some later date, when he spots something blue-and-white stored away on top of the wardrobe. He reaches up to pull it down.
It's the hatbox.
He holds it in his hands for a while, staring down at it and wondering how he could have missed it the first time around. He had been so careful when he'd cleaned out the room.
He puts the box down on the bed and opens it. There aren't all that many hats - three in all; two of them straw hats, and one Chameleon Hat that Donna had bought on their first trip to the Mall Planet - but then, he doesn't really remember her as much of a hat person.
The Doctor promised himself long ago that he wouldn't grieve for companions. He's had so many, and the ways have always parted too frequently. Over the course of his life, the Doctor has found that grief benefits nobody. This is why it surprises him when the memory of that dingy back alley, where Donna, full of excitement and enthusiasm, had more or less imposed herself on his life, makes him feel choked up. He swallows and closes his eyes, recalling that moment in his mind as clearly as possible; the apprehension he'd felt, which she'd crushed with her usual decisiveness.
Mates. That's what they are. What they were. Best mates. Not anymore, though. For Donna, none of this has happened. For Donna, all that exists is her small world, in which she is a chronically jobless temp who hasn't come further on her travels than onto a tourist bus in Egypt.
With a sudden, jerky movement, the Doctor grabs the edges of the hatbox and shoves it off the bed. A strangled sound struggles to escape his throat, but it lacks determination, and the hatbox falls to the floor with a soft thump, the cardboard not even bending on impact.
He sits down on the bed and lowers his head, pulls up his shoulders and withdraws into himself as far as possible.
The Doctor doesn't grieve. It hurts too much, and it benefits nobody. But sometimes, in very rare cases, he can't help crying anyway.
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Poor Ten. :(
*sniffles*
Beautiful fic. :)
*mems*
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Thanks for commenting!
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Lovely job, and no one cares if you're a hypocrite, because I bet this is worth ten of the mentioned shorter fics. (Not in a literal sense, because, ouch, ten short, setting-less fics?)
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And lol, I sincerely hope I won't end up writing ten of these ficlet type stories. One every 10 months or so is enough. xD
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I'd read anything you post, though, but please at least ry to squash any muse that comes your way with that fic in hand... Please?
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Blue Suit Ten will travel, cause a lot of mayhem, probably spawn quite a few kids all over the world, and will most likely die free-climbing in the Himalaya during storm warning. He'll probably take at least two people with him.
I could write that fic. But, while I do like depressing, I don't like my depression to be as pointless as that.
Coming to think of depressing, I could also see Blue Suit Ten losing it after a couple of years, going completely batshit and murdering everyone around him before blowing up the Earth. Now that would be more interesting to write.
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OMG, and Jackie turns into the uninvolved Jackie of that verse, and Rose is stuck being the responsible one, and she goes, "Dude, TOTALLY NOT what I signed up for" and her life is miserable save the occasional postcard from Ten, who eventually catches up with this universe's Jack Harkness, (still a Time Agent, cuz without a Doctor, how'd he lose his two years? He didn't, I tell you, he didn't) and then they Travel the Universe with lots of snark and innuendo, 'cept no sex cuz Ten still totally doesn't see it.
I hijacked your idea. Sorry.
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;D Happy you liked it! Thanks for the comment :).
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Absolutely beautiful, sad and very well written :)
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