Continued from here.



The Doctor scrambled awkwardly to his feet, took half a step back away from Lucy, and tried for all the world to look like he had not only meant to do that, but it was all right that it had happened.

"You all right?" he asked.

That could've been more awkward. He wasn't entirely certain how it could've been more awkward, but...somehow it could've.



Christmas Eve. 2009.

The Doctor loved Christmas! Back when he was a wee Time Lord, the first place he ever landed was London on Christmas Eve. He promised himself he'd never miss another Christmas ever, but that promise went into the same pile as "Lose weight" and "Regenerate a better hairline" and "Stop leaving companions in other universes". But the Doctor had never quite gotten the hang of New Years'. (He once spent several hours commiserating on the similarity between the confusing nature of New Years and Thursdays with one Arthur Dent, who will sadly not be appearing in this piece of narrative. -editor)

But! Through all his travels in space and time, he still hadn't quite figured out what Christmas was for exactly. Except as a yearly excuse for turkey, too much wine, and plum pudding (all of which the Doctor approved of). This year, though, as he strode the streets on this wonderful Christmas Eve, the Doctor decided he would figure out exactly what Christmas was all about.

This may or may not have included use of a intergalactic manipulative detector and a full pack of radio stellar isotopian crystals. Oh, and a cup of hot chocolate. In a festively-coloured cup.

There was a lovely light snow, and the Doctor grinned madly at the stars. Christmas. This year, he was going to figure out what it was all about.


OOC: Open thread, feel free to tag in as if your character is a passerby or as if your character is a long-standing companion! I'll be working on this thread up until the New Year, most likely! Everyone from any verse (or no verse!) is welcome, just let me know if you'd prefer it from a community or specific universe! And, for this thread, threadhopping is totally welcome!

Happy Holidays, everyone! &hearts

I'll sink Manhattan
Right under the sea
I'll find the sweetest spot to watch
As it goes away

You were so happy
With the things that you said
Like, "He's my lower half," you laughed
But you're going to cry

A river of tiny tears flow from your crocodile eyes
Too late to apologize, I say, as flood waters rise…

He only just makes it to the top of the building by the time the tides reach them. Everything on this part of America has collapsed except this one building. It's funny, but once upon a time he stood at this peak, looking over a very different Manhattan, and succeeded in saving the world.

Now, all he's done is fail.

He tries to pump the heart of the woman next to him. One, two, three. Nothing. And again. One, two, three. He's too little to hold enough oxygen in his lungs to breathe life into her. He's too helpless to save her. Drowned, like the rest of the people in this city.

Harriet Jones. Former PM.

The apologies that he speaks now mean nothing. He didn't know. He didn't know this would happen, but it did and it's too late. He scrambles back, his little legs pushing him towards the building's spire quickly, but not quickly enough. He feels hot tears start to run down his face. He's failed. Failed, failed, failed.

A year ago, he wouldn't have cried like this. He's been trapped as a little boy for too long, now. And the one time, the one time he tried to escape, his captor drowned a city to bring him back. Drowned a city full of people. Good people. People like Wilfred Mott and Leo Jones and Harriet Jones, former PM.

The present PM's helicopter is lowering towards the Empire State building, the black machine mirrored against the sparkling, still water. The Doctor watches the shiny shoes of the Master, stepping around the spire until he faces him. He doesn't even acknowledge Harriet Jones, former PM. He only barely acknowledges the crying little boy in front of him.

"Oh, don't be stupid," he snaps. "I didn't do this because of you, you idiot."

He nudges the Doctor's arm with his shiny shoe, but the Doctor can't react, now. All he can do is cry like the child the Master has told him he is.

The Master crouches in front of him, his expression almost pitying, like a father having to tell his son that Father Christmas isn't real. "This is where the resistance was holding a very big meeting," he says, all patronizing and stern. "You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, sonny. But it's a very good job that Daddy Master has come to pick you up, isn't that right?"

"I hate you." It's one of the most immature things he's managed to say, but right now he means it with every fiber of his diminutive being. He hates the Master, he hates everything that's happened. He hates that his running shoes don't fit and he hates the miniature suit he's wearing and he hates, hates, hates what's become of the planet he loves.

The Master looks amused. It's infuriating. "It's always the fate of a father to watch his son hate him until he realizes he's right."

"You're not my father, Master." But even the way he says the Master's name seems small. The Master seems to notice that, too, because his eyebrows crinkle together in distaste. He doesn't get the same high he once did from the Doctor saying his name. Things will change again, soon, and the Doctor doesn't want to think how.

The Master nods upwards, and soon the Doctor hears the clomp-clomp of very high heels. Lucy Saxon, a brand new split on her lip (unsurprising, considering she was the one who was supposed to be watching the Doctor when he escaped), comes rushing over, immediately scooping the tiny Time Lord into her arms.

He doesn't resist, instead going limp as she holds him. Her grip is a little too tight, and he knows she must blame him for the Master's treatment of her. Blame the Doctor for every bruise and every pain she's suffered. Blame him for the things that have happened to this once beautiful world.

As he looks over her shoulder at the drowned city, he can't help but agree with her.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 676

It's my world, my love, my gun

well It's the end of the world
well It's the end of the world
well It's the end of the world
well It's the end of the world

No I’m all alone, kept the pain inside.
Wanna torch the world, cos I’m breathing fire.
Yes I’m all alone, kept the pain inside.
Wanna torch the world, cos I’m breathing fire..

Lucy isn't insane.

Not in the classical sense of the word. Not the madness her husband so willingly flaunts as he slides from room to room, surveying his kingdom. While she might dance to the beat of her own drums, they're not the same drums that pulsate through her husband's mind, they're not the drums of war and madness.

All the same, she's not all there. The Doctor can tell she's been broken in ways he knows he can't fix. It's the way she moves, the vacancy in her eyes. It's as if the deceptive and cruel woman he met months ago has left the building, and there's no one home to feel the things she's feeling.

There are always deep, penetrating bruises that she's not allowed to cover up with makeup. Marks of how much the Master loves her (because he really only hurts the ones he loves.) The Doctor has his own share of bruises, but his don't mark quite as artistically on his old skin as hers do.

She only comes to the bars of the Doctor's cage one. It's the night the Master breaks her wrist and shatters her collarbone, but that all happens after. Right now, right now she's slowly creeping towards it, as if she thinks the cameras pointed at the box in the center of the room somehow will miss her if she moves more slowly.

She touches the bars, but recoils immediately, as if expecting him to leap up from his wheelchair and attack. He doesn't move, and she becomes only the tiniest bit more relaxed. Her fingers curl around the bars and she leans, ever so slightly, to the left, bracing herself on the weight of the heavy bars.

"I'm going to kill him," she says. Her voice is calm, as though she were talking about the weather or the coldness of the bars.

He doesn't say anything at first. What can he say to her? He could tell her it's wrong to kill the Master, but it was wrong to kill one-tenth of the population and that didn't stop her. So, instead, he says, "Why?"

"I don't want him to hurt me anymore," she says, and he doesn't think she's just talking about the welt under her eye. She traces a long, red fingernail across the bar she's holding. "I'm going to shoot him in the heart."

"With what gun?" he demands, surprised by the force in his voice. She's telling him she wants to murder the person he's trying to save, of course there's going to be force there.

She smiles at it. "I'll find one. And I'll shoot."

"You better not miss," he warns her.

"I won't."

There's a click, and the Doctor knows the Master is coming. He can feel the other Time Lord's mind, buzzing with fury for Lucy's actions, and mild irritation for her words (after all, she can't hurt him). The Doctor would tell her to go, but where would she run to? Running would only mean more pain.

"Why did you tell me?" he asks.

Her expression is pained, then. Like she expected him to understand, but he doesn't. She reaches her arm through the bars to touch the side of his face. Her skin is warm and surprisingly soft. She's quite the human, Lucy Saxon is.

"Because you won't let me," she says. "And I have to do this."

She has to do it, because she's always stood up for herself, in life. It's why the Master chose her, it's why she went through what she did with him. But she still loves him. She loves him, and she doesn't want to do what she knows she has to.

There's a smack and suddenly Lucy is thrown to the side, cradling her wrist. The Master doesn't even look at the Doctor, he just hits. And hits. And hits.

The punches start to sound like drumbeats. One beat after the other. And the Doctor can't stop them.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 565

I’m gonna say what I need to say,
in my very last letter to you,
cuz you always made it clear,
said that you’d never be my pain.
So here’s to you when you cried baby blues
And just paused a cool to refrain
And you said she was satisfied
and this body’s just waiting to die
and I could listen sometimes
but you said its alright
its just a whole lot harder alone.


Lucy Saxon---

Mrs. Saxon---

He gives up and tosses the note into the bin by his desk. It's been months since he's seen her on the Plane, he's not even sure why he bothers. It's been good, being apart. He's grown closer to Brigitta, River, even people he's only just met on the Plane. It's better that she's away.

But now…

He is certain the end is coming. His death. He doesn't know what he does or who knocks for him, but he knows it's coming to an end.

He looks down at his hands. They're good hands. Little freckles and hairs all over them and the bones at his knuckles stick out, but they're good hands. He can't even imagine regenerating them away.

But his song wouldn't be ending if he was just going to regenerate. Funny. He always imagined he had at least a few more regenerations in him.

Still. That's the trouble with regeneration. You never quite know what you're going to get. And if he's right about the things people see about him, he's not going to get anything anymore.

He looks at the crumpled up letter. She made her choice. Probably wouldn't even notice if he died (when he dies).

It still doesn't feel fixed. It doesn't feel concluded.

He doesn't want her back. Not really. Maybe a tiny bit, but not enough for him to act on it. But he wants---

He wants to say good-bye. He's said good-bye to Sarah, Brigitta, Dorothy, and the Master, he's still working on saying good-bye to his Companion and Jack. He's passed on the notes he's taken to a superhero who should be able to continue his work. He's done. he needs to stop worrying about it.

But Lucy---No, no, Mrs. Saxon. He hasn't seen her. She doesn't know.

Unconsciously, he drops to the Plane.

She isn't there, of course. Silly thing to think. River would probably slap him for thinking something like that (and River's slaps are really, really unpleasant). But she's not here and he can't think of what to write in a letter to leave her.

She's content with her half-life with the Master, so she'd never seek him out. She doesn't know.

He drops back to the TARDIS and cleans up the letters before heading back to the console room to make a few final repairs.

Everything's ending soon, for him. And she doesn't know.

It's better that she doesn't know.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 413
Based on rp with [ profile] shatteredqueen and others in [ profile] realityshifted
"It was Harry's, I need to keep it to remember him by," she said, and at the time he believed her.
Pros and Cons of Never Speaking To Lucy Saxon Again

-Love life simplified
-No longer have to deal with catfighting (?) with the Master
-Romantic options are opened
-Sexual life simplified (non-existent)
-No longer insulted for sartorial taste
-No longer insulted for being skinny
-No longer insulted for driving capabilities
-No longer insulted for landing in the wrong place
-Explaining companion relationships is now simple
-Relationship with Master is simplified
-No longer have to listen to complaining
-No longer have to pretend to care about politics
-No longer have to worry about double-crossing companions
-Half-human companion no longer has reason to be jealous
-No more jealousy of "other" TARDIS crew
-No longer have to deal with silly arguments
-No longer have to worry about appearing idiotic during said arguments
-No longer have to teach about the TARDIS
-No longer have to give TARDIS tours
-Apples and oranges are, once again, apples and oranges only
-No longer need to worry about companion's silly high heels
-No longer have to worry about any sort of any tension
-No longer have to bother being polite on the Plane
-No longer need to practice complicated dances
-No longer have to worry about clothing choices
-No longer have to worry about hairstyle (outside of own opinion)
-No longer have to buy expensive birthday gifts
-No longer have to buy expensive Christmas gifts
-No longer have to buy anything unnecessary
-Shopping is no longer a requirement
-Shopping can actually be removed from the TARDIS itinerary completely (except for food)
-No longer have to explain myself ad nauseum
-No longer have to explain the TARDIS's quirks
-No longer have to deal with TARDIS's jealous feelings
-No longer have to explain TARDIS's feelings
-No longer have to worry about the safety of the TARDIS
-No longer have to worry about safety of companions
-No longer have to stifle opinions
-Self-respect restored

-Never get to speak to Lucy again


My usual method of decision making is useless here.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 330
Based on RP in [ profile] realityshifted
TARDIS capabilities at 20%

You can feel your ship's pain.

It is part of you. It sinks under your skin, it permeates every cell of your being until you are her pain. Every part of you hurts. Your hands shake as you try to reconnect wires and seal up damaged systems.

Somewhere, under the pain, you can feel a layer of betrayal. Not to her, the one who damaged your ship, but for you, for allowing her on board. For leaving her alone. For trusting her, when you were warned. You should've known, but you didn't want to, and now there's nothing but pain.

You should've known. You just should've known. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,678
Based on RP in [ profile] realityshifted with [ profile] shatteredqueen and others.
Following the arrival of this letter and this thread.

It's torture, holding a guilty secret in. But the Doctor shouldn't have worried, he thinks. To the Master, it's all a game.

The first part of the game is the anticipation. Waiting it out, writing the letter, picking out the perfect place. Castrovalva. The Doctor's fifth life started here, and the two of them very nearly formed an alliance over it. Very nearly.

The Dwellings of Simplicity. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,008
Based on RP with [ profile] savagestime, [ profile] shatteredqueen, and [ profile] handysparehand, among others!
"If the human mind was simple enough to understand, we'd be too simple to understand it." - Emerson Pugh

Love is infinitely more complicated than hate.

There's a whole holiday based around love, there are self-help books on love, and there's an entire bank of the book store labeled "romance". Some people would trade looks and money just to be loved, and of the 778 best picture movies during the Academy Award's run, 750 of them were based around some sort of love story. One quick look online and it's easy to find "7 great ways to build a good relationship" or "How to find true love". As if it was actually that easy.

Psychometrician Robert Sternberg theorizes that there are three components of love. A triangle, as it were. Passion, commitment, and intimacy. Without these three elements, one can hardly call it love at all, can one? And only the commitment part is something one can control, the other two are based on emotions, compatibility, and (usually) hormones. Without the heat of passion, a love story has no intensity. Without commitment, it will fizzle and die into nothing. And without intimacy, there's no genuine connection.

Psychologist Zick Rueben proposes a similar theory, though he words it 'round a bit differently, calling it "caring, attachment, and intimacy". The fundamentals are the same, of course, but it's focused more on a less romantic version of love and more a general version because there's more than one version of love, apparently. Romantic, parental, familial, friendly…all sorts of love. Psychologist Elaine Hatfield splits them into two categories so one can take up less space in their cabinets: passionate and caring.

And if one follows the scientific Coulomb's law, then one knows that the magnitude of the electrostatic force between two point electric charges is directly proportional to the product of the magnitudes of each charge and inversely proportional to the square of the distance between the charges. Meaning that opposites attract. Clever, isn't it? Good old Charlie Coulomb, always great fun at parties (but he's French, so that's expected) Oh, and Freud says love really just has to do with sex. But that's Freud. Good bloke, but he's a bit off his rocker at times.

Love is complex. It's messy, it's twisted, it's confusing, and no matter how hard you might try to fit it into an algebraic matrix, it just doesn't want to come out simply.

As for hate.

Hate is easy.

Hate is deep-rooted and uncontrollable.

Hate is body temperature rising.

Hate is adrenaline pumping.

Hate is muscles tensing.

Hate is all-consuming.

Hate is…a lot like physical attraction, come to think of it.

The Doctor Explains Love. And Other Completely Improbable Instances of Self-Awareness. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,342
Based on RP in [ profile] realityshifted with [ profile] savagestime and [ profile] shatteredqueen.
Also, special thanks to [ profile] savagestime for suggesting that I challenge myself and write something in 4th person!
Dear Lucy Saxon,


The Doctor


Dear Master,

Don't even ask.

The Doctor


Dear Jack,

I was going to tell you eventually.

The Doctor


Dear Rose,

We really need to introduce you to the other companion on board.

The Doctor


Dear Victoria Beckham,

I still think you're Posh.

The Doctor


Dear Martha,

Don't let her bait you.

The Doctor
Lucy is so very beige when you first meet her. Her hair is in a tight, sophisticated blonde bun, her suit is beige, her nails are beige, even her short heels are beige. She's meant to blend into the background of her husband's campaign. She's supposed to vanish, appearing only when a wife is expected and desired. You imagine it must seem like a terrible life to some, but she seems to revel in being second best.

'She doesn't know what to make of you.' Cut for spoilers to 3.12, 'The Sound of Drums' and 3.13, 'The Last of the Time Lords'. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,489
Note: Not currently part of [ profile] psych_30, but working on the prompts for fun until I get accepted.
Doctor Who? The Mysterious Dr. John Smith of United Nations Intelligence Taskforce
By Riseeta Skitra

He's infamous in many ways---and yet it is undeniable that the world wouldn't be without him. Previous Prime Minister Harriet Jones once called out for this man, this Doctor to arrive and save the world from the alien ship that blanketed the skies two Christmases ago.

The question is, who is this man? I brought together some of his most loyal supporters and most vocal of critics to get the voice of who he is, the man behind the Doctor.

Rose Tyler
"The Doctor has the power to change a person. It only takes a second, then you wonder what you were doing with your life before you met him."

Mr. Gabriel
"Good guy. Weird taste in planets. Weird taste in leis too, for that matter, but still fun to be around. And I like his tardy."

First Lady Lucy Saxon
"The man known as the Doctor is a public menace and a threat to society. Any sightings should be reported directly to the police."

John Smith II (Not to be confused with whom this is about)
"He's positively amazing. Not as much as me, obviously, but that's not the point. Brains and strength and courage. And good looks. Best best mate I ever had."

Captain Jack Harkness, Torchwood
"The Doctor's everything you love and hate about aliens, about other people, about life. He's harsh but makes you stronger. You rarely know what he's thinking, but when you find out, it's always surprising. He's loving but keeps you at a distance. He licks everything and doesn't catch anything; it's amazing. The Doctor keeps you alive by making you live and making you want to live."

Jeanne-Antoinette Poisson
"More than angel or nightmare, he is pliable steel. He slips into the cracks of one's life, ones you might not even know are there. And yet you are not weakened by his presence. Rather you are sheltered and strengthened. Protected. Challenged."

Dr. Jane Smith
"The tall, skinny excitable chap with the hair and the red converse? Never heard of him in my life."

Anne Wilson
"He's fickle, hardworking- which is evidenced by his really nice hands... he has fantastic hands, you know. He spends most of his day under that grate next to the console. When he's not running from dinosaurs, Eternals or whatever mess he's gotten himself into... but he DOES have nice hands."

Gabriel Grey
"To say he's different because he's genetically different downplays the truth. Just like saying he's rude, or cruel, or wrong in what he does downplays the enormity of everything he copes with. Seriously, you try looking at the monsters he does day in and day out and tell me what your mind would be like afterwards. Course, that doesn't mean the bastard has a right to kidnap people!"

Dr. Martha Jones
"He's a force for good and he cares about people's lives -- an' he puts himself on the line over and over again, because he won't just turn away in the face of injustice. He's saved the world more times than I can reckon, and no one ever knows -- he wouldn't know what to do with himself if people did really know. Oh, he'd bluster and strut, but he'd shy away from the real-- He's my friend and he made me a better person. Is there anything
better you could say about someone?"

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 550

Special thanks to all the muses and muns who assisted in giving me quotes! You all rock!


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The Doctor


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