Title: The Slow Path Home
Author: </a></font></b></a>![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
callme_al01
Fandom: Doctor Who New Series, Written for Tardis BigBang Round 2
Genre/Characters: H/C; Tenth Doctor, OC, Rose, Donna and maybe some others later on.
Rating: PG
Beta: </a></font></b></a>aibhinn
Spoilers: Brief mention of 2009 Easter Special in the first chapter
Warnings: The first chapter is a bit bloody and has some graphic violence. Nothing after the first chapter will be like that.
Summary: "It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone." Rose Kennedy
The rising morning light coming from the windows slowly edged the Doctor back to consciousness. He lay there with his eyes closed for several seconds while he listened, trying to determine where he was and who or what might be here with him. Hearing nothing, he opened his eyes and tried to sit up but got no further than a few inches off the bed before the pain that shot through his body caused him to nearly black out. He fell back onto the pillow, his eyes tightly shut as he waited for the pain to recede.
Eventually, the Doctor opened his eyes again, but this time, he wisely decided against trying to sit up and contented himself with looking around from where he lay. A quick glance around the room let him know that he was most likely on Earth, but the digital clock glowing over on the dressing table told him it was at least the late-twentieth, possibly the early twenty-first century.
“<i>How did I get here?</i>” the Doctor wondered. He shut his eyes, trying to remember. His brain felt as if it had turned to mush, but slowly, he forced himself to remember what had happened.
<i>The TARDIS arrived in response to his sonic screwdriver's signal, and he painfully dragged himself over to the doors of his ship. The Krillitanes were screaming, clawing their way through the door of Bay's surgery to get to him. The Doctor pulled himself up to lean against the door while he put his key in and turned it. He fell through the door and into the safety of his ship, shoving the door closed behind him and leaning against it, trying to catch his breath. He didn't care now if the Krillitanes got through into the surgery. He was safe inside the TARDIS.
Slowly, gritting his teeth, he put his jacket back on. Once it was settled, he closed his eyes briefly, gathering strength and shutting out as much of the pain from his mind as possible, then made his way slowly up the ramp towards the console, using every available strut and railing he could reach for support. No crawling. He was going to his end, and he wanted to do it with as much dignity as possible.
He nearly fell onto the console once he reached it. The Doctor ran his hands gently over the dials and buttons and coral of his beautiful, faithful ship. “Time to go home, old girl,” he whispered. He straightened up and began to set the coordinates for his final journey. Back in time to his home. Back to Gallifrey at the moment of its destruction.
The central column began to pump up and down. The Doctor turned and started back down to the doors. If he had timed it right, the TARDIS and he would return to their planet just a few seconds before he'd destroyed it, and he wanted to open the doors and step out onto the soil of his home world one last time. He leaned against the door, barely conscious, waiting.
The time rotor slowly came to a stop and he felt the gentle thump of the TARDIS landing. For the first time in years, he felt the glow of real joy flow through him. He was going to sit down in the red grass under the twin suns, lean back against the TARDIS and wait.
The Doctor opened the door and stepped out, but instead of red grass and twin suns, he stepped out onto a wooden floor in a dark, cold room full of boxes. All he could do was crumple to the floor in devastation. Then there were people and talk of taking him to hospital and him arguing with them. He didn't want saving. He wanted to die. Why wouldn't they just let him?</i>
Bitter anger at himself surged through him. He'd certainly ballsed-up the situation, hadn't he? Him and his abysmal piloting skills. Couldn't even manage to do a decent job of killing himself. The Doctor's throat began to feel tight and there was an uncomfortable pricking feeling going on around his eyes. He screwed his eyes tightly shut and exhaled a few times while he struggled to keep himself under control. <i>Doesn't matter,</i> he told himself. <i>I'll still do it.</i> He used that thought to console himself as he fell back asleep.
**
Sometime later—he wasn’t exactly sure how much later, and that fact in itself should have given him a clue as to how truly sick he had been–the Doctor woke up again. He raised his head up off the pillow cautiously and took a bit more of a look around. It was a rather nice bedroom, really; spacious, with cheery yellow wallpaper that balanced out the dark, ornate bed and dresser. The far end of the room bowed out in a half circle, like the interior of a tower, and there were large, floor-to-ceiling windows running all the way around it. The top part of each window had a panel of decorative stained glass, and at the bottom of each window, there was a window seat. As the Doctor looked about, he also spied a sofa against one of the walls; on the sofa was someone reading a book. A human female, to be exact. The woman must have felt his eyes on her because she looked up from her book at him. She smiled happily and set the book down.
“Hello! You’re awake!” The woman bounced to her feet and came over to the bed to stand by him. “I thought you'd wake up soon. You've been doing so much better.”
“Hello,” the Doctor barely managed in a scratchy whisper. He throat felt as dry as dust.
“Hey! Let me get you a drink of water,” she exclaimed. “Ya must be about dyin' of thirst.” She darted off in a direction behind him that the Doctor couldn't follow.
<i>A Yank,</i> he thought as he listened to the water running. <i>Most definitely American.</i> He supposed then that he was somewhere in the States. The notion did not particularly thrill him.
The woman came back with a plastic cup of water. “Can you sit up a bit? I don't want this dripping down your front.”
The Doctor managed to pick his head up a couple of inches higher while the woman held the cup to his lips. He took a few swallows. “Thank you.” His voice came out a bit better and he laid his head back down onto the pillows.
They looked awkwardly at each other for a few seconds before the woman stuck her hand out. “I'm Emily Klapetzky.”
“Hello,” the Doctor replied. He didn't offer his hand in return. This was the woman who had saved his life, then—the one who had argued with him. All he wanted was for her to go away so he could sneak back up to the TARDIS and finish what he'd started.
“Ummm.... ” Emily turned her handshake into a bit of wave. “So, anyway, I'm glad you’re feeling better. You had us really worried for awhile.”
“Us?”
“Me and my son. Jonathan.”
“Oh.”
There was a long, uncomfortable pause; neither of them sure of what to do or say next. Finally, the Doctor broke the silence. “Could I have some more to drink, please?”
“Sure thing,” Emily picked the cup up to refill it but stopped. “Would you like somethin' other than water? I have cold pop downstairs in the kitchen.”
“Pop?”
“Soda pop? Soft drinks? You know, like Coke and ginger ale? That's what I've got. Got some orange juice too, if you like it.”
“Some Coke, please.”
Emily smiled at him, “Okay. Be right back.” She started to leave, then stopped and turned back to him. “Ummm.....how about I help you sit up more before I go downstairs?”
“No. I can do it.”
“But,” Emily began. She got no further before he began to push himself up on his own. His effort was very short-lived. He gasped and shut his eyes as he fell back against the pillows.
“I think maybe you have some broken ribs,” Emily told him. “Well, actually, I don't think it. I know it. So you're going to have to let me help you up.” She walked around to the opposite side of the bed and clambered up and over to kneel by him. Before the Doctor could protest, she firmly gripped him under his arms. “Okay, when I count to three, I'm going to pull you up and lean you forward a little so I can put another pillow behind you and then lean you back. Ready? One...two…three.”
“OW!” The Doctor yelled before he could stop himself.
“Sorry. I know it hurts. Just a sec and I'll be done.” Emily quickly pulled a third pillow over, placed it behind him and then gently lowered him back onto it. “There ya go.”
Once he could breathe again, the Doctor said, “Third, fourth and fifth on the right front. Fifth and sixth on the left front. Third, fifth, and seventh, back left."
“What?” Emily asked.
“Those are my ribs that are broken,” he said through gritted teeth as he kept his arms folded tightly across his chest.
“Gosh! I had just three broken ribs once and that was bad enough,” Emily said sympathetically. “I don't want to even think about what that many would feel like.” She scooted off the bed, obviously trying hard not to joggle the mattress too much. “That's why I wanted to get you sitting up better before I brought your Coke up. Give you a chance to get over it and settled before you had a drink. Don't want it coming back up on you.” With that comment, Emily left.
The Doctor lay on the bed with his eyes shut, trying to ignore the stabbing pains in his chest; trying to ignore the stabbing pains everywhere. Every single part of his body, including a few parts he hadn't even known he possessed before this, hurt like hell. “This is the worst regeneration I've ever been through,” he muttered. He <i>must</i> have regenerated to be feeling this bad. But how could he have regenerated and still have broken ribs? The Doctor ran his tongue around his teeth and found no noticeable difference. He held his hands up and looked at them. Looked like the same hands. He remembered seeing a mirror over the dresser to his left. Moving very slowly, he turned his face towards it and lifted his head up far enough to see his reflection.
No regeneration. He was still the same. He looked like death warmed over, but it was still the same him.
Emily came back into the room carrying a can of Coke and a straw. She popped the lid, put the straw in and held it out to him. The Doctor took the can and very deliberately removed the straw and handed it back to her. Emily shrugged and tossed the straw into the wastebasket by the bed.
The Doctor took a drink from the can then shut his eyes and sighed. It tasted so good. He took another drink, then another and another.
“Hey! Don't be chugging it like that!” Emily cautioned. He ignored her and kept drinking at the same rate so she reached over and pulled the can away from him. “You need to slow down. You're stomach's empty and I don't want to have to watch you barf again.”
The Doctor gave her an angry look and started to reach for the drink but then realized what she had said. “Again? You mean I.....”
“Yeah, when your fever was spiking really bad.”
He'd been sick? In front of this strange human? The Doctor felt his cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment. “I'm sorry.”
“Hey, you were sick,” Emily told him. “No big deal.”
The awkward silence descended again. “What's your name?” Emily asked at last.
“I'm called the Doctor.”
“Doctor …......?”
“Just the Doctor.”
“So, can I call you “The” for short?” Emily joked.
He glared at her. “Where am I?”
“On Earth.”
“I do know that much. Can you be a bit more specific, if you please?” the Doctor asked irritably.
“Sorry,” Emily sighed. “You are at 201 North Second Street,
“What's the date?”
“December 29th.”
“Of what year?” he asked impatiently.
“2010. I don't know the stardate or whatever, if that's what you're asking.”
The Doctor sighed. 2010. The year after Davros and the Daleks had stolen the Earth and tried to destroy reality. The year after he left Rose with his other self and lost Donna forever. It had been longer than a year for him.
“Where are you from?” Emily's voice interrupted his thoughts.
“So you believe that I'm an alien?” The Doctor dodged her question with one of his own.
“Well, yeah. I mean, even aside from the two hearts deal, how else could you and your box have ended up in my attic?”
“So my ship is in your attic?"
“Yep,” Emily pointed upward. “Right over our heads.”
“I'm sorry about that. It landed wrong. I didn't mean to end up in your home.”
“No big deal,” Emily gave a little laugh. “At least you didn't tear a big hole in my roof doing it. How did you manage that, by the way?”
Another question to dodge. “How long have I been here?”
Emily slid cautiously up onto the mattress at the foot of the bed to sit. “You got here on December 25th, in the evening.”
“Christmas Day. Four days I've been here,” he said in surprise. “How sick was I?”
“Pretty darn sick. You lost a ton of blood and your leg got infected and I thought you were going to die. Your temperature was going through the roof, so I scammed some antibiotics out of my doctor yesterday and started you on them. Your fever finally broke after that.” Emily reached over to the night stand and showed him the Z-pack. “This is what I've been giving you. And you're due one now so....” She popped one of the pills through the foil and handed it and the soda can back to him. “Here ya go.”
The Doctor eyed the pill in his palm. “This has no effect on me. My physiology is too different.” He handed the pill back to her.
“Will it, like, poison you or something?”
“No. Just pointless. I don't need to take it.”
“So the fact that you were dying until I started poking these into you is just a coincidence?” Emily asked.
“Exactly.”
“Then do me a favor, buddy, and humor me on this. I just spent three days wracking my brains on how to keep you alive and this seemed to do the trick. So, please, just take it.”
The two of them locked eyes. Finally, the Doctor shrugged. It wasn't worth the argument. “If it will make you happy.” He put the pill in his mouth and washed it down with the cola. He rested the can on his chest and the cold against his skin surprised him. The Doctor looked down and was shocked to realize that he had no shirt on.
“What? Where's my shirt? What have you done with my shirt? And my jacket? Where's my jacket and my trousers? What have you done with my clothes?”
Emily's eyes widened. “Hey, it's okay! Calm down a sec...”
“Calm down? Calm down? I want my clothes back! Give them back now!” the Doctor demanded.
“Listen,” Emily said. “Your shirt was wrecked. It was all bloody and torn to ribbons. I had to cut it off of you so I could clean you up and get the bandages on. Same with your pants, but I only cut the one leg off. The pants leg I mean. I'm sorry but I had to do it and I didn't take off any more than I absolutely needed.” Emily leaned down by the bed and brought up his shoes. “Look, here are your Chucks and your socks are right inside of them.” She darted back towards the bathroom. “Here's your jacket. It's got a little blood on it but I can get it dry cleaned if you want.” She handed his jacket to him. The Doctor grabbed his jacket from her and clutched it tightly to himself.
“How about I leave you alone for awhile and let you get some more rest?” Emily suggested. “I'll come back up in an hour or so to see how you're doing. Just call if you need anything.”
Silently, the Doctor watched Emily as she left the room. <i>How dare she!</i> he thought indignantly. How dare she take his clothes from him, cut them up and leave him with barely a stitch on? They were <i>his</i> clothes, not hers. He felt exposed and vulnerable, and he pulled his jacket over him like a blanket. In less than a minute he was sound asleep.
***
Emily came back up after an hour or so to check on the Doctor. She stood outside the door and poked her head into the room. He was resting peacefully, even snoring lightly as he slept. Freckles, Chucks and snoring. The combination made her smile a little as she went back downstairs. He might have been an alien with two hearts, but so far he seemed more like a human than not. Except for that weird hissy fit he threw over his clothes earlier. She watched him silently for a couple of minutes, wondering just what this man had endured to get the injuries he'd sustained.
<i>On second thought, maybe I don't really want to know.<i/>
She flopped down on the couch in the family room and turned it on to the local midday news. Emily watched the screen blankly, not really following it. Her mind was on the house guest upstairs.
The incident over his clothes had her more than a bit concerned. Maybe the gut feeling she had about this guy was wrong. The way he had become so upset over his clothes had been a little scary. He'd gone from zero to frantic in no time flat. What would he do if she did something that upset him even worse?
<i>He's still sick</i>, Emily argued back to herself; <i>sick and weak and probably scared. How would you react if you suddenly woke up in a strange place sick and hurt with half your clothes missing? You should cut him a little slack; after all, he nearly died.</i> All true but.....maybe she should be a little more cautious.
Jonathan came in to sit with her. “How's he doing?”
Emily smiled. She wasn't going to let Jonathan know about her concerns. “Oh, much better! He and I talked for a bit. Got him a Coke to drink. He's sleeping again now.”
“He drinks Coke?” Jonathan was fascinated by that bit of information. “You mean he likes pop, just like us?”
“Well, Coke at least. I don't know about anything else yet.”
“Did he tell you his name? Did he tell you where he was from?” Jonathan asked.
“He said he's called the Doctor but he didn't tell me where he was from. That didn't come up while we were talking. He's still not feeling really good yet, you know.”
“Doctor? What kind of name is that?”
“I don't know if that is his name or not. Maybe it's just some kind of title,” his mother admitted. “But if that's what he wants to be called, then that's what we'll call him. We don't want to hurt his feelings.”
“Oh, no! I wouldn't want to do that.”
Emily grinned. “At least it's better than calling him buddy all the time.”
The two of them sat together until the news ended and a soap opera came on. Both of them made a face at the show and Emily quickly switched the television off. “Ready for some lunch, love?” she asked Jonathan.
“Sure,” he replied. Emily got up to go to the kitchen. “Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I see him?”
Emily hesitated. She wasn't sure how welcomed Jonathan would be.
“I'll see how he's feeling later and ask him. He may not be up to visitors much. Okay?”
“Okay. I hope it's soon. I really want to meet him before he leaves!”
After lunch, Jonathan bundled up to go down the street to hang out with Eli for awhile. Emily reminded him to keep silent about the Doctor before he left, then once she was sure that he was gone, she went back into the family room, stood in front of the large black safe, and spun the combination to open the door.
Inside the safe was a small arsenal of rifles, shotguns and pistols. Most had belonged to Tom. He had been an excellent shot, and loved to hunt and shoot competitively. Emily also knew how to shoot; her time in the Army had taught her that. She was nowhere near as good with firearms as Tom had been, but she was a good shot and fairly competent hunter. Every hunting season she came home with at least one deer to put in the freezer. But right now, she wasn't thinking of hunting; she was thinking of protection.
Emily hesitated before reaching into the safe and pulling out a small pistol: a Walther PPK. She turned it over in her hands, debating the wisdom of getting it out. She had the feeling that this Doctor person was good and wouldn't harm them, but.....regardless of her feelings, he was a stranger in her home, and she had her son to protect—and her other children as well, if they came back before he left.
With a sigh, Emily took out a shoulder harness and went about filling a clip with ammunition. She put the harness on with the pistol and slipped the clip into her back pocket. With that accomplished, she went in search of her biggest, baggiest sweater to put on.
.
- Location:The Caribou Lounge
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Comments
Uh-oh. Guns.
and Pop? You can tell it's Western PA with "Pop". :D
Very British-sounding fizzy drink reference, btw. Well done! (LOL - many apologies if that sounds really patronising - honestly not meant to be!)
And I agree, if he had a hissy fit about the clothes, he's going to be unbearable about the guns...
Yup, Ahm Ah-mur-ican. Gotta have mah guns!
I think it is likely sparks will fly at some point due to the gun.
I'm from the UK originally, and now living in western NY, but western PA is my adopted 'home.' Spent a number of years in Butler.
I also spent a year in Baltimore, shortly after moving to the USA. Because of that, I picked up 'soda' despite my husband being from nw PA and calling it 'pop.'
Looking forward to reading more of this and seeing how the Doctor copes with western PA life. As long as he doesn't end up saying "yins" all should be good :)
We've lived here 10 years as of this summer but both my husband and I come from Maryland originally.
I can promise you that the Doctor won't be saying "yins" unless he's trying to be silly. Even I don't say yins after all this time here! And I still call it soda and fuss at my kids when they say pop!
I love the conversation they had together. I laughed a little at the part when he realized that he didn't have his clothes on. And the reaction he had when she left the room. How Dare she?! that was so cute.
I'm enjoying this story with each chapter I read. Brilliant job. I loved her reaction too. Freckles. Chucks, and snoring. That is so adorable.
Cute, cute, cute story.
Don't like the gun so much, hopefully she won't show it to him, as we know he hates guns. But I can understand her wanting to protect her family. I can't wait to read the next chapter. :-)
I've been reading this story in between working on my own, and I keep coming back to it. :-)