Clara’s face grew softer, her expression changing from the sudden anger to a more subtle one with a hint of disappointment. “Nothing happened, but that doesn’t mean you’re invincible.” He of all people should know that, but she acknowledges that it’s just like the Doctor to brush something like that to the side. As if it isn’t necessary to worry about him. “I told you I’d stay, didn’t I? Promised I’d stick around whether you changed back to normal or not.” What appeared to be an entirely plausible chance to him wasn’t even an option for her. No matter how much someone screws up, on purpose or accident, there’s no possible way for Clara to just cut out. Even if she wanted to. “Do you really have that little confidence in me, Doctor?”
"I’m not trying to say I’m invincible," He insisted with a quiet scoff. "I’m just sayin’ that you make me out to be far more of a goof than I am." Quickly, he takes his hands to her face, holding onto her cheeks and leaning down, getting at eye level with the girl. "Okay, no, m’still a bit of a fool. But I do know a bit of what’m doin’—I am 1300 years old.” Standing up straight again, he looked down at her. The year’d been long; and there were times where he nearly hadn’t come back. It became too hard, though, the not knowing. Trenzalore’d taught him that. It was better to know than live in mystery. “No, no,” He quickly retorted, bringing a hand to run through his hair. “If there’s anyone, Clara, anyone, I’ve got confidence in…it’s you. It’s me I haven’t got th’confidence in, I s’pose.”
"The brand new ancient blue box. Oh clever. Very clever. Something old. Something new. Something borrowed. Something blue.”
Doctor Who —> Hugs meme:
- Doctor + (Fem) Companions // Bad vs Good Times
"Who are they?"
It was one of those days. He was on top of his bed in just a pair of basketball shorts, unable to sleep for most of the night until it was time to get up for work. Luckily, he was able to make it a plain clothes day. No suit and tie, no leather body armor. A black T-Shirt and jeans were his garb of choice as he made his way down to rift central in the Tower, grabbing a flat screen as he wandered around, looking at the over night data as he grabbed a cup of coffee.
The rift gave a little spike of activity close to the Tower as he headed to the lobby. He hadn’t checked his mail recently, and figured this was a good time to do it - while it was quiet.
As he stepped off the elevator, a knocking sound attracted his attention. The Doctor. The 11th Doctor - the one that almost tried to destroy the world by killing Ten in the TARDIS. his first instinct when he saw the bow tie was to attack, send him flying off the glass pane where he couldn’t hurt anyone.
But that would draw too much attention, and with as many civilians around as there were it was too big of a risk. And so he walked over to the door, sending a quick 'I got this' telepathically to the lobby attendees, confused as to why the man in the bow tie was just standing outside the doors and not coming in.
"So," said Ty as he stepped outside, realizing that the rift had been alerting him to the Doctor’s presence. His eyes lit up as he prepped his mental energies, just in case Eleven hadn’t fully gotten over his world domination kick by killing Ten. "What can I do for you today, Doctor?"
The time lord stood there a little while, rocking on the heels of his feet, unused to this “waiting” thing. But after the confrontational nature of he and Ty’s first (and last) meeting, the last thing the Doctor wanted to do was be invasive in any way.
How was he supposed to explain his actions the last time around? Practically turning his entire mental state into that of his worst enemy? To this day, he didn’t really know where it’d come from—and part of him didn’t really want to know. Of course, he wanted to avoid it under any circumstances, but if it hadn’t been anything and he was really just…going mad? That would be the worst case scenario.
When the somewhat familiar face came into his view, the Doctor jumped slightly, giving a small wave, and an awkward grin before running his hand through his hair. It’s a simple apology.
The air grew dense as he approached, quickly sensing a defensive state. Immediately, the Doctor stepped back as the door opened, lifting his hands, trying to show the man that he wasn’t here for any sort of trouble. That was the last thing I wanted. “Ty, was it?” He grinned weakly.
"Not here to fight, not for anything like that. I’m safe, promise." Lowering his hands slightly, he fixed his bowtie and flattened his vest. "I just came about—been thinking quite a bit, I’m sure you know what I mean—and recalled I never got to apologize. Or properly meet you, least not that I can recall….and if you were so good to my past self, you ought to be a good mate." His voice was genuine, stance confident (albeit, a tad…awkward). "I’m not quite sure what’d come over me," He admitted. "Back there, I…I did terrible things and traumatized someone I care about quite a lot, and put you, myself, everyone…in a good amount of danger. I wasn’t properly controlling myself, and had a bit of a personal crisis, and you got caught in the middle. So…I’m quite sorry for that."
With over a thousand years travelling through time and space, the Doctor made a few mistakes. Some grander than others, some more impactful than others…but all mistakes at their deepest level, for one reason or another. And he’d hurt people. People he cared dearly for, and people he didn’t even know. And though some forgave him (and he never quite forgave himself), there were always doors left open that he never got the chance to properly close. And with time to waste over the past few weeks, the Doctor had found himself alone with his thoughts quite often, making tallies of things he’d never done or finished.
He shuddered at the thought, walking down the streets of the city. To this day, the time lord wasn’t completely sure what’d come over him. Everything he saw and felt was fire and rage and burning hate. For himself. For his people. For those he loved. And some people got caught in the crossfire. His breath caught in his throat at the familiar thought.
How many lives?
Shaking his head lightly, he fixed the frockcoat on his body, scanning the groups of people who passed by en route to the tower that he’d seen the blue-haired man going into often enough. He could’ve easily taken the TARDIS, but when it came to apologies for that day, the Doctor determined surprise probably wasn’t the best course of action. Taking his lengthy strides up the walk and stopping at the door, he cleared his throat, preparing for any type of response.
Awkwardly, he rapped on the door a few times, pausing before clicking a few buttons, hoping something notified someone he was there.