[Mind the Muse] Response
Jul. 4th, 2008 09:53 pm You know how when you're listening to music playing from another room? And you're singing along because it's a tune that you really love? When a door closes or a train passes so you can't hear the music anymore, but you sing along anyway... then, no matter how much time passes, when you hear the music again you're still in exact same time with it. That's what it's like.
- Music From Another Room.
“Give it to me,” you say with more force in your voice than you’ve ever used before. He doesn’t respond, only giving you a look. You repeat your words – “Oh, just give it to me, Doctor” - and this time, rather than waiting for an answer, you take the rifle from him.
There is so much activity around you, has been since the two of you had snuck out in those daft robes that absolutely envelope you. Maybe it’s for the best. After all, he had warned you about coming out of the TARDIS. You were supposed to stay hidden, safe in your room where she would protect you. But you had argued. The two of you were in this together and, for whatever reason he had been called back to Gallifrey (a lie), you were going to help him. The mind wipe was worth the risk, you had claimed, because you thought deep down you could never forget him. He’s rather like that song that won’t leave your head, you explain. Best friend, family: through thick and thin.
You could never leave him. And finally, he caves, warning you to stay close.
So you do. Despite the imminent danger, despite the fact that this is clearly all some ploy, you still get a thrill in meeting old professors and classmates. He had a life before you, just like you had one before him. It’s strange to actually see it come to life.
But now? Now things have gone horribly wrong. The crowd roars with confusion. The President has just been shot. And look, over there! The pair that had been crying wolf about an assassin had a gun! No one believes your innocence. The guards are coming up the catwalk, ready to arrest you. So a decision has to be made. And while the Doctor just stands there, professing his innocence, you make it. As much as it hurts your journalistic pride, he has always been better at putting the pieces together. If anyone can figure out who is behind this, it’ll be him.
“He’s innocent! It was me. He was trying to stop me!”
You take a step forward to the guards, holding up the gun. He calls your name behind you and it brings tears to your eyes. You turn around and smile softly at him. It’s apologetic. Completely and totally apologetic, completely and totally love struck.
“I’m sorry,” you say. That step you had taken is retracted as you close the gap between the two of you. You place a hand on his cheek, gently caressing it before placing your hand on top of the scarf, in between his two hearts. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Doctor, but it has to be me. They’ll listen to you, you know that. And you’ll rescue me. That same old song, remember? You always rescue me, Doctor.”
“Sarah--”
“I’ll be fine,” you reassure him, but this time, you’re not sure. These are the people he ran away from. The people who wiped Zoe and Jamie’s minds. You know you have everything to fear. So you pull on the scarf, bringing his head close to yours. His curls mesh with your fringe, the tip of his hat touching the crown of your head. You look at him, tempted to kiss him so much. You have never seen him look this lost, never seen him look this angry. “I promise you, Doctor. I’ll be fine. You’ll figure it out, get me released, and then we’ll go about travelling in the TARDIS as if this never happened.”
When his fingers touch her cheek, caring and tender, you know you need to pull away now. You can hear the shouts of the guards behind you. It’s now or never.
“I love you, Doctor,” you whisper. “It’s why I really couldn’t leave you after all.”
Then they grab you. The take the rifle away from you and hold your arms in vice-like grips. You steal one last look at him, your Doctor, before they lead you away down to the cells. In his sad blue eyes, you see your world. All the happiness, danger, joy and suffering the two of you have shared together. You smile at him and mouth those four little words again.
You spend less than a day in the cells before you discover the true identity of the assassin: Chancellor Goth. But he isn’t working alone and no matter how hard you try to find out the identity of his accomplice, it eludes you.
Even your rescue eludes you. Goth arranges for a secret trial, one the Doctor knows nothing about as he campaigns for your innocence.
“Guilty.”
***
Day forty-five since the villagers found you. Although your amnesia hasn’t gotten any better, your strength has returned. You’ve become a more productive member of society. You can help in the plants now. You’re slowly relearning how to read and write, relearning how to cook and plant, relearning how to question. But you have so many questions that remain unanswered. Assumptions do not work for you and you have no idea why.
Maybe in another year, the lack of a past won’t bother you anymore.
As you help gather fluteberries in a field, you hum a familiar tune. Your mind has been buzzing with those lately, although no one has been able to help you place them. It doesn’t matter. Your family accepts you for who you are: Allasa Nan, the foundling. And it really is nice to have a home. It really is. Still, sometimes when you look to the stars, you can’t help but wonder what you’re missing.
Soon enough, your basket is full of berries. As the dark begins to fall, you know it is time to return to the village. Your foster parents will be expecting you home for dinner by now. You begin the trek back when something catches your eye. It’s blue and boxy and looks very out of place in the fields. A shiver runs down your spine. You should head back, warn the elders.
Instead you stare. You continue to stare when a door opens up and a man steps through. He looks at you with a sort of awe. Slowly – no, not slowly – a manic grin spreads across his face. It’s a familiar grin, like those old tunes you can’t quite get out of your head.
“Sarah Jane?”
- Music From Another Room.
“Give it to me,” you say with more force in your voice than you’ve ever used before. He doesn’t respond, only giving you a look. You repeat your words – “Oh, just give it to me, Doctor” - and this time, rather than waiting for an answer, you take the rifle from him.
There is so much activity around you, has been since the two of you had snuck out in those daft robes that absolutely envelope you. Maybe it’s for the best. After all, he had warned you about coming out of the TARDIS. You were supposed to stay hidden, safe in your room where she would protect you. But you had argued. The two of you were in this together and, for whatever reason he had been called back to Gallifrey (a lie), you were going to help him. The mind wipe was worth the risk, you had claimed, because you thought deep down you could never forget him. He’s rather like that song that won’t leave your head, you explain. Best friend, family: through thick and thin.
You could never leave him. And finally, he caves, warning you to stay close.
So you do. Despite the imminent danger, despite the fact that this is clearly all some ploy, you still get a thrill in meeting old professors and classmates. He had a life before you, just like you had one before him. It’s strange to actually see it come to life.
But now? Now things have gone horribly wrong. The crowd roars with confusion. The President has just been shot. And look, over there! The pair that had been crying wolf about an assassin had a gun! No one believes your innocence. The guards are coming up the catwalk, ready to arrest you. So a decision has to be made. And while the Doctor just stands there, professing his innocence, you make it. As much as it hurts your journalistic pride, he has always been better at putting the pieces together. If anyone can figure out who is behind this, it’ll be him.
“He’s innocent! It was me. He was trying to stop me!”
You take a step forward to the guards, holding up the gun. He calls your name behind you and it brings tears to your eyes. You turn around and smile softly at him. It’s apologetic. Completely and totally apologetic, completely and totally love struck.
“I’m sorry,” you say. That step you had taken is retracted as you close the gap between the two of you. You place a hand on his cheek, gently caressing it before placing your hand on top of the scarf, in between his two hearts. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Doctor, but it has to be me. They’ll listen to you, you know that. And you’ll rescue me. That same old song, remember? You always rescue me, Doctor.”
“Sarah--”
“I’ll be fine,” you reassure him, but this time, you’re not sure. These are the people he ran away from. The people who wiped Zoe and Jamie’s minds. You know you have everything to fear. So you pull on the scarf, bringing his head close to yours. His curls mesh with your fringe, the tip of his hat touching the crown of your head. You look at him, tempted to kiss him so much. You have never seen him look this lost, never seen him look this angry. “I promise you, Doctor. I’ll be fine. You’ll figure it out, get me released, and then we’ll go about travelling in the TARDIS as if this never happened.”
When his fingers touch her cheek, caring and tender, you know you need to pull away now. You can hear the shouts of the guards behind you. It’s now or never.
“I love you, Doctor,” you whisper. “It’s why I really couldn’t leave you after all.”
Then they grab you. The take the rifle away from you and hold your arms in vice-like grips. You steal one last look at him, your Doctor, before they lead you away down to the cells. In his sad blue eyes, you see your world. All the happiness, danger, joy and suffering the two of you have shared together. You smile at him and mouth those four little words again.
You spend less than a day in the cells before you discover the true identity of the assassin: Chancellor Goth. But he isn’t working alone and no matter how hard you try to find out the identity of his accomplice, it eludes you.
Even your rescue eludes you. Goth arranges for a secret trial, one the Doctor knows nothing about as he campaigns for your innocence.
“Guilty.”
***
Day forty-five since the villagers found you. Although your amnesia hasn’t gotten any better, your strength has returned. You’ve become a more productive member of society. You can help in the plants now. You’re slowly relearning how to read and write, relearning how to cook and plant, relearning how to question. But you have so many questions that remain unanswered. Assumptions do not work for you and you have no idea why.
Maybe in another year, the lack of a past won’t bother you anymore.
As you help gather fluteberries in a field, you hum a familiar tune. Your mind has been buzzing with those lately, although no one has been able to help you place them. It doesn’t matter. Your family accepts you for who you are: Allasa Nan, the foundling. And it really is nice to have a home. It really is. Still, sometimes when you look to the stars, you can’t help but wonder what you’re missing.
Soon enough, your basket is full of berries. As the dark begins to fall, you know it is time to return to the village. Your foster parents will be expecting you home for dinner by now. You begin the trek back when something catches your eye. It’s blue and boxy and looks very out of place in the fields. A shiver runs down your spine. You should head back, warn the elders.
Instead you stare. You continue to stare when a door opens up and a man steps through. He looks at you with a sort of awe. Slowly – no, not slowly – a manic grin spreads across his face. It’s a familiar grin, like those old tunes you can’t quite get out of your head.
“Sarah Jane?”