A Servant to Time and Consequence (rude_not_ginger) wrote,
A Servant to Time and Consequence
rude_not_ginger

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for on_thecouch: Sight

It's hot.

Broiling.

His suit is like an oven, his hands feel like they're being cooked as he holds onto the side of the airlock, his hair is matted and wet from sweat and the sun is baking down on him. They're so close to the sun, now.

But his blood just ran cold.

He can see it. See the sun, see it swirl and move and twist. Bright red coronal loops and white prominent arches move against an ocean of orange and yellow. Streaks of amber against the darkened embers of red and the brilliant light all swirling and moving and screaming. The sun is writhing in pain. Pain because it isn't just a sun. It's a creature.

"It's alive."

He sees it reaching, reaching out for the ship. Reaching out for him. He steps backwards into the airlock. It's alive and aggressive. His eyes burn from the sunlight, from how bright it is. Brighter than any typical gaseous sun. He turns away and shuts the door. Gravity restores itself and he feels the woosh as air follows it. Safe now. Well, hardly safe now, but all the same. Inside now. Now he can burn with the rest of them when the ship collapses.

Burn with me.

His eyes still ache. They ache like he never stopped looking at the sun, and it could be because he still is. Still staring at it through the tiny window in the airlock where the pod is slowly coming back to the ship. He reaches up a gloved hand and shuts the window. He doesn't need a sun's light to find his way back out.

The window's shut, but it's still so bright in the room. He turns towards the interior door and wants to think about how to block the ship from her course, but all he can think about is the creature outside. His eyes hurt. It's bright in the room. Bright like a sun.

Burn with me.

He feels the pain go down his spine to pool in his stomach. Hot hot pain, the kind that burns and sears and he imagines his two hearts cooking from within. His muscles seem to solidify and the room starts to spin. There's too much light, he slams his eyes shut just as he hits the floor. The room feels instantly cooler, but his body is still so hot.

It's in him. It's living in him. Just like the others, the others who were dead long before he could help them.

He's going to die. He's going to die. He's going to burn.

Humans! They scooped the sun's surface for cheap fuel, just like they've drained every planet they've ever lived on! If they scanned for life, this wouldn't have happened! Now that this thing is inside of him, it will use him to kill them! They will die because they're just too stupid to think of another method! This didn't have to happen!

He can't see now. He drags himself towards the door, his legs limp weights that scrape along the floor as he pulls. Pull. Move. Get out. Get away from the sun. The pain continues; a thousand hot pins pricking every single part of him. The sun is inside and it wants out. It wants him to open his eyes, to be out and to hurt them. The others. Martha.

Burn with me.

No, he won't. He'll fight.

He hits a wall and feels along it for a keypad. Everything is muted behind the suit's gloves (everything except what is inside), and he's not certain he'll find a way out. He's not sure he knows the way. And he can't wait, the pod will smash into the side and kill him.

But his thumb finds a button. A door button? A door button. He can't see. He needs to see. It might lead inside. It might lead back out of the airlock.

Inside the ship, he's still burning. He's a boiling body of rage and anger and somewhere in there he's still the Doctor and still feeling all this pain.

Outside, he's dead.

He reaches out for the edge of the door and places a foot on each side. If the door opens up to space, he'll have some leverage to keep himself in. If the door opens up to the inside, well, he'll have to figure out something else then.

He twists up to reach for the lock, but the pain has reached his fingers. He curls up and cries out. It's everywhere. The hot pins have become searing swordtips. He has to get out. He has to get out now.

Burn with me.

He curls his body up and presses an aching finger to the small pad. He pushes the button and the mechanism under it clicks with the weight of his finger.

"Pod reattached. Airlock recompressed. Opening interior door."

The door opens and he collapses into the hallway inside of the ship. He can't breathe. It's too hot in the suit. He can't breathe. He reaches up and pulls off the helmet but it's still so hot. Too hot. He can't breathe. He crawls along the floor, feeling for the next hallway. He has to get to the medical bay. He has to freeze this thing. It's the only way. Freeze it, then dump the fuel. Dump the fuel, the sun will let them go.

It has to let them go.

Right?

"Doctor! Doctor, are you okay?"

It sounds like Martha. Martha, alive. He doesn't think. He collapses backwards and opens his eyes to see her. The pressure of the sun within lessens, like poking a blister with a pin.

She's illuminated in a bright glow from his eyes, and she looks terrified. She should be terrified. He's going to kill her. He's going to kill all of them.

"Stay away from me!" he slams his eyes shut.

He starts understanding things. The heat slides up into his brain and he's losing control. Martha. Martha has to save him. He's so scared. So terrified. But he needs Martha right now. The part of him that smacks her away when she tries to approach is hurting just as badly as the one that wants to cling to her.

He wants her to run away.

He wants her to help him.

He wants her to save the ship.

Though, most importantly, right now?

He wants her to burn with him.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,072
Tags: community: on the couch, featuring: martha jones
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