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Tweak says, ""Alas, I'm gone!" she cried."

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The Doctor ([info]fromgallifrey) wrote in [info]vas_captio_rpg,
@ 2009-06-21 19:29:00

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Entry tags:!complete, day 12, location: barn, remy lebeau, the doctor (ten)

Who: The Doctor and Remy LeBeau
What: Friendly fight
When: Day 12: 8AM
Where: Forest, nearest landmark, the Barn
Rating: PG

Status: Complete

The Doctor hadn't slept well. The night before he knew was leading into an even numbered day; an experiment day. It was sad that his mind kept on it like that; kept turning with the desire to anticipate and thwart a foe he could not see. Perhaps that was why the Doctor had such a difficult time pushing his eyes open. He didn't want to wake and see his friends snatched up for someone's trivial idea of a game. He blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. What was once the barn was still cluttered with musty couches and spread out among them were the people he'd come to call friends. Each were dozing quietly.

The Doctor saw his opportunity and he made good on it. Pulling on his trainers and slipping out the door he was headed out into the woods. He hadn't forgotten the plans he'd made for the people in charge. He was going to make good on them. Today. Twigs and brush crumpled beneath him as the Doctor moved quietly through the trees. He didn't want to take the road. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He had a singular focus and not one iota of it included anyone else within the glass bubble. Well, unless that person happened to be the Insider.

 A not so quiet sigh escaped the Doctor. The silence was good company in the sense it didn't make his head hurt any more though also bad as it didn't do anything to still his mind. Wheels kept turning at a furious pace. He needed to go to work on things other than barns. He needed to stop being so attached to the people here, even Jack and Sarah Jane perhaps, and do whatever needed to be done. Would there be collateral damage? How about what he'd do to that 'Insider' when he managed to find them? For a man who didn't like battles or wars or violence the Doctor was finding himself sliding into the darker parts of his mind where things didn't reside in the moral - where they just needed to be done.

Today he would start with the Post Office, he would look through the nooks and crannies there, and then he and his torch would head down into the tunnels where he would find the Insider. He would find the insider and he would find out everything that they knew. He would then continue his search for those working with the insider and force them to return everyone. Following that he would destroy the town and it's bubble so that it would never be used again. Finally, he would deposit those behind it all in a cell on Rigaula Seven where they would never age, never know freedom, and never have any hope for rescue. It was those thoughts that kept cycling through the Time Lord's head. Running through on loop again and again. It was like a mantra. Insider, puppeteers, escape, prison. Those same thoughts caused the distant look in the Doctor's eye and the setting of his jaw. He would have his way.


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[info]fromgallifrey
2009-06-21 07:11 pm UTC (link)
The Doctor had been caught. He was never caught. No one, no one, ever grabbed hold. His own coat felt constrictive around him and the Time Lord felt powerless to even struggle. He couldn't rage any more because the fire had been burned to coals and the coals had gone to ash. He couldn't push any more because Gambit made it clear that he was as immobile as the glass wall that had up until now been the Doctor's greatest foil.

'Non.' The Cajun breathed and the Doctor felt each slow intake and release of breath on his face. This closeness was burning him. He felt bound and for all the things someone might do to the Doctor, caging him was the worst. He didn't know what it meant to be tied or restrained or deprived of his liberty - and that's what the mutant was doing.

The quiet between them was broken by the supple voice of the cajun. The Doctor shook his head, still pressed against the other's. The Cajun was trying to let him in, wasn't he? He was trying to make the Doctor take those steps across the threshhold. The Doctor was dragging his feet.

Involuntarily the Doctor's hands came out of his pocket and clutched at the back of Gambit's shirt, balling the material up in tight fists. He didn't want to touch or hold or know. He didn't want to have front row seat at this performance. It'd mean that he would open himself up to the same. To being touched and seen and heard and felt.

"Stop." The Doctor said again, the clutching and grabbing of his hands on the other's back telling a different story than the nearly growled word. He could have been raging at the wind again - this time that scared, lonely little boy was fighting to stay hidden where it was safe and quiet and he needn't fear anything in the entire universe.

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