[ Were the circumstances different, the Doctor would be far more animated and chattering on incessantly about the power Wangji possesses. He wouldn't expect much in the way of conversation in return, of course, but it's hardly necessary. As it is, he's not unaware of what's happening around him, the haunting song from the zither not at all unlike a dirge for the dead, in his mind.
At the last flicker, the moment before the girl is gone completely, the Doctor draws enough strength to glance at her briefly, as though he owes it to her, not to be forgotten. She's only another ghost in a long line of them, pinned to his hearts and carried around for the rest of his days. He won't forget what happened here, though he may pretend to on the surface.
Yet, a glance at his companion, a scant second of noticing the tears in his eyes and realizing his own eyes reflect the same. They need not speak of it, but it's a shared ache, and he looks away quickly, blinking away the emotions that have welled up, unbidden.
Being alive isn't sad, he'd said once, to his oldest friend, only to be told in return, It is when it's over. The words return to him now, a comfort and an old pain all at once.
And then, something else is shared between them, after it's all over, after the girl is gone (but not gone, not completely, not forever). ]
Our children are the best of us, and loving them - the most important thing we could ever do. [ This is, perhaps, the closest the Doctor has come in many long years (with this face, anyway) to admitting out loud that he was a father once, too. Is a father. Can he be a father still to ghosts? ]
Your son... [ Clara had briefly mentioned Wangji having his son here and he's quite sure he's seen mention of him before as well himself. It feels natural, then, to extend a promise to his friend. He doesn't need to offer, probably, to promise anything at all, because he's sure Wangji's son is better protected than nearly anyone here, but if by some miracle, the Doctor's own children or grandchildren ever ended up here, he's sure he'd sleep even less than he does now and he might appreciate such an assurance offered. ]
Whatever awaits us beyond this, I promise you have one more person looking after him.
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At the last flicker, the moment before the girl is gone completely, the Doctor draws enough strength to glance at her briefly, as though he owes it to her, not to be forgotten. She's only another ghost in a long line of them, pinned to his hearts and carried around for the rest of his days. He won't forget what happened here, though he may pretend to on the surface.
Yet, a glance at his companion, a scant second of noticing the tears in his eyes and realizing his own eyes reflect the same. They need not speak of it, but it's a shared ache, and he looks away quickly, blinking away the emotions that have welled up, unbidden.
Being alive isn't sad, he'd said once, to his oldest friend, only to be told in return, It is when it's over. The words return to him now, a comfort and an old pain all at once.
And then, something else is shared between them, after it's all over, after the girl is gone (but not gone, not completely, not forever). ]
Our children are the best of us, and loving them - the most important thing we could ever do. [ This is, perhaps, the closest the Doctor has come in many long years (with this face, anyway) to admitting out loud that he was a father once, too. Is a father. Can he be a father still to ghosts? ]
Your son... [ Clara had briefly mentioned Wangji having his son here and he's quite sure he's seen mention of him before as well himself. It feels natural, then, to extend a promise to his friend. He doesn't need to offer, probably, to promise anything at all, because he's sure Wangji's son is better protected than nearly anyone here, but if by some miracle, the Doctor's own children or grandchildren ever ended up here, he's sure he'd sleep even less than he does now and he might appreciate such an assurance offered. ]
Whatever awaits us beyond this, I promise you have one more person looking after him.