Whenever the Doctor talked about Gallifrey, it was always sorrowful.
Melancholy words that shouldn't have been so sad, words that sounded dreamy.
Sometimes, though, he would be bouncing with joy.
The tales of his people would get wilder and wilder, until you can't really tell if they're make believe or not.
He'd be so proud of them, talking about his family or his friends, or the Academy. The geography of the planet...cities and villages alike, he was so proud.
Always told people that they would have loved it.
Sometimes he would even try to draw it, though his drawing skills were usually less than admirable.
Aaaand then it hits him.
Usually like a punch to the stomach, he would get that bout of sadness again.
Where he realises they really were dead, wasted, gone, and never coming back.
One of the greatest, most advanced civilisations in the universe—dead by his hand.
It's enough to shake anyone.
And if he doesn't grow sad, he would just stop.
Go silent.
Let his words trail off for others to interpret.
*The Silence - Bastille
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Doctor Who: Really Tiny Short Stories
FanfictionThe bloody TARDIS. Of course, that was a brilliant idea; show everyone the Doctor's muddled clumps of memories... So I found some things in an old document of mine, and decided to publish them because why not? As the title says, they are very, VERY...
