The Time of Change

With Me

The Doctor feels the warmth radiating from Annalise, a beacon in the frigidity, and has to wonder if it is truly her or if it is merely the overwhelming joy he feels at being near her once more. Her breathing is even and deep, and when he glances down at her, he realizes with a small smile that she has fallen asleep. He gently shifts so that he can stand, but he makes sure to keep her head elevated in the same way it had been. With careful movements he scoops her small frame up in his arms. He stares at her face in the pale moonlight, its glow illuminating each crevice of her cheeks and lightening every freckle. His eyes shift to peer up at the stars above as they twinkle their approval of the two finally being together again. The Doctor presses his lips to her forehead, letting out a breathy chuckle when her eyebrows pull together in sleepy confusion, and he proceeds to climb one-handed down the ladder, facing outward.

    When he reaches the ground, he first tucks her into the passenger side of her car, buckles her in, and hops back in the driver's seat. As the engine roars to life he watches her peaceful form and prays the noise will not wake her. Now he puts the car in gear and starts off toward her home. Even after all these years, he still hasn't forgotten, though he had only visited once. A memory that important tends to stick.

After a few minutes he pulls up to the dark little building, takes the key out of the ignition, and goes around to her side to pick her up again. As tenderly as he can, he juggles her and her house key while attempting to unlock the door. Eventually he succeeds and breathes a sigh of relief. Once inside he flips a light switch by the doorframe with his elbow and carries her through the tiny kitchen and down the hall, purposefully avoiding the wall to his right. He fears seeing the painting of the last Doctor, though he knows it is inevitable that he will see it again.

    He scoots into her bedroom sideways and feels his way over to her bed, where he slowly lays her down. He slips her shoes off, brings the sheets up over her clothes, and removes her glasses, setting them very carefully on the nightstand. Without much thought he trails his hand across her delicate face, tracing the outline of her mouth with his index finger. How desperately the deepest corners of his hearts long for the sensation of her lips on his again. Does it even count? he muses. I kissed her while she was sleeping. That was cheating. But what about my last life? Does that count? Inwardly he concedes that it probably does. Suddenly the urge to tell her everything is too strong for him. It scares him to think that he knows all of it, each moment of every last day they spent together, and she doesn't. Keeping himself emotionally distant from her is something he never wanted to do, but he knows that he must, at least for now. He cannot risk her finding out about her past until she is ready.

The only issue with that is Annalise never told him when exactly she would be ready in this life.

Regardless, he has made a vow to himself to do something that makes him sick to his stomach to even think about: fight the feelings he's always had for her. To keep her safe, he will do whatever he must. In his mind, the only common denominator in her deaths time and time again has been him. If he must remove himself from the equation, so be it. (Of course he is dimly aware that he will never keep this promise. He knows himself too well. He and Annalise gravitate toward one another no matter what either of them does to stop it, but convincing himself that he will succeed in this impossible task comforts him in his worry). His mantra rings true, and it has ever since she left him the last time: She will not die again. She will not die.

    He begins to turn away and leave to find the TARDIS for the night when he feels a feather-light touch on his hand. The familiarity of it brings chills to his arms and an undeniable jolt of wonderful pain to his hearts. He looks at Annalise, and her strikingly clear blue eyes are half-open.

    "Stay with me?" she mumbles, voice quiet as the wind. He grips her hand right back and does not have to think twice about his answer. "Yeah." Her mouth curls into the smallest of smiles, a contented one that fills him to the brim with affection, as he crawls over her to the other side of the bed. He positions himself next to her but tries to stay very alert of his proximity. If he gets too close, it will not help his vow to keep her safe, for he is not a safe man.

    But she relaxes her whole body against him, whispering, "Thank you for coming back." The back of her frame fits into the front of his like a glove. He cannot help himself; he drapes his arm over her side and is mildly surprised by how comfortable and normal it feels.

    "I always come back," he breathes, copying her words. Those had been some of the last things he had ever heard her say before she died. All his lives those were some of her final words, along with "Don't worry."

    I'm here, Annalise, he tells her in his head. Come back to me.

    With this last thought, he drifts into an uneasy sleep, full of dark images and swirling halos of gold surrounding a face he knows but can never place. The golden light that intrudes on his nightmare is evil; he knows it in his bones. It consumes with no pity, no regret, and continues to threaten to take everything from him, even things he has not yet received. There is no stopping it. In the middle of this fretful slumber, Annalise shifts a little, rolling the tiniest bit closer to him. His dreams cease, and from then on all he feels throughout the night is her warmth, and the ecstasy and peacefulness that comes with her presence.