Her Madman | Doctor Who [11th Doctor/Reader]

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The darkness is nice. It's a different kind from the one you were trapped in, kind and forgiving. You want to stay here, but reality eventually comes back. You can't hide from it forever.

You're tucked into a soft bed, a fluffy blanket pulled up to your chin. The light of this new room is dim, a warm yellow glow. As you blink, your mind clearing and readjusting to its freedom, you recognize space as yours. This is where you stayed when you traveled with the Doctor.

You stand up and walk over to the wall lined in pictures, all of them from different places. Some of them are of the Doctor, his smile wide and oddly goofy, which isn't how you think of him now. That was from the beginning, before he let you see past his walls of eccentric charm and oddball mannerisms.

Your Doctor feels real. The Doctor of then was a façade, a front to show the world and hide what he really was like. Because if everyone saw him for who you know him to be – weary, ancient, worn down by loss, scarred by the deeds of his pasts – they would run.

The real Doctor is frightening, but you still love him. You know he needs someone who won't run. And so, you stayed.

You'll still stay.

You leave the pictures a few minutes later and pull out fresh clothing, discarding the ones you wore because you'd worn them for six years. Your skin is dotted with little red marks where the wires were, and you hope they'll fade away. You've already got enough reminders of your captivity in your head that you don't want any on your body.

After you've changed into dark pants, a pale green tunic you found in a market on the human colonized planet Heth, and brushed the knots out of your hair, you leave your room and look for the Doctor.

He isn't hard to find. He's sitting on the bench in the control room, leafing through a first-edition copy of Sherlock Holmes even though you know he's read it many times before. When you sit down next to him, he closes the book and looks over at you, relief obvious in his green gaze.

"Feeling better?" he asks, hopeful.

You nod. You are better than you were . . . but you aren't completely normal, either. And you doubt you ever will be. Not after something like you went through, even though you don't exactly know what you went through.

"What are they?" you ask, curious about your former captors. "I don't remember what they did to me, just little bits and pieces, but I know how badly they want you, Doctor. They want you so much that they're not going to stop until they have you."

The Doctor's features darken with old memories. You know this look well and what it means, so you reach out and take his hand with yours.

It's never been more than this with the two of you. You don't have to talk much to offer comfort, and the simple touches like holding hands or giving a quiet, understanding hug are enough. It's how it's always been.

But now, with six years stretching between you, something else feels different. You can't explain it, can't understand it, but it's like there's a door you didn't know about that you now see and you're not sure whether you want to open it or not. Or if it even should be opened.

You can think about that later.

Because, for now, the Doctor has a story to tell.