Entwined

Post Mars

Space is endless. It knows no bounds, unlike time which seems to make things up as it goes along. He'd always like space more than time, because he always knew where he stood, always knew the rules. Now time was just retaliating.

He was fed up. With time, the universe, everything. Everyone who had ever died, every single one of his lies, but most of all, just the fact that he was so small. He was insignificant. There was no "grand scheme of things" that was just some made up term for time in its vastness. He could do nothing to change what time had declared to be final, no matter how much he fought. There was no way he could win. And he was sick of it.

The only other person in the universe who had an idea of time that was anywhere close to his own, was someone who time had declared off limits. Being a timelord meant he could feel the fabric of time in his very soul. So when time decided something was off, it was like finding a dropped stitch in a quilt, you try to avoid it. But being so fed up with time telling you what to do, you decide that the quilt is fine the way it is, and that the dropped stitch is nothing that can't be overlooked. So that's what you do, overlook the feeling of wrongness and accept that's its there. A lot easier said than done.

So when he had arrived at where the TARDIS had decided he needed to be, he was shocked beyond all belief at what he saw. A man, almost as broken as himself. His clothes spread out in a pool from his body, his arms were like toothpicks, his whole had could fit around his ankle. If you had moved his shirt you'd have been able to count his ribs, and each vertebrate of his spine. His face was hollow, his hair a wild untamable mess. His brain had no thoughts, but he was alive.

Time had said to him, you can't win. So when he decided to go to the one person who had ever beaten time, he found that he wasn't the only one who felt like giving up.

The Doctor rushed over to his friend and listened to his breathing, which had just begun to start up again. He touched his fingers to his forehead and felt all the pain of the being. His body was screaming, wailing, but on deaf ears who had long since forgotten how to translate waves into words. Tears welled up in his eyes as he slipped his hands beneath his knees and his back, lifting up all of 30 pounds. What was left of a man who had been nothing but a plaything of the universe.