Doctor Who x Reader One-Shots

Loathing (12th)

Words: 943

It hadn't been forever, but it sure had been a long time. (Y/n) travelled with the Doctor longer than she cared to count, and he knew her in and out. He knew all her nervous ticks or hidden meanings, what she meant when she beat around the bush and just how she would react to almost everything possible.

Recently, however, something in her began to change. Her smile changed for the worse, sometimes seeming hollow. He supposed she assumed he wouldn't notice her expression whenever he turned away, but he could always catch the look on her face in the reflections around him.

She grew a new habit, where she picked and pulled at her own skin. Pinching herself and glaring down at her body. At first, he assumed it was a temporary thing. But she began to eat less, tried calorie counting and other rubbish he couldn't keep up with. Even picked up the annoying habit of quickly pacing, which he found himself always reminding her to slow down and sit for awhile.

Finally, the Doctor had the last straw when he caught her glaring at her on reflection with vacant eyes, "Stop that. It's ridiculous." He commanded, crossing his arms. (Y/n) turned around to meet his stern gaze, her jaw twitched and she took a step away from the mirror.

"Stop what, Doctor?" She asked, eyes dull and tired. Immediately, he huffed and rolled his eyes with irritation.

"Don't play coy," Once again he demanded of her. "Stop abusing your body. Glaring at it; pulling it; all that rubbish."

(Y/n) sighed, glancing again at her image before tearing her eyes away. She looked him up and down, before she began to walk around to the stairs. The Doctor assumed she was going to come talk to him, but instead she passed him and began pacing around the console. His jaw rolled and his eyes followed her every move, scanning her.

Every movement she made was unusual. Sluggish and lazy, as if she had barely enough energy to walk. The circular path she tread was more of an amoeba shape, her feet would drag and veer her off course.

Slowly, the Doctor began to recall as much information of her recent diet as possible. After all the adventures, they used to go and eat at an Earth restaurant in celebration. But lately, she would either sit and play with her food or ask if they could split a plate. Normally, if their plate was shared she would barely eat anything.

With a swallow, the Doctor shifted his stance and stuck his arm out at (Y/n) was beginning to walk by him for only the tenth time, "Food. How much of it have you got in your gut at the moment?"

She shuffled, kicked her feet and furrowed her brows as she thought and finally answered, "Enough." 

"Oh, I don't think so," He immediately pounced. "Look at yourself. You've barely got the energy to do all this walking. What's got you pacing, anyway?"

"I just- I shouldn't stay still. Sitting or standing still for long doesn't do much for your body-" His answer was quick and to the point, not even waiting for her to finish before he cut her off.

"It allows your body rest," The Doctor stated. Gently and with care, he reached out and gently wrapped his arm around her shoulders, beginning to lead her towards her room. 

She barely fought him, proving that the spark he loved her for was slowly dying out, "And food provides energy. So you can exercise, think. You can't go without it."

From the corner of his eye, he watched as her face was steadily falling into a frown. The darkness under her eyes became more apparent as her expression morphed, and her skin seemed hollow and dull. The regular, bright (e/c) of her eyes seemed to be ill, and the Doctor couldn't help the frown on his face or the chills that ran down his spine. She looked horrible, and for a moment he wondered why he had ever let her get in such a poor condition.

Finally arriving to her room, he opened the door and softly gripped her hand, leading her inside and placing her on the bed. She moved like a mannequin, allowing him to position her anyway he wished. When he had her in a comfortable position before him, he knelt down and took her hands in his. A gentle kiss to her knuckles drew her haunting eyes to his own, and he prepared himself for the conversation to come.

"(Y/n)," The Doctor cautiously began. "I think you know what you're doing is wrong. You've just convinced yourself that somehow, someway, what you're doing is different from-"

"It is different," She weakly argued, before gluing her eyes to the empty space beside him. "It's very different."

With a disappointed shake of his head, he asked, "How?"

(Y/n) bit her lip, obviously attempting to think of a good case. But her brain wasn't working, it was stuck and tangled in painful, thorny vines.

"It's not," The Doctor firmly stated. His eyes flickered between hers, trying to discover all the hints of emotion within them. He had never seen her with such a brilliant poker face.

Conscientiously, he reached forward and softly gripped her jaw, turning her face towards him. Leaning forward, he pecked the tip of her nose.

"I'm going to help you," The Doctor promised (Y/n). "I'll fix all the things that need it, but I will never change who you are. The person you are is too important to me, and I won't stand for her destroying herself."