Doctor Who X Reader One Shots And Stories

Of Guilt and Love

Warnings: none. 

11th Doctor

He hadn't spoken to you for hours now. The faraway look in his sea green eyes was both haunting and painful, yet you still remained in the dark about what exactly you had done wrong. You could only sit in painful silence and allow your anxiety to stew.

Absentmindedly, your digits ghosted over the tear in your shirt while you sat like a child in time-out on the edge of the TARDIS console. Below it, you could feel the bandage that had been hastily wrapped around your chest rubbing against the polyester uncomfortably. It was a crude reminder of the danger that truly came with the adventures you so adored.

The Doctor, lost deep in thought, glowered into space as he rather violently flipped a lever that made the entire ship quake and wheeze as it was sent into the time vortex. His foul mood radiated off of him in waves and every time he glanced at you when he believed you weren't looking, you flinched.

It was found that generally when one's source of anxiety was just as irate as they were terrified, it did absolutely nothing to soothe their worries.

You squirmed in your seat, teeth grinding together. The silent treatment was just about the worst form of passive aggressive torture the Doctor could muster, and it sure as hell was working. Finally, you could bear it no longer.

"Where are we going?" Even the sound of your own voice was a relief to hear, but it was short lived as the Doctor's glare was shot in your direction.

"Nowhere." His answer was short, clipped, and full of suppressed irritation. Your lip twitched. Slowly, you could feel the iciness of your anxiety shifting into sizzling annoyance.

"Fine then." You pushed yourself off of the console and crossed your arms, the stitched laceration beneath your bandages throbbing in protest. "I'll try again. Why are you so cross?" You vaguely knew the answer to your own question, but at this point you'd try just about anything to get him to have a conversation with you. The Doctor whirled around, finally seeming to accept your presence.

"Why am I-" He cut himself off, clenching his jaw. "You should know very well why I'm cross, (Name)." His tone held tremendous warning, but at this point your own anger had been set aflame and you could care less. Lifting a shoulder and narrowing your eyes, you stood your ground.

"There was nothing wrong with what I did. I acted upon what I thought was right-"

"Then what you thought was wrong!" The Doctor's voice had raised to a shout, startling the brave expression from your face to be replaced with one of shock.

"Listen," you countered shakily. "Nobody died, eh? Why can't we just count this as a victory and move on?"

"This has nothing to do with what happened a few hours ago." The Doctor dragged his words out as if speaking to a child, though he was no longer shouting. "It has everything to do with how you handled it." The Time Lord rubbed his face with both hands in exasperation, a tired groan leaving his lips. "Oh, sometimes I wonder if you are trying to get yourself killed." At this particular statement, you felt blood rush to your cheeks with anger. So this was his issue, the hypocrite.

"Ditto," you growled, venom dripping from the word that fell from your tongue. "So you're essentially saying it's alright to punish me with silence for jumping in front of a blade to save your life, but it's perfectly alright if you...oh I don't know, subject yourself to lethal torture in order to save my own hide?" The Doctor scoffed.

"You-" he jabbed a finger in your direction. "-are twisting my words and you know it. Besides, that's different." He strode forwards until he was facing you properly and not halfway around the console, white knuckling the circular edge.