Title: Evolution of an Abomination
Spoilers: Gridlock, Last of the Time Lords (DW)
Disclaimer: The BBC owns Doctor Who, Torchwood, and a bunch of other cool shows.
Summary: Evolution as seen by the Face of Boe
Author's Notes: This is just a little something I wrote while watching DW the other day. Reviews/concrit are appreciated. I hope you enjoy.
X X X
The Doctor was wrong.
It's not often he errs, but he mistook my existence; for I am not a fixed point in time. I am instead a point that moves in a linear, yet fragmented fashion. Through my weary mind, I see myself wandering, not straight but in the permutated way, incalculable.
What I was. What I am. What I will be.
That triad – past, present, and future – have been a gift given to me by a precious few. For billions of years, I have been benevolent; and in the souls of a rare few, I have been beloved. No… that is not right. If I am benevolent, it is because I have been beloved.
In my past, with youthful inhibitions, I'd skipped like a stone from dalliance to dalliance, stopping long enough to taste the gift willingly given to my charm. Oh, did I have charm. How can I not look back on my childish years with fondness and a little vanity?
Yet for every phase of life, it must end; as it did. I grew out of selfishness, slowly and in agony. The insecure joys I took in those precious early years… they gave me wings, and clipped them only a blink of an eye later. Time ticked by so slowly in my youth, when I was still shiny and new.
Then I lay my lover down, dead in my arms, offering to sacrifice the world in his stead. How could I not? And the anguish, swift and sure, had left me wishing to join him. How could I continue to move on without my brave young man?
I wish he could know that never has he been forgotten – that barest wink of time. He shaped me and gave me such purpose. And he was very beautiful.
Why must it ache so very much to grow up? Why must the pain of grief be what transforms us from children to adults? Why must we feel that need to leave behind our childish things and pull on the mantle of adulthood?
But evolution demands it; and so we allow time to mend our wounds. Eventually, when we can move again, we push forward.
To the now.
I have grown so very old, seen so very much. My caretaker gives me much of herself, loves me without condition. Yet she is impossibly young… I've only the desire to give her opportunity to learn the most important lesson. I want her to understand that wisdom without context can never fulfill. Knowledge without construct can never achieve. I want her to have the chance to really see the ultimate truth.
That love without being beloved is meaningless.
So I let her care for me, speaking softly into her mind; gently lulling her when she seeks atonement for unforgotten sins.
I know that when I am gone, she will stumble and fall; as she should when she takes her first steps alone. No parent may guard the hardships that life strews forth, and wouldn't it be a tragedy to do so? Won't this adored child be so much better for all her missteps, tumbles, and scrapes? It does not mean that I do not worry, because even as she's soon to fly this nest, she is still a child in my eyes – another blink in time. I fret silently.
Because soon, he will come to me, as he has so many times in my over-long life. He will seek guidance and offer gentle speech; he will treat me with undeserved reverence. That is something I cannot accept, especially from him.
For I am the evolution of an abomination – an undying man; and I crave the end of this last phase, through him. It will be in my last moments when I achieve my final goal.
This is why I live. Why I continue. Why I must.
Legends of old tell of a secret I must give to a wandering traveler. So I wait, and make myself content in the knowledge of tomorrow. Soon, the time will come and my reason for being will be fulfilled.
Then I might find my steadfast lover among the stars, and in turn, we will blaze our way through eternity as children. Shiny and new once more.
Yes, I am very, very tired of waiting for my longest love – my final love – to arrive once more.
But when he does, it will be… fantastic.