AN: Written for the "Crawl" drabble challenge at who-contest on Livejournal. Characters: War Doctor, OFC; rated PG, 410 words.
A female voice beckoned him ahead. He grunted as he army-crawled behind her, staring at the dirty soles of her shoes as bombs and bullets crackled around them. Taking steady breaths, he hated the sensation of dirt and ash coating the inside of his mouth and slithering down his throat.
His ears buzzed, tired and raw from all the explosions that occurred near them. The Doctor looked upward sporadically to make sure bombs weren't descending on top of them and to steal a glimpse of the two green moons that were hidden in the sky behind the billowing smoke and spaceship debris. He knew this planet had been a peaceful place at one time - before the invasion and death, where the moons had shown brilliantly and nobly in the sky with an incandescent green.
Now, they were dull and overshadowed. Now they almost looked dead.
"Come on, the others are waiting over there. I see them," said Aurla, his temporary companion at the moment. He saved her - sort of, coming upon her group of rebels as Daleks had ambushed them. Aurla was the only one left, a scared, anxious cadet who just watched her entire group, her superiors and comrades, exterminated right in front of her. Since she'd met the Doctor, he witnessed her fear harden into cold steel, and now she was fueled on survival - and the hope that she would reconnect with the next group of rebels to continue the fight.
And the Doctor had killed Daleks for her. He'd killed Daleks and loyalists to the Daleks (the fools) and spilled a lot of blood. He'd shot horrible guns that were native to this planet. He'd thrown away guns that had jammed. He'd picked up other weapons, bombs and lasers, all terrible tools that he'd deeply abhorred, and he'd used them in this war.
It all made him wonder... Was he really the Doctor anymore? He had plenty of those kinds of ponderings - thoughts that he'd pushed deep down into his darkening soul, moving onward and knowing he was doing some good.
He'd saved children that day. He'd saved Aurla.
"Almost there," she said, looking back at him, turning her head and meeting his eyes with her violet eyes. Beautiful ones, filled with fear and hope.
And for those eyes the Doctor would fight. For those eyes he'd shoot another gun, knowing now in this miserable war, that he'd have to despite how much he loathed it.