by pebble/scifipony
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: The Doctor, TARDIS
Words: 594
Tags: Friendship, Loss, Angst, Found Family
Warnings: None
Author's Notes: Originally posted to AO3 on 2021/06/16. Also posted to the Teaspoon archive.
"People leave traces of themselves where they feel most comfortable, most worthwhile."
He couldn't remember where he'd first heard those words. Perhaps it was casually stated at a dinner party, the sort of philosophical thing that occasionally pops out over the fourth or fifth wine glass. Perhaps it was part of a famous speech from a historical event he could barely remember. Perhaps he'd read it in some random book that had been written on some random planet at some point in time.
It really wasn't important where he'd heard it before. What mattered to the Doctor was how those words applied to his own precious time-ship.
Whether it was in the form of a helpful repair, personal possessions left behind, or the room they had inhabited, each one of his companions had left traces of themselves in the TARDIS. Lasting testaments to the fact that they had been here and gone. They had traveled the stars; rescued planets; made their mark on the universe. And helped a lonely old Time Lord feel a little less lonely.
Some of them had departed suddenly, whether through choice or misfortune. They were here and gone in the blink of a star. In those cases, all of their belongings would get left behind, usually shuffled into some place where they wouldn't serve as a constant reminder of failure.
Even the ones whose exits were planned for and peaceful always ended up leaving something behind. A forgotten item, or a confiscated object that would have been too dangerous to take back to their own time period.
Or, sometimes, their presence could be felt in how they'd changed the Doctor during their time with him. Because they always ended up teaching him more about the universe than he did for them.
During those rare quiet moments -- between adventures, when the TARDIS was floating peacefully in the void -- the Doctor would wander the endless corridors and follow the trail of past lives and past companions.
A chalkboard filled with notes from one of Susan's homework assignments.
The collection of records from Ace's favorite 80's band.
One of Donna's many, many coats.
Turlough's sketchbook.
A discarded shoe.
A chessboard.
A meandering path of all the memories he kept safely tucked away, generally out of sight but never out of mind.
They spoke to him of times long gone. Voices from the past hung heavy in the air around him, whispering about days of endless running and intergalactic marketplaces. Rainy beaches and warm tea by the fire. That look of awe that always warmed his hearts and allowed him to see the galaxy through brand new eyes.
He tried not to remember too often. But he was also determined to never forget.
No matter where this trip down memory lane began, it inevitably ended in the same place: the console room. The place where each new adventure began. It was the one true constant in his life, even if the appearance changed as frequently as the face that smiled back at him from the other side of the console.
He always found himself smiling as he programmed his next destination.
A new adventure. A new hand to hold. A new memory to add to those nighttime strolls.
Every one of his companions left their mark on the TARDIS. Every one of them took a piece of the Doctor with them, and left a piece of themselves in return.
And how fitting, he decided, that those pieces were left here — where they were carefully watched over and guarded by his one constant companion.
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