When the Doctor opens his mind, he can feel his other's need, his other's want - and it's a little scary, so he's glad when his other decides to pull back instead of move forward.
What comes forward instead, though, is intimidating as well. He couldn't remember the other TARDIS being so threatening, so much like a forceful tidal wave last time, and in this last second, when it's already too late, he's beginning to doubt the wisdom of this plan. His own TARDIS is passive, she's not moving in to protect him - of course she isn't. He wanted this, suggested this himself, and she never stops him doing things she considers silly or stupid or dangerous. Right now, though, moments before the other TARDIS actually floods his mind, he wishes she would, he wishes she'd just close the barriers and keep this other presence out of him.
She doesn't, though, and so the other comes to him, fills every corner of his mind, seeps into every crack and crevasse. She upturns his thoughts, brings chaos and confusion, like a hurricane ripping through a previously undisturbed countryside. He's holding on, sure he can take it, he can sort himself out again, but then the Doctor-TARDIS tears open a part of his mind that he hadn't known was there, and now it's more than a hurricane, now it's a nuclear disaster, tearing a gap into the fabric of his mind and letting the darkness bleed through the cracks. The drums start up, their rhythm steady and hard and noisy and familiar, and he screams, filling his and the mind of the Doctor-TARDIS with panic. Because the stream of darkness flooding his mind brings pictures with it that he can't stand, he can't look at - months and months of staring into nothingness, of standing on top of a cliff and just not caring, because he can't care, he mustn't. And all the time there was the sound of drums, calling to him, calling him to war. And he'd been -
No. No more. Not this. The Doctor-TARDIS has almost left his mind again, and he snaps back, forcing her out of him and severing the connection completely. It hurts, physically, because he does it too fast, too brutal. He stumbles backwards until something solid against his lower back stops him. The room is spinning around him, and there's bile rising in his throat.
And there are the drums. Not an echo, not a telepathic feedback, but the drums, in his head, clear and unmistakable, and the Doctor clutches his fingers around the edge of the workbench he's stumbled against.
"No. No no no. They can't be here, they can't be me. Not again."
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What comes forward instead, though, is intimidating as well. He couldn't remember the other TARDIS being so threatening, so much like a forceful tidal wave last time, and in this last second, when it's already too late, he's beginning to doubt the wisdom of this plan. His own TARDIS is passive, she's not moving in to protect him - of course she isn't. He wanted this, suggested this himself, and she never stops him doing things she considers silly or stupid or dangerous. Right now, though, moments before the other TARDIS actually floods his mind, he wishes she would, he wishes she'd just close the barriers and keep this other presence out of him.
She doesn't, though, and so the other comes to him, fills every corner of his mind, seeps into every crack and crevasse. She upturns his thoughts, brings chaos and confusion, like a hurricane ripping through a previously undisturbed countryside. He's holding on, sure he can take it, he can sort himself out again, but then the Doctor-TARDIS tears open a part of his mind that he hadn't known was there, and now it's more than a hurricane, now it's a nuclear disaster, tearing a gap into the fabric of his mind and letting the darkness bleed through the cracks. The drums start up, their rhythm steady and hard and noisy and familiar, and he screams, filling his and the mind of the Doctor-TARDIS with panic. Because the stream of darkness flooding his mind brings pictures with it that he can't stand, he can't look at - months and months of staring into nothingness, of standing on top of a cliff and just not caring, because he can't care, he mustn't. And all the time there was the sound of drums, calling to him, calling him to war. And he'd been -
No. No more. Not this. The Doctor-TARDIS has almost left his mind again, and he snaps back, forcing her out of him and severing the connection completely. It hurts, physically, because he does it too fast, too brutal. He stumbles backwards until something solid against his lower back stops him. The room is spinning around him, and there's bile rising in his throat.
And there are the drums. Not an echo, not a telepathic feedback, but the drums, in his head, clear and unmistakable, and the Doctor clutches his fingers around the edge of the workbench he's stumbled against.
"No. No no no. They can't be here, they can't be me. Not again."