The Man Who Regrets : Doctor Who [1] ✓

03 : Scotland, 1740

Violet’s blue eyes are filled with delight as they follow the terrain, and her body seems to tingle with an unknown energy as she steps onto the grass. Whilst she is enjoying this, the eighteen-year-old does know that it is best she dress for the century before someone sees her. Returning to the blue box, she’s met with the 900-year-old Time Lord’s prying eyes and a blonde with a time period-appropriate outfit slung over her arm, and the brunette female knows she’s not going to be able to answer his questions.

“Listen, I don’t have the answers you’re searching for, and I’m sorry about that,” Violet murmurs, twisting her fingers and scraping her nails across the backs of her hands. “I don’t know why the TARDIS can speak to me and I can understand her, but I just can. I know that I’m not much help, but it’s the best I can tell you, Doctor.”

“I’ll trust you about this for now, Violet,” the man says, walking towards her. “But, soon enough, you’ll give me the answers I need - in one way or another. For now though, I suggest you and Rose go change. It wouldn’t do well for two girls to be running around in practically nothing in the 18th century.”

Violet and Rose laugh happily and hurry to the large wardrobe filled with too many articles of clothing to count. Feeling sick seeing the large quantity, the young girl pulls out a tan and white 1770’s dress and admires it, a smile appearing on her face as she shakes her head in disbelief. Stripping off her jeans, boots and band shirt, Violet pulls on the outfit layer-by-layer, glad that the corset isn’t an actual corset, but instead has a zip on the front.

Wrapped snugly in the dress, Violet turns to see Rose in an off-white dress similar to hers, and her lips part in wonder, admiring the older girl as she struggles to put her hair up. Walking over, Violet takes hold of Rose’s hair and winds it into bun, sticking in several bobby pins to keep it in place before pulling her own hair back, leaving a few strands free to frame her pale face.

The blonde turns and smiles her thanks. “How’d you know how to do that?”

Violet shrugs. “Too many 18th century shows, probably. I adore this era, but it’s bloodshed and war are not something I’d like to experience.” Well, not again, she adds silently. “They’re horrific.”

“Well, we’ll just have to stay away from it then, right?”

“Yeah, and you need to get rid of your makeup. It’s the 1700 hundreds, Rose - they don’t have makeup like yours quite yet.”

Leaving the blonde to clear her face, the brunette heads out of the time machine to stand beside the Doctor as his old eyes take in the view. Bumping her hip against him, she grins up at him as he looks down, unable to prevent the disbelief and awe from gracing his face. His lips part, but he’s unable to say anything, making the teenager snicker and roll her eyes, sticking her tongue out childishly and running away. Without hesitation, the older man follows her, at first not enjoying it, but soon laughing along with the free-spirited wild-hearted girl.

Soon enough, there’s three of them running around the Highlands, laughing as they’re appearing to be playing a game of tag like children would. It’s enough to draw the attention of passing British soldiers, and they’re soon face-to-face with several men and their guns, Violet and Rose hovering behind the Doctor as he explains the situation, the two girls having contrasting emotions at a moment like this: Rose being apprehensive of them and slightly fearful, while Violet is brimming with excitement and delight due to having the chance to experience another part of 18th century Scotland.

By the time the sun is setting on the horizon, Violet is sitting on a hill watching as it slowly sinks below the dark mounds in the distance. Brilliant oranges and pinks and purples and blues burn in the sky and bathe the valleys in a golden light. It’s like a painting come to life, and she wishes there were a way to capture this moment forever right now, but it’d be a bad decision to pull out her iPhone to take a photo right now.

The shuffling of grass beside her makes her look over to the Time Lord now seated there, brown suit appearing almost honey coloured in the remaining light of the day, and tousled chestnut hair wild atop his head, honey brown eyes seeming to burn with the Time Vortex. Smiling softly, the blue-eyed girl turns her gaze back to the fleeting sunlight and tilts her head to the side as the ball of gas dips below the mountains and out of view, slight sadness covering her at having missed it all.

“I want to try something,” the man beside her informs, making her tense, having a feeling that she knows what it is that he is about to attempt. “Are you willing to let me in, Violet?”

“You want to see my memories,” she breathes, staring down at the now dark and cold grass beneath her. “You want to figure out why I can do what I can - even though it’s only been a few hours since I’ve been aboard the TARDIS.”

“Yes.” He turns to face her, brown eyes searching. “Will you let me?”

Briefly closing her eyes, she manoeuvres her own body to face him. “You might not like what you see, Doctor. You’ve seen many things, but there are many things you have yet to see, and there are things that are hard to see.”

“I know.”

“Then, go ahead. If you’re prepared.”

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