The thing he’s not aware of is that he’s lonely. His denial is actually so acute that he doesn’t recognize this, not even in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it, now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t, corner-of-the-eye sort of way. He just doesn’t realize it. He’d be the first to say that it would make some of his actions make a lot more sense, but then he’d say that’s not the real reason he does things the way he does, and then he’d say you just wouldn’t understand because you’re not smart enough. If it’s a good day, he’d say it in a slightly less mean way. He might even give you a bullet point list of the reasons why he couldn’t possibly be lonely. It would include things like he’ll always have friends, even if it’s people just trying to suck up to him because he’s so smart as well as things like, look, you’re bothering me, so how could I possible be lonely? I want to be alone right now! But the truth is that it’s all a lie. Now, if only someone could just figure that out.

I haven't decided definitively if it's going to be a long one - shot or a multi - parter. Either way it'll end up too long for a comment and be posted on my journal and linked back here. :-)

Because Ten + those lyrics = Doctor whumping on a massive scale.

Sarah learned to watch John closely when he was young. No one but them that mattered, and her eagle eye always on him.

It was strange now, getting used to having more than John to keep her eye on. They were not as used to her gaze, seemed to notice.

And she was damn sure going to keep her eye on Cameron and Derek. She trusted neither, not really. Knew they were both built to kill first, think second. Knew that there was damage, unpredictability, the capacity to go from best friend to something else in the blink of an eye. Knew that they were gathering information on John, that they were desperately curious to see this younger him, being so rapt by the John of the future. And she didn't like them watching John so closely.

And they knew it. Saw the distrust in her eyes and her actions. So they said less and less to her.

But sometimes she could still see what was going on in their endlessly complicated heads. When they talked to each other, Sarah would once again feel like she knew who these two were.

Cameron would pester him at the kitchen table sometimes. He always looked like he wanted to kill her, but she was less scared of him than she was of Sarah for some reason.

"You were loud," Cameron said to him one day, halting his sloppy gobble of cereal.

"What?"

"Your screams. Last night. Were you dreaming?"

And Derek gave that wild-eyed look, the one that said he was hopelessly, desperately lost, the one that made Sarah want to hold him but only while keeping a gun to his head, just in case.

But Cam just repeated, "Were you dreaming?"

To Sarah's surprise, Derek answered, "I don't dream at all. I have nightmares."

Cam said, "A nightmare is a dream. It's a type of dream."

Derek hesitated, then said, "A dream... can also mean something you hope for."

And Sarah understood then that Derek's honesty hadn't been for the sake of the machine. It was because he knew Sarah was listening.

But Cameron seemed satisfied nonetheless. "Thank you for explaining."

Sarah felt a wash of compassion she carefully prevented from running across her face. But some part of her wanted to smile.

The machine who tries to understand what hopelessness means. The soldier who tells his enemies about his dreams.

The "daughter" who was wasn't a daughter at all.

And the stranger, the soldier, who was actually her brother. More or less.

There was only one person from the future that Sarah really trusted, and she had never had the chance to learn to live with him. But as long as she could keep her eye on these two, these slightly kinder remnants of the more terrifying beings they used to be ... she would let them stay.

...oh god, that pairing would be so non-con it's not even funny. Well, unless you're Kefka, then it's hilarious. XD

One night, they go out into the garden. It’s past midnight and there’s already dew on the grass. Her stockings are sopping wet within minutes, but she doesn’t say anything about it. Peter’s saying something about constellations, something about what he’s been learning in school, and she pretends that she’s listening, but she’s not. She’s just thinking about the sound of his voice in the dark and his breath hot against her ear. She doesn’t know why she’s thinking this.

“Susan!” He takes her hand to get her attention and points at the sky. He has her attention. He always has.

“It’s pretty,” and the words sound inane.

“We’ll always have the stars,” he says. “No matter what. No matter what changes. Do you understand?”

She says she does, but she doesn’t. Not until much later.

Growing up a second time, he thinks he knows what he’s doing. He thinks they all know what they’re doing. But he watches Edmund bumbling around, knocking into things, all sharp elbows and pointy knees again, and watches Lucy when she thinks no one’s looking, crying quietly to herself over something that he’ll never be able to fathom. And then there’s Susan, who keeps coming into his room at night when everyone else has gone to bed and sitting there, just talking to him.

Some nights he thinks, She’s the only one who understands. Why not?

Some nights he thinks, You’re crazy.

She talks to him about boys, about the ones who have taken her out to the town and about the ones who want to. She talks about the shapes of clouds and hairbrushes. She doesn’t talk about how she used to be a queen and how she used to worry about things that were more important.

Some nights, he almost kisses her, just because he wants to her to think about something that’s real.