While My Guitar Gently Weeps.

Drabble in reveng--I mean response to Hell of a Bird's (heartbreaking, feels-destroying, amazing) drabble. Let's hope it breaks a few hearts as well.

Alex Smith lets his fingers glide over the strings over the sleek black guitar in his hand. It was difficult to make them out through the thick shades he was wearing - pinched from one of his father's (bleached) jackets - but he let his fingers do the talking. 

The time teen had been a keyboard player for a long time but had decided he wanted to pick up the guitar, and he wanted to believe he was making a good job of it. He definitely wasn't as adept at it as his father was - his father had a way of turning a song into something magical that you could just sit there and listen to for hours, although he wouldn't admit that.

He was so engrossed in the guitar, he didn't notice his father walking in, clutching a small box in his hand. Still not noticing him, he got up and stepped onto one of the staircases surrounding the TARDIS's console room. 

Strumming a rather unneccesarily convoluted chord, he let it ring out - a tad out of tune and way too much vibrato - and held his hand out, the way his father would do when he did something badass with a note.
Peering over his glasses, he noticed the Doctor standing in the room. He let a small smile creep onto his lips. "Looks cool, doesn't it?"

"No. It looks like you dropped yourself into the laundry machien instead of your tighty-whities," he said. "You quite finished?"

Alex put his hand down to the guitar and strummed one more chord, letting the sound echo around the console room before slapping his hand on the fretboard to stop the noise. "For now."

Resting the guitar against the nearby wall, Alex turned to see the Doctor holding a strange-looking box out to him. With just one glance at it, he could see the Gallifreyan writing embossed on the lid. With his limited knowledge of Gallifreyan, Alex couldn't read everything put in front of him, but he'd recognize that writing anywhere. He'd written it out plenty of times.

"STELLA," it read. Mum's name, he found himself thinking.

Stunned, Alex took the box and held it in his hand. The warm touch seemed to soothe him a little, but a million and one questions raced through his head. They were about to spill out of his mouth when he looked up to ask them, but the Doctor had already started walking back toward his sorting. Deciding not to barage him with so many questions, he decided they could be left for another time - he knew how broody he got when it came to the past.

Sitting himself down on the step, Alex caressed the Gallifreyan inscription before opening the box. Immediately, he saw the photograph. Picking it up, he noticed the smiling face of his mother - so long gone, but the pain still not healed quite yet - looking back at him. Next to him, a long-ago incarnation of the Doctor. He'd seen his father live out so many lives that they all seemed to blur together like paint in water. Rifling through, he held some flowers and several notes in his hand. What struck him most was the piece of paper with the crossed out words except for that one line. Had all of these really belonged to his mother? Was he holding the long-stored relics of their romance - the romance that had resulted in him?

A tear ran slowly down Alex's cheek as he remembered the loving embrace of his mother, whom he'd found himself marooned with, with nobody except for each other. How they'd clung to each other, riding out each storm that came their way, hoping they wouldn't drown. The overwhelming pain and sorrow when he'd lost her, some of that still stabbing at his hearts.

But what didn't occur to the Doctor was that maybe Alex had a secret box all of his own, gathering dust somewhere. Replacing the lid on the box, he held it tightly to him as he passed the Doctor and went to his own room. He opened one of the vast wardrobes in the wall and rifled through old clothes and shoes, some he hadn't worn since two regenerations ago. Finally finding what he was looking for, he heaved a similarly-sized box, a similar Gallifreyan itching on the lid - except he knew exactly what it said: ALEX.

Placing it on his bed, he opened the lid. Quite an assortment of items lay in there. A small teddy bear with a red ribbon around its neck; a baby's pacifier; a small piece of paper with a handprint printed on it in green paint - a very small, child's hand. A handful of Gallifreyan coins and a folded blanket with gold stars etched into it.

Leaving his room, Alex followed the sound of the Doctor working until he was stood in the doorway. He cleared his throat confidently. "So, if we're sharing some memories... I thought you might like to have this. It was collecting dust, too."

Holding out the box, he waited for the Doctor to take it before he suddenly hugged him. This wasn't something he'd done since the Doctor had regenerated into this form, his resolve becoming as steely as his father's. He wasn't a hugger, but maybe he'd make an exception for this sweet face.

"I love you," Alex heard himself say, pressing his head to the Doctor's chest.
 

Mood Music: While My Guitar Gently Weeps by The Beatles