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“Find me.”
My last words echo around me but in these spaces it’s difficult to tell for how long it goes on.
I fall, through darkness, through light. I fall for an eternity. I fall for no time at all. In the land of nothing, it’s neither here nor there.
Because what is time, when falling?
When two pairs of eyes meet for the first time, does time take notice? Or does it simply fade into the background?
Find me, find me, find me.
Remember when you found me?
“Come with me,” I said, and then we were off. Sure, we were ten drinks in by that point but neither of us was keeping track. You strode up to the bar, all confidence except for a slight shake in your voice that I only remembered years later – you covered your nerves well – and ordered my drink order with a twinkle in your eye.
A crowded bar can offer the most intimate of opportunities to get to know someone. Our heads bowed close together not just to hear each other over the other patrons but also because I wanted to be closer to you.
You talked of all matters of importance, like whether or not a bill was going to pass in the Jalxar Peninsula, or why cinnamon was the only additional ingredient you ever needed for coffee.
I'm not sure I ever told you but I wasn't really up for conversation that night. A job had gone bad, and I lost a lot of money. Betrayed by someone I thought was a friend. I had wandered through the stars until I came upon a planet that advertised itself as a top destination for the discerning space traveler. Well, I was certainly experiencing discernment – though perhaps too late for it to matter — so I took my sorrows and sat them down at a bar and set off drinking away the embarrassment of trusting too easily.
And then there you were. Your smile sought me and your laughter moved me until the echoes of betrayal eroded from my being. I shared my deepest, darkest secrets, sitting at the bar with you.
In the middle of all this I asked your name, and then offered mine as a promise, a hail Mary, something that felt a lot like the beginning of our lives.
I grabbed your hand, and that solidified it. We ran through the streets of Apalapucia, and I remember looking down for a moment at my feet as they splashed through the remnants of evening rain and not caring about the mess my shoes would become.
The midnight stars reflected in the puddles so it was almost like we were dancing across the galaxy when you pulled me to you, took my hand in yours, and led us through a dance, the music existing only in our minds.
We danced all the way to the ship and upon its uncloaking you gasped, and at first I thought you were taken aback, unsuspecting of an invisible spaceship of such magnitude, but I should have known. You were far too knowledgeable about the spacecraft races to not know your ships.
“I've always flown one of these in my imagination,” you said, and then you pulled me onto my ship, shoved me onto my bed, and then we danced a different dance.
In the morning I thought you would be gone. We lived a whole lifetime during the evening before but now it was a different day. These things usually only lasted a night, anyway.
The bed was empty when I awoke and I was fine with that because the goodbyes are always awkward. No need to live through that when we had such a nice time together.
But there was a clinking coming from the kitchen, mugs being moved about, followed by the gurgle of the coffee machine.
I paused in the middle of throwing on my robe to listen to the familiar sounds of someone else on the ship I hadn’t heard in so long. I wandered out to you, leaned against the door jamb, and watched as you worked preparing breakfast.
I hadn’t noticed before but the ship had been awash in dull gray undertones, seeping into every corner and console, only noticeable now seeing you stand in the yellow gold sunlight through the window, the light hitting you and stretching out across the rest of the ship, and hitting me.
“Coffee?” you asked, spinning around. Of course you knew I was there, already.
Visions of a life not yet lived flashed before me, and I wanted it. To have a companion again was appealing, but to have a partner? That was freeing.
We sat down for breakfast. It was the first of many.
We traveled worlds together. I taught you how to fly the ship. We danced to Kylie Minogue around the whole ship. You rolled a pair of dice and told me to choose a different name for the sake of adventure. I laughed and asked you why we needed to immerse ourselves in fantasy when we had a whole galaxy, stretched across time, at our fingertips.
You shook your head like I was missing the point but you still smiled and said all the mysterious characters in fiction had no name, so that’s who I would be. The Man with No Name.
Until you bestowed upon me the name “Rogue” when I kept making, in your words, out-of-pocket story decisions but I’ll remind you, dear, that we always made it in the end.
In real life, we took the jobs that no one else wanted, creating a name for ourselves in the world of bounty hunting. It wasn’t revolutionary work; it didn’t need to be.
We weren’t exactly in the saving people business but sometimes that was the result of our work. You said it gave you purpose. I just wanted the check. I said that once and the look you gave me was hard to describe because you had never been disappointed in me before. And that’s what it was; I finally recognized it after remembering seeing the same look when the intergalactic ice cream store ran out of your favorite flavor. Except this time there was something else there, too. Something deeper, more profound.
“I wish I could convince you that there’s more to life than just the next job,” you said. You walked ahead of me on the return to the ship. Dinner was a quiet affair that night and even though you still wrapped your arms around me in bed, I could tell something had shifted.
Arguments started to break out more often. Biting words lobbied toward each other over the smallest of things — dusty windows, unkempt console, disagreements about the jobs we took, me never agreeing to longer breaks — until the vitriol with which we spoke to each other could no longer be ignored. I’ll never forget the sound of the door slamming shut behind you. It echoed around me, trying to fill in the spaces you had just left behind.
When you returned you asked me why the ship was still parked in the same spot on a boring planet we both agreed had seen better days. I told you the ship didn’t fly well without two pilots so I had been conducting interviews for a second-in-command but from the look on your face I knew that you knew I was waiting for your return. The ship needs two captains, and baby, I didn’t care about the specifics of the jobs we took, as long as I got to do them with you. And I would love for us to take more vacations if that’s what you need and we could afford them. I’ll be better about dusting, too.
Perhaps I should have cared more, though. Vetted the parameters of our next job better. Because then, one day not long after you returned, our dance stopped. Spun me out with no warning, my hand left grasping. You made me fall but you always caught me. Then you fell, too. Only this time I couldn’t return the favor because you let go first and in your eyes you told me this wasn’t my fault. One of us had to survive and you just decided it wouldn’t be you without consulting me so you fell hundreds of feet off a cliffside even though I told you it could hold both of us. Our ride was on the way.
When our pick up arrived there wasn’t time to retrieve your body because our pursuers had almost made it to our location. Our clients hauled me into their helicopter and I tuned out their apologies and condolences, their reassurances they had no idea multiple parties would be after them, and stared hard at the spot you fell, trying to imagine your mangled body on the ground but all I could see was the way you glimmered in the sunlight on that first morning, adding a spoonful of cinnamon to my coffee.
I told you, didn’t I? The ship needs two captains. Just a few weeks ago, I said this to you. Standing in the middle of our ship I couldn’t fathom how someone could forget something so soon. A sharp ringing began in my ear and my vision blurred, until the space was awash in a dull gray once again.
Rude of you.
To leave a ship destined for two pilots with only one? Landing is a feat. It takes twice as long and I scare away all the good jobs because who wants to hire someone who can’t efficiently land their own ship?
It’s no matter. I started to answer jobs from the wire. Besides, meeting clients face-to-face was always your idea. “We’re providing a service, dear! And people will always trust a service when they can put a face to the name,” you always said.
Well. Jobs get completed faster when you cut out all the schmoozing. Faster job, faster pay, faster departure. On to the next one.
The days ran together into nights and into days again. I never once thought of the vacations you always wanted to take. There was only the next job. But this time I made sure to take the ones that saved people. To honor you. Even if the pay was shit.
Rude of you again.
There was supposed to be more to our story. We started in a bar and ended on a cliffside. I know where you are, except I keep searching for you. In some ways, I’ll always be searching for you.
Do you want to hear another story?
Time stopped again. Or it faded away, whatever it is it does when two eyes meet across the room. At that point I had gotten used to working by myself again. Even though the ship still flew awkwardly with just one person at the helm, I could do the jobs solo. Rogue was my name, afterall. Credit to you, dear. Though solo work is tiring, and I’ll admit, I do sometimes miss things in the research.
I was in a different century. Attending a ball where the dances we used to love to recreate filled the great hall, the general merriment of the place hard to ignore, but not impossible. I was scouting.
Until time stopped again. For a moment. He made his way up to me with the same confidence you once you had. I was wary considering I was on a job but then he was asking my name and I was asking for his and the exchange felt almost like a new beginning.
But I had my suspicions and I let them get ahead of me, almost sending him off to fall through the galaxy.
A new dance began. It was time. I told him about you, though not in great detail. I hope you don’t mind. I’d rather keep some of you to myself.
You’ll laugh at me though. I got engaged to this doctor — no idea what he’s a doctor of, mind — and even though it was part of a ruse to sus out The Chuldur, I’ll admit to a part of myself being serious about the whole thing.
He was charming, funny, and very handsome. You’d have liked him. He also likes to dance. Over the course of one evening I could see a whole new life open up to me for the first time since I watched you fall.
But I was on a job. And The Doctor’s friend needed saving. And at that moment, I made a decision. Because the evening was nice but the future was scary. I dove head first into that future once before. It led to the best moments of my life. I wasn’t sure if I could do that again.
It was my turn to fall. I had fallen once before but that was a different kind of falling, one born of late night conversations and the sweetest love making known to the universe. This one will be more permanent, don’t you think? You’ve been there. Maybe I’ll find you out there, again.
“Find me,” I told The Doctor.
I fell, like you fell.
And I keep falling.
Are you out there? Where are you?
Tell me it’ll be okay.
Is this how it felt for you, too? Watching the person you love disappear above you and knowing it’s because of a decision you made?
But it’s different this time. Where I’m going death isn’t on the table quite yet. There’s still some life to live, even if it’s short.
I need to focus. A fight is coming.
I’m still falling, passing through the darkness and light in equal measures. Our life consumes me, and I wish I could savor it. I want it back.
Please, let me let you go.
I don’t think I’ll find you out here.
And then —
I land on nothing. Underneath my feet there’s only white. I look up and stretching for miles in front of me is more white.
I look to my left. The Chuldur are there, too.
We lock eyes. They get ready. I do too.
I remember the sunlight washing over you as you stood in my kitchen that first morning, and I can still feel the heat of The Doctor’s kiss.
They charge.
I may have landed but I’m still falling. Always falling, falling, falling. For you. For The Doctor. You found me once. Maybe The Doctor can find me again.
I raise my fists.
There’s a secret to going rogue. You learn to fight on your own, sure. But no matter how alone you find yourself, there’s always backup coming.
You just have to wait for it. Fight for it.
And remember: Falling will happen.
It’s freeing.