December 13th, 2009

doctor/tardis on top of the world

for ambitious_woman: Faintest of Sparks


dragged through the mire
and into the light
you did something selfish
but you did what was right

we started a fire
with the faintest of sparks
sprung from the friction
of two empty hearts

we swept out the ashes
and went on our way
from the deepest of red
to the lightest of gray.

She keeps the sari wrapped tightly around her. It's her new corset and skirts. Tight and layered, she smoothes the fabric down with tanned hands. She has adapted to life in India. It's a good life, he thinks, the life she built for herself. If anyone could build so much from nothing, it's Reinette.

He asks her if she's happy here. He means with him, but he doesn't ask that.

It's been years. Twenty for him. Five for her. They grew up on opposite ends of the universe.

He was selfish. He forgot the time they spent together. Forgot all of it. All of it, in one split decision. He didn't want to remember the pain, which meant he would forget the joy. A split decision, to forget everything from the moment they arrived in San Francisco.

She chose to remember. He likes to think he'd have chosen the same, if he knew. He knows he wouldn't have.

He think she hates him a little for that. He knows he hates himself more than a little for it.

She tells him of course. Of course she is happy. He doesn't think she means with him.

He wonders what he was like, then. In the year he forgot. The year he gave up. Who was he when he was him? The him that he was, the one she still grieves for.

He saw a movie once, with their daughter. Petite Reinette, all spitfire and ambition, sat more patiently through the movie than her father did. It was a good movie, though. Random Harvest. A man who can not remember who he is falls in love, then forgets everything, and then falls in love with the same woman. She grieves for the man who didn't know who he was.

It's like that now, with Reinette. She cares for him, but she loved the man he forgot.

He reaches out to take her hand. She quietly, deftly moves back, tracing her hand along the opposite side of the console and remarking the differences in the ship. He never remembered her seeing it, but he doesn't question her memory.

Maybe she just needed to step aside.

He knows she wanted to move away.

He likes to think that if he knew it would be like this, the strangeness, the silent ache, that he'd have chosen the same as her, that he'd never have forgotten.

He knows he wouldn't have.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 405
Based on RP in relativespace with ambitious_woman
feelings vs thinkings, i don't think i feel

for its_notluck


Everything that you fear is calling you and drawing near

I searched my world but I can't find you
You're standing there but I can't touch you
Try to talk but the words are just not there
I can feel a sense of danger
You stare at me like I'm a stranger
Paralyzed and you don't seem to care
The demons in my dreams.

"It's you."

He's been waiting for Rose to come out of this shop for flipping hours now. He's almost pleasantly surprised to find a league of cybermats underneath the stairs at the shopping mall. And now that that's sorted out, he's back, waiting at the door with a smile on his face, waiting for Rose to reemerge.

He turns around at the voice, though. It's an American, someone he doesn't recognize. She's small and blonde and by all accounts very pretty, but she's not someone he recognizes.

"Oh my god," she says. "It's you."

"Hello," he says, warily.

She runs towards him, stopping only a few feet from where he is. Her grin is huge and seems to split her face in two. He likes her grin, he decides in that moment. He generally does like pretty blonde women with wide grins, but he thinks he likes hers an awful lot.

"Who are you?" he asks.

Her face falls, and she looks so utterly surprised. "You've never---You've never not known me."

He hates this sort of reaction. It means that, at some point in the past, he's met her. But her past is his future and that's just too much wibbly-wobby timey-wimey for him to deal with at the moment.

He looks back into the store, where Rose is finally getting ready to leave, then back to the girl. He had planned on ice cream and a semi-romantic-but-this-really-isn't-romantic-at-all walk across the 43rd century boardwalk upstairs, not a chat with someone from his future.

"Sorry. Time's always a bit confusing for me," he says. "I'm a time traveler---"

"I know that," she says, and she sounds very put out that he thinks he has to explain himself. "I've just---"

She bites her bottom lip, and then extends her hand.

"I'm Claire," she says.

Her eyes are wide and brown and, unlike the rest of her, aren't young in the slightest. She's very old, he can tell just from her eyes. And she feels…wrong. Not wrong like Jack, the skin-crawlingly wrong Jack he ran away from back on Satellite Five, is wrong, but she's different.

He gives her hand a shake. Her fingers are warm, and he can feel time rippling around them. She's very different, but he doesn't really understand how. "I'm the Doctor---"

"I know," she says. She glances behind him, and he can only assume Rose has reappeared. He starts to back away, but Claire holds his hand firmly for one more moment.

"I never said thank you," she says. "But. Thank you."

And with that, she turns and runs away. He hears the clomp-clomp of her high heels against the holographic flooring, and watches her turn a corner and run.

"Who was she, then?" Rose asks. "Friend of yours?"

He nods. "Just not yet."

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 470