There's nothing of him left inside me. Nothing. You see, I killed them all. Just as I went back and wiped out the Time Lords, Daleks, Cybermen, Sontarans, the whole lot of them. I traveled back in time to prevent my past selves from making mistakes. I tried to show them how they were passing up the opportunity to attain real power. But each one of those fools preferred their own self-consciously noble, ultimately unsatisfying lifestyles. All of them argued with me, tried to thwart my plans. So I erased them, took them out of existence.

It is London. 24 March 2007. I am at once my current age, somewhere around 2,890, and at equal times my tenth self at around 1,207 (though I believe I was still vain enough in my youth to believe that I should lie about my age). Oh, how foolish and immature I was.

"I didn't think you'd show your face here," my younger self, the one who still calls himself the Doctor, says.

My reply is simple. "I didn't think you'd recognize me. Neural memories, of course. Ripping out through the cosmos. My cosmos."

"How did you get here?" Oh, how impudent I was. How forceful, full of self-importance and valor. Oh, valor. Pity I never realized that caution is the better part of that "noble" trait.

"I hold the fabric of every reality. Every core of every computational moment in the whole of creation from its beginning to its end. I lived through your life once, before I went back and prevented it." What a complicated few years it has been. Since defeating my sixth self, I've had such a time taking care of the universe, finding the weapons I worked so hard to hide in my naieve youth. And now, finding myself again.

"Prevented it?" the Doctor, the one in the brown suit, looks horrified. "How could you...why would you do that?"

'Because, Doctor. I can.' Cut for very mild spoilers to 4.14, 'The Planet of the Dead'. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,980, not including text from Doctor Who Unbound: He Jests At Scars
Special thanks to [ profile] salvagestime for the inspiration and beta!
River Song is 23.

The Doctor is 1,984.

They are a study in imbalance.

Like two teetering towers, standing up only by the pressure of leaning against each other, they function but they do not meet completely. And, if they were to meet perfectly, then they would fall over. Because that is what imbalanced towers do.

He thinks about the singing towers at Berillium and their unique leaned pattern. He's seen them in tourist handbooks and on viewscreens and in the distance during a few of his adventures, though he never sets a course there. He knows he doesn't have to, he will one day (has long ago since) go there and the beauty the towers promise doesn't change the fact that he will (already does) dread that day.

Today, he is on Agathorn, in the common sector. He is six hours, twenty-eight minutes, and thirty-five seconds late for River Song's graduation from the Valential Academy of Archeology and Time Travel Sciences. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,707
Special thanks to [ profile] everybody_lives for the voice beta and inspiration!
I suppose they…they break my heart.

He has two hearts.

Two lumps of cardiac muscle (cardiac myocyte), each weighing around 11 grams, crammed into his ribcage, which for all intents and purposes could be larger on the inside for all the organs it contains within such a small space. Each heart pumps blood at a rate of 4-6 LPM, working in unison to bring around 12 liters of blood spiraling through his binary cardiovascular system every minute.

It's very little wonder Grace said his blood doesn't look like blood. It simply doesn't. It's like human blood run through a cheese grater. Smaller, more efficient cells, maybe, but different. They don't move nutrients the same way because the hearts don't pump them the same way.

The hearts don't move emotions the same way, either. In the figurative sense, of course, as the muscle of the heart is hardly the part of the body that holds emotion. It's a silly notion derived from human romanticism. In fact, saying "heartsbreak" in Gallifreyan is really just a mockery, a play on words trivializing emotion to its most simplistic form: human.

His left heart is purely Gallifreyan. Solid, beating a single beat without any wavering. It's the heart he was born (created, Loomed, whatever that insignificant term prior to a first regeneration is) with. The heart that beat fiercely as he ran from the Tempered Schism, the heart that first swelled at the sight of a meteor shower, and the heart that first closed up and pushed someone away.

It's a heart that belongs to the Master, in many ways. A heart that was given when the Doctor was young and things seemed so simple. He never quite had the courage to ask for it back, and even now he isn't certain he would. So the heart is his alone as, after all, the Master would never share a possession. Especially one as unique as the Doctor's left heart. Even from his grave the Doctor can often feel the Master's hand curling around his heart like a tumor, threatening to slip out of remission and overtake the entire torso with the slightest change of climate.

It's a heart that ages. He aged as it beat, then as a second one grew with his regeneration, he stopped aging. It never did, though. He can still feel it, hard and crusted, beating against his ribcage during his most trying times. Beating out a staccato of what is right and Lawful at 67 beats per minute without fail.

It's a heart that doesn't truly know how to love. It's the heart Joan laid her hand on when she asked him if one of his hearts belonged to John Smith. It made telling her 'no' easier. It made breaking her all-too-human heart passable. No matter how much his other heart cried out for her.

His right heart is human. First formed (born) after his first regeneration. It sits a little too far to the left, as if worried it might pull away; lose its place in the Doctor's chest. It beats a little off, always few tics too early or too late. Not nearly bad enough for serious medical treatment (so his Time Lord doctors would tell him), but it's enough to be a bother at times. It's the heart that first fell in love, the heart that fluttered for the first time in anticipation, the heart that broke when he couldn't save someone.

It's his mother's heart. It's Susan's heart. It's John Smith's heart. It's a heart that falls in love too quickly and it's a heart that bruises too easily. It's the part of him that seems to fall out when he loses someone. It's the part of him that feels empty when he's alone in the Void of space. It's a muscle that's not strong enough to work on its own and requires its aged counterpart just to keep him going.

It's a heart that loves, deeply but quietly. Solidly but fearfully. Completely but imperfectly.

It's the heart he offers to his companions. It's the only part of him that can love. He keeps his cold, aged heart close. Keeps his alien-ness inside while showing them the side of him they might be able to understand.

And perhaps, just perhaps, he's too terrified of them breaking his heart to offer them both. So he gives the one that's already bruised, keeps the hard and cold one safe. Just in case. Because it might happen if he lets it.

But it's a self-fulfilling fear, of course. By only offering them half, he can never offer them enough.

Or perhaps he offers them enough but pulls it back just as quickly, fear of that hurt settling in. Or perhaps he's afraid of damaging what he gives to them more than he's afraid of losing them.

After all, while that right heart may never age, it can grow bitter. Fearful. Jaded.

So he only gives them one.

And when they break his heart---as they inevitably do---the other one still beats that solid, cold rhythm in his chest. Reminding him how he was right to keep himself inside. Reminding him that it's not the first time and it won't be the last.

He simply has to accept it.

Half of him does.

Half of him doesn't.

His hearts beat blood to every part of him. The parts that blush, the parts that cry. The parts that find reason and understanding, the parts that run away.

But as with the two hearts, his parts don't work together. Things don't come out perfectly. No matter how hard he tries, he still loses part of his human heart. Broken as they're ripped away, walk away to another universe, or leave him to be with a being who can offer his only heart without any fear.

But the Doctor has two hearts.

They don't beat in time with the ones he loves.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 990
Special thanks to [ profile] ambitious_woman for the beta!
An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. –Ghandi

Anatomy of a scene. Cut for spoilers to 5.00 'The Next Doctor'. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,941
Hangin' round downtown by myself
And I had so much time
To sit and think about myself
And then there she was

You don't like traveling alone.

But just because you don't like it doesn't mean you won't do it. If a shark stops swimming it will die, and Donna always said that traveling was your way of swimming. So you travel. You've been sticking to Earth lately because Earth is easy. Earth is safe and warm and you can get a new culture just by changing your longitude. Earth is a little bit of everything and that's why you love it.

Today, you are in Bangkok. It's June, 1999. Next month NASA will intentionally crash the Lunar Prospector spacecraft into the Moon. In August, a 7.4-magnitude earthquake will strike northwestern Turkey, killing more than 17,000 and injuring 44,000. In December, dozens will die in Venezuela in a series of mud streams. And, on a less global note right now somewhere on the other side of the world Chang Lee is hugging his friends and Grace Halloway is kissing her boyfriend goodbye and in December you'll be there to make sure that their after-Christmas plans don't turn out quite as right as they hoped.

But Bangkok is wonderful. Oh, you've been here before. Various times, various places. You brought Dodo here once, and Leela. Still, depending on the year and the month and even the time of day, there's always something different.

It's probably 2 in the morning, now. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count:1,927
How to deal with death is at least as important as how to deal with life. -Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan

Rifts close and rifts open. It happens.

When the Doctor finds himself in the area of a rift opening, he usually re-directs the TARDIS over to see what's happened. With companion in tow, they find adventure, help out, and make an afternoon of it. He remembers sitting on a crystal mountain with Donna, watching the sky blaze orange as the rift over Grea Sentra closed. They'd just finished talking peace with rift-traveling aliens and the native creatures. It was a good day.

But he's alone now. When he gets the blip on the monitor of rift activity in the Gamma Quadrant, he hesitates. No matter what's out there, he is the only one who will see it.

Still, something to do. He's fallen into a rut of taking bits of the TARDIS engine apart, cleaning them, and putting them back together. One cannot live on engine maintenance alone. Certainly not the Doctor.

He twists the dials on the console and steers the TARDIS towards a desolate, broken world. Lifeless, or very nearly. Except for a sudden, strong blip of life. Human life. He tugs on a pair of oversized goggles and ventures out into the blasting winds of the dark world.

"Hello?" he calls over the roar of the wind. "Hello?"

There's no response at first, and he thinks that maybe no one was in the rift. Or if they were, they were too injured to survive. Then he hears it. )

The stars, that nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps with everlasting oil, give due light to the misled and lonely traveller.
-John Milton

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 2,569
Don't throw your life away
Don't throw your life away
Don't throw your life away…
-Interlude 2 by the Eclectic Collective

He's really too selfish to let her go. Cut for spoilers to 4.13 'Journey's End'. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 2,046
Are diamonds really forever? If not, what is?


She really is a proper best mate.

Odd, that, especially considering all she did when she first met him was slap him around. She called him names and eventually turned him down flat when he asked her to come with him. He was miserable and she was disagreeable. He should've hated her. Well, at the very least resented her. His cheek certainly did.

But no, no, that terrible Christmas endeared her to him if nothing else. They both had a Christmas with an adventure and heartbreak. He lost Rose and she lost Lance. In a way, he figures her loss was far worse than his. Rose loved him until the end and Lance stomped all over her heart. She choked back her sobs as she stood in the console room in the same place where he'd been crying hours earlier. It wasn't the same, but it still felt shared.

Silly, maybe. Cut for spoilers to 4.07 'The Unicorn and the Wasp'. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,312
If you're in a bad situation, don't worry it'll change. If you're in a good situation, don't worry it'll change. - John A. Simone, Sr.

"Explain this to me again."

"Do I have to?"

It was probably not physically possible for Donna Noble to be more furious at the Doctor. She was tired, her clothes were torn up, and to top it all off? She was covered in some strange pollen that made her skin flushed and itchy. And if she looked nearly as bad as the red-splotched Doctor looking down at the console, she was never going to go outside again.

"The pollen is from a Derirte plant," he said, slowly and just a hint more patronizing. "Reacts differently with each body chemistry that comes in contact with it. For the Draconians it exfoliates their skin, for the Tereleptils it causes boils…for humans, however, it can prove to be fatal if---"

"Just cut to the chase, Space Man."

The Doctor scratched his head, sending more tiny spores from his gravity-defying hair. He sneezed and sighed.

If you don't have sexual intercourse in the next hour, you will die. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 764

Author's Note: Based on the rush of extremely bad "Sex-Pollen" Doctor/Donna fics out there on Teaspoon. I'm all for an impossible pairing like D/D (and it ain't like 10ant and t8 don't have a ton of chemistry), but honestly, could you get more cliché??
First incarnation

It is an accident, of course, that lands him there.

First time taking the TARDIS out---granted he was running from Gallifreyan guards---and he presses the randomizer button. There has to be a quick way away, he figures. What better way than going anywhere? He has the same method with chess: His opponents were always baffled because he didn't make the obvious (read: sane) moves when they came around. He bounced around the board and threw them off track.

Same way here. He pulls a lever and the ship shoots through the time vortex. He's tossed around the white console room, landing uncomfortably on his back as the ship settles. Much more of that and he's going to need a cane when he gets older, he thinks.

He grabs the edge of the console and looks on the monitor. No ship in sight behind him, it appears. He's gotten away. The realization hits him. He's gotten away! A childlike wail of glee slips from his lips and he bursts into laughter. Away! Away from Gallifrey, away from his stupid stuffy life of studying. It's fantastic. No, it's brilliant!

But where is he? The navigational systems in the ship aren't fully stable yet, all it can tell him is that the radiation levels are normal and the oxygen levels are good. Which means wherever he is, he can get out and take a look. And why not? It's a new world. A whole new world.

Another laugh. A whole new world right outside that door. How many times has he dreamed of this moment? Laid atop the astronomical center at the Academy and stared at the stars and just imagined? So many times. So many! He shrugs off his Prydonian robes and grabs a coat off of a chair (where did that coat come from?).

Only Rassilon on his first voyage could possibly understand the excitement behind each step towards the door. Each step is practically a hop and he's all but bursting with energy. A first place. A new place. A place he's never seen, a world he's never explored. His hand curls around the door handle and with so little effort the door swings open.

A blast of cold air blows his hair away from his face. The raw, unusual and completely different scent of a new world assails him. Smoke and dust and manure and grass and it's a combination of the likes he's never smelt before. It's like a perfume of the Sisters themselves. A new world.

One foot steps out onto muddy ground. The mud is soft enough to squish and form around his shoe, but firm enough that he won't slip or sink. There's a fine layer of snow atop the wet ground and even that feels different beneath his feet than the small, delicate dusting he's used to from Gallifrey. It feels thicker and wetter, like the iced water clumped together more solidly.

"Oi, mate, watch it!" A wood-and-wire carriage drawn by a great four-hoofed beast speeds past him and very nearly knocks the young Time Lord down. The hooves of the creature clomp clomp down on the wet road, splattering snow and mud with each step. The man---he looks like a Gallifreyan, actually, except his telepathic signals are much weaker-- on the carriage shakes a fist in his direction before driving on.

A group of people stand not far off from him, singing together. The music is not sophisticated like the music he is used to, but the harmony of their voices in a strange tongue is beautiful. The ship in his mind translates the words but he can still hear them in their native language. Simple words, each one only carrying one meaning. He likes that, he likes the way they string together to create music.

"God rest ye merry gentlemen let nothing you dismay
Remember Christ our savior was born on Christmas Day
To save us all from Satan's power when we have gone astray---"

He walks down the road, eyes darting excitedly from shop to shop. Fruit and presents and trinkets sold for coin he's never seen before. This world, this beautiful world, is so different, so brilliant.

"Ooooh, tidings of comfort and joy
Comfort and joy
Oooooh tidings of comfort and joy…"

The young Time Lord rushes to a man selling small dried fruit from a basket. He imagines the food cannot possibly be sterile, but the smell of it is so sweet and strange.

"Figs, Sir?" he asks the Time Lord, offering him a bag.

He remembers from his classes that before he even considers taking something, he should get his bearings first. "When is it?" he asks him. His words come out in simple, strange vowels and he loves that, too. The first words spoken in another language.

"When? Why, it's Christmas Day!"

Christmas? What's Christmas? It must be the way the people of this planet describe their days. He'll learn, he decides. There's so much for him to learn!

"And where am I?" he asks. Second question and perhaps he asks it a little too enthusiastically because the man with the figs looks confused.

"You're in London, Sir."

"London." It could be the street name or the city name or the planet name for all he cares, but this is his first new world. London is amazing. It's fantastic. It's everything he could've hoped for in a new world. He loves it.

And you never forget your first love.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 915
The Journal of Impossible Things

10 November 1913

Dreams slip away if one does not keep them written down. It is as I was telling Martha this morning. The way the mind works is that the more important stays in the forefront while those things that are less important to the moment stay hidden. My dreams, as I've come to discover, are less important to my mind than they are to me, so they vanish.

All the same, let me be more brief. Professor Moffat always finds time to tell me that the Bard says brevity is the soul of wit. While I prefer history to literature, I can take that idea to heart.

Last night I dreamed I was running. (The story takes place in the year of our Lord 2007!) It was Martha and I, running. There is almost always some sort of danger or running involved in these dreams, as I have come to notice. The Doctor's life is always one of adventure, occasionally heartbreak, and danger from which he must always run. He wears the most unusual shoes because of how they improve this ability.

Martha and I are running from some sort of evil (another constant in the dreams), pushing past people and running along corridors until we arrive back at the magic box. I'm not safe in the box because the evil can track me. Martha is unlike her normally well-collected self; she appears to be very frustrated, anxious, and confused.

In my dreams, Martha and I have a significantly different relationship. She is my traveling companion. An equal, of sorts. The concept itself seems ridiculous as I write it because a world where a woman of color could be on equal terms with a respected schoolteacher is absurd. However, in the Doctor's world Martha stands on equal footing with him and he trusts her. There is no doubt in his mind that she is loyal and brave.

Audaces Fortuna Juvat.

The magic box has the answer, as it frequently does. I move beneath the front spiral desk of the main room and pull objects out from within her depths.

Martha, you trust me, don't you? I say to my companion.

Her response is both immediate and endearing. Of course I do. She says the words with conviction as I have never heard from my quiet housemaid.

It all depends on you, I tell her. I then stand and hold my fob watch to her. I begin to explain to her the importance of the watch, but as I have said, dreams fade away at times. No, they don't fade. Not the dreams about the Doctor.

They run. Run away at full gallop and I am left wondering what it was I dreamt at all. It feels as if my mind only shows me a glimmer to remind me that this storybook hero in my mind is there, but I'm not allowed to see his full story just yet.

It is funny how dreams are like that.

Muse: John Smith / the Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 489
All IC Responses will be replied to by John Smith
He is not an angry person.

Not in general.

Not if he can help it.

He thinks of anger as a problem, as a part of his personality he can push away to make room for better emotions. He can feel anger, he wouldn't want to make it go away, but he knows that letting it control him would make him less than who he is.

He's the Doctor. He's a rock. Strong. He never seeks revenge, never lets his blood boil. He has a temper, but the explosions are small despite the short fuse. He gets momentarily irritated, but never angry.

Except now.

Because some part of him, some little human part of him, loved Joan.

Loves Joan.

Loves her and this tiny little town and that school and those boys. And they could've all been spared if the Family just stopped.

But they didn't. They followed, they pursued, they interfered. They hollowed out the bodies they're living in. The snotty schoolboy, the smiling maid, the overworked father, the little girl. They were all people. Once.

He can feel every beat of his hearts as he steps towards them. He can feel his pulse rise on his wrists, on his throat. His anger is a living thing running underneath his skin.

And they look up at him with a little shock, but mostly confusion.

Because they have no idea what's going to happen next.

He does.

Every neuron, every part of his oversized Time Lord brain is electrified with anger. Working on overtime. Ready to hurt. Where he'll trap them. Where they'll stay and live out their bloody forever and ever and never ever hurt anyone again. He'll hurt them the way they hurt Joan and Martha and those people and his frightened little human self.

And he doesn't usually hurt others.

Doesn't like revenge.

Right now he craves it. He wants to hear them scream in agony. Wants to know the pain is theirs.

His hearts beat and steps on the hand of Son of Mine who isn't getting away as easily as he thinks he is. The boy cries out. The sound isn't enough. He's so angry. So very, very angry.

He looks at Daughter of Mine, who has little tiny tears running down her little girl's face. That little girl is dead. He thinks about the tears on Joan's face. Those tears were real. Whatever his eyes say when he looks at Daughter of Mine silence her tears. Her face contorts into something like fear. It's good. Fear is good. She has every reason to be afraid and no way to get away.

Mother of Mine used to be Jenny. John Smith knew Jenny. Martha cared for Jenny. Jenny is dead and Mother of Mine is cowering.

Father of Mine still looks so confused. He'll learn soon. They will all learn what the fury of a Time Lord is like.

His hearts beat a little faster.

Ba-bump ba-bump. Ba-bump ba-bump.

They sound like drums.

Keeping time with his anger.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 506
"When liberty comes with hands dabbled in blood it is hard to shake hands with her." - Oscar Wilde

We won, you know, Doctor.

He says the words with a deep sigh of relief as he gazes out over the Earth. Littered with the Toclafane; screaming humans beneath cowering in their homes or shelters or wherever they're hiding.

Stopped the War, you did. Did you realize you were going to do that? Oh, of course you did. You wouldn't have done it otherwise.

He puts his forehead against the glass and takes a breath. His fingers beat out the drum against the wall again and again.

So much pain. So many lives just taken  )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 606

When you're little, the Sisters seem like this great…they seem big. Very big. Time, Pain, and Death, all floating about the universe, it all makes sense.

And I believed once.

You see…when the universe was very young, three Sisters were born. No, no, not born. Not exactly. Woven. Brought into being. The eldest was Time. Most beautiful, most intelligent. The middle child was Pain, she always came to visit far too early and stayed long past her welcome. The youngest was Death. She was the only truly social member of the family. Danced with everyone once. Often…only once.

Still, when you're a wee little Time Tot at the Academy or on Mummy's knee and they tell you about the Sisters, you believe. You believe because it's easier to believe. It's as if they've given you a glass of water. It's a very small glass because you're a very small person, and it's enough. But then you get older and want a larger glass, but they only have the same amount of water. It's like that. You get thirsty after a while. Start thinking about what things that shouldn't be, because why would the Sisters let that happen?

When I was exiled, right after my second incarnation, I wondered what that meant. Was I cut off from the Sisters? Faith was fairly thin by that point at any rate, but the Sisters resided on Gallifrey. And I…well, I couldn't go back to Gallifrey, could I? Did that mean I'd never feel pain or die? Well, I mean, no, of course not. Felt pain, felt it all the time. Died later, but only a little bit. So…all those things were there, but that made the story wrong. It was like a little bit of history was mistaken, and that's a very, very important thing to a Time Lord. History has to be perfect facts have to be right.

And what about the others? What about the humans? I've seen such potential in them, but according to what we're taught, they don't get the same uh, privileges that Gallifreyans get from their Gods. All the mercy, hate, and justice in the world, and they can't protect some innocent humans? Doesn't make any sense to me. I protect them, and I'm far from a God. Or a trifecta of Gods, matter of fact. Three times the ability to bounce around and right things.

And what about that 'time is young' bit? Time doesn't age, things do. People do! And how do you weave Sisters without genetic material? Or even a Loom?

It doesn't fit. It just…doesn't.

I've taken to reading about Earth's religions. To better understand my companions, since they always seem to be humans nowadays. There's one I rather like. Neo Classic. They don't believe so much in a God or in a Devil or what-have-you. It's more…the things that men do. It can be the same difference, if you think about it.

Still. Things that men do. I've seen a man take a Dalek blast to the chest because he thought he could save someone else five more minutes to save a planet. I've seen a woman swallow the Time Vortex. I've seen a man sell out his bride in order to gain the favor of an Empress. I've seen that bride still admit she loved him. And Martha…I've seen a lot. A lot of things people will sacrifice for what's right and what's wrong.

In the end, the universe sets itself correctly. Evil survives, yes. But good, good survives. No, it prevails.

I can't believe in many things, but I can believe in that.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 608
"Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams."
- William Butler Yeats, "He wishes for the Cloths of Heaven"

Following this ficlet.

She dreams of starfire.

Twisted, burning portals of worlds and universes, and the blur of a swirling vortex of time and space. She has never dreamed like this before, and the experience is both comforting and terrifying.

She sleeps, and he can not. It's a strange experience, considering he has always slept within her when she was not as she is. Now, she dreams as she lies in his arms, wrapped up within his trench coat. He can feel her dreams; feel the euphoria of imagining she is still a police box with a labyrinth within. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,108
The Academy.

It starts when they are eight years old. Most children come willingly to the Academy, the coldness of their parents making the separation easier. His father tells him that it would've been kinder for him to have not had such a human mother, the loving atmosphere made him weak.

He cries when they take him away. He sits in the cold transport alone, toying with his fingernails, sniffling like a child far younger than he is, and staring out the window at where his life will now be lived.

The Academy sits within the glass dome of the Citadel on the continent of Wild Endeavor. Snow sparkles from the burnt orange sky, trailing down the sides of the glass dome. The school itself arches upwards, mimicking the spiral of the time vortex with tall towers and the occasional bolt of electricity shooting across them from students' experiments. The entire building sits twenty-eight miles across, only a fraction of the size of the entire dome.

The transport slides past the glass dome, heading towards the external processing center. No creature is allowed within the Citadel without proper paperwork and passes and all that. Ridiculously tedious, but it gives the boy a chance to wipe off his tears and make himself look a good bit more respectable. It's the first day at the Academy, after all. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,349
It was after many, many, many glasses of hypervodka that they shared this conversation. The world was saved, yeah? The Doctor had returned to the Hub smelling like ashes and looking like he'd lost his best friend rather than his mortal enemy and Jack had a few cases of the overly strong alcohol in his office.

"Besides," he said, "My crew, they're off in the Himalayas, we've got the place to ourselves. And I haven't been drunk in a year. Positively tragic, I’m telling you."

Martha concurred, then tilted her head at the Doctor, 'You <i>can</i> get intoxicated, can't you? Alien metabolism and all?' )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,141
Martha has beautiful hands.

He imagines she must take exceptionally good care of them. She doesn't obsess over them, and he never sees her file her nails or moisturize them, but they're always rather…perfect. They're slender and soft, no rough spots or cracks. It's a silly thing, he supposes, thinking about her hands. But they're lovely, and part of her. A singular part he imagines is a bit of self-indulgence for her.

Her nails are clear and long---probably a little longer than is regulation for her job. They're not ridiculous and they're never painted or gaudy. When she slips on latex gloves to do an examination in 1973, her nails fill out the end of the fingers. They don't get in the way, but it's probably a complaining-point for her professors that she hasn't gotten around to listening to just yet. A symbol of her femininity in a profession that doesn't lead to women taking charge.

Her fingers are skilled and graceful. He steps into an empty ballroom in 1877, and he finds her sitting at the piano bench, playing. Her hands delicately touch each key, playing notes deftly and accurately, with long fingers reaching each ivory and black bar effortlessly. He steps up behind her and tells her he didn't know she could play.

"When you hang out with guys who know Beethoven, you tend to pick up a few things." She grins at him, and then tells him that her mother had her in lessons for years in her youth.

Her hands fit in his. In 1998, they watch a ceremony for World War One, and she slips her hand into his, palms together. His hands are calloused and work-worn, but hers are delicate and smooth. Her dark skin, his light skin. Her youth, his age. They're very different, but they compliment each other very well.

It feels very intimate, and he takes a moment to memorize the feel of holding her hand.

A year later, and he takes a hold of her hand again to walk her to the TARDIS. Her fingers are calloused from holding guns, her palms are dry from the unnatural cold she's been living in outside, and her nails are bitten short. No time for self-indulgence in a world where she had no choice but to be a hero.

He can't help but grieve for the loss of that part of Martha.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 393
What'll you all have, then?

"Banana daiquiri, please."

"Sissy drink if'n I ever heard one."

"Diet coke with vodka."

"Ain't like you gotta worry 'bout that figure, yer lookin' awful nice already."

"Scotch. Make it a double. A very big one."

"Now ain't that---"

"Are you quite done insulting everyone else's drinks? Don't you have your own to pick?"

And the muses play a bit of poker… )

Muse(s): The Doctor (Ten), Jayne Cobb, Dr. Allison Cameron, Sam Tyler
Fandom(s): Doctor Who, Firefly / Serenity, House, MD, Life on Mars
Word Count: 1,100


rude_not_ginger: (Default)
The Doctor


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Powered by Dreamwidth Studios

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags