for mind_the_muse: Music From Another Room

You know how when you're listening to music playing from another room? And you're singing along because it's a tune that you really love? When a door closes or a train passes so you can't hear the music anymore, but you sing along anyway... then, no matter how much time passes, when you hear the music again you're still in exact same time with it. That's what it's like.
- Music From Another Room

We sing the song of the universe together.

When we met, you were an ember, coiling hot and tight. Desperate for release, desperate to run. Get away. Be free. One cool, the other hot, we stabilize each other. Complete each other. A time ship and a traveler, a maniac and a mediator, vessel and visionary. We need each other.

Shoot across the galaxies, see worlds and skies and feel strange soil beneath us. We take companions (they are ours), but they're always so temporary. They find other lives, other worlds. Permanent things that fluid moving creatures like us can't understand. We want more. We sleep in the hum of each other's embrace and ride on the waves of each other's excitement.

( Together, we burn like starfire. Cut for spoilers to 4.13 'Journey's End'. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 803

for whack_a_muse: Put forth the effort.

Based on the ongoing tales of morethananecho, following this story.

Her neighbors must think she runs a lot for stolen spaceships at the rate she's going. Not ten minutes after the stolen RMN-42 shuttle blasts off her back patio, a stolen Type 40 materializes in its place.

"Could at least give me time to clear away the dishes first," she mutters, piling the china teacups onto a tray.

But it's not as if she's really irritated to see him. Irritated at him? Well, that's pretty much a constant.

He steps from the blue box and he smiles. It's a tired-looking smile, but it's all him just the same. She remembers the first time she met him, him with the white in his sideburns and dark bags under his eyes. He's not quite there yet, she can tell. Certainly far from early days for him, but not quite that old. His sideburns only have wisps of gray and the darkness in his eyes hasn't taken over, not just yet.

She wonders what happens to him in between those times, what takes him from the lonely old man he is now and makes him into the sad and tired man he is when she first meets him.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small diary covered in Egyptian hieroglyphs. She picked it out for him, like he picked out the blue one she has nestled in her handbag.

"Summer of the Seven Hills," he says.

"Oooh, you're a bit behind me, then," she says, smiling. "Just like you, showing up late."

He sticks his thumb in the direction of his ship behind him. "I could always leave and come back, if you want."

"No, seems like too much work. And besides, you'll just track more mud in."

He looks down at his feet and makes a face that's somewhere between 'oh, you noticed that' and 'sorry'. She sighs and moves the cold teapot to the tray.

( 'You just missed her,' she says. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,880
everybody_lives, morethananecho, and notsomerrywidow used/referenced with permission.