He's Fire And Ice And Rage

Crushed

and

The Psychiatrist: Women. You get to talk about women.
Thomas Crown: Oh, I enjoy women.
The Psychiatrist: Enjoyment isn't intimacy.
Thomas Crown: And intimacy isn't necessarily enjoyment.
The Psychiatrist: How would you know? Has it occurred to you that you have a problem with trust?
Thomas Crown: I trust myself implicitly.
The Psychiatrist: But can other people trust you?
Thomas Crown: Oh, you mean society at large?
The Psychiatrist: I mean women, Mr.Crown.
Thomas Crown: Yes, a woman could trust me.
The Psychiatrist: Good. Under what extraordinary circumstances would you allow that to happen?
Thomas Crown: A woman could trust me as long as her interests didn't run too contrary to my own.
- The Thomas Crown Affair

+~

He loved her, once.

He remembers the emotion, even if he no longer possesses the ability to feel the emotion. He remembers long nights and deep sadness and companionship and other ridiculous sensations such as those and he remembers her warmth. He remembers her comfort.

It's funny, but even as he walks down the darkened street towards her (where he left her oh, so long ago), he feels a strange pang. A longing for the comforts of home. Were he the sort to indulge in such ridiculousness, he might even term it as homesickness. But he is not that sort of a man.

( He hasn't been that sort of a man in a very, very long time. Cut for sexual innuendo, non-consent, disturbing imagery, and character death. )

Muse: The Doctor (The Valeyard)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,604
Partner: The TARDIS (canon)
written for the evil brigadiertardis, special thanks to salvagestime for the beta!

Marion: You're not the man I knew ten years ago.
Indiana Jones: It's not the years, honey, it's the mileage.

- Raiders of the Lost Ark

"Why here?"

He hears the voice before he sees her. It carries calm and cool against the sharply cold air of the beach. The soft, damp sand sticks to his trainers as he steps towards the shoreline.

The light crests over the waterside, and she's standing barefooted in the icy water, the hem of her long silver dress brushing the icy water's edge. Her dress is dark silver, but seems to twinkle, even in the dull greyness of the morning here, like a Gallifreyan night with a thousand dark stars. Her shoulder-length blonde hair whips about her face with the breeze. She brushes her fingertips along her bare arms and shivers.

"Well, it's cold," she says, her voice irritated. It's a surprisingly reassuring sound, the irritation to her voice. It's something he recognizes.

"It's Norway," he agrees, stepping beside her. The water laps the shore before them and instantly bleeds through the fabric of his shoes. She's right, of course. It is cold.

"The correct term is 'Snore-way', I'm sure," she replies tartly, though she turns to face him, a small, teasing smile on her lips. He is immediately startled by her face. Not by how startling it is---by all accounts she has a pretty but plain face in this form---but by how familiar it is. Moments could've passed since he saw her last, not decades.

Or has it been longer? It's getting harder to tell the older he gets. Sometimes the Time War feels like it was yesterday, and he wakes from his evening traces in a cold, frightened sweat. Other days, it feels like a story he only half-remembered, like the story of the old hermit that lived near his home on Gallifrey. Then again, on other days, it feels like something he made up; a story created for him in a Possibility Generator. ( It's all so…long ago. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 2,189
Partner: Romanadvoratrelundar II (canon)

TARDIS capabilities at 20%

You can feel your ship's pain.

It is part of you. It sinks under your skin, it permeates every cell of your being until you are her pain. Every part of you hurts. Your hands shake as you try to reconnect wires and seal up damaged systems.

Somewhere, under the pain, you can feel a layer of betrayal. Not to her, the one who damaged your ship, but for you, for allowing her on board. For leaving her alone. For trusting her, when you were warned. You should've known, but you didn't want to, and now there's nothing but pain.

( You should've known. You just should've known. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,678
Based on RP in realityshifted with shatteredqueen and others.

"You were different, then," she says, running her hand along the leather jacket that once fit you like a glove. It's been not quite a year since you last wore that jacket, the heavy wool one you wear now fits your shoulders much better.

"Dendrites, brain processes, just a little different. New new me and all that." You offer her a lopsided grin, but she's focused on the object she's found. You both were looking for dressy outfits for a party in the late 50's. You're fairly certain you're just going to pull on your cursed tuxedo, but she can never just make up her mind. Like now. Now, she's just distracted.

She runs her hand along the soft leather. It's creased and worn in places, and she touches it the way she once touched your arm. Gentle, delicate. Like the mouse who pulled the thorn from the lion's paw. She could've been hurt by you, but she wasn't. In the end, she saved you.

You wonder if she realizes you're the same man who wore that coat. You're so different than the sarcastic and callous man you were, but he's still there, sleeping inside of your mind. Like the rest of your incarnations; in a room without windows or doors.

She's right, of course. You were so different back then. A spine made strong from having to hold yourself up, hands that burned because they were coated in blood. You were a different man because you had to be and the human concept of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder doesn't even begin to cover the way you felt. Still feel, sometimes.

It's like part of you died during the War and he was the bitter amputee learning to cope with what was gone. Of course, instead of a leg or an arm, you'd lost your whole planet, a chunk of your psychic world and any family you might've had.

As you stand in the wardrobe room looking at the jacket, you cross your arms, tucking your hands underneath your armpits in a tight, almost uncomfortable stance. It feels like something you should do, but in this thin body it feels unnatural. An old habit you've waned off. Nail biting when you haven't bitten your nails in a year. The stance of the man you were.

You're still that man. He's not even that deep inside; he's just below your jolly new incarnation. The tired soldier, the angry old man. That was you. That is you.

It's that part of you that you hope she never has to confront. The part of you that you were quite certain was (or is) unredeemable. The part of you that she couldn't repair. You think that maybe you'll always have a scar on your soul.

But Rose has done you good. She's done you so much good, prying your hands from where you'd crossed them and holding them to hers. There's less prying in this incarnation, but that doesn't make her holding your hand mean less now.

She's still repairing you. You wonder if she realizes that.

"Rose?"

She starts, and turns back to you with a little smile. Tears are in the creases of her eyes, but since you're sure she doesn't want you to notice that, you don't say anything. She misses the man you were sometimes. The man she knew.

You're just grateful she's never had to confront the man who could kill billions without a second thought. The man who existed for only moments on a glider ship above Gallifrey, who killed without remorse because it was necessary. The man who wore your jacket was what was borne out of him. Regret and anger and hollowness that she's been filling up with her innocence and caring.

She steps over to you and takes your hand. "Ready to go?"

"Always."

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 689
Partner: Rose Tyler (canon)

So, as a "How Well Do You Know Your Spouse"…thing, I was asked to fill out this questionnaire about Rose and then about myself to compare/contrast how well we know each other. Clearly, as you'll see, I know her very well. Very well! I pay attention! I really do!

Here is Rose's response.

( Cut for the length of this ridiculous test. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Partner: banished_dame <3<3

It all came about rather suddenly, he thinks. After he left the Master's body burning, after Martha took her shivering parents home, they met back up at the TARDIS. It was still red and painful with the remainder of the paradox machine, but Martha went immediately to her bedroom, where everything was turned over and poked through by the Master while he had it.

He followed, of course. Stepped inside and watched as she righted a chair and picked up the glass from a broken frame. She stopped, suddenly, and turned to face him.

"Did you miss me?" she asked.

There was nothing witty to say, he simply nodded. She stepped towards him and wrapped her arms around him. But she was always better at showing emotion than he was. Her mouth pressed against his and his body responded without prompting. He had a brief thought that he really should deny her again, but why? The way he saw it, they were all each other had in that moment.

And now, they lay together on her bed, his arms around her tiny shoulders that held up the world. She breathes on the bare skin of his chest and listens to the sounds of his hearts.

( 'Never get used to that,' she says, and he can feel her lips curve into a smile. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,198
Partner: Martha Jones (canon)

This is an absolutely ridiculous exercise; I'll have you know, Dr. Love. And is that really your name? I can't believe that it's really your name. You look a lot like George---oh, you get that a lot? Oh, all right.

Fine, fine. My relationship with Rose is like a childhood playground swing.

The swing itself acts as a pendulum. By pushing a person---let's just say we're pushing Rose, shall we?---in the swing in time with the natural interval of the swing will make the swing go higher. The natural interval is the resonance frequency---normally associated with sound waves but actually part of an arc pattern found widely in nature and in many man-made devices. Sounds heard like metal, glass or wood are caused by brief resonant vibrations in the object. Light and other short wavelength electromagnetic radiations---we'll just call it ER for short…no, wait, can't call it ER, there's a telly program called that, isn't there? Maybe I could call it Electro R. No, that really sounds like an energy drink, don't you think?

Anyway, back to the swing! Where was I with the swing? Oh, right! Resonance frequency. Eventually, by using resonance frequency one would find themselves pushing the swing to the maximum amplitude, or that point before you swing over the bar and, according to some American television cartoons, turn inside-out.

So, the period of time from which Rose is pushed by someone---we'll say me---until she reaches the maximum amplitude is called the period of pendulum. That period can easily be equated to a sort of downtime between Rose and I, where things seem so much easier. Do you ever have times like that? Easier times?

So, the energy of the person pushing the swing is maximized when the pushes are at the resonance frequency, or just the right amount of pressure to keep it going without fouling up the arc by shoving or not trying hard enough. Some of the energy is canceled out by the inertial energy of the swing.

Now, considering we don’t want to push Rose inside-out, by the time we've reached the maximum amplitude, we'll slow down the pushes, shortening the arcs and increasing the energy that is cancelled out by the swing.

Rose on the swing makes her a physical pendulum. It's actually easier to express this if I write it. Do you have a piece of---oh, yes, thank you.



Where: I is the moment of inertia of the pendulum about the pivotal point, which would be where the ropes or chains attach to the top of the swing set.

L is the distance from the center of mass to the pivot point

And m is the mass of the pendulum, which would be Rose. Not that I think she's a mass of anything. She's…well, she's somewhat curvier than my average companion, but I'd hardly call her mass. More----what? Oh, right, staying on topic.

So, we don't want to push Rose beyond the point of maximum amplitude because no matter how many times I, myself, have gone over that bar, we don't know what could happen to Rose if she goes over. Am I right? I mean, the whole situation with her over the bar could mean disaster. If the arc isn't powerful enough---and considering the straightness of prior arcs, the possibility of it being powerful enough isn't nearly enough, is it?---then she won't make a full circle and will probably fall and be terribly hurt.

So, what we do is we get close to the maximum amplitude point and then slow down the pressure on the arcs. Bring her back down a bit, so she doesn't fly too far away and things don't get ridiculously out of hand.

Does that make sense?

I have a whole different explanation regarding a microwave if you---what? Out of time? Oh, all right. No, no, that's fine. Got to go pick up Rose and get back to swinging.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 664
Partner: (canon) banished_dame