Can't. Stop. Writing.

His Days Like Crazy Paving

Mon, 28 Jul 2008 12:04:47 GMT

This is a fanfic novellette of Rose and her Doctor. Spoilers for Journey's End. Salted with explicit sex and a pinch of angst.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Disclaimer: Doctor Who and its accoutrements are the property of the BBC, and I obviously don't have any right to them. I don't make any money off this fanfic, and I don't give you my permission to take it and make any money off it either.

His Days Like Crazy Paving

Sun, 27 Jul 2008 22:40:17 GMT

One

She thought of it as a holiday. A sabbatical. Seeing a bit of the world. Well, seeing a lot of the world in little bitty chaotic never-stay-in-one-place pieces. And it was wonderful. It was.

Except when it was like this, when he was shoving things in the rucksack, wide-eyed and pale; when he wouldn’t talk and she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t even know what had set him off this time.

(last time, they had been watching a sunset, laying on a black sand beach in Langkawi, and he had smiled and turned to her, this is so much like… and then nothing, just dark and silent and nightmares for the next three nights ... really, she would have liked to hear what it was like ... she loved his stories)

But they’d just been in a library, a simple library. It was evening, closing time, and someone had begun to shut off the lights. The next thing she knew, he was dragging her out onto the street and the sun was setting and bells were ringing and it was really very beautiful. Except for the Doctor, sitting slumped on the library steps, head in his hands and weeping.

She sat down next to him, staring down the curious passersby, leaving enough space between them so that he didn’t feel crowded but close enough so that he could reach out if he wanted to touch her. Sometimes he’d do that, grasp her hand so hard that she felt the bones grind, or maybe just a light butterfly touch of fingertips; she liked it when he touched her.

The sun went down before he came back from whatever horrible place he’d been. He picked himself up and, without a word, staggered back to the hostel. She followed along, letting him choose the path.

In their room, she closed the door and leaned against it, taking slow breaths and letting him shove their belongings into the rucksack because that's what he needed to do right now. She didn't know why and she didn't need to know. Leaping across dimensions, watching time flow and ebb and even ricochet around her had taught her to be patient.

He stopped, mid-stuff, and let out a huff of breath, seeing something other than their little hostel room. “I’ll never meet her. I’ll never …” His eyes flew to hers, wide with shock. “I was … I was going to be able to … but, now … He …”

They hadn’t talked too much of him. And, truthfully, she didn’t think of him all that often. She had the Doctor. It was as simple as that. “He ...?” she echoed back to him. “Other Doctor?”

“What did you say?”

“What?” He swayed toward her, completely focused on her words. She rubbed her forehead, trying to remember what she’d said. “What did I say, what?” His eyes were strange. He wasn’t angry, but something was going on in there, in that amazing, complex, completely nutter head of his. She shook her head helplessly. “Other?”

His eyes deepened and his whole body stilled. Very slightly, he nodded, go on.

“Other Doctor?”

And there it was, that smile, that gloriously mad smile that she lived for. He took a step toward her, his fingers reaching up to touch the side of her face, and then closer, softly wrapping his arms around her.

“Does,” his voice caught, so he started again. “Does that make me Proper Doctor?”

She turned her head, smiling into his neck. “Yes.” She hugged him, fitting her body into his. “My Doctor.” His body relaxed against hers, and she nuzzled his neck. "Rose's Doctor."

Still, they left on the first zeppelin out.

It was like a game; they threw themselves out into the world like a couple of dice, rolling about and coming up sixes and sevens. She’d said that once and he was so taken with the idea that he bought a gaming die, one of those twenty-siders. Now he threw it after they boarded, after they found their seats and settled down, to choose which stop they disembarked. Once he rolled a twenty and crowed, “Critical hit!” and let her decide. He never rolled a critical miss.

(though there was that time he rolled a nineteen, and they went around the world two and a half times and ended up in northern Russia, and her with nothing warmer than a jumper)

They were both exhausted, catching a redeye flight that happened to be headed west, across the pond. He rolled a three. Rose didn’t even bother finding out where that would drop them. She bought a ticket for a sleeper and shouldered the rucksack. “I’m knackered.” She gave his jacket a tug and gestured with a nod of her head. “Come with me?” If anything, he looked worse than she felt.

He shook himself and rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah. That's ...” His eyes flicking across her face, “that’s a good idea.” He took the rucksack from her. She turned to lead the way, holding her hand out behind her. After a few steps, he laced his fingers with hers. She gave his hand a squeeze – better now? – and he tapped his thumb against her wrist – I’ll do.

Their first class cabin had a small loo tucked into the corner. Rose dumped the rucksack out onto the bed, grabbed a clean vest and knickers, and went to wash up. When she finished, the Doctor was asleep atop most of their clothes. She knelt on the corner of the bed and began folding everything neatly, gently tugging their meager wardrobe out from under him. She decided to leave her old pink hoodie where he’d snuggled his face into it; it needed laundering anyway.

There was an extra blanket at the foot of the bed. She threw it over him and squirmed under the bed’s duvet. Her last thought was that the pillow was heavenly.

She woke up in the middle of the night with the Doctor pressing against her, sleepily confounded by the tangled blanket. She helped him untie his trainers and yank off his trousers, and then he was pulling off his shirt, pulling off her shirt, diving into her with the desperate enthusiasm that she’d come to expect.

His face tasted of dried tears. She kissed his cheekbone, open-mouthed, taking a small lick of the saltiness there.

They’d come to each other slowly, she as unsure of her welcome as he was. He had changed but she, well, she had really, really changed. It had been over four years for her (but it's the millage, she'd joked) She understood some things about him now. He saw the changes and he watched her sometimes, questions moving uneasily behind his eyes. But he didn't ask them yet. Maybe he wasn't ready to hear the answers.

She didn’t know how long it'd been for him.

(“People assume,” he said, “that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but actually, from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint…” And then he’d trailed off and not spoken again for the rest of the day.)

They both knew that it’d come to this; skin, touch, taste, hot whispered words, and the utter certainty of being in the right place and the right time. Well, she'd known. He was rather surprised by it all. It being his human penis and his human hormones. His sex drive shocked him to his core; shocked and angered and delighted him. He hated anything that made him feel less in control.

He was infuriating, heartbreaking, and hilarious all at once. Sometimes he reacted so very much opposite of what she assumed that she knew he was doing it on purpose, to be contrary, to trip her up and confuse her. When he felt his control slip, he threw himself into the experience, a traveler diving into a strange land without a guide book.

Well, not really. She was his guide book. Mostly. When he let her past his defenses. When he remembered who exactly it was that stared into his eyes, who took his hand and loved him because he was worth the monsters.

“Rose.” He feathered kisses across her face, his fingers following his lips, tracing across her closed eyelids, down her cheek, along her jaw. He told her once that, even if he’d had sex infrequently over his life time, after a millennium, the number of sex acts added up, and he had an excellent memory.

He was very good at this.

Except when he wasn’t. Then, it was either hold on for dear life or just hold on to him until whatever horror story playing behind his eyes was over – and then he’d either need her so much that it appalled her, or threw his clothes on and left.

Once he’d left her and she’d found him a week later in an Adelaide lock-up, the bruises just fading and his knuckles raw. He still had a scar on his left knuckle.

After this day, a day that had started out very nice but was punctuated with ache and misery, and ended on a zeppelin (which, she just realized she'd started thinking of as being in the Void ) they were both too tired for an extended sexual romp but too wired to leave each other alone.

Her hands pulled at him, now, now, and he nodded into her neck and slid into her with a groan.

When space had warped around her and the stars were going out, Rose Tyler lost count of the times she watched the Doctor die; she stopped keeping count and then threw the count away. Because in the end there was only now. There was only this moment, this air she breathed, this man she loved, this sky beneath her bed.

This is her truth.

The trip across the Atlantic took over a week. After New York and Chicago, they ended up in Minneapolis. It had been a good week, except for the incident with the hot dog, and Rose felt well rested and comfortably sore from all the shagging. Their clothes were clean and mended, packed neatly in the rucksack, their cell phones were charged, and they even had a bit of American money lining their pockets.

They took a bus from the Port to the farmer’s market and sat on a bench eating late summer blackberries and fresh croissants. The Doctor had purchased a map that showed the State of Minnesota on one side and several Minnesotan cities on the other. “I’ve never been to Minnesota,” he mused. “Minn-ay-soe-taa,” he drew the word out. “Sounds... Ojibwa? Mmm. No. Sioux, I think. Something about water...which,” he nodded down to the map, “would make sense. We’ve got the headwaters of the Mississippi,” his fingers danced across the map, pointing, “as well as all of these little lakes and rivers, and here, to the east, is Lake Superior ... Have you ever been to Lake Superior, Rose?”

“No. It looks huge.”

“Yep! Over eighty thousand square kilometers; about a third the size of England. And deep, too! Makes a great hiding place for, well, all kinds of things.” He nibbled his pastry, fingers tapping along the Lake Superior shoreline. “I’ve only been here the once, and had to make a," he cleared his throat, "precipitous exit.”

Rose grinned at him and bumped him with her shoulder, “Made a run for it, yeah?”

He grinned back, eyes bright with memory, “Yeah. Ended up wintering with the Anishnabe, east of here.” He leaned forward, eyes focused inward, lips pulled into a half smile. “They were going to kill me, too, but one of the War Minister’s daughters took a fancy to me.”

Rose bumped against him again, laughing. “Oi! And was she a good shag, Mr. Full-Of-Himself?”

“That’s Doctor Full-Of-Himself, if you please!” He stood up and took her hand, pulling her up. Come on, Rose! Let’s go to the Science Museum. They’ve got a Triceratops and a whole exhibit of Rodents of Unusual Size.”

Rose dragged her feet. “But we spent days at that exhibit in Aquila...”

He gave her arm a sudden jerk and took a step toward her so that she was suddenly flush against him, his arm around her waist. “Please? It’s a small exhibit...” He nuzzled her ear.

“Rodents. Three days in Italy looking at rodents.”

“Please? I’ll do that ... thing. That you like.”

“You’ll do it anyway if I ...”

“Oh, come on, Rose! Please?”

Rose kissed him on the nose and stepped away, linking her fingers with his and tugging him along the walk. She shook her head at his querulous look. “Let’s go! You had me at Triceratops.”

“Did not!”

“Did too.”

“Did not!”

“Did too.”

world building and plot

Fri, 25 Jul 2008 18:56:13 GMT

ok, I'm getting ready to write a new DW novellette - my Rose's Universe take. So, I've got to do some world building, and get all the facts I know about that universe. Here's what I've started to cobble together. Feel free to quibble or add to this in comments.

1)Family: Pete, Jackie, little Tony; at the end of Doomsday, Rose seems to live with her Mum and Dad.

2) Rose works at Torchwood. I'm going to posit that since the gap closed at Dårlig Ulv Stranden, that the Rift in Rose's Universe isn't in Cardiff. It's in Norway. In our Norway's county of Farsund (and, an interjection here: I picked this location 'cause I saw some pretty pictures of the beach - then I found out that the name means "Traveling Sound, or Traveling Channel"; coincedence... Ha!) Here are some pics. Farsund is very small -- population just under 10K. Cosy.

3) Zepplins!

4) Politics and stuff: Britain has a president. In Rise of the Cybermen the unnamed President was killed at Jackie Tyler's birthday party. By Doomsday, alternate-Harriet Jones is the President.

5) The New Torchwood: Pete worked against Lumic as "Gemini." In Doomsday, Jake said - "Parallel Earth - parallel Torchwood. Except we found out what the institute was doing and the People's Republic took control." The "we" is Jake, Mickey's group, The Preachers, perhaps along with Pete Tyler. By Doomsday, the three are definately working as a Torchwood-like team.

6) Time: flows differently -- not sure how long Jackie and Rose would've been away. Weeks, months?

Ok, that's all I can glean from the transcripts. There've been a lot of fics out there that've ran with this in the direction of Pete Tyler running a very posh London Torchwood. I don't think that's the direction I wanna go.

One last thing: I keep hearing(*) Rose Tyler exclaim, "Well fuck me sideways and call me Captain Jack" -- I have no idea where it comes from, but there she is, clear as a bell.

* -- sorry, that is, keep hearing her in my head; weird, but there ya go.

speculating -- Rose's Universe

Wed, 23 Jul 2008 14:57:27 GMT

What we know from canon is that:

-- in the Turn Left Universe, Rose is working with Unit; they fished the TARDIS out from under the Thames, and have built their own time machine, the one that sent turned-right-Donna back to make the correction.

-- in Journey's End Rose says: Basically, we've been building this um... this travel machine, this... uh... Dimension Cannon

I've been thinking about Rose back in her univers, with Human Doctor, and where they'd work. I've been thinking about Bad Wolf Bay, and the Rift. I think that, in the Rose Universe, the Rift would be over Bad Wolf Bay, not Cardiff.

So, well, you know, Bad Wolf Torchwood and Unit. It just kindof works.

Sandwiches

Tue, 22 Jul 2008 12:33:15 GMT

Author's Note: This takes place sometime between New Earth and Idiot's Lantern.

She was having her menses again, and it was driving him to distraction. This new body, so in tune with her chemistry, bubbled and churned in response to her. Why did humans have to be so … so … base? So animal?

The Doctor sighed. It was what made them so fantastically, brilliantly alive. Couldn’t have one without the other. Other species might have sharper senses, but humans took such special delight in experiencing their world.

The Tardis hummed at him in that particular way that let him know Rose was awake. He waited a bit, fiddling with a new component design, giving her space to wake up over those first few sips of tea. It had only taken him three menstrual cycles to learn that.

When he sauntered into the galley, she was just turning from the counter with her cup, still dressed in what he thought of as her comfy jimjams, blowing across the top of the tea. Her eyes lit just a bit at the sight of him. Oh, well, that was promising!

She took a step forward and banged into a chair. Her arms splayed out, the tea cup spinning right across the room, and, completely missing her grab at the table, she slid in the spilled tea and fell, feet tangled in the chair, flat on her arse.

“FUCK!”

The Doctor stood, eyes wide, one hand still outstretched in an ineffectual attempt at assistance. He watched as deep red suffused up Rose’s neck and across her face. Her eyes met his and narrowed. Laugh, and you’re a dead man.

Mentally tsking, the Doctor stepped forward briskly. “Don’t move, Rose.” He kept his voice steady and business-like. “A fall like that can be more serious than it looks. Here now, slowly, hmm? Take my hand.” He put one arm around her waist as she stood. “Still a bit wobbly? Here’s the chair. Nice and easy, now.” He helped ease her into the chair and turned away, giving her time to draw her composure around herself. Careful of the wet floor, he stepped across the galley and picked up the broken pieces of tea cup.

“’M mum gave me that tea cup when I was sixteen.”

He cradled the pieces. Damn. Carefully, he set them on the counter. When he turned back, her eyes were downcast and her bottom lip was trembling. “I could … perhaps … fix it?”

She shook her head and a tear plopped onto her lap. With a low moan, she turned her head away. “’S just a stupid cup.” She stood up slowly, one hand braced on the table, still not looking at him. “Think I’ll go back to bed for a bit,” she muttered. “I’m not feelin’ so hot.”

“Would you like some medication? I have, ah, something for cramps, I think.”

Rose stopped but didn’t turn. What? Did he say something wrong? What could be wrong, now? She turned slightly, peeking at him over her shoulder. Her face was blushing again. He kept his features neutral, but groaned inside. What?

“I … that’s nice of … but, I have some stuff.” Another tear slipped down her cheek. Shaking her head, she turned, groaned “fuck,” and made her way stiffly out of the galley.

Rose rolled and rubbed her hand down her bum. She hadn’t looked yet, but she was sure there’d be a bruise. She grabbed a pillow and curled around it, her palm moving from her bum to her belly. Hot bath? she thought toward the Tardis. Something like agreement hummed in her head, and Rose sighed, her fingers digging lightly into her belly.

Her thoughts skittered to the Doctor and she felt her face go pink again. Blow it! Wincing, she brought her hand up and rubbed her forehead. I’m not going to be able to look at him for a week. Falling arse over teakettle, crying over a silly cup, and then … oooh. Maybe it was because she hadn’t grown up with a dad or brothers.

She realized suddenly how very good he’d been about the … incident. He hadn’t been silly or embarrassed; he hadn’t laughed or tried to make a joke of it. Rose chewed on her lip. Sometimes he could be such a prat, and then there were those times when he was just so … right.

The Doctor flicked the sonic screwdriver off and eyed the cup. That should do it. The lines where it’d been broken were still visible, but that was on purpose. He liked it when objects showed their history. He set the cup on the counter where she would see it.

Neither of them had eaten any breakfast. He gave the Tardis a mental nudge, a flash of Rose and a question mark.

In return, he got a full sensory explosion of Rose, in the bath — hot water and silky pink skin, and the scent of Rose in the steamy air. The Doctor’s eyes widened in shock and he slammed down his mental barriers, but not before he felt the Tardis’ amusement.

“Oi! That’s enough of that!” Annoyed, he stomped off to the library. “Old busy-body,” he muttered darkly.

The library was lit as if sunlight was pouring through long, high windows, and he could smell a bit of spring in the air. He stood in the door and took a deep breath. It was lovely. Making up? he thought to her. Low and sweet, she hummed back at him. He paused, laying a hand on the door frame. Alright. He leaned there for a moment. Let me know when she gets out? Rubbing his hand along the frame, the Doctor sent his own song of love to her. It’s alright. He sighed and leaned his head against her. I’m not really angry. It’s alright.

Dressed in trackie bums and an oversized tee, Rose sat in the middle of her bed, combing her hair. Her stomach growled. Right, then, nothing for it. It was bloody crazy that she should starve herself over embarrassment. Insane. She was getting up right now and heading to the kitchen to get a bite. Getting up. Right now.

A knock sounded on her door. Rose froze, mid getting-up.

“Rose?” The Doctor’s voice, even muffled by the door, sounded hesitant. “I … ah … I was hungry, so I made some sandwiches. I have a tray here, if you’d like.”

Rose blinked, nose burning and eyes suddenly misting. Oh, get a grip, girl!

There was a sound that she knew was the scuffing of a plimsoll against the decking, impatient. That made her grin. Silly, wonderful alien git. She pinched her nose sharply. “Come in! I’m starved.”

The door swung open and he stood there, head cocked a bit, studying her. Rose lifted her chin and he broke out into a sunny smile. “Oh,” he nodded, “that’s better then.” He set the tray down on her bureau. There was a little vase on the tray crammed artlessly with a handful of daisies.

The Doctor handed her a plate and took his own, sitting companionably on her bed, back propped against the wall. He took a bite of sandwich and smiled at her with his eyes, toes swinging and tapping together.

Rose took a bite of her sandwich and a giggle escaped. Silly, wonderful alien git.

“Good?” His eyebrows were raised.

She chewed and nodded, her mouthful giving her time to study him. Satisfaction, very pleased satisfaction, curiosity, always, and questions within questions. She swallowed. “Good. Yes.” She searched his eyes and saw recognition there. Sighing, she let her eyes fall closed as she took another bite.

FIN

Feel This

Tue, 22 Jul 2008 12:23:29 GMT

Author's Note: Takes place sometime between The Satan Pit and Army of Ghosts

The music thrummed through her body, thick and sweet as honeyed wine. The smell of cigarettes and beer, the brush of other dancers and the darkness all worked their magic on Rose’s senses. But it was the beat, slow and throbbing, moving inside of her, that she’d been craving.

She tried to ignore the man holding her. His movements were smooth and graceful, but controlled. God forbid that he let the music pulsate inside of him, that he forget and press against her too tightly. He had brought her, and that was good enough. For now.

It made her sad that he held himself so tightly. But as long as he was going to watch over her, perhaps she could really let loose. When the song ended, she asked if he would choose a drink for her. “Not too strong,” she smiled up at him, “I want to dance.”

The drink he brought her was tall and sorta brown. It tasted like wood smoke and bittersweet chocolate, went down her throat like silk and moved through her blood like slow fire. When the jazz beat started again, she took his hand and led him onto the floor. But instead of going into his arms, she dropped his hand and closed her eyes, swaying to the beat. He would watch over her.

Her hips found the rhythm, swaying slowly back and forth. With a sigh, she let her head fall back. Her arms lifted up, waving like smoke, like water, like a graceful bough in the wind. Her feet twisted and rolled, hardly lifting from the ground.

The beat filled her, found her heart and became one with it, complete. She twirled, arms splayed out and her hips rocked in an ancient rhythm of completion, her belly muscles flexing in slow, long ripples.

She opened her mouth, tasting the air. He was very close. Slowly, she flicked the tip of her tongue out, tasting the last of the drink on her lips. When she slitted her eyes open, he was there, watching her, eyes dark, face unreadable.

She smiled softly. She was learning what unreadable meant.

“I want you to feel …” She couldn’t find the words. If only he could feel this, the slow, sensuous beat that rocked her hips, fired her blood, flowed across her skin. Without thought she took his hand and brought it to her face, pressing his fingertips to her temple. “Feel this,” she murmured. Feel this.

She didn’t take, didn’t seek; she simple gave. She gave him the slow smoky beat, the feel of her body pulsing to the music, the beat brushing against her heart. He gasped, and she felt his heart, that strange, alien, beloved cadence, beating with hers. The double beat filled her head, a syncopated rhythm that answered her own simple beat. She growled with pleasure, and the beat turned golden, as soft and thick as a wolf’s pelt. Feel this.

Slowly his body melted, his hips rocking against hers, and she sighed. They moved across the floor like water curling on a beach, like fiery tongues of fire twining up from the surface of a star.

Rose threw herself out, out; oh, feel this! And he caught her, caught her heart and held its single beat inside of his, moved against her, breath a hot rasp into her open mouth, fingertips light against her temple, gathering her up against him.

The music ended and the other dancers drifted away. Still, they stood, his fingertips light on her temple, swaying together to the beat.

Class Three Major Histocompatibility Complex

Tue, 22 Jul 2008 12:14:53 GMT

Author's Note: This takes place sometime between New Earth and Idiot's Lantern.

He knew that there was something wrong because he couldn’t get the taste of her out of his mind. It hadn’t been like that before. Of course he’d cared for her. More than cared for. But this was different. This was downright biological.

“Rose, could you open your mouth for me?”

Sitting in the kitchen in an oversized t-shirt drinking a morning cuppa, she wasn’t quite awake yet. She slitted her eyes at him distrustfully. “Why?”

“Oh, just a little swab, eh? See? Just need a little DNA.”

She sipped her tea and considered him and the mouth swab that he was flourishing. “What are you up to?”

“Test.”

“For what?”

“Class Three Major Histocompatibility Complex.”

“Wot?”

“It’s in your DNA, part of your genetic structure; sits on chromosome six.”

“Are you making this up because you want to put something nasty in my mouth?”

"No, I can get a better scan if the DNA is on the swab."

She looked him up and down. "Why do you look so ... jumpy? It's like that time on Hetaterra. And that was horrid."

“Right! Fine!” He sat down across from her, popped the swab in his own mouth, pulled it out, scanned it with the sonic screwdriver. Frowning at the reading, he shoved the screwdriver back in his pocket.

She sighed. “Fancy a cuppa?”

“Yeah.”

Rose padded over to the counter and then slid a mug in front of him. As she bent over him, he breathed in her scent. Groaning, he buried his nose in his mug and closed his eyes.

“Alright,” she was studying him over the rim of her mug, “you gonna explain what’s going on this morning?”

“My DNA changed when I regenerated.”

“Yeah, I got that. New man. Disappointingly not ginger.”

“My class three major histocompatibility complex is different.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She waited for a bit and then asked, “So, why is this a concern?”

“Not a concern, well,” he paused, “no, not a concern.”

“If you don’t want to tell me, you shouldn’t ‘a brought it up.”

The Doctor sighed. “Humans and, ah, other species show a preference for mates that possess genes dissimilar to their own at the major histocompatibility complex. The preference helps choose genetically compatible mates or increase heterozygosity and thereby immunocompetence of offspring. A genetically complimentary mate leads to initial attraction, more female orgasms, and better chances of conception.”

Rose blinked. The Doctor took a breath but Rose raised her palm. “Hold on, I’m gettin’ it.” She took another sip of tea. “You want some toast? We’ve got marmalade.”

“Yeah.”

She popped the toast down. “So, how do we know?”

“Smell, mostly, and taste. You … I” he cleared his throat and then mumbled, “My scent would be … good.”

“Huh.”

She was standing directly behind him. He could feel the heat coming off her body, hear her heartbeat, smell her. She rested her forearms on his shoulders and buried her nose in his hair. “What..” he squeaked, cleared his voice and tried again, “What are you doing?”

“Science experiment. Testing your DNA.”

Slowly, her nose moved from the top of his head and down the side. Breath wafted warm against his neck as her tongue tasted his ear. The toast popped up, she moved away, and he started breathing again.

She sat the plate of toast down in front of him. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

She snagged a triangle of his toast and sat across from him, munching on it. Her eyes glittered with speculation. “Yeah.”

TL - SE - JE / short fics

Tue, 22 Jul 2008 11:23:18 GMT

I'm writing a group of short fics, missing scenes that go to the Turn Left, The Stolen Earth and Journey's End story arc. I'm not sure how many I'll write, but I'll post them all here. They are rated G and canon-compliant.

Mourning's Bloom takes place in the Turn Left Universe, before Rose has that talk with Donna on the park bench.

All That Ever Was is a drabble that takes place sometime before-during (timey-wimey) Turn Left.

A Message To Lead Myself Here" is a drabble, takes place at the end of Turn Left.

But There Are Clouds In My Tea takes place during Journey's End, right after the big group hug, but before everyone gets dropped off.

Mon, 21 Jul 2008 18:02:30 GMT

JE Fic

Mon, 21 Jul 2008 15:41:29 GMT

Author's note: this takes place near the end of JE -

But There Are Clouds In My Tea

He loved the hugs; he’d always loved the hugs. He tucked them all away against his hearts and, once the Earth was in her proper place, reached out and threw the lever that took them into the vortex. His other self raised a brow and sent him a look.

Tea, in the garden. Rose, Jack, me. He had to practically shout to get the message through. The other him was so … human. Rather disgusting, really, but he let that pass. Surely the other him had figured out how this was going to go, and was trying to do his best to prepare for the coming fallout.

Donna got the message, too. She laid her hand on the blue-coated Doctor’s sleeve and nodded toward the kitchen. “Alright, you lot,” her smile was real and warm. “Let’s have a bit of a meet-n-greet, yeah?” She looped one arm in Mickey’s and one in Jackie’s. “Come on, Space-Boy!” she threw over her shoulder as she breezed toward the kitchen. The other him crooked one elbow at Sara Jane, his other elbow at Martha and, with a wink at the three of them, swept past.

Rose and Jack were watching him. Oh, well, they weren’t exactly thick. He inhaled sharply, looking up and away and then back into Jack’s eyes. “Fancy a bit of a chat?”

Jack nodded slowly, “Yeah,” he drawled.

“Well, then.” He looked between the two of them. Jack had Rose’s hand firmly in his. He wondered if the ex-time agent had figured it out yet. He knew that Rose hadn’t. He felt his face soften as he looked at her. He wanted days, years, centuries – he swallowed and turned, shoving his need deep down and away. “I was thinking we’d have tea in the garden.”

He led the way, a left, a left and another left. Very funny, he thought toward the Tardis. The door to the garden was open and he could smell growing things.

His Third Heart had it all ready, a bright spring afternoon and a little gazebo all tricked out with twining roses and a silver tea service. But there was Rose’s favorite mug, the one with the crack in it, and Jack’s that he’d got from that potter he’d spent the week with on Hellinsport, and the mug that Rose had given him, that she’d said was the exact shade of blue as his eyes.

He had to take a breath when he saw those mugs sitting so comfortably together side-by-side.

***
Jack followed behind the Doctor as they wound through the garden to the gazebo. He’d been here just once before, he and Rose. He looked down at her and smiled to see her looking up at him. She returned his smile, memory dancing in her eyes. He pulled on her hand so that she bumped against his hip and let his smile turn into a grin. She grinned back, the tip of her tongue peeking out, and tipped her head. There she was, his Rose, the Rose who’d smeared his face with chocolate frosting at that silly ceremony on Velleria; the Rose who’d chased him around with a garden hose that time they’d been stranded outside of Lubbock and it was so hot; the Rose who’d got trashed and puked all over his favorite shoes. Oh, Rose.

The Doctor paused on the gazebo steps, his breath coming out in an inelegant whoosh. Jack looked over the Doctor’s shoulder and felt his own gut clench. Not fair, he thought to the Tardis, not fair, old girl.

He put a hand to the Doctor’s shoulder and the Doctor twitched, practically leaping up the remaining steps. Rose came up the steps and took the setting in with no more than a raised brow. She sat down and began to pour. “No coffee, Jack,” she murmured, handing him his mug. “You’ll have to settle.” Bending her head over the Doctor’s mug, she added cream and sugar, looked up at the Doctor, and stirred in another sugar. He noticed that she drank her own unsweetened, now.

He considered her over his mug. She considered him back.

Sudden unshed tears filled her eyes and she looked down. She took a long, slow breath, placed her mug carefully back on the table and folded her hands neatly in her lap. When she looked up, her eyes were clear and her lips creased into a small, sad smile. “This is the third time I’ve had tea with you today, Jack. I think I might float away if I have another.”

He blinked, letting the implications of that statement sink in. “Third time’s the charm, they say.” He tipped his head, wondering. “Long day?”

“Yeah. I kept running into you. ‘Though, come to think of it, it’s probably been more than a day. It gets all mixed up.” She sighed and rubbed her forehead.

“I remember. There was this one time I got stuck in a loop…But not like you. I mean, I was in the same dimension.” He sipped his tea, frowning. “I think.”

“I,” she started to blurt out, stopped herself, turning her eyes to the Doctor and then back to him, “I work at Torchwood, the one in my uni…that is, the other universe … I… I work for Torchwood Three, now, in Cardiff.”

He shook his head. “Torchwood. Well. Of course you do.”

She looked away again. “You say that,” her fingers twisted together and she stilled them. “You say it just like that.” Her eyes came up to his. “Every time.”

Oh, Rose.

He hid his own face in his mug and then brought it down, cradling the warmth of it in his hands. He didn’t know what she might have found out, what his other selves might have told her. “How long has it been for you?”

“Four years, I suppose. Give or take.” He risked another look at her, but her eyes were locked with the Doctor’s. “Been a bit longer for you, hasn’t it, Jack?”

Ooh, she does know. He was glad not to be on the receiving end of those simmering Rose Tyler eyes. Mmm, that’s gotta hurt. But the Time Lord was all … raised brows and distant, in that infuriating not-letting-anyone-in Time Lord way of his. She knows … and he knows that she knows, and he knows that I know that she knows…

He laid his hand on the Doctor’s knee. “Hey,” he squeezed, asking for attention, “this is me; this is Rose.”

The Doctor’s gaze sharpened. Jack watched the other man’s eyes go dark with emotion and then stop. “Damn,” he said quietly, “how can you do that? You’re so … so …”

“Alien?”

***

Rose thought for just a moment that Jack might toss his tea in the Doctor’s face. Instead, he sat back and sighed. “I was going to say repressed.”

The Doctor smiled, dark and ironic at first, but then easing into something lighter. “Repressed?” He shook his head. “Really, Jack.”

Rose looked back and forth between the two men. The mood had shifted, and she was glad. “Aw,” she chuckled, “don’t tell me I’ve been missin’ all the good stuff?”

“Good stuff?” Jack set his hand in his chin and studied the Doctor. “Intense, maybe. Definitely traumatic. And, well, life altering. But good?”

The Doctor raised his brows. “It wasn’t good for you?”

She lost it, then, her laugh catching her by surprise. She met the Doctor’s eyes, saw the twinkle of manic glee that always lurked right below the surface, and let herself go, bending forward in her laugh. She stood, still chuckling, and without a word, took their hands and pulled them down the steps and into the tall grass.

Plopping herself down on the warm ground, she yanked them down, one on each side of her, and looked up into the sky. After a moment, she pointed. “Look,” she waved her fingers, “that one there! A dragon, yeah?”

The Doctor scrunched his nose. “A dragon? But where’s its hind legs?”

“Charkoloo Six,” Jack nodded. “Remember those fellas that had us pinned on that island?”

“Oh,” the Doctor agreed, “yes!”

“And that one there,” Rose pointed, “’S like those cat-horse things on Veeblin….”

Much later, Donna smiled and brushed the grass from his hair.

-End-

Alkyone -- 2d

Fri, 18 Jul 2008 12:16:54 GMT

Piss was running down his leg and into his shoe. He could barely breathe, and he struggled against his bonds, desperate to be free. They can’t do this to me! “Orderly!” he called out, his voice cracking, “Get these bastards off of me!”

“Lie still, ya silly bugger, or yer gonna fall on yer head.” The voice was female, and there was a trace of laughter in the words.

“Can’t … breathe…” he huffed out.

He was hanging over something; it moved underneath him, a play of muscle under skin. It smelled … he was bound … something like a burlap bag over his head …

“Aww … ‘Nando, he pissed himself!” She tched in annoyance. “I’m not cleanin’ that up!”

“We’ll be at the ford soon. You can dunk him then.”

“Hmph.”

Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.

He could feel cloth against his backside that draped his lower body, but nothing encasing his legs. Some kind of robe? He slid his wrists back and forth against the rope that was binding them. “I’m on a horse.”

“Somewhat.”

“Who are you?” Who am I? How did I get here?

“Ya don’t recognize m’ voice? It’s Akilina.”

“Ah,” the horse jostled and his abdomen slapped down on its broad rump. His breath wheezed out in a painful rasp. “Get me off of this!” he gasped out. “I can’t breathe!”

“If ya couldn’t breathe, ya wouldn’t be shoutin’, hey?”

Recognize her voice? So, he knew her. And she knew him. He chewed his lip. “Please.”

“Hmph. Tha’s the first civil word you’ve said.” The horse plodded along. “I jus’ might consider.”

His position spoke of betrayal. But who had betrayed whom? “Thank you,” he said absently. She snorted, so he added. “This is quite the switch.”

“Not so high and mighty, now, are ya?”

So, he was high and mighty? That’d be a nice change of pace. Except that his circumstances seemed greatly reduced. Turned on its head, as it were. His mind played upon the memory of long, white halls, felt slippers and confining straps. Did they send him here? Were they the betrayers? Who …The image of a man in a short beard peered at him, who had the keys? He was mesmerized by the half remembered face. Was it his face? He laughed out loud, not caring what his captors thought, because he didn’t know. He didn’t remember what he looked like.

The horse began to trot. He grunted and tried to protect himself from the pounding by drawing himself on his elbows and knees. Akilina grabbed the back of his robe and, at the sound of hooves splashing, pushed him off.

He landed on his back and sank like a stone. The hood and water together were terrifying. He screamed and tore at it with his bound hands, inhaling a mouthful of water. The robe tripped him up; he kicked at it, floundering, reached up and pulled off the hood. Sunlight blinded him. He blinked, took a step forward and fell to his knees. Water lapped at his chin.

“Well, at least yer clean.”

***

He sat perched on the pack horse, hands bound, the reins looped over Akilina’s saddle horn. The wind shifted and he shivered in his wet robe. He lowered his head and looked out of the corner of his eyes, surreptitiously studying his captors.

There were four of them. Akilina was the only woman, but she looked to be the most dangerous. Her fair hair was braided close to her head and then swung down in a thick rope to the middle of her back. She wore a patch over one eye. Scar tissue swirled at her temple there, and the top of her ear was missing. She moved with a dancer’s grace and he knew that she could kill him in a number of ways quite effortlessly.

Hernando led the way, broad and thick muscled, with copper skin and hair so thick that it stuck up in short glossy spikes all over, blue-black in the sun. He had an easy laugh and wore his weapons with a casual ease that spoke of comfortable familiarity. But he was a bear to Akilina’s striking raptor. Still, perhaps even more deadly when provoked.

The other two were at his back, and both were not more than boys, all lanky legs and elbows. They had laughed when he’d splashed into the river, good-naturedly served him up bread with cheese when he struggled out, and manhandled him up onto his horse when Hernando had signaled that it was time to go.

He realized suddenly that Akilina was studying him in return. Lifting his head, he met her gaze. “I hope that you aren’t expecting to be paid a ransom.” He knew without a doubt that he was completely on his own. How could he expect to find help when he didn't even know what his own face looked like? He pushed the thought aside. Maybe it’d come back to him, who he was and what on God’s Green Earth was going on, but today was not a day for epiphanies. Today was a day for trying to not get killed by these people.

The memory of long white halls played at the corners of his mind and he pushed it away. That today was also a day to be pissing out psychoactive medications into his shoes and being splashed through time and space was acknowledged and set aside.

He was staring, and Akilina flashed a smile that made him shiver. He looked away, swallowed, and turned back, meeting her one fierce blue eye. “We didn’t go to all that trouble to get ya,” she grinned, “jus’ to hand ya back.”

forget the angst

Wed, 16 Jul 2008 14:22:33 GMT

Oh, and if you haven't read the totally crack!tastic fic by spastasmagoria, then you are really, really missing something special.

I need prompts!

Wed, 16 Jul 2008 13:37:14 GMT

Well, now that I've put the newest Alkyone story to bed, it's time to get busy with some fanfic.

I have two fics that I've committed to:

1)A crossover crack!fic of DW with either Harry Potter or Star Trek (due Aug 28)

2)A DW fic that is described as:

tone/mood: Serious, but it doesn't have to be mega!joydivision!angst
An element/line of dialogue/object: Something regarding the whereabouts of Jack Harkness (Did the Doctor really know about what happened to him?), a new planet to the Doctor, some signs of a darker Doctor
Preferred rating: I like it all, but please don't limit to PG. I like my smut too.
Canon or AU? Preferably canon-compliant

So, a serious Ten/Jack fic, canon-compliant... Hmmm. How 'bout something season four-ish, post LotTL, Ten takes Jack out for ... dinner? Tardis set on Random! He ... hm... needs something from him, some information, maybe? Hm. Ok, what would the Doctor need from Jack (besides absolution)?

edit: what about something that takes place after Journey's End -- maybe I can pull off dark humor. The Doctor asking Jack to keep his eye on Donna? (as if Torchwood wouldn't sooo be keeping their eye on Donna...)

Recovery

Mon, 14 Jul 2008 00:20:08 GMT

I just spent the last couple of hours watching BBC's Recovery, with David Tennant and Sarah Parish. It was fabulous.

What Doctor Who Companion Are You?

Sun, 13 Jul 2008 12:32:09 GMT

You are Leela. Violent and instinctive, you are a difficult companion to "tame," if you will. You don't trust things that you don't understand, and you don't act nicely towards things you don't trust. Actually, you don't act nicely to very much at all, but we're working on that. Despite your inner savagery and relative ignorance, you possess a natural instinct that, coupled with a deadly blade, serves you well in a pinch. The Doctor may get frustrated with your lack of appreciation for science and wit, but he can't deny that as companions go, you're pretty darn useful.

Take The Test

Not FanFic -- WIP, new Alkyone

Sat, 12 Jul 2008 19:01:52 GMT

2c - Shiver

Electric blue sparked across his field of vision, blasting him back into his chair and sending his body into a hideous moment of uncontrollable twitching. He came to in absolute blackness, limp limbed and sitting in a puddle of piss.

“Rais! My God!”

Lights blinked on, orange and dim. A face was peering at him, cropped dark hair, fathomless eyes; her hand reached out and stroked his forehead, swept down and pressed lightly on his jugular.

His lips began to move, finishing a sentence that he didn’t remember starting, “…power up th’ main control bank.” He blinked. “Or not.”

“What the hell happened?” Her eyes searched his. She nodded when she saw that he was able to focus and turned, not waiting for his reply.

Her fingers dancing unconcernedly over the switches and keyboard on the control board in front of him, giving him time to look around. He was in a small, windowless room, Control Room, his hazy memory supplied. She was … memory flashed, ricocheted across his brain just out of reach, and he gasped at the intensity of feeling that followed after, more powerful than the convulsions that had wracked his limbs.

She was Velia Leon, aggravating, competent, sexy, complex, his boss, too strong for her own good and way out of his league. They were friends. They were …

“Tucker! Can you hear me? What’s going on down there?”

A voice came over the speaker. “GODDAMNMOTHERFUCK!”

Her chin dropped down to her chest and she sighed in relief. “Copy that." She lifted a hand and pressed her fingertips into her forehead. "Chaput’s alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re both good. But, Vel, the goddamned door went down.”

“Tucker,” she pounded her fist on her thigh, “safety procedures are there for a reason.” There was a guilty silence from the comm.

He sucked his teeth. With the power down, the door to the blister would only open by the hand crank from the outside. Velia reached out and pressed the comm again. “Alverez? Alverez, do you read?” There was only the crackle of white noise. “Tucker, can you reach Alverez?”

He rubbed both hands over his face, listening numbly as Tucker called for the missing Alverez … who was … in the other blister … they were … installing the coolant fins … The orderly would be here soon. No. That was … he reached into his lap and groped his wet crotch. He couldn't remember ... he was … he was ... Damn.

He was at Base Seven, on the floor of the Arctic Ocean, installing the cooling fins on the number three power plant, not strapped down, not waiting for… His muscles quivered and he thrust the thought away. Something had gone wrong. There was an explosion. Someone was ... someone was…

“Alverez! Do you read?”

Alverez was dead. He knew it as if he had seen the corpse. He had seen the corpse … but that was ... didn’t matter. Not now. Now was a time to get … Tucker. Tucker needed out.

He threaded his fingers through his hair and tugged. Pull it together.

“Monitor,” he muttered. He didn’t know where the words came from, but they felt right on his tongue.

“Right!” Velia slapped the keyboard and a monitor lit, showing an image of a passageway that was slowly filling with water. “Damnit!” She poked at the keyboard and another image flicked into place, a different angle of the same scene, water flooding from an open door. A body was wedged into the doorway, bobbing gently against the torrent. With a strangled curse, Velia whirled around and kicked the empty chair next to his clear across the room.

She spun away and then back, eyes finding his. He didn’t know what she found there, but whatever it was caused her to take a deep breath through her nose and blow it out slowly past her lips. He felt his lips press into a grim line and she nodded. Yes, this is bad.

He ticked off it off his fingers, slowly. “Dead crewman, hull breach, trapped crewmen … air supply?”

Velia swallowed. “Tucker and Chaput are sealed in. They’ve got … half an hour?”

He looked up at the ceiling. “And we’re not due for pickup for…?”

She checked her watch. “Two hours.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “How are you feeling?”

He rolled his head on his shoulders, stretched his arms out over his head, brought them out, wide and, in quick succession, touched his nose with one fingertip and then the other. “Right as rain.”

“Well,” she looked away, studying the control panel.

“It’s a brute force job,” he said reasonably. “And I’m physically stronger than you.”

“I know.”

“Velia, I won’t screw it up.”

She stilled and then turned to face him, leaning back and bracing her arms on the console. “I don’t think that you’ll screw it up.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Tick, tick, tick,” he murmured.

“Get a toolbelt together. I’ll get you a comm.”

Strapping on the belt, he squinted, picturing the layout of the facility. Everything was under construction, full of loose material and hanging wire. There were three doors in the control room: one that lead to an outer hatch, one that lead to the containment area and one that lead to the flooded service passage. The containment area also had a door that lead to the service passage.

She handed him the comm and he tucked it into his ear and adjusted the jaw mike. “Test?”

She adjusted her own comm and nodded. “Good.” Her eyes went to the containment door. “Containment has about three times as much volume as the passageway. But it’ll fill up quick.”

“Yep.”

Her eyes met his and she frowned. “I hate this.”

“I know.”

She flipped up the cover plate to the manual door crank and rolled it open. “Go.”

He stepped through the door and turned to watch her as it closed behind him. Her frown was thunderous. I hate this. Being left out, being left to watch, and not being in control. He shot her a grin, Sucks to be you!

The door closed and he heard her dry chuckle in his ear. "Asshole."

He nodded, “Ayup,” and walked over to the containment door. He’d have to crank it up.

As his hand reached out to lift the cover to the crank, he could see very clearly some other hand pasted over his hand, some other hand reaching out for some other door. He closed his eyes hard. He knew that what had happened to him was not normal, and pushed the thought aside. This had happened before, would happen again. Maybe it’d come back to him, who he was and what on God’s Green Earth was going on, but today was not a day for epiphanies. Today was a day for trying to keep his remaining crew alive.

With a grimace, he plucked at his crotch. That today was also a day to be pissing out psychoactive medications and convulsing erratically through time and space was acknowledged and set aside.

He considered the door for another breath and pressed himself against the wall, laying his cheek against its smoothness. There was nothing to hang onto. As he spun the crank, water burst out from the door seam with cutting force, from a blade, to a wedge, to a wall that collapsed inward and rebounded off the far wall, knocking him to his knees.

Something heavy crashed into the small of his back and he lost his balance, falling forward, arms outstretched, his face hitting the water and going under. Cold. He almost gasped with the shock, found his knees, pushed himself up and then did gasp, flinging wet hair out of his eyes. He had to force himself to breathe, force himself to move, to think, the water so cold that it burned. He pushed his hands against his face, warming his eyeballs and then blinked, turning blindly on his knees toward the door.

And came face to face with Alverez. Well, face to half a face. One dead eye stared up, sleepily half opened.

“Fuck!” He surged to his feet, turning away as Alverez bumped lazily against his hip.

“Rais! Rais. Are you alright?” The shout in his comm echoed around his head.

“Fucking Alverez always fucking dies!”

There was a pause. “Focus. The breach is in the blister that Alverez was working in. You’ve got to get that door down first.”

He waded out the door, not looking back. “Copy.”

The passageway was almost completely dark, lit only by the emergency lighting coming from the containment chamber. Something brushed his face, a hanging whip of romex, and he pushed it away. The water was above his waist, pushing against him. He reached his arms out into the blackness, thighs straining. His feet were numb with the cold.

“How’s it going?”

“Alright. Can’t feel my feet.” Pipes leaned against a wall. “Almost there.”

There had been a big stack of pipes in the passageway… His foot tangled and he lurched sideways. One hand slapped the wall, groping, and his numb feet skittered across the uneven floor. “Shit!”

He lost his footing and splashed backwards, the water current sweeping up the legs of his trousers, up his nose, sweeping him back the way he came. With utter certainty, he tasted blood.

Alverez.

Velia was shouting in his ear. His hands windmilled out from his body and caught something solid. It was the romex, hanging from the ceiling like a lifeline. He seized on it frantically, pulling himself against the current. The other hand grabbed higher up, and he gathered his legs underneath himself and stood, weaving and gagging.

“Alright,” he gasped into the comm. “Just … just s-s-slipped.”

Velia blew out a heavy breath. “Right.”

The water was against his ribs, now. He pushed himself forward, sliding his feet along the floor. He couldn’t feel them, but he could feel the shock run up his leg when they hit the pipes again, and could maneuver them up and over, finding level floor again. He kept one hand on the wall and realized that, if he stretched out, he could brace his other hand on the other wall.

He reached out, fingering the edge of the doorway. The current pushed against him and he stretched, fingertips curling. Another step and he could grab on to the frame. “G-g-got it,” he muttered. A long piece of pipe was wedged in the opening, holding the door up. “Gotta pull the safety m-m-measure free.”

Velia snorted. “The righteous guy ends up dead.”

“Yeah, w-w-well, that’s Alverez for you.”

Taking a firm grip on the pipe, he braced his feet on the either side of the door frame and yanked with all of his might. He flew backwards, hitting the passageway wall with a sodden thump, the pipe clutched to his chest. The door slid down as it was supposed to, sealing off the blister.

Frigid ocean water sloshed in the passageway and settled. “Got it.” He turned toward the other blister, clutching the pipe, using it like a walking staff. “I g-g-ot it.”

“Say again?”

A shiver worked its way across his shoulders and chest. “ ‘S c-c-cold.” He could see the door to the other blister. “T-t-tell T-T-T,” he pressed his lips together and tried again. “Tucker. Get. Back. Away. Door.”

“Shit. Hold on, Rais. You’re almost there. Don’t ...” He could hear her pounding on something.

“Yer so f-f-f-phyisical,” he muttered.

“Don’t you fucking die!”

“Not. Plannin’. On. It.” He realized that he was standing outside of Tucker’s door. He lifted a hand to the cover of the manual crank. Shit. He’d let his hand fall into the water as he walked and now his fingers wouldn’t move. Slowly, without thinking, he brought his up and laid it on the back of his neck. Holy Christ! A spasm ran from his neck down his spine, almost knocking him to his knees. He brought his hand to the front of his neck, tucking his fingers under his chin. Slowly, he worked them into a fist – close, open, close.

“Rais?”

“Yer a-a-always buggin’ me. Y’ d-d-don’t t’ink I c’n do shit, d-d-do you?”

“I can see your right shoulder. Are you at the door? You,” he could hear her swallow, “you’ve done very well. I … Rais … I wouldn’t have made it.”

She was being nice, placating him, and it made him smile. Ooh, that must’a hurt… He bunched his fingers again, and opened them. “M-m-m’ f-f-fingers c-c-cold. Good n-n-now.” A part of his mind noted that things were going hazy. But he’d made it. His hand was lifting the cover; his fingers were grasping the crank and turning it…

Water rushed into the sealed room, and he was swept off his feet and sucked through the door, his arms and legs tangling with someone else, both of them smacking against the wall.

“Fuck! Is he dead? Shap, grab him! He’s goin’ under.”

“Christ! He’s blue! We’ve gotta get him out of this water! Wait, Tucker, bend down, yeah, grab his arms. There! Ya got him? I’ll go under and get the door the rest of the way up.”

“T-t-t-t…uk..”

Tucker hitched him up, grabbing his thighs in a piggy-back carry so that his chin rested on the man’s shoulder. “Shit, Rais,” Tucker looked out the corner of his eye at him, “you’re like a friggin’ popsicle.”

“G-g-good t’ s-s-see you t-too.” He burrowed into the other man’s back. “Yer w-w-warm.”

“Hey!” Tucker’s shoulder blades twitched. “Don’t go all homoerotic on me!”

“Y-y-you w-w-wish.”

The door went smoothly up, Chaput on the other side, dripping and shivering. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“Word.”

It was a short slog to the containment chamber. “W-w-wait. Wait.” He lifted his fist and let it fall on Tucker’s shoulder. “Alverez is in there. He’s d-d-dead. He’s really, really d-d-dead.”

Tucker and Chaput paused. “Yeah,” Chaput said, and forged ahead.

“Glad you made it, T-t-tuck.” His mind was wandering and some inner voice was beginning to fret. “Danger, W-w-will Robinson,” he slurred into Tucker’s shoulder. “Riders on t’ S-s-storm are c-c-coming.” Tucker waded into the containment chamber.

Velia spoke into his ear, “He’s hypothermic; get him in here, Tucker.”

“Where were you, Velia?” He shook his head. “You l-l-left me. You left me, little b-b-bits of you all over the f-f-fuckin’ place. We c-c-couldn’t even find your f-f-fuckin’ ID…”

Tucker came to a sudden stop. “What?”

“You left me, and they took me b-b-back.” He was weeping now. “They gave m-m-me shock, Velia.”

“Tucker! Move! Get him in here!”

Tucker turned his head slowly, eyes wide. “Gunny?”

He beamed through his tears. “Well, f-f-fuck me sideways!” he giggled. “You r-r-remembered!”

Tucker dropped him into the icy water and scrambled away. He pulled himself up and stood swaying. Velia was screaming in the comm, so he tore it off and threw it away. Tucker backed into Alverez, looked down and jumped sideways. In two strides, Tucker was pounding on the control room door. “Open up! Velia, open the fuck up!”

He began to count, one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand… Tucker went still and turned to look at him. That didn’t take long. He smiled at the younger man. “She’s telling you to calm down, hey?” He couldn’t help himself; another giggle trickled out from between his lips. “She’s telling you to get a grip?” He leaned forward earnestly. “Don’t trust her, Tucker. She’ll leave you to them.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying, Gu..” He swallowed. “Rais. The water’s so cold, it’s makin’ you crazy. Makin’ us both crazy. We’ve gotta get you inside.”

“Oh,” he nodded at Tucker. “She’s g-g-good, isn’t she?”

“She’s right.” He waded through the water and grabbed the sleeve of Alverez’s shirt. “We’ve gotta pump this out so she can open the door.” He pushed Alverez out into the passageway and began to crank down the door.

Chaput opened up another panel and began to flip switches.

“Velia?”

Tucker flicked a look over his shoulder. “She says ‘what’.”

“T-t-tell h-her tha’ I’m s-s-sorry.”

“She says you can tell her yourself while she’s beating the fuck out of you.”

“S-s-so f-f-physical.”

The pump was clearing the chamber. As the water swirled around his ankles, he sat down with a spine-jarring splat. “Get in here, Velia!” he called. “R-r-riders on the Storm are coming!”

The door to the control room rolled open. He let himself fall onto his back.

“Rais.” She shoved her arm under his head and lifted him so that he sprawled across her lap, his head on her breast. “Don’t you dare die on me.”

“Fuck you. It’s m-m-my turn.”

“It’s never your turn.”

He blinked up at her. “That’s just n-n-not fair.”

A smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah, well.”

“Do you r-r-remember, Velia?”

“Of course.” Her eyes searched his. “Remember, remember, remember.”

He nodded. “Remember.” She laid a palm on his forehead and he glared up at her. “I’m still p-p-pissed about the shock.”

“Yeah.” Her hand moved and patted his cheek. “But surely I made up for it with the horse race?”

A roar, a noise that was not noise filled his ears. He couldn’t see, couldn’t feel the cold, the wet, her arms. “Velia! Where are you?”

“Shhh.” Her voice whispered against the not-noise. “I’m already there.”

Ppfftt.

Rift Activity In The News!

Sat, 12 Jul 2008 02:06:57 GMT

Carnivorous new slug species found in Cardiff, Wales

Anywhere but Cardiff and I just call this interesting science. But a slug with blade-like teeth in Cardiff... well, too easy.

words

Fri, 11 Jul 2008 18:25:30 GMT

I was thinking about writing last night. Since the new year, I've completed a fan fic novella that comes in at a little over 19K, and another 7.3K of fan fic shorts, 10.5K on Tales of the Yellow Hand: Sedlik's Gift, 9.4K on Alkyone and over 5K of essays on GaiaWatch.

That's over 50K in six months! Not bad for someone who took six years to write one 70K novel! Go me!

Chapter Nine - Allonz-y!

Tue, 08 Jul 2008 00:20:46 GMT

Chapter Nine

She woke up slowly with the smell of dawn and linen. The Doctor was still sleeping; she could feel him breathe, slow, steady, and warm against her nape. She had kicked her chemise up around her waist, and his arm was flung loosely there, his palm soft against her belly. A girl could get used to this. She lay still, listening to the town come awake, wanting the moment to last just a little bit longer.

His breath hitched slightly, a word half on his lips. I wonder what he’s dreaming? Slowly, she moved her legs away, pulled out from under his arm, and slid out of the bed. He snorted, sighed and rolled over, snuggling into the blankets. She stood for a moment, tracing the fond smile on her lips with her fingertips. It was much better to leave him like this. The old him would have perhaps smirked sarcastically, made some comment about apes needing to sleep in a pile; that was how he’d kept anyone from getting too close. This new him? She wasn’t sure, and she wasn’t quite ready to find out.

This wasn’t her lover tucked up in bed, or even just her best mate; he was ancient and strange and wonderful. He frightened her and amazed her. He flirted and blushed, though Jack had assured her that he most definitely danced. And he had asked her, Rose Tyler from Powell Estates, shop girl, to come travel with him. He'd asked her three times.

With a shake of her head, she stepped into her skirt, pulled on her overvest and slipped out the door, closing it softly behind her.

For once, there was no smell of baking bread. The cavernous kitchen was empty and the big ovens were cold. There was a smaller stove with banked coals, though, and Rose was able to get a few sticks burning well enough to heat a kettle. With a hot mug and a cold roll, she tucked herself into a padded rocking chair set by a small window and watched the sun come up.

It was moments like this, in the quiet, when everything seemed the most surreal. She could close her eyes and almost imagine she was on Earth, maybe sitting at some country inn, sipping tea, watching the sunrise. But this wasn’t the Sun, it was … a sun. This wasn’t Earth and these people were mostly human.

In fact, everyone that she had ever known was gone. It was hundreds of thousands of years in her future, and her mother, Mickey, Shireen and everyone she’d ever known were dead and gone to dust. Everyone except the Doctor.

Fingers suddenly fumbling, she reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out her phone. With a sigh, she pressed it to her cheek. If she called now, she’d only start blubbering and worry her Mum. Can’t have that. She’d wait until she’d had a chance to see the Doctor, see that ridiculous smile, hear that “Where next, Rose Tyler?” She’d call when she felt the walls of the TARDIS around her.

She was surprised that it still hit her, after all that she’d been through, all the places and the aliens and the two point seven near death experiences per week, but it did. She took a bite of roll and relaxed her head against the back of the chair, pushing off with her toes so that the chair rocked her gently as she chewed.

***

He awoke with a start, his hand reaching out and smacking into the bedside table. “Rose?” he muttered, swallowing the question before he’d really asked it because he knew that he was alone in the room. But he could smell her, a sleepy-Rose-smell, on the sheets, on the pillow.

On his skin.

He brought his right hand up and sniffed it experimentally. Yes, he’d definitely had this hand on Rose Tyler’s bare skin less than an hour ago. He let his eyes fall closed as he tried to bring memory into focus. He remembered being half-carried up the stairs, having most of his clothes hurriedly stripped off, and the feel of her palm holding his head as he was sick. And… and…

Damn.

With something like a growl, he scrubbed his hands through his hair and sat up, kicking at the sheet. One of his few chances for an innocent snuggle with Rose, and he’d missed it because he was sleeping. And because she’d woken first, he’d not even had the pleasure of watching her as she slept.

He allowed himself to mourn his lost opportunity for another thirty-seven seconds. With a mental tsk, he reached for his trousers. And sat for another twenty-two seconds, imagining that perhaps Rose had watched him as he slept. Well. That was almost as pleasant; not quite, but it would suffice.

She was still getting used to this him. And he really did give her credit for that. Remarkably adaptable, humans. Amazing species. He was quite, quite fond of the lot of them.

Take this offshoot, these amazing humans on this planet. Here, he – well, he and Rose, to be honest – had stripped them of their God, undermined the whole of their culture, and what did they do? They had dinner and went to bed.

He picked up his shirt and realized that it was fresh. Someone had laundered it. So, they’d had dinner, cleaned up after his sick, done a bit of laundry, and then went to bed. Amazing. Utterly insane, the whole, brilliant species. He bent down for his plimsolls and shoved his feet into them. That was the thing about Humans, one never had to worry about them; they just kept going and going, loving and killing, dying and living, so fantastically alive that it made one’s hearts ache.

He raked his hands through his hair and gave it up as a bad job. Well, the sight of him would bring a smile to Rose’s face, and that was worth a little loss of dignity to him this morning. “Allonz-y!” he muttered to himself, pushing the door open. “Tea, breakfast and Rose Tyler await!”

***

She was thinking that perhaps she’d go up and check on him when he breezed into the kitchen. The smile that lit his eyes was checked at the sight of Pym sitting at the end of the table, glumly sipping his morning tea. “Yes,” he muttered. “Well.”

“Good morning.” Rose gestured with her mug. “Kettle’s on, and there’s some day olds there on the counter.”

She played a little guessing game with herself and smiled when he pulled out the big, gooey one with all the caramel and nuts. Not much of a challenge. The old him would’ve gone for the currant scone. A sudden pang of longing flared and she could see him, right there, all dark and smelling of leather. Daft old face.

She buried herself in her mug, but when he plopped down in the chair across from her, she looked up directly into his eyes. He knew. He knew, so she let him see and he gave her a small smile, still me, and she nodded, suddenly happy, yes. A stiffness that she hadn’t even noticed until it was gone left his shoulders and he grinned. “Oh,” she giggled, “look at your hair.”

Pym snorted at that and the Doctor raised a brow. “Mr. Pym,” he said lightly, “I think you must be dead.”

“Yes. I suppose so. Though they’ll know you escaped with the shuttle.”

The Doctor licked at a thread of caramel that was oozing down the side of his hand. “Mmm. Yes.” He studied Pym, eyes narrowed. “We will leave for the Shadow Proclamation in an hours’ time. Don’t wander off.”

Pym looked away and swallowed. “Alright.”

Gella stepped into the kitchen in a dressing gown, her hair falling thickly down her back. “Oh! How wonderful it is to sleep in! I think I will never wake before dawn, again.”

The Doctor raised his mug to her. “Nor should you!” He swiveled toward her, “Gella, please join us. I’d like a word, and then we’ll be on our way.”

“On your way? Just like that?”

The words were lightly spoken, but Rose could feel dark currents move, more worrisome words left unsaid. Gella sat beside the Doctor and stirred honey into her tea.

“Oh, you Humans! You’ll do wonderfully!” He smiled at Gella and nudged her lightly with his elbow. “Six impossible things before breakfast, that’s you lot.” He quirked an eyebrow at Rose, “I should take you to see Charles; fascinating man.” He turned to Gella again. “Everything will be different. And you! Gella! You still have so much living left to do!”

Gella’s eyes lit and her lips pressed together. “I have been thinking..”

The Doctor leaned toward her, “Yes?”

“Well, we must get word out of what has happened. I thought we might travel about, Alvie an' me, telling the story of the Flame and the Angels,” she tipped her head toward Pym. “Tell them all about his lot.”

Rose thought that the Doctor might just evaporate with delight. “Why, yes! That’s just the ticket!”

“If you could come with me, Doctor, just this first time, when I tell the Reverend our story.” She waved her hand through the air, “So he knows that I’m not some crazed old woman.”

“Gella,” the Doctor laid his palm over the woman’s work-worn hand. “Please believe me when I tell you that you are not old. Not even close.”

“So, will you come with me, with us, Alvie and me?”

"Wait," Rose smiled, "you want them to think you're not crazy?"

The Doctor sniffed austerly at Rose and then turned a beaming smile on Gella. “I will certainly accompany you. As you said, you must spread the word.” He leaned back in his chair and considered her. “You are living on a new world, Gella. Everything will change.” He shook his head, “Weell, already changed, hasn’t it?”

“I suppose so.”

“Isn’t it wonderful?”

Gella’s eyes lit and her lips pulled into a fierce grin. “Yes.”

***

“Oh, Mum, you should have seen it! All the town gathered while Gella told the story, and then, to back her up, me an’ the Doctor and that git Pym piled into the Tardis and off we went! The look on that minister’s face!

An’ then, well, we dropped Pym off at the … at the copper’s, yeah? The Shadow Proclamation, they’re called.

Now? Well, I don’t rightly know. But I’ll call you… Yeah, I know, I’ll be careful…. ‘bye, Mum! I love you!”

She was standing at the Console, still wearing the skirt and overvest. With a frown, she pulled the neckline of her chemise away and sniffed. “Oi! A shower for me!”

The Doctor was slouched in the jumpseat, feet wedged between Rose and the monitor. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Yep.”

Rose snorted and he blinked, “Oh, that is, well,” his feet hit the floor and he raked his fingers though his hair, “I suppose we both could use a bit of a clean up and a sandwich?”

“Right." She decided to let him off the hook, and grinned. "Gella left us with a big crock of that hummus-like stuff, and those things that taste like plums… meet you in the kitchen in a bit?” He looks tired. “And then… Doctor, would you mind … could we just stay in tonight? Maybe light a fire in the library?”

“You wouldn’t be bored?”

“No! I think that would be … nice.”

“Well,” he tugged an ear, looking away. “I could perhaps dig up some Lewis Carroll. Do you, that is, would you like to hear a bit?”

“Yeah,” she peeked at him from under her lashes, suddenly shy. “You readin’ to me? That’d be nice.”

“Alright.” He nodded, eyes going dark and then looking away. “Yes, well, off we go! Showers all ‘round!” He stood and bounced out of the control room. “Sandwiches, tea and Jabberwocky!”

the end

idle speculation for fic-ing

Sun, 06 Jul 2008 20:48:23 GMT

I've been thinking a bit about New Doctor, 10.5, Rose's Doctor, John Smith -- whatever we end up calling him...

One writer mentioned the eye-opening experience of human insticts... hormones... hmmm.

I wonder if he'd have a "Flowers for Algernon" feeling - remembering the genius of being a Time Lord. How frustrating would that be?

I'm trying to imagine Nine's gruffness and how that would play out.

I'd love him to meet Alt!Donna. Oh... Alt!Donna as a Torchwood temp... hmmm.

He would be funny and clever and dark.

Did you ever notice how the Doctor never knew when someone was teasing him?

He would love words; I wonder how many languages he'd remember?

Perhaps he'd have an eidedic memory.

Ok, I need to finish Angel's Kiss and then I think I'll write a Rose/John Smith adventure... If anyone has any other idle speculations, come share!

Right Now

Sat, 05 Jul 2008 23:13:19 GMT

Ok, somebody better give me some fluff pretty g-d soon.

*taps foot*

Fic: Mourning's Bloom

Thu, 03 Jul 2008 21:29:03 GMT

Author's note: This is set in the Turn Left Universe, before Rose talks to Donna on the park bench.

Mourning's Bloom

A lovely being, scarcely formed or moulded,
A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded.

“Rose.”

At the sound of her step, he turned, his eyes rounding in surprise, the single word falling from stiff lips. The body lying on the table was shrouded, but he moved in front of it, shielding her.

“Jack.”

Of course they’d bring the body here; he was an alien, after all. She pulled her eyes up from the still form and met Jack’s smile. Grief and joy balanced on his lips. Her control slipped, seeing that smile. Suddenly, she was in his arms, her face buried in his shoulder, and he held her as if he’d bring her inside himself, tight against his heart.

“Oh, Rose.”

“Jack. You … Jack.” She rested her head against him, let him bury his face in her hair, and then pulled away. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took her in. Rose looked down at her boots, back up into his face, and watched him study her. A little older, a little sharper. She sighed for long-ago-Rose who once sipped champaign with a mysterious Captain in the moonlight, and turned away from the emptiness of the room. “C'mon. Let’s … we need to talk. Cuppa tea?”

“Yeah.” His voice was raw. She wove her fingers through his and led him away.

Out in the open area, threading between desks, a steady looking fellow in a suit came with a tray. Jack nodded his thanks and made introductions. “Rose, this is Ianto Jones. Ianto, Rose Tyler.”

Ianto stared, blinked, set down the tray and reached out his hand. His eyes were very kind. “I … I am sorry for your loss.”

“For all of us.” She squeezed his hand softly. “All of our loss.”

They sat at a worktable and busied themselves with their cups, adding sugar and cream, blowing across the tops, giving each other time and space. Finally, when he’d had time to breathe, she met his eyes.

“I thought you,” his eyes flicked away, “… I thought you were dead.”

“Yes.” She gave a small smile and then shook her head. “But you first. He told me that you were rebuilding the Earth.”

“Huh.” Jack took a slow sip of coffee. “He lied.”

Rose could feel a fire ignite in her chest. “Yeah.” She sipped her tea serenely. “He did that, sometimes.”

“How much of that day, of the Daleks, do you remember? Did he tell you…” His voice trailed off.

Rose looked up at the ceiling, swept her eyes around the room and back at Jack. “He reginerated right after."

Jack nodded, "Yeah. I heard about that."

"I got... We got separated. I got trapped in another universe. He said that he'd try to get me back..." She looked at Jack, hopeless to communicate it all, and shook her head. "He didn't have anyone when he... there wasn't anyone to stop him." She pressed her lips together and looked away. Not my fault. This wasn't my fault.

Jack dropped his head, elbows on knees. His fingers twisted together. "I would've. If he ... I would've come."

"I work for Torchwood. The one in my universe.” She blurted it out. Anything to stop Jack from following that sad line of useless guilt.

He looked up and smiled. “Yeah?" She could see the questions behind his eyes, and when he decided to let them wait. “Torchwood. Well. Of course you do.”

She grinned back at him. “We started messin’ with time stuff and tryin’ to figure out the tech that fell to us from the Cyberman kerfluffle.” She sipped her tea and he sighed in the silence. Over the rim of her cup, she met his eyes. “And, yeah, guess you could say I was a little motivated.”

“And you found a way through.”

“Several ways, actually.” She reached out her hand and laid it gently on top of his. “This isn’t the first time we’ve met, for me, hm?”

“Alternate universes?”

“Stacked together, like slices of bread. But there’s these threads that string ‘em all together. The Doctor, Donna Noble, and you, Jack.”

“There's this thing about me,” he slipped his hand from hers and toyed with his coffee mug, lifted his hand and raked his fingers through his hair. “I...I...”

“Don't die.”

“You know.”

“You told me.”

“Other me.” He shook his head, cheeks puffing out. “Not only stranger than we imagine…”

“…but stranger than we can imagine,” she finished for him.

Ianto, playing invisible to this point, cleared his throat. “And now?”

“Oi,” Rose smiled at him, “keeping us on task?”

Jack smiled fondly at the other man. “He does that.”

“None of this was supposed to happen. There was a universe,” she swallowed, her eyes suddenly swimming, “the Doctor’s universe, where he didn’t die. A woman, Donna Noble, saved him. But that universe ceased to exist and this one replaced it.”

“Why?” Jack leaned forward, intent. “What happened?”

“She,” Rose laughed mirthlessly, “she never met him. She turned her car right instead of left, one little change, yeah? One woman makes one little change and everything…the Doctor…”

A tear landed on her hand, fat and hot. She laid her thumb on it, smearing it back and forth. “My Doctor…”

He bent toward her and she reached out blindly, grasping his forearms and curling into him. They rested their heads on each others shoulders, cheek to cheek. It was a luxury that she allowed herself, perched on the edge of her chair. I deserve this. I've earned it. When his arms tightened around her, when his own body began to shake, a low moan of indefinable grief made its way out from her center.

I lose him and lose him. She squeezed her eyes shut and choked back her sobs. “No more,” she whispered into Jack’s neck. “No more losing.”

It wasn’t a plea. It was a demand.

With a ragged sigh, she lifted her head and rubbed her hands across her face. “There,” she muttered, forcing herself back in her chair. “I’ve done enough of that.”

Jack looked away, wiping his own face. “Yeah? Well give me a minute. This is my first time.”

They fell silent, pulling their arms and legs back, running hands through hair, sipping from their mugs and taking slow gulps of breath. Jack cleared his throat and spoke, his voice deep and steady. “This woman. Donna Noble. She’s the hinge.”

“Yeah.”

“And you’ve done this how many times?”

“Does it matter?”

His eyes searched hers. He lifted a hand and caressed her cheek. “Oh, Rose… You…” He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Let’s get it right this time.”

No more losin’. She held his hand to her cheek, turned her face and kissed his palm. “I’m all for that, Captain Jack.”

He nodded. “Right.” Businesslike, he withdrew his hand, picked up his mug and took a sip. “What’s the plan?”

“We have to work together, all of us. All of us who knew the Doctor.” She smiled, could feel the smile spread slowly across her face. “We’ll be an army.” Her hands found his again, needing the contact, and he returned the pressure. “The Doctor’s Army.”

"That was the Torchwood team. Gwen Cooper, Ianto Jones - they gave their lives. And Captain Jack Harkness has transported to the Sontaran home world. There's no-one left."

end

T-Shirts

Thu, 03 Jul 2008 14:07:55 GMT

Or should that be vests?

These are what I want...

*Clom?*

it's more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly … timey-wimey … stuff

This isn't my real body? .... But I've been dieting!

Don't blame me I voted for Harriet Jones

Bigger On The Inside

I love this one from Cafe Press.

(and this and this non-Who ones)

What would you wish for on a t-shirt? And you graphic people out there -- wanna design me a shirt?

Enjoy!

Wed, 02 Jul 2008 13:03:42 GMT

Transcripts for The Stolen Earth can be found here.

All That Ever Was

Sun, 29 Jun 2008 12:26:49 GMT

Quite early on, Rose Tyler realized that she had to decide whether all of it was real, or none of it mattered. Thinking that her universe, the universe with Her Doctor in it, was the real universe had been a trap. That had been bad.

Really bad.

A bit into it, after seeing them all die, and die, and die, reality slipped sideways. Unstuck in time, she flailed at the horror in her mind, struck out at it. It was like punching thick fog. It was choking and untouchable. And it offered absolution.

When it lifted, she was not quite who she once was.