My fanfiction and other random ramblings

Srebrna, Skald Arkadii (and thoughts on writing)

But if you can still dream – 2

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All days are nights to see till I see thee,
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.
Sonnet 43

The Doctor – Sleeping

Time Lords never slept. Of course, this was an exaggeration – they did too. Only not as much as humans of any kind. Almost every other species in the universe needed more sleep than Time Lords, so they generally seemed to cope without sleeping. Of course, as their number was suddenly cut down to one Time Lord, there were even less individuals who would have a chance to see a sleeping one.
Such an individual was now standing in the middle of the Control Room of the last TARDIS left in existence and tried to move as quietly as possible. It was quite probable, he thought, that this was the first time he actually slept in days, if not months of his own time and was now catching up. Nobody was exactly a proficient when it came to Time Lord physiology and the only specimen (and the best expert on the topic) was not exactly forthcoming. So he left the specimen to his beauty sleep and went to explore the TARDIS more thoroughly. After all, it seemed that he was here to stay, so he wanted to welcome the old girl and actually get to know his way around. Even though she hated his very existence, she had to live with it – he explained it loudly and clearly the very first minute he stepped inside this time – he was the only one who could keep up with her main passenger, the only one who will stay alive long enough for the Doctor never to be alone again and the only one who fully – or as much as a human mind can comprehend – understood the crazy Time Lord and his obsession with interdimensional rifts of any kind. And probably the only one who would not wake said Time Lord up when he mumbled and murmured in his sleep, especially if he mumbled one specific female name.
Also, he prided himself to be one of the few who would not feel jealous of the ever-present memory of this specific female (unlike the last companion, who walked out on the Doctor after quite a speech). Actually, he could sympathise with his host on his loss. After all, he loved Rose too. Oh, not in this high-and-holy way the Doctor apparently did – admire, never touch, protect, never admit his feelings, yadda, yadda. If it wasn’t for the Doctor – in any meaning of the phrase – he would have gladly seduced Rose Tyler and had his way with her – to their mutual pleasure, of course, he always cared for this part. The Doctor, simply by being himself, created an obstacle not to be by-passed. One thing was that Rose was visibly smitten with the alien, even in the previous “I’m a dark man in leather and black” incarnation. The looks of the current one – declaring himself to be number ten – had her probably salivating for him all the time. He was sure to check his chin for any drops that may have escaped as he looked at the adorably tousled hair, delicately-carved features and almost Bambi-like eyelashes. The other thing…
Damn. This whole reincarnation thing… Is it possible that the circumstances affect the effect? He looks – if I know Rose and her mates – like every twenty-year-old’s wet dream. Not that I’m really impervious to the aesthetics of this edition myself, too. You just want to pat his head, take him home and feed him cake and tea. And he is actually cute enough to be presented to any respectable parents, not like the mad Northerner Number Nine. From what I heard about Rose’s mother, she didn’t take kindly to her lovely daughter travelling with a guy who looked her father’s age and was probably shagging her in this little weird box of his. This one, on the other hand, looks some ten years older than Rose is, so he is way more acceptable for an average human family, he actually dresses with some degree of elegance and can probably hold a coherent conversation with random relatives without escaping to the TARDIS and muttering obscenities about “doing domestic”.
He sighed and patted the wall again. TARDIS rumbled quietly in a question-like tone.
“Kitchen, dear. I might be a frigging immortal, but even Greek Gods needed ambrosia and nectar. I run on caffeine and meat. And if you help me get myself full, I promise to fix these panes in the second corridor you’ve been complaining about. Let him sleep, I’m not ready to face a sleep-deprived Time Lord for a few more hours yet.”
The ship sounded and agreement and led him a short way to the kitchen.
He smelled something being fried. Actually, he smelled chips being fried, and some vinegar and some other, unspecified foodstuffs.
A sigh escaped him as she appeared just in front of him, in the line. This one he remembered. In only a few minutes, as soon as they left the premises, a little flotilla of objects would come, bent on destroying all kinds of house pets. They never knew what was really planned, as the pet-killers were fast to refocus when someone countered them in fashion not really suited for this time and place. And said someone didn’t took gladly to the idea that his companion, being human, is an inferior species, and as such – his pet, and to be eliminated. As Rose was racing, packets of chips in her hands marking her way with greasy bits of potato, he countered their engines and weapon sources with a complicated combination of sonic screwdriver, bar stool as an energy transmitter and local megaphone network as the emission booster. As they started to glow, blow up and dissolve into masses of multicolored flecks, he followed Rose by following the chip-track. He found her, quite sensibly hidden under some steel container, still clutching the bags and trembling a little. She looked up at him with those big, big chocolatey eyes and he just held out his hand to her.
Then they came back to the chip stall, he ordered the next two bags and they walked to the TARDIS. All down-to-earth, mundane and as un-romantic as a bag of oily snacks.
He should have… Of course, he should have run with her and guard her with his own body. Stupid, but knightly and hero-like. Or he could have, instead of just helping her to stand up, pick her up in his arms, smile in the most breathtaking way (he checked in front of a mirror and it was quite a catching sight), walk with her to the TARDIS, lock the door and finally kiss her, just to make sure she understood she was not a pet. She was a companion. A friend. Even more than a friend. She was Rose and he would never let her go… And then perhaps another kiss. Just in case she didn’t understand.
He woke up with a start, immediately expecting to bang his head on some interior part of the TARDIS – he had a lifetime experience in falling asleep in the middle of some repairing job (unfortunately his hands usually seemed to work for some time afterwards, so he was never sure if specific changes were intentional or if it was his subconscious was playing with him – and the TARDIS innermost parts).
But this time was different. He still could feel the grille on the control room floor, but not directly. A thin foam mattress did wonders. Someone had also given him a pillow, a blanket and a quilted coverlet. He untangled himself from the covers, snatched his suit jacket from the back of the captain’s chair and, shrugging it on, wandered in search of his old-new companion.
Not surprisingly, he found himself in the kitchen, where one Captain Jack Harkness was in the middle of a rather tasty-looking steak, another one waiting on the stove. And he was talking into air. The Doctor straightened his jacket and would have asked his guest about mental problems or hallucinations if he hadn’t accidentally touched the wall. She was actually answering the Captain. Even though she felt an instant aversion to the time-stabilised “pretty boy”… This was Nine’s thought, not mine! …she actually talked to him.
“Are you trying to chat up my ship?” he asked casually, strolling in the direction of the main table.
“Oh, hello to you too. No, I was just catching up on what you have been up to since I left. And I don’t mean this last time, but…”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. So, what did she feed you?”
“Meat” answered Jack around a chunk of steak. “Yours is on the pan, she told me you liked well-done. Chips in the oven, salad in the fridge.”
“You are turning into a housewife, Jack. Perhaps I could find you some job as a chef?” he asked as he inspected the interior of the fridge.
“Nah, I can actually cook only a few things. Mostly what I eat myself and can’t order to the Hub. Never could really get a take-out which would suit me and my dear colleagues would have been shocked if I really let them know my culinary preferences. Toshiko ate only fish – red meat was totally disgusting to her. Owen would eat almost anything, but not with a bone and certainly he behaved like a girlie when confronted with a rare steak. For a doctor who cuts up alien corpses on a daily basis it was weird. Gwen added sugar to everything. Still haven’t worked out how she manages to stay even barely fit, not even asking how she can stay this light! And Ianto is a vegetarian of the strictest order. So ordering a steak to the base would result in a huge row, sounds of disgust, offer of cranberry jam and hurt looks. I found it easier not to get the most controversial food into the Hub, so I rarely eat something like this” he pointed “meat, meat, meat, salad with olive oil and little olives and your favourite little bags of oil – chips”.


Written by Srebrna

2013/07/23 at 22:15

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