My fanfiction and other random ramblings

Srebrna, Skald Arkadii (and thoughts on writing)

But if you can still dream – 9

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I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.
Hamlet II, 2

Rose – Nightmares

Rose Tyler never admitted she could have nightmares. Of course, Jackie Tyler and the great kitchen of the Tyler Residence knew better – both having seen the at her worst and even worse sometimes. Jackie soothed her quivering nerves with copious amounts of honeyed tea – now that they could afford the best blends available, they certainly took pleasure in a cuppa – and the kitchen itself was re-done after they moved in in some not easily described way which transformed the food-processing-and-plates-washing space into a secondary living-room (much to the cook’s amusement). Now there was a second, quite smaller fireplace, just to make the room more cozy, a wooden table and matching chairs with cushions, beige tablecloth with delicate patterns and always waiting teapot and jar of honey on a wooden tray, with three cups ready. Each of them had their own chosen cup – Pete having the big, clay one, Jackie – the out-of-set white porcelain with blue flowers and Rose – one painted with telephone boxes. They came into the kitchen at different hours, all of them needing some support at one moment or another.

So, Rose didn’t call them nightmares, but to every other human (and some non-human) being they were nightmares, all right. If someone falls asleep and then cries, moans and tosses in their sleep only to wake up with a scream which would wake up all their old neighbours – then this is a nightmare.

Rose would then go down to the kitchen, sometimes remembering to put on her slippers or dressing gown, but usually just in her shortish, pink-and-yellow spotted pyjamas or even shorter blue gown, sit next to the fireplace, throw a few pieces of wood more and brood. And, by some telepathic means, one of her parents would wake up, wander to the kitchen, pour tea and ask. And she even sometimes told. Sometimes, though, she just looked at her mother with sorrow, and then Jackie would hold the blonde head to her shoulder and help her daughter weep herself into peace – or at least a temporary silence – of her mind. If Pete was the one to come down one of these nights, he usually wrapped Rose in an additional blanket and sat her in the one armchair available in the kitchen and wait. When the sobbing stopped, he could usually get a word or two from his “daughter”, and a piece of the infinitesimal puzzle with The Doctor in the middle again found its place. Making room for a few new ones.

Rose dreamed of escapes, of runs and blow-ups, of shootings, fights and betrayals, but she only woke up crying from two kinds of dreams. One of them featured Cassandra as the main actor. The other one – well, after them, she cried for lost chances.

He was sitting in front of a large, flat-panel display and watching – of all things – a love flick. In fact, it was ‘Love Actually’ he was watching, the very movie he kept joking about her drooling over only a day before.

“I see” she murmured, propping her elbows on the back of the sofa. “You are one soft-hearted Time Lord.”

“Know thy enemy” he answered, not looking at her. “I wanted to understand what you girls see in it. Perhaps if I watch it once again with all the additional scenes put in, I’ll be able to ‘get it’.”

He turned to look at her face and smiled with this one-of-a-kind, timelordy smile of knowing everything.

“I hoped you might find your way here. Would be more interesting to watch it with someone who understands.”

His lips were mere centimeters from hers – as a moment earlier she was whispering right into his ear – and he seemed not to notice the breathing problems she had just developed. So she took the matters into her own hands by seizing his neck and massaging it carefully as she brought their lips together. He tasted of tea, and gingerbread – now she knew who was guilty of the cookie jar being empty – and something else, which made him different from the guys she kissed in the past. And, to her astonishment, he was kissing her back, ever so delicately. They slowly broke the contact and she stared at him, his eyes half-closed, his breathing just a tiny bit faster and his lips still parted.

A truck hit some loose bit of metal somewhere nearby. She sat up suddenly, her eyes burning, her throat hoarse and her cheeks already wet with tears.


Written by Srebrna

2013/07/31 at 09:38

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