Latest Posts by likepuppetsonastring - Page 10

Angels Watching as You Sleep (Halloween Special)

Pairing: NONE WHATSOEVER

Rating: PG for spookiness

Your road was silent at this time of night, and it wasn't exactly comforting. The usual bustle of cars on the main cut through felt muted, and the cold October air offered an air of stillness, like someone had pressed pause on just your little road.

Your car made the only sound as it trundled to a stop in the parking lot beside your apartment building, which cut off quickly as you pulled out your key and stepped out, busily gathering your belongings, glancing around nervously. Something was off...something was wrong...

What was that? You blinked and locked your eyes on it more firmly, forcing your tired mind to focus.

A statue stood at the edge of the vacant lot, huge wings curled behind it and hands to its face, gray dress stuck eternally furling in a nonexistent wind.

No.

Oh god no.

It couldn't be, not here.

Your eyes were frozen open and locked on the angel as you backed away slowly toward your building.

Just get inside. You can call him from in there. There, you'd be safer.

Only perhaps twenty yards to the door.

Your eyes were watering, stinging, burning, but you couldn't let them close, not for even a moment. Almost all of your will was focused on you eyes, and what was left was focused on moving slowly toward the double doors to sanctuary.

But then, your bag slipped from your hands. The crash on the pavement jarred you.

You blinked.

The angel was closer. Perhaps a yard, perhaps two. But that was enough to make your heart stop for a moment, and you redoubled your efforts, eyes that now knew the taste of comfort begging for it but you were determined to win.

Only ten more yards to freedom.

Something shuffled behind you, and it took everything you had to fight your instincts and keep your eyes on the angel before you, to keep moving.

The thing shuffled closer again, its steps sounding very deliberate, but almost...lazy. As if the movement, though quick, was relaxed. Like it was taking its time.

You would have missed the sound any other night, and you wished to god you'd missed it that night. That sound would haunt you forever, wake you in cold sweats and screaming.

A small, breathy, eerily echoing on nothing at all, chuckle.

In your horror you spun around.

The Angel wore a smile.

There was a hand on your back.

Coffee and a Chat. (Ninth Doctor Imagine)

Pairing: None, Nine/Rose if you squint real hard

Rating: G

It was raining. Again.

Though, of course, this was London, so it wasn't like you'd expected today to be sunny. But all the same, it was a dreary, grey, rainy September day.

And it was your birthday. A horrid one, at that.

You sighed and leaned back in your chair, putting a hand under your chin and moodily sipping your coffee, brooding on the day's events. First, you'd woken up twenty minutes late for school, then, when you got there, not one person had remembered your birthday at all. Then your favorite book had been stolen from your bag, only for you to find it later, food-stained and ruined, in the school cafeteria. After school, when you were supposed to be meeting your friends to go out to celebrate, you'd been stood up.

And now it was raining. Great.

"Lovely day, isn't it?"

You blinked and looked away from the window, up at the owner of the voice. A tall man with close cropped hair (and rather large ears, though you'd never say) smiled down at you and plopped himself into the seat across the table. You smiled back politely.

"If you like rain, I suppose." You turned your head back to the window, hoping he would leave.

"I like it myself, but I s'pose some don't. Don't understand why. Rain's so refreshing! It clears up all the dust and the smog and the car fumes and things, and it sounds pleasant, and it's fun to run in if you do it right." Clearly not. You refrained from sighing again, and instead raised an eyebrow and turned to look at the stranger in more detail.

He looked older, but not old. Mature, perhaps. As if you couldn't put an age on him at all. He wore boots, dark jeans and a dark green jumper, over which he had on a well-worn leather jacket. Overall, he looked as if he could be a workman of some description, or perhaps a traveler. Based on his way of talking, you assumed he was from somewhere in the North of England, and that it wasn't the first time he'd sat down to chat with a stranger, and that he saw nothing at all wrong with it. But he didn't seem dangerous, and actually the way he described the rain made it sound a bit fun. So you decided not to boot him from his seat immediately.

You put your coffee back on the table. "Well, when you put it that way, it doesn't sound nearly as bad."

"Oh, there's always a way of makin' things not sound so bad," he smiled, resting his elbows on the table. You mirrored him.

"What's your name?"

"(Y/N)."

He nodded approvingly. "'S a good name, I like it." You laughed a little.

"Thanks, I've had it since I was born." That made him chuckle.

"And what's yours?"

"I'm the Doctor." You blinked.

"The Doctor?"

"Yeah."

"That's your name."

"Yeah. Problem?" He said, amused, as if he'd had the same problem a thousand times.

You laughed. "Yeah, problem is that's not a name."

"It's what people call me!"

"But no one just calls people 'Doctor'!" you insisted with a grin, "People call each other by their titles and their names!"

"Your people do, but not everyone does."

That caught you off guard. "What d'you mean, 'your people'?"

He seemed to catch himself in a mistake. "I mean, you lot."

"Right, yeah, that clears it up." He shook his head happily.

"I just mean that other places, it's fine when I call myself that. No one asks any questions, they just call me as I tell them."

"Well," you picked up your drink again, "for normal people, there're titles and names together. So, Doctor who?" You toasted your drink mockingly and took a sip from the cooling coffee.

For some reason, "the Doctor's" smile brightened and he chuckled to himself.

"What did I say that was so funny?"

"Nothin', nothin'. It's just I get asked that a lot." He tilted his chin up, thinking. "You ever think, if someone made a book or a movie or sommit about you, what they'd call it? I reckon they'd call mine 'Doctor Who'."

"I don't know that anyone would be interested enough in my boring old life to make a movie."

The throwaway comment made the Doctor blink and frown a little. "What makes you think that?"

"Well, I'm nothing special, is all." He shook his head and leaned forward a little.

"(Y/N), just your existing makes you special. Think of all the coincidences that led to you being here, today, right now. One atom had to hit another just right to cause a huge explosion. One rock had to get just big enough and be just far enough from this sun to support a few little puny shrubs and some fish, that had to survive long enough to evolve into apes, that had to get smart enough and lucky enough to evolve into people. And two of those people fought the odds of meeting each other, a one in a few billion chance, to come together and cause you to live on a little soggy island and sit here today chatting to me. You're made of stardust and happy chance, and if that doesn't make you special, then I dunno what does."

Before you could really even process what he just said, and close your gaping mouth, the bell over the cafe door tinkled, and the Doctor looked up to smile at someone. You glanced over your shoulder to see a pretty blonde girl motioning to him to come with her, apparently a bit panicked.

You turned back to see him standing, and blurted, "D'you have to go, Doctor?" You really didn't want him to. For some reason, it felt like you'd be saying goodbye to a good friend.

He smiled again and stuffed his hands in the pockets of that worn leather jacket. "Oh, I never stay in one place too long, (Y/N). And apparently," he nodded to the door with an amused smirk, "it's a bit urgent." He walked up beside you and put a hand on your shoulder. You put your hand over his.

"Do you do this all the time?"

"Have coffee with strangers?"

"No," you smiled, your voice oddly a little choked, "say amazing things to strangers and then just leave."

"Oh, that. Yeah. Yeah, I do." He winked and pulled a package, which looked much too big to fit, from his pocket and set it on the table beside you. "Happy Birthday, by the way, (Y/N)."

And with that, he was gone. You watched him meet up with the girl and walk down the street with her, your eyes not leaving him until they lost him around a corner.

An odd sound echoed through the street, and you frowned. Somehow, you knew it had to do with him. You picked up the package and opened it carefully.

It was a copy of your favorite book, first edition, autographed, and with a tiny note inside that only read, in cramped quick handwriting, "Hell of a time finding this and getting it sighed, you know. See you someday."

Memories

Pairing: Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose

Rating: G, but with like really mild angst

It was in the library.

Just a little thing. It shouldn't have been important enough for him to notice at all, really, except that it was pink. And not just any pink.

Her pink.

Not out of place in a library, a book. But this book...

He picked it up, staring at the cover, reading the embossed cursive words with a sad little smile on his face. Stardust Journal. He opened it to the inside cover, smiling at the little message written in it.

Property of Rose Tyler. If found inside the TARDIS, Doctor, c'mon, give it back. If found outside the TARDIS, please leave it where you found it. I'll be there to pick it up in a minute.

A Journal of Me and My Doctor.

He flipped it open to the first page, and found a pamphlet for a shop in London, and a news clipping whose headline read ATTACKING MANNEQUINS ON RAMPAGE. One word was scribbled in the middle of the page. Run! He laughed, and flipped through a few more pages, reminiscing.

A picture of Pete and Jackie Tyler, Jackie holding a little baby Rose, at a wedding for a friend. An ad for the Game Station's live premiere of Big Brother. A WW2 gas mask safety flyer. A ticket to see a strange collection of alien technology in America, deep underground. A sketch of a Dalek. A sketch of a Slitheen. The words Bad Wolf scribbled all over the place. Fantastic in the margins.

A piece of satsuma peel. A scrap of striped pajama. A picture of him (he looked so young!) taken on New Earth, on a ridge overlooking New New York. A dried piece of mistletoe, a picture of Queen Victoria. A picture of her and Sarah Jane in front of a school that appeared to have blown up. Strange, devilish symbols and a sketch of a demon. A picture of him posing stupidly with an Ood. A broken mirror shard.  A child's drawing of him and the TARDIS. A picture of him lighting the Olympic torch. Allons-y and Oh yes! scribbled here and there. A sketch of a Cyberman.

He put down the book after that page, still smiling sadly at the image of her face, fuzzed over the years, smiling with her tongue out and laughing at him. He could almost still hear her saying "Doctor!" How long had it been, since...?

He picked up the book again, and flipped to the last filled in page. It was just a sketch of the two of them, holding hands beside the TARDIS, heads tilted toward the sky. Forever was written across the bottom, with a heart beside it.

A single tear rolled down his cheek as he tucked the book onto a nearby shelf.

"Doctor?"

Amy stood in the doorway, looking impacient. "I thought we were going to see another planet? It's date night for me and Rory, you remember."

He sighed, nodded, and straightened his bowtie. "Of course. Where to?"

Applegrass

Pairing: Ten/Rose

Rating: PG for heavy angst

He was lying on applegrass. But that couldn't be right. The last time he'd done this... He looked beside him.

There she was, grinning down at him, blonde hair whipping in the breeze, her tongue between her teeth, exactly how he remembered. "Doctor? You fell asleep on me. You alright?"

A small awe-fillled smile crept across his face. "Rose?" he said, very quietly, not quite daring to believe it. She laughed and his hearts nearly stopped. "Yeah, 'course I am. Who'd you expect? Is that whole regeneration thingy still messin' with your 'ead?" He laughed just a little. "I...it must be. I...I must have just....dreamt it all...?" She grew concerned and he wanted to slap himself. He never wanted to see anything but a smile on that face ever again. "What'd you dream about tha's got you so rattled?" He sat up slowly. "I dreamed...I dreamed I-I'd lost you....I dreamed I was alone....This whole weird thing with a...an ancient creature, on Earth....it was Christmas...and there was this bride...but all I could think, seeing her in that-that dress, was...." He stared at her through this whole little speech, and realized what he was about to say almost too late. He managed to stop himself, and cleared his throat awkwardly. Rose stared right back into his eyes, and murmured, "Doctor...what were you thinkin' about?" And looking into the eyes he could have sworn he'd be missing for the rest of his long lives, without the hope of seeing them again, he gave in to what he'd resisted for what felt like too long. "I kept thinking about how beautiful you'd look in  a wedding gown, and how much I missed you, and how much it hurt that I'd never...never said..." She looked shocked that he'd said it out loud, and was blushing violently. He chuckled and pulled her into a hug as she whisper-squeaked "Doctor!" into his shoulder. They held each other for a moment before she pulled back a little, cleared her throat, and said nervously, tucking hair behind her ear-a habit he loved so much-"So...does that mean...do you...?" He almost couldn't believe what he was doing, but he had been given the chance to see what could happen if he didn't.He could never let her go. He thought he had always known he couldn't. Though it didn't make any sense, though he was still a Time Lord and she was still human...he didn't care anymore. So, he leaned in, cupping her face with one hand and tucking the other around her waist. She gasped slightly. He smiled and brushed her lips, gently, almost hesitantly, almost as if he were asking for permission. She granted it by kissing him back, firmly but very, very gently.He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, didn't want to. In this moment, he wasn't a soldier, or a survivor, or a god, or an alien. He was just a man, kissing the most amazing, impossible, beautiful, fantastic woman who had ever lived. After a very long moment, they pulled back to look at each other, and giggled awkwardly, their forheads pressed together. "Finally," Rose cheeked, nudging his arm, "Took you this long to figure that out?" He took her hand and stared at it, his thumb stroking affectionately across her knuckles. "Rose?" He looked up at her pleadingly. "Promise me that you'll never leave?" She laughed, and scooped him into another hug. He held her tightly, as if he'd never let go. "'Course I won't. Because..." She moved to face him and grinned his favorite grin. Very hesitantly, and blushing heavily-how it should have...should be, he thought, no rush or pain-Rose said the only thing the Time Lord would have burned up suns to hear. "Doctor...my Doctor...I love you." He looked into her eyes, trying to convey all of the emotion he could with them because he knew his voice alone would never be sufficient for how he felt for his little pink and yellow human shopgirl. "Rose Tyler..." The name on his tongue was the most beautiful music ever sung. He smiled her favorite hundred watt smile, and took a deep breath for those three little words...the most important words he'd ever say...

The Doctor woke with a start, unsure at first where he was. Where was Rose? Where was the grass? Why didn't the air feel right? He looked around, and slowly, as his dark, lonely bedroom registered, he remembered. He looked down at his disheveled brown suit, at the tightly balled up covers in his left hand, at the small, insignificant looking blue and purple jacket clutched in his right, and he felt tears well up again. He began to shake, hard, staring at it. The pain of losing her was fresh all over again, all the good Donna had done for him destroyed by one moment of weakness from his subconcious. Her face was still fresh in his mind, smiling, blushing, happy and carefree, her voice still saying those words in that beautiful London accent. He brought the jacket up to his face, holding it with both hands now, and gently rubbed the soft fabric across his cheek. It still smelled like her. Faint floral perfume, and her shampoo.

He broke down, sobbing and rocking, and stayed on his bed, wishing the world away, calling in vain for his Rose, cursing himself for ever pausing before saying those cruel words. Every room in the whole TARDIS echoed with his screams and sobs. They almost seemed strongest and most heartbroken in one partricular, empty little pink room.

Far away, in a little pink room, a pink and yellow human shopgirl screamed awake, crying, begging him to say it, please say it. She slowly stopped screaming, and cried silently, a small silver key on a chain clutched in her right hand, hugged close to her chest. It was all she had left of him. She could still see his face fresh in her mind, smiling, blushing, goofy and nervous enough to be a teenage human boy, still hear his voice shyly calling her beautiful in a wedding gown. It had been a dream. But of course, this dream, though especially vivid tonight,was not unusual for her.

Packing

Pairing: Ten/Rose, unrequited!Tentoo/Rose

Rating: PG for strong angst

He pulled open a drawer.

Ties. This was where he kept the ties. Browns and blues mostly. Some in shades of red. He took a few of those, and one of his favorite brown silk ones.

He opened one of the cupboards.

Converse, stacked up high on the shelves. He took a pair of the reds, a pair of the whites, a pair of the blacks.

He walked to another part of the wardrobe and looked through a rack until he found what he was looking for. A long brown coat, not the same one, not perfect, but as close as he was going to get, and he didn't have time to be picky. He shoved it awkwardly into his pocket.

He left the wardrobe, feeling numb. Never in his long life had he been faced with this reality. Never would he have expected it. Now that he didn't have much time left here, he was starting to panic.

Not about not having a ship, he knew he would be taking a piece of the coral with him, even he couldn't be that cruel, so that wasn't gone forever. But about not having this ship.

He'd never see Susan's room again. Or Ace's. Or Sarah Jane's. He'd never see any of Romana's books again, or any of Adric's formula sheets. He'd never see Martha's extra jacket, or Donna's sketchbook full of shorthand notes, caricatures, and tic tak toe.

He skulked out, toward the console room, and stopped just before he entered.

He peeked in.

They were in there. And they were talking. And she was smiling.

Her smile was so beautiful. Her eyes crinkled at the edges, and her tongue poked cutely out between her teeth. How many times had he been temped to forget whatever little adventure they'd been on when he'd seen that smile, to just forget every limitation and kiss her, to tell her how much he loved her against that smile.

She laughed at something he said.

It hurt, physically, to see them talking, see her smile, hear her laugh. He knew he wouldn't be hearing it much longer. Why would she choose him? His hand snaked up to feel the single heartbeat in his chest, the constant reminder that he wasn't the real him. That no matter what his mind said, no matter what memories and feelings he had, no matter what he looked like, he was just a copy. A fake. A poor recreation. He was going to age, and die. And he'd be doing it alone.

But wasn't he used to alone? Wasn't he used to the universe teasing him with the chance of happiness and just when it seemed like he'd always have a hand to hold, taking it away from him? That didn't make it any easier.

He scowled in the empty corridor. Nine hundred years, all to end up dying as a human, in the wrong universe, alone. Maybe it was exactly what he deserved.

He said something, and she agreed, and they moved toward the hallway. He ducked quickly into an alcove and stayed there until they passed. Then he hurried out into the console room and over to a side panel on the central pillar. He flipped a few switches, tapped the screen a few times, and turned a few dials before pressing one last button and waiting. A few seconds of whirring later, a sonic screwdriver plopped into the little slot at the bottom of the panel, and he picked it up and tucked it into his pocket. He moved over to another panel and smacked it a little too violently. A drawer popped out, and he picked up the extra psychic paper and put it in his pocket as well. He spotted a picture of Susan, and, heart wrenching alienly, took that as well. Then he shut the drawer and looked up, just staring around the room he'd called home for seven hundred years.

His teeth clenched and his hands gripped the coral edging tightly as he suddenly fought back a sob.

It wasn't fair. Nothing was fair. He could be so much more than this. And maybe he would be. But this him, this counterfeit, never would. Was this his punishment for all that he'd done? By all rights, it hadn't even been him! Why make him conscious? Why make him share the same mind?

Why hadn't he just changed?

Someone coughed. He didn't need to look up.

The other him walked slowly back into the room. He stared at him for a minute with a look of mixed pity, sorrow, and guilty fascination. It was sickening.

He looked up, and their eyes met. By the way the Doctor winced, he could tell that he knew exactly how he felt. Something flashed in his eyes as well...regret? Pain?

Whatever it was, it felt almost perverse.

Then he coughed again, and spoke, softly.

"I haven't told her what you are yet. Not about..." he tapped his chest. "I'll leave that to you."

"Thanks," he said acidly.

The Doctor rubbed his neck awkwardly, almost ashamedly, then grabbed his jacket off the jumpseat and shuffled out of the room.

"Take whatever you need," he said over his shoulder as he went back to Rose.

He very nearly slammed his fist into the console. His hand was raised and clenched when Donna came in.

"Don't you dare, Spaceman."

His hand dropped limply to his side as he turned to look at her.

Without another word, she walked up and threw her arms tight around him. He hugged back.

Neither commented on the oddness of only two hearts beating between them.

After a minute, she pulled away from him, handing him a small book. He recognized it as her most recent sketchbook. Gripping it tightly, he met her eyes, and, almost ashamed of how desperate he sounded, blurted, "You can't come with me?"

"No," she sighed, patting his arm, "I've got to stay. For Mum and Gramps. You know that."

"I know."

She hugged him again, briefly, before walking off down the hall, presumably to find the other one and Rose. He almost smiled. Donna would have liked to get to know Rose. His almost smile turned into another almost sob, but he held his composure. He would not lose it until he was truly alone, he promised himself. He wouldn't let them see him break. He couldn't do that to Rose, or to Donna. He supposed he couldn't even do that to himself.

The TARDIS landed with a loud groan and a dull thud. He glanced at the screen. A beach appeared on it, the beach he hated more than almost anything in the entire universe.

His single heart was beating out the word that had started it all, and would end it all, for him.

Run.

Bedtime Story (drabble)

Pairing: Ten/Rose, Tentoo/Rose

Rating: G

"This is the story of a boy. A boy and his box, and the adventures he had, and the things he lost, but I'll wait to explain those.

This is also the story of a girl. A girl and a chance meeting,  and a choice made and ignored, but I won't break your little heart with that tonight.

Tonight I'm going to tell you a fairytale.

Once upon a time, a boy ran away. He was afraid of growing up, settling down, picking up the responsibilities of his home, getting bored. Well, he never had to. But there was a cost. The boy lost his home, and everyone there, and was cursed. He was cursed to roam the stars forever, in his little blue box, all alone.

Now far, far away, on a little blue and green planet, on a soggy little island, there was a girl. She was afraid of being stuck, standing still, being no one forever and ever. She worked somewhere unimportant, doing something unimportant, and feeling so very unimportant.

One day, a villain came to her little island. And it took over the shop window dummies where she worked. She was cornered, alone, and frightened in a basement. Then someone took her hand, and whispered, "Run."

The boy took her away from her unimportant little life, off into the stars. Slowly, he grew to trust her, and she trusted him. And they grew to be friends, and then more than friends. And she slowly learned all about his curse, and decided to end it by staying with him, always.

Once, he changed to save her life. She didn't know if he was still the same boy she'd fallen in love with, and she almost left. She almost gave up. But he proved himself to her again, by fighting off another villain from her soggy little island, and by showing her he still loved her. So they kept traveling together.

Once, she thought she'd lost him forever. A horrible white wall sprang up and pulled them apart. She thought she'd never see him again, but she never gave up. She searched for him for years and years, and finally found him again.

But then there were two of him, one a clone, the other the original boy. And the original boy left her on the other side of the wall with the clone. And he did it to keep her safe. She was mad at first, oh, she was very mad with him. She wouldn't accept that his clone was him. But then he told her things.

He told her he was free of the curse of living forever. He told her he could spend the rest of his life by her side.

He told her he loved her.

And she accepted him. It was slow, at first. But he grew his magic box again, and they traveled again, and he asked her to marry him. And she finally accepted him. She said yes.

And now they have a beautiful little girl. And her name is Donna Jackie Tyler. And she's finally fallen asleep."

Rose smiled at the little bundle in her arms, and gently set her in the little blue cradle. Her planet mobile swung above her, shining galaxies twirling beautifully around scaled-down planets. One of them was small and blue and green. Another was big and gold and red.

She ran a finger over the little girl's cheek, smiling when she turned her head toward it. "Goodnight, Donna," she whispered, and stepped back, out of the room, turning off the lights and leaving the little stars' glow in their place. She shut the door, and turned to her husband, who was leaning against the hallway wall, brown spikey hair and striped pajamas ruffled. She smiled at him, and he smiled back.

"She asleep?" "Yeah," Rose sighed, folding herself into his arms. He stroked a hand down her back and leaned his chin sleepily against her head. "You done fiddling with the controls?" "I'll just let the TARDIS decide where we go tomorrow." "How about no where? A family day in?" He smiled down at her. "Well, you do have a story to finish. I think I could help with that." She leaned up and kissed him softly, then pulled back. "C'mon, Doctor. It's time for bed." She led him down the hall.

Inside the starlit room, the little girl clutched happily to a small device, one that would seem out of place in any other crib. But the little sonic screwdriver was perfectly right for the little Doctor's Daughter.

Tea. (Headcanons)

(A/N These are some of my headcannons told sort of in the form of a plotless oneshot. Add to it if you want!)

There's one thing the Doctor adores no matter what regeneration he's on, and that's tea. Whether it's good ol' classic English tea (Ten drank it all the time), or green tea (Good old Twelve), or herbal teas(Eleven was wont to try all kinds of teas, a new one every day), or gunpowder tea (Nine had a bit of a bitter streak when it came to this), he always loved it, and he liked to share that with his companions.

Everyone liked the classic stuff, but each had their own favorites.

Rose, through her time on the TARDIS, came to really enjoy raspberry tea with honey and lemon juice, which the Doctor would make for her after every adventure. She brought her favorite brand to her mum's apartment, but Jackie said she "didn't trust these ruddy alien teas. What if they poison me or somethin'?"

Martha had a soft spot for orange tea, especially with lavender or jasmine, and her favorite brand was one from the 25th century on Earth that boasted helpful hypermetabolic antioxidants, though the Doctor protested it didn't help her health at all. She liked it anyway. They "debated" the point thousands of times during their long tea-and-chat sessions in the console room.

Donna was quite fond of coffee as well as tea, and took it black, occasionally with sugar if she was just relaxing and chatting with the Doctor. She made him try her coffee once, but he spit it out so violently she called him "Old Faithful" for a week straight. After that, the Doctor insisted on making and drinking only his own beverages, and Donna cracked a smile every time they met in the morning for drinks and biscuits.

Amy liked really strong teas of lots of varieties, including some alien types found across the galaxy from Earth in the 47th century, while Rory just liked his classic tea, one spoon of sugar and a little milk, please. Neither liked when the Doctor attempted to make their tea, so Amy often ended up getting annoyed at them both and sitting them down while she did it, correctly. The boys were smart enough not to argue.

Clara really rather enjoyed oolong and green tea, but would try basically anything the Doctor brewed for her, so they spent hours in the TARDIS kitchen laughing and taste-testing.

The Doctor also let everyone pick their own mug, because of course the TARDIS had an almost endless supply of them, and he gave each of them the mugs when they left him.

His were: in his ninth incarnation, a simple black mug with a swirling blue and gold design; in his tenth incarnation, a rather large blue mug with about a thousand quotes in brown ink scrawled all over it (from him, and his companions, and Shakespeare, and Agatha Christie, and a thousand others) in very small, cramped handwriting (he had about three because he kept running out of space); in his eleventh incarnation, it changed every time he drank tea, sometimes white with a red bow tie, other times pale pink with a black fez silhouette, other times something completely random; and in his twelfth incarnation, a star scattered black mug with the TARDIS' outline.

Rose's favorite was a pink mug with a half-heart shaped handle, which the Doctor bought her "as a joke", and sometimes teased her about, but she was happy with it. Tentoo had it in his pocket when they went to Pete's world, and gave it back to her as a birthday present the next time it came around. She was thrilled.

Martha's was a pretty green Japanese tea cup, with Kanji lettering on the side for "Health". It was wrapped up in the gift pile at her wedding to Mickey. There was no giver name. She cried when she opened it.

Mickey got one that said "The Most Brilliant Idiot To Every Live" in small, cramped handwriting. He cried, too.

Donna would never understand where the fairly plain brown mug that read "Life's an adventure if you get your arse out of bed long enough to have one" came from. All she knew was that it arrived at her door one day, and Shawn didn't know where it came from, and it was her favorite. It made her happy, but she never understood why.

Amy's favorite mug was intricately sculpted to a tree with a fairy sitting in its branches that Rory bough for her on a planet with actual, live fairies. Rory's was one Amy had given him, with a little cartoon of a Roman soldier, bought from the gift shop of a certain museum, that had the title "The Centurion".

They cried when a package containing the mugs arrived on their doorstep in the 60s.

Clara's favorite was bright red with gold glitter and the outline of a leaf on it. The Doctor swore he'd just picked it up somewhere, but Clara just smiled and nodded, happily running a finger over the hand-painted leaf.

          Let Gallifrey Go             

The mountains glow dark crimson tonight, Not a Time Lord to be seen. Just me and Koschei left now, While our friends are caught between…

My head is spinning

with these choices in my mind… Do I leave and run, do I stay and die?

What can I do, What can I say? Push the button,  Run and save the day?

Condemn them all,  All them but me? Why is it me?

Allons-y! Allons-y! I’ll just run away, I’ll be free!

Allons-y!  Allons-y! I’m not Rassilon’s devotee!

This Time War has to end… I can’t save them all…

We’re all just stories in the end.

I’d never thought I’d see the day It came to this… The Daleks and the Time Lords wiping one from existence…

I need to find a way to do What no one else is willing to, The Moment’s come, it’s down to me! Why me?

Gallifrey! Gallifrey! In the Time Lock where you’ll stay!

Gallifrey! Gallifrey! Where your crimson peaks are stained!

I’m the last of a doomed race Cursed for all of time…

I tried so hard to find a way to stop it all To be a hero and to save them from the burning fall… But now that’s over, now it’s done, now it’s all through! I’ve locked it all away, they’ll never come back through!

I’m alone!  I’m alone! I’ve locked away Gallifrey!

I’m alone! I’m alone! Was it worth the price I paid?!

I did what I had to do! Couldn’t save them all…!

I’ve said my goodbyes to Gallifrey…

After The Invasion

Pairing: Ten/Rose

Rating: G

Rose shook herself awake, stretching and yawning and getting her bearings. She smiled. How long had it been since she last woke up in her old apartment? Looking around made her contented little smile bigger. Her mum still had a paper crown crookedly capping her hair, an empty wineglass on the table beside her. Mickey had apparently gone home hours ago to check on his apartment. You could never be too careful with alien invasions. Rose supposed it had only been a few hours since dinner, as it was still dark outside, and the snow...well, ash, was still heavy. The only person missing from this happy little scene was the Doctor. The new Doctor. But still hers. She decided to find him.

The Doctor stood, leaning on the console of his beautiful, beloved ship, letting his new eyes wander over all the little doohickies and gadgets bathed in their familiar green light, a fond little grin playing at his lips. He caught sight of a hand, and was startled for a moment before realizing it was his, and laughing to himself. He looked at the skinny little thing, all long fingered and fidgety, and up his thin arm. He took the hand and felt his longer, spikier hair, then down to his ear (so much less conspicuous this time), then his neck. He pulled it away and stared at it again.

"Is it weird, for you?"

He whirled around, grinning when he realized who it was. "Rose! You're up!" She did her little tongue-out smile. "I am, yeah. But is it weird?" His grin faded a little, eyes on his hand again. He flexed it, fascinated by the rippling of the little muscles and tendons. "Yeah. It is a bit, yeah." He huffed a little laugh. "It's like I said, never know quite what's going to happen. I could easily end up someone...ugly. Or cruel. Someone I don't even like. But" he drew out the word, "I think...I am going to quite like this one." Without looking up, he said softly, "what do you think?" A glance in her direction. "Are you?" Rose walked toward him, looking him up and down. He found he was holding his breath. Finally, she took his hand. He looked fondly down at their entwined fingers, a happy little sigh escaping, then back up at her, eyebrows raised. She stuck her tongue out again. "Yeah. I reckon I am." His face lit up.

Without warning, and without ever taking his eyes off of her, he flipped a switch and turned a dial, and the room filled with music. It was a slow, gently song. He stepped back and bowed. "Rose Tyler," he savored the sound of her name in this new voice, "would you care to take this dance?" In reply, she snaked her arms around his neck, and his seemed to find their own way to her waist. She leaned her head on his chest, enjoying the novel feel of this new body, the way she just fit into his embrace, the comforting double heartbeat.

Dadadadum. Dadadadum.

He buried his face in her hair, taking in the scent again, closing his eyes and loving the feel of his arms around her as they swayed on the spot. He smiled suddenly, an idea occuring to him. Leaning down, he whispered in her ear, "Would you look at that? The Doctor is dancing, and the world hasn't ended." She laughed, the sound muffled against his suit, and moved so that she was hugging him across the shoulders. He was so much easier to hug now. And he was hugging back, tightly, a thousand-watt smile lighting up his thin face.

For a little while, nothing existed, except a skinny man and a blond girl, in a blue box, in an alley behind some apartments, holding each other, on Christmas night.

Old (A Tentoo Drabble)

Pairing: Tentoo/Rose mentions

Rating: G

Old. It's amazing how odd that word sounded to him now.

Before, when he'd thought of old, he'd thought of centuries, of planetary histories and the births and deaths of stars and galaxies. He'd thought of an ancient, nearly extinct race, who could live for many thousands of years, each with thirteen faces. He'd thought of how many faces he had left, and how many centuries, and how alone he would be.Old used to terrify him. Now, though, old was different.

Now, he thought of years, of houses and cars, and pictures from a Polaroid camera. He thought of another race, who lived for less than a century on average, each with only one face. He thought of the fact that now he only had one face, and much less than a century left...and someone to spend that time with. Old doesn't scare him as much anymore. The Doctor touched his face. He touched the chin that was covered in morning stubble after not being shaved in three days. He touched the corners of brown eyes he'd grown so used to seeing, suddenly, it seemed, covered in small wrinkles. He touched brown, spikey hair that was just beginning to grey.And he marveled at it.

Fifty years ago, this hadn't even been a possibility for him. Thirty-five years ago, it'd been an aching, impossible fantasy. Thirty years ago, it'd become a terrifying and strange new reality. Now, he looked at himself in fond awe once again.He was getting old. He, the Doctor, Last of the Time Lords, 900 year old alien, was finally getting old. And he was happy about it.

Someone knocked on the open bathroom door. He looked over to see a brown haired woman leaning against its frame, arms crossed over a blue pajama top. She smiled at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Morning. Why're you starin' at yourself?"

He smiled and raised an eyebrow right back.

"Morning. I'm just appreciating how handsome I am."

"No you're not," she laughed, "You were touching your wrinkly eyes. You're thinkin' about how old you're getting."

He scowled playfully. "I am not!"

"Are too!" she grinned, walking over and hugging him. He sighed, looking back at the mirror and putting an arm around her. "Are to," he conceded.

The woman looked up at him thoughtfully."It still amazes you, doesn't it?"

"Oh, yes. I think it always will."

They stood there for a minute, looking in the mirror, before she finally patted his shoulder and gestured at his striped pajamas."C'mon, get dressed. You promised we could show Martha and David a new planet today."

He sighed again, smiling into it. "I did, didn't I? Alright." He stepped back from her and walked to the wardrobe in the adjacent bedroom, pulling out a familiar blue set of garments. "Old suit good enough for it, Deej?"

"Always, Dad," she said fondly, and with a last chuckle left the room to find her kids and make sure they were ready.

Another woman appeared at the door and smiled. This one was blonde, with little wrinkles around her eyes, too (that he of course never mentioned).

"Hello."

"Hello."

Rose came in and gave him a little kiss.

The Doctor took his wife's hand, like he always had, and always would, and went off to find the rest of his greatest adventure, and show them a new planet. Just like he'd promised.

Just like it should be.

Hello! Accepting fic prompts!

Hi, I just wanted to mention that I’m taking prompts to write oneshots, I’ll at least attempt most pairings for Doctor Who (New Who only, I’m sorry!), I’m also open to Janto and Owen/Tosh or Owen/Gwen Torchwood stuff. Okay! Letting you know!

Doodles

Pairing: Nine/Rose

Rating: PG for slight angst

The library was always fun. You'd loved ever since you'd first stepped foot in it, on your first day in the TARDIS, wandering lost and confused looking for a bathroom at two am your time. But you'd found this place, and suddenly forgotten your need to pee in favor of running down the aisles, fingertips brushing the beautiful books around you. Until you'd really needed to go, then the TARDIS had been polite enough to point you on your way.

Now, you still loved running down the aisles, picking books at random and reading them as you wandered. You mostly avoided stuff from your future, but you loved everything else. There were books from distant planets with fairytales you'd never heard of, there were ancient leatherbound volumes from Earth, there were children's picture books from odd interstellar markets, even your favorite stories from your childhood. And the best part was that the TARDIS translation circuit worked on these books too, so you could read whatever you wanted, from whenever you wanted. It was one of the most wonderful things about traveling with the Doctor.

You were in the middle of reading a signed special edition copy of the seventh Harry Potter book- "To my favorite Doctor, love from JK Rowling" . Crying your eyes out, you didn't notice that you'd wandered to a new part of the ever-changing room. It wasn't until you ran book-first into a huge, elaborately carved shelf (something that didn't happen often, as you were a reading-while-running champ) that you realized where you were. The annoyed glower on your face faded to slack-jawed shock as you took in the beautiful little alcove.

Towering shelves dominated the walls in the inset, each carved with lovely, swirling circular patterns in gold leaf on the dark wood. The floor was thickly carpeted in rich, dark red, and an overstuffed deep red couch faced a cozy little white marble fireplace, also decorated with the circular symbols. The books on the walls were in various dark shades, from midnight blue to blood red and ebony to mahogany. There were odd little white-glowing cubes spaced randomly all over the shelves, lending the corner a dim, mysterious glow.

A few items seemed out of place in this wondrous place. An empty pink tea cup sat on a saucer on a rickety table in the corner by the fireplace, and a single fluffy pink slipper lay abandoned under it, on top of a forgotten large, green jumper. The smell was odd too, not just old books, but two different men's colognes (one of which was vaguely familiar) and some flowery store-brand body wash. 

The Harry Potter book slipped from your limp hand and landed with a dull thud. You moved forward without a thought and grazed fingertips across the volumes, stopping over a smaller one that was bound in black leather inlaid with gold. Pulling it out and sinking into the couch with a sigh, you curled in on yourself and let it fall open in your lap.

Odd, the first things you notice. The first thing that registered about this book was that the TARDIS wasn't translating the circles that you soon deciphered were writing. The next was a Polaroid picture, stuck carelessly in the front of the book. The man in the picture was leaning against the TARDIS, arms crossed and an annoyed but happy expression on his face. He was wearing all black: black boots, black pants, black shirt, black leather jacket, which, you noted, matched the front of the book. His dark hair was cropped short and close to his head, exposing almost comically large ears, which matched his rather large nose and huge grin well. But the thing that intrigued you most about this picture was his eyes. Bright, laughing blue eyes that looked vaguely familiar, as if they belonged to a friend you hadn't seen in years and years...

Setting the Polaroid aside, you returned your attention to the book, skimming through the enigmatic pages until you found more pictures: a few more Polaroids, taped in, of various creatures and places, a few pencil sketches done with mechanical precision, a few feminine doodles in pen. Suddenly you smiled. There were a few lines in English on this page! Two different sets of handwriting seemed to be having a conversation beside a caricature sketch of the man in the first picture.

I don't look anything like that! Yeah you do! It's like a mirror! No, it really isn't! Here, I'll draw you! Go on then, Picasso!

Here there was a little caricature of a woman, with big eyes and big lips pulled in a smile and light hair framing her face. It was done in pencil, probably by the same person who'd drawn the precise sketches, but in a softer style.

That one looks like you, see! At least I was nice about it. Fine, fine, remind me to fix yours later, when we're done with Raxacri (that was scratched out) Raxoco (more scratching) Raxicoricofallapatorius. Right. Fantastic.

You giggled to yourself. Who had written and drawn here? And why in this book? Looking back through, you thought maybe the whole thing was written into it, a bit like a journal. You sighed, wishing you could read more, and flipped the page past where you'd been.

It was blank. Frowning, you counted the remaining pages. There was more than half a book left, but the rest was empty except for what looked like a small footnote on the very last page. Letting out a frustrated snort, you closed the book and looked back over to the rickety table. There was something sad about it, the cup and slipper and jumper, like they were keepsakes from happy days long gone. Sighing again, feeling oddly saddened by the lost girl and man who'd left these here, you stood, put the book back on the shelf, and wandered out, glancing back one last time at the homey little nook before moving on. 

You never found that part of the room again, and figuring that it must have been some sort of fluke that let you find it, you never asked the Doctor about it. About the one language the TARDIS didn't feel the need to translate, and the little table's keepsakes, and the girl and the man, and whether they'd ever made it back from Raxicoricofallapatorius.

He never mentioned it.

A Letter to the Doctor

Pairing: Tentoo/Rose, Ten/Rose mentions

Rating: PG for very very mild angst

Dear Doctor,

That sounds so weird. I'm very used to hearing other people call you that, of course I am. People yell it at you, threaten you with it, insult you with it, thank you with it, laugh it out admiringly. It's just weird to say it myself.Well, this whole idea is weird, isn't it? Writing to you, I mean. I don't even really know that you're going to read this, just have the assurance of a madman and the tiniest little tear in the universe, like a crack in a wall, only big enough to send a small signal through. But we had to try, didn't we?I'm the one writing the letter because Dad thinks it would be pointless for him to do it, and Mum...well...let me explain.

They were stuck on Earth for five years, while the TARDIS was growing. It was helped along by everything Torchwood had. Dad won't even tell me what all was used. Even then, five years was impossibly fast. But it was enough time to get things started.Mum had trouble, at first, of course. For a long time, she says, she was so uncomfortable with it, with him. But he won her over. Little ways. He never acted very different, Mum says, a little moodier, a little darker, but all the same mannerisms, the same clothes (well, excepting of course the odd lazy day in jeans or sweats and a galaxy tshirt he appparently found and loved), the same smile. But he did do something a lot different.

He took her on dates. Very reserved things, picnics, beach walks, fancy dinners. Sometimes they just stayed in. Dad would play Mum music on the piano and the guitar, and sing with it, pretty Gallifreyan songs from his childhood, his favorites. He'd tell her stories he'd apparently planned to tell her before...you know. They'd talk all about where they'd go when the TARDIS was up and ready. And finally Mum just...accepted it. I think that's my favorite story.

So Dad tells it (and I do love when he does, what a storyteller my old dad is), he was meddling with some little bit of the TARDIS (which mysteriously has a broken chamelion circuit. Can you guess what the old girl looks like?) when she walked in and just hugged him from behind. And he just looked around and raised his eyebrows at her, all confused, and she asked "Can we go back to New Earth? The last time was a bit iffy, but..." And he knew, right then, that she was seeing him again. Really seeing just him and not that body he was in.

He did take her to New Earth, by the way. He proposed to her on the applegrass covered ridge, d'you remember that place?The ring's beautiful, a little blue band with a perfect (alright, almost) white diamond on top, cut over a nova pattern made of real stardust. Dad went all out on it, made it himself with help from our old girl. Mum still shows it to me everytime she tells the story.

The wedding was in a little church in London. There were some human things, Mum walked down the aisle and had the white dress and all, but the main part was a Time Lord ceremony. And only Gran, Gramps, and Tony were invited. That one's my second favorite story. They let me go watch it last month, from behind a door. Don't worry, no one saw me, no paradoxes. I cried.

I was born a year after they got the TARDIS working, as we were landing on Earth. Mum and Dad still call me Earth Girl all the time. That was eighteen years ago. I've grown up in the TARDIS, traveling, exploring. They took me to Barcelona for my last birthday, the planet not the city. And yes, we do keep track of birthdays, albeit a bit oddly. Mum's got the details, I just play along.I love every minute of this. I've even managed to keep in touch with a couple of kids on Earth, Rory, Amy, and Clara. Dad loves them, loves showing off around them. So do I, but don't tell him I said that. They've come with us once or twice. He keeps us away from too many life-or-death problems. Well, he tries...I asked Mum whether she had anything to say to you. She smiled and said she had one thing to say.

She's having a fantastic life with you, here.

Dad says that by the time you get this, you'll probably have regenerated once or twice. Are you ginger this time?

It's weird though, again, isn't it? I hope you still like how you look, and how you act, and that you still remember Mum and Dad. I hope you haven't worried too much about them, or missed her too badly. Who knows, maybe you'll see us at some point. It'd be fun to see how Dad reacts to what would have been future him.I guess the point I was trying to make was that we're happy here, all three of us (soon to be four!), and we hope that wherever you are, whatever's happened since, that you're still running. Because I think that if the Doctor ever stopped running, the stars would go out because they missed him so much. Keep going, Doctor. Have a fantastic life, for us.

All our love,

Donna Jackie (That's me, hello!)

Rose Tyler

The Doctor

PS: I have attempted to attach a picture of us on New Earth last week. I hope you like it, especially Dad's beard stubble and my hair. Blue tips on blonde, good, yeah? I'm thinking of going ginger next.

How He Moves (drabble)

Pairing: None

Rating: PG for angst

You caught yourself staring sometimes, as he worked. His back would tense up all funny if he got frustrated, his shoulders going all high and rigid. If he was in a really good mood, he'd be almost liquid, the way his shoulders' movements flowed smoothly across them, down his rail thin arms, into his wrists, then through his long, nimble fingers. Like a trickle of water, fast and exciting but not disconnected, however disconnected his thoughts were. If he were really excited, he was a blur, arms and hands and fingers everywhere, legs like jelly, sometimes even up on the console, helping him steer his beautiful ship. The positions he contorted himself into to fly this old girl! He was almost an acrobat.

But if he was sad...oh, if he was sad, and he too often was. His shoulders would fall. Not hunch forward comically, but fall, defeated. His movements became slow, mechanical, precise, emotionless. He'd stand without swaying, without movement that wasn't completely necessary, an unnatural stillness. He'd stroke the console, absently, forlornly, as if it were the only thing he had left in the entire universe. In some ways, you supposed, it was.

New. (A Regeneration fic)

Pairing: Ten/Rose

Rating: G

Light. Blinding, painful light. Burning through every part of him, he can feel it. In his hands, his face, his body, a burning. He's shrinking, stretching, compressing, every proportion changing, and burning.But he's seen it all, done it all before. He's old, impossibly old. But he's also new, untested, young. He's seen everything and nothing, knows everything and nothing, met a million people and not even one.Suddenly, the light is over, and he stumbles, adjusting quickly to a new body. Difficult to move, to balance. He pulls air into new lungs, his first breath. New eyes search across the room, taking in the familiar unfamiliar place all over again. But something's different this time.

There's a girl, small and blond, in a pink jacket, staring at him with wide hazel eyes. She's frightened, and shocked, and tired...and the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. She's his Rose, and he died for her, he remembers suddenly. He died to save her because...This mind acknowledges the feeling, at least to itself. That's different...He likes it. Anyway...he cares about her. He cares so much about her, and she's alright. Good. Job well done then.

Wait, wait, wait, he was in the middle of something. What was he doing?

He was saying something. They were going to go somewhere. OH! But he ought to introduce himself again, as he's changed, even if he doesn't quite know who "himself" is yet. He could be anyone now. What what he like? All he knows  right now is the Rose, Rose Tyler, is so important, and he ought to introduce himself.What if she doesn't like him anymore? The thought occurs to him suddenly. He's changed. What if she hates him now?

What is that little feeling? In the pit of his stomach? Is he...nervous? That's different. Nervous. Alright.

Say something! Alright.

"Hello. Alright-oh."He feels around his new mouth. It felt awkward, less room."New teeth, that's weird. Anyway, where were we?"

Dogs. No noses. The planet, not the city.

"Oh yes!"

His first grin with this face, and it's for her, all wide and cheeky, teeth and tongue. He hopes she likes it.

"Barcelona!"

DJ Tyler. Nineteen years old, brilliant, quick witted, resourceful brunette with a London accent. That's all anyone kn...