challenge #4 entry - photo prompt
Title: a name for us
Author: londoncrow
Rating: pg
Word Count: 601
Summary: And she does mean a planet, a place, a time, heaven knows that's what she means.
Amy remembers a sweet smell not unlike that of warm days during childhood, and music played far too quietly. She steps barefoot into the room where her Doctor sits, pushed up against the black-wood frame with his mind infatuated by the sounds the keys make. She watches him from the comfort of the pale white wall, for he makes her think she's come without notice and slipped fairy-like into the corner, her gown moving in small sways as she walks. It's nicer than the room with all the clocks. There's a chandelier and some large old books with Victorian motifs painted on the front, and the lack of order adds a busy taste to things.
All things conclude. He gently dusts off his instrument with the back of a hand, careful as he does so. It had been kept warmly, but like most articles he had collected over his nine-hundred year lifespan it was time-worn. And he, he was a timeless antique piece rarely seen but often read about, thus it was nothing but fitting for him to be sitting here amongst this old mess of a room. Amy treads the floor over to him.
"What're you doing?"
He pokes his head up from under the piano with an expression of absolute normality. "Checking to see if anything got caught under there. It's been making a weird noise."
"What, the noise of a piano?" Amy laughs, and the Doctor stands with a partly-embarrassed smile. "No, not that."
And dainty, she moves her hand to his shoulder. He's so light-hearted and it's so becoming of him; perhaps as it was the first him she'd met, poking his head out of his box with his mouth wide open, that silly him, touch and taste and sight anew and shaking comprehension into pieces. She winds her fingers around the fabric of his shirt and tugs. "Come on, then. Take me somewhere new."
And she does mean a planet, a place, a time, heaven knows that's what she means. He pulls her about him with the stronger of his hearts. Her hands reach for the sides of his face, and she's moved at first; off her feet and probably out of her mind, because he can't be holding her this way. Tomorrow's the day. Yet he kisses her then in that room, with no threats and no tears and no windows for sadness to creep in through. It's peace of mind. She's happy and he elates her further, brings her to the brink and her eyes are wild, wild with appreciation and something she can't describe, like the way he looks or the way he acts.
"This can't be good for the heart," she laughs, and "don't worry," he says, "I have two," and she replies, "yes, but what about me?" and so he says "no, I have two you can have another," and she smiles, "not a good idea, you might need it... in the event that one gets blown up by a Dalek or something."
When they're under the piano nobody can see them. It's their little bit of space and time where they're completely free, free from expectations and all the strings attached to them; past, future and present are meaningless words, there are no clocks. All that matters is existence. The Doctor discards what he's learnt from Gallifrey to cherish what he's learnt from Earth. He's a human man, but when time eventually pours back into their minds and she turns about against his chest, she counts three lines of heartbeat and goodbye, man with a name, take care of yourself.
Author: londoncrow
Rating: pg
Word Count: 601
Summary: And she does mean a planet, a place, a time, heaven knows that's what she means.
Amy remembers a sweet smell not unlike that of warm days during childhood, and music played far too quietly. She steps barefoot into the room where her Doctor sits, pushed up against the black-wood frame with his mind infatuated by the sounds the keys make. She watches him from the comfort of the pale white wall, for he makes her think she's come without notice and slipped fairy-like into the corner, her gown moving in small sways as she walks. It's nicer than the room with all the clocks. There's a chandelier and some large old books with Victorian motifs painted on the front, and the lack of order adds a busy taste to things.
All things conclude. He gently dusts off his instrument with the back of a hand, careful as he does so. It had been kept warmly, but like most articles he had collected over his nine-hundred year lifespan it was time-worn. And he, he was a timeless antique piece rarely seen but often read about, thus it was nothing but fitting for him to be sitting here amongst this old mess of a room. Amy treads the floor over to him.
"What're you doing?"
He pokes his head up from under the piano with an expression of absolute normality. "Checking to see if anything got caught under there. It's been making a weird noise."
"What, the noise of a piano?" Amy laughs, and the Doctor stands with a partly-embarrassed smile. "No, not that."
And dainty, she moves her hand to his shoulder. He's so light-hearted and it's so becoming of him; perhaps as it was the first him she'd met, poking his head out of his box with his mouth wide open, that silly him, touch and taste and sight anew and shaking comprehension into pieces. She winds her fingers around the fabric of his shirt and tugs. "Come on, then. Take me somewhere new."
And she does mean a planet, a place, a time, heaven knows that's what she means. He pulls her about him with the stronger of his hearts. Her hands reach for the sides of his face, and she's moved at first; off her feet and probably out of her mind, because he can't be holding her this way. Tomorrow's the day. Yet he kisses her then in that room, with no threats and no tears and no windows for sadness to creep in through. It's peace of mind. She's happy and he elates her further, brings her to the brink and her eyes are wild, wild with appreciation and something she can't describe, like the way he looks or the way he acts.
"This can't be good for the heart," she laughs, and "don't worry," he says, "I have two," and she replies, "yes, but what about me?" and so he says "no, I have two you can have another," and she smiles, "not a good idea, you might need it... in the event that one gets blown up by a Dalek or something."
When they're under the piano nobody can see them. It's their little bit of space and time where they're completely free, free from expectations and all the strings attached to them; past, future and present are meaningless words, there are no clocks. All that matters is existence. The Doctor discards what he's learnt from Gallifrey to cherish what he's learnt from Earth. He's a human man, but when time eventually pours back into their minds and she turns about against his chest, she counts three lines of heartbeat and goodbye, man with a name, take care of yourself.