Fic: Home Is Wherever I'm With You
Title: Home Is Wherever I'm With You
Author: doves_wing
Rating: G-PG
Summary: It's a good thing he didn't realize this while they were running. He might have tripped, and in that particular instance, met his eleventh regeneration far more quickly than he anticipated.
Authors Notes: Been forever since I've written, but this prompt from the then_theres_us ficathon inspired me. Mostly fluff.
The revelation doesn't come while they're running for their lives, or while they're trapped in an alien ceremony, or even a jail.
He's sitting on an overstuffed chair in the TARDIS library, picking at the weave (which, he absentmindedly scolds himself, he really ought to stop doing). It's the TARDIS equivalent of a lazy Sunday. Not that it's actually Sunday, of course, though he could go check the calendar that Rose insists on keeping, in a timeship of all things. It's matched up to Earth time, and it confuses him endlessly- it makes her feel better, though, and he can hardly deny her that. Most likely, he thinks, he couldn't deny her anything.
She's sleeping on the other couch in the library, her hands folded over a face down book on her chest. It rises and falls as she breaths; despite the fact that her hair is spilled all over her face, her mascara is a bit smudged, and she's possibly breaking the binding of the book, he doesn't think he's seen anyone more beautiful than she is at that moment.
It's a good thing he didn't realize this while they were running. He might have tripped, and in that particular instance, met his eleventh regeneration far more quickly than he anticipated. He wants to wake her, wants to share this revelation that he could do anything for her, anything at all, and he reflects that it's probably a good thing that she is a kind person, and not inclined towards fits of madness, or cruelty. Because he doesn't think he could refuse her now.
Author: doves_wing
Rating: G-PG
Summary: It's a good thing he didn't realize this while they were running. He might have tripped, and in that particular instance, met his eleventh regeneration far more quickly than he anticipated.
Authors Notes: Been forever since I've written, but this prompt from the then_theres_us ficathon inspired me. Mostly fluff.
The revelation doesn't come while they're running for their lives, or while they're trapped in an alien ceremony, or even a jail.
He's sitting on an overstuffed chair in the TARDIS library, picking at the weave (which, he absentmindedly scolds himself, he really ought to stop doing). It's the TARDIS equivalent of a lazy Sunday. Not that it's actually Sunday, of course, though he could go check the calendar that Rose insists on keeping, in a timeship of all things. It's matched up to Earth time, and it confuses him endlessly- it makes her feel better, though, and he can hardly deny her that. Most likely, he thinks, he couldn't deny her anything.
She's sleeping on the other couch in the library, her hands folded over a face down book on her chest. It rises and falls as she breaths; despite the fact that her hair is spilled all over her face, her mascara is a bit smudged, and she's possibly breaking the binding of the book, he doesn't think he's seen anyone more beautiful than she is at that moment.
It's a good thing he didn't realize this while they were running. He might have tripped, and in that particular instance, met his eleventh regeneration far more quickly than he anticipated. He wants to wake her, wants to share this revelation that he could do anything for her, anything at all, and he reflects that it's probably a good thing that she is a kind person, and not inclined towards fits of madness, or cruelty. Because he doesn't think he could refuse her now.