FIC: Ten Moments: Music (Dr. Who, 5/10)
Title: Ten Moments - Music
Author: golden_orange
Rating: All ages.
Characters: Five, Tegan
Authors Notes: My first attempt at Doctor Who fiction longer than 100 words for a while. Inspired by the 25moments challenge, only adapted by yours truly. Ten Doctors, therefore ten moments. This is the fifth's. Feedback and comments welcome.
Disclaimer: I don't think there's anyone out there who seriously believes I own Doctor Who, including myself, but just in case someone does, and that someone happens to be litigious - I don't own Doctor Who.
Summary: It's another quarry. Except it isn't.
Another quarry. Great.
Tegan doesn’t want to complain - well, she does, but she’s more than aware that the phrase ‘mouth-on-legs’ has been applied to her in the past, in a less-than-flattering fashion, which is all that’s keeping her quiet right now - but, well, it’s a quarry. An alien quarry, maybe; the night sky is dark purple, and there’s three moons, one of them green, but it’s cold, and dark, and wet, and she keeps slipping on the dirt and slate. Her clothes are covered in mud, and she’s one more tumble away from biting something’s head off.
The Doctor, of course, charges ahead with his straw hat at an annoyingly jaunty angle atop his blonde hair, looking around his surroundings with pleasant and genuine interest, making him first candidate for head-removal-by-biting. Infuriatingly, despite the fact that his clothes are nearly all cream and white, there’s not a speck of mud on him.
“How much further?” Tegan asks, trying - not very hard, granted, but trying nonetheless - to keep the irate whine out of her voice.
“Nearly there!” The Doctor yells back cheerfully. “Do try and keep up!”
Tegan grits her teeth, counts to ten, and stomps moodily after him.
The Doctor eventually stops at the top of what Tegan can only describe as a dirt-dune, waiting expectantly with his hands in his pockets. It takes a lot more stumbling, cursing and glaring before Tegan is there to join him, discovering that they walked this way to see…
“It’s mud.” Tegan says flatly. “A lake of mud.” And it is; what can only be describes as a lake of thick, black mud lies as far as the eye can see. “You’ve brought me here to see a lake of mud.”
The Doctor, infuriatingly, doesn’t see a problem with this. “Technically, it’s silt.” he says happily. “For most of this planet’s orbital cycle this is under water; we’ve arrived just after low tide.”
“It smells.” Tegan doesn’t even bother to keep the petulant sulk out of her voice this time.
The Doctor gives her a withering frown. “Do have a little faith, Tegan. Be patient. If I’m correct, then… yes… listen!”
For a moment, there is silence. “I can’t…”
Hear anything, she means to say, until she realizes that that isn’t true; she can hear what sounds like a cricket whistling. Then another, and another, and another, different insects, different tones and sounds and pitches… except it isn’t just insects chirping at random, it’s… something else. It’s melodic. Tegan doesn’t know much about music, but she recognises it when she hears it, and this is definitely written. It’s as if the insects of the world have gotten together and written a symphony.
And it’s beautiful. It somehow speaks to her. Tegan doesn’t know the species that inhabit this planet - she can’t even see them - but she recognises the emotions that they’re singing in this alien language (and it is singing, she realizes, billions of beautiful voices raised in song), joy and love and loss and pain and regret and hope…
She’s surprised to realize her cheeks are wet.
She doesn’t know how long the music lasts, but eventually it begins to fade, voices dropping away, until all that’s left are echoes and Tegan’s memories, the song repeating inside her head.
“The insects of this world spend most of the year burrowed in the silt and rocks under the water.” The Doctor explains cheerfully. “This is their awakening festival, when they celebrate their freedom and mourn those who didn’t make it . Lovely. I’ve been meaning to come back here for a while, but…” He looks, and notices his crying companion. “Tegan? Are you alright?” he asks, placing a friendly hand on her shoulder in concern.
Incapable of speaking, Tegan turns and hugs him, burying her face in his chest, feeling his hearts beat. And even as the song continues to play in her memories, she can’t help but take a tiny bit of vengeful pleasure at getting mud on his cricket jersey.
Author: golden_orange
Rating: All ages.
Characters: Five, Tegan
Authors Notes: My first attempt at Doctor Who fiction longer than 100 words for a while. Inspired by the 25moments challenge, only adapted by yours truly. Ten Doctors, therefore ten moments. This is the fifth's. Feedback and comments welcome.
Disclaimer: I don't think there's anyone out there who seriously believes I own Doctor Who, including myself, but just in case someone does, and that someone happens to be litigious - I don't own Doctor Who.
Summary: It's another quarry. Except it isn't.
Another quarry. Great.
Tegan doesn’t want to complain - well, she does, but she’s more than aware that the phrase ‘mouth-on-legs’ has been applied to her in the past, in a less-than-flattering fashion, which is all that’s keeping her quiet right now - but, well, it’s a quarry. An alien quarry, maybe; the night sky is dark purple, and there’s three moons, one of them green, but it’s cold, and dark, and wet, and she keeps slipping on the dirt and slate. Her clothes are covered in mud, and she’s one more tumble away from biting something’s head off.
The Doctor, of course, charges ahead with his straw hat at an annoyingly jaunty angle atop his blonde hair, looking around his surroundings with pleasant and genuine interest, making him first candidate for head-removal-by-biting. Infuriatingly, despite the fact that his clothes are nearly all cream and white, there’s not a speck of mud on him.
“How much further?” Tegan asks, trying - not very hard, granted, but trying nonetheless - to keep the irate whine out of her voice.
“Nearly there!” The Doctor yells back cheerfully. “Do try and keep up!”
Tegan grits her teeth, counts to ten, and stomps moodily after him.
The Doctor eventually stops at the top of what Tegan can only describe as a dirt-dune, waiting expectantly with his hands in his pockets. It takes a lot more stumbling, cursing and glaring before Tegan is there to join him, discovering that they walked this way to see…
“It’s mud.” Tegan says flatly. “A lake of mud.” And it is; what can only be describes as a lake of thick, black mud lies as far as the eye can see. “You’ve brought me here to see a lake of mud.”
The Doctor, infuriatingly, doesn’t see a problem with this. “Technically, it’s silt.” he says happily. “For most of this planet’s orbital cycle this is under water; we’ve arrived just after low tide.”
“It smells.” Tegan doesn’t even bother to keep the petulant sulk out of her voice this time.
The Doctor gives her a withering frown. “Do have a little faith, Tegan. Be patient. If I’m correct, then… yes… listen!”
For a moment, there is silence. “I can’t…”
Hear anything, she means to say, until she realizes that that isn’t true; she can hear what sounds like a cricket whistling. Then another, and another, and another, different insects, different tones and sounds and pitches… except it isn’t just insects chirping at random, it’s… something else. It’s melodic. Tegan doesn’t know much about music, but she recognises it when she hears it, and this is definitely written. It’s as if the insects of the world have gotten together and written a symphony.
And it’s beautiful. It somehow speaks to her. Tegan doesn’t know the species that inhabit this planet - she can’t even see them - but she recognises the emotions that they’re singing in this alien language (and it is singing, she realizes, billions of beautiful voices raised in song), joy and love and loss and pain and regret and hope…
She’s surprised to realize her cheeks are wet.
She doesn’t know how long the music lasts, but eventually it begins to fade, voices dropping away, until all that’s left are echoes and Tegan’s memories, the song repeating inside her head.
“The insects of this world spend most of the year burrowed in the silt and rocks under the water.” The Doctor explains cheerfully. “This is their awakening festival, when they celebrate their freedom and mourn those who didn’t make it . Lovely. I’ve been meaning to come back here for a while, but…” He looks, and notices his crying companion. “Tegan? Are you alright?” he asks, placing a friendly hand on her shoulder in concern.
Incapable of speaking, Tegan turns and hugs him, burying her face in his chest, feeling his hearts beat. And even as the song continues to play in her memories, she can’t help but take a tiny bit of vengeful pleasure at getting mud on his cricket jersey.