fic: only just met
Title: Only just met
Characters/pairing: Melody Pond/Eight
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who.
Summary: 'She’s only here because she has to see him before he was all stubborn sad eyes writhing on the floor calling for River.' Or: Melody vs Eight.
A/N: For this ficathon and redjaywrites's prompt: melody pond/eight. he's not yet a broken thing, and that's a challenge.
Mentions blood and killing.
Kill the Doctor before Silence falls, before he pieces himself back together. She’d done it - is doing it. She’s only here because she has to see him before he was all stubborn sad eyes writhing on the floor calling for River, because before she goes back to Berlin and sees him die she has to see him alive.
Before he raged at the dying of the light and became the Oncoming Whatever, before he’d shattered his own hearts. This one wouldn’t fall for the illusion of kinship - it wouldn’t be so laughably easy to slip through the cracks his loneliness had caused.
She’s in a new place and a new time and goes shopping, naturally. She scores a leather jacket and a ridiculous black bowtie (which she doesn’t actually tie and which just works with her dress) and some red trainers, just to say: this is what you’ll be and then no more, but when she finds him he just smiles a generic smile and his eyes are so bright/warm-despite-their-hue she almost forgets to focus on the cleverness behind them.
The first thing he says to her is, “Are you lost?” (While she thinks of staining his silver waistcoat with his blood.)
“No more than you.”
“Good! No harm in being a little bit lost, is there? I’m the Doctor.”
“Mels.”
He cocks his head and squints at her and makes a noise that could mean anything. (The man who seduces people, promising them all of time and space, and Melody steels herself because she has to fall for this one, hasn’t she?) “Come with me. There’s always a bit of cold pizza around my... place. Where does it come from?”
“Of course, love.”
He's having me on, she thinks, he knows. She shakes it off. Ridiculous.
His TARDIS is enormous and filled with a million noises. It has Time Lord seals on the walls and a nauseating general presence (in her head?). Melody’s DNA would do her no favours here - and to be fair, that way was much more interesting.
The Doctor doesn’t banter, doesn’t flirt, doesn’t interrogate. He simply doesn’t seem to care beyond making his coat flap and showing her his books and his swimming pool and his squash courts and his gardens and his art collection and she thinks of Amy-and-Rory’s Doctor and digs her nails into her palm. (She’s expected spoils of war or stains of bloof or machiavellian chess sets.) Why does she get to see all this? The Doctor doesn’t do anything without a second thought, and a third and a fourth and a seventeenth.
The common denominator... before the War and before the Question. She may be made for the one in the bowtie, but she’s studied all of him...
The cruellest kind of warfare never was his strength, was it?
This Doctor seems so open, so lacking personal space. If the very last of him - all debauched and hollow - could kiss strangers, then this one... The poison is still on her lips and the thought of the havoc he could cause himself makes her light-headed in a way that has nothing to do with her still regenerating. She doesn’t even have to get up on her toes with this one, just tilt her head and brush her lips
but he ducks away and frowns, studies her mouth. “I’ve only just met you.”
“So?”
“So! So, I regret to inform you that finishing this impromptu grand tour will have to take precedence; humour me, if you will. For example, I have a brand new Zero Room, would you like to see it?”
Yes, snogger!Eight, the irony. ;) Also, obligatory wiki link.
This entry was originally posted at http://honeynoir.dreamwidth.org/156422.html.
Characters/pairing: Melody Pond/Eight
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who.
Summary: 'She’s only here because she has to see him before he was all stubborn sad eyes writhing on the floor calling for River.' Or: Melody vs Eight.
A/N: For this ficathon and redjaywrites's prompt: melody pond/eight. he's not yet a broken thing, and that's a challenge.
Mentions blood and killing.
Kill the Doctor before Silence falls, before he pieces himself back together. She’d done it - is doing it. She’s only here because she has to see him before he was all stubborn sad eyes writhing on the floor calling for River, because before she goes back to Berlin and sees him die she has to see him alive.
Before he raged at the dying of the light and became the Oncoming Whatever, before he’d shattered his own hearts. This one wouldn’t fall for the illusion of kinship - it wouldn’t be so laughably easy to slip through the cracks his loneliness had caused.
She’s in a new place and a new time and goes shopping, naturally. She scores a leather jacket and a ridiculous black bowtie (which she doesn’t actually tie and which just works with her dress) and some red trainers, just to say: this is what you’ll be and then no more, but when she finds him he just smiles a generic smile and his eyes are so bright/warm-despite-their-hue she almost forgets to focus on the cleverness behind them.
The first thing he says to her is, “Are you lost?” (While she thinks of staining his silver waistcoat with his blood.)
“No more than you.”
“Good! No harm in being a little bit lost, is there? I’m the Doctor.”
“Mels.”
He cocks his head and squints at her and makes a noise that could mean anything. (The man who seduces people, promising them all of time and space, and Melody steels herself because she has to fall for this one, hasn’t she?) “Come with me. There’s always a bit of cold pizza around my... place. Where does it come from?”
“Of course, love.”
He's having me on, she thinks, he knows. She shakes it off. Ridiculous.
His TARDIS is enormous and filled with a million noises. It has Time Lord seals on the walls and a nauseating general presence (in her head?). Melody’s DNA would do her no favours here - and to be fair, that way was much more interesting.
The Doctor doesn’t banter, doesn’t flirt, doesn’t interrogate. He simply doesn’t seem to care beyond making his coat flap and showing her his books and his swimming pool and his squash courts and his gardens and his art collection and she thinks of Amy-and-Rory’s Doctor and digs her nails into her palm. (She’s expected spoils of war or stains of bloof or machiavellian chess sets.) Why does she get to see all this? The Doctor doesn’t do anything without a second thought, and a third and a fourth and a seventeenth.
The common denominator... before the War and before the Question. She may be made for the one in the bowtie, but she’s studied all of him...
The cruellest kind of warfare never was his strength, was it?
This Doctor seems so open, so lacking personal space. If the very last of him - all debauched and hollow - could kiss strangers, then this one... The poison is still on her lips and the thought of the havoc he could cause himself makes her light-headed in a way that has nothing to do with her still regenerating. She doesn’t even have to get up on her toes with this one, just tilt her head and brush her lips
but he ducks away and frowns, studies her mouth. “I’ve only just met you.”
“So?”
“So! So, I regret to inform you that finishing this impromptu grand tour will have to take precedence; humour me, if you will. For example, I have a brand new Zero Room, would you like to see it?”
Yes, snogger!Eight, the irony. ;) Also, obligatory wiki link.
This entry was originally posted at http://honeynoir.dreamwidth.org/156422.html.