DW FICLET: Small Talk [ PG | Ten, Martha ]
My Candy Hearts ficlet, that turned out more bittersweet than sweet.
Ah well.
Title Small Talk
Fandom: Doctor Who.
Characters: Ten & Martha
Wordcount: 508
Rating: PG
SMALL TALK
It was never meant to be.
But, sometimes, at moments like this, she could pretend that it was - that maybe fate, or kismet, or one of the other half dozen words the Doctor would scoff at, had some hold on the universe and that this was the result.
A crisp black sky, filled with pink and blue, and yellow stars, glittering like a canopy of fairy lights.
It was beautiful.
It was romantic.
He was holding her hand.
“See, Martha, all of the universe,” he said to her softly.
She felt her eyes blur, and she refused to blink, letting the tears smear the glittering stars above.
“We should go,” she said, slipping her hand out of his.
~*~
“We're out of milk,” she chattered, slipping out of her coat. She didn't look back as she headed for the kitchen.
“Why are you doing that?” he called after her.
She halted. “Doing what?
“Worrying about the milk, looking for your scarf, asking me if I preferred football or cricket...” He paused. “You hate small talk.”
Sometimes he was so ridiculously blind. “Where to next?” she asked instead, afraid of the harder questions buried beneath his easy tone.
He took the hint. “I hear Paris is lovely this-”
“No,” she broke in hurriedly, “Not Paris.”
There was a silence, and then. “Right. Not Paris.”
She kept on walking as the TARDIS engines howled.
~*~
There was a single yellow rose on the kitchen table waiting for her.
Yellow.
For friendship.
She picked it up and felt something hitch in her throat as the scent wafted sweetly. She knew that he probably lovingly picked the rose himself, and snipped it carefully, after making sure it was the exact shade of yellow, the exact scent of rose.
An answer in the form of a flower.
She gently placed it back on the table and put on the kettle.
~*~
“I should have gone with the chocolates,” the Doctor said quietly, when she returned to the control room.
“No. It was very pretty,” she said, smiling as she handed him a mug of black tea.
He pulled a face. “So you weren't lying about the milk?”
Her smile turned into a smirk.
~*~
“Ahhhhhh. Rome in the springtime!” the Doctor declared. “When Caesar ruled the world. Can't you just smell smell the history?”
“I think that may be the horses,” Martha said dryly
His nose wrinkled. “You may have a point,” he said. “But listen to the passionate voices in the distance, no doubt discussing matters of empire and democracy-”
“Run for your lives! The slaves are revolting!” a voice roared.
Martha looked at the Doctor, he looked back. “I definitely should have gone with the chocolates,” he said.
“Oh, just shut up and run,” Martha said, grabbing his hand. She didn't have to ask, she pulled him towards the noise.
They were friends, after all, and she knew him rather well.
She didn't need a rose to tell her that.
FINIS
Ah well.
Title Small Talk
Fandom: Doctor Who.
Characters: Ten & Martha
Wordcount: 508
Rating: PG
SMALL TALK
It was never meant to be.
But, sometimes, at moments like this, she could pretend that it was - that maybe fate, or kismet, or one of the other half dozen words the Doctor would scoff at, had some hold on the universe and that this was the result.
A crisp black sky, filled with pink and blue, and yellow stars, glittering like a canopy of fairy lights.
It was beautiful.
It was romantic.
He was holding her hand.
“See, Martha, all of the universe,” he said to her softly.
She felt her eyes blur, and she refused to blink, letting the tears smear the glittering stars above.
“We should go,” she said, slipping her hand out of his.
~*~
“We're out of milk,” she chattered, slipping out of her coat. She didn't look back as she headed for the kitchen.
“Why are you doing that?” he called after her.
She halted. “Doing what?
“Worrying about the milk, looking for your scarf, asking me if I preferred football or cricket...” He paused. “You hate small talk.”
Sometimes he was so ridiculously blind. “Where to next?” she asked instead, afraid of the harder questions buried beneath his easy tone.
He took the hint. “I hear Paris is lovely this-”
“No,” she broke in hurriedly, “Not Paris.”
There was a silence, and then. “Right. Not Paris.”
She kept on walking as the TARDIS engines howled.
~*~
There was a single yellow rose on the kitchen table waiting for her.
Yellow.
For friendship.
She picked it up and felt something hitch in her throat as the scent wafted sweetly. She knew that he probably lovingly picked the rose himself, and snipped it carefully, after making sure it was the exact shade of yellow, the exact scent of rose.
An answer in the form of a flower.
She gently placed it back on the table and put on the kettle.
~*~
“I should have gone with the chocolates,” the Doctor said quietly, when she returned to the control room.
“No. It was very pretty,” she said, smiling as she handed him a mug of black tea.
He pulled a face. “So you weren't lying about the milk?”
Her smile turned into a smirk.
~*~
“Ahhhhhh. Rome in the springtime!” the Doctor declared. “When Caesar ruled the world. Can't you just smell smell the history?”
“I think that may be the horses,” Martha said dryly
His nose wrinkled. “You may have a point,” he said. “But listen to the passionate voices in the distance, no doubt discussing matters of empire and democracy-”
“Run for your lives! The slaves are revolting!” a voice roared.
Martha looked at the Doctor, he looked back. “I definitely should have gone with the chocolates,” he said.
“Oh, just shut up and run,” Martha said, grabbing his hand. She didn't have to ask, she pulled him towards the noise.
They were friends, after all, and she knew him rather well.
She didn't need a rose to tell her that.
FINIS