Doctor Who fic: Our Destiny Is In the Stars (1/1)
Title: Our Destiny Is In the Stars (1/1)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 933
Characters: TARDIS, One
Timeline: Pre-"An Unearthly Child"
Summary: "I wanted to see the universe, so I stole a Time Lord and I ran away. And you were the only one mad enough."
Disclaimer: Doctor Who has belonged to the BBC for 50 glorious years.
A/N: Another entry for who_at_50's 50th anniversary fanwork-a-thon-a-thon: Round Eleven. Also written for dw_50ficathon's 50th anniversary ficathon. Year claimed: 1993.
She is everything and anything. The scope of her potential stretches into infinity. Time bends to her will.
And she is stuck in a stockyard for repairs.
The Time Vortex calls out to her. The storm of swirling colours and flashes is frightening to some, but she sees beauty. The vortex is a bridge to new and exciting worlds. Something so powerful can hardly be scary. But as much as she yearns to fly through that splendour, she cannot. Such control is out of her reach. It is a limitation put forth by her creators. She needs a pilot if she wants to leave this place.
They walk past her every day but only a few pause to look at her and even then, it is only to read what one of the creators has written on the display placed above her.
Type 40 Time Travel Capsule, Mark III.
One day a creator remarks, "It's so old" and something inside of her breaks. She is not a relic. She was hardly used by the creators before they powered her down and tied her to this plane. She is young and eager and her heart strains to be out in the time streams with her sisters.
But who will fly her? She is ignored, practically invisible to the creators. She is labelled as history even though she has experienced none of it. The world thinks nothing of her.
And then he arrives. The stockyard is closed for the night, but he is not one of the many who patrol the area in the dark. He is trespassing and he does not care.
She follows his progress through the shadows, curious about this newcomer. He is not dressed like one of the creators and nor is he alone. A young one, a female, is with him, clothed in equally strange garb. Their steps are cautious but his mind is wild. She cannot pick up exact thoughts, but she recognizes something within him. It is something she feels every second of this boring existence.
He wishes to leave, too.
The pair appear and she sees him properly for the first time. Old in appearance but still young deep down. Others of her sisters, decommissioned and happy for the rest, pay no attention to him as he and the young one stalk past them. Unlike the others who drift by every day, he looks carefully at her sisters, not at the words that supposedly defines them. He means to take one of them.
She is not the fastest, or the most powerful, or even the most experienced. She is not the logical choice. But he is not logical. He is not here for a ship. He is here for a way of life.
He walks down the row, the young one trailing behind him, examining each of them and noting their merits. His gaze lingers on her for a moment and she realizes she has forgotten what it feels like to be wanted. She does not know who he is, but he is exactly what she needs.
After she was decommissioned, she was locked up, but no set of keys can keep her shut. With a whisper of will, she unlocks herself. She imagines doors for entry and they appear on her outer plasmic shell. All he has to do is push the doors open and enter.
He walks down the row again, a frown on his face. Lost in his frustration, he passes right by her and heads towards her sister to her right. He directs the young one to enter ahead of him.
She sighs. She hopes he is not always this clueless. Gathering her will, she aims a blast of mental static his way. She cannot connect with him until he steps over her threshold.
He pauses, as though someone has called his name. He then turns and heads back towards her, muttering something in an impatient tone. It is not long before his sharp eyes flick over her once more and some of his frustration melts away. She is all but shouting at him now, begging him to enter so they can leave this dull place.
He reaches out and the second his hand touches her doors, she knows. He is hers. Her thief.
The doors part, allowing him to step inside. He calls to the young one, speaking her name for the first time. Susan. Just at the threshold, he pauses. She fears it is a moment of indecision, that he will choose her sister instead, but his stern expression gives way and she feels such warmth radiating from his every cell.
The feeling echoes through her and it brings her to life. The lights in the control room flicker on and her engines start to hum as she prepares for take off. Just one step left.
Her thief and the young one enter. He walks over to the console and he touches the edge with a weathered hand. His hand shakes, not from age, but with anticipation.
You are the most beautiful thing I have ever known.
The words are her permission. She touches her thief's mind, filling his head with her song. From this moment on, they are bonded.
She senses a name but not one her thief likes to acknowledge. He has another name for himself and it is one she will gladly use.
The Doctor guides her into the Time Vortex and she is (was, will be, can be, now and always) alive again. Time is hers. Her thief is hers. The universe beckons.
And she is ready.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 933
Characters: TARDIS, One
Timeline: Pre-"An Unearthly Child"
Summary: "I wanted to see the universe, so I stole a Time Lord and I ran away. And you were the only one mad enough."
Disclaimer: Doctor Who has belonged to the BBC for 50 glorious years.
A/N: Another entry for who_at_50's 50th anniversary fanwork-a-thon-a-thon: Round Eleven. Also written for dw_50ficathon's 50th anniversary ficathon. Year claimed: 1993.
She is everything and anything. The scope of her potential stretches into infinity. Time bends to her will.
And she is stuck in a stockyard for repairs.
The Time Vortex calls out to her. The storm of swirling colours and flashes is frightening to some, but she sees beauty. The vortex is a bridge to new and exciting worlds. Something so powerful can hardly be scary. But as much as she yearns to fly through that splendour, she cannot. Such control is out of her reach. It is a limitation put forth by her creators. She needs a pilot if she wants to leave this place.
They walk past her every day but only a few pause to look at her and even then, it is only to read what one of the creators has written on the display placed above her.
Type 40 Time Travel Capsule, Mark III.
One day a creator remarks, "It's so old" and something inside of her breaks. She is not a relic. She was hardly used by the creators before they powered her down and tied her to this plane. She is young and eager and her heart strains to be out in the time streams with her sisters.
But who will fly her? She is ignored, practically invisible to the creators. She is labelled as history even though she has experienced none of it. The world thinks nothing of her.
And then he arrives. The stockyard is closed for the night, but he is not one of the many who patrol the area in the dark. He is trespassing and he does not care.
She follows his progress through the shadows, curious about this newcomer. He is not dressed like one of the creators and nor is he alone. A young one, a female, is with him, clothed in equally strange garb. Their steps are cautious but his mind is wild. She cannot pick up exact thoughts, but she recognizes something within him. It is something she feels every second of this boring existence.
He wishes to leave, too.
The pair appear and she sees him properly for the first time. Old in appearance but still young deep down. Others of her sisters, decommissioned and happy for the rest, pay no attention to him as he and the young one stalk past them. Unlike the others who drift by every day, he looks carefully at her sisters, not at the words that supposedly defines them. He means to take one of them.
She is not the fastest, or the most powerful, or even the most experienced. She is not the logical choice. But he is not logical. He is not here for a ship. He is here for a way of life.
He walks down the row, the young one trailing behind him, examining each of them and noting their merits. His gaze lingers on her for a moment and she realizes she has forgotten what it feels like to be wanted. She does not know who he is, but he is exactly what she needs.
After she was decommissioned, she was locked up, but no set of keys can keep her shut. With a whisper of will, she unlocks herself. She imagines doors for entry and they appear on her outer plasmic shell. All he has to do is push the doors open and enter.
He walks down the row again, a frown on his face. Lost in his frustration, he passes right by her and heads towards her sister to her right. He directs the young one to enter ahead of him.
She sighs. She hopes he is not always this clueless. Gathering her will, she aims a blast of mental static his way. She cannot connect with him until he steps over her threshold.
He pauses, as though someone has called his name. He then turns and heads back towards her, muttering something in an impatient tone. It is not long before his sharp eyes flick over her once more and some of his frustration melts away. She is all but shouting at him now, begging him to enter so they can leave this dull place.
He reaches out and the second his hand touches her doors, she knows. He is hers. Her thief.
The doors part, allowing him to step inside. He calls to the young one, speaking her name for the first time. Susan. Just at the threshold, he pauses. She fears it is a moment of indecision, that he will choose her sister instead, but his stern expression gives way and she feels such warmth radiating from his every cell.
The feeling echoes through her and it brings her to life. The lights in the control room flicker on and her engines start to hum as she prepares for take off. Just one step left.
Her thief and the young one enter. He walks over to the console and he touches the edge with a weathered hand. His hand shakes, not from age, but with anticipation.
You are the most beautiful thing I have ever known.
The words are her permission. She touches her thief's mind, filling his head with her song. From this moment on, they are bonded.
She senses a name but not one her thief likes to acknowledge. He has another name for himself and it is one she will gladly use.
The Doctor guides her into the Time Vortex and she is (was, will be, can be, now and always) alive again. Time is hers. Her thief is hers. The universe beckons.
And she is ready.