Fic [Doctor Who]: Things You Need (1/14)
Chapter title: "Against the Blue"
Story: Things You Need
Series: Love in Time
Rating: G
Characters: Ninth Doctor, Rose Tyler
Spoilers: Through "Father's Day", but not significantly
Beta: annissag, who is wonderful!
Summary: A party with chips. Some wishes come true and some don't, but sometimes the most important bit is the wishing.
Sixteen balloons against the blue
They're red they're red like a dream come true
Sure it was enough to give them to you
To us you let them go
Let them go...
She’s sure she’s never had this much fun in her life, not goofing around back home with Shireen or saving a nutter from mannequin zombies under, unbelievably, the London Eye. Never like this.
Here she is, with said nutter, away from scary plastic surgery and gas ghosts and Daleks for a bit. They’re on a planet called Astra Mari, which he says was named for the beauty of its oceans, beauty that shines like a star. The star of the sea. She can’t disagree. The grass is blue and the sky is green, and the far-off ocean is teal and lively. She laughed at that those colors when they opened the doors of the TARDIS, but it’s still grass for miles and miles and a sky that goes on with only a hint of pink clouds and the day-ghosts of two crescent moons. And the people are sweet, if kind of lavender and fuzzy, and no one’s tried to arrest them or assassinate anyone. The only thing that could make this any better is a party, with lots and lots of chips.
And there is a party. He’s brought her to Astra’s spring festival, a celebration of new hopes for the year. There are even, incredibly, chips, and although he says they’re made of tree bark and snickers at the look on her face in his funny way, they are absolutely great chips.
She might, in fact, explode from eating so many of them while she wanders and smiles at the natives and kicks through the blue, blue grass. But then her Doctor is there, stealing her little basket-plate thing.
“Oi!” She slaps his arm, but he just shields the basket and grins at her. He is so incongruous here, in the blue grass and the breeze, with his leather jacket and his bizarre ears and that grin. But then so is she, yellow-haired in her pink hoodie. So incongruous they both fit.
He’s eating her chips now and she rolls her eyes and waits for whatever impressive thing he’s going to say. It’s building on his face, and really she wants to hear, but can’t risk expanding his astonishing ego any further.
“Astra Mari,” he says with his mouth full. “A perfect holiday. Well, nearly perfect-there was this one time, with the grasshopper people, and I very narrowly avoided starting a war. But that’s a long time from now. No reason to worry. Just good chips!”
She snorts and he looks down his nose at her.
“You’re always not quite starting a war, you know.”
He laughs shortly and mirthlessly at that, and looks away, and she knows she got it wrong, forgot the Dalek and the gun and everything he didn’t say there under Utah, and now he’ll want to go. But he doesn’t. He just turns back to her after a second and smiles.
“So, Astra. Great party, isn’t it? It gets better. This is like New Year’s, only instead of dropping a ball they let off balloons. Balloons! Each person gets eight, and they make eight wishes and trade balloons with someone, and they let each other’s balloons go up into the sky. They’re even biodegradable! Like blowing out birthday candles, for Astrans.”
“Are they allowed to tell each other their wishes, or is that secret?”
“Secret. Just like birthday candles.” He’s grinning again, and she’s glad.
“So are we going to make wishes and let off balloons?”
“Of course. I love balloons. Almost as good as bananas.”
Then they’re running back down the hill and hunting for the groups of children handing out hundreds and hundreds of red balloons with huge smiles on their faces and candy-stickiness on their hands. Eight apiece, and they find a quiet corner of the field.
“Everyone lets them off together, you see. It’ll be just a few minutes, so make your wishes, Rose Tyler!” No manic grin this time, just that quiet fond look that she likes even better, the one that says she’s the best not-stupid ape and he forgives her for the Reapers and Adam and all the dumb things she occasionally does.
She closes her eyes and wishes. Wishes that Mickey will be happier soon, and her mum will get why she left, eventually. Wishes that Earth will be safe from farting aliens and the TARDIS will never again break down in the middle of an ocean and strand them on the sea floor for a week. Wishes the next prison cell will have a loo with a door and that he’ll never stop laughing when they run, and they’ll never stop running, ever, and he’ll never leave her back on Earth and she’ll never leave him.
Wait, is that eight, or nine? She figures she can sneak an extra one in, especially if she doesn’t have to tell, and she’s kind of glad she doesn’t, because she’s not sure she could say some of these things to him. Not yet.
She sneaks a look over at him, and his eyes are closed, his funny expressive face quiet. She has no idea what he’s thinking, never really does, but she’s surprised that he seems to be taking this seriously. He hasn’t struck her as one for wishes, or luck, or anything but what he can drag out of a totally pear-shaped situation or find somewhere in the vast universe. But here he is, wishing something, and now he’s watching her staring, with that fond look and the barest hint of a smile.
“Sorry,” she mutters, and drops her eyes.
“What for?” He reaches for her balloons and hands his across, and they’re holding each other’s wishes, red against the green green sky. And she makes one more wish, that the ones she’s holding, whatever they are, will be true.
There are beautiful fuzzy people gathered all around them and a man with a bell standing on the hill, making some kind of speech she doesn’t really hear about wishes and hope and life. And then he rings the bell, sweet and not clanging, and thousands upon thousands of balloons go up into the sky.
She watches the sixteen that are theirs until they fade into a red cloud among the pink wisps. When they are finally indistinguishable from the sky, she turns and takes his hand, and they make their way home.
*
Notes:
This series was inspired by three songs by The Weepies--in this case, "Empty Your Hands". It's very Doctor.
Set after "Father's Day" and before "The Empty Child".
Chapter 2
Story: Things You Need
Series: Love in Time
Rating: G
Characters: Ninth Doctor, Rose Tyler
Spoilers: Through "Father's Day", but not significantly
Beta: annissag, who is wonderful!
Summary: A party with chips. Some wishes come true and some don't, but sometimes the most important bit is the wishing.
Sixteen balloons against the blue
They're red they're red like a dream come true
Sure it was enough to give them to you
To us you let them go
Let them go...
She’s sure she’s never had this much fun in her life, not goofing around back home with Shireen or saving a nutter from mannequin zombies under, unbelievably, the London Eye. Never like this.
Here she is, with said nutter, away from scary plastic surgery and gas ghosts and Daleks for a bit. They’re on a planet called Astra Mari, which he says was named for the beauty of its oceans, beauty that shines like a star. The star of the sea. She can’t disagree. The grass is blue and the sky is green, and the far-off ocean is teal and lively. She laughed at that those colors when they opened the doors of the TARDIS, but it’s still grass for miles and miles and a sky that goes on with only a hint of pink clouds and the day-ghosts of two crescent moons. And the people are sweet, if kind of lavender and fuzzy, and no one’s tried to arrest them or assassinate anyone. The only thing that could make this any better is a party, with lots and lots of chips.
And there is a party. He’s brought her to Astra’s spring festival, a celebration of new hopes for the year. There are even, incredibly, chips, and although he says they’re made of tree bark and snickers at the look on her face in his funny way, they are absolutely great chips.
She might, in fact, explode from eating so many of them while she wanders and smiles at the natives and kicks through the blue, blue grass. But then her Doctor is there, stealing her little basket-plate thing.
“Oi!” She slaps his arm, but he just shields the basket and grins at her. He is so incongruous here, in the blue grass and the breeze, with his leather jacket and his bizarre ears and that grin. But then so is she, yellow-haired in her pink hoodie. So incongruous they both fit.
He’s eating her chips now and she rolls her eyes and waits for whatever impressive thing he’s going to say. It’s building on his face, and really she wants to hear, but can’t risk expanding his astonishing ego any further.
“Astra Mari,” he says with his mouth full. “A perfect holiday. Well, nearly perfect-there was this one time, with the grasshopper people, and I very narrowly avoided starting a war. But that’s a long time from now. No reason to worry. Just good chips!”
She snorts and he looks down his nose at her.
“You’re always not quite starting a war, you know.”
He laughs shortly and mirthlessly at that, and looks away, and she knows she got it wrong, forgot the Dalek and the gun and everything he didn’t say there under Utah, and now he’ll want to go. But he doesn’t. He just turns back to her after a second and smiles.
“So, Astra. Great party, isn’t it? It gets better. This is like New Year’s, only instead of dropping a ball they let off balloons. Balloons! Each person gets eight, and they make eight wishes and trade balloons with someone, and they let each other’s balloons go up into the sky. They’re even biodegradable! Like blowing out birthday candles, for Astrans.”
“Are they allowed to tell each other their wishes, or is that secret?”
“Secret. Just like birthday candles.” He’s grinning again, and she’s glad.
“So are we going to make wishes and let off balloons?”
“Of course. I love balloons. Almost as good as bananas.”
Then they’re running back down the hill and hunting for the groups of children handing out hundreds and hundreds of red balloons with huge smiles on their faces and candy-stickiness on their hands. Eight apiece, and they find a quiet corner of the field.
“Everyone lets them off together, you see. It’ll be just a few minutes, so make your wishes, Rose Tyler!” No manic grin this time, just that quiet fond look that she likes even better, the one that says she’s the best not-stupid ape and he forgives her for the Reapers and Adam and all the dumb things she occasionally does.
She closes her eyes and wishes. Wishes that Mickey will be happier soon, and her mum will get why she left, eventually. Wishes that Earth will be safe from farting aliens and the TARDIS will never again break down in the middle of an ocean and strand them on the sea floor for a week. Wishes the next prison cell will have a loo with a door and that he’ll never stop laughing when they run, and they’ll never stop running, ever, and he’ll never leave her back on Earth and she’ll never leave him.
Wait, is that eight, or nine? She figures she can sneak an extra one in, especially if she doesn’t have to tell, and she’s kind of glad she doesn’t, because she’s not sure she could say some of these things to him. Not yet.
She sneaks a look over at him, and his eyes are closed, his funny expressive face quiet. She has no idea what he’s thinking, never really does, but she’s surprised that he seems to be taking this seriously. He hasn’t struck her as one for wishes, or luck, or anything but what he can drag out of a totally pear-shaped situation or find somewhere in the vast universe. But here he is, wishing something, and now he’s watching her staring, with that fond look and the barest hint of a smile.
“Sorry,” she mutters, and drops her eyes.
“What for?” He reaches for her balloons and hands his across, and they’re holding each other’s wishes, red against the green green sky. And she makes one more wish, that the ones she’s holding, whatever they are, will be true.
There are beautiful fuzzy people gathered all around them and a man with a bell standing on the hill, making some kind of speech she doesn’t really hear about wishes and hope and life. And then he rings the bell, sweet and not clanging, and thousands upon thousands of balloons go up into the sky.
She watches the sixteen that are theirs until they fade into a red cloud among the pink wisps. When they are finally indistinguishable from the sky, she turns and takes his hand, and they make their way home.
*
Notes:
This series was inspired by three songs by The Weepies--in this case, "Empty Your Hands". It's very Doctor.
Set after "Father's Day" and before "The Empty Child".
Chapter 2