Doctor Who: "Father's Day" loose ficlet
How many stones do I have to throw at them? They're not even writing in the right fandom yet.
I don't know if the Doctor and Rose would have outright spoken about what happened in "Father's Day". This is me, testing my theory.
My grandmother does not know the burden of having muses.
(Ninth Doctor, Rose, from end of "Father's Day")
"I could get you some tea, Rose," said the Doctor in the calm before materialization. Rose shook her head.
"It's all right. I should- I can get it myself." She departed from the console room, padded down a slightly threadbare carpet and passed her own room. She paused, ducked back to throw her jacket through the bead curtain and onto her empty overnight bag.
A few doors down the hall was a small night kitchen, Rose knew. She pushed at the door and squeezed into the room, then maneuvered herself behind the L-shaped counter so the door could close. The ceramic tiles were freezing, and she shivered despite her runners and jeans.
Grey light, like an overcast morning, drifted through the single paned window. Rose leaned forward on the counter. In front was a low round garden table, set with two saucers and cornered by two chairs. Behind her, a kettle whistled. She stroked the mismatched coral countertop before turning around.
"Secret door," he said before she had registered his presence. He flapped a hand at her. A laugh bubbled in her chest, but dimmed into a twist of her mouth. She sat down at the table and marveled at the doors in the wall, so close they seemed to define the other. "You'll want mugs too," she heard him say. The scent of steam and loose tea leaves blossomed over the sound of pouring water. He set down their tea and stretched out in the other chair.
Rose drew her mug close and breathed. Every so often, tears trailed lazily down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. Most of them missed the mug, but her tea still tasted vaguely salty.
The Doctor's presence seemed detached and awkward in the small and spartan room. Sometime during her silent vigil, he tugged one of her hands free and interlaced her fingers with his. She looked up at him, and he seemed about to speak, but looked out the window and took a sip of tea instead.
A robin's warble filtered in the window, likely from the adjacent garden. Rose thought of the small flowerbox Jackie used to have, and the cat that was allergic, and the man eating plant she found a few days ago and a couple levels away, and the Doctor made appropriate noises as he listened to her, and occasionally got up to refill their mugs.
She noticed that the light from the window hadn't changed, and the tinker in her saucer as she tried to put her mug down was the TARDIS key. Her TARDIS key. It glowed slightly, and had warmed the bottom of the saucer. He started talking about fixing the heating in her room again.
He gripped her hand tighter. She smiled, a small twitch of her lips, and so did he, and they took a swig of their tea.
I don't know if the Doctor and Rose would have outright spoken about what happened in "Father's Day". This is me, testing my theory.
My grandmother does not know the burden of having muses.
(Ninth Doctor, Rose, from end of "Father's Day")
"I could get you some tea, Rose," said the Doctor in the calm before materialization. Rose shook her head.
"It's all right. I should- I can get it myself." She departed from the console room, padded down a slightly threadbare carpet and passed her own room. She paused, ducked back to throw her jacket through the bead curtain and onto her empty overnight bag.
A few doors down the hall was a small night kitchen, Rose knew. She pushed at the door and squeezed into the room, then maneuvered herself behind the L-shaped counter so the door could close. The ceramic tiles were freezing, and she shivered despite her runners and jeans.
Grey light, like an overcast morning, drifted through the single paned window. Rose leaned forward on the counter. In front was a low round garden table, set with two saucers and cornered by two chairs. Behind her, a kettle whistled. She stroked the mismatched coral countertop before turning around.
"Secret door," he said before she had registered his presence. He flapped a hand at her. A laugh bubbled in her chest, but dimmed into a twist of her mouth. She sat down at the table and marveled at the doors in the wall, so close they seemed to define the other. "You'll want mugs too," she heard him say. The scent of steam and loose tea leaves blossomed over the sound of pouring water. He set down their tea and stretched out in the other chair.
Rose drew her mug close and breathed. Every so often, tears trailed lazily down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. Most of them missed the mug, but her tea still tasted vaguely salty.
The Doctor's presence seemed detached and awkward in the small and spartan room. Sometime during her silent vigil, he tugged one of her hands free and interlaced her fingers with his. She looked up at him, and he seemed about to speak, but looked out the window and took a sip of tea instead.
A robin's warble filtered in the window, likely from the adjacent garden. Rose thought of the small flowerbox Jackie used to have, and the cat that was allergic, and the man eating plant she found a few days ago and a couple levels away, and the Doctor made appropriate noises as he listened to her, and occasionally got up to refill their mugs.
She noticed that the light from the window hadn't changed, and the tinker in her saucer as she tried to put her mug down was the TARDIS key. Her TARDIS key. It glowed slightly, and had warmed the bottom of the saucer. He started talking about fixing the heating in her room again.
He gripped her hand tighter. She smiled, a small twitch of her lips, and so did he, and they took a swig of their tea.