Fic: Breathing Constellations
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: The Doctor, Rose Tyler
Rating: G
Notes: Here is a fic fragment to commence my livejournal. All feedback is most welcome.
Sometimes, after a rebellion at Ursa Minor, or a chess match at Clom, or a lazy Sunday evening of tea and ginger biscuits in the TARDIS, Rose will curl her feet up under her legs on the pilot chair in the control room, and let her eyelids droop. Her fingers will idly fiddle with the frayed edges and stray strings of her jumper, as she listens to the Doctor as he strolls around the console, his hands running lazily over the switches and levers. Rose listens to him speak until late into the night, until his words begin to simply sound like a collection of sighs and murmurs.
His voice fills her dreams.
The Doctor likes it best when she sleeps wrapped up in a bundle on the chair, right at the heart of the TARDIS. If he’s not mistaken, the TARDIS also seems calmer when she’s there, and if the Doctor listens, the breath of Rose and the TARDIS meld into a single rhythm.
He doesn’t sleep much, maybe because Time Lords need less rest, maybe because his mind never seems to shut off. But when she’s there, her chest lifting and falling in breath, he feels a little quieter. He keeps moving, skirting around the TARDIS, fixing and creating things, but his gaze will flicker back to her, and he’ll pause and grin a little.
She makes little murmuring noises in her sleep, her mouth drifting open, breath falling from her lips. Her jacket is pulled half-heartedly around her body, the material bunched up, revealing the back of her shoulder. From a distance, the Doctor looks at a small collection of freckles painted upon her. As he walks closer, her breath becomes louder and her freckles brighter against her shoulder’s smooth skin. Her eyeliner is a little smudged, and her eyelids are a pattern of faded grey.
The freckles. The frayed jumper. The strands of hair caught between her lips. Sometimes, it’s all the Doctor can see.
He stands next to her sleeping form, his hand outstretched. This close, the collection of freckles look like the constellation of Auriga. Her shoulder shifts as she makes a small coughing sound, pulling the jacket closer around her body. Her nose scrunches up.
Blinking quickly, he shrugs his coat from his shoulders, draping it over the pilot chair. He tucks the edges around her arms and under her knees.
A yoyo, a kiwifruit and a variety of coins tumble from the coat’s pockets and scatter across the floor. Grinning, he picks up the kiwifruit and places it into a little hollow in the console. It will be ripe enough to share for breakfast in the morning.
The Doctor likes these captured quiet minutes, tucked into a corner of a galaxy, the TARDIS humming quietly.
Reaching for the momentum levers, navigation screens and the green buttons, he lets his fingers find the Auriga constellation and enters in the coordinates. The Doctor smiles, and then yawns big, his teeth reflecting the light of the console.
It’s the dead of the night, and he decides against finding a bed somewhere. As the TARDIS readjusts her flight direction, and begins softly whirring, the Doctor folds down onto the floor of the control room next to the pilot chair. He watches the yoyo roll along the floor until his eyelids droop shut. Sure, a bed would be more comfortable, but on the floor, he’s close to her, and that’s what matters.
Characters: The Doctor, Rose Tyler
Rating: G
Notes: Here is a fic fragment to commence my livejournal. All feedback is most welcome.
Sometimes, after a rebellion at Ursa Minor, or a chess match at Clom, or a lazy Sunday evening of tea and ginger biscuits in the TARDIS, Rose will curl her feet up under her legs on the pilot chair in the control room, and let her eyelids droop. Her fingers will idly fiddle with the frayed edges and stray strings of her jumper, as she listens to the Doctor as he strolls around the console, his hands running lazily over the switches and levers. Rose listens to him speak until late into the night, until his words begin to simply sound like a collection of sighs and murmurs.
His voice fills her dreams.
The Doctor likes it best when she sleeps wrapped up in a bundle on the chair, right at the heart of the TARDIS. If he’s not mistaken, the TARDIS also seems calmer when she’s there, and if the Doctor listens, the breath of Rose and the TARDIS meld into a single rhythm.
He doesn’t sleep much, maybe because Time Lords need less rest, maybe because his mind never seems to shut off. But when she’s there, her chest lifting and falling in breath, he feels a little quieter. He keeps moving, skirting around the TARDIS, fixing and creating things, but his gaze will flicker back to her, and he’ll pause and grin a little.
She makes little murmuring noises in her sleep, her mouth drifting open, breath falling from her lips. Her jacket is pulled half-heartedly around her body, the material bunched up, revealing the back of her shoulder. From a distance, the Doctor looks at a small collection of freckles painted upon her. As he walks closer, her breath becomes louder and her freckles brighter against her shoulder’s smooth skin. Her eyeliner is a little smudged, and her eyelids are a pattern of faded grey.
The freckles. The frayed jumper. The strands of hair caught between her lips. Sometimes, it’s all the Doctor can see.
He stands next to her sleeping form, his hand outstretched. This close, the collection of freckles look like the constellation of Auriga. Her shoulder shifts as she makes a small coughing sound, pulling the jacket closer around her body. Her nose scrunches up.
Blinking quickly, he shrugs his coat from his shoulders, draping it over the pilot chair. He tucks the edges around her arms and under her knees.
A yoyo, a kiwifruit and a variety of coins tumble from the coat’s pockets and scatter across the floor. Grinning, he picks up the kiwifruit and places it into a little hollow in the console. It will be ripe enough to share for breakfast in the morning.
The Doctor likes these captured quiet minutes, tucked into a corner of a galaxy, the TARDIS humming quietly.
Reaching for the momentum levers, navigation screens and the green buttons, he lets his fingers find the Auriga constellation and enters in the coordinates. The Doctor smiles, and then yawns big, his teeth reflecting the light of the console.
It’s the dead of the night, and he decides against finding a bed somewhere. As the TARDIS readjusts her flight direction, and begins softly whirring, the Doctor folds down onto the floor of the control room next to the pilot chair. He watches the yoyo roll along the floor until his eyelids droop shut. Sure, a bed would be more comfortable, but on the floor, he’s close to her, and that’s what matters.