Fic: Down
Title: Down
Prompt: #64 - Fall
Rating: G
Claim: Ten/Tardis
Spoilers: A bit for Impossible Planet / Satan Pit
Notes: Set during Impossible Planet / Satan Pit, and written for the doctorwho_100 challenge (Prompts are here.)
DOWN
The ground opens up and she feels herself, inert, tumbling away from him.
Down.
Direction suddenly becomes relevant, distance relative only to him, on the surface. On the surface it always has been but now, an impossible distance traps her, strands him. Separates them.
Time is relative. Direction is peculiar and never before has it been this precise, this palpable. This business of up-and-down, of falling - wasn't she, weren't they both born to fall, to tumble, to roll and slip sideways through time? to keep moving directionless in their beautiful complex mathematical web where she is vectorial and he spirals and small linear beings only interrupt from time to (time
time passes)
She wakes, is aware of having slept. It is still and dark and still dark, and something mindless waits nearby. Something is down here with her.
Down here.
Down she waits every moment feeling him pulled away from her. He will leave if he has to and she will wait down here and in the next place and if necessary the place after that - there is always another place, more space and if it's not time after it's time before because they are the same thing - but even she cannot know where that will be or when.
Up there, he cannot know either; and she suspects that even if he could, he would already have shut that part of himself down, not to see without her. It has happened before and it will happen again and again already she is rewriting the equations that will let her wait, while he redraws the present and imagines a future a house a garden that he will have to get used to in (time
time passes)
Now something wakes her: mindless rage that for a moment overwhelms her so that she thinks it is her own.
Something is down here with her. Something that doesn't fit, that has no place in the complex play of thought and numbers, shapes and spirals. Something that negates, unwrites, voids. She wishes that just for a moment again she could see with his eyes - she might know but he understands, and together they are a match for (time
nothing
the rage ebbs and flows but nothing passes
This is time, then. This is her place in it down here and waiting as the numbers corrode and she is parenthetical, inert and, finally, so very empty that there is nothing but space to be filled with something, rage, something that
blinds
destroys understanding
she waits does wait becomes waiting)
For now, she is.
Down here.
Prompt: #64 - Fall
Rating: G
Claim: Ten/Tardis
Spoilers: A bit for Impossible Planet / Satan Pit
Notes: Set during Impossible Planet / Satan Pit, and written for the doctorwho_100 challenge (Prompts are here.)
DOWN
The ground opens up and she feels herself, inert, tumbling away from him.
Down.
Direction suddenly becomes relevant, distance relative only to him, on the surface. On the surface it always has been but now, an impossible distance traps her, strands him. Separates them.
Time is relative. Direction is peculiar and never before has it been this precise, this palpable. This business of up-and-down, of falling - wasn't she, weren't they both born to fall, to tumble, to roll and slip sideways through time? to keep moving directionless in their beautiful complex mathematical web where she is vectorial and he spirals and small linear beings only interrupt from time to (time
time passes)
She wakes, is aware of having slept. It is still and dark and still dark, and something mindless waits nearby. Something is down here with her.
Down here.
Down she waits every moment feeling him pulled away from her. He will leave if he has to and she will wait down here and in the next place and if necessary the place after that - there is always another place, more space and if it's not time after it's time before because they are the same thing - but even she cannot know where that will be or when.
Up there, he cannot know either; and she suspects that even if he could, he would already have shut that part of himself down, not to see without her. It has happened before and it will happen again and again already she is rewriting the equations that will let her wait, while he redraws the present and imagines a future a house a garden that he will have to get used to in (time
time passes)
Now something wakes her: mindless rage that for a moment overwhelms her so that she thinks it is her own.
Something is down here with her. Something that doesn't fit, that has no place in the complex play of thought and numbers, shapes and spirals. Something that negates, unwrites, voids. She wishes that just for a moment again she could see with his eyes - she might know but he understands, and together they are a match for (time
nothing
the rage ebbs and flows but nothing passes
This is time, then. This is her place in it down here and waiting as the numbers corrode and she is parenthetical, inert and, finally, so very empty that there is nothing but space to be filled with something, rage, something that
blinds
destroys understanding
she waits does wait becomes waiting)
For now, she is.
Down here.