Beyond the Rift: Equilibrium
justprompts: What was your favorite moment of the last year?
(Honestly, this is not the answer to the question at all, just... what happened when I started writing.)
It's impossible not to retrace the same paths every now and again. Suburbs are not a place the Doctor used to find himself in often, but you do it once and it just happens again and again...
There's nothing particularly interesting there. Well, relatively speaking. There's a house across the street where it never snows, and Des says some of the neighbors have harassed him about all their cats being missing, and the Doctor's not certain he even believes that last part. Cats get lost and run away all the time, and there's no reason to blame it all on the whistler if it hasn't eaten Cy yet.
There's a little while house with a porch, and an actual white picket fence, white with blue trim, windows and a door and all those things the Doctor swore he'd never have. Pick the most interesting house on the street and that wouldn't be it, but it's always the one he wanders up to, slips in the unlocked back door and into the dark kitchen while everyone in the house sleeps upstairs.
He sits in the kitchen and makes tea, pokes around and finds where Martha hid the biscuits this time, rewires the kitchen radio to pick up signals from Bristol, just because he can. Sometimes the whistler comes and sits on the floor (too big to sit on the counter now) and stares at him until he scratches it behind the ears, or at least where its ears would be if it had them. Sometimes Cy's there, sitting on the kitchen table while the two of them discuss the pros and cons of nun's wimples, and alright, the conversation may be his fault, but it's a far sight better than watching her create birds or destroy the living room.
Every now and then, Des or Martha wakes up, and finds their way down to the kitchen, like they know he's there - or maybe they just wander to the kitchen in the middle of the night regularly, so the only odd thing is that he's there this time. Des gets a cup of tea as a reward for not threatening him with a lamp, or he'll talk to Martha about things that have exploded this week and the local flora of Verdinal, and how he has absolutely no idea why the biscuit tin's empty, must be the Nephilim and probably Arthur.
And this time, just this once, he wakes up in a loose ball on the couch with a blanket somehow having been draped over him while he slept, the smell of coffee in the air and early morning sunlight slanting through the windows. He sits up, letting the blanket fall to the floor, and rakes his fingers through his hair, blinking in sleepy disorientation. There are voices in the other room, in the kitchen, and after a moment, he starts in that direction, absently smoothing his rumpled suit without actually improving the disheveled look in the least.
"There is a bed, you know," Martha remarks as he steps into the kitchen, smiling at him over her mug of coffee. "Right upstairs."
He stops in the doorway, shrugs a little. "Beds, as I understand it, are for sleeping in. I was just... just..."
"Sleeping?" Des asks helpfully, and the Doctor shoots him a glare.
"Napping. Dozing, at the most."
He moves a little closer, pokes speculatively at the coffee maker and then turns away with a wrinkled nose. Des frowns at him, tilting his head to one side, and finally asks, "Do you think synonyms are going to change the fact that you fell asleep on the couch?"
"Mostly," the Doctor says, dropping into a seat beside him at the table and snagging his coffee mug, taking a drink before he can protest, "I thought it would distract you long enough that you'd drop it."
"I think that was a little- hey!"
The Doctor lets him take the coffee back, because fighting would only spill it and get them both wet. Martha rolls her eyes and stands up to fetch the Doctor his own cup of coffee, ruffling his already tousled hair as she passes. He smooths it down with one hand, trying to look affronted. "As a matter of fact, I was waiting for the two of you to wake up. I thought you might like to know-"
"Doctor?" Martha asks, staring at something on the counter, her body blocking his view of just what it is.
"Mmm?"
"Why is the toaster flashing at me?"
He leans over in his chair far enough to see that the toaster is, in fact, flashing, and grimaces a little. Possibly he should have mentioned that the toaster's no longer functional as a toaster after he got bored last night. Left a note, or something. He lets out a breath, feigning wide-eyed innocence. "Haven't a clue."
Muse: Tenth Doctor
Word Count: 815
(Honestly, this is not the answer to the question at all, just... what happened when I started writing.)
It's impossible not to retrace the same paths every now and again. Suburbs are not a place the Doctor used to find himself in often, but you do it once and it just happens again and again...
There's nothing particularly interesting there. Well, relatively speaking. There's a house across the street where it never snows, and Des says some of the neighbors have harassed him about all their cats being missing, and the Doctor's not certain he even believes that last part. Cats get lost and run away all the time, and there's no reason to blame it all on the whistler if it hasn't eaten Cy yet.
There's a little while house with a porch, and an actual white picket fence, white with blue trim, windows and a door and all those things the Doctor swore he'd never have. Pick the most interesting house on the street and that wouldn't be it, but it's always the one he wanders up to, slips in the unlocked back door and into the dark kitchen while everyone in the house sleeps upstairs.
He sits in the kitchen and makes tea, pokes around and finds where Martha hid the biscuits this time, rewires the kitchen radio to pick up signals from Bristol, just because he can. Sometimes the whistler comes and sits on the floor (too big to sit on the counter now) and stares at him until he scratches it behind the ears, or at least where its ears would be if it had them. Sometimes Cy's there, sitting on the kitchen table while the two of them discuss the pros and cons of nun's wimples, and alright, the conversation may be his fault, but it's a far sight better than watching her create birds or destroy the living room.
Every now and then, Des or Martha wakes up, and finds their way down to the kitchen, like they know he's there - or maybe they just wander to the kitchen in the middle of the night regularly, so the only odd thing is that he's there this time. Des gets a cup of tea as a reward for not threatening him with a lamp, or he'll talk to Martha about things that have exploded this week and the local flora of Verdinal, and how he has absolutely no idea why the biscuit tin's empty, must be the Nephilim and probably Arthur.
And this time, just this once, he wakes up in a loose ball on the couch with a blanket somehow having been draped over him while he slept, the smell of coffee in the air and early morning sunlight slanting through the windows. He sits up, letting the blanket fall to the floor, and rakes his fingers through his hair, blinking in sleepy disorientation. There are voices in the other room, in the kitchen, and after a moment, he starts in that direction, absently smoothing his rumpled suit without actually improving the disheveled look in the least.
"There is a bed, you know," Martha remarks as he steps into the kitchen, smiling at him over her mug of coffee. "Right upstairs."
He stops in the doorway, shrugs a little. "Beds, as I understand it, are for sleeping in. I was just... just..."
"Sleeping?" Des asks helpfully, and the Doctor shoots him a glare.
"Napping. Dozing, at the most."
He moves a little closer, pokes speculatively at the coffee maker and then turns away with a wrinkled nose. Des frowns at him, tilting his head to one side, and finally asks, "Do you think synonyms are going to change the fact that you fell asleep on the couch?"
"Mostly," the Doctor says, dropping into a seat beside him at the table and snagging his coffee mug, taking a drink before he can protest, "I thought it would distract you long enough that you'd drop it."
"I think that was a little- hey!"
The Doctor lets him take the coffee back, because fighting would only spill it and get them both wet. Martha rolls her eyes and stands up to fetch the Doctor his own cup of coffee, ruffling his already tousled hair as she passes. He smooths it down with one hand, trying to look affronted. "As a matter of fact, I was waiting for the two of you to wake up. I thought you might like to know-"
"Doctor?" Martha asks, staring at something on the counter, her body blocking his view of just what it is.
"Mmm?"
"Why is the toaster flashing at me?"
He leans over in his chair far enough to see that the toaster is, in fact, flashing, and grimaces a little. Possibly he should have mentioned that the toaster's no longer functional as a toaster after he got bored last night. Left a note, or something. He lets out a breath, feigning wide-eyed innocence. "Haven't a clue."
Muse: Tenth Doctor
Word Count: 815