Eyebright
Title: Eyebright
Author: if_you_see_alie
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I sadly do not own Doctor Who.
Summary: The Doctor asks the universe for just one thing. Surprisingly, it answers back.
Spoilers: None.
Characters: Ten/Rose
A/N: Sorry it's a bit late! My failure of an attempt at writing something not angsty! :D Written in 30 minutes without my usual insane editing, so this might also be horrible. Gah. In this short little ficlet, assume the entire Davros and Journey's End story arc never ever happened. Written for challenge 98 at then_theres_us
As a star from the sea new-risen,
As the waft of an angel's wing,
As a lark's song heard in prison,
As the promise of summer in spring,
She comes to me through the stillness,
The shadows that ring me round,
The dungeon of years and illness
Wherein my spirit is bound.
She comes with her eyes love-laden,
Her laughter of lily and rose,
A fragile and flower-like maiden,
In the season of frosts and snows.
She smiled and the shades departed;
She shone and the snows were rain;
And he who was frozen-hearted,
Bloomed up into life again.
- Eyebright; by J. Addington Symonds
52 years, 73 days, 18 hours, 32 minutes, 10 seconds.
11 seconds.
12 seconds.
13 seconds.
7 companions.
253 planets.
76 solar systems.
Too long.
It's been too long since doomsday, since that day on Bad Wolf Bay. He knows he'll never forget-- he remembers almost everything-- but he counts all the days and moments and events and companions since then, because he wants to make absolutely sure.
He lies down in the snow, looking up at the flurry of white that poses as the sky in this planet. Glaciere, it's called-- and it's cold. It feels unnatural to him. After all, a Time Lord's superior biology withstands even the worst of nature's extreme temperatures; but Glaciere is severe, unforgiving, merciless.
Quite like himself.
Little bits of ice cling to his skin, freezing his spit so his lips stick together. It makes him feel numb, and he likes it. He thinks that if he could just lay there a little longer, maybe the snow would just envelope him, enclose him, hold him in it's icy grasp and maybe he could just lay there and rest for an eternity or so.
And wouldn't it be funny? Gallifrey burns in a fire, and here lies it's last child, freezing in ice.
Ice.
His eyelashes are heavy with ice. He can almost feel the blue on his lips. Every breath is a dagger to his lungs, the air sharp and piercing. It's so cold.
He thinks of Rose then, because if he's to remain frozen forever, he wants to be frozen with the thought of Rose in his head.
He thinks of sea tides and lonely beaches, of sea salt and mascara-stained tears and golden hair. He remembers her little pink tongue and her plump lips and the way she snorted a bit when she laughed really hard.
What he remembers the most though is her eyes. The way they sparkled when she smiled, or the shy glances she gave him when she thought he wasn't looking. He remembered her eyes as Bad Wolf, fierce and powerful and oh so full of love.
Love.
He remembers the love in her eyes, on that day in Norway. Love mixed with a sadness so great it killed him. Killed him.
One last wish, he thinks to sky, to the nothing that encompasses him. One last wish for a dying man?
It's cold, cold, cold, cold. He can't feel his fingers. Moving hurts. He wants to live, but not like this. Not lonely and angry and sad and scared and never content. He, the savior of universes, the oncoming storm, the man who had saved the human race countless and countless of times-- where was his payment? Where was his reward? He doesn't need money, or fame, or power.
He just needs Rose.
Could I just have that? Would it be too hard to ask? He exhales, watches his breath puff into mist and dissipate into the air. Just Rose. Just Rose...
....please?
He doesn't expect the universe to answer. The universe is ungrateful.
He closes his eyes, and thinks
Rest.
But his eyes are forced open by a light that flashes across the field, blurring his sight and bathing the frozen wasteland of this wretched planet in shades of sun and gold.
The universe smiles.
Golden hair spills out first, followed by blue leather and jeans and trainers, and she's wet and coughing and spluttering like a fish, like a beautiful, impossible, wonderful fish, face down in the snow and heaving like she's run a mile.
And then he thinks she's coming closer-- but that can't be right, because he can still see her on her knees, shivering and hacking in the snow.
That's when he realizes he's running.
His limbs hurt, his teeth are chattering, he's shivering from head to foot and every movement and every breath is like a knife to the side, but he runs, and oh he runs.
And he's on her in a second, and they're tumbling and rolling in the snow and he's crying because there are trails of ice on his cheeks and she's smiling and laughing and he doesn't give a damn because she's here.
Thank you.
"Doctor," she breathes, looking up at him through ice-encrusted lashes, her eyes filled with love and love and love and love and he thinks he's never seen beauty before this.
He doesn't speak, just presses his lips to hers and thinks that he will never be cold ever again.
A/N: Hope you guys liked this! I was hoping, after you read this, you could check out my story Ghost, which is my eleven/rose fic that is currently a WIP. I'd love to know what you think. You can read it here. Thank you so much! :)
Author: if_you_see_alie
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I sadly do not own Doctor Who.
Summary: The Doctor asks the universe for just one thing. Surprisingly, it answers back.
Spoilers: None.
Characters: Ten/Rose
A/N: Sorry it's a bit late! My failure of an attempt at writing something not angsty! :D Written in 30 minutes without my usual insane editing, so this might also be horrible. Gah. In this short little ficlet, assume the entire Davros and Journey's End story arc never ever happened. Written for challenge 98 at then_theres_us
As a star from the sea new-risen,
As the waft of an angel's wing,
As a lark's song heard in prison,
As the promise of summer in spring,
She comes to me through the stillness,
The shadows that ring me round,
The dungeon of years and illness
Wherein my spirit is bound.
She comes with her eyes love-laden,
Her laughter of lily and rose,
A fragile and flower-like maiden,
In the season of frosts and snows.
She smiled and the shades departed;
She shone and the snows were rain;
And he who was frozen-hearted,
Bloomed up into life again.
- Eyebright; by J. Addington Symonds
52 years, 73 days, 18 hours, 32 minutes, 10 seconds.
11 seconds.
12 seconds.
13 seconds.
7 companions.
253 planets.
76 solar systems.
Too long.
It's been too long since doomsday, since that day on Bad Wolf Bay. He knows he'll never forget-- he remembers almost everything-- but he counts all the days and moments and events and companions since then, because he wants to make absolutely sure.
He lies down in the snow, looking up at the flurry of white that poses as the sky in this planet. Glaciere, it's called-- and it's cold. It feels unnatural to him. After all, a Time Lord's superior biology withstands even the worst of nature's extreme temperatures; but Glaciere is severe, unforgiving, merciless.
Quite like himself.
Little bits of ice cling to his skin, freezing his spit so his lips stick together. It makes him feel numb, and he likes it. He thinks that if he could just lay there a little longer, maybe the snow would just envelope him, enclose him, hold him in it's icy grasp and maybe he could just lay there and rest for an eternity or so.
And wouldn't it be funny? Gallifrey burns in a fire, and here lies it's last child, freezing in ice.
Ice.
His eyelashes are heavy with ice. He can almost feel the blue on his lips. Every breath is a dagger to his lungs, the air sharp and piercing. It's so cold.
He thinks of Rose then, because if he's to remain frozen forever, he wants to be frozen with the thought of Rose in his head.
He thinks of sea tides and lonely beaches, of sea salt and mascara-stained tears and golden hair. He remembers her little pink tongue and her plump lips and the way she snorted a bit when she laughed really hard.
What he remembers the most though is her eyes. The way they sparkled when she smiled, or the shy glances she gave him when she thought he wasn't looking. He remembered her eyes as Bad Wolf, fierce and powerful and oh so full of love.
Love.
He remembers the love in her eyes, on that day in Norway. Love mixed with a sadness so great it killed him. Killed him.
One last wish, he thinks to sky, to the nothing that encompasses him. One last wish for a dying man?
It's cold, cold, cold, cold. He can't feel his fingers. Moving hurts. He wants to live, but not like this. Not lonely and angry and sad and scared and never content. He, the savior of universes, the oncoming storm, the man who had saved the human race countless and countless of times-- where was his payment? Where was his reward? He doesn't need money, or fame, or power.
He just needs Rose.
Could I just have that? Would it be too hard to ask? He exhales, watches his breath puff into mist and dissipate into the air. Just Rose. Just Rose...
....please?
He doesn't expect the universe to answer. The universe is ungrateful.
He closes his eyes, and thinks
Rest.
But his eyes are forced open by a light that flashes across the field, blurring his sight and bathing the frozen wasteland of this wretched planet in shades of sun and gold.
The universe smiles.
Golden hair spills out first, followed by blue leather and jeans and trainers, and she's wet and coughing and spluttering like a fish, like a beautiful, impossible, wonderful fish, face down in the snow and heaving like she's run a mile.
And then he thinks she's coming closer-- but that can't be right, because he can still see her on her knees, shivering and hacking in the snow.
That's when he realizes he's running.
His limbs hurt, his teeth are chattering, he's shivering from head to foot and every movement and every breath is like a knife to the side, but he runs, and oh he runs.
And he's on her in a second, and they're tumbling and rolling in the snow and he's crying because there are trails of ice on his cheeks and she's smiling and laughing and he doesn't give a damn because she's here.
Thank you.
"Doctor," she breathes, looking up at him through ice-encrusted lashes, her eyes filled with love and love and love and love and he thinks he's never seen beauty before this.
He doesn't speak, just presses his lips to hers and thinks that he will never be cold ever again.
A/N: Hope you guys liked this! I was hoping, after you read this, you could check out my story Ghost, which is my eleven/rose fic that is currently a WIP. I'd love to know what you think. You can read it here. Thank you so much! :)