fanfic | doctor who | things less simple - drabble
Title: Things Less Simple
Fandom: Doctor Who
Series: Interaction Locations
Characters: Rose Tyler, Eighth Doctor
Rating: G - fluff/angst
Spoilers: nil
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Author's Note: This wrote itself today. It may or may not become canon in the Interaction Locations series, but for now it's one conversation the Doctor and Rose might have over the course of their time together in the alt.universe.
“Rose,” says the Doctor, putting a knife to the skin of an orange. “If you get the opportunity, you’ll return to your original universe.”
Rose pauses, her biscuit and cheese resting on her bottom lip and not quite making it into her mouth. It’s phrased as a question but the intonation leaves her guessing. She watches his long fingered hands wield the knife, paring the thick, bitter rind from the fruit with practiced ease.
They are lying on the grass, surrounded by olive coloured trees on a world far from the Earth that she has been calling home since the War. His feet are bare, his legs crossed at the ankles while his body is propped up on one shirt-sleeved elbow. She looks down on his profile from above, noting the smattering of white that is making itself more visible in his chestnut hair. Time isn’t as kind to him since he rewrote history.
She settles for popping her cracker into her mouth, the slow, deliberate motions of chewing granting her a brief reprieve from the question that might not be a question. He glances up at her with pale blue eyes, identifying the source of her delay and letting his gaze drift back to the pithy fruit in his hands.
“Would you like a piece?” he offers, holding the orb between thumb and forefinger, the bright orange juice sliding down his palm and dripping onto the grass. He’s so beautiful in that instant that she feels it like a physical pain - as if sight was touch and she has become too close to him.
“Yes,” she answers. It might be her response to everything he’s said - she’s not sure.
He purses his lips and cuts into the orange, handing her a piece resting on the knife, careful to keep the blade turned towards his skin, shielding her - as he often does with things less simple than fruit.
x-posted to time_and_chips, eight_love and eight_rose_love
Fandom: Doctor Who
Series: Interaction Locations
Characters: Rose Tyler, Eighth Doctor
Rating: G - fluff/angst
Spoilers: nil
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Author's Note: This wrote itself today. It may or may not become canon in the Interaction Locations series, but for now it's one conversation the Doctor and Rose might have over the course of their time together in the alt.universe.
“Rose,” says the Doctor, putting a knife to the skin of an orange. “If you get the opportunity, you’ll return to your original universe.”
Rose pauses, her biscuit and cheese resting on her bottom lip and not quite making it into her mouth. It’s phrased as a question but the intonation leaves her guessing. She watches his long fingered hands wield the knife, paring the thick, bitter rind from the fruit with practiced ease.
They are lying on the grass, surrounded by olive coloured trees on a world far from the Earth that she has been calling home since the War. His feet are bare, his legs crossed at the ankles while his body is propped up on one shirt-sleeved elbow. She looks down on his profile from above, noting the smattering of white that is making itself more visible in his chestnut hair. Time isn’t as kind to him since he rewrote history.
She settles for popping her cracker into her mouth, the slow, deliberate motions of chewing granting her a brief reprieve from the question that might not be a question. He glances up at her with pale blue eyes, identifying the source of her delay and letting his gaze drift back to the pithy fruit in his hands.
“Would you like a piece?” he offers, holding the orb between thumb and forefinger, the bright orange juice sliding down his palm and dripping onto the grass. He’s so beautiful in that instant that she feels it like a physical pain - as if sight was touch and she has become too close to him.
“Yes,” she answers. It might be her response to everything he’s said - she’s not sure.
He purses his lips and cuts into the orange, handing her a piece resting on the knife, careful to keep the blade turned towards his skin, shielding her - as he often does with things less simple than fruit.
x-posted to time_and_chips, eight_love and eight_rose_love