[thread] I wanna hold you high and steal your pain
Who: Cassian, Jezebel
What: A startling surprise? [[warning: spoilers!]]
When: After this conversation.
Where: Cassian's apartment
Rating: PG?
Cassian was, for all intents and purposes, having a dilemma.
On the one hand, he was an adult now - and he would not think of whose body this was, or what that meant for him, he wouldn't - but on the other he did not want the Doctor to see him this way. The very idea was horrifying. How would he react? Badly. As if there was any other way he could.
But he wanted to be happy about this, to enjoy this, because he could feel that it would be fleeting. He knew it wouldn't last. Nothing miraculous ever did. He sat on the edge of his bed - and it felt strange, even just sitting, because he was taller, his legs were longer, his body felt different but somehow it still felt like it was his - and ran his fingers through his hair - it was shorter, shorter than Gladstone's had ever been, and he could feel the thin ridge of scar tissue that encircled it - and tried not to think about Jezebel or home or Delilah or what the scars - the one on his hand was familiar as well - clearly meant.
And he prayed the Doctor would not decide that this strangeness required a visit to confirm that he was indeed still himself and not a horrible liar.
What: A startling surprise? [[warning: spoilers!]]
When: After this conversation.
Where: Cassian's apartment
Rating: PG?
Cassian was, for all intents and purposes, having a dilemma.
On the one hand, he was an adult now - and he would not think of whose body this was, or what that meant for him, he wouldn't - but on the other he did not want the Doctor to see him this way. The very idea was horrifying. How would he react? Badly. As if there was any other way he could.
But he wanted to be happy about this, to enjoy this, because he could feel that it would be fleeting. He knew it wouldn't last. Nothing miraculous ever did. He sat on the edge of his bed - and it felt strange, even just sitting, because he was taller, his legs were longer, his body felt different but somehow it still felt like it was his - and ran his fingers through his hair - it was shorter, shorter than Gladstone's had ever been, and he could feel the thin ridge of scar tissue that encircled it - and tried not to think about Jezebel or home or Delilah or what the scars - the one on his hand was familiar as well - clearly meant.
And he prayed the Doctor would not decide that this strangeness required a visit to confirm that he was indeed still himself and not a horrible liar.