Fic: dancing with old gods (DW, Ace)
Title: dancing with old gods
Author: aces
Fandom, characters: Doctor Who, Ace/Time
Rating: all ages
Word count: approx. 950
Warnings: none
A/N: Another fic I started writing aaaaages ago and finally got around to finishing, largely because I wanted to participate in some small way with halfamoon, even if tangentially.
Summary: “A general should occasionally inspect her troops, I suppose.”
She was in her tuxedo again, evening dress she hadn’t worn since she was angry and sixteen, and she was leading another woman through a dance she was sure she wouldn’t remember the steps to when she woke up.
“Am I in somebody else’s dream?” she asked. Her gaze kept sliding off the other woman; she couldn’t quite decide what she looked like, beyond the fact that she was dressed in some kind of Victorian finery that involved a narrow bustle and a lot of lace and a rather revealing neckline.
“Why do you say that?” the woman asked. She had a low, soothing voice that made Ace both want to shiver and lean in closer, though the dance required some distance between the two of them.
“Because I haven’t dreamt about you before, that I remember,” Ace told her. “The Doctor always has. But I haven’t seen the Doctor in a couple years. He’s not trying to give me a message or something, is he?”
She laughed musically. “The Doctor, using me as a messenger? He is my champion, not the other way round.”
Ace would have stopped dancing then, but her partner would not let her. “Who’s leading who here?” Ace asked.
“Who do you think?” the other woman asked.
“Okay then,” Ace said. “Did you want to tell me something?”
“You’re probably the one who’s dreaming,” she sounded amused. “Are you sure you didn’t want to tell me something?”
“How is the Doctor?” Ace asked, since she didn’t have an answer for the other woman’s question.
“The same,” the woman replied. “He’s proud of you. I would be too, perhaps, if pride were my sort of thing.” She spun Ace and brought her back, closer, and suddenly they were both wearing tuxedoes.
Ace gave in to the impulse, rested her head on the woman’s breast. “You always make me tired,” she complained. “I was bloody exhausted for months after I arrived on that Ice Planet.”
Her companion smiled and kissed her forehead. “You weren’t built to withstand me,” she said with a fondness that could have been worrying if Ace were thinking about it, “not the way the Doctor was. But you’ve done well, my dear.” She tipped Ace’s chin back to kiss her mouth. “I think perhaps I am proud of you, in fact.” She tilted her head to one side. “Why do you serve me?”
“’Cos I don’t know what else to do anymore,” Ace said with a shrug. “’Cos you made me to. Because somebody has to protect you, and the Doctor can’t do everything by himself, can he? We’ve all got our jobs to do, and me, I’m a soldier. The Doctor isn’t. Most of the people who travel with him aren’t. So I do what I can.” She gave into another impulse and kissed the other woman then, and the woman tasted like cinnamon and chocolate and entropy.
She made a noise in the back of her throat, one that ended in a low laugh when Ace broke the kiss off. “Careful,” she told Ace, tapping Ace’s nose. “Didn’t the Doctor ever tell you about eating within fairy rings? The same goes for kissing old gods.”
“Lady,” Ace said, “I am yours already. What does it matter? Besides,” she added confidingly, “for being so old, you’re still pretty damned gorgeous.”
“Oh, Ace,” the woman said. “You belong to me and my sisters all. You all do, the Doctor included. You humans usually just don’t like to admit it.”
It was Ace’s turn to spin her out and bring her closer, the dance having changed from something slow and stately to something quick and mischievous. “Most humans don’t do what I’ve done,” she said. “And most humans don’t meet you face-to-face. Even in their dreams, I’ll bet.”
“Most humans wouldn’t be able to stand it,” she conceded. She trailed a finger down Ace’s cheek, and Ace leant into the touch, her eyes fluttering closed. “I’m so glad I found you, though.” She smiled, secretly. “Or maybe I’m glad the Doctor found you.”
Ace opened her eyes. “No tricks,” she warned. “I’m too old for tricks, and I’m tired of them anyway.”
“No tricks,” the woman repeated, and Ace decided to take that for confirmation. Their waltz-when had it become a waltz?-was slowing, an inevitable decay, the dance passing the way all things must pass.
“Did we decide who was dreaming who?” Ace asked.
“My dear, I don’t dream,” the woman said. “I am. Is, was, and will be. This is your dream, and you called me here.”
“Now, why would I do a silly thing like that,” Ace muttered, and now they simply stood, holding each other, in their matching fancy dress. The woman’s cummerbund was shinier, her cravat fancier, than Ace’s. Of course.
“To say hello, perhaps?” She tilted her head again and smiled at Ace, and in that smile Ace caught glimpses of pasts and futures that had never been. She was sure she would wake up more exhausted than when she had gone to bed. “Or perhaps to make sure I was still out there. A general should occasionally inspect her troops, I suppose.”
“I always know you’re out there,” Ace said. “Everywhere. When.”
The woman kissed her on the forehead. “Continue your work, Ace,” she said. “Protect what you can, when you can.” She looked thoughtful and then she leant in to kiss Ace on the mouth, chocolate and cinnamon and entropy. Ace willed the kiss to last as long as she could, but the other woman still broke it off. She held on to Ace. “I wish I had more soldiers like you.”
When Ace woke up the next morning, she was indeed even more exhausted than she’d been the night before, but-despite being a bit fuzzy on the details, and not exactly sure who she’d been dancing with in that dream-she was pretty sure it had been worth it.
Author: aces
Fandom, characters: Doctor Who, Ace/Time
Rating: all ages
Word count: approx. 950
Warnings: none
A/N: Another fic I started writing aaaaages ago and finally got around to finishing, largely because I wanted to participate in some small way with halfamoon, even if tangentially.
Summary: “A general should occasionally inspect her troops, I suppose.”
She was in her tuxedo again, evening dress she hadn’t worn since she was angry and sixteen, and she was leading another woman through a dance she was sure she wouldn’t remember the steps to when she woke up.
“Am I in somebody else’s dream?” she asked. Her gaze kept sliding off the other woman; she couldn’t quite decide what she looked like, beyond the fact that she was dressed in some kind of Victorian finery that involved a narrow bustle and a lot of lace and a rather revealing neckline.
“Why do you say that?” the woman asked. She had a low, soothing voice that made Ace both want to shiver and lean in closer, though the dance required some distance between the two of them.
“Because I haven’t dreamt about you before, that I remember,” Ace told her. “The Doctor always has. But I haven’t seen the Doctor in a couple years. He’s not trying to give me a message or something, is he?”
She laughed musically. “The Doctor, using me as a messenger? He is my champion, not the other way round.”
Ace would have stopped dancing then, but her partner would not let her. “Who’s leading who here?” Ace asked.
“Who do you think?” the other woman asked.
“Okay then,” Ace said. “Did you want to tell me something?”
“You’re probably the one who’s dreaming,” she sounded amused. “Are you sure you didn’t want to tell me something?”
“How is the Doctor?” Ace asked, since she didn’t have an answer for the other woman’s question.
“The same,” the woman replied. “He’s proud of you. I would be too, perhaps, if pride were my sort of thing.” She spun Ace and brought her back, closer, and suddenly they were both wearing tuxedoes.
Ace gave in to the impulse, rested her head on the woman’s breast. “You always make me tired,” she complained. “I was bloody exhausted for months after I arrived on that Ice Planet.”
Her companion smiled and kissed her forehead. “You weren’t built to withstand me,” she said with a fondness that could have been worrying if Ace were thinking about it, “not the way the Doctor was. But you’ve done well, my dear.” She tipped Ace’s chin back to kiss her mouth. “I think perhaps I am proud of you, in fact.” She tilted her head to one side. “Why do you serve me?”
“’Cos I don’t know what else to do anymore,” Ace said with a shrug. “’Cos you made me to. Because somebody has to protect you, and the Doctor can’t do everything by himself, can he? We’ve all got our jobs to do, and me, I’m a soldier. The Doctor isn’t. Most of the people who travel with him aren’t. So I do what I can.” She gave into another impulse and kissed the other woman then, and the woman tasted like cinnamon and chocolate and entropy.
She made a noise in the back of her throat, one that ended in a low laugh when Ace broke the kiss off. “Careful,” she told Ace, tapping Ace’s nose. “Didn’t the Doctor ever tell you about eating within fairy rings? The same goes for kissing old gods.”
“Lady,” Ace said, “I am yours already. What does it matter? Besides,” she added confidingly, “for being so old, you’re still pretty damned gorgeous.”
“Oh, Ace,” the woman said. “You belong to me and my sisters all. You all do, the Doctor included. You humans usually just don’t like to admit it.”
It was Ace’s turn to spin her out and bring her closer, the dance having changed from something slow and stately to something quick and mischievous. “Most humans don’t do what I’ve done,” she said. “And most humans don’t meet you face-to-face. Even in their dreams, I’ll bet.”
“Most humans wouldn’t be able to stand it,” she conceded. She trailed a finger down Ace’s cheek, and Ace leant into the touch, her eyes fluttering closed. “I’m so glad I found you, though.” She smiled, secretly. “Or maybe I’m glad the Doctor found you.”
Ace opened her eyes. “No tricks,” she warned. “I’m too old for tricks, and I’m tired of them anyway.”
“No tricks,” the woman repeated, and Ace decided to take that for confirmation. Their waltz-when had it become a waltz?-was slowing, an inevitable decay, the dance passing the way all things must pass.
“Did we decide who was dreaming who?” Ace asked.
“My dear, I don’t dream,” the woman said. “I am. Is, was, and will be. This is your dream, and you called me here.”
“Now, why would I do a silly thing like that,” Ace muttered, and now they simply stood, holding each other, in their matching fancy dress. The woman’s cummerbund was shinier, her cravat fancier, than Ace’s. Of course.
“To say hello, perhaps?” She tilted her head again and smiled at Ace, and in that smile Ace caught glimpses of pasts and futures that had never been. She was sure she would wake up more exhausted than when she had gone to bed. “Or perhaps to make sure I was still out there. A general should occasionally inspect her troops, I suppose.”
“I always know you’re out there,” Ace said. “Everywhere. When.”
The woman kissed her on the forehead. “Continue your work, Ace,” she said. “Protect what you can, when you can.” She looked thoughtful and then she leant in to kiss Ace on the mouth, chocolate and cinnamon and entropy. Ace willed the kiss to last as long as she could, but the other woman still broke it off. She held on to Ace. “I wish I had more soldiers like you.”
When Ace woke up the next morning, she was indeed even more exhausted than she’d been the night before, but-despite being a bit fuzzy on the details, and not exactly sure who she’d been dancing with in that dream-she was pretty sure it had been worth it.