Wind and the Rotor's Rhythms
Title: Wind and the Rotor's Rhythms
Rating: PG
Genre: Vignette
Pairing: TARDIS/Rose Tyler
Spoilers: None
Word count: 474
Summary: There is no lesson, no matter how deep it cuts, that does not - in this dimensionally transcendent world - bear the promise of friendship.
Author's note: Hello - this is, I believe, my first offering here, although for some time I've enjoyed stories posted by other, very talented, writers. It began as a piece of poetry written in a journal, continued as a meditation on the nature of learning hard lessons and finished as another love letter to the friendship of younger and older women. Thanks to
cathica for the journal, to
dr_whuh for catching spelling mistakes, and to the BBC and RTD for letting me play in their halls for free. It's also posted at my lj .
Wind and the rotor's rhythms
my companions. Centripetal,
centrifugal, tide and anchor,
light and sound, a flickering storm.
And in the flashes, the curve of a cheek,
the shine of an awestruck, frightened eye.
And in the silences between the sounds,
the echoes of questions, and of crying.
I bring them in.
Wind and the rotor's rhythms
carry them away.
She came upon it in a dusty and unexpected room, the tiny endpoint of a narrow hall she thought she had discovered by accident.
She opened the bright blue door, entranced by the color, and frightened by the dark rose painted on its center panel.
Inside, she found a heavy wooden table, huge and simply made, but strong. Next to it, a chair, austere as the unadorned walls. The sheet of ivory vellum was the only other thing in the room, placed upon the table, next to the chair.
She went to the door, looked back down the hall she had just walked. Then she returned to the table, picked up the paper and read what was on it.
She put it down and sat a while, hands folded very precisely in her lap. Eventually she stood and left, her lips thin.
She came back the next night. Her eyes were tired, and she looked very young without her make-up.
"I'm sorry."
Nothing answered her, but after a moment, her shoulders relaxed, and she sat down, blinking rapidly.
For a long time she sat, then she took up the sheet again and read in silence.
Eventually, she looked up into the empty air. "Do you show this to all of the- to all of us?"
Nothing answered. She breathed out, shaky and lost, and left.
Sometime later - nights, maybe weeks, later - she came back, her hair brushed until it shone, her makeup heavy, her eyes hopeful and nervous.
" 'M not much of a writer. It took me this long, and I borrowed a bunch of it from a book I read. But ... if he-" She stopped. "If he doesn't understand, I know you will."
She placed a sheet of lined school notepaper on the table. "I won't forget. Friends, yeah?"
She didn't wait for an answer but stood up, left the room, shut the door. The panels now were gold and the painted rose was blue. She shivered, and walked back up the hall.
Whither thou goest, I will go.
Thy ways mine.
I am young, I know, but I will follow.
Whither thou goest, I will go.
Thy joys, thy sorrows, upon my heart
Thy love mine.
Whither thou goest, I will go.
Thy life mine, thy death mine, thy sentence I accept willingly.
I will grow old someday,
taken from thee by wind and rotor.
I will be strong enough to bear it.
Whither thou goest, I will go.