Ficlet: To Hang Your Hat - Jim/Rose
Title To Hang Your Hat
Fandoms Doctor Who and The Office
Pairing Jim/Rose
Word Count 447
Summary "He wakes up in the middle of the night, sometimes, grinding his teeth, her body questioning the other side of the double bed."
A/N Sort of a continuation of Powerlines. I don't know where this is coming from, because they're such vastly different fandoms, but I choose to blame hide_r.
"Don't you ever want to go back?" he asks her. They're on a mountain somewhere in Colorado, breathing air so thin he feels giddy, like if he jumped he'd just keep rising, up up up into the atmosphere.
"Back where?"
"England? I don't know...Home?" He turns to face her and the wind is dancing with her hair (it's grown long since they met, brushing the base of her shoulderblades, now, when it stills). "You never talk about home."
"I haven't got one. Who needs a home when you've got all this?" She's gesturing to the horizon, but her eyes are tracing the sky, the vague suggestions of clouds and beyond.
"You must have had one, once. A family."
"My mum." She shrugs. "But she's got other things to worry about, now."
That's the last he mentions it.
..
They spend a week in Denver. She likes cities, the way they rumble into your bones every second of the day. The sensation makes him uncomfortable and he wakes up in the middle of the night, sometimes, grinding his teeth, her body questioning the other side of the double bed.
..
They're odd companions. He likes store-fronts, book shops, the shape of the sidewalk through the worn-in soles of his shoes. She's always wandering them into trouble, and pulling them back out again at a run. He's never run so much in his life.
He's got no idea where the money comes from (his savings ran out last month on a Mediterranean island), but it's always there, keeping them in the air. She's never asked him to pay her back, but he keeps a count of it. He's scribbled his way through three journals, now--lists, accounts, stories--stuffed into the bottom of his duffel.
..
The closest they ever get to the streets her accent suggests is Galway. She tells him the green leaves her unsettled. They only stay one night.
..
They don't trace any one path across the Earth. One day it's South Africa, the next is Brazil, and then they're in Greece. She's restless on planes, and he holds her hand during the descent every time.
..
"The stories are all true, aren't they?" he asks her one afternoon in Lisbon. The sun is high in the sky and she's biting the corner of her lip in that way that reminds him she's still full of secrets. "All those planets, all those people. They're not just tall tales."
She shrugs. "Anything's true if you believe it long enough."
It's a bullshit answer, but he lets it go. "You're quite an enigma, Rose," he tells her and she reaches for his hand.
Fandoms Doctor Who and The Office
Pairing Jim/Rose
Word Count 447
Summary "He wakes up in the middle of the night, sometimes, grinding his teeth, her body questioning the other side of the double bed."
A/N Sort of a continuation of Powerlines. I don't know where this is coming from, because they're such vastly different fandoms, but I choose to blame hide_r.
"Don't you ever want to go back?" he asks her. They're on a mountain somewhere in Colorado, breathing air so thin he feels giddy, like if he jumped he'd just keep rising, up up up into the atmosphere.
"Back where?"
"England? I don't know...Home?" He turns to face her and the wind is dancing with her hair (it's grown long since they met, brushing the base of her shoulderblades, now, when it stills). "You never talk about home."
"I haven't got one. Who needs a home when you've got all this?" She's gesturing to the horizon, but her eyes are tracing the sky, the vague suggestions of clouds and beyond.
"You must have had one, once. A family."
"My mum." She shrugs. "But she's got other things to worry about, now."
That's the last he mentions it.
..
They spend a week in Denver. She likes cities, the way they rumble into your bones every second of the day. The sensation makes him uncomfortable and he wakes up in the middle of the night, sometimes, grinding his teeth, her body questioning the other side of the double bed.
..
They're odd companions. He likes store-fronts, book shops, the shape of the sidewalk through the worn-in soles of his shoes. She's always wandering them into trouble, and pulling them back out again at a run. He's never run so much in his life.
He's got no idea where the money comes from (his savings ran out last month on a Mediterranean island), but it's always there, keeping them in the air. She's never asked him to pay her back, but he keeps a count of it. He's scribbled his way through three journals, now--lists, accounts, stories--stuffed into the bottom of his duffel.
..
The closest they ever get to the streets her accent suggests is Galway. She tells him the green leaves her unsettled. They only stay one night.
..
They don't trace any one path across the Earth. One day it's South Africa, the next is Brazil, and then they're in Greece. She's restless on planes, and he holds her hand during the descent every time.
..
"The stories are all true, aren't they?" he asks her one afternoon in Lisbon. The sun is high in the sky and she's biting the corner of her lip in that way that reminds him she's still full of secrets. "All those planets, all those people. They're not just tall tales."
She shrugs. "Anything's true if you believe it long enough."
It's a bullshit answer, but he lets it go. "You're quite an enigma, Rose," he tells her and she reaches for his hand.