(no subject)
and the stars remember us, (TenII/Rose), PG-13
He remembers snow that wasn’t snow and the tingle of new skin as her palm brushed over his., 1126
A/N: This is a sequel to we write our tragedies in the stars. For marcasite for requesting this.
He stands on the balcony of her small flat, leaning on the railing as he looks out at the city spread before him in a smear of metal and lights and concrete. His hair is ruffled by the passing of a cool fall breeze while below a taxi rolls away from the curb, its tires squelching against the wet asphalt. Tilting his head up to the sky he sighs and frowns at the dim scattering of stars, washed out by the fading cloud cover and the constant glare of civilization.
He remembers snow that wasn’t snow and the tingle of new skin as her palm brushed over his. Her breath was warm on his cheek, her eyes sparkling with possibility and as she stretched her hand skyward, pointing one delicate finger at the second star to the right, the universe really felt like it was theirs for the taking.
Glancing over his shoulder he spies her through the glass in the sliding door and the gap in the curtains, bent over her laptop. Turning back, he gives the night sky one last longing look, eyes focusing for a moment on the brightest star he can find.
“There,” he whispers.
“Stop fidgeting.” She straightens and looks down at him, a cotton ball wet with rubbing alcohol in her right hand.
He pouts and huffs, stretching his legs out in front of him as he sits on the lid of the toilet. She reaches for him again and he leans away for a moment, frowning. Finally he relents, lifting his head up so she can continue dabbing at the cut on his forehead. He bites his tongue to keep from hissing at the sting of the antiseptic.
She presses two bandages over the shallow gash, and moves to put away the first aid supplies. “You seem to keep forgetting you’re human now,” she says quietly.
He swallows, the weight of her words hanging between them for a moment. Then he mutters his thanks as he shuffles into the bedroom. She sighs and leans against the window, resting her forehead on the cool glass. The sun has almost set, fading into the horizon in a haze of purple, and the first stars are just appearing. She bites at her lip as her eyes drift upward, remembering his voice, low and soft, whispering the name of each one with reverence and love. It wasn’t until after they’d been separated that she realized it was the way he used to say her name too.
Then she looks away, tossing the band aid wrappers in the trash bin and flipping off the light as she leaves, wondering when the day will come when she can’t fix him anymore.
Her skin is still so much warmer, so much softer than his. He can feel the slow thrum of her pulse under his lips as he kisses his way up the slope of her neck. She tilts her head back, arching under him, smiling as his fingers trace a familiar pattern over her body, breathing the shapes with every gasp and sigh. He pulls back, running his thumb along her jaw, sweeping over her cheek and down along her throat.
Then he sees it, a thin white scar stretching across her ivory skin, marring its perfection.
He traces the length of it and she sighs. There are times when he can almost fool himself, almost believe that it has always been this way, them and the city, two in the morning and taxis, the forever of day after day. But he brushes his thumb over the raised mark and remembers close call after close call, then and now.
She wraps a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him out of his contemplation and down to her lips, kissing him hard. When he finally slips inside her, the rest falls away and he can once again let himself say their names.
Leo, Libra, Lyra.
One day she comes home and he’s not there.
She stalks through the flat, throwing open every closet door and even lifting the table linen to look underneath, hoping to find him wound between the spindly legs. She sits on the sofa for an hour trying to calm her pounding heart before she realizes that his trainers are still on the mat by the door.
Stepping out onto the balcony, she looks up at the roof and frowns. She climbs the ladder of the fire escape to the top and finds him sitting on the edge, legs folded over the side, socked feet swinging back and forth aimlessly. His hands are braced on either side of his legs and his head is tipped back so he can stare straight up at the night sky.
She lets out a breath as he asks, “Do you miss them?”
Her shoes scrape over the layer of small gravel coating the rooftop as she inches closer. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t,” she replies quietly, bending to sit beside him.
He turns to look at her and then smiles.
They buy a farmhouse, white with a blue door, settled along a winding dirt road and miles from the glow of the city. He turns the shed into a workshop, where a burgeoning TARDIS grows out of an old television and spills over into a toaster oven, and she plants sunflowers under the kitchen window. When the sun starts to set they climb out of the attic window and lay side by side on the roof of the porch. Her hand slips into his and he names them all for her again, telling her stories of hunters and heroes, gods and goddesses, until the bite of the shingles under his back is too much.
She grins as she pulls him up, tugging him through the window and down the narrow stairs to their bedroom. They leave the lights off and the shutters open, summer breezes and starlight fluttering in through the white linen curtains. She moves over him slow and steady, driving him mad with want, begging his hands to draw over her skin what they have both been missing, until they collapse in a tangle of limbs and thumping hearts.
He lies with her wrapped in his arms, and they gaze out the window at the stars. One catches her eye, twinkling dangerously, and she smiles.
“There,” she whispers, stretching out an arm and one slender finger.
“There?” he asks, fighting a grin.
“Yeah,” she replies. Her smile widens and her arm drops, fingers twining with the hand on her stomach. “What’s it called?”
He pulls her closer and kisses her shoulder, then frowns and answers, “I have no idea.” A moment later he grins. “I guess we’ll ask when we get there.”
He remembers snow that wasn’t snow and the tingle of new skin as her palm brushed over his., 1126
A/N: This is a sequel to we write our tragedies in the stars. For marcasite for requesting this.
He stands on the balcony of her small flat, leaning on the railing as he looks out at the city spread before him in a smear of metal and lights and concrete. His hair is ruffled by the passing of a cool fall breeze while below a taxi rolls away from the curb, its tires squelching against the wet asphalt. Tilting his head up to the sky he sighs and frowns at the dim scattering of stars, washed out by the fading cloud cover and the constant glare of civilization.
He remembers snow that wasn’t snow and the tingle of new skin as her palm brushed over his. Her breath was warm on his cheek, her eyes sparkling with possibility and as she stretched her hand skyward, pointing one delicate finger at the second star to the right, the universe really felt like it was theirs for the taking.
Glancing over his shoulder he spies her through the glass in the sliding door and the gap in the curtains, bent over her laptop. Turning back, he gives the night sky one last longing look, eyes focusing for a moment on the brightest star he can find.
“There,” he whispers.
“Stop fidgeting.” She straightens and looks down at him, a cotton ball wet with rubbing alcohol in her right hand.
He pouts and huffs, stretching his legs out in front of him as he sits on the lid of the toilet. She reaches for him again and he leans away for a moment, frowning. Finally he relents, lifting his head up so she can continue dabbing at the cut on his forehead. He bites his tongue to keep from hissing at the sting of the antiseptic.
She presses two bandages over the shallow gash, and moves to put away the first aid supplies. “You seem to keep forgetting you’re human now,” she says quietly.
He swallows, the weight of her words hanging between them for a moment. Then he mutters his thanks as he shuffles into the bedroom. She sighs and leans against the window, resting her forehead on the cool glass. The sun has almost set, fading into the horizon in a haze of purple, and the first stars are just appearing. She bites at her lip as her eyes drift upward, remembering his voice, low and soft, whispering the name of each one with reverence and love. It wasn’t until after they’d been separated that she realized it was the way he used to say her name too.
Then she looks away, tossing the band aid wrappers in the trash bin and flipping off the light as she leaves, wondering when the day will come when she can’t fix him anymore.
Her skin is still so much warmer, so much softer than his. He can feel the slow thrum of her pulse under his lips as he kisses his way up the slope of her neck. She tilts her head back, arching under him, smiling as his fingers trace a familiar pattern over her body, breathing the shapes with every gasp and sigh. He pulls back, running his thumb along her jaw, sweeping over her cheek and down along her throat.
Then he sees it, a thin white scar stretching across her ivory skin, marring its perfection.
He traces the length of it and she sighs. There are times when he can almost fool himself, almost believe that it has always been this way, them and the city, two in the morning and taxis, the forever of day after day. But he brushes his thumb over the raised mark and remembers close call after close call, then and now.
She wraps a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him out of his contemplation and down to her lips, kissing him hard. When he finally slips inside her, the rest falls away and he can once again let himself say their names.
Leo, Libra, Lyra.
One day she comes home and he’s not there.
She stalks through the flat, throwing open every closet door and even lifting the table linen to look underneath, hoping to find him wound between the spindly legs. She sits on the sofa for an hour trying to calm her pounding heart before she realizes that his trainers are still on the mat by the door.
Stepping out onto the balcony, she looks up at the roof and frowns. She climbs the ladder of the fire escape to the top and finds him sitting on the edge, legs folded over the side, socked feet swinging back and forth aimlessly. His hands are braced on either side of his legs and his head is tipped back so he can stare straight up at the night sky.
She lets out a breath as he asks, “Do you miss them?”
Her shoes scrape over the layer of small gravel coating the rooftop as she inches closer. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t,” she replies quietly, bending to sit beside him.
He turns to look at her and then smiles.
They buy a farmhouse, white with a blue door, settled along a winding dirt road and miles from the glow of the city. He turns the shed into a workshop, where a burgeoning TARDIS grows out of an old television and spills over into a toaster oven, and she plants sunflowers under the kitchen window. When the sun starts to set they climb out of the attic window and lay side by side on the roof of the porch. Her hand slips into his and he names them all for her again, telling her stories of hunters and heroes, gods and goddesses, until the bite of the shingles under his back is too much.
She grins as she pulls him up, tugging him through the window and down the narrow stairs to their bedroom. They leave the lights off and the shutters open, summer breezes and starlight fluttering in through the white linen curtains. She moves over him slow and steady, driving him mad with want, begging his hands to draw over her skin what they have both been missing, until they collapse in a tangle of limbs and thumping hearts.
He lies with her wrapped in his arms, and they gaze out the window at the stars. One catches her eye, twinkling dangerously, and she smiles.
“There,” she whispers, stretching out an arm and one slender finger.
“There?” he asks, fighting a grin.
“Yeah,” she replies. Her smile widens and her arm drops, fingers twining with the hand on her stomach. “What’s it called?”
He pulls her closer and kisses her shoulder, then frowns and answers, “I have no idea.” A moment later he grins. “I guess we’ll ask when we get there.”