Fic: Ephemera, Part Four. Ten, Donna, O/C
Title: Ephemera, Part Four
Rating: R
Characters/pairings: Ten, Donna, O/C (Sort of. I'll keep calling her that for now to avoid spoilers, though it should be completely obvious by this point)
Summary: They found her on a storm-lashed beach, half dead and without memory. The path behind her was obscured in the fog of trauma, but before her loomed a myriad of interwoven threads, potentials and possibilities, and a darkness that might not be avoided.
Warnings/spoilers: Through series four, just to be safe. Warnings for violence and disturbing images/themes throughout the story. Also, this is very AU.
Author's Notes: I know. It's been ages since an update! But I've finally got my muse back, at least for now.
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
The Doctor passed the hand-held bio-scanner over the body of their new guest, who was perched on the edge of an exam table, and then looked at the monitor screen set into the wall of the med bay, frowning at the readouts. “Well, you're just mentally spiking all over the place, aren't you?” he murmured. He looked at her thoughtfully.
She just watched him, uncertain what to say. “How do you feel?” he asked.
She thought about it. “All right, I suppose. Bit better.” she answered. “No pain. Still a little bit disoriented.”
“That's to be expected. Anything else? Dizziness? Weakness?”
“Yes. And yes.” She chewed her lower lip. “Actually... I'm rather hungry.”
She jumped when he suddenly smacked himself in the forehead with his palm and shouted, “Of course! What was I thinking? Massive energy drain from the regenerative process. And I should know this. Of course, your process is different; I've never seen anything like it.” He spun around to open a cabinet and rifled through until he found a tall vial half filled with a thick, bright green liquid. He popped the seal off the top and filled it the rest of the way with water, mixing it together until it was blended, about the consistency of thin syrup. He handed it to her.
“Here, drink this.” She frowned at it, and upended it, swallowing the contents as quickly as she could. It tasted like carbonated kiwi.
“What was that?” she asked.
“It was a revitalizer,” he said. “Replaces basic nutrients and vitamins, restores balance in your system. I'm not entirely certain what species you are, but the scans showed an internal makeup that would be compatible with this formula.” He held a hand out to her, smiling reassuringly. “Come on. I'm sure I can find something to whip up in the kitchen. You'll need to eat some real food too. And tea! You can't overestimate the importance of a good cup of tea.”
She took his hand, sliding off the table, and cringed as her bare feet touched the cold metal grating. He frowned at her. “Something wrong?”
“No, it's just...” She flashed him a grin. “'M a bit underdressed.”
She felt something flutter in her heart at the look that crossed his features, a flare of sadness and longing, as though he were suddenly reminded of something, or someone. His hand tightened briefly around hers, and suddenly his features were carefully schooled once again, and he nodded at her with a tight smile. “Of course. You're probably freezing in that get-up. C'mon, we'll take a swing by the wardrobe on our way down.”
~~<~~@@~~>~~
She stood before her reflection, naked and uncertain. The woman gazing back at her from the surface of the full-length mirror seemed to be a stranger, though she couldn't have begun to say what it was she would have expected. A shimmering, silvery fall of hair brushed over her shoulders and back, reaching just to her waist. She could see a few strands of gold woven through it. Her eyes were a shifting hazel, her features delicate and finely formed. She thought she looked like a porcelain doll, pale and graceful and fragile. It felt wrong. She touched her fingertips to the glass, traced them over the reflected contours of the face that she felt so acutely detached from.
“You gonna be all day?” his voice complained from somewhere outside the room. “I think I'm sprouting gray hair out here! Again!”
She smiled, the tip of her tongue poking between her teeth, as a sense of familiarity washed over her. Always impatient, that one. “Keep your shirt on! I'm comin'!” she called back without thinking. She paused, chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip, before turning to the rack of women's clothing in her size that had somehow presented itself as she had studied her reflection. She selected a set of undergarments and shimmied into them, before sifting through and finding a simple, violet, flower-print dress that tickled at her knees as she let it fall into place. She finished off with a pair of comfortable flats that matched the color of the dress, and tied her hair into an untidy knot atop her head, securing it with a clip. With a last glance at the mirror, she stepped out of the room.
The Doctor was leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets, but he straightened quickly when he looked at her. “Oh,” he said, and swallowed visibly.
She frowned. “What is it?”
“Oh, it's...” He cleared his throat. “Nothing. It's nothing.” He offered an arm, his jaw tight. “Shall we?”
She nodded and took his arm, wondering what had upset him.
~~<~~@@~~>~~
The Doctor was a flurry of activity, whipping about the kitchen on quickly-moving feet as he gathered ingredients into his arms. “You'll need a good bit of protein and iron. Oh! And sugar.” He dumped his armload onto the table, avoiding looking too closely at the girl in the violet dress, the same dress that--
No, no, he wouldn't think of that. Even if she was reminding him of her in every aspect, every quirk of her eyebrow, the way she smiled at him, the lilt of her voice. This girl wasn't Rose. Now that she had healed completely, and he could see her features and her form with clarity, he had released that vain hope. It wasn't her.
But still, he couldn't stop the memory from rolling through his mind, of the way Rose looked in that dress, as she held onto his arm and laughed helplessly, her eyes squeezed shut, her face rapturous. He remembered pulling her into a hug, remembered the feel of her slight form in his arms, remembered how by her mere presence she pushed back the darkness in his soul...
He'd thought that dress and those shoes were safely locked away in Rose's old room with the rest of her things, memories hidden away from sight and mind. The TARDIS must have moved them to the wardrobe. He felt a surge of irritation.
Blinking furiously to pull himself back to the present, he poured a tall glass of orange juice, the kind with pulp, and set it before the girl who was not Rose. “Drink this.” He realized his voice probably sounded a little harsh, and smiled at her to soften it before turning back to his preparations. He heard her mumble of thanks as he cracked six eggs into a bowl, two at a time, and began to beat them with a fork.
“Are you cooking?”
He turned quickly towards the disbelieving voice from behind him and saw Donna standing in the doorway. A huge smirk was plastered over her face. “You! You are. You're cooking!” She said it as if she had stumbled across some sort of incredible blackmail material, and he glared at her.
“I'll have you know, Donna Noble,” he said haughtily, “That I am quite the capable chef. I've been traveling the universe for centuries. You think I never learned to cook in all that time?”
Donna grinned at him before walking over to slide into the chair next to... the girl's. They'd really have to come up with a name for her until she regained her memory. Donna smiled at her, and the girl smiled back. “I don't believe it,” Donna told her. “He always gets takeout or goes out to eat. I've never seen him cook!”
The girl chuckled. “Why do I believe that?”
He turned back to the bowl of eggs, and started beating them again, though they were quite well whipped already. “Who wants to cook every day? Takes all the fun out of it.”
“How're you feeling, sweetheart?” Donna asked.
“Oh, good, thanks for asking,” the Doctor replied, pleased that she was concerned with his health. “Bit peckish.” He glanced behind himself to see the two women eying him.
“Not you, Dumbo!” Donna shook her head, and the girl laughed.
“What he said, actually,” she said, answering Donna's question. “Bit peckish. I really hope he doesn't burn down the kitchen.”
He turned and brandished his fork at them. “Burn down the kitchen? I ought to give you stale bread and water for that. But instead, you will experience the wonder that is Rhi'lastan feastcake. A veritable cornucopia of flavor in your mouth, and very nutritious to boot.”
He heard Donna say, “Well, we'll see, I suppose, won't we-- ah...” There was an awkward silence.
“Sorry,” the girl said. “I'm afraid I... well, I mean...”
“You don't remember your name,” Donna said gently. “Well! We'll have to just come up with something else to call you 'till you do, love. Won't we, Doctor?”
He stopped what he was doing, with a flash of inspiration. “Aethra.”
“Whath-ra?” Donna said.
“Aethra. She was one of the Oceanids, a sea-nymph.” He turned, smiling. “Aethra. It fits, don't you think?”
Donna looked at the girl, who shrugged. “Well, we did find you by the ocean,” Donna said.
The girl, Aethra, nodded. “I suppose that works.” Her eyes grew shadowed and distant. “Born of the sea... of an endless sea of nothing... nothingness, emptiness...” She gasped, and Donna quickly grasped her shoulder.
Brought back to the present, Aethra quickly regained her composure and smiled, though the smile did not reach her eyes. “Yes, that name fits.”
The Doctor turned silently back to his meal preparation, trying to still the turmoil of emotions within.
Rating: R
Characters/pairings: Ten, Donna, O/C (Sort of. I'll keep calling her that for now to avoid spoilers, though it should be completely obvious by this point)
Summary: They found her on a storm-lashed beach, half dead and without memory. The path behind her was obscured in the fog of trauma, but before her loomed a myriad of interwoven threads, potentials and possibilities, and a darkness that might not be avoided.
Warnings/spoilers: Through series four, just to be safe. Warnings for violence and disturbing images/themes throughout the story. Also, this is very AU.
Author's Notes: I know. It's been ages since an update! But I've finally got my muse back, at least for now.
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
The Doctor passed the hand-held bio-scanner over the body of their new guest, who was perched on the edge of an exam table, and then looked at the monitor screen set into the wall of the med bay, frowning at the readouts. “Well, you're just mentally spiking all over the place, aren't you?” he murmured. He looked at her thoughtfully.
She just watched him, uncertain what to say. “How do you feel?” he asked.
She thought about it. “All right, I suppose. Bit better.” she answered. “No pain. Still a little bit disoriented.”
“That's to be expected. Anything else? Dizziness? Weakness?”
“Yes. And yes.” She chewed her lower lip. “Actually... I'm rather hungry.”
She jumped when he suddenly smacked himself in the forehead with his palm and shouted, “Of course! What was I thinking? Massive energy drain from the regenerative process. And I should know this. Of course, your process is different; I've never seen anything like it.” He spun around to open a cabinet and rifled through until he found a tall vial half filled with a thick, bright green liquid. He popped the seal off the top and filled it the rest of the way with water, mixing it together until it was blended, about the consistency of thin syrup. He handed it to her.
“Here, drink this.” She frowned at it, and upended it, swallowing the contents as quickly as she could. It tasted like carbonated kiwi.
“What was that?” she asked.
“It was a revitalizer,” he said. “Replaces basic nutrients and vitamins, restores balance in your system. I'm not entirely certain what species you are, but the scans showed an internal makeup that would be compatible with this formula.” He held a hand out to her, smiling reassuringly. “Come on. I'm sure I can find something to whip up in the kitchen. You'll need to eat some real food too. And tea! You can't overestimate the importance of a good cup of tea.”
She took his hand, sliding off the table, and cringed as her bare feet touched the cold metal grating. He frowned at her. “Something wrong?”
“No, it's just...” She flashed him a grin. “'M a bit underdressed.”
She felt something flutter in her heart at the look that crossed his features, a flare of sadness and longing, as though he were suddenly reminded of something, or someone. His hand tightened briefly around hers, and suddenly his features were carefully schooled once again, and he nodded at her with a tight smile. “Of course. You're probably freezing in that get-up. C'mon, we'll take a swing by the wardrobe on our way down.”
~~<~~@@~~>~~
She stood before her reflection, naked and uncertain. The woman gazing back at her from the surface of the full-length mirror seemed to be a stranger, though she couldn't have begun to say what it was she would have expected. A shimmering, silvery fall of hair brushed over her shoulders and back, reaching just to her waist. She could see a few strands of gold woven through it. Her eyes were a shifting hazel, her features delicate and finely formed. She thought she looked like a porcelain doll, pale and graceful and fragile. It felt wrong. She touched her fingertips to the glass, traced them over the reflected contours of the face that she felt so acutely detached from.
“You gonna be all day?” his voice complained from somewhere outside the room. “I think I'm sprouting gray hair out here! Again!”
She smiled, the tip of her tongue poking between her teeth, as a sense of familiarity washed over her. Always impatient, that one. “Keep your shirt on! I'm comin'!” she called back without thinking. She paused, chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip, before turning to the rack of women's clothing in her size that had somehow presented itself as she had studied her reflection. She selected a set of undergarments and shimmied into them, before sifting through and finding a simple, violet, flower-print dress that tickled at her knees as she let it fall into place. She finished off with a pair of comfortable flats that matched the color of the dress, and tied her hair into an untidy knot atop her head, securing it with a clip. With a last glance at the mirror, she stepped out of the room.
The Doctor was leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets, but he straightened quickly when he looked at her. “Oh,” he said, and swallowed visibly.
She frowned. “What is it?”
“Oh, it's...” He cleared his throat. “Nothing. It's nothing.” He offered an arm, his jaw tight. “Shall we?”
She nodded and took his arm, wondering what had upset him.
~~<~~@@~~>~~
The Doctor was a flurry of activity, whipping about the kitchen on quickly-moving feet as he gathered ingredients into his arms. “You'll need a good bit of protein and iron. Oh! And sugar.” He dumped his armload onto the table, avoiding looking too closely at the girl in the violet dress, the same dress that--
No, no, he wouldn't think of that. Even if she was reminding him of her in every aspect, every quirk of her eyebrow, the way she smiled at him, the lilt of her voice. This girl wasn't Rose. Now that she had healed completely, and he could see her features and her form with clarity, he had released that vain hope. It wasn't her.
But still, he couldn't stop the memory from rolling through his mind, of the way Rose looked in that dress, as she held onto his arm and laughed helplessly, her eyes squeezed shut, her face rapturous. He remembered pulling her into a hug, remembered the feel of her slight form in his arms, remembered how by her mere presence she pushed back the darkness in his soul...
He'd thought that dress and those shoes were safely locked away in Rose's old room with the rest of her things, memories hidden away from sight and mind. The TARDIS must have moved them to the wardrobe. He felt a surge of irritation.
Blinking furiously to pull himself back to the present, he poured a tall glass of orange juice, the kind with pulp, and set it before the girl who was not Rose. “Drink this.” He realized his voice probably sounded a little harsh, and smiled at her to soften it before turning back to his preparations. He heard her mumble of thanks as he cracked six eggs into a bowl, two at a time, and began to beat them with a fork.
“Are you cooking?”
He turned quickly towards the disbelieving voice from behind him and saw Donna standing in the doorway. A huge smirk was plastered over her face. “You! You are. You're cooking!” She said it as if she had stumbled across some sort of incredible blackmail material, and he glared at her.
“I'll have you know, Donna Noble,” he said haughtily, “That I am quite the capable chef. I've been traveling the universe for centuries. You think I never learned to cook in all that time?”
Donna grinned at him before walking over to slide into the chair next to... the girl's. They'd really have to come up with a name for her until she regained her memory. Donna smiled at her, and the girl smiled back. “I don't believe it,” Donna told her. “He always gets takeout or goes out to eat. I've never seen him cook!”
The girl chuckled. “Why do I believe that?”
He turned back to the bowl of eggs, and started beating them again, though they were quite well whipped already. “Who wants to cook every day? Takes all the fun out of it.”
“How're you feeling, sweetheart?” Donna asked.
“Oh, good, thanks for asking,” the Doctor replied, pleased that she was concerned with his health. “Bit peckish.” He glanced behind himself to see the two women eying him.
“Not you, Dumbo!” Donna shook her head, and the girl laughed.
“What he said, actually,” she said, answering Donna's question. “Bit peckish. I really hope he doesn't burn down the kitchen.”
He turned and brandished his fork at them. “Burn down the kitchen? I ought to give you stale bread and water for that. But instead, you will experience the wonder that is Rhi'lastan feastcake. A veritable cornucopia of flavor in your mouth, and very nutritious to boot.”
He heard Donna say, “Well, we'll see, I suppose, won't we-- ah...” There was an awkward silence.
“Sorry,” the girl said. “I'm afraid I... well, I mean...”
“You don't remember your name,” Donna said gently. “Well! We'll have to just come up with something else to call you 'till you do, love. Won't we, Doctor?”
He stopped what he was doing, with a flash of inspiration. “Aethra.”
“Whath-ra?” Donna said.
“Aethra. She was one of the Oceanids, a sea-nymph.” He turned, smiling. “Aethra. It fits, don't you think?”
Donna looked at the girl, who shrugged. “Well, we did find you by the ocean,” Donna said.
The girl, Aethra, nodded. “I suppose that works.” Her eyes grew shadowed and distant. “Born of the sea... of an endless sea of nothing... nothingness, emptiness...” She gasped, and Donna quickly grasped her shoulder.
Brought back to the present, Aethra quickly regained her composure and smiled, though the smile did not reach her eyes. “Yes, that name fits.”
The Doctor turned silently back to his meal preparation, trying to still the turmoil of emotions within.