Fic: Girl Anachronism (Tish/Lucy) || Fandom: Doctor Who
Title: Girl Anachronism
Summary: No more Lazarus. No more Harry. They're through with men; they shan't be tricked again.
Characters: Tish x Lucy
Genre: Angst, Femmeslash
A/N: This feels a bit disjointed and what I'd love is a beta, but I'm not sure how to go about getting one for such a weird pairing. Inspired by Meilin's Valiant, in which Tish and Lucy have an uneasy almost-friendship. Which of course I turned into something else, because I'm... strange, like that. (But if you want some good LoTL fic you should all read Valiant. Just because. And there are rarely used yet entirely plausible pairings too, like Gwen/Leo and Martha/Tom and Francine/Clive.)
***
It started with the phone calls, which happened like clockwork, once every other Wednesday at 6:45 PM exactly. The mystery caller never spoke, but they would sit and breathe if you let them, and if you put the receiver down and walked away to make yourself a sandwich they would still be there when you got back. Just breathing on the other end.
Francine, who was home most often when it happened, thought it didn't sound like a man. Once or twice the Jones' formidable matriarch felt she could hear something else, a hollow background noise--the sort of echo you would normally get when the person on the other end was calling from a terminal or a lobby. The moment you spoke, however, the mystery caller invariably hung up.
When Clive answered he knocked on his eldest daughter's room because he couldn't remember the code for Last Call Return. After the person on the other end hung up, Martha tried 1471. Predictably, the number was blocked. When they were still charged the 7.5 pence, her parents were furious.
When Martha answered she thought it might be her boyfriend calling and getting a bad connection. She rang Tom Milligan just in case, and while he didn't remember phoning her, he was always glad for an excuse to talk.
Once, Leo was visiting and answered for the family. He swore for weeks afterward that he could hear faint crying on the other end.
Tish never answered and shied away from the phone like it was going to bite her. Eventually, she learned to simply avoid being in the room when it happened. This plan worked well for a little over a month. And then one night she forgot to watch the clock.
Tish finally answered. The calls stopped.
***
Edward French was an up and coming academic. At the tender age of thirty-three, he was already beginning to be considered to be a major name in the field of modern psychiatry. Touting his own experience as the child of a "broken home" himself, he'd built his career around treating victims of abuse, specializing in severe dissociative disorders. He'd written several papers in the field of psychopathology that were promptly published in peer-reviewed academic journals, lectured in universities, edited and compiled a number of educational texts, and (until very recently) had been looking forward to heading his first government-funded clinical study in June.
Of course, that had all been before he'd struck the case study of the century. Now he was silently going over the list of colleagues he might recommend to take his place, if necessary.
Calmly as he could, he allowed the late Prime Minister's wife to speak, jotting down notes when appropriate.
As far as people like French were concerned, celebrity patients came about once in a lifetime, and very rarely were the symptoms so pronounced.
"I didn't think you would believe me." The woman gazed fixedly at a spot just above his head, which most people found unsettling but merely put French in mind of what it might look if she posed for the book jacket.
Over time, the widow's story changed. Of course, her husband hadn't been a space alien, and she couldn't imagine where she'd come up with the term "Time Lord." And as for her fantasies about a "friendship" with that Letitia girl during the year that never happened--it was a textbook case of feeling attracted to what you knew you could not, and should not, have. It was just a story she made up to escape from reality--her reaction to being in a controlling relationship with a man who had a lot of responsibilities to live up to. Surely if Harold Saxon had lived, they could have gotten through it together, but his sudden death had left her without closure. Her recovery was heralded as a great success, and the institution received a large "anonymous" donation, in cash, from an unspecified source.
On the day she left, however, French found a note written in calligraphy on plain cream paper waiting for him inside his office. He wasn't certain how anyone could have gotten in there as he always left it locked. The message was disturbing, as it was unsigned, and there was no way--short of making some very embarrassing accusations--he could publicly confirm the sender.
Just one line, sepia ink on cardstock.
I wasn't lying.
***
They met at the Ritz for tea, at nine exactly. They didn't stay long, however; reporters were everywhere. Luckily, a few greased palms allowed the girls to escape out the back where a driver was waiting.
"Honestly!" Lucy exclaimed. Her heels clacked loudly against the pavement. She didn't talk much these days, so from her the exclamation was almost good as a curse.
They bundled into a black car with tinted windows. Tish's stomach growled. "How'd they know you were going out? You never go out."
"Never go anywhere," Lucy said mildly. Tish looked over at the older woman and felt something in her stomach drop. It was one thing to fantasize about being rich, but it was another, she realized, to be boxed in by spectators and rules. To not be able to visit a restaurant in peace, much less visit a pub with your mates.
The car went partway across the city before dropping her off. Tish wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill and trudged through the snow to take a look at the train schedule.
****
"You could be my personal assistant," the older woman suggested one day, out of the blue. "Much of the abbey is uninhabited. You could have any room in the east wing if you liked."
It was tempting, but Tish knew she couldn't accept. "My parents need me right now." And they'd know something was up. Never mind it would be kind of dangerous, sneaking around under the Coles' noses day in and day out. Every few weeks was a bit of excitement, but she wasn't mad.
"Family duty is important," Lucy agreed crisply. Just like that, the subject was dismissed.
They sat together for a while, watching rain hammer glass paned windows. "I enjoy poor weather," said Lucy. "It reminds me of Scotland."
"You went to school there, didn't you?"
A nod.
They continued to watch the scenery until it got dark.
****
The two women organized charity events together. Mrs. Saxon was the funding and the connections, Ms. Jones the mouthpiece and volunteer organization. Like two sides of the same coin, Tory and Labour, caucasion and black, lady and subject, the silent partner and the head of public promotions.
"Ever think of going away? To... I don't know. To Italy or wherever."
The older woman made a noncommittal sound.
"He promised me eternal life. But it was wrong. You are young and then you are old. That's how it works."
"He promised to make himself young, and then we were going to be together. Instead he became a giant spider and tried to kill my sister."
A pause. "Those children are smiling, over there."
Tish shifted uneasily. She wished there weren't bodyguards every time Lucy made an appearance in public. She reflected somewhat bitterly that she could take a ride through all of space and time and come up empty-handed looking for a romance more awkward than this one.
Well, perhaps she was being close-minded. After being trapped for a year on the same ship as the man, she could imagine what Martha's friend would say. What's the problem? You're human, she's human, no issue with cross-species cultural mishaps regarding which parts do what, never mind the possibility of poisoning--which, take it from me, is never pleasant--
Tish pulled the other woman into a one-armed hug. "Come inside and meet them."
****
Crossposted to who_otp, dwfiction, dw_femslash and allfandomfics. (And I'm sure they're all taking one look at the pairing and skipping over it. :P)
Summary: No more Lazarus. No more Harry. They're through with men; they shan't be tricked again.
Characters: Tish x Lucy
Genre: Angst, Femmeslash
A/N: This feels a bit disjointed and what I'd love is a beta, but I'm not sure how to go about getting one for such a weird pairing. Inspired by Meilin's Valiant, in which Tish and Lucy have an uneasy almost-friendship. Which of course I turned into something else, because I'm... strange, like that. (But if you want some good LoTL fic you should all read Valiant. Just because. And there are rarely used yet entirely plausible pairings too, like Gwen/Leo and Martha/Tom and Francine/Clive.)
***
It started with the phone calls, which happened like clockwork, once every other Wednesday at 6:45 PM exactly. The mystery caller never spoke, but they would sit and breathe if you let them, and if you put the receiver down and walked away to make yourself a sandwich they would still be there when you got back. Just breathing on the other end.
Francine, who was home most often when it happened, thought it didn't sound like a man. Once or twice the Jones' formidable matriarch felt she could hear something else, a hollow background noise--the sort of echo you would normally get when the person on the other end was calling from a terminal or a lobby. The moment you spoke, however, the mystery caller invariably hung up.
When Clive answered he knocked on his eldest daughter's room because he couldn't remember the code for Last Call Return. After the person on the other end hung up, Martha tried 1471. Predictably, the number was blocked. When they were still charged the 7.5 pence, her parents were furious.
When Martha answered she thought it might be her boyfriend calling and getting a bad connection. She rang Tom Milligan just in case, and while he didn't remember phoning her, he was always glad for an excuse to talk.
Once, Leo was visiting and answered for the family. He swore for weeks afterward that he could hear faint crying on the other end.
Tish never answered and shied away from the phone like it was going to bite her. Eventually, she learned to simply avoid being in the room when it happened. This plan worked well for a little over a month. And then one night she forgot to watch the clock.
Tish finally answered. The calls stopped.
***
Edward French was an up and coming academic. At the tender age of thirty-three, he was already beginning to be considered to be a major name in the field of modern psychiatry. Touting his own experience as the child of a "broken home" himself, he'd built his career around treating victims of abuse, specializing in severe dissociative disorders. He'd written several papers in the field of psychopathology that were promptly published in peer-reviewed academic journals, lectured in universities, edited and compiled a number of educational texts, and (until very recently) had been looking forward to heading his first government-funded clinical study in June.
Of course, that had all been before he'd struck the case study of the century. Now he was silently going over the list of colleagues he might recommend to take his place, if necessary.
Calmly as he could, he allowed the late Prime Minister's wife to speak, jotting down notes when appropriate.
As far as people like French were concerned, celebrity patients came about once in a lifetime, and very rarely were the symptoms so pronounced.
"I didn't think you would believe me." The woman gazed fixedly at a spot just above his head, which most people found unsettling but merely put French in mind of what it might look if she posed for the book jacket.
Over time, the widow's story changed. Of course, her husband hadn't been a space alien, and she couldn't imagine where she'd come up with the term "Time Lord." And as for her fantasies about a "friendship" with that Letitia girl during the year that never happened--it was a textbook case of feeling attracted to what you knew you could not, and should not, have. It was just a story she made up to escape from reality--her reaction to being in a controlling relationship with a man who had a lot of responsibilities to live up to. Surely if Harold Saxon had lived, they could have gotten through it together, but his sudden death had left her without closure. Her recovery was heralded as a great success, and the institution received a large "anonymous" donation, in cash, from an unspecified source.
On the day she left, however, French found a note written in calligraphy on plain cream paper waiting for him inside his office. He wasn't certain how anyone could have gotten in there as he always left it locked. The message was disturbing, as it was unsigned, and there was no way--short of making some very embarrassing accusations--he could publicly confirm the sender.
Just one line, sepia ink on cardstock.
I wasn't lying.
***
They met at the Ritz for tea, at nine exactly. They didn't stay long, however; reporters were everywhere. Luckily, a few greased palms allowed the girls to escape out the back where a driver was waiting.
"Honestly!" Lucy exclaimed. Her heels clacked loudly against the pavement. She didn't talk much these days, so from her the exclamation was almost good as a curse.
They bundled into a black car with tinted windows. Tish's stomach growled. "How'd they know you were going out? You never go out."
"Never go anywhere," Lucy said mildly. Tish looked over at the older woman and felt something in her stomach drop. It was one thing to fantasize about being rich, but it was another, she realized, to be boxed in by spectators and rules. To not be able to visit a restaurant in peace, much less visit a pub with your mates.
The car went partway across the city before dropping her off. Tish wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill and trudged through the snow to take a look at the train schedule.
****
"You could be my personal assistant," the older woman suggested one day, out of the blue. "Much of the abbey is uninhabited. You could have any room in the east wing if you liked."
It was tempting, but Tish knew she couldn't accept. "My parents need me right now." And they'd know something was up. Never mind it would be kind of dangerous, sneaking around under the Coles' noses day in and day out. Every few weeks was a bit of excitement, but she wasn't mad.
"Family duty is important," Lucy agreed crisply. Just like that, the subject was dismissed.
They sat together for a while, watching rain hammer glass paned windows. "I enjoy poor weather," said Lucy. "It reminds me of Scotland."
"You went to school there, didn't you?"
A nod.
They continued to watch the scenery until it got dark.
****
The two women organized charity events together. Mrs. Saxon was the funding and the connections, Ms. Jones the mouthpiece and volunteer organization. Like two sides of the same coin, Tory and Labour, caucasion and black, lady and subject, the silent partner and the head of public promotions.
"Ever think of going away? To... I don't know. To Italy or wherever."
The older woman made a noncommittal sound.
"He promised me eternal life. But it was wrong. You are young and then you are old. That's how it works."
"He promised to make himself young, and then we were going to be together. Instead he became a giant spider and tried to kill my sister."
A pause. "Those children are smiling, over there."
Tish shifted uneasily. She wished there weren't bodyguards every time Lucy made an appearance in public. She reflected somewhat bitterly that she could take a ride through all of space and time and come up empty-handed looking for a romance more awkward than this one.
Well, perhaps she was being close-minded. After being trapped for a year on the same ship as the man, she could imagine what Martha's friend would say. What's the problem? You're human, she's human, no issue with cross-species cultural mishaps regarding which parts do what, never mind the possibility of poisoning--which, take it from me, is never pleasant--
Tish pulled the other woman into a one-armed hug. "Come inside and meet them."
****
Crossposted to who_otp, dwfiction, dw_femslash and allfandomfics. (And I'm sure they're all taking one look at the pairing and skipping over it. :P)