An ouroborous is just a circle that's been twisted.

Dunno if anyone's still watching, but...

2010-03-31T00:14:08Z

Yes, it is me. XD

After one of THE most eventful years of my life, I'm finally back to fanfic and antsy to write more. What I'd like - if anyone's still around to answer, that is - is a vote!

YES. A vote.

I have the impetus to write on any one of my current fics, so as a special HEY I'M NOT TOTALLY DEAD YET surprise, I'm going to let you guys decide which one I should work on finishing first!

In case you've forgotten which ones are what - which is fair, since I had to look at this, myself - here's a quick list.

Nothing Gold Can Stay: The story of Ten's adventures with a very odd companion. Not much background, but will explain Into the Dark some and fill in a key piece for later.

Bad Wolf Rising: My story following this particular chink in Rose's timeline. Probably another...oh... five? Maybe ten chapters to go before ending that story and moving on to the next one in her timeline. Will explain parts of Echoes of Sunlight and also a part of a piece of Between Man and God.

Between Man and God: The story following Ten's poin of view set between Journey's End and Nothing Gold can stay. Not really sure where I'll conclude with this one, yet. Might go a little further in the combined timeline than with Bad Wolf Rising, but I'm not yet sure. Will explain the rest of the parts of the piece of mystery from earlier in the fic and will lead into NGCS.

SO!

Looking forward to responses - if any - from all of you guys.

I've missed you!

Echoes of Sunshine (1/1)

2009-02-19T06:48:29Z

Title: Echoes of Sunshine
Beta(s): TheCookieMomma
Word Count: 5240
Song Title/Artist: Now Comes the Night by Rob Thomas
Characters/Pairing: Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose, 10.5/Rose
Rating: M (to be safe)
Giftee: ladychi
Summary: With the full and heavy knowledge that she wouldn't see this place again with these eyes, the Timend Goddess squeezed her eyes shut and vanished. She didn’t hear the strains of mournful music that followed her departure down the TARDIS corridors, but she knew them well.
A/N: Written for songs_in_time Valentine's Day Exchange. This does take place in my AT Paradigm storyverse and ties in with my current series. For those of you following my storyverse, this will no doubt confuse you more, but answers are coming, I promise! Songfic is an art I'm not sure I've mastered yet, but I hope this is what you were looking for, ladychi !

Fire. Death and dying; timestreams unraveling and lives innumerable snuffed out with only the echoes of their screams left to haunt him.

It wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be real.

Not even the Universe was this cruel.

Except for when it was.

He saw it all, the citadel cracking like an egg before shattering out into a thousand pieces, slicing silver leaves from the trees only an instant before the fire transformed the branches to ash; gouging out wounds in the earth only heartsbeats before the crimson grass became black. The atmosphere burned, the planet shook until it tore itself to pieces, shredded out of the fabric of time itself.

And all that time, it was screaming.

Over and over again he saw, he smelt, he heard and he felt the pain he’d inflicted on his people, on his home. It burned him from the inside out until he was so hollow he just knew he’d collapse. Maybe once his ashes joined with theirs, it wouldn’t hurt so badly.

It was a horrible dichotomy, this existence. The pain was so unbelievably unbearable that he screamed, cried, begged and pleaded; would have done anything to make it stop. And yet all that while he knew it was only what he deserved; his just reparation for the blood on his hands.

So it was, then, that as the burning pain was soothed and cooled and eased until he floated in blissful darkness, he wasn’t certain if things were better or worse. Then came the time when he wasn’t sure about anything at all.

……………………………………………………………………..

Waking was an inordinately slow process.

Whatever surface he was lying on was soft almost to the point of opulence and there was a smell in the air that put him at immediate ease. There was a warm, damp cloth that wiped tenderly over his face and neck, using just enough pressure to soothe raw nerves without becoming abrasive. Warm hands—smooth in contrast to the slight roughness of the flannel—brushed over his skin in caresses that flooded him with a warmth divine only because it was so simple; simple like the feel of afternoon sun on bare skin.

In his life, he’d had very little time for the simple things; the little joys that make everyday life worth living. If he was honest with himself, he’d had little patience for them either. He was more concerned with the greater joys, the epic struggles; such things that poets lauded and troubadours immortalized. He had looked down his nose at those who claimed happiness in the small and the simple. He had taken his stance and upheld belief in his rightness with the superiority of a…well, of a superior being.

He very, very rarely admitted to being wrong.

However—he mused as he lay hovering between sleep and waking—he would be perfectly and earnestly willing to admit defeat and throw himself to the mercies of the common man if it meant that this simple, uncomplicated comfort would stay. Somehow he knew it had to stay or he would be lost into the vast and utter blackness that lurked just around the corner; always out of sight, never out of mind.

As if his admission of his own error was the key or switch, he felt himself floating higher and higher towards waking; closer to the source of this simple pleasure; like a flower reaching towards the sun. Although, he admitted hazily. If I’m a flower—and that doesn’t seem quite right—but if I am, I should probably find somewhere to set down roots.

It was a testament to just how fogged his mind had become, that the aforementioned thought didn’t startle him into total wakefulness for a full three seconds. When the reality of his words finally sunk in, he jerked upright, gasping for breath like a man pulled from a capsized ship. Gentle hands pressed at his shoulders, urging him to lie back, even as a tender voice told him to let go of his fears and sleep; he wouldn’t be alone.

Alone.

The memories flooded back and washed over him, his mind now in almost synchronized pain with his body. He recognized this pain—the physical pain of a botched regeneration. He had survived and they had died and he had killed them and now he would be left to languish; utterly alone. He rolled to his side and curled into a ball, wrapping his arms around his middle and trying to make himself as small as he possibly could, but this simple joy was having none of that. The bed dipped behind him and impossibly dainty fingers brushed over his arms while a warm body pressed against his back, curling itself to fit against him, to brace him while a mind slipped into his own.

It was gradual—his mind was so wounded; ripped and shredded—because it had to be. It was like the slow progression of morning through a window, the light easing into the dark places with such an understated strength that the shadows were powerless to resist. It was, however, unlike sunlight in one delightful way; this warmth, this light…it did not retreat. It flowed gently over a mental battlefield, acting as nature would in a corporeal war-zone. The wounds were gently but persistently closed, leaving scars instead of gaping holes. Pieces were pulled back together and as his mind was pulled away from the brink, his body finally, finally began to relax. Slowly he felt his limbs elongate as muscles eased, his entire being unfolding until he rested against the body behind him.

A kiss was pressed to the back of his neck and as he fell asleep, he had the oddly reassuring sensation of rooting himself to that light; that warmth. In that, he was content.

……………………………………………………………………….

The next time he wakes, he realizes that he is naked.

Not an odd occurrence really, at least within the grand scheme of things. There are plenty of valid explanations for why he has woken up naked.

Sadly, very few of them float when faced with the addition of a very real and very naked female pressed against his chest. He brushes fingertips along her side and buries his nose in soft hair he can’t tell the color of. He realizes that there is something waiting for him; hovering just on the edges of memory. If he reaches out, it’ll come back to him, but given the option of the unknown and the simple comforts here in this bed…he knows it isn’t even a choice.

There are warm arms around him and a warm light in his mind. The rest of the universe can go and hang itself.

…………………………………………………………………

She’d stayed too long.

Koschei may beg to differ, but there are rules—even for them.

She’d done what she’d come to do and she really should leave…but she couldn’t make herself move. It just…it felt so very good to lay with him like this. It was a comfort she hadn’t had in millennia. He felt so solid, so strong and so real—of course because he was all of those things. And of course, it would be because he was all of those things that she really had to leave. This wasn’t one of her dreams, where her actions had no consequence beyond the ones she chose. This was his timeline.

This was real and—despite the fact that she wanted to so badly it hurt—she couldn’t change anything.

Reaching one hand up, she caressed the lines of his face, running her nails ever-so-lightly across his scalp. The short-cropped hair tickled her fingertips, but she didn’t mind. She wasn’t even disappointed in the lack of what she’d once fondly called ‘semi-sentient’ hair, because while that was indubitably him, so was this.

As she was now, she could see things that no one should ever bear witness to; either for their atrocity or their beauty. As she was now, she understood things she was only barely beginning to recognize in her time with him. She understood the exquisite agony of seeing literally the best and the worst of creation. She understood the responsibility that he felt towards every living thing; life in any form was far too precious to be wasted. But mainly, mostly, she had grasped completely the concept of his being the same man. These forms he wore and shed, they were no more than the skin of a snake, discarded as he grew and changed. For a species as naturally inclined to stasis as his was, these changes were the grace of creation.

She should know, she’d worn and shed more than a few in her time.

It wasn’t the same thing, of course, but it was close enough. At last she understood his attraction to Reinette, to Sarah-Jane and the others.

Understanding wasn’t the same as accepting. It had taken centuries more for that to come, but come it had and it would come again.

He was so amazingly beautiful to her. Not just on the surface and not just deep down, but all the way through. His pros and his cons; his dark and light…she understood now the need for all aspects and delighted in them all the more.

Slowly disentangling herself from his limbs where they’d twisted with her own, she pressed a soft kiss to his forehead and leaned back to roll away and change, only to feel a hand grasped around her upper arm. Surprised, she turned to find a pair of blue eyes pleading with her for…for acceptance? For answers? For promises? She didn’t have those to offer him; not anymore. No…he just wanted her to stay.

The fact that she knew that without his saying so was more than enough reason for her to hightail it now, but she’d never been able to refuse him, especially when he was in pain.

So, with a soft smile, she rolled back into him and wrapped arms and legs around his battle-torn body; his own personal shield against the storm outside.

“Wh—“ She cut his soft and raspy question off with a kiss. She couldn’t talk. She couldn’t answer. She couldn’t do anything that would give away his own future. But she could give him this.

Slow yet firm, she pressed against his mouth, moving her lips against his until she felt him hesitantly respond. The delight that ran through her then transcended the sexual cravings of this corporeal form—and those were quite definitively starting to awaken. As he opened his mouth to her, she felt his mind open also. She knew she shouldn’t; it was a universally bad idea. She ran through a list of just why she shouldn’t, but it wasn’t enough.

With a shudder, she opened her own barriers and poured herself into him.

…………………………………………………………………..

He felt her release barriers and flood his mind with…with her. There was no other way to describe it. With a groan of pleasure, he rolled them until she was trapped beneath him and ran his fingers through her hair. As she filled his own mind, all warmth and golden sunlight and joy, he let go and slid into hers. The groundwork had already been laid, but this was something more final; more binding. He couldn’t name it if he tried; he just knew. It could keep her here; keep her with him.

It had to.

As the pieces of their minds slid and locked into place, something inside of him snapped. His kiss turned wilder, tongue sweeping in to explore her mouth, to find all of those little places that would make her squirm; make her his. To his surprise—and no little delight—she didn’t just allow him. She didn’t push him away, but she was about as passive as a wild thing. If he was to taste her, to own her, she’d have her own way as well and he couldn’t deny her that. Between the two of them, what had begun gently became feral.

His mouth traveled to the juncture between her neck and shoulder, sucking the blood to the surface before biting down hard enough to draw it from her. “Mine,” he snarled out rather breathlessly. A small part of him quailed at such ferocity, but he quickly squelched it. There would be time later to be appalled at his primitive desires; now was not that time.

His breath hitched as she caught his earlobe between her teeth and bit down, a shiver traveling up his spine as she matched his assertion.

“Mine.” It was the first word he’d heard her speak with clarity and it warmed him even as it galvanized his desire into further action. His mouth moved from his mark and trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down her skin. Between her breasts he pressed his face, inhaling deeply the intoxicating combination of pheromones and sweat and chemicals that were unique to this woman. A very primitive part of his mind—a part he would vehemently deny existed—catalogued the combination as the smell of his mate.

Satisfied, he nipped the soft flesh there—delighted in her mewl of pleasure—and moved to engulf her right nipple in his mouth, nipping and rolling it with his tongue as his fingers mimicked the motions on her other breast. Her noises were free and uninhibited as her back arched her further into his mouth. Her hands found his head and he moaned as fingernails trailed lines of fire down his neck and shoulders. There was no cloth to interfere with touch and he found the feel of her intoxicating. She was fire; living, glorious fire and for the first time it felt good to burn.

…………………………………………………………….

He was sleeping again.

All those years she’d wondered why it was he never seemed to sleep. She had finally asked him; once. He’d stared into the middle distance before shaking it off and shooting her a manic grin.

“Time Lord, me,” he’d assured her. “Don’t waste our lives asleep like you humans.” He’d then cupped her face in his hand and run his thumb along the apple of her cheek. At the time, she’d taken his word for it and never given it another thought.

She knew better now.

All those times they’d been stuck somewhere and he’d just happened to fall asleep leaning on her or providing her a pillow; even the rare occasions where he’d sit with her in her bed on the TARDIS and doze off… It wasn’t that he didn’t need sleep. It was that his mind wouldn’t relax without its match. Even though the bond hadn’t been established in her timeline yet, it had in his and his mind—more than likely subconsciously—had sought out its mate in hers. He didn’t sleep without her because the primitive parts of his psyche told him it wasn’t safe to rest without his bond-mate.

With that understanding came resolve.

She had unlimited power and an entire universe to use it in. Those years in between…well, she caused the problem—after a fashion—and now she had the ability to fix it; to make it better.

With a tender brush of fingertips to his temple, she guided him into a deeper sleep.

It was hell to leave like this. She knew her own physiology as well as she knew his. Even in her current predicament, her natural state had priority. She knew leaving now meant the bond between them wouldn’t stabilize. She knew perfectly well that the sense of completeness she held so close to her chest would fade until the next time she’d be with him. Bonds of this nature needed at least a week of near-constant contact to cement themselves.

As she pulled on her clothes with shaking hands, she bit her lip hard and told herself repeatedly that this was the only way. The pieces of the bond that would stay would hold him together long enough to find her and then the timelines would be restored.

Still…

It was mental anguish to lose one’s bond mate, even so early as this… It was a split-second decision, and she didn’t like it. Nevertheless, it needed to be done.

Tender fingertips pressed again on his temples. The pulsing link between them meant she could have slipped in his mind from a distance, but that left ‘fingerprints’ she couldn’t afford. Slowly, methodically and with infinite care, she found his memories of her and of this and very gently slipped them into a box only she had the key to, then buried it subtly under nearly a millennium of other memories, so he’d never even wonder. That done, she eased out, leaving gentle triggers for joy, for peace and for her love. Most of them he wouldn’t trip until long after he’d lost her, but they—and the golden healing sheen in his psyche—were the only gifts she could leave him.

She stood then, fixing the sight of him like this into her memories, because she knew it was the last time she’d see this beloved face. Then, before she could change her mind, she stepped out of his room and closed the door behind her.

The corridors were just how she remembered them, only different. It was an odd difference, subtle. Or it could be that her memories weren’t as good as they used to be. After all, it was the first time she’d set foot here in…millennia.

She spent a long time in the console room, hands pressed to one of the coral support struts as she caught up with the TARDIS, grateful once again for the timelessness of this great creature. Here she had to hide nothing, because—like her—the TARDIS existed outside of time. It was a soothing comfort to wrap herself in a song it seemed she’d known her entire life, but even that couldn’t last. He’d sleep, but for how long? She couldn’t be caught here. It would undo everything.

And so, with the reluctance of someone so very, very tired, she stepped away from the support strut and looked over the console room, tears she refused to acknowledge pooling in her eyes. This was home.

This wasn’t her first home, nor would it be her last, but it was her true home. No matter where she went, what she did, a piece of her would always be missing; left here with her TARDIS and her Time Lord.

With the full and heavy knowledge that she wouldn’t see this place again with these eyes, the Timend Goddess squeezed her eyes shut and vanished.

She didn’t hear the strains of mournful music that followed her departure down the TARDIS corridors, but she knew them well.

………………………………………………………………………….

The Autons had cornered him.

It was a sad and pathetic truth, really. He whose name was whispered in fear among the darkest corners of the universe would be killed by Autons. It was an ignoble fate to be certain, but the truth was that he didn’t feel like fighting it. The Nestene Consciousness lost its home because of his war. It was meet that he should die by its hand. His only regret lay in the lone human girl he’d sentenced alongside him. With tired eyes he turned to look at her, willing her to put some of that abundant human resourcefulness to the task; willing her to live.

As she met his eyes, he saw determination rise and he couldn’t help but smile. She would leave him. She would escape and he could die in peace…only, she wasn’t running.

The clank of a broken chain, the sounds of her assertive voice, the boiling of the Consciousness below, all sounds fell silent as his field of vision was entirely taken by the form of a small human child while she swung from that chain and saved him. He rid himself of his own attacker and tried his best to block out the screams of the creature below him.

She’d overestimated the amount of energy needed for the swing, though. She was careening out of control and his breath caught in his throat. As she swung back his way, he braced himself and caught her eye. With a degree of trust that would awe him for years to come, she let go and trusted him to catch her.

He did, of course. There was nothing in this universe that could have stopped him from catching her. Her adrenaline-fueled smile of gratitude was almost expected, the strains of music it triggered in his mind, however, weren’t.

When the hour is upon us
And our beauty surely gone
No you will not be forgotten
No you will not be alone

………………………………………………………………

Cardiff! Naples would have been better. At least in Naples there would have been some dignity afforded him. Wales was much less kind.

They backed him into a cell—him and his little South-London spitfire—and closed in with all the persistence of the dead. Which, to be fair, they were. A glance to his companion then and he couldn’t suppress a wince. She’d been right all along. He’d lied to Gwyneth against her wishes and this was the result. He should have listened to her, but it had been too long since he hadn’t been alone. He was too used to being the battle commander and the reminder of more casualties that were his fault…it robbed him of his reason.

Casting a glance to his right, he took her in. She really was beautiful. Not just for a human—he truly was a coward—but for anything. As she took his hand and sent him reassurances, he was floored. Here they were, about to die, and she wanted to absolve him. The reality of it sent a flash of gold over his vision and all he could think to say was;

“I’m so glad I met you.”

The smile that bloomed over her face at that made him shiver. Even when faced with her imminent death, she could take such joy from his simple admission…

“Me too.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than he heard it again, those same strains of music filtering through his mind.

And when the day has all but ended
And our echo starts to fade
No you will not be alone then
And you will not be afraid
No you will not be afraid

And he wasn’t, not anymore.

……………………………………………………………

It wasn’t his personal definition of hell. No, that would have more of Jackie Tyler’s meatloaf and less of his own precious girl. Still, the Beast was getting to her, he could tell. It was the growing up in a culture that still used religious fear to control its youth. He couldn’t remove that from her, but he could hold her close. He could comfort her and draw comfort from her.

Even stranded without his ship, there was hope. There was hope because she still believed in him and he’d never let that down. He’d come so close to losing that faith, but not again; never again.

Still, he was an explorer by nature. He had an insatiable curiosity and he knew, despite her fear for him—which was palpable—and her own desire to follow, to see and learn—which was obvious—that she would stay where he left her this time. He knew she wouldn’t follow into danger because she knew there had to be someone up there to hold things together.

When her lips pressed against the glass of his helmet, he spared a moment wishing the glass had not been there.

When they lost their communications with topside, he flung open his mind and let his connection to her sing to life, because he couldn’t cope with the not knowing.

As he fell into the blackness below, he could see her doing what needed to be done, see her saving lives because she cared. When he hit the bottom, he passed into unconsciousness with a smile.

Faced with the Beast, with the reality of what had to be done, he balked. He talked around in circles to buy himself time to find another way, but what he found was far more precious. He turned to the chained creature with a light of understanding dawning on his face. Flashes of her passed behind his eyes, the edges softened by a golden light. This was not his demon, because this was not his hell. To have a hell, there had to be a deity and he’d seen far too many pretend to be such to put credence to it. He’d been considered one himself on several occasions and if that wasn’t enough to shame the concept, he didn’t know what was.

He didn’t believe in the rules of his people—they’d brought nothing but a painful end—and he didn’t deign to have faith in any religion, because he’d seen their roots; their realities. The only thing left to him was unbelief, except in her.

She had swallowed up the entire Time Vortex, bonded intimately with one of the greatest creatures in existence and sacrificed everything to save him, because she couldn’t bear the thought of existence without him. Even then, with the whole of Time and Space running through her head, she had retained her sense of Self. She had done what was needed and was prepared to die because he was safe. When she couldn’t let go to the TARDIS, she surrendered that power to him.

He realized then that the faith she had in him wasn’t only one-sided. With that realization came strength. He would defeat this thing and trust in her to save them, because when it went beyond him, she was the only thing left.

With this realization came strains of a song he hadn’t heard in this body. Not since the Gelth had he felt these notes steal over his mind.

When the fog has finally lifted
From my cold and tired brow
No I will not leave you crying
And I will not let you down
No I will not let you down
I will not let you down

And so he crushed the power source, sent them hurtling towards the black hole. His choice sent the whole planet shaking, and at the first sight of his beloved TARDIS, he could see her again. She was crying, being sedated and forced to leave him here—as she thought—to die. She woke up somewhere strange and killed a man to save the universe, still waiting for him to return to her. He didn’t think that faith would break even if it took him a hundred years to find her, but he’d rather not test it.

He couldn’t wait that long.

…………………………………………………………………

Three months.

It had been three months since the day he’d said goodbye to the most precious girl the universe had ever shown him.

It hadn’t hit him fully at first. Donna and her loud, vivacious energy saw to that. Still, when she had gone home to Christmas dinner, the silence had become…inescapable. He’d been almost glad to see the odd readings at that hospital, glad to have someone to break the silence. It wasn’t her; it would never be her. But it helped.

Too soon, that mystery had been solved. Too soon he was again in the Vortex, alone.

He had no illusions. He knew he’d go back for her. He was far too lonely to survive on his own and Donna’s words still echoed in his head; but not yet. He was still too raw. He’d spent three months alone in adventure after adventure, willing the pain to recede to a manageable level.

It never did.

He did everything he could think of, followed every lead, but there was no way back to her. It was her he needed, but it seemed she was what the universe was hell-bent on denying him. In all that time, he poured over books, sought out experts and moved mountains—literally, one of the missing scrolls of Terra’fil was buried under a mountain—but to no avail.

Finally, he had no choice.

Binding his eyes closed—because given that power, there’s no guarantee that he wouldn’t pull apart the fabric of space-time to bring her back—he opened the console and sat in the captain’s chair. This was the heart of his TARDIS and as surely as she had looked into his ship, his ship had looked into her. There were pieces of her woven here, the last pieces of her left in this universe. As the warmth flowed around him, he could smell her, taste her, hear her laugh and feel her arms enclosing him in safety, but most of all, he felt a wash of gold in his mind. It was soft and gentle, working with the understated persistence of morning sunlight through a window. It acted as Nature would have done on a corporeal battlefield, turning wounds and rents into scars and blanketing everything in a love so powerful it had once bent Time to its will; all to the accompaniment of strains of music he never thought to hear again.

Now comes the night
Feel it fading away
And the soul underneath
Is it all that remains
So just slide over here
Leave your fear in the fray
Let us hold to each other
Till the end of our days

Sadly, like sunlight, this simple comfort retreated from his mind, leaving him alone again; scarred but not bleeding.

He could exist now. He could go on and live his life. It wouldn’t be easy and it would be exquisitely painful, but it could—and would—be done.

She wouldn’t believe in anything less from him.

……………………………………………………………………………

He stood next to her on the damp sands of a beach that had haunted his dreams for longer than he’d care to admit. Vanishing before their eyes was a small blue box that had—for both of them—meant home for a very long time. She stepped away from him, as if to run after it; he didn’t stop her.

He was different now, he knew that. She knew that. She wasn’t stupid. He couldn’t feel her in the back of his mind like he was so used to doing. It left him feeling empty and alone, despite being able to see her right in front of his eyes. Did it matter that he had the same memories? Did it matter that he had been born into the universe with such an all-consuming love for her?

As the final whisper of the TARDIS’ dematerialization sequence echoed across the rocky bay, he heard strains of a more familiar sort, skittering across his mind and reminding him rather forcefully that this was Rose. She was older. There was pain in her eyes and some of her innocence was gone. She wasn’t what she was, but then, neither was he.

When the hour is upon us
And our beauty surely gone
No you will not be forgotten
No you will not be alone

With hope blooming in his heart—and that would take some serious getting used to—he stepped forward and reached for her hand. He held his breath, watching her face carefully. She turned to him and reached back. A brilliant smile broke out on his face, matched by her own as their hands slid together.

Yep, still a perfect fit.

Nothing Gold Can Stay (2/8)

2009-02-10T02:56:52Z

Title: Nothing Gold Can Stay
Characters: Ten, Original Companion
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mentions of genocide and character death
Spoilers: Through JE and then spoilers for other stories of mine, but nothing major there.
Word Count: 7924
Summary: So Eden sank to grief... The TARDIS has always had a mind of her own and the Doctor is getting really tired of crossing his own timeline. So why would the time-ship keep such record of a woman who doesn't belong; and perhaps more importantly, why would the Doctor want her to?
A/N: I know you're all probably ready to murder me for putting this up rather than the next chapter of BMaG, but it wouldn't leave me alone and so here it is, the next ready chapter of NGCS; Her Hardest Hue to Hold
Disclaimer: I don't own anything except for the new companion and I'm not even sure yet if I'll keep her or exchange her for a better fit. All of this is un-beta'd, mostly because I didn't think any sane person could slog through this. So! Any mistakes are mine and if anything is really unclear, just let me know. :)

I was so angry at you after that, you know. I couldn’t contain myself. I had just lost all control over the situation and you… You were going to get your hearts broken all over again.

We do it to you, each and every one of us. The only thing that forgives most is that they have no idea how very much they’re hurting you. But me? I knew. I knew how much worse this bond would hurt you, because it wasn’t going to be a passive bond. Even then I knew my mind well enough to realize how very much stronger this would be. I wanted to protect you. I wanted to keep you safe because no one else would. It never occurred to them that you’d need it. Or if it did, you made it seem unwelcome.

But I knew better. So much of you, my dearest Ar’ali’thae was laid open to me before you even breathed my name.

Well, one of my names.

But you… You took the choice away from me and I was so furious! I realize you thought you were doing what was best, but you’d been the one ‘in the know’ for far too long and with one act you stole a piece of my trust in you. You were a part of me now, just as I was of you and I hated you for that; it felt so good to have roots again, to have that tie to another living being and I loved it. I hated you for that too.

…………………………………………………………………..

The Doctor sighed heavily as the TARDIS set down on Earth. Again. Hands shoved into his coat pockets, he leaned against the console as his companion flew out the main doors in an unholy rage. He should have expected something like this, but he’d hoped… Nevermind what he’d hoped. It was a foolish thing to have done. With a grimace, he turned to set the controls that would take them back into the Vortex, convinced that he had just seen the last of Lhaki.

The TARDIS, however, had other ideas. She was not about to move one inch without her Lhaki on board and if the Doctor didn’t like it, she’d tell him just where he could shove it. He was in no mood to listen to his ship giving him hell, so he glared at her impressively for a full five minutes. When that didn’t work, he stomped off into the library in what most certainly was not a temper tantrum of any sort.

Two hours later, the Doctor was in a very foul mood. He had been lost five times–lost! In his own ship!–and when he finally did find the library, none of the books were in the proper order. When he chose one of the selection available–desperate for any distraction–the TARDIS would translate it into one of the few languages he didn’t speak. In irritation, he’d chucked one book at the wall, only to be answered with an impressive shock. Seeing, he supposed, his reaction to that first shock, the TARDIS proceeded to follow it up with others of varying intensities. Finally, he had had more, far more than enough. He stalked out of the library–wishing again that he hadn’t ejected the Zero Room–and to the console. Outside the doors, he was free from her meddling influence.

This, apparently, suited the TARDIS just fine, because she ‘humphed’ approvingly at him and then made it very clear that returning without his companion would result in more of the same. So it was that the Doctor found himself on a scavenger hunt for his wayward companion. It wasn’t an unusual situation on the whole–his companions tended to find the Don’t Wander Off rule to be optional at best–but with this TARDIS-added imperative, it was definitely something different. He wandered around hopelessly for another few hours before the TARDIS in his head took pity on him and pointed his ‘sorry Time Lord arse’–her words, not his–in the right direction.

He felt quite entitled to his surprise when he found Lhaki in a cemetery. Despite this, he could feel that insatiable curiosity rising up in his gut. Here was an opportunity to find out some history on his newest companion. Anyone she felt inclined to visit here would be important to her; a clue to her past. Lovely things, clues. As he approached the simple headstone she sat in front of, he felt prepared for anything.

Really, by now he should know better than to feel prepared. It never ended well.

Harriet Jones
1955 — 2008

Just that, nothing about her tenure as Britain’s leader, nothing about her final sacrifice; just a name and a pair of dates.

“You have a bad habit of making decisions for other people, Doctor.” Lhaki’s voice was flat and the Doctor cringed once–both at her accusation and at the stark reminder of an old failure. There were tear-tracks on her face, but her eyes–still indecisive about their color–were dry now. “You did it for her. You destroyed her Golden Age because she dared to do something you didn’t like. You destroyed her career, her life, her reputation, even her family. She had to live every day with her very sanity in constant question. Despite this, she never quit. She developed the subwave network and she saved the universe and you couldn’t even be bothered to ensure she had a proper headstone.”

The Doctor stood off to one side awkwardly, hands in his pockets and eyes on the ground. He didn’t argue with her statements; she spoke nothing but the truth.

“Granted, you had a lot on your plate just then, but still…” Lhaki shook her head once as if to clear it. “That isn’t the point. You’re not human; it isn’t fair of me to expect you to behave like one.” For once, the Doctor felt this as an insult, and it stung. She sighed once and scrubbed her face with her hands. “But then again, neither am I; not really.”

The Doctor did a rather comedic double-take. Lhaki snorted.

“I’m like Jack.” The Doctor made as if to protest this, but she cut him off. “And not like him.” He had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from interrupting her with a thousand questions. “I don’t age, Doctor. I was spat out in this universe decades before I could cross your timeline. I don’t age and I don’t die; at all.” She shrugged one shoulder. “There is no dying and coming back, there’s just an injury and it takes the usual amount of time to heal, but it heals back to before the injury; never a scar. It’s like a permanent stasis, but everything seems normal.” She smiled then, but there was no joy in it. “There are times I’d prefer the dying.

“I’m not telling you this out of self-pity, Doctor.” Her voice became firm here and she stood slowly, brushing grass from her trousers before looking him square in the eye. “There will be a day where I will die and you will have to go on without me. That day will come and you won’t be okay, no matter how much you want to delude yourself otherwise. You said it yourself, Doctor; we all break your heart in the end.”

“But–“ She narrowed her eyes and held up one hand.

“Don’t interrupt. This is important.” Reluctantly, the Doctor fell silent again. “You did what you did to heal me and I’m grateful for that.” She tilted her head to one side and rubbed the back of her neck with one hand. “Or I will be when I stop being furious with you.” She dropped her hand and shoved it and its double into the pockets of her black coat. “But I was trying to protect you and you blatantly ignored me to do what you thought was best. That stops, right now.”

The Doctor paled, reminded with a flash of the last companion who’d been so concerned with protecting him, rather than the other way around. Superimposed, the images of Rose and Lhaki had…disturbing similarities. He was really beginning to hate the universe.

“All the evidence points to me being around a long time, so if I’m to spend that time with you, you’ll not treat me as if I’m a child.” Here she paradoxically rolled her eyes and cocked one hip out–the image of the child she denied. “It’s not as if you know anything I don’t know.”

“What’s the inverse cube root of 4.99985?” The Doctor seemed determined to test this; he couldn’t help himself sometimes.

“Nothing important, you loon.”

“What’s my name?” Lhaki narrowed her eyes at him still further, clearly losing patience.

“You don’t know that one either, so it doesn’t count.” Well, she had him there.

“Weakness of the Slitheen.”

“Vinegar.” She grinned, then shot a glance to the headstone. Her voice took on a hint of the wistful. “Just like Hannibal.”

“Best place to shoot a Dalek.”

“Eyestalk if you’re using traditional firearms. An energy cannon works anywhere.”

“Reapers?”

“Avoid changing a fixed timestream.”

The Doctor was starting to get irritated. It wasn’t often that he couldn’t stump someone.

“TARDIS stands for?”

“Time And Relative Dimensions In Space.”

“Hemophilia in the royal family is really what?”

“Infection from a lupine-wavelength haemovariform.” She rolled her eyes. “Too easy.”

“How were Time Lords born?”

“They weren’t; they were Loomed. They had been Loomed since Pythia cursed Rassilon and all his ilk with infertility.”

“Oh.” That was an answer he really wasn’t expecting from her. That was information that wasn’t even doled out at Academy.

“Are you quite finished?” Lhaki had one eyebrow cocked, arms folded over her chest, and seemed amused in spite of herself. The Doctor merely nodded.

“That bit of nonsense being done with; you will not make arbitrary decisions for me again, Doctor. If you don’t like it, tough. If you can’t live with it, then…” She shrugged and trailed off, swallowing hard once before she could finish her sentence. “Then I’ll just grab my things and go. I mean, it’s not like I even have much to pack, just a few bits and bobs here and–“

“You can stay.” He interrupted her quietly, amazed at this enigma of a girl–woman–girl who knew so much and was so much and still wanted to protect him. She stared at him, jaw slack. He could feel the corners of his mouth turning up in a smirk. It was becoming a small personal victory any time he could throw her off-balance. To his–admittedly childish–delight, it took her a full fifteen seconds to recuperate.

“Really?” There was such a vulnerability to her voice in that word. It made him want to protect her from everything and run as far from her as he could get, all at the same time. He was not equipped to cope with such naked emotions; too sticky. Then all of a sudden her eyes narrowed again and she turned wary. “Why?”

“Well…” He stretched his mouth into a grimace and rubbed one hand across his hair before clasping it around the back of his neck. He knew he could lie to her quite convincingly, but there was this odd niggling at the back of his mind that said she’d know; even if she never caught him in the lie, she’d know and it’d destroy another piece of her trust in him. So, he blew out a stream of air between his teeth and tilted his head back and forth, searching for the best possible way to say this. “For one thing, I definitely enjoy having company on the TARDIS, I need to keep and eye on the link in case there are any complications, it’s funny to sic you on random passersby, the TARDIS tortures me and won’t let me leave without you, I still haven’t taken you to see the nebula cluster in the Pisces Tertiary–“ He only made it that far before Lhaki caught on.

The next companion was going to have an IQ of 80 or lower; he swore.

“Hang on…” She started to laugh and snigger and sputter and shake. “You’re here because the TARDIS forced you via torture and blackmail?” He nodded hesitantly, not sure at all where this was going. Lhaki only laughed harder, eventually having to lean on his shoulder just to stay upright. She finally calmed down, brushing fresh tear tracks from her cheeks before linking her arm in his. “You are impossible.” She grinned madly. “Don’t ever, ever change.”

…………………………………………………………………….

I never could stay mad very long. Not even when I was a little girl. I’ve never been able to hold onto hatred in the same way that I’ve never been able to hold onto romantic love. It’s too much work for something self-damaging in the end. For me, at any rate. So it was that within the week, I’d forgiven you.

Forgiven, not forgotten.

You could see my wariness, I know. To your credit, you never pushed me about it. Seemed you were still far too uncomfortable with such sticky feelings; uncomfortable enough that so long as I didn’t push, you were content to let sleeping dogs lie. It bothered you though. I could tell. You still weren’t convinced that I was going to be alright.

You think I never noticed your checking in on me? I’m not so unobservant and neither is the TARDIS. I felt bad for worrying you, I really did. I just didn’t know of any other way. I was still so new to myself, so uncertain. I robbed us both of precious time and for that–among many other things–I am very, very sorry.

…………………………………………………………………..

After three days of sitting through boring financial meetings–as he brilliantly saved the economy from a famine that stopped before his amazing solution could be implemented–four of trying to offend the Crown Prince of Pi-Omicron-Delta enough so that he would rescind his demand of marriage and seven of traipsing through the swamps of Clom after a renegade Absorbaloff, the Doctor felt his companion deserved a respite.

Very brilliant deduction really, but now the conundrum was where and when. Why did it have to be so hard with this one? With Leela, he could set down in a game preserve and let her have at it; with Ace an evening of hard rock and possible explosives; with Donna, a spa and with R-Rose–he was a Time Lord for Rassilon’s sake, he could say her bloody name!–it was shopping or a theme-park day.

But he’d tried all of his previous methods–even an evening of music so loud his left ear still rung a bit–and while Lhaki had certainly seemed to enjoy herself, it was more like she was indulging him when it should have been the other way around. It was a bit off-putting, actually. He was beginning to sympathize with his own past companions and that…was an odd sensation. His Rose-born, Martha-tested and Donna-approved failsafe wouldn’t even be an option this time. Lhaki had no home for him to take her to. There was no mum who’d make her tea and do the washing, no siblings eager to share the latest in their parents’ ongoing scandal and no granddad to take her out for a night under the stars with his faithful telescope.

For once–and one time only, he assured himself–the great and mighty Time Lord was stumped. This, he thought. This is why I don’t do domestics. The lie was so old and comfortable that he almost believed it this time. Still, he hated admitting defeat. He was halfway through the Orion system of stars–in alphabetical order by class, planets and habitability–when a sudden lurch in his mind caused his head to jerk around; eyes locking on the corridor that Wasn’t. Panic, raw and wriggling, flared to life in his chest, his limbs frozen for an instant before he leapt into motion, wrenching open and slamming closed the Door.

Considering it was the only door on the ship that would open to him, only him and exclusively him, he felt the capital letter entirely justified.

Upon his return to the console room, he found that his ship–blessed, wonderful thing that she was–had saved him yet again. Well, it looked as if she had. There, right there, coordinates primed and ready for Lhaki’s break. Only upon closer inspection did the Doctor have cause to question the sanity of his trusty time ship.

You’re mad, you are. How in the world is she going to relax there?

~You’re an idiot.~ Yes, well of course; because that answered the question beautifully. Still, it seemed a sentiment his ship had become rather fond of expressing lately. Rubbing the back of his neck, the Doctor briefly considered the mallet lying on the worn out old seat to his right, but a quick shock to the hand still resting on the console nipped that idea firmly in the bud.

“Ouch!” he cried, bringing the offended digits promptly to his mouth. The Doctor had realized that his ship was angry with him for initiating the bond with his newest companion without her consent–and in fact, against her explicit refusal–but Lhaki had gotten over being cross with him, so why was his ship still out of sorts?

Before he had the chance to properly contemplate that question, he felt the ground under his feet give way, giving him barely enough time to grab onto the console as the TARDIS bucked and pitched beneath him. Despite the rough flight, however, their landing was gentle as could be. He could hear his ship sniff daintily in his mind and then turn her back on him in a bit of a huff. It was an action so reminiscent of the Tyler women that he found himself cringing in expectation of a good slap.

“What’re you doing?” The rather dry voice of his newest companion startled him effectively from his self-defensive maneuver–he refused to call it a cringe, Time Lords did not cringe–and he turned to her with a whirl of jacket-tails.

“Ah, just testing out this new twitch I’ve got in my eye, see if it’s decided to leave me alone yet.” As if to prove his alibi, a muscle just underneath his left eye convulsed several times. Lhaki snorted her amusement and he congratulated himself on his timely save.

“So, is that the twitch you get when the TARDIS lands us somewhere you didn’t instigate?” One slim eyebrow lifted over the other and the Doctor spared a fleeting thought to the fact that no one wearing green chucks and a small Disney deer on their tee-shirt should be able to look quite so smug.

“Nope! This would be the twitch I get when certain companions act like they know everything when in fact I did plan on us landing here right from the very beginning!”

“Oh? And where is here, then?” Smug; far, far too smug. He could feel a smirk tugging at his lips, glad that for once he had a ready answer to her self-assured questions.

“The planet Zathula in the Pleiades’ system. About six thousand years after the primary species developed sentience and about four hundred years since the colonization ship crash landed on the surface, spawning a new hybridization of humans.” She didn’t have an answer ready for that, but she didn’t stop smiling either. He braced himself for another round of verbal sparring; a round that never came.

“Let’s go then.” Such easy acquiescence was not the normal way of things, but, as they say, never look a gift horse in the mouth… So, with his trademark manic energy, the Doctor flew down the console and flung open the door with a flourish.

“Madame, your planet awaits.” A sweeping bow accompanied his formal words and Lhaki couldn’t suppress a chuckle, even as she rolled her eyes. All amusement, however, vanished the instant she stepped out onto the planet’s surface.

The TARDIS had landed them in the middle of what looked quite a bit like an Earth savannah. The tall grasses, the twisted trees and the bright sky certainly suggested it. The air, however, was not like any air on Sol 3. It was richer, fuller, older and yet more vibrant than any from her own planet. It wasn’t just the air or the wind–which was pleasantly warm without making either of them uncomfortable–it was the very atmosphere of the planet.

Despite this, the Doctor rolled back onto his heels, hands deep in his pockets as he waited for the accusation that he’d taken them on safari instead of Zathula. The differences–lovely as they were–were of such a nature that his human companion wouldn’t notice them. While not nearly as crass about it as his former self, the Doctor never passed up an opportunity to point out the things the humans would miss. Good tactic, that; keep the barrier between them so they didn’t get too close.

The fact that he had initiated the closeness this time didn’t even occur to him. Old habits die hard.

For a moment, he wondered at her silence. Despite everything, she was still a human teenager and sometimes her propensity to talk surpassed even his gob. He opened his mouth to ask or teach or sneeze or something; anything to break this silence that wasn’t comfortable. Oddly enough, he was beaten to the punch.

“Shhh…” His companion laid a stilling hand on his arm. “Look.” He followed the direction of her gaze and saw a cloud of dust raising up to greet them. “What are they, Doctor?” Her voice was hushed and awed; her face full of an innocent wonder that warmed his old hearts.

They were…well, frankly magnificent. Tall and slender, their skin was a rather lovely shade of crimson. Their heads were long, rather like the skulls of ancient Incan tribes, but these seemed more natural; certainly more graceful, tapering at the end to an almost delicate point. Their eyes were large and bright, all shades of the sunset represented in the approaching group. They were unquestioningly female and rode unashamedly naked on what appeared to be cheetahs the size of horses.

Overly confident, the Doctor took a few steps up to meet them, eventually coming to stand back to back with Lhaki as the fierce women surrounded them. This close, it could be seen that they had small, almost feline noses and no mouths; their bodies actually covered in short, fine fur. While most of them were the dark, crimson color, there were some whose coloration leant itself more towards peach. These were smaller than the others and their fur darkened around their skulls, but they appeared no less fierce. The women carried no weapons, but considering their mounts, weapons would have been a bit superfluous.

“Um, yes, hello. I’m the Doctor and this is my companion Lhaki.” His introduction was met with silence and he shifted his weight, rubbing the back of his neck. “Um…we are on Zathula, are we not?”

“Silence!” The voice definitely came from the female opposite the Doctor, but he wasn’t quite sure just how that happened, considering the woman had no mouth. “You will speak in your turn, indoda.” There was a sneer in her voice at that word, un-translated by the TARDIS.

“I think I may have landed us wrong,” he whispered back to Lhaki, who snorted once.

“You think?” she hissed back. “When are we then?”

“Dunno, quite. Seems a bit matriarchal, though…” He winced. Mostly he avoided matriarchal societies at all costs. After all, he was the designated driver and the one who could think on his feet, not his feminine companions. He spared a moment of thought for Jack, who would–without a doubt–be absolutely thrilled to be in such a place. A low growl in front of him interrupted said thoughts and he backed up further into Lhaki.

“Who are you, Lhaki that an abantu has again found her way into our lands?” The same female spoke, only for the Doctor to realize with fascination that the words came from her mount. For a moment, his companion hesitated, stepping forward only after a conveniently placed elbow into her ribs. Rubbing his sore joint, the Doctor shot a warning glance at his companion, but held his peace.

“We’re travelers, my…” She suppressed a grin and straightened her shoulders. “My indoda and I. I am really very sorry if we’ve come somewhere we weren’t supposed to be…but…” She trailed off there, startled as the dark female dismounted and moved closer to her. Fingers gentle but firm gripped her chin and eyes the color of the evening sun stared deeply into her own. After a few aborted attempts at speech, Lhaki swallowed thickly and managed a squeaked, “Hullo?”

That small sound seemed to break the spell. The woman let go of her face and…well, without a mouth, it was hard to tell, but the Doctor was under the distinct impression that she smiled.

“Greetings indeed! Your arrival is anticipated, Lhaki. I am Umqothukhahlela. You and your,” here eyes of both rider and mount flickered over him with far too much disdain, “Doctor will ride into our village with us!” Before the Doctor could react–which was in itself very impressive–the woman had swept Lhaki up onto her mount in front of her. Another woman–one of the smaller, paler ones–had swept the Doctor up behind her and they were off.

The scenery flew by quite fast, but considering the mechanics of the felines they were riding, the Doctor wasn’t too surprised. Thrilled, actually. He’d heard of these beasts, of this time in the planet’s history, but it was far, far earlier than he’d bargained for. For some reason TARDIS as a rule wouldn’t allow their pilots to steer them into the first two thousand years of sentience here. The only rational explanation was that a Time Lock had been placed, but no one knew who had done it; or why. Whatever the reason, he was here now and despite their rather…unique predicament, the excitement boiled up into manic laughter as the band loped along the savannah.

The village, when they reached it, turned out to be rather brilliant in its simplicity. It took advantage of an old cave system in the side of a small mountain. Long, long ago, ice flows had circulated from the frozen surface to the natural hot springs down below. The entire complex was connected and there were enough caves to house hundreds, plus room for communal facilities such as washing and storage and cooking. It never required maintenance and represented a strong, defensible position against predators and weather.

The main entrance was large enough that all of them could have ridden in abreast of each other with room to spare. At first, the place seemed abandoned, but when a rolling purr sounded from the patrol–the riders this time–people began to emerge from all corners. Some were the peach and crimson of the women who’d met them outside, but the vast majority were some shade of brown or tan. Despite this, every color on the savannah was represented in some form or another; blues, greens, violets and the occasional greyscale dotted a brilliant counterpoint to the sea of more ‘natural’ hues.

It wasn’t until they reached the center of the largest cavern that the riders dismounted. Lhaki was offered assistance from the back of her beast, while the Doctor was left to fend for himself. Why is it matriarchal societies never develop an inverse system of chivalry? he couldn’t help but wonder. In the end, he managed–as always–but before he could pose the question to his companion, a hush fell over the assembled crowd.

A diminutive white-furred female stepped out from behind a cloth-covered doorway, head bowed, with her left arm resting between the shoulder blades of an enormous black panther. Even the Doctor–who’d faced down the Beast without trepidation–had to swallow against an instinctive ripple of fear. A quick glance at his companion showed her pale and trembling. Despite feeling a bit of gratification that something got under her skin, the Doctor couldn’t help feeling sorry for her and moved closer to take her hand, only to be thrust backwards and away by the peach-colored rider he’d hitched a lift with.

“Come, child.” The voice, coming from the black feline, was a rumbling, masculine bass–an odd counterpoint to the riders, who…well, come to think of it, he’d only heard the one speak. Perhaps here one could be paired with either side. Hmm, an interesting question. He’d have to ask about that later. For now, he watched as the female lifted her head and with it her free arm, beckoning to his companion blindly. Blindly because he could see now; her once jeweled irises were now covered with film. The panther was her eyes as well as her mouth, then.

Disconcerted, Lhaki stiffened her spine and pulled back her shoulders, but he could feel her in his head, more open than she’d ever allowed herself to be and almost desperately seeking reassurance. He nodded, sending an affirmation down that link. He saw nothing dangerous about their situation so far. That received, she clamped down tight until he knew she was there only by conscious probing. Her hips lowered as her back relaxed and he had confirmation that she’d understood.

Stepping forwards, the young human extended her hand to clasp that of the old white female, who drew her closer still. The female then lifted her hand from the back of the panther and held it up, fingers just a hair’s breadth from Lhaki’s temple; waiting. The human girl nodded and the soft fingers made contact.

All three sets of eyes drifted closed and they stood like that for quite some time. Actually, it was getting a bit ridiculous. The Doctor was fast beginning to lose interest and turned to the rider next to him to strike up conversation, only to realize that she too, had her eyes closed. They all did. Every single one of them that he could see–and he’d wager all the ones that he couldn’t–was somehow a part of this…thing. A bored Doctor is never a good thing, so really it shouldn’t have been too surprising when he tried to enter with them. It was obviously a telepathic thing and he was bloody well telepathic! No reason to be left out of–oh goodness! The response to his telepathic wanderings was a concise and firm NO, the force of which caused him to actually take a step back. This…was worrisome.

He narrowed his perceptions on just the female locked with Lhaki, poking and prodding and a bit surprised to find psychic barriers as strong as his own. For a whole collective to push him out was one thing, but to find he could not penetrate an individual was quite another. Such a puzzle was this that he quite lost track of time. It’s a time-consuming business, trying to break into the impenetrable. So focused was he, that the fondly indulgent voice in his head quite took him by surprise.

Are you quite finished there, Doctor? The voice was warm and full and soothing, like hearing a close grandmother speaking to her favored grandchild. I promise we mean no harm, but this was not meant for you.

Uh, yeah, sorry, but…what wasn’t? There was a pause and then his voice took on an edge of steel. If you’ve hurt my companion…

There’s no need for concern, Doctor. She is well.

If you meant no harm then why was I excluded? he ground out, a bit concerned that he could be excluded in the first place.

You have your umoya thanda already, Doctor. You’ve just misplaced it. Her mental voice lost its tone of mild reproach. But you’ll find it again soon. She has yet to find hers. We needed to know her, but it is not for you to know her. Not yet.

What d’you mean, ‘not yet’? She’s my companion; my friend!

Would you presume to eavesdrop on her life then Doctor? Does being your companion mean you have the right to see her soul? There was nothing but softness in the voice, yet still he felt censured. She was right. He didn’t have to like it, but she was right.

No… No, but… He couldn’t finish that thought. How does one explain to a stranger the fear that gripped his hearts at losing someone else so soon, so very soon after he’d found her? How could he translate the grief that would drown him if he had to be alone for too long? He couldn’t; he couldn’t possibly and so he was left to swallow his own paralyzing emotions, to wallow in memories of the others he’d let down, the others he’d not been able to save, despite their trust in him. Two women in particular haunted him, one dead because he couldn’t protect her and the other one trapped; sealed away from him forever, not even missing him. How could she, when for her he was right there? That one wasn’t a failure, not as the other one had been, but it still hurt; still left him feeling every single one of his 991 years.

But those two had been special–for obvious reasons, one a Time Lady and the other Rose–his two loves. So why was it that he had the nagging suspicion that two had become three? When had this plump, audacious child wormed her way into what was left of his hearts? A hand on his shoulder startled him out of his thoughts before a conclusion could be reached.

Eyes that still couldn’t decide their color stared at him with concern, changing their hues five times even as he watched.

“You alright, Doctor?” Her concern bled over into her voice and he couldn’t help a smile. It was the softest she’d been towards him since his invasion of her mind.

“Who, me? Yeah, I’m alright. I’m always alright. No need to worry at all.” Despite his quick talking and brilliant grin, he was left with the impression she didn’t believe him.

“No you’re not.” She was arguing with him. Typical, that; at least it was for this particular companion. He opened his mouth and began to regale her with a rather impressive amount of evidence on his side; that he was perfectly alright, thanks. It wasn’t until about halfway into his stride that he realized she was smiling at her rather brightly. It took him another six sentences to realize she was also crying. Emotions of these sorts made him quite uncomfortable and so he trailed off, unsure of the proper thing to say. Eventually, he settled on a simple:

“Are you alright?” Granted, it was only a repetition of her earlier words, but at least it was something.

“Yeah, m’ fine. Just wonderin’ when you were gonna shut your gob.” She smiled the brighter for her attempted tease, but there were still tears in her voice. Before he could say anything else, she reached for his sleeve and tugged him towards the room the white female and her black companion had come from. Only then did he realize that they were completely alone. Everyone else had gone without him even realizing it. Shaking his head, he attempted to clear it. Something about this place was distracting him, a fact that could prove fatal if danger should strike. “Come on,” she urged. “There’s something you need to see.” He followed.

The room she led him into was small but homey. An incense burner wafted the room with a clean scent; light and relaxing. There were cushions and blankets strewn about at random, places to sit around the small fire pit in the center of the room. There was another exit, leading off to the left and a small alcove in the wall. In this alcove sat a small shelf and on this shelf there lay a small variety of religious paraphernalia. Oddly enough, it was towards this small shelf that his companion pulled him, smiling. Her tears had dried and there was a hopefulness, a buoyancy to her that hadn’t been there before. But before he could figure out just how right his ship had been to bring them here, he felt a small stone object be placed in his hand.

It was a carving of a wolf.

His first reaction–still, after all these years–was to panic. Wolves in his experience meant that something universally bad was about to happen. He was able to tamp it down and stuff it away.

“Ah, you’ve gotten him from his thoughts. Come, sit; we have much to discuss.” Jerked again from said thoughts–this time by the low, rumbling voice of the white woman’s panther–the Doctor turned to see his companion sitting on one of the cushions next to the female and her…feline. Lhaki was giving him a sharp glare and he thought he heard a mental warning against rudeness. Said warning sounded quite a bit like it had been given from either of his other two once-upon-a-time girls, but it was a fair enough rebuke, so he really couldn’t decide if it had actually come from her or if it was only a memory imagined.

With a heavy sigh, he sat on Lhaki’s other side, across from their hosts. The wolf carving still in his hand, he accepted the mug of spiced tea from the white female.

“What needs to be discussed…” He trailed off as he realized he didn’t even know her name. Luckily, she was astute enough to catch the problem and polite enough not to make him ask outright.

“I am called Inyangaisithuzi.” The Doctor’s gaze darted between the two with a slow nod. Moon Shadow; it was appropriate, given the pairing. “And I’m afraid we need your help.”

Instantly he was on the alert, sparing nary a glance to his companion, who sat sipping her own tea with an odd amount of silence. “How can I help?”

She hesitated. “We are…a flawed species, Doctor.” It was odd to watch them. Even though the voice came from the black feline, the white female moved as if it was she who spoke, hand gestures and facial expressions; all of it. “In time before reckoning, we were…not so telepathically advanced. We did not have the umingane to speak for us and we had no telepathy among ourselves. We made do with crude sign and body language, but it made even the simplest things nearly impossible and so we were mainly a solitary race.” Her filmy eyes narrowed even as his voice grew darker.

“Then came the invasion.

“These creatures like from the worst of nightmares came down out of the sky. They wanted our mineral deposits and without any organization, we were powerless to stop them. They would have stripped our world bare of everything and then left us to die.” The white female picked up a wide clay bowl and held it to the feline’s mouth as he lapped up some of the herbal drink. “You see, they saw us as no more than animals, these invaders. They were rounded metal things with no legs and voices that screamed out all the time and death shot out from a tiny metal arm and they ignored us; unless one of us was in the way.” Inyangaisithuzi grimaced. “In that case, we were exterminated.”

The sorrow that had been slowly creeping up the Doctor’s spine finally bit into him with a jolt of fear as those words almost certainly confirmed the identity of their attackers. No matter how much he lost in fighting them, in destroying them; they always survived.

“We would have been wiped out, if not for the timely intervention of our beloved goddess. She looked as you both do, pale and smooth and small, but she brought us such wonders.” The low, rumbling voice was reverent when they spoke of this goddess. Something was beginning to tingle uncomfortably in the base of the Doctor’s skull. “She brought to us the ushomii, themselves the refugees from a world that had burned. They could bond with some of us, give us physical voices where before we had none. For the others, she set up…” And here they trailed off, lost in thought as memories older than either of them struggled to surface. “A field…of some sort. It enabled their minds to link together. She gave us language, Doctor and then she helped us drive the metal monsters from our lands and skies.”

He could feel his stomach twisting into knots. For a species this primitive to have thrown off the Daleks…that would mean some pretty powerful…something was brought into play. A something of about his intelligence and that was a frightening thought.

“She was magnificent. Bonded to a creature as beautiful as a sunrise, she fought with us and she saved our world.” Another few laps of the drink were offered to the panther. “But we have failed her.” The pair breathed a heavy sigh. “The device she used to create the links is dying, Doctor. It’s becoming harder for those without an ushomi to communicate along the lines. The…the technology is far beyond what we are capable of fixing, but we do not wish to return to being solitary nomads. Can you help us?” Such trust and hope and longing filled both halves of this pair that the Doctor found he had to swallow twice before answering.

“I’ll help you, Inyangaisithuzi. If it means I have to do a complete overhaul of the telepathic field generators in my own ship, I’ll help you; I promise.” His answer was vehement and both natives looked assuaged and…amused.

“I don’t think it will need a complete overhaul, Doctor.”

“What do you think it needs, then?” He grumped a bit at that.

“Oh…I think a bit of jiggery-pokery should do the trick, don’t you?”

The Doctor stiffened suddenly at the out-of-place phraseology, noting with a bit of irritation that his companion did the same.

“Um…sorry,” Lhaki spoke for the first time since the pair had begun to speak. “What did you just say?”

The pair repeated themselves and the Doctor saw his companion glance at him before speaking again. “Where…where did you hear that term? It’s not in your native language, is it?”

“Not initially, no.” Again, while the feline spoke, his humanoid counterpart held the facial expressions, the body language. The Doctor was unequivocally fascinated by this level of psychic integration. It was almost as if they were sitting to tea with one being in two bodies. “It was a phrase we heard spoken by our Lady Goddess when she created the device for us in the first place. It was the term used to describe what she had done to create.”

“You heard her say it? Was this a recent thing, then?” The Doctor heard the veiled skepticism in his companion’s voice and couldn’t help but agree. If the device was running out after only a short time, there wasn’t a fantastic outlook for there to be a permanent–or even semi-permanent–fix. Despite understanding the basics, he couldn’t help but be a little hurt in her lack of faith in him. Or it could be that he was reading too much into things. He’d had a habit of doing that in this body.

“No, she graced our lands only shortly after the grasses started to grow.” This caused Lhaki to wrinkle her nose in confusion until he leaned over and lifted his mouth towards her ear.

“About three hundred years after their last ice age.” She nodded once, shooting him a tentative smile of thanks before turning back to their host; hosts…host?

“And what’s the date now?”

“It has been two aeons since the ice finally melted.” Lhaki’s eyes widened into saucers as her suddenly shaking hands set her mug on the ground in front of her.

“You can’t possibly be that old! Not even–I mean…that’s impossible!” she cut herself off in time, but her shifting eyes had flickered to his face and the Doctor knew, just knew that she had been about to make some crack about his age.

“It isn’t my memory, no. It’s…” Inyangaisithuzi paused then, struggling with how best to explain the concept. She gently brushed her mind against the Doctor’s and he allowed her beyond the first walls of his shielding, processing what she showed him and smiling fondly as he understood.

“Racial memory, Lhaki; with a telepathic field this strong, they can access and relive memories that aren’t and have never been their own. It’s like the oral traditions in the primitive Americas and early European cultures, only more precise.” He tilted his head to one side. “Much more vivid too, I’d expect.” Then something struck him and he gripped the figurine in his hand that much harder. “Inyangaisithuzi…can you show me a memory of what she looked like, your goddess?”

“Of course I can.” No sooner had they spoken than an image, clear as day, presented itself for his mental perusal. The woman in the ‘photo’ was remarkable only in her unremarkable-ness. She had plain blonde-ish hair and plain eyes in a plain face with a plain body. She could be any woman off the street. Still, there was something niggling at the back of his mind and so he studied the image closer. It was only then that he realized; she wasn’t just any woman off the street, she was all of them. Reinette, Sarah-Jane, Ace, Leela, Jackie, Aleth, River, Jabe, Grace, Diana, Nancy, Hame, Lynda, Harriet… The longer he stared, the more of them he could see in her and it took his breath away.

The image, having cycled through a myriad of expressions, must have been of her finally listening to someone–or something–because in that next instant, she smiled brightly and his breath caught in his throat; his chest refused to rise or fall. Without his respiratory bypass system, he would have blacked out from lack of oxygen. As it was, there was a painful wrenching between his lungs, even after his breathing resumed.

That smile…oh Rassilon he knew that smile. That particular smile he could chart better than the Kasterborous constellation; gravitated towards it like a powerless moon. The fact that it appeared on this woman’s face shook him to his absolute core, because…because…

Because that smile was all Rose.

“More, I need more.” His voice was raspy and thick with choked back emotion. “Please, I need a fuller image…”

“All right, Doctor; all right.” As the words left the panther’s mouth, the female reached her hands out over the fire. With only an instant’s hesitation, the Doctor reached his own hands to take hers, gasping sharply as layer after layer assaulted his senses. Sight was now augmented with sound and smell and taste and touch and a thousand other tiny little clues picked up by his twenty-odd senses.

She looked like every woman he’d ever seen a spark in, bits of people who’d touched his lives mingled in with the expressions of strangers until it made him dizzy trying to souse it all out. The smile was hers, the eyes were even occasionally hers, but the smell was all wrong, the taste was wrong and the hand he wrapped his around didn’t fit as hers should have. Even her mind, laid open to an extent in the memory was unfamiliar to him. It was larger, firmer, more efficient and adept. In fact, if he’d had to extend a guess, he’d have said her mind was like Aleth’s would have been had she gotten the chance to reach maturity. But then there was a flash of gold and the ‘sense’ of the person recording the memory dove a bit deeper, baring a flame that burned with songs no mortal in this universe could know.

Unless…

Pulling back forcefully from the memory, the Doctor was only mildly surprised to find that he’d pulled back physically as well. With a well-aimed bit of leverage, he managed to sit up straight again, running hands through his already wild hair as thoughts bounced about his head too quickly even for him to analyze. A soft touch on his forearm made him turn; Lhaki’s–for once–silent concern evident in the expression of her eyes and the budding support he could feel along their link. Ha! She was accepting it after all! He knew he’d win; he always won.

Still a bit overwhelmed by the stream of data running amok between his ears, the Doctor looked almost pleadingly at his companion, who took up the mantel with surprising alacrity.

“Your goddess, my friend…what was her name?” He narrowed his eyes at her and wondered if he hadn’t been broadcasting his own irrational discoveries a bit too loudly. Sometimes it was damn inconvenient having a telepathically sensitive companion.

“She goes by many names, some we learned from her and others from the off-worlders who came later–those who’d been exposed to her light as well. When the first bonded mind touched hers, it was blinded by light and surrounded by such a howling.” Despite the rapture in his tone, both the panther and his bonded female shuddered at the mention of the sound. “Here, on our world, to us, she is known as Inja Embi.”

Because he preferred to use their travels as an excuse to practice the many languages he had at his disposal, the Doctor was a full 3.7 seconds behind his TARDIS-aided companion, but one look at her expression of shock quite assured him that no, he hadn’t translated wrong.

This goddess of theirs really was called Bad Wolf.

Lhaki tried to speak once, closed her mouth to swallow and then tried again. This time she was more successful. “She wasn’t…wasn’t blonde by chance?” There was something raw and hopeful in his companion’s voice at that–though the question shouldn’t surprise him, she couldn’t be telepathic enough to have seen that image. Still, he decided with a sharp look her way, it was high time he sat her down and had a nice long talk about how much she really knew and just where she’d gotten her scarily accurate information.

“Why, yes, actually. Is that important?” Their host appeared quite intrigued by this possibility.

“More than you know.” The Doctor’s voice was quiet and rough, almost low enough to match the panther’s purring tones. “How did you know I could help you?” He saw Lhaki jerk at the apparent non-sequitor and couldn’t help a self-satisfied smirk; another point to him.

The panther’s lips curled back in a sly smile, even as the female’s eyes took on a knowing expression. “When asked what would need to be done in case the device ever began to fail, she told us that she hoped it never would, because it would take just the right kind of Doctor to set things straight.”

“Fantastic,” he muttered sarcastically. “Like I’ve never heard that one before.” That said, his face twisted into a scowl and he stood up, brushing imaginary dust from his coat. When he looked up again, he was grinning madly; an excellent front he hoped would fool Lhaki long enough to get them back to the TARDIS, where he could conveniently lose her in some repair work. “Well, no time to waste! If you’d be so kind as to show me to this erm…field of yours, I’d be more than happy to sort it out for you.”

“But of course.” The pair rose as one, the female laying her hand on the panther’s shoulders and letting him guide her out the doorway. “Follow us.”

</div>

Between Man and God (5/?)

2009-02-07T07:20:54Z

Writer's Block: Cookies

2009-02-06T07:40:39Z

We got one once that said:

"You are doomed to repeat your mistakes."

I thought, 'Well that's certainly pants for a fortune.' and I tried another. It read:

"You are doomed to repeat your mistakes."

I went through nine fortune cookies before I realized they all said that.

Between Man and God (4/?)

2009-02-03T23:10:15Z

Title: Between Man and God
Characters: Ten, later Ten/Rose
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Angst (I love how this will surprise no one) and Fluff *watches people die of shock* and existentialism of potted plants.
Spoilers: Through JE and then spoilers for other stories of mine, but nothing major there.
Word Count: 3176
Summary: Because that's what she does, my Rose. She lives everything so fully that the rest of us can't help ourselves. As we move into the Vortex--and by 'we' I mean the TARDIS and I--a thought strikes me and I start to laugh, even as tears leak out of my eyes. Even when she's universes away, on the other side of that damned white wall, she's still saving me.
A/N: As I promised, the ending of this particular bout of angst! Now comes confusion! I have a choice to make here. I can either pause here and start posting the companion to this story--so that you aren't <i>completely</i> lost as to some things--or I can finish this up, then post the companion one. Thoughts?

There are three and a half violets on my window-ledge.

I say three and a half because there’s a small bloom, a strange mix between mint and lavender in color, that hasn’t sprung open yet. It’s not fully out, nor is it fully in. It’s stuck in the middle, between the dark, safe world it knows and the brightly dangerous one it doesn’t. It’s a dangerous line to walk, but so far it’s been able to balance. That’s more than most of anything can manage, but I still call it a half.

That seems a bit callous of me, doesn’t it? Is it callous to call a bud half if it isn't real? If it's no more than an illusion created for my benefit; my distraction? It probably is, but I suppose that’s to be expected. I am only a programme after all.

That’s what my problem is, She said. She told me so and She is never wrong. She said I’m just a computer; granted a very, very advanced one, but a computer nonetheless. She says that’s why I know so very many things–facts, dates and names–but with no memory of learning them. It’s because I’ve always known. They were programmed into me. They are me. She told me that there had been a systems malfunction. I had been the personal assistant model of a computer used by the governmental elite. Each unit was psychologically imprinted on their owner, for security reasons. Even the best clone wouldn’t have the proper imprints and so I was safe.

When my system fractured in what She called an isotropic storm, it caused a loop. It’s why I kept seeing looped visions of that woman. The pretty blonde had been my owner. The psychological imprint had been holding my systems together until I could be repaired, but before I could be taken to a certified technician, our vessel was attacked and my imprint was killed. She tells me that’s why I feel wrong with just two beats. I was programmed to monitor her life signs, to always listen for that third beat. I apparently simulate heartbeats to trick military scanners into believing I was alive. It’s quite a clever concept actually. I can’t help but be impressed with myself. Is that vain? Is it vanity to be impressed by yourself; by the creation of someone else that just happens to be you?

That’s too philosophical for me. I’m just a complex set of codes after all.

She says that I’ve been repaired as much as I can be, but that I’ll need to imprint again before I can operate at optimum parameters. She found the perfect candidate for me, you see. It’s a young female–very young by their species reckoning–who lost her home, her family, her entire world in the climax of a great and terrible war. They’ve put a memory block on her for now. It lets her get up in the morning and get on with her life without the terrible burden of such horrendous memories. Some might call it unfair, but I’d say it’s a mercy. A child should never have to deal with such things. Once she’s older and can handle it better, the block will slowly melt away, leaving her hale and whole. At least, that’s how She explained it to me.

My physical appearance is apparently too close to that of the child’s lost people. Seeing me would trigger too many painful memories, but She says they can make the imprint without any physical contact. It seems her kind are already primed for telepathic communication. Just a little push in the right direction, She said. I’m alright with a little push. For now, the child is still in her formative stages. I’m to be…a tutor of some sort to her as well as a companion. Someone to watch out for her even when no one else can be there. She says in order to make this as easy as possible, that She’ll have someone programme me with a set of false memories. Being able to draw information from a memory as opposed to raw data will make the transition of data easier and it will augment my programming into something her mind will accept rather than reject as foreign. That makes sense I suppose, but…

I have to wonder how it will feel to be someone else…to have memories that weren’t ever mine but will feel like mine. I can’t really tell her no, now can I? I mean, She was the one who saved me, pulled me from the hull of my transport ship and stabilized me before my entire circuitry could fail. Someone will be in shortly, She told me, to do the reprogramming and to pull the ghost of my mental circuitry to apply to the girl’s own mind.

Ah! Here he is now.

He’s a pleasant-looking fellow, with sandy-blonde hair and warm eyes. He doesn’t introduce himself or…say much of anything really, but he does offer me a friendly smile, and his touch is gentle as he affixes the cold metal to my temples.

“Close your eyes,” he instructs me softly. “It’ll make this easier.”

I obey and he presses a sequence of keys on his handheld device. Suddenly, I fully realize what he meant. Had my eyes been open, the juxtaposition of all of these flashes, memories, numbers and names and…feelings would have been too much. They are all quite overwhelming as it is.

A blink later, it stops and he pulls the metal from my skin. Check a few readings, he does, then leaves without so much as a glance behind him. Something in the data must have upset him, but I don’t have much attention to spare him, even though he was nice. I’ve got it all playing back to me now, slower–like a film. With a gentle sigh I turn myself to recline back on the couch in my chambers and let it all play for me. She told me to let it scroll over on repeat for a while. It will help integrate the information into my memory cortex, She said and it will also help them seem…more real, more intimate and personal to me.

The more I watch, the more I come to understand and things in my head that up until now had only been facts suddenly make much more sense with a story, with context to go with them. Odd how it all fits together so well, like pieces of a puzzle. These technicians really do know their stuff.

Tomorrow I’ll get to meet my new imprint–my pair-bond She called it. I suppose different species have different names for it. Who am I to judge? I can feel my adrenal mimicry units kick in, a fluttery feeling in my stomach that I can identify only as excitement. I suppose that’s only to be expected. The mimicry units will take some getting used to, I think. But when working with a mind that links first on a primal, empathic level, I have to be able to at least simulate these emotions. 24. Twenty four short hours; no. Less than that. Less than twenty four hours until I can be a whole unit again. Just one day to wait until that gaping, swirling void inside of me is sealed up, forever. Yes, She promised me forever. It seems this species–Time Lords they’re called–is uncommonly long-lived. Considering that with the proper maintenance, I’ll never decay, it’s sort of a nice thought.

It ends up taking a hell of a lot more time than twenty four bleeding hours. Two weeks. Two weeks I’ve been trapped down here, absorbing these memories until it feels like I’ve never been without them. I am them and they are me. What a change it’s had on my temper, too. I can’t stand much more of this, this being cooped up without even the child to look after, to teach. Pacing back and forth and to and fro I’ve about worn an indentation in the floor.

All these memories, all these stories…

In some of them, I’m called by my rightful designation; Theta Sigma. But those are some of the earliest ones. Some of the happiest ones too. Some of them. But then…it’s as if everything changes. There’s a new designation to go along with that. It’s…simple and yet… It’s as if it fits, but chafes.

The Doctor.

My name, but not my name. Theta Sigma isn’t even my name. That much I can tell. But no matter how far back I go into these memories I can never grasp quite what my true name is, my original name. All of these designations, these titles, but no true name. How can I identify with a person who has no name?

They really did a job on these though. This person, this Doctor I’m supposed to be…he’s brilliant and terrifying. He’s an angel and a demon all in one body. He’s got two hearts, like I’ve simulated two hearts. No problem there. His mind is massive and complex, quite like my own memory circuits, actually. It’s such a perfect fit that I think they must have custom designed all of this, just for me.

I thought that with these memories, I’d be more whole, feel closer to a solid unit again. But it’s like…the memories just drop off. I suppose that’s where my programming ends and so they didn’t feel the need to continue further. No matter. I’m an adaptive software. I’ll learn. I can fill in the gaps that matter and ignore the ones that don’t, yeah?

It aches though. I suppose that’s the lack of imprint. She told me there were negative side-effects to being without for too long. Damn it all but She was right. Ever since that boy came in and touched the metal bits to my head, I’ve felt like I’ve a hole somewhere. It’s like the entrance to a tunnel, but the other end’s just dangling there, useless. It hurts, the dangling. It’s like someone cut a cord and it’s just been left there. The ache gets worse every single day. It’s like…arthritis of the soul or something.

Aw, how sick is that? I don’t even have a soul!

I’m getting maudlin. Is that a side-effect of not having an imprint, you get all mopey and soppy? I really, really don’t like that. I mean, really.

I can’t pace anymore. It’s doing me no good and I think it might even be making me dizzy. How stupid is that? A computer getting dizzy… Still, a bit of a lie-down can’t hurt. Maybe I’ll drift off and idle until someone activates the other end. That’d be nice. A bit of a break from the pain, a bit of hush from all of the noise filling my heretofore empty head. I can feel my systems slowing down, my ‘heart rate’ settling, my ‘breathing’ easing into a resting pattern. My eyelids slide and flutter shut and I can feel myself begin to lose awareness of the world around me and then comes the slow tilt to my head that comes right before…

Fuck!

Just as I nearly hit sleep–or what passes for sleep with me–I feel a jolt of electricity race through my systems. It’s neither pleasant nor unpleasant, but I’m most certainly awake now. As if a live wire… A cord; that’s it! That gaping, shredded tunnel in my head is being yanked on. That bit of dangling connector is being pulled and stretched and the ends of it lined up towards another piece of wire until the two meet. It’s strange just how nicely they fit together, no pushing or mashing needed. It just…fits.

And then it hits me.

Like a freight train rushing down the tracks and ninety miles an hour, the massive amounts of thought, of feeling of being fly towards me, hit me and soak into me, into everything I am. It’s like a drug, this wave, filling every empty hole and crack and dent and crevice until, for the first time I can remember, I feel no pain. It goes beyond that, though. It’s not as if everything has been magically healed, but it’s like there was never any damage to begin with. There’s so much pleasure, so much joy and fullness inside my mind that it’s literally brimming. I want nothing more in this moment than to let it flow, let it spill over and share it. I want to give some of that which I have hungrily received.

I can feel it flowing down the connection; mental backwash, but it only makes it so far before it stops. It doesn’t slosh back to me and it doesn’t flow over to her it just…stops. I try to send more, force it through, but I can’t. The block–I can see it now–is the same one holding her from the nightmare that is her past. I can’t break that, not without doing irreparable damage to her mind and I can’t. I won’t. Not with these memories. Not now that I know what she is.

She is the last of a dead world. She is my–his–my–his people. She is all that is left. Pulling all of that energy back into my own mind, where I do my best to lock it up tightly, I feel her open up, just a little. What I can sense of her, just from that crack in the door, is an echo of the liquid energy locked up in a corner of my mind. Molten gold she is, pure and untainted by…by anything. How rare that is…how beautiful. Her mind is without a doubt, the single most beautiful thing I have ever seen, in my own memory or in the ones that…I suppose are mine now. She’s scared, I can tell. Not the sort of scared that means a real threat, but the kind that haunts you all day after a nightmare. Poor child.

“Hello!” I say as brightly as I can. I’m grinning like a loon now, I can feel it.

“Hello,” she replies, hesitant and in tones barely more than a whisper.

“Hello!” I do it again, just to see if I can make her laugh. It’s an old trick I used to use with Susan. Well, he used to use with Susan, anyway. She doesn’t seem to take the bait and I laugh, glimpsing a hint of her confusion. “I’m the-Theta by the way, pleasure meeting you, Alpha.” That much about her I did know from She. Eerie how close I came to using the designation from my dream memories. I stopped myself in time though. I can’t start off this imprint with a lie–and that name is quite clearly a lie–and…her designation is like mine, a letter of the Greek alphabet. That ought to make her a bit more comfortable anyway. “I’m to live in your head for the next while, teaching you all the nifty ins and outs to being a Time Lord."

That’s what we are, see. Well, what she is, anyway. Time Lords.

“Time Lady,” she corrects me and I quickly wrack those memories for any sign of that term. It’d make sense I suppose to have that designation differ by gender, but I can’t find a trace of it.

“Time Lord.” It’s just a simple statement. These memories, these things I know, I couldn’t honestly say much about them, but my knowledge is complete, that much I can say quite surely. I almost expect her to argue with me some more–she seems the type–but she doesn’t say a word. “Right then, shall we start?”

She considers this for a moment, I can feel the processes of her mind. She’s ready to agree. I know that before she even speaks and that gives me an idea… Hang on, there’s an interruption on her end. Something to do with a Resh or a Rush or someone being busy.

“Right! Course she does. Find us a place to start and we'll get moving, eh?” I’m talking fast, really fast. I apparently do that when something’s nagging at me. I can’t help it though. There’s something about her…I’ve no idea what she looks like, of course. Her mind doesn’t exactly have framed photos hanging on the walls, but at the same time… It’s the feel of her mind that’s familiar, how the ends fit without any change…

"Right, um...Theta, yeah? Have we met?" She feels it too! How odd…

"Anything's possible, I suppose. You do seem rather familiar...which regeneration are you on?" If she’s on a different regeneration, then sure her mind would feel at least a bit different, yeah? Might explain some of the oddities and if I could place her among all those Time Lords and Gallifreyans swimming about in my memories, we might have a starting point.

As if from behind a muffled wall, I hear a shocked “Theta!” She’s displeased with me and it only takes a split second to understand why. Not thick, me. If I can place the girl, what good would that do? All that stuff is locked up behind that block. How stupid am I? Honestly, I should have realized that before. There’s a chance I’ve met her before, somewhere in all these instances. But I just can’t say so.

Not yet.

"Ooh, right. Sorry, that was rude. I am a bit rude from time to time. Anyway, come on!" And as soon as the words are out of my mouth I realize they’re true. I am rude. Huh, my first emerging personality trait, how interesting.

At least she’s listening. And happy. I can feel that particular emotion bubbling up and spilling through that crack she’s holding open. Interesting… She has the block, but she can manipulate it a little. Not much, because quite a lot of it seems to be attached to the once severed connection, but enough of it that we can work with. I’m content with that, honestly.

It most definitely beats the pain.

Between Man and God (3/?)

2009-02-01T20:54:25Z

Title: Between Man and God
Characters: Ten, later Ten/Rose
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Angst (I love how this will surprise no one)
Spoilers: Through JE and then spoilers for other stories of mine, but nothing major there.
Word Count: 3249
Summary: Because that's what she does, my Rose. She lives everything so fully that the rest of us can't help ourselves. As we move into the Vortex--and by 'we' I mean the TARDIS and I--a thought strikes me and I start to laugh, even as tears leak out of my eyes. Even when she's universes away, on the other side of that damned white wall, she's still saving me.
A/N: Yay for more stream-of-consciousness! Yay more angst! This particular low in the storyline comes to a head here and then things begin to look up. Enjoy!

She thinks I’m crazy.

She has to think I’m crazy. Hell, if I saw me, paid attention to my behaviors–which I know she does, the doctor in her can’t help herself–knew even the shadow of who I was–and Martha knows a great deal more than that–I know I’d think I was crazy. And yet…

She never says anything.

Sometimes I catch her looking at me with a complicated set of emotions in her deep, dark eyes. It’s like she understands a part, but not the whole and the scientist in her won’t say anything until she has it all figured out. I love the scientist in Martha. I love the pride it instills in her and I adore the methodical way it prompts her to handle the world around her, even in a crisis. It works on a similar…wave or frequency I suppose to my own. Probably one of the smartest humans of her age.

Who am I kidding?

She’s not fully human, not anymore.

It’s the Time Vortex. Travel about in it long enough and you start to pick of background radiation. Pick up enough radiation and it starts to change you. Not Time Lords of course. Gallifreyans, too have a natural immunity to it. It’s part of what drew us to it in the first place. Long story, very complicated. But humans…it’s like a cancer. Not one that will kill them, but one that will most definitively change them. The very basic composition of her cellular structure is mutating. I saw it on her first med scan since she started traveling with me again and I’ve seen it on every scan since.

I should tell her. I should inform her and let her make her own decision, or failing that, I should at least find somewhere she can make a life for herself and leave her there. I should; I honestly, truly should. But I can’t. I’m far, far too much of a coward to tell her and… I’ve become far too dependent on her.

But the fact of the matter is that she was being changed and eventually she would notice. I’ve done everything I can to stall the process. I only hope it’ll buy me enough time. Time for what, I haven’t the slightest, but I’ll figure something out. Best under pressure, me.

Really it shouldn’t have surprised me when the claxon bell sounded for the third time that day.

Really, I mean… Really.

All hell was breaking loose, the universe threatening to fall down around my ears and at least five thousand planets in imminent danger; I was in my element. It had been a long time since a disaster of that magnitude had struck on my watch. The sick thing is just how happy it made me that there was such a crisis on hand. I’d been beginning to have hallucinations during my short sleep-cycles. Different from my usual nightmares, these were actually…pleasant hallucinations. It says quite a bit for my pathetic mental state at the time that the pleasant dreams hurt me worse than the nightmares ever had.

Mostly because with the nightmares, at least there was relief to be found in waking. Not so with these…dreams. Not so at all.

They were pleasant; memories of another timeline. We get them every so often, especially when a subject is especially potent to us. Emotion charges these types of things. I now understand the obsession my people had with repressing emotion. What could have happened, what was happening to her–to us–in another timestream…I dreamed about it. Whenever I woke up, I forgot everything but her face; her smiling, happy face. For hours upon hours after each time, the part of my mind monitoring her comatose one was warm and tingling, like a limb as circulation returns to stimulate numb nerve endings and synapses.

It was humming with this mental recreation of life that day, longer than usual. The last thing I remember about that day was standing at the crux-point of a lithium-carbide revelations system. The odd thing is…even with the most complicated piece of machinery ever created set right in front of me, ready to tear the fabric of space time into scrap rags, it all came down to the classic, cinematic climax.

Red wire; or green?

I pulled the green one. Why? I suppose there are a number of reasons. It could be because red is always the one you’re supposed to pull and I felt like being contrary. Maybe it was because green represents life and I wanted to pull the plug on that, because what has life brought me but pain and suffering? Or it could be that I chose at random or I might have known the right one to pull and intentionally pulled the wrong one; played God one last time and just ended everything. But all of these suppositions have one fatal flaw.

They give me far, far too much credit.

The truth, the sad and pathetic truth is that I didn’t even make a decision. It was made for me when I tripped over a crowbar and instinctively reached out to grab hold of something.

The universe was saved–or damned–because I subconsciously didn’t want to break my nose on the metal floor.

How vainly anticlimactic is that?

I remember staring at the wire in complete and utter shock. I didn’t look up to check if the machine had gone into final countdown or shut off. I didn’t do anything to try and further or prevent either outcome. I just stood there like a complete and utter moron; staring at the sparking end of a little green wire.

After that, there’s just an awful lot of black.

Sometimes that was all there was to it, blackness. Sometimes there were strange and unfamiliar sounds and smells to accompany it. But mostly it was the blackness mixed with cold. It was almost always cold. I never could figure out why, but it must have been very, very cold. Takes much more drastic temperatures to affect Time Lords than humans, it does. Once in a while I spared a thought to Martha and hoped that wherever she was, it was at least warmer than this.

Hell, if it wasn’t, she’d be dead within an hour, her heart beating slower and slower until it finally just stopped.

I tried not to think about that very often at all.

The strangest part about all of this wasn’t the blackness or the chill. I’d been in similar conditions before–usually someone’s idea of an appropriate prison cell. The strangest part wasn’t even that as time progressed I started to forget more and more and more of what had happened before. The strangest part was that I had no sense of time. None at all. I had no idea how long I had been there, how long between blinks, how long I’d been asleep, how long I could hold my breath. It was as if Time no longer had meaning. This was comforting at first, because it meant I could narrow the list of my possible locations to about a ten-fold list. But, combined with other things–the darkness, the cold, the eerily specific memory loss–none of the places I knew matched up.

That was most certainly not a comforting thought.

I kept dreaming though. Those same, happy dreams. The dreams of a life I had never had and now would never have. I didn’t even have the sight of her face or the feel of her hair to hold me to sanity now. It was gone, all of it. I couldn’t even feel her in my head anymore. I knew she was still alive only by the soft, rhythmic beat of a heart that echoed my own until it would have felt wrong to hear only two beats. Even that grew weaker and weaker as time wore on.

How much time went on I don’t know. But I do know that I prayed. I prayed to every possible deity of every possible race of every possible world and universe that I could remember. I have an awfully long list of those, and of other facts, just…no idea of how I learned them.

It didn’t work. I don’t know if I ever honestly expected it to work, but so long as I was trying something, anything to keep that heartbeat with me, I could ignore that gaping chasm in my mind. I could turn my back on it and pretend it simply didn’t exist.

But the instant her heart stopped beating, the very floor crumbled out from underneath me. My entire world was pain; pain and wrongness. It was wrong to hear only two heartbeats. I waited for the third each time, always waited for the third beat that never came, that would never come again. I screamed. At least, I think I screamed. I don’t know if my vocal cords were ever actually involved, but I screamed. I screamed and I spiraled into a void of cyclical pain, anguish, terror and the ever-present wrongness.

Even in this, this…hell, I didn’t stop dreaming of her.

These dreams were different, though. These dreams didn’t feature an alternate me. It was just her. Sometimes she looked younger and sometimes she looked older. It took me a long time to realize that she never actually changed. The change of age came from perceptions–how she wore her hair, how she did her makeup, how she dressed–superficially, but also from her eyes. In some dreams they were the eyes I remembered, wide and innocent and searching; so full of life and trust and awe. Other times they were older, wiser and more weary; jaded and closed off from the world around her. In the first set of dreams there was a tangible air of sadness around her entire person; in the second, an air of numbness.

I don’t know which was worse.

I didn’t even know her name anymore. I didn’t know where she came from or why she was so important to me. I had no idea what she did in those dreams–I still don’t know–because my entire focus was on her; just her. I don’t know why the little metal shape around her neck looks so familiar and I don’t know why I still dream of her, even now. Just now.

Right now.

I can see her.

These latest dreams aren’t like the others. She’s…happy. Mostly happy. It must be a time before the other dreams. I don’t see myself in them, but I do see her lips forming my name often. How I know it’s my name, I don’t have a clue. I’m not even sure what word–or words–her lips are forming, but somehow, deep in my primal parts I know that when her mouth shapes just that way and her eyes light up and her face brightens, she means me.

I make her happy.

But this dream–this one I’m in, right now–it’s not right…

I see her form my word with her lips, but her face no longer lights up. Instead there’s a shattering there, a breaking that looks superficial but must go much further. As she shatters, I see the second her, the one with such old brown eyes, I see her emerge and it adds a level of unbelievable sadness to my black spiral void. I made her happy, but now I’ve not only made her sad, I’ve broken her.

I’ve broken her.

That is inexcusable. Absolutely inexcusable. And somehow I know, deep in my bones, that I must have pulled the wrong wire and short-circuited the universe. How do I know this?

Because, this…existence, this painful, agonizing half-life is surely the worst possible hell.

The dreams are starting over again. I see the images of her now with an air of familiarity and it gives me hope. Hope that I cannot stem and hope that will inevitably be crushed as the cycle progresses; over and over and over again until there’s absolutely nothing left of me.

I’ve found a way to track time here; or at least I thought I had.

At first I could keep track of how many dream-story cycles I had been through, but… After a while it just became too much, far too much. My mind has broken down into the tiniest possible pieces. I am a collection of facts–times, dates, formulas and literature–but no story to go with it all, no reason why I know. I know what emotions are, all of them; happy, sad, angry, jealous, joyful. I know what it means rationally to love someone, to be hungry or thirsty, but I don’t feel any of these things. The only emotions I have left to me are the pain, the misery and the wrongness of the spiral.

I can’t remember why it’s wrong to have two heartbeats or why I’m always waiting for a third that never comes, but I do it. Eventually maybe I’ll stop questioning it, just become numb to everything while I float in a pool that can’t decide upon blackness or her.

I know I never will numb to it. It’s part of the punishment.

I have no idea what I did wrong. It has something to do with a green wire I think. I know what a wire is. It connects bits of circuitry and machinery together to create a single working unit. I even know that a green wire should never, ever be pulled unless one is in a film. But I don’t know why a green wire would torment me so.

As for physical needs, I stopped feeling them a long time ago. Or maybe I never did stop. Maybe I still feel them, but I can’t recognize them for what they really are. It’d be hard to notice anything in this cycle.

Ah!

It hurts! It hurts and I’m on fire and it burns and I’m empty and make it stop, make it stop!

Make it stop!

Make it–

Light.

There’s light in my cell.

I uncurl myself–did I curl up at some point?–and blink into a light that is far, far brighter than any light has the right to be.

At first it’s too much. My retinas protest and burn and my eyes water, trying to relieve a sensation that can’t be remedied physically. I do adjust though. I always adjust. I think. Why is there light here? There’s never been any light before, has there? Light is an energy given off by photons charged with atomic energy. I know that. I’ve always known that, but I’ve never seen it before… Or have I?

There’s something in the light. If I squint I can just make it out. Familiar curves leading up to a familiar halo of hair surrounding a familiar face; set into an unfamiliarly hard expression. I gasp sharply and it hurts. Have I not been breathing this whole time? How could I forget to breathe? Breathing is necessary to most forms of organic life. Does that mean I’m inorganic? How odd. She doesn’t seem to notice my plight, nor my confusion. She merely steps to one side.

“No!” I scream out to her. I meant to scream out, but the only sound is a twisted croaking. My vocal cords must be underdeveloped. Such happens in some lesser species, resulting in speech patterns of grunts and other masticular sounds. But an underdeveloped species can’t know it’s underdeveloped, can it? I don’t actually know. I don’t think I’ve ever asked one.

I try again, with marginal improvement. So not underdeveloped, just damaged vocal cords.

Either way, she doesn’t return. Instead, a new shape comes into the light, closer than the first shape. This shape is smaller than the first, shorter by a good four or five inches at least. It’s a feminine shape, so the proper pronoun would be she, I suppose. Well, that’s not entirely certain, but she does tend to be the most frequently used. Universe; life; patterns; repetition. Stick with what works.

This new She walks towards me with slow, deliberate steps. As she does this, the light follows her until my entire surroundings are lit. I’m…in the hull of a ship? Or at least somewhere metal; cold and impersonal. There’s nothing of interest here. I return my focus onto the new she and wonder if this is some sort of bizarre new dream. That would break the cycle, but I’m not complaining.

The new She smiles at me and her expression is warm.

“Hello Theta Sigma,” she speaks to me. Theta Sigma? Yes, that sounds familiar. I think. That must be my name. I nod mutely. It’s the best I can do.

“You’re responsive; good. We’ve made it in time.” She has a very soothing voice, dry as old leaves and warm as sunshine, though how I know that is…I shake myself once, shivering against a tide of feelings that threaten to erupt over me. Apparently my own hell fears the light, but not enough to flee completely. She steps closer and I can see her a bit clearer. The She has lovely silvery hair swept up neatly to the nape of her neck. Her skin looks soft but frail, like onion skin or ancient parchment. Hazel eyes smile down at me and I feel my stiff face trying to copy the gesture. Try being the operative word.

“Come with me, Theta. There is much to be done.” With a deceptive amount of strength for her size, the She helps me to stand and then situates herself under one arm. So small a motion exhausts me, but she takes nearly all my weight. All I have to do is stumble forward and listen to the soothing sound of her voice as it drones on and on about things I can’t–or won’t–understand. We enter someplace I don’t recognize and she leaves me lying on something soft. There’s a burst of sensation on my left thigh. I suppose that it’s physical pain, but it seems to alienated from the pain I’ve been immersed in that even the comparison seems ludicrous.

I don’t see the familiar shape again, but the new She–or would it be Her?–smiles at me and then leaves the room. I think. My eyes close of their own accord and I’m fairly certain I’m losing consciousness. Behind my lids I can see her face, the face that has been my angel and my tormentor for time on end, but then she’s gone, vanished into an emptiness that has no color, no sound and no texture.

For the first time in a lifetime, I sleep without dreaming.

Between Man and God (2/?)

2009-01-31T20:26:03Z

Between Man and God (1/?)

2009-01-30T22:38:35Z

OTP meme

2009-01-27T06:07:40Z

Shamelessly stolen from amberfocus because I am horrendously bored and trying to beat my brain into submission. And by submission I mean sleep, so! Here are the rules, boys and girls!

I list off 13 vague-ish references to my OTP's from various fandoms and then you--my dearest darlingest f-list--get to stab at guessing which ones mean what pair from which series. Fun, ne? No? Probably right.

Oh well, like I said; I'm bored.

1. He seems to be a bit hormonal and she can see around corners.
2. She has a bit of a mirror fetish and he brings new meaning to the term 'tree house'.
3. He is old and broken and she can talk to squirrels.
4. Only he could induce in her this strange love of compact power tools; only she could teach him to love pink and yellow as a color palette.
5. One prefers leather and the other, tweed. Still, there's a lot to be said for the power of puppy love.
6. He loves her because she'll never back down; then again, it's hard to disagree with the airlock method.
7. He fights, she heals. Add in the pilot-child and they make quite the space-age family.
8. He is Death dressed in red and he wants her; his redemption.
9. Roman and Russian, old and new; a love consummated in blood.
10. She can't get into her own head and he can't get out of his; prescription for trouble!
11. He won't leave and she can't let him stay.
12. Despite their love, they were duty bound; he to the land and she to the skies.
13. A Shardae in the serpent's lair; they had to overcome instinct before hate became love.

Also, because it thrilled me...

Anyone else notice that Basta was Eddie Connolly from The Idiot's Lantern? I saw him and about squealed my pants off. My poor sweet sister...ashamed of me, I'd wager. I can't blame her really, but it was just a fangirl moment that took me quite by surprise.

Nothing Gold Can Stay (1/8)

2009-01-22T07:52:50Z

Title: Nothing Gold Can Stay
Characters: Ten, Original Companion
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mentions of genocide and character death
Spoilers: Through JE and then spoilers for other stories of mine, but nothing major there.
Word Count: 7924
Summary: So Eden sank to grief... The TARDIS has always had a mind of her own and the Doctor is getting really tired of crossing his own timeline. So why would the time-ship keep such record of a woman who doesn't belong; and perhaps more importantly, why would the Doctor want her to?
A/N: This is the most twisted reunion!fic I've ever thought up, because I am cruel. It does and will often tie in with my other stories as it is meant to take place in the same storyverse, but can be read seperately if you don't mind missing a few references and/or have a good imagination about you. :)
Disclaimer: I don't own anything except for the new companion and I'm not even sure yet if I'll keep her or exchange her for a better fit. All of this is un-beta'd, mostly because I didn't think any sane person could slog through this. So! Any mistakes are mine.

I’m sorry.

I wish I could explain this better. I wish I had more time have more time will have more time. I don’t, though, so this will have to do. You always wondered wonder will wonder about me; about why I was am will be the way I was am will be. I’m sorry. I wish there was some way I could have told you. You deserved deserve will deserve better and I knew that know that will know that, but there are rules that bind even me.

I suspect that you are reading this because you know the how. Your connection with your TARDIS means that she won’t show you these files until you are ready. I wasn’t able am not able will not be able to show you more than your own memories and my journal entries from that time. It wasn’t isn’t won’t be much, but I was trapped in one time then, I did am doing will do my best to make it easy; show you the pieces in a linear sort of order so that maybe you can understand and not grieve for me.

In my own way I loved love will love you. It wasn’t isn’t can’t be the sort of love you want and need, but that love was never is never will never be mine to give you. The timelines are moving, Ar’ali’thae. All was is will be well; I promise. For now, read and watch and take comfort in the fact that there are other forces at work beside you.

......................................................

In every story, there are certain elements that are…universal.

There had to be have to be will have to be, or else we’d have no real stories.

There are the protagonists. Sometimes they take on the form of Hero, Comedic Hero, Tragic Hero, Anti Hero, or even Villain.

There are the antagonists. These range everything from the over-the-top Arch Nemesis who wears a silly coat and talks far too much to the very understated sidekick who whips out his true colors at the last possible second and literally takes our breath with him.

There are the others, the Wise Old Mentor. The DID–that’s Damsel In Distress in case you were wondering–sidekicks, allies; the list goes on and on.

If I’ve lost you, I’m sorry. Don’t worry too much, you can learn all about it in university-level literature courses, or you could always look it up on the internet. Wikipedia is your friend.

But I didn’t come here to give you a crash course on Earth literature–I’m pretty sure if you’re anything like you used to be, your own mania will have made you take that course will make you take that course is making you take that course…Bloody tenses.

I came here to inform you of a very important fact. You see, I am neither protagonist nor am I antagonist. I am no Hero, nor guide; not even a sidekick really–though I always wanted to be a particular sidekick.

No.

I am a catalyst. I serve the function in this story, this horrible wonderful story, of setting things in motion that will change life, the universes and everything. Funny thing about catalysts though… They’re never human. Never a real character and so no one ever really worries about their happy ending. I thought you had worried worry would worry. Not that I’m really surprised; I’ve been forgotten am forgotten will be forgotten about most of my life. It’s probably better that way. Still…you were different and I had hoped…

Nevermind what I had hoped hope will hope. It was a foolish thing for me to have done.

The other stories you did know once know now will know soon, the other pieces to the puzzle, but it’s important that you understand this piece; the mauve piece.

My piece.

This is my story, the story of the stupid human girl who fought so hard against her destiny that she ended up running straight into it.

This is the story of how I died die will die.

I was only am only will only be nineteen years old.

I was always am always will always be nineteen years old.

Figures I’d be stuck at nineteen. Old enough to go to war, never enough to drink.

……………………………………………………………..

If there was one thing the Doctor hated about London, it would have to be the tourists.

Not the travelers, mind. That would be a bit hypocritical, but the honest to Bob tourists. They clogged the city when the weather was nice and couldn’t understand a bloody word of proper English and had the nerve to sound just exactly like people he should forget because they’re dead. Dead and gone and buried and put behind him.

Well, not really behind him, more like buried in one of his trans-dimensional pockets. Lots of stuff gets lost in there.

So busy was he–thinking about how to get rid of the tourists in the most humane way possible and thinking about the nine different flavors of cheese he had just sampled and how it was really too bad about his planet having no cheese and then thinking about how maybe there had been a reason for that as he could feel the first of his stomachs protesting and most determinedly not thinking about those dratted ghosts he carried on his shoulders because there were just too many and if he let one out, they’d all come bursting through and then nothing would ever get done and wouldn’t that just be a shame and–that he almost didn’t notice the small little creature that waddle-ran across his path. Of course, it was harder to miss the woman chasing it, but even so.

Grasks in London? Again? Honest to Bob…

He really didn’t have a choice but to chase after the woman chasing the Grask, but at least it gave his overactive mind something new to think about for a little bit. She was thickly built, this woman, large-boned and tall and just…well just plain thick, but she seemed to have very little trouble keeping pace just behind that pesky little Grask. Hang on…

She was slowing down and the Grask was not. Making to pass her up on one side, the Doctor added a burst of speed, only to feel an arm collide forcefully with his chest as she stopped and held him back.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he fairly shouted at her, nevermind that she never should have been able to stop him in the first place.

“Patience, Doctor.” There was a tone of indulgent amusement in her voice, as if a parent speaking to a very small child. The Doctor could only gape, jaw working up and down silently as he looked between the mystery-woman and the escaping Grask. Only…it wasn’t escaping. It was escaped. Past tense.

“Awwwww!” he exclaimed, drawing the word out until it was about four separate diphthong-ed syllables. “You let it get away!”

She simply smiled her crooked smile and took three steps forward before pausing, hands on hips. She shot him a satisfied look over her shoulder that said clearly ‘Come and see’.

So he did. And–to his complete amazement–there was the Grask, stuck in a hole about half a meter taller than its head. With such stubby little arms, there was no way it could escape on its own. Tugging up at the knees of her trousers and pushing her long black coat to either side, the strange woman squatted down on the lip of the hole, resting elbows on knees and regarding the creature with one raised brow. Neat trick, that.

“Are you going to give it back now?” she asked of it, quite politely. The creature grumbled a few very impolite words back at her before handing up a small plastic rectangle, lime green in color and very thin, two white cords dangling from it.

“An iPod?” the Doctor demanded a bit rudely. “You chased that thing down for an iPod?”

“Herded, Doctor; I herded it halfway across the city for this.” She held up the small device with a triumphant grin before pressing something else to the ground and watching the Grask rise up with a rather stern look. The Doctor just stared at her, blinking several times while his jaw worked up and down soundlessly. Finally, running a hand through his wild hair, he settled on:

“You’re mad, did you know?”

“I’ve heard it a time or two, yeah.” The Grask transmatted away while she rose and grinned at him and the smile was so painfully familiar that it took him off guard like a punch to the stomach. Worst part being? He couldn’t place it. Screwing his face up and reaching for his glasses, he took a step towards her.

“Sorry, do I know you?” He reached in his breast pocket for the sonic screwdriver only to be stopped by her hand.

“No, you don’t, Doctor. Not yet. I’d really appreciate it though if you left the sonic screwdriver where it is just now. Never much liked that thing reading over me like I was a bit of scrap metal.” She stuck her hands in the pockets of her coat, depositing the iPod in the process. “How about some chips? I’m starved.” Without giving him time to answer, she strode right up to him, linked her arm in his and started them off down the alley.

They’d made it thirty-seven and a half steps before the Doctor caught up with himself.

“Right, sorry. Chips, yeah. Who are you again?” The young woman rolled her eyes.

“Did I catch you after a bout of ginger beer? You’re quicker than this.” The Doctor frowned, getting horrible déjà vu. First River, now this woman. He really was going to have to have a word with himself about crossing timelines and the like. This was getting ridiculous.

“No, not ginger beer.” He rubbed his jaw with his free hand, seeming surprised to find one arm hooked. “Just…a bad day.” The answer was vague enough that he almost booted himself in the face. Curious humans never could just leave well enough alone. Now he’d have to fend questions all afternoon… To his complete surprise, she simply nodded once; as if she understood.

“I’m Lhaki.” One corner of her mouth twitched upwards as if anticipating something.

“What, never had a bad day?” The Doctor turned to stare at her openly as they paused for traffic at a corner. “Or because today isn’t a bad day?” The woman bit her lip and smiled, shaking her head.

“No, Doctor. I’m Lhaki. L-h-a-k-i. S’ my name.” She said it as if it was an old joke between them. Probably was, to her.

“Ooh,” he winced once. “Why do I get the feeling that ends up as one of those universal puns?”

“What,” she jabbed right back. “You mean like ‘Doctor Who’?” She lead him to a little corner place and surprisingly held the door open for him.

“Yeah, I never did get that one.” She released his arm and slid into one side of a booth, he into the other. “Every time it happens, I get this sort of…” He waved his hands around his head in a sort of all-encompassing motion. “It’s like someone, somewhere is laughing at that, every time, but I haven’t a clue as to why.” She bit down harder on her lip, a flush staining her face as she made a very human effort not to laugh.

A waitress came and took their orders. Lhaki wanted chips and a Dr Pepper. The Doctor eyed her strangely, then promptly ordered a banana milkshake. As the waitress left, Lhaki lost control, folding her arms on the table and then laying her head on them to hide her laugh. Poor job since her shoulders were shaking. The Doctor, who for the life of him couldn’t figure out just what, precisely was so funny, shifted in his seat a few times before reaching across and poking her in the back of the neck.

“Oi!” she exclaimed, sitting up with a start. There were marks of tears on her laughter-reddened face, but her eyes were sparkling with a bit of manic joy. “You never change, do you?”

“Actually, I’ve changed quite a lot since I was younger,” the Doctor argued diplomatically. “You’d not recognize me now if you saw me then.” Lhaki snorted once.

“Regeneration doesn’t count, you loon. You know just as well as I do that it doesn’t really change your personality. It doesn’t add or take away anything that wasn’t already there, just amplifies some and dampens others.” The Doctor had a rather sheepish grin on his face, his hand rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. “Dunno why you keep telling people it’s a total change, unless…” She trailed off as if a thought had just occurred to her. “No,” she negated her own theory before it could even be voiced. “That’d be too cruel, even for you.”

There wasn’t any judgment or malice in those words, but they acted as a trigger nonetheless. In a fraction of an instant, the Doctor stiffened, tensed and leaned in towards her, focusing intently and appearing more dangerous than anyone his size had a right to look. “Right then, lucky Lhaki, who are you and why the hell do you know so much about me?”

To his surprise–though to his credit, he didn’t show it–Lhaki didn’t flinch. She just sat there, staring into his eyes like she was searching for something. It gave him a long time to study her.

Her eyes were a curious shade of hazel. Sometimes they looked greenish-grey, others greenish-brown and still others a brownish-grey, almost as if they couldn’t make up their mind on just which color variation they wanted to settle with. Her hair was bottle-blond, but the roots and her eyebrows were an ashy, mousy sort of dishwater brown. She was tall; around 1.83 meters and she had fine bone structure, hidden beneath a comfortably thin layer of fat. She didn’t seem overly hefty; the impression she left one with was more thick and solid than obese. It was as if nothing dared to move her because nothing ever could. Her fashion sense left a bit to be desired, though. Navy t-shirt of some description–probably with writing on it too–there was an edge of a white letter poking out over the equally white zip-up sweatshirt, decorated with Mickey Mouse repeated in more patterns and more positions than any one garment should ever wish to possess. Plain denims, green chucks and that long black duster completed the outfit of a woman far too old for such a childish ensemble and yet…somehow it worked. On her.

“I’m not afraid of you, you know.” The words were so quietly, so sincerely delivered that the Doctor never thought to doubt them.

“Why? You know me. If your pattern of knowledge holds true to form then you know what I’ve done; what I’m capable of doing.”

“What, like the fall of Arcadia?” The question was far too simply asked for such a complicated and painful memory.

“Yeah,” he managed to get out, sounding a bit choked. “A bit like that.” He seemed very interested in his milkshake all of the sudden.

“Which reminds me, I’ve a bone to pick with you about that.” And suddenly it all made sense. She was too clever, too unflappable, too…big to fit inside tiny human parameters. She must have been one of the descendents of the Arcadian outposts, come to wreak her revenge.

At this point he was nearly ready to throw in the towel and let her.

He played her game, even though he was sure both of them knew. “And just precisely which bone would that be? I warn you, not many left for you to pick.”

Just then, the waitress returned with their drinks and Lhaki’s chips, which she pushed to the center of the table in a silent offer. He found he wasn’t hungry, which was really a shame. This place made good chips. When she’d made sure they didn’t need anything else just then, the waitress vanished. Lhaki took a long, strong pull of the brown soda in front of her.

“Developed a bit of an addiction to this particular flavor back taking A-levels.” Well, that knocked out the most plausible theory. Or did it? By this time the Doctor was so off-kilter he wasn’t sure what to expect. He found that both thrilled and terrified him. “I went for my final Astronomy exam and I was this close,” she demonstrated with the tiny space between her fingers. “This close to an A* and I miss it because by the time the test was graded, Arcadia was gone and I was the only one who remembered it being there.”

The sheer absurdity of being blamed, not for the deaths of millions or worse, of a particular loved one, but for a missed grade on a sixth form exam was priceless to the Doctor. Absolutely priceless. He let out a bark of laughter and took a long drink of his milkshake. It was almost enough to distract him from the fact that she shouldn’t have remembered Arcadia. None of the Lesser Species could remember and very few of the Greater Species still recalled that particular battle, so why should one tiny human girl remember?

“Do you know how universes form, Doctor?” Lhaki’s voice was quiet, almost sad. She nibbled on a few more chips and took another long pull of the brown soda. He gave her a look that said she should know better than to ask that question to him of all people. She snorted at the look and raised her hands in surrender. “Yeah, yeah I know; stupid question to ask a Time Lord. But it’s important.” After another pause she turned a pleading expression and her voice was just a hair shy of desperate. “Humor me?”

Convincing himself that he’d made a decision to relieve her of the inevitable–no doubt archaic–misconceptions, rather than caving to that appeal, the Doctor took another drink of his milkshake and forged ahead. “Every time a decision is made–no matter how small or apparently insignificant–another universe is created because all possibilities must be acted out.”

“Except with you.” The quiet assurance in her voice shouldn’t have startled him by this point, but it did. “You exist outside of time and so there’s only one of you. But a long, long time ago, in a place so far away even you would never believe it existed, you made a choice that spawned a universe.” There was an echo of something deep and yawing in her shifting eyes, but she looked away from him before he could put a name to it. “It’s gone now, don’t worry. All taken care of and they didn’t even have to call you in.” There, a ghost of a smile.

“They called you instead.” His voice was equally quiet. “You’re the one who had to shift through the timelines, find the point of origin and then…preserve the timestream.” Her jaw clenched and her eyes hardened, but she didn’t try and deny his conclusion. He stared at her for another moment. “Try again.”

“I beg your pardon?” She seemed taken aback by his question, something guilty flashing in her eyes.

“If there had been a disturbance in the timelines on that scale, I would have felt it. You’re lying. Try again.” As he explained himself, the tension bled out of her body until her shoulders slumped. If asked, the Doctor would be hard pressed to name a time he’d seen someone look so defeated.

“Do you ever look at your own timeline, Doctor?” And as soon as she said it, he knew. No, he didn’t. Too painful. Sitting there at a cheap chip shop across from the most dangerous woman he’d come across in quite some while, he let his mind find the timestream that matched his own resonance and–wary of being swept along into the future current–traveled backwards along the route until he found it, the cry of a universe snuffed out because he’d accidentally given birth to it. Only he hadn’t given birth to it and so it therefore shouldn’t have existed. But that was the Time Agency’s job, wasn’t it? There was no reason for it to have affected her so deeply.

Unless…

“This isn’t your original universe.” It wasn’t a question.

Lhaki smiled wanly, seeming relieved that he’d guessed, rather than her having to explain.

“I single-handedly slaughtered my family, my home, my entire race.” That much he could empathize with. “Not only that, Doctor. I obliterated everything. From Skaro to Clom… No matter the race, the time, the era, they all screamed.” She shuddered, taking a quick drink of her Dr Pepper as if to wash a bad taste from her mouth. “Not the races, mind. None of them felt a thing, but the planets, Doctor…the worlds; they knew. They could feel it and they all screamed.” She swallowed thickly and turned to stare out the window, where it had started to rain.

For a long time, they were both of them silent, each lost in the atrocities they’d been forced by Fate to perform. But the Doctor couldn’t stay quiet for long, not when there were still questions to be answered. “How are you here, then?” he asked, his voice gentle.

When she turned to look at him, he could have sworn up and down that he was staring into a mirror. “I don’t know.” And somehow that was the worst of it all. “No human could have survived what I did.” The fact that no one should have to survive that, though unspoken, sat heavily between them.

“No human could have heard the planets screaming, either,” he felt compelled to point out, though his voice was still gentle, a bit of hope worming it’s way into the node between his hearts.

“And yet I still pass every medical scan possible.” She spread her hands in a ‘search me’ motion. “Human to the DNA in my spit, me.” When she looked his way, her expression was apologetic. “I’m sorry, Doctor. One heart, no respiratory bypass system, no TARDIS curled up on a rift somewhere to recharge.” She laughed then, a bitter, mirthless sound. “The only kinship I can claim with you is that I’ve seen the Eye of Harmony and you know what?” He gaped at her and she grinned at him, waiting for his shake of the head before she continued. “I ran, too.”

There was a booming sound from the north, followed by a shockwave enough to register a minor earthquake. “Speaking of which, I’d say that’s our cue to do some more of it!” Tossing back the rest of her soda, she dropped a few pound notes on the table, grabbed a chip for the road and pulled him out of the booth by the sleeve of his jacket.

Standing on the corner outside the chip shop, the Doctor pulled his sonic screwdriver out of his coat and began to run an atmospheric scan. The more readings he took in, the deeper his frown got. “Mix of–“ but before he even got the chance to finish, Lhaki was pelting off up a side street. “Oi!” he called after her, catching up when she had to pause for traffic. “How d’ you know where you’re going?” By the tone of his voice, he seemed resigned to another of her eerily-vague bits of foreknowledge.

“Because people are running the opposite direction?” she offered back with a rather manic grin, just as traffic let up enough for them to pass.

“Oh.” And he left it at that, spurred on by her contagious excitement mixing with his own as the two of them pelted headfirst into danger.

……………………………………………..

I always wondered why you never thought to question me after that. One adventure and one time of saving your life and you just…just swept me up into your TARDIS and off into the stars.

I never really was sure why you’d done it, whether it was the fact that I was just as homeless as you were, or whether you’d seen through my lie-by-omission.

Can’t tell you how many times that one little falsehood ate at me from the inside. The fact that I’d let you come to your own false conclusions–helped to herd you into them, just like that Grask–was one of the worst things on my conscience. Do know this, though, if nothing else.

If there was any way to avoid it, even if it meant I’d have to bend the rules, I never lied to you. I cared about you far, far too much to ever do that.

…………………………………………………………

They’d been in the Vortex for three days linear time.

After their first few adventures, the Doctor realized that Lhaki was much more antsy if he parked the TARDIS somewhere linear. When they were in the Vortex, however, the young woman relaxed. In the short time they’d known each other, the girl without a universe and the TARDIS fell in love. Of course that was the most ridiculous possible way to put it, but the Doctor couldn’t think of a better way either.

It was like two halves of the same whole coming together, a pair of very old friends reuniting after years of separation; each thinking the other one dead. She was the only one of his human companions who could communicate with his ship on the same level–if not a deeper one–that he could. It prompted a whole new round of curiosity about who and what she was, but the tests–run for the fifteenth time–showed exactly what she said they would.

Lhaki was 100% certifiable human.

A human who could talk to, reason with and pilot his ship. Three things only he should be able to do and only two of which he actually could do.

The first time he had brought them into the Void, she’d disappeared to do her own exploring while he tinkered under the console. Hours later, he’d been distracted from his sealing up of some minor components by a haunting melody, strangely in concert with the TARDIS’ own eternal song. He wandered the corridors for hours, just listening. He never found the source of the sound, but a short while after it had stopped, Lhaki had appeared citing the need for sleep.

Every time they had landed in the Vortex–‘parked’ as Lhaki would say–he would hear it, music that somehow touched his hearts in a painfully beautiful way. Every time he heard it, he got a little closer to finding it. This time though…this time he had an advantage.

Parked they were in the Vortex, yes, but the TARDIS had been forced to shut down her main systems to hide and heal. Life support still ran, as well as a few emergency protocols that he really should update, but it was dark and silent. This time, when he heard the song there would be no background hum to disguise the direction, no sentient ship conspiring with his newest companion to keep him away. And didn’t that just rankle! There had been occasions in the past certainly where his TARDIS liked one or another of his companions, some of them especially well and one of them was forever a part of her now, but never before had he seen this level of…of almost symbiosis in any pair save a bonded Time Lord and his or her TARDIS.

Just in case, he told himself, and then checked the part of his mind that held his link to the TARDIS. Safe and sound and just as bright and strong if ever, though muted in her sleep. In that same area–a place he didn’t like to tread often–were the shredded remains of links to his friends, his family. Links that should never have been made. He’d grown a sardonic appreciation, since the War, for his culture’s insistence on emotional repression. If he hadn’t been such an emotional bastard, it wouldn’t have hurt him nearly so much. If he hadn’t been such an emotional bastard, the Daleks would have been destroyed eons before the breath of the Time War even ghosted on the universe.

Then again, without his emotions, he wouldn’t have been able to make the final steps necessary to secure the rest of the universe from the menace of the Daleks.

But what good did it do, really? There was that inner gnawing voice again. They came back, didn’t they? Not once. Not twice. Not three times, but over and over again. They take everything you ever loved and you can’t even make a dent in them!

Then, an echo of a voice painful for multiple layers of reasons brushed across his mind, soothing at the same time as it made him ache. Not only was he responsible for the death of this particular voice’s owner–his last hope of family in the multiverse–but when he’d been tossed back, thrown into his TARDIS in a rumple of grief and rushing memories, he realized why he’d let her into his hearts when his mind was programmed not to have any emotional attachment at all.

She’d sounded so like his Rose…

That echo brushed again now. They were old words, spoken to him what seemed like a lifetime ago now. Then why do they call you Ka Faraq Gantri? Why name you so aptly and with such fear if you never even scratched them? For a moment more he basked in thoughts both of the love sealed away from him–probably dead by this time in their linear timeline–and let himself soak in just a little bit of envy for the piece of himself who got to spend his life with her. Then his thoughts turned to the young Gallifreyan girl who could have been the future, could have been all he needed to keep himself going, but was lost forever to the machinations of those that should have died long ago. Her link in his mind wasn’t as jagged as the others, because she had closed it before, all to spare him the pain to come. Just as Rose had done before her. They both had wanted him safe.

What had he ever done to deserve such love?

Somehow the thoughts of those two bright, brilliant women didn’t clash at all, instead meshing together to double his joy in them, but also to double the pain. It was so sharp, so delicate and so poignant that he had to bend double to keep from screaming.

Just as he came down from the effort needed to seal all of those memories back into their box of OPEN UNDER DIRE CONSEQUENCE, he heard it; the first strands of music.

It was different this time, more solid and real and physical. It came from a pianoforte, full grand mid 20th century make if his ears told him true. Never before or since have there been pianos quite like those of that time period, so of course he’d have one on board. And he even knew where it was! Which, with the TARDIS corridors being what they were, was quite an accomplishment.

He started out at a brisk jog, but slowed as he approached, as he adjusted to the whole of the music instead of just trying to pinpoint its sound and location. It was soft and simple, almost childlike. It was full of yearning, of longing for something impossible, an undercurrent of hope sustaining the entire piece like a life-preserver. Somehow it matched the two his thoughts had just turned to…matched them exquisitely. By the time he reached the door, he found he couldn’t push himself through.

The music swelled to one, defiant crescendo, fiercely beautiful and driven and completely unstoppable…then faded with all the swiftness that those bright flames always extinguish themselves. It was beautiful and painful and it was a concept he’d thought entirely beyond human understanding.

Then again, Lhaki wasn’t quite your average human, was she?

It had been silent in the room now for a very long time and the Doctor finally worked up the courage to open the door. There it was, that sleek black piano just where he’d left it. Sitting at the bench, shoulders slumped and head bowed, was his companion. She was so still that for a moment he thought she must have fallen asleep at the keys. It wouldn’t be the first time one of his companions had needed to be carried into bed. So fragile, humans; and at the same time so blissfully ignorant of their own fragility.

He opened his mind and extended his sense of empathy to check her. If she was deep enough in sleep, he could just carry her, otherwise he’d wake her gently. His eyes widened however, when he found that she wasn’t asleep, only drowning in a depth of pain and sorrow that overwhelmed him. Even for what she’d done, what she’d had to do, it was more than a human mind should have been able to bear. More than a child’s mind of any species could handle.

At her age, had he been filled with this much…raw pain, it would have broken him.

He blinked then, unsure just how he’d made it from the doorway to just behind her, but there he was. Reaching out with one hand, he hesitated. Did he dare interrupt her? Would it help or only make things worse? A flash of over-mascara’d eyes flew across his vision, a hand reaching for his touch–any touch–when her world fell down around her ears and he remembered. Humans were unbelievably tactile creatures and so his hand fell softly on her shoulder as he lowered himself to sit next to her on the wide bench.

His touch provoked a shattering in her, emotion erupting in a broken sob as she gripped the edge of the piano and screamed. She never cried and that both impressed and worried him. She only screamed and screamed until her vocal cords were too raw to make any sound. The screams were familiar to him and to his ship, asleep though she was. They were the same sounds he’d made in the days following the Time War, when he realized that he had, by some miracle, survived the ravages he released on his allies and enemies both.

He extended his arm and pulled her close into his side, offering the silent comfort he could, the comfort of someone who understood and had survived. Finally, when she leaned forward to rest her forehead against the cool, lacquered wood, he made another venture towards her mind, trying to soothe and repair what he could. His brush against her mind made her jump, throwing her whole body away from him until she was sprawled on the floor staring up at him with apology in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she rasped up at him, trying so desperately to gather all her tattered pieces into some semblance of herself, just enough to get her out of here. His mind whirled as he thought of ways to forestall her escape.

“Don’t be,” he answered with uncommon gentleness. “I’ll bet that’s been wanting to come out a long time now.” She froze, staring at him very much like a deer caught in headlights. “Hasn’t it?”

She blinked then, nodding in response to his gentle prodding.

“I can help you, Lhaki. I can help your mind put itself back together, but you have to let me in.”

She shook her head vehemently and the Doctor’s face fell into that pleading look, the one that had always worked on Martha, but never Donna. “Don’t you trust me?” She shook her head and he reared back a little.

“No, no,” she rasped again, clutching her throat. “It isn’t that I don’t trust you.” It was funny, but with her shields in pieces and her voice so raw, her accent leaned heavily towards American.

“You do?” He couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his mouth, the expression melting into a full-on manic grin at her nod. “Well, of course you do, I’m the Doctor!” He was trying so hard to lighten the situation, but it somehow backfired on him. Her face fell and she closed her eyes as if against some great pain. Instantly the sonic screwdriver was out and buzzing at her throat as the Doctor knelt next to her. “There, that should help.”

“Thank you.” But her eyes, her shifting, indecisive eyes said that wasn’t the problem.

“Now, will you let me help you?”

“No.”

“No? Wh–how–I mean…why the bloody hell not?” The Doctor sputtered in his indignation and Lhaki couldn’t help but savor the small smile it triggered in her face.

“Because, Doctor…” She trailed off, hesitant, her lower lip being pulled and worried between her teeth. “Because if I let you into my mind, you’ll open a bond there.” The Doctor opened his mouth to deny it and Lhaki shot him a sharp look. “Don’t you dare try and deny that can happen with humans, you big idiot. That was Rassilon’s bullshit, not mine.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she seemed confused, but shook it off and went on. “You had one with Rose–damn strong one too, if I don’t miss my guess.” She didn’t need to add that she never missed her guess, her referential point had been made. “You had one with Donna and you have one with Jack.”

For a full minute he gaped at her like an overgrown fish. He regained his composure–with visible effort–and grinned that cheeky little grin at her. “Oh come now, you can’t tell me that’d be a bad thing, eh? Humans and Time Lords, we’re not so different some places. We thrive on bonds, both of us. Be right good for you to have a bit of stability, I’d say.” Yes, he could see now that would be the best possible solution. The human mind didn’t process bonds on the same level that Time Lords did. When the time came for her to leave, it wouldn’t do her further damage, but while she was with him it would go a long ways toward healing her; this child caught in a nightmare because of a choice he made or didn’t make. The Doctor still wasn’t entirely sure which it was. He swallowed thickly and stiffened his shoulders. He’d be in trouble for a while after she left. He always was after parting from a bond; nothing he couldn’t handle.

“And where would that leave you, Doctor?” she asked quietly.

“Oh, I’d be grand, I would. S’ been a while since I’ve been able to see Jack and what with…” He swallowed. “The others, them being gone, it’s far due time to have a few new ones, yeah?” This was awkward. Humans, as a rule, were consciously unaware of the bonds they formed with higher species unless made to be aware of them. Rose had come close to figuring it out there, near the end. Always was too clever for her own good, his Rose. She had worked out enough to clamp down on her end before… Needless to say, it wasn’t a conversation he had often at all.

“Exactly.” Her quiet answer was so sadly certain that he had to rein in his rambling thoughts and try to remember just precisely what he’d said to prove her argument. He wasn’t even sure what her argument was, to be honest.

“I’m sorry?”

She shook her head at him, careful not to touch him in any way. “What happens when I die or when I get stuck somewhere or you get it in your head to try and send me away?”

“I wouldn’t do that! Where’d I send you back to?” She flinched back and he could have beaten himself over the head with a metal pipe. “I didn’t mean it like that, I only–“

“Stop.” She held up both hands and he mercifully quit babbling. “It’s fine, it is. But even if I spend my entire life here with you and the TARDIS, it’ll still be a fraction of what you have left in you, even with…” She frowned here. “How many regenerations have you got left anyhow? I knew this body was your tenth, but there was the whole business with the hand and I never could figure out if this was tenth or eleventh you…”

“Eleventh.” His answer was clipped. He was getting a bit tired of her knowing everything. Took a big chunk of the fun out of this whole ‘companion’ business, plus brought up some really unwanted memories. “And I’ll be fine, Lhaki. I’m always fine. But you, you may not be if we don’t fix this bit of business in your head.”

“No.” Her voice was gaining strength and he almost regretted repairing her vocal cords. Almost.

“Why not?” He was quickly losing patience.

“No.” She wasn’t really helping matters.

“No, no no no. Is that all you can say, no?”

“No.”

Standing and running his hands through his hair as he paced, the Doctor fumed. “You’re being ridiculous, you are!”

“I don’t care. I won’t do it.”

“You’ll die if you don’t, Lhaki.” He whirled to face her, eyes blazing and expression fierce. “If we don’t do something about that giant mass of…of raw pain that’s inside your head, it will consume you until there’s nothing left but a shell! Is that what you want? Do you want to suffer in that sort of agony until you’re nothing more than a vegetable?” He was practically screaming at her now. “Do you?”

There was silence for a while then, broken only by his heavy breathing as he waited for her answer. When it came, it was soft and shaky and completely, utterly hopeless.

“Yes.” For some reason that infuriated him more.

“Why would you want to go and do something wasteful like that? You survived impossible odds, Lhaki!” He was getting a touch of his ‘you’re being an extremely thick ape today’ voice. “You managed to stay alive when by all rights you should have been wiped from existence and you want to throw that all away?” He couldn’t understand why he was so angry. She was only a child. She didn’t understand.

“I deserve it.” And suddenly the floor was jerked out from under his feet. Survivor’s guilt, of course! That, mixed with the guilt of being the one responsible for the non-survival state of trillions of species, well. It would be quite a dose.

“No one deserves that,” he informed her quietly, squatting down in front of her.

“I do.” Childishly stubborn, holding onto her guilt like a morbid security blanket.

“If you hadn’t done what you did, the entire multiverse would have collapsed and infinitely more loss would have occurred. You’re nothing short of a hero, eh?” He smiled at her, tilting his face to try and catch her eye. “Which reminds me, just how did you manage such a clean cut timestream fix?”

“Removed the impetus for the error from the erred timestream.” Her voice was flat, reciting procedure rather a bit too old for her.

“Oh, yes, I suppose that would do it…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. She hadn’t answered his question, not really. Not the way he would have liked anyway, but that’d have to wait. “It was a better and more humane job than I could have done.”

“Really?” Her voice was so small. It didn’t seem to fit the larger-than-life aura she usually projected.

“Really really.” That got a watery smile from her, though he couldn’t for the life of him imagine why. “You did the only thing you could do, Lhaki. You made a impossibly hard choice and you did the right thing.” That was, apparently, also the right thing to say, because she looked up at him with the smallest flicker of hope in her eyes.

“I…I did?” She sounded so much like a child then, a little lost child that he reached for her, stopping only when she flinched away.

“You did.” She didn’t look convinced. She wanted to be convinced though. He could practically taste that. She wanted him to convince her and that was something he could do and gladly. “Honest.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” She was almost grasping at straws now, he could tell.

“I’m the Doctor. If you know as much about me as you seem to, you’ll know I don’t sugarcoat things.”

“Yes you do. When it’s someone you care about or might care about, you do sometimes.” Damn, the girl knew him better than he thought. In the back of his mind he wondered if that would ever stop being weird, saw her knowing look and decided probably not.

“I’m not now.”

“Prove it.” Stubborn to the end. He was beginning to really like this child, even if he currently wanted to wring her neck.

“Alright I will.” He closed his eyes and concentrated on projecting his admiration of her, being able to do something that difficult so well, so young, his empathy at having committed a similar atrocity to save the universes and his complete and utter lack of blame on her for what she’d done. At first it was like showing a movie to a brick wall, but slowly, ever so slowly, she began to soften, to open up to his projections. The more she took in, the more she relaxed, until she was wide open to him, soaking up the things projected while holding her own mass of pain at bay so as not to hurt him. It was the opportune moment.

Begging her forgiveness, he pounced.

………………………………………………………

Into The Dark (WHOfic!)

2009-01-21T04:39:15Z

Title: Into the Dark
Characters: Ten/Rose, Donna, Martha
Warnings: Character Death
Word Count: 4370
Summary: For five and a half hours I pretended that Rose was really here with me, that my little girl slept in the nursery next door, that Donna was in her room, indulging a recent weakness and sipping a Venetian soda before bed and that we’d all just been exiled from Gallifrey again for indecent public behavior, condemned to travel until the next time they needed us to save their pompous arses... It was a very nice fantasy.
A/N: Just cross-posting one of my fics onto my LJ. This one is quite dark and may seem a bit out of character, but bear in mind that it does take place in an alternate reality from the storyline we're familiar with. It's part of my series Alpha-Theta Paradigm, but it's the only one shot so far. If there's interest in the storyline over here, I'll bring over my other bits and bobs.
A/N2: Still have no beta, so all mistakes are mine. Song mentioned is DCFC's Into the Dark.

Eyelids fluttering open, it took me a moment to realize where I was. For the fleetest of instants, I heard the hitch of her breath that always accompanied her transition to and from REM sleep. It was such a familiar, normal, comforting sound that I relaxed, even smiled. My love slept on and all was right in the universe.

Except when it wasn’t.

The awareness dawned slowly, each of my twenty-three senses kicking in with new and conflicting sensations. I could hear her breathing, I could smell her, I could feel her warmth just behind me, but I couldn’t find her mind. The place in my head where her mind was sealed onto mine, bound to my own psyche for all of time…it wasn’t responding. It wasn’t hurting or hard, just…numb, as if it didn’t even exist.

Fear like nothing I’d known before meeting my precious lover gripped my hearts in a vice and squeezed mercilessly. I was trapped, like a mouse in the paws of a particularly hungry cat. If I turned and she wasn’t really there, the pain…I–I couldn’t, I can’t…she’s mine. There was no business she could have away from me, not even Death. But until I could see her, could wrap my arms around her and assure my numb mind that she was really here…there wouldn’t be any peace.

With a deep breath and shaking limbs, I rolled over and saw her naked shoulder, decorated with strands of her golden hair, tangled and curly before she could take a brush to it and smooth out the evidence of my fingers running through the strands; gripping them desperately when she took me to a level of love and pleasure and peace that I didn’t think existed before. My lips tugged upwards into an indulgent smile as I leaned up on one elbow and watched her. She was so alive, so mobile, even in her sleep her face was expressive and her limbs restless, always seeking something unless I had her wrapped up tightly in my arms. But during this time–right before waking–she was always still, her body waiting with baited breath for her mind to make the transition from sleep to wakefulness. These were my favorite times of the night.

Well, the times of night when she was asleep at any rate. There were, of course, better things to do when she was awake.

With a sudden and violent force, I needed to hold her, to touch her and stroke her smooth skin until her soft eyes fluttered open, mumbling my name and smiling at me even before she could get a good look. It always made me grin when she did that; as if she knew without ever checking just who it was that belonged in her bed. The scientific parts of me wondered what the look on Mickey’s face would be if he ever woke up to her mumbling my name. Unfortunately for the scientist in me, the rest of me was rather a possessive bastard. The thought of her waking up to anyone but me turned my insides to acidic ash. So, with perhaps more force than necessary, I reached to draw my lover to me.

And then I screamed.

……………………………………………………………….

I couldn’t move. I hadn’t moved in hours. For the first time in my life I ignored completely a mauve alert. I just couldn’t cope with anyone else’s problems right then. Curled up in a corner of our bedroom with the duvet wrapped around me, I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.

Rose.

The very word worked to both soothe me and heighten my anguish. It was the unique dichotomy that only she could achieve. Which meant, I supposed, that no one would ever impact me the same way.

I’d reached for her, wanted to pull her up against me and hold her snug against me, but my hand had fallen right through her. It was then that my rational mind had caught up with me and suddenly the events of Canary Wharf were stark in my head. Weak; she had still been so weak. I should have known better. I should have locked both levers myself and then sent her to the TARDIS. I should have been the one holding the faulty side. I could have held on, but her muscles, her small hands, they were still so weak…she couldn’t hold on.

I watched my hearts fall into the black hell of the Void.

She screamed; she was so very scared. Even as her legs were sucked into the cold blackness, she was still watching me with such hope, such faith and trust. She still believed that I could save her, that I would make everything better, but I couldn’t. She should have known that by then, but…but even on the heels of my recent failure of her, she still believed in me.

I don’t remember much after that. I remember letting go of my own grip, desperate to follow her. I remember crashing against the solid surface of the wall and I remember beating on it and screaming at it, as if I could open the portal again by sheer force of will. I remember sliding down into a heap on the floor, my hands bloodied and torn.

Theta… The voice in my head interrupted my memories. For a moment I jumped as hope flared high in my chest, only to gutter as I recognized the TARDIS. I’d forgotten how similar she and Rose had sounded ever since the Daleks invasion of Satellite Five; since the two creatures became one.

She’s gone…oh Rassilon she’s gone. My Rose, my love, my precious girl is gone! I could feel the tears starting to pool along the rims of my lashes, stinging with their unfamiliarity as they gathered. She’s gone, but I can see her. I can hear her and smell her and feel her heat. What is this? Have I finally gone mad?

I could feel the warmth of my ship’s loving mind wrap around mine, but it wasn’t the touch I craved now. It wasn’t and yet it was and I was so confused that it took me several seconds to realize that choking, harsh sob had come from my own chest.

Oh my Theta, I know… I couldn’t stop her, I tried to catch her and I wasn’t fast enough. I knew, I knew my ship loved her like I did, but hearing that pain reflected in her voice was wrenching. But Theta, you wouldn’t sleep. You were stuck, trapped in your own mind and I couldn’t think of another way to help you. You had no peace until I put her next to you.

For one instant, I felt rage sweep through me like a storm and I gave off the mental speech for a vocal protestation. My mind was too full to communicate properly. “You did this? Why? Why? You created an illusion, a hologram of my Rose! You mock me!”

It’s not a hologram. My ship sounded far too calm for my comfort; her quiet despair only fueled my own raging grief. I tried that, but it didn’t help you. It’s a… I felt her take a ‘deep breath’. She knew what she would say would not be met well. It’s a temporal distortion. She’s really there, but a past her. You can’t touch her or affect her, because it would affect the timelines, but it was the only thing I could think of to help you…

Horror, fresh and sharp dawned on me and I buried my face in my hands. It would take an extreme amount of power to create such a distortion loop inside the TARDIS. There was no way to reverse it, not without destroying the core of what made up my ship. I had been sentenced to life with a ghost. A ghost that would laugh and smile and moan and writhe, but not with me; never again with me.

I could already feel sanity slipping away from me, a trickle away from my mind, small but constant. I saw the image on the bed shift and smile, a soft giggle escaping her as she was woken up by my lips on her flank. Only my lips were here, on the other side of the room. Confronted with this new form of hell, I did the only thing I could do.

I ran.

………………………………………………………………..

I managed for about 17 years. I followed that mauve alert, saved a space station and then a few planets just for good measure. I had two companions in that time, neither of whom ever traversed to the right hand corridor where the kitchen and washing and gardens and our rooms were. The TARDIS set them up in a new corridor and helped me steer them away from potential trouble. I only let them in the console room when entering and leaving and always managed to plan those around the overlapping loop.

Well, almost.

Martha stumbled into the console room one night when I was doing repairs, catching sight of my Rose, curled up in the so-called ‘Captain’s chair in her pyjamas; reading a Martian fashion magazine and sipping a cup of hot tea. It so startled her that she screamed. She screamed and I banged my head on the console in surprise, rubbing it while I scrambled out from under it to answer whatever the problem was. Spotting Rose first–my eyes were always drawn to her before others–I groaned, both hearts seizing with a twisted mix of joy and grief. I then had the lovely task of explaining to Martha why there was another woman on board she’d never met and who apparently couldn’t see or hear either of them.

I then had to explain why that was happening.

Martha may not be anywhere near my own intellect, but she’s quite bright for a human. She pieced together my sparse retelling and figured out what Rose had been to me. She told me I was sick, twisted and that she wanted off now. I didn’t bother explaining to her that it wasn’t my choice to be so haunted. It was better this way, really. It was safer for Martha and it would hurt less to lose her friendship than to lose her life; her oh so vibrant life. It would also effectively curb her rather odd attraction to me. I know the pretty regeneration was for Rose, but it was lately becoming more trouble than it was worth.

Martha lasted for three years, linear time. I dropped her off on the day she left and sat in the Vortex. I tried not to sleep often during that time. Sleep led to dreams and nightmares and I couldn’t honestly say which one was more painful anymore. When I did sleep, it was usually for short stretches passed out under the console or some other nook. But that night…That night I needed my Rose.

Even if she wasn’t really mine anymore.

Oh I tried; I really did. Not a day went by where I didn’t run test after test on the Void particles, try to find an opening–but we’d done our job of saving the universe too well this time, my Rose and I–or even to pull her from the end of the distortion loop into this time, but nothing worked.

Then there was Donna. She was harsh and snappy and uppity and not half shallow, but she was brilliant; perfect, really. She took no guff from anyone, whether that be the Mighty Emperor of the Demonian Alliance or yours truly. She found Rose about two months in–I didn’t find out about that until…until later–but she never said a word. She worked it out on her own, clever Donna, and did what she did best; she pulled my arse out of my grief and moping and for a time, I could think clearly. I never did stop looking over my shoulder or doing a double-take at each chavvy blonde we passed. I never did stop hurting or stop missing her, but Donna’s subtle steering kept me away from the old corridors and her not-so-subtle steering kept me busy enough not to completely stop functioning.

I loved her. She was like the older sister I never had, taking care of me and being taken care of by me without the awkwardness inherent in those sorts of human-ish relationships. She just took me as I was and made me stand up and be who the universe needed me to be. She made me talk about things I’d kept buried for a long time. I told her about Rose and about Gallifrey and about the War and about the little daughter who died before Rose or I even got to see her smile. I shared my burdens and I felt them lightened, just a little. She told me about her parents and about her failed relationships and about the fear of living her life alone. I found in her a kindred spirit. She wasn’t Rose, but she was herself; her wonderful, terrifyingly scary self and I loved her all the more for it. I should have known it wouldn’t last.

She saved the universe with me, Donna did. She was absolutely brilliant, but her mind couldn’t hold all of that downloaded information. I tried to take it from her, to save her–that’s how I realized she knew about Rose–but it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t save her either and she died right there on the observation deck of the Intrepid cruise liner, the ice rings of Atalaxia all around the glass outside.

Her last words were that I was to find someone else to stop me when I needed it, or she’d be back and if she had to interrupt her afterlife for my sorry arse that there’d be hell to pay.

I managed to get her back to her family for burial. I stood still as her mother ranted and raged and sobbed and screamed, knowing full well that I deserved every bit of it and more. Once again I had failed someone I’d loved. It was getting to be a ridiculous pattern. Somehow though, her grandfather’s companionable squeeze on my shoulder, his sad eyes and his words of comfort were worse by far than all of her mother’s anger.

13 years I’d been with Donna; thirteen with her, three with Martha and one in between. After Donna died, I spent another night in my room, slept with the ghost of my dead wife wrapped around my frozen body, let her warmth seep into my bones and closed my eyes. For five and a half hours I pretended that Rose was really here with me, that my little girl slept in the nursery next door, that Donna was in her room, indulging a recent weakness and sipping a Venetian soda before bed and that we’d all just been exiled from Gallifrey again for indecent public behavior, condemned to travel until the next time they needed us to save their pompous arses. It was a very nice fantasy.

I hated waking up.

……………………………………………………………….

After that night, I didn’t take another companion. I should have. I meant to, but the next morning, I was woken by the cloister bell and I just didn’t have the time. The TARDIS–brilliant, beautiful ship that she was–had been running the scanners in the background and had picked up Rose’s bio-signature in the Void via an opening in the straits of Norway. We chased the trace all over the universe, hopping from signal to signal, always arriving after it had closed, but getting closer all the time.

When I needed to sleep, I did so next to my wife’s ghost and gladly. I was close to my Rose again; so very, very close. It was suddenly a comfort to be near her, and not a bittersweet one. I should have recognized then the signs of insanity, the lure it had for me…

I didn’t.

Finally, finally we caught it. We’d come full circle, back to an obscure beach in Norway. When I landed the ship, we were early. I had time to look around before the breach would open and so I wandered down to a small information kiosk. There I picked up a pencil topper in the shape of a dancing banana–smiling at how it would amuse Rose when I got back to show her–and a small booklet about the beach.

Sitting in the sand, leaning against my TARDIS, I opened the booklet and stared; just stared.

I was at Bad Wolf Bay.

It took a while for the shock to wear off, but when it did, I tossed my head back and laughed, not even minding that the outside of my ship was rather an unpleasant thing to impact my head against. Bad Wolf; it had to be her. It just had to be her!

Tinkling bells in my head alerted me to the time, though to be fair I’d been counting down the seconds since we’d landed. I stood and brushed myself off, consumed by an irrational need to be presentable. There! The tell-tale flash of light off to my right, up the beach–just where it should be! With ground-eating strides, I ran for it, sonic screwdriver pointed out ahead of me to stabilize the doorway. As the edges solidified, I could feel that place in my mind which had been numb for so long flare into life with the swiftness of a forest fire. All of the sudden it was alive and thriving and I could feel my mate for the first time in far, far too long.

An inarticulate noise of joy escaped my lips, followed by a wave of love sent across the link and returned with the vivacity and passion unique to my Rose. I saw her in the doorway, reaching for me and struggling against animated shadows. She was pale and emaciated and filthy, but she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. We were so close, I could almost feel her fingers in mine when I saw her open her mouth to call my name and one of those shadows flew inside the opening. She jerked back like she’d been clothes-lined and she started to fall. I felt the connection to her in my mind–so sensitive after being so quickly and thoroughly re-animated–suddenly and viciously rip as her mind was torn from mine.

The pain was like nothing I’d ever known before and I screamed, blood leaking unheeded from my ears and nose and lips. Distantly, I realized that I’d hemorrhaged. My superior Time Lord brain had just failed in a most spectacular way. It didn’t matter. I had to save her, I had to follow her.

It wasn’t that I chose to; it was that for me there wasn’t a choice.

I had to follow her into the darkness. I couldn’t let her face that alone, not again. The TARDIS tried her best to materialize around me, to save me from myself, but she was too late. She became trapped in the breach as it closed. I could hear her scream inside my mind as her dimensions–un-countable layers of time and existence woven together–were torn from her until she was as hollow as a gutted pig.

Fumbling around before me, I found no sign of Rose. She was gone again and I was bleeding out. I would die from this and I didn’t care. I crawled into the cubby of the now empty blue police box and I let the door shut out the darkness outside in favor of the darkness inside. I knew I should go look for Rose, to fight the darkness and to win her back from the brink, but my mind was leaking psychically as well as physically and I was a coward; a stupid, selfish coward unwilling to leave the little comfort he did have when he was dying. I wouldn’t stop it. It was how my people should have been; had been, in time beyond reckoning. I would follow my wife and my ship into death. For some reason, those words brought about a sense of peace, of silence in my all-too-busy mind. I closed my eyes and let my temple rest against the now-cold wood and waited to die.

The strains of a song floated through my mind and after a while, I found myself singing along weakly.

Love of mine,
Someday you will die,
But I’ll be close behind.
I’ll follow you into the dark.

No blinding light,
Or tunnels to gates of white.
Just our hands clasped so tight,
Waiting for the hint of a spark.

If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied
And illuminate the ‘No’s on their ‘Vacancy’ signs,
If there’s no one beside you when your soul embarks,
Then I’ll follow you into the dark.

It was silly and maudlin and ridiculous and quite possibly one of those absurd ‘emo’ songs Martha had been so fond of. Despite that, I kept singing. It was something to focus on as I tried so hard not to remember things beyond the abstract.

In Catholic school as vicious as Roman rule,
I got my knuckles brusied by a lady in black.
And I held my toungue as she told me,
"Son, fear is the heart of love."
So I never went back.

Despite my best intentions, I can see flashes behind my eyes now. I know the end is coming soon now as the timelines surrounding me cement and coalesce–the last gift of the Time Lords. With my imminent demise and my intent not to regenerate, the future stabilizes. I see the universe, this universe as it truly is. It is an impossible thing, something never meant to be and–as usual–it is my fault. How it’s my fault, I’m not…not really certain. But it centers around me and Rose and…and my child and oh…oh no. Oh Rassilon no!

She’s alive. That last piece of me and my Rose is alive and well and…and hurting. She feels the cramp, the ache of a mind, of a soul that doesn’t belong in the body it’s been stuffed into. She’ll have to heal the wounds of a universe that should never have existed. Now that I’m dying, so are the threads anchoring this universe and I try to summon up the energy to regenerate, to save her from this; too much, too soon, especially for one so young. I can’t though. I’ve seen my ‘last gifts’ and I curse Rassilon and Omega and every other damned Time Lord for it. My peace is gone and my love is gone and my ship is gone and I’ve condemned my daughter to a fate she doesn’t deserve.

I am the Destroyer.

And I can’t stop singing.

You and me have seen everything to see,
From Bangkok to Calgary.
And the soles of your shoes are all worn down;
The time for sleep is now.
It's nothing to cry about,
Cause we'll hold each other soon.
The blackest of rooms.

Oh…she’ll be so beautiful, our little girl. Rose, my sweet and wonderful Rose…she’ll never know, she’ll never get to see the fantastic life we created. She died thinking that our child was lost. We had named her when the bonds first started to form between her and Rose. In my tradition, but with a few of Rose’s own quirks. Why can’t I remember…? It’s hard to remember anything now. Just the look of pain on my wife’s face as she was jerked away from me yet again. Had Rose’s eyes always been green?

There’s gold creeping in on the edges of my vision and I can hear a singing far more beautiful than my own. The pain fades away and I feel warm, familiar arms wrapped around me tightly; familiar lips pressed against my forehead; familiar tears falling on my face as a wonderfully familiar voice whispers in my ear.

“Lhakiaraviilaejacquetryn.” That’s it. Our little girl with a name far too big for her. I feel a sob trying to work its way out of my throat, but there isn’t enough air, energy, life left in me; it comes out as a series of small hiccoughing sounds as my lips are kissed lightly by a pair I never thought I’d feel again. “Don’t worry, my Doctor. I’ll watch over her.” For some reason, that helps. Knowing that my little girl will be protected by a power even I couldn’t contend with makes it that much easier to relax, to let go. I hear a more familiar voice than even my own calling to me as if from a long way away.

“Doctor? Doctor, where are you!” The way of that voice is darkness, the new and the unfamiliar and the mindlessly terrifying. The way of that voice is also Rose and if ever I believed in anything at all, I believe in her.

“I’ll follow you into the dark…” My voice is harsh and wheezing to even my own ears and yet I know she heard me. She knows I’m coming she has to know I’m coming I’ll always come to find her my life my hearts my…my…my…

My Rose…

scilera @ 2007-09-10T17:23:00

2007-09-10T22:43:39Z

Hola f-list!

For anyone who is interested, I thought I'd give an short update on the mess I seem to have gotten myself into.

I'm doing my first semester of college this fall, and subsequently am probably going to be running amok like the proverbial chicken. you know the one. Therefore, I think it is a very reasonable to say that I am at the mercy of my muse. Sinthe has always been a fickle thing, but with all of this going on, I can't seem to push anything. So, fair warning to all.

Lunar Cycles: IS NOW ON OFFICIAL HIATUS! I love this story, and have a lot of it written out, which means that the main bit left is the busy work, the arrangement and editing and betaing and all of those messy things I just can't spare time for at the moment. If I get some spare time I may be able to churn out a chapter here and there, but I MAKE NO PROMISES.

Black Family Magic: MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE A SEQUEL. I know a couple of you asked for it, but 'back to life' fics, especially those in which the victim is undeniably dead, are really a tetchy subject for me, and I almost like it the way it sits. If it really bothers you, let me know and I'll see what I can do. Keep in mind though, I am a realist...sometimes. XD I've come to like Severus an awful lot lately, so if enough people want a happier ending, I might be able to whip up something. ;)

Everything Comes With A Price: Before you ask, THIS WAS A ONE-SHOT. It is a TRAGEDY, which means sad. I thought I did well in giving it a happy-enough ending, but I've had a couple people who keep asking and I will say it one more time. NO MORE WILL BE ADDED TO THIS STORY. Just so we're clear. :)

After Dinner Mints: This one is really going to be touch-and-go. It was only a vague concept when I spat this out, and I need to spend some time on an outline before I go any farther. If anyone wants to volunteer to be a springboard and work with me on sorting this mess out, I'd be most appreciative.

And now, on to the good stuff. In the past month, I've had a rather....dramatic shift in my fic tastes. I can't help it, but there's the truth. I have two projects I will be focusing my attention on this fall. One is an assignment for a writing class, and another simply won't leave me alone.

Story 1: I have a class this semester where our big assignment is to take an established piece of fan- or original-fiction and re-write it using our own personal style and twist. I have an amazing piece by one of my favorite authors that I want to use for this, and I'm just waiting for word back on whether she's agreeable or not.

Story 2: I laid down to take a nap, and woke up a half-hour later, not much more rested, but with this idea in my head, and it hasn't left me alone since. It takes a spin not normally seen in fic, and I'll be churning it out pretty quickly--if only to get out the majority of it before classes really pick up. So, I need a favor from you all. I need a beta who has a LOT of time on their hands and who isn't going to be scared off by an unconventional story. I'm not unreasonable about time constraints, really I'm not, but seeing as I want someone to help bounce plot-points and tangles with, and not just a glorified spell-check, I feel that requires a significant amount of time. If you are willing, or know someone else who is, please, please, please tell me!

That's about all on my end. Again, I'm sorry if any of my news is upsetting, but there's honestly nothing I can do about it. I can say this. My stories left hanging WILL be finished in some fashion. I just don't have a reasonable timeframe to offer at present.

Thanks, and all my love!

<3

The Black Family Magic (1/2?)

2007-08-08T22:44:14Z

Title: The Black Magic
Author: scilera
Recipient: xochiquetzl (Sorry this is so late hon. I got caught up in packing for school and time slipped away! Hope you like this! (If you don't, I have a sequel I can fix it with...XD)
Word Count: 3062
Warnings: Slash, Angst, Blood, self-harm, Necromancy
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The Malfoy Family line is infamous for its Dark Magic. But what about the Family Black? Theirs is old, blood magic. Will it be enough to bring back a beloved?

At 3:47 on a Tuesday morning, the majority of civilized Britain was asleep. It was a chilly morning and sensible people were nestled in a warm bed, preferably with a warm body curled up beside them.

Narcissa Malfoy was certainly a sensible woman, but she was definitely not in the majority of civilized Britain.

And so she sat, wide awake, in a large squashy chair near a window overlooking the frontal grounds of Malfoy Manor. Her long, pale hair had been swept up into a neat—if plain—bun at the nape of her neck and her lime-colored silk pajamas made her naturally fair skin seem even paler than usual. Curled up on the armchair as she was, Narcissa looked oddly reminiscent of a child, but closer inspection would reveal tell-tale signs of her age. Faint worry lines were etched in the skin around her eyes and mouth, and there were black circles beginning to grow beneath pink-rimmed eyes.

Whoever said that a woman’s work is never done would have met their theory personified in Narcissa Black Malfoy. From a young age she had worked as a cohesive, playing the pacifist first between her two passionate sisters Andromeda and Bellatrix, then between Lucius and Severus—at school and afterwards, then later between her husband and her son, and finally between the Wizarding World and her family. She was many things and had worn many mantles in her life, but through it all she preferred the subtler methods.

Only twice in her entire life had Narcissa taken an aggressive role, and both of them revolved around Voldemort.

Her blood began to boil at the very thought of him. Because of him her family had been ripped apart, thrown together at convenient moments, dragged through the social mud, and chipped into when he murdered in cold blood one of the three people on this earth that she really, truly loved.

It was because of this that she was still awake, keeping vigil in an empty house. Her eyelids began to droop and she sagged back against the chair. She barely registered the sound of rain hitting the sides of the Manor, but the soothing sound lulled her into a light doze.

The next thing she knew was the faint prickling sensation in the small of her back that meant the Master had passed the wards. Her eyes snapped open and she sprung from the chair, throwing a soft black dressing gown over her pajamas on her way down the hall. She raced down the stairs and opened the door just as a soggy and bedraggled figure stepped onto the threshold. She swung it wide and stepped out of the way, swallowing the gasp that rose to her throat as the body of Severus Snape floated in behind her husband.

“Did they put up a fuss?” she asked as she stepped up and helped Lucius remove the layers of soaking wet clothing from his shivering body.

Lucius scowled. “Bleeding bastards didn’t even know he was there. They had all the rest lined up and laid out, but no one spared him a thought! Not even the ever-righteous Potter could be bothered to pay suitable respects to the man who kept him alive all those years,” he spat, snatching up a towel from the house elves and began to dry his chilled body.

“You mean, they just left him there?” Narcissa gasped out as she took a thick navy robe from another elf and held it for Lucius as he slipped his arms in.

“They did, right there in the Shack and from the looks of it, he stayed where he fell.” Lucius’ voice was heated with fury, and his motions were jerky as he folded the robe around his front and tied it on his hip. He paused, taking a deep breath before turning to Narcissa with a softer gaze and a gentler voice. “Is everything ready?” When she nodded affirmation, he returned it with a warm smile, pulling her to him for a fierce embrace and a swift kiss.

It was Narcissa who pushed back gently and offered him a wan smile—he was one of few who was allowed to see her weariness, and even then he saw only a little. “Vous venez avec moi, Allumes,” she whispered softly in the language she had come to know better than her own, using the pet name she had for Lucius in private moments such as these. She grasped his hand and led him through the foyer and down the open walkway—the shroud-draped corpse floating along behind—and stopped before the door to Lucius’ private study.

When the door swung open, Narcissa swept in and lit the candles with a flick of her wand, revealing the table, instruments and book that they would use tonight. Lucius settled the body on said table and dispelled his Levicorpus before stepping over next to his wife, who was skimming the instructions once more.

“First, we need to each cast a layer of non-corporeal Patronus over the body—for protection,” she explained with a glance up to Lucius, who nodded. His family might be known and renowned for their Dark Magic, but her family excelled in blood magic—which they would be using tonight. Contrary to popular belief, these were two very separate branches of magic, and one did not always mean the other, not by a long shot.

Narcissa closed her eyes and drew on the happiest memory she could muster. It had to be of the three of them for this to work, so she chose that day over the Christmas holidays, back when Voldemort’s name was only a mumble in the backdrop of political intrigue and there was no war. The three of them had opted to spend the holiday at the Manor, and on the day before Christmas it had snowed…

Stepping outside the door had never felt so liberating. Narcissa turned and inclined her head just a little in farewell to her hostess—at nineteen she knew the ‘right sort’, and these people just barely met the mark. The day was crisp, but the winds were calm, and so she opted to walk the short distance back to the Manor. As she walked, the soon-to-be bride felt a weight lifting from her shoulders. The expression of chilled superiority fell, who out here would she need to impress or intimidate.

As she half-walked half-slid down the side of a hill, she spotted Lucius and Severus sitting on a stone bench beneath a barren willow tree. Lucius was detailing excitedly his newest political scheme to Severus, who sat quietly listening. For a moment she regarded them, the way they sat just this side of too close, how Severus’ gaze never left Lucius’ face and how Lucius’ cold gray eyes sparkled with delight as he regaled his friend with ideas of intrigue. She watched them, and smiled. They had both been good friends for years, both to each other and to her. If she had to pick one man for her fiancé to love—and goodness knows it happened often enough in the old families—it would be Severus.

Deciding to have her own bit of fun, Narcissa leaned down and scooped up two handfuls of snow, making a fist around each to pack it into a usable projectile. She then moved towards the two young men, snow muffling her footsteps, and took aim. Both snowballs hit their mark, and two very startled wizards had just been pelted between the shoulder blades.

Their reactions were priceless. Severus wasn’t balanced well on his perch at the edge of the bench, and the impact sent him forwards, and he stayed there for a long moment, curled up in the snow. Lucius, on the other hand, leapt up and pulled out his wand. He was in mid-turn when Severus grabbed a fistful of his robe and yanked him down. This, of course, was so typical of their interaction that Narcissa couldn’t resist. She started to laugh, she laughed so hard her head fell back and she sat down in the snow. It didn’t take long for the two men to realize they’d been had.

Severus took it all in stride, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath as he stood and brushed snow off of his robes. He almost managed to hide the smile on his face when he looked Cissa’s way and went back to his reading—tuning out the sound of the girl’s near-hysterical laughter. Lucius, however, did not take it so well. By the time she’d gotten herself under control—at least enough to speak—the tall blonde had managed to work himself into a truly spectacular pout.

In the end, it took the combined efforts of Narcissa Black and Severus Snape to pull him out of his sulk and into a rather wonderful snowball fight. Turns out Lucius had never had one. Because of their uneven number, they called it a free-for-all once the rules had been explained. For a good two hours their laughter and friendly—by Slytherin standards—taunts could be heard through the vale. Finally, when all three of them were out of breath, they’d collapsed in a heap beneath that selfsame willow tree.

She wasn’t sure just how long they laid there, silent but for the panting of breaths as they relaxed. With the ease of a woman who was friend first, Narcissa leaned up and to the left, capturing Lucius’ mouth in a particularly delicious kiss. When they parted, Cissa saw a flash of quickly-hidden longing on Severus’ face, and on impulse, she twisted around and kissed him too. Not only was he not a bad kisser, but the look on his face when she finally pulled away was simply…priceless.

That particular bit of daring had earned the three of them a very…heated afternoon, despite the snow. As Narcissa felt the warmth and security she’d felt for the first time that day bubble up inside her, she exhaled deeply, sending that joy in a path from her chest down her arm and out through her wand.

“Expecto Patronum!”

It took a certain sort of balance to cast an intentional non-corporeal patronus. One had to capture the joy of the moment, and then forget the moment itself. Sure enough, silver liquid shot from the tip of her wand and began to coat Severus’ prone body. A stolen glance at Lucius told her he was doing the same.

No need to ask what his memory was. Narcissa smirked at the thought.

When the silvery light from Lucius’ wand layered over top of Narcissa’s and conformed to the shape of Severus, there was a moment of light so bright Narcissa had to shield her eyes. When she looked up again, the body was no longer blatantly silver, but it was still there, under the surface.

“Good, right, now here comes the fun part,” Narcissa quipped dryly. She picked up a small dagger and handed Lucius one almost identical. “We have to be touching at the wrist, and from there swipe the knife across the other’s skin to draw the blood and then press the wounds together.”

Lucius’ eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline. He looked as if he wanted to question the sanity of doing so, then seemed to realize that their whole endeavor bordered precariously on insane and thought better of it. Narcissa understood his hesitance, and as she leaned over to pick up the knives, she explained.

“This is old magic, and it will be hard to keep our wrists together, because the blood will mingle—and knowing us the ebb and flow will be on totally conflicting rhythms. We must hold on and keep it together, long enough for our heartbeats to synchronize.” She handed one knife to her husband and kept one for herself. “The basis of this magic is rhythm and blood,” she began, lifting her arm and gripping the knife just so, careful not to nick Lucius as he placed his wrist to hers. “We’ve got to coax his heart back into beating, and it’s going to take both of us to do it. You know how much of a stubborn bastard he is,” she added, though the insult sounded more like an endearment. “Just a small incision, median depth. Cross arms, cut—“ She hissed in pain as Lucius made an incision over the biggest vein on the underside of her wrist, and she quickly did the same to him. “Now, brace your free hand on the edge of the table, and press together.”

As their wounds met, a purple spark snapped between them, sending a shock up their arms. Suddenly, pain like she’d never experienced lanced through her arm and chest then ebbed a bit, only to come back in force. Her body screamed for her to let go, to back away, because each time her pulse crashed with Lucius’ her vision would go momentarily black. Narcissa Malfoy was used to pain, but this was pain and pressure.

Eventually the rhythms began to synchronize themselves, but for a long while the beat was erratic, so that when the rhythms finally clicked, it was a shock to both of them. For long moments they stood there, trembling. Lucius regained his strength first and stepped forward to wrap his free arm around Narcissa’s shaking body. Their wrists were still pressed together—albeit at an awkward angle—to maintain the connection, and their joined heartbeats were a comfort to Narcissa. It was the closest she’d ever felt to Lucius, and that was saying a lot. It would be so nice to stay like this forever, just drift off to sleep and let…

Narcissa shook herself and pulled back from Lucius, using her free hand to shake his shoulder gently. “Come on, Allumes, we can’t sleep yet. Wake up, love. We’ve work to do.” He made a soft noise and pressed his face into her neck, but didn’t move. “Lucius!” she shouted in his ear, and he shot straight up, staring at her with a wide-eyed expression. Narcissa didn’t fight the half-smirk that twisted her mouth. She regarded him with an arched brow for a moment until she was sure he wasn’t going to drift off again, and then turned back to her book, once again all business.

“Now, we need to each take the knife we used to open the other and make an incision in the same place on each of his wrists,” she summed up as she read. Glancing up at Lucius’ face, Narcissa almost laughed aloud.

“You know, for someone with such a reputation, you are awfully squeamish,” she teased, but smiled. “Don’t worry, there is no heartbeat to force out the blood, he will not bleed when we open him.” She then lifted the knife and gestured for him to do the same. Careful to maintain the connection that stabilized their heartbeats, Narcissa led him around so that they stood on opposite sides of Severus’ lifeless body. She made a quick and skillful incision on his upturned wrist, and then waited for Lucius to do the same on his side. “Now, we must separate and join our blood to his. On my count; One, Two, Three!”

With a grunt, they pulled their wrists apart and pressed them to the incisions on Severus’ wrists. Lucius’ face drained of all color, and Narcissa staggered. It felt as if her very life was being drained from her body. She steadied herself, and as she watched, Severus’ pallor lifted, and a flush rose to skin described as sallow even in life. It was an odd thing to see. Once the room stopped spinning, and Lucius had caught his breath, he turned to Narcissa.

“What now?”

Still panting, Narcissa drew her wand from a pocket in her robes and lifted it towards Lucius. “Now we have to shock his body into action.”

“We have to what?” Lucius stared at her blankly.

“We have to send signals to his nerves—enough to make them work again.” Realization dawned on Lucius’ face, and he openly gaped at his wife. The only spell with that much power was a combined Cruciatus. “Will we—?”

“Yes,” Narcissa affirms. “We are connected to him. We will feel it.” She set her jaw and nodded to her husband, who shuddered once before setting himself steady. “Whatever you do, you must not stop until he begins to cough. Do you understand? You. Must. Not. Stop.”

Lucius nodded once and drew his own wand. They both aimed at Severus’ chest, and paused. Lucius glanced over to Narcissa, who offered a small smile before nodding.

“Crucio!”

They called it out together, and instantly Narcissa felt as if her entire body was on fire. She screamed, only barely registering her husband’s yell beside of her. The pain was just as bad as if she’d been cursed herself, but it was a deeper pain, and one she could and would conquer. She was a Black, damn it. The Black family women knew no master—not pain, not men, not time. They had conquered those and she would conquer this.

After what felt like forever, she heard a series of gut-wrenching coughs and saw Severus’ body convulse with them. With a sigh of relief, she let her wand slip through her fingers. The pain suddenly disappeared, and she slipped into blessed blackness.

The next thing she knew was that her head was cradled in someone’s lap, and there were gentle fingers running through her hair. She opened her eyes and groaned as she tried to shift her weight. Arms helped her sit up and she turned and saw that it was Lucius who held her. With his help, she managed to stand, and was leaning heavily on him while she waited for her vision to focus. Lucius waved his wand and the light in the room went up. Lying there on the table, Severus Snape breathed in and out, chest rising and falling in rhythm.

“We did it,” she breathed, and took a few shaky steps towards the sleeping man. She reached up with shaking fingers and laid a hand on his arm. The instant she touched him, his eyes snapped open, and Narcissa looked up into them. Her screams echoed throughout the Manor.

His eyes were empty.

</div>

Not again....

2007-08-03T13:24:51Z

Hello f-list! Nice to see you all again.

So guess what guys? In case you haven't heard, LJ has done it again. They have attacked the HP fandom.

This page gives the details on the artists so far that have been TOSsed. I'm not an artist, not by any stretch of the imagination, but I am a writer and I have good friends who are artists. I am angry on their behalf and also on ours. Who's to say the writers aren't next?

Fuck censorship.

This is the US not the USSR.

I am pissed.

Thought you ought to know.

*passes out cold*

Thinking is Dangerous Isn't It?

2007-07-28T07:46:17Z

So guys, I've been thinking...a dangerous pastime I know. I have developed a bit of a theory....

DH Spoilers behind the cut.

So, here's my train of thought. We know Snape's patronus is a doe. We know it changed into the doe because that was Lily's Patronus and he was in love with Lily.

We also know that when Tonks' Patronus changed, it was a big dog that looked remarkably like Padfoot. Which is why Harry thought her mope had something to do with Sirius. So, by logic and elimination, would it not be a logical conclusion that Tonks had Remus' Patronus now?

And if that was the case, then Remus' Patronus was Padfoot.

This really could go any which way. It could be seen both as evidence for and against the ship. I personally see it as neither.

I think that Remus having his Patronus as Padfoot shows something about their life. Harry's Patronus was a stag, because his father was a stag (Animagus) and his father had protected him. Harry subconsciously associates the thought of his father with safety and protection. So, by that logic, Remus' Patronus is Padfoot because he associates the big black dog with things such as safety, acceptance, protection pack. This, I think, is yet another hint from JKR about the depth of this relationship. Romantic or not, these two share a deep bond, and I guess this is a theory that made everything click into place for me...

Sickle for your thoughts...
</div>

Everything Comes with a Price

2007-07-23T02:23:11Z

Title: Everything Comes with a Price
Rating: PG-13 for Language
Spoilers: None, really as I wrote this before the release of DH. If there are any, they're purely coincidental.
Summary: One-shot written for redandthewolf 's Whiskey and Regrets Challenge with the prompts below. Each time Remus gets what he wants, it comes with a price. When is it too high?
Warnings: Angst, memory-fluff, character death, AU after HBP

I've lived on borrowed strength
Now my supplies are cut
Though I'm older than my looks
And older than my years
I'm too young to take on
My deepest fears
- Blue Skies, by A-ha

Firewhiskey/ Blood-Replenishing Potion

Trusted

Hard to breathe… Remus Lupin thought to himself, sitting in a musty armchair in the corner of the library of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. On the end table next to him was a steaming goblet, the last evidence of the foul-smelling potion that he’d drunk five minutes ago; in his hand was a bottle of Old Ogden’s. The full moon had been the night before—the first one since Sirius fell—and the wolf, deprived of Padfoot again, was not pleased.

He knew he should toss the Firewhiskey and go lie down—alcohol and Blood-Replenishing Potions did not mix well—but that would mean achieving a level of clarity he wasn’t quite ready for, not yet. He used to be stronger than this, but if Remus was honest with himself, he knew that his strength had not been his own. He could feel the new blood pumping through his veins, and growled softly as the blood to alcohol ratio grew steadily. Taking a swig from his bottle, he tucked up his legs and curled into a ball, leaning back into the plush leather.

That was his mistake.

In the process of making himself more comfortable, Remus had pressed his face into the back of the chair, and had inhaled a strong and unmistakable scent. Rain, earth and wet dog combined in a way that was unique to Sirius, and the sudden assault of the scent made Remus’ eyes sting. He finished off the firewhiskey in one, long series of gulps, flung the bottle against the far wall and punched the chair as he listened to the unsatisfying shatter of glass.

That had been his last bottle, and he knew damned well Molly wouldn’t let him bring anymore into the house. He hadn’t eaten anything this past week. Full moons always made him lose his appetite, and this time there was no Sirius to convince him to eat. Sirius had always been persuasive. No one else was persuasive enough.

“You need to eat something, Moony. You’ll turn inside out unless we get something in your stomach,” Sirius teased, the light tone covering the worry in his eyes.

“Sirius, I can’t even begin to tell you the ways in which that is not only implausible, but impossible,” Remus grumbled into Sirius’ shoulder, using the convenient position to hide his smile. “I’m not hungry.”

“You say that now Moony, but you’ll be ravenous later. You know that. C’mon, you need some sugar and you need some protein. What would you like to eat?” Sirius persisted, the arm around Remus’ shoulders moving up and down as he rubbed his friend’s arm.

“I told you, nothing. There is nothing in this damned castle that could make me hungry tonight.” Remus leaned forward and nipped the other boy’s neck a bit sharper than usual. “Drop it.”

“Nothing, nothing in the whole damned castle, Moony?” Sirius asked, a mischievous smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he put a hand up to presumably hide said smile. Just as Remus opened his mouth to tell Sirius for the millionth time that no, nothing would whet his appetite, Sirius leaned down and kissed him. A little surprised at the sudden motion, Remus drew a momentary mind blank, and when Sirius’ tongue slipped in, it was a bit of a shock.

It tasted like chocolate.

Eager to explore the latest in a long series of Sirius Black Mysteries, Remus wriggled closer, dragging his tongue over Sirius’. Sure enough it was chocolate he was tasting, and the combination of his favorite flavor and the feel of Sirius’ tongue was intoxicating. Eagerly—almost greedily—he pushed his friend back into the couch, turning the tables by slipping his tongue into Sirius’ mouth.

Chocolate. In his teeth, on the edges of his gums, on his tongue, the insides of his cheek—all had been exposed to the dark ambrosia. It made quite the mess actually, though that didn’t present a problem, as Remus was more than willing to clean up. By the time he was finished, both boys were flushed and panting. Only someone with as much gall as Sirius Black could manage to smirk at such a time, and smirk he did.

“Told you, you were hungry.”

“Goddamn it, Sirius, God fucking damn it.”

Those were the only five words he could come up with. Everything hurt, from the incessant pounding behind his eyes to the sharp tingling down his spine, to the dull ache he could feel in every single joint. It was maddening, this pain. It danced just under the surface. It was enough to keep him awake, but not enough to keep him from thinking—from remembering.

His gaze wandered over to the bookshelf by the hearth. There, sitting in open view, was The Portrait of Dorian Gray bound in black leather and embossed with gold.

March was never a happy month in Remus Lupin’s humble opinion. It always meant a lot of rain, and not the nice rain one gets in the summer, but an icy sheet that brings with it a damp which permeates the very air he breathes. That, and every March means the transformations get harder, the wolf gets more vicious and it takes longer to heal.

So it is quite understandable that this particular morning in March found him staring bleakly out the window into that selfsame freezing drizzle. He’d dressed in layers to fight off the damp chill, and was wearing a particularly soft grey jumper that—despite it’s comfort—did little to alleviate the shivers that wracked his body. Therefore, he was almost inordinately pleased when a pair of warm arms snaked around his waist; arms which pulled him backwards to lean against a warmer chest as a mouth leaned in to kiss his neck.

“Mmm, Happy Birthday Moony,” Sirius murmured, his voice still rough with sleep.

Remus relaxed into the embrace, closing his eyes and smiling softly as he laid his hands over Sirius’. “Thanks, Pads, though I don’t really see what’s so happy about it,” he added dourly.

Sirius snorted. “Well, for one thing, we both have the day off of work, which means a day of lounging about with me—a thing to be treasured I’m sure.” He sucked at the spot just under Remus’ ear and was satisfied in the gasp he got. “And of course, there’re presents to be had and opened and enjoyed before we meet up with the others at the pub tonight.”

“Presents?” Remus tried to keep his voice neutral—and failed. It was common knowledge that Sirius Black gave the best presents.

“Mmhmm,” Sirius nodded into Remus’ neck. He pulled back for just a second, reaching around him to grab something off the table. “Now close your eyes.” Only when he was sure his partner wasn’t peeking did Sirius set the object in his hands, wrapping his now free ones around a particularly inviting Moony waist.

Remus opened his eyes to find a handsome, black leather book in his hands. When he saw the title, embossed in gold on the front cover, his eyes misted over.

“Go on, open it,” Sirius urged as he watched from over Remus’ shoulder.

Remus complied. On the inside cover, in a very familiar hand was an inscription—done in fine, black ink. Remus read aloud.

“To my Remus,

“You are the Dorian to my inner Basil. Know that I’ll always protect you, even from your inner Harry.

“Sirius.”

For a long moment, Remus couldn’t speak. Sirius began to shift behind him, growing uncomfortable with the prolonged silence. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Remus turned in his embrace, set the book down on the table and reached up to run his fingers through that midnight-colored hair. His other hand reached up to lightly grip Sirius’ chin as Remus placed fluttering kisses on his forehead, his eyes, his nose and finally his mouth.

It had been one of the few things from that time that Remus couldn’t bring himself to throw away. It had been one of the things he’d brought with him when he moved into Grimmauld Place.

Sirius trudged up the stairs and deposited a box on the floor in the drawing room—the one room they’d deemed safest and thus their base of operations.

“Well, here’s the last of it,” he declared, wiping a bit of sweat off of his forehead. Remus nodded, engrossed in some manuscript he was decoding for the Order. Determined to be useful, Sirius opened the box to begin un-packing. There, on the top of a veritable stack of books, was the black, leather-bound novel he’d given Remus for his birthday those many years ago.

He tried to ignore just how much his fingers shook as he picked up the novel and opened it, reading its inside cover.

Remus had noticed, of course. Sirius was never that quiet without reason. They’d joked about the double meaning to the name Harry now. It was always a rare occasion to hear Sirius really laugh, and Remus had come to pride himself on his ability to coax the sound out of his jaded lover, trapped in a prison of the worst kind.

Suddenly he felt a sick lurch, as if something heavy had just dropped from his throat to his stomach. He doubled over, a low groan escaping his lips. He keeled forwards, landing in a heap on the floor. For a long moment, he lay there, a horrid pain spreading from his torso out to his extremities. When it finally subsided, he sat up, limbs still shaky. He glanced up at the chair he’d fallen from and immediately fell back.

Sirius was sitting there, reclining and smiling rather like a loon.

“Wha—?”

Sirius merely shook his head, pain showing through eyes like a summer storm as the grin faded.

Remus looked at him, really looked at him. His hair was long, had regained more of its former luster, and his skin had lost much of its wax-like pallor. He’d put on weight, and though he was still dressed in the tatty robes he had worn at Grimmauld Place and there were lines around his eyes and mouth, Remus thought he’d never looked better.

“You’re dead,” Remus stated simply.

Sirius didn’t say anything.

“Why are you here? Haven’t you tormented me enough?” Remus couldn’t keep the spite out of his voice.

Still Sirius said nothing.

Remus reached up, shaking fingers aching to touch, to find proof. Sirius raised his own hand, and held it out to Remus, whose fingers fell through the open palm.

“Ghost?” Remus queried. Sirius smiled but said nothing. “No, I can’t see through you.” He considered this a moment, his brow pulling inwards in thought. Before he could get very far, another spasm of pain rocked him, this one was shorter, sharper. When it passed, he looked up again, panting for breath.

“I hate you.”

Sirius said nothing.

“No, I don’t, do I?” the pale man asked from the floor. “That’s the problem. If I hated you, this wouldn’t hurt so much.” He ran a hand through his hair, bringing out the lines of grey amidst the brown. “I’m too old for this,” he remarked flatly, heaving a sigh as he struggled to sit upright. “I’m too old and I’m only thirty-five. You did this to me you know, you and Peter.”

Sirius looked affronted at being lumped with Peter, but still said nothing.

“You knew I wasn’t strong. You remember. First year, the wind could have blown me away. It was only afterwards that I grew strong. It was you and James and Peter and Lily. You were all so alive, so vibrant. I took my strength from all of you, but I don’t think anyone else ever found out. Because of you, I became human; because of you, I could live, I could love.”

Sirius’ eyes grew misty, but still he said nothing.

“I made the biggest mistake. I began to believe that I was strong, that I could be like you, all of you. You didn’t help. You said you wanted me, you held me, kissed me, fucked me, protected me. I gave you my soul and you made me alive. It was a high price to pay, but I was young and stupid. I had a family. You were my partner, Lily our sister, James was our brother—your twin and my defender—and Peter was the bumbling little brother we all took turns watching over. For the first time in my life I felt safe. But then the strings got cut, didn’t they?” Remus snapped, his voice betraying long held anger, suppressed betrayal.

Sirius now had tears streaming openly down his face, but still he said nothing.

“I deluded myself. I thought the war couldn’t touch us. We talked less, but I blamed myself. I’d run out of things to say, and really when you came home battered and bloody from yet another mission gone wrong, what was there to say? Then one night you didn’t come home. You know I spent three days trying to find you? Three days, Sirius. I thought you had died. Then I came home, found muddy tracks everywhere and the bike was gone. Two hours later, a team of Aurors broke down the door and stunned me.” He’d never told Sirius this story before. When he was alive Remus had been so afraid of making him feel more guilt than he already did. “I woke up in a cold, metal chair.

“I don’t know how long I was down there. They kept asking me if I knew where you were and if I’d been friends with James, Lily and Peter and what I’d been doing the past six months and had I ever had any dealings with the Dark Lord. I still had no idea what was going on. Finally a woman in a lime green robe came and told me what had happened. My family was dead, murdered at the hands of my partner, the one who held my soul. My pillars shattered, and I knew then that strength had not been mine. But still I went on. You were alive, and I could learn to hate you. That gave me a goal, and for twelve years I found strength in teaching myself to loathe. It almost worked.”

Remus gathered his feet beneath him, pushing to his hands and knees before levering up, standing shakily. He drew back his fist and threw a punch at Sirius’ jaw. It connected spot on and snapped the ex-convict’s head back. Remus stared. “Not a ghost then. Figures.

“But then you had to go and do the impossible. You broke out of Azkaban, you tracked Peter. You proved your innocence. And once again, my world came crashing down around my shoulders. My one source of strength was suddenly meaningless and for weeks I floundered. Then Dumbledore sent you to me, and suddenly I had to be strong again, but I didn’t have any strength to tap. So I pretended. The tables were turned and you fed strength from me, but it was a hollow meal I served. You gained weight, you were talking again, you were smiling again, and I had never hurt so much. You were standing on your own two feet, and I was drained dry.”

Remus’ breath was coming in short gasps, he choked on a sob just as another spasm of pain shook him. When this one passed, he whimpered in pain and looked to Sirius, who was rubbing his jaw speculatively. Remus continued, knowing he had to get this out now, before Sirius disappeared and he lost his chance. His voice was getting hoarse and he had to pause for breath every so many words.

“You laughed and I crawled onto the sofa and into your arms. I didn’t have a choice. It felt right. I began to feel strong again, though this time I paid with my heart. I laughed more in those three months than I had in twelve years. You laughed too. I made you laugh. No sooner were we both healing than history began to repeat itself. You moved into that wretched house and I was sent off to try and persuade the werewolves to at least stay out of this fight. I came home each time desperate and weak, and you replenished me. I knew it was hard for you there in a place where you’d known nothing but hell, and so whenever I could I gave back some of the strength you gave me. It wasn’t nearly enough, but I had nothing else to give you.”

He inhaled deeply, trying to catch his breath, and was assaulted by a wave of that familiar mix of rain, earth and wet dog. It was much stronger than it had been before, as if that really was Sirius sitting there in the chair. He sat for a moment, eyes closed and head back, just breathing, letting the scent surround and permeate him. But all too soon another burst of pain attacked him. It was a longer stretch than the others but it was dull. By the time it was over Remus couldn’t sit up, so he continued from the floor.

Sirius moved to the edge of his seat, his face shining wet and his lips parted as he reached out and brushed the hair from Remus’ forehead, but still he said nothing.

“And then you fell. You died. You left me alone again. This time I couldn’t even hate you. I’ve got nothing else to draw from, Sirius. I’m alone and I’m terrified. I’m not ready for this, I can’t. I’m lost, and it’s your fault. I—” He’d been beginning to babble, choking on sobs as feeling poured form his mouth. But he had suddenly been cut off by a mouth on his, firm and insistent but heartbreakingly gentle. Sirius was on the floor beside him, curled around his body like a shield and blanket. Remus responded, pouring the things he didn’t have breath for into the kiss. It was this same lack of breath that forced him to pull back, once again gasping.

There was another blast of pain, and this one was the worst of all. Remus could feel his body twisting, writhing, his mouth open and his face contorted in a silent scream. Throughout the whole thing, Sirius held him tight to his chest, using every ounce of strength to keep his lover still. It seemed as if it would never pass, but eventually Remus’ body grew lax, and he lay cradled against Sirius’ body.

“Moony, oh my Moony,” Sirius whispered, just before burying his face in soft brown hair. Remus choked once, coughed and then smiled.

“You’re here. You can’t possibly be here, but you are. I don’t know how, but you always did have to do the impossible didn’t you? I guess it’s no wonder, this time I’ve paid with my mind.”

“You never were all the way sane,” Sirius said into his hair, accompanied by a chuckle that Remus could feel as well as hear.

“Yes, well, neither were you,” Remus whispered, yawning against Sirius’ collarbone. He was warm, he was safe he was—

“I love you, you know. I never did tell you before, but I do.” Sirius’ voice was low and soft.

Remus felt a tingling sensation spread from his chest outwards, and he got the distinct impression that he was floating. He was loved. He’d always known, somewhere deep down, but hearing the words said aloud made it that much more real, sealing out that last gnawing of doubt. “I love you too,” he said around a yawn, wriggling in an attempt to get closer to Sirius. He could feel his eyelids drooping, his limbs felt pleasantly heavy and he could sleep now, because this was how it was supposed to be. “I’m going to sleep now Sirius. Be there when I wake?”

He didn’t see the tears in Sirius’ eyes, but he felt the nod. “See you in the morning, Moony.”

“Sure thing Padfoot, unless I see you first.” It was an old habit that had become like ritual, sprung from the days when both were young and eager to greet the day. Good night had always seemed too much like good-bye.

And so, wrapped in each others’ arms, the last two remaining Marauders slept in a heap on the library floor of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. For the first time, the house didn’t seem haunted.

*~*

Molly Weasley was deeply concerned about the health of the Order’s resident werewolf. Sirius’ death had affected him more than he’d admit, though for the life of her she couldn’t understand why. She’d come today to help him heal after the moon. Ron and Hermione had come along, just in case there were some nasties remaining in the old house. She was chopping vegetables for stew when the pair came tromping into the kitchen.

“Hermione dear, would you run upstairs and ask Remus if he’d like some supper?”

The bushy-haired girl nodded her assent and ran back up the steps. Ron sat at the table, looking at the latest Prophet. He’d just turned the page when they both heard a scream from upstairs. Ron was out of his chair and leaping the stairs in a heartbeat, and his mother was not far behind.

On the landing stood Hermione, her hands clapped to her mouth and tears coming down her face. The door to the library was open, and Molly bustled past, leaving Ron to comfort the obviously shaken girl. She made it just through the door before freezing, her hand flying abruptly to her mouth.

There, lying on the floor, pale as death and cold to the touch, was the body of Remus J. Lupin, curled as if nestled against a lover. On the table Molly could see the goblet she’d filled with Blood-Replenishing Potion just that morning, and behind her she could hear the crunch of glass as Ron stepped on the shards of the broken bottle. She smelled Firewhiskey and shook her head.

“Never should have trusted him with that, he knew better,” she murmured to herself before turning and ushering the children out of the room. There were people to be notified and things to be done, including airing out this room, Molly thought. She paused on the threshold and sniffed, yes this room definitely needed cleaning.

It smelled of water, dirt and wet dog.

</div>

After Dinner Mints

2007-07-22T09:58:53Z

Title: Prologue: Trouble Treads Softly
Pairings: Remus/Sirius; James/Lily
Rating: G
Word Count: 431 (short, yes, but it's a prologue and a teaser, so deal. :)
Summary: An introduction, or How It All Began. Essentially, Sirius is dead. He is in paradise. He can't get into any more trouble...can he?
A/N: Right, so I had to do it. I just can't imagine Sirius simply laying back and lounging endlessly in the rolling green pastures of death, heaven, whatever. I'm not giving up on Lunar Cycles either, not at all. LC is AU. ADM is post-canon...thank God. Un-beta'd, but it's rather short and I've read it a few times so it should be okay.
I am looking for someone who would be willing to beta for me and who isn't horrendously busy otherwise--as I tend to churn out a lot at a time. I pay my betas with cookies and love. And the occasional bit of smut--just for them. :) Not that I'm bribing you or anything...<.< >.>

Oh, and because I'm wonderful and kind: This fic is set after Deathly Hallows. Therefore it is spoilerific! If you don't mind that or have read the book, by all means, trudge on!

Sirius Black has always had a penchant for trouble. Always. He was never static, Sirius, always had to be moving. Even when sleeping he moves. He’s also never been very fond of rules. He gets bored and—due to an incurably mischievous nature—tends to wreak havoc. Even his years in Azkaban did nothing to temper this. So really, Remus thinks, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when Sirius rolled on top of him one sunny afternoon and made a sound rather like Padfoot’s whining.

“I’m bored.”

Remus had opened one eye—slowly. “Sirius, you’re dead. How can you possibly be bored?” He should have known better than to ask.

They’d been dead for…oh, he can’t recall exactly. Time doesn’t work the same as it did when he was alive. However long it had been number-wise, they’d been here—wherever here is—long enough to visit just about everywhere there is to go and try everything there is to try…at least once.

Considering Sirius’ attention span, Remus thinks they might have been here five years at most.

“Because there’s nothing left to do,” he’d responded, as if he were stating the obvious.

Remus, who had been enjoying the sensation of sun on his skin and his book—The Dark Horse by Godden—was not inclined to agree. “Go furry and chase something; that always makes you feel better, or better yet, go bother Prongs. I’m sure Lily could use a break from him.” James is many things, and possesses many good and redeeming qualities, but the fact remains that he is almost as fidgety as Sirius.

“All right then, you coming?” Sirius had asked, taking to this idea more by the second. James would know what to do; James understands boredom. He’d rolled away from Remus and pushed to his feet, extending his hand in an offer to help his friend up.

“No, thanks. I’d like to finish this today.”

“Aw, c’mon Moony, you’ve read that a dozen times at least!” Sirius had whined.

Remus had shaken his head, knowing full well that it couldn’t mean that much to Sirius, or he would have used other methods of persuasion more effective than whining—which, with Remus, never gets anyone anywhere. He had however, looked up and smiled fondly as he watched a large, bear-like black dog bound away in the general direction of James and Lily’s home. Sirius would be fine. He and James would have a romp near the pond and then they’d settle—there was no trouble they could get into here.

If only he’d realized how very wrong he was.

</div>

Lunar Cycles, Chapter 2

2007-07-05T06:08:01Z

Title: Welcome to My Life
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Ship: Remus/Sirius
Summary: Sirius fulfills a promise and remembers how it all began.
A/N: Thanks and much love go to my dear

amberlamp for mucking through my disjointed thoughts even in your busy life. She's a beautiful beta.

Do you ever feel like breaking down? Sirius Black wondered to himself as he sat on the end of Remus Lupin’s bed, eyeing the torn and bruised body he’d once known very well. He leaned against the wall behind him, long, bony arms wrapped farther around his legs then they should have been able to be—he’d dropped more weight than he’d realized. He watched in contemplative silence as the man off to his right breathed the deep and even sleep of the utterly exhausted. It was dawn, and soon the sun would rise high enough to necessitate the closing of the thick and heavy drapes, but for now, it was pleasant enough to watch the soft light play along the contours of a beloved face.

Sirius knew that eventually someone would come to check on Remus, and that he had to be long gone by then. Sunrise had always brought Madame Pomfrey and that wouldn’t be for a while yet—a small mercy—and so the filthy, battered wizard was content to lay his head back against the cool stone wall and simply watch.

The trip to Hogwarts had been long and difficult. He’d had to leave a full three days before the train just to be there in time for the full moon. But he had made it, though he’d missed the actual change. By the time he’d arrived, there was only a large tawny wolf panting in the center of the room. Lightning-fast, Sirius had changed, making sure the door was bolted behind him. He’d then lowered himself for that token fight, his lips curled up, his muscles tense and ready and then—

A warm, flat and mobile tongue lapped at his snout. Utter surprise had him frozen to the spot, and it wasn’t until the jaws closed lightly along the bridge of his muzzle in canine greeting that he’d been shaken out of it. Confused but delighted at this turn of events, he’d simply wagged his tail, returning the greeting in kind.

It wasn’t until after they’d both changed back that Sirius had noticed the empty goblet on the desk. Wolfsbane, he thought to himself. Last he’d heard, it had been only in the experimental stages, but it was certainly possible things had changed. After all, his information was at least a month old. Hesitantly, Sirius reached over to the chest at the foot of the bed and grabbed Remus’ wand. Only someone with the wand bearer’s fullest trust could work it. So Sirius really wasn’t really surprised when the goblet didn’t move. Common sense would dictate that he just put the wand back where it came from.

Sirius being Sirius, he couldn’t resist a second try.

To his shock, the goblet moved.

Granted, the thing only shifted an inch or so, and try as he might, it wouldn’t work again, but it had moved. It had moved! As he turned sunken eyes on Remus’ unconscious face, a rather painful emotion welled up in his chest, causing him to lose focus, letting the wand fall to the bed beside him. It was a moment before he could suppress the feeling long enough to breathe and analyze it. After years of imprisonment in a place where one had to feel nothing to survive, this sudden rush of sentiment was a bit more than he was ready for. It was not altogether a very pleasant feeling, nor was it all bad. But what did it mean?

He must trust me, he mused. Somewhere, deep down—even if it’s the wolf—he still trusts me. This of course was a great help in identifying the emotion—hope—that made his stomach do funny little flip-flops in his gut. Well, that could be the fact that he hadn’t eaten in three days, but he wasn’t thinking about that at the moment. Remus trusted him. Merlin knew why, but he did. That thought alone was enough to put a goofy smile on his face—well; it would’ve been goofy on a healthier, cleaner Sirius. Right now it looked rather frightening. Not that anyone could see it.

Remus would be furious if he knew that his clean sheets were being dirtied. But he wouldn’t yell. He’d bite his lower lip and seethe in silence until he was alone, and then he’d very quietly clean the mess. Remus didn’t yell. Only three times in his life had Sirius heard him raise his voice. The first had been in second year, when Sirius had asked Remus about his condition. When the small, quiet little boy had been cornered by the taller Sirius, he’d yelled at him to mind his own business. Sirius had been so stunned that he’d made no move to stop Remus’ escape.

Oddly enough, when the three of them—James, Sirius and Peter—had confronted Remus, he’d been quiet and resigned. At least until they managed to convince him they didn’t care and he was still a Marauder and what kind of mates would they be if they dumped him for something so silly? Once Remus was sure they really didn’t mind, Sirius saw a genuine if hesitant smile appear in a face that didn’t seem to smile nearly enough. From there on out, Sirius decided to make it his personal mission to get Remus to smile like that. He was already rather good at it, and he could only get better.

So it was that until the spring term of his sixth year at Hogwarts, Sirius had done just that—surprised how much easier it had gotten. But somewhere over Christmas—the first one he spent at Hogwarts with James and Remus—he’d gotten his fur rubbed wrong. He never could remember what started it, though Remus insisted later that he’d begun behaving strangely after he’d stormed in on a study session Remus was having with a fifth year Ravenclaw boy in an alcove of the library.

He’d been furious.

Who wouldn’t have been? Sirius had made plans for the three of them to sneak down and ice skate on the frozen lake. When Remus hadn’t shown up, he’d been disturbed—Moony was never late—and went tearing through the castle searching for him. When he couldn’t locate him in any of their usual haunts, Sirius began to become scared; it was close to the full moon after all. Upon finding him holed up with some stranger, he’d been stunned enough for Remus—recognizing the signs of a Sirius about to explode—to get him out of the library before he’d started shouting. But once he had started, all hell broke loose. The Ravenclaw had wisely stayed inside the sanctuary, hidden behind a barricade of books, but Remus was not so lucky. Sirius railed at him for what must have been an hour, met only by stony silence. Eventually he’d paused long enough to demand Remus say something, at which point his dorm mate simply shrugged and said he’d lost track of the time and was sorry, could they please go now?

After that, it had become Sirius’ main goal to get under Remus’ skin. Why? He did not know. Maybe it was something in the water. Maybe it was his way of coping with the jealousy that he most certainly didn’t feel curl up in his gut when he saw the Ravenclaw leaning just a bit too close to Remus. Maybe he’d finally lost it. But for whatever reason, he wanted to see the Prefect lose his temper, and there was no better master of irritation than Sirius Black. He tried for months, using every trick in the book—and a good deal that were omitted from said book for reasons of safety and sanity. Still, Remus remained unruffled. If anything, he withdrew farther from his friends, spending more and more time buried in his books or in silent contemplation. Finally Sirius felt he had been pushed to the edge. He wanted to strike out at Remus in any way he could, and he could think of only one way that would hurt.

He sent Snape to the Whomping Willow.

Well, he’d asked for it. It seemed Snape wasn’t as dimwitted as the Marauders tended to think, because he had figured out the quickest, easiest way to get Sirius Black riled up; insult Remus Lupin. Never mind that Sirius was mad at Remus at that point—and likely vice-versa—Severus Snape should never have opened his mouth.

Sirius had been scowling something fierce as he stormed through the dungeons after yet another detention with Slughorn. He had just rounded the last corner when he collided with his least favorite Slytherin.

“Watch where you’re going!” he’d fairly roared, rounding on Snape.

“I’d say the same to you, only it’d be a waste of breath,” Snape said a bit too smugly as he rose and brushed off his robes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sirius’ eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Nothing of importance to you,” Snape replied coolly, leaning forward to gather some of his things. “Only that I’m not surprised. Running after that mangy little halfblood pet of yours?” A heartbeat later, Sirius had him by the neck of his robes, slamming him back against the stone wall.

“Remus is twice the wizard you’ll ever be Snivellus!” Sirius pushed him harder against the stone, his face twisted into a snarl.

The smile on Snape’s face only broadened. “Well, you are kinder than I’d given you credit for.”

This caught Sirius off guard. “What?”

Confident he’d caught the other boy’s attention, Snape merely shrugged. “Well, if it’d been the object of my perverted lust sneaking off with someone else, I certainly wouldn’t be complimenting him.” This earned Snape a roar of rage and a sore backside as Sirius hurled him off to one side. With a positively wicked grin, he’d added the final touches to his bait. “Wonder where they’ve gone to…” Sirius grumbled something under his breath. “Sorry, didn’t catch that,” the rather greasy young man said from his position on the floor.

A wicked gleam lit Sirius’ grey eyes.

“I’d tell you, but you’d only get yourself whomped.”

He never thought the stupid git would go in of course, just close enough to be scared shitless and figure a few things out. He realized later that he hadn’t been thinking at all. Thankfully James saved Snape from an untimely demise, but he’d cut it close; close enough for the werewolf to smell its prey. Driven to far extremes of madness by the inability to reach prey so close by, the wolf turned on itself with an unusual ferocity. When Madame Pomfrey found Remus the next morning, she’d thought he was dead.

Remus didn’t leave the hospital wing for two weeks.

Sirius was sorry of course. He visited once when Remus was asleep. Wonder if Moony ever found out about that, he thought idly, reaching up to gently brush a strand of hair from the new professor’s face, noting the similarities between the two sleeping Moonies—past and present. But after that, he’d stayed clear of the hospital wing. He didn’t think he could face those silently reproachful eyes and keep his temper, so he kept himself busy.

After all, there were plenty of girls at Hogwarts.

So it was, when Moony was finally released and allowed to return to the dorm, it was to the welcome of Sirius snogging a rather fetching blonde while seated on the edge of his bed; a bed that just so happened to be next to Remus’. This was too much. With the air of an injured teenager, Remus had shot him a spectacular glare and stormed over to his bed, shut the curtains, and cast a Silencing Spell. Suddenly Sirius lost all interest in his blonde, and sent her away with a kiss and a swat on her rear. Needless to say, she wasn’t very happy about it, but at least she went without a fuss. With that out of the way, Sirius swaggered over to Remus’ bed, confident that he’d finally gotten a reaction out of him. He wasn’t prepared for the scene behind the curtains though.

Remus was crying.

This in and of itself was enough of a blow to make Sirius recoil. Remus, looking up into his face, looked about as feral as Sirius had ever seen him. Looking back, he realized the sight had been…rather arousing. It was like the look he got just before Changing, but more frightening, because this time Remus was in control, and he was a lot smarter than a wolf.

“Fuck off,” he snarled, his battered body tensing.

Sirius backed up another step. It was the first time he’d heard Remus swear.

“Are you deaf as well as stupid? I said fuck off!”

“Moony…I-” Sirius had stuttered out.

“No, do not start with me Black. I have had about as much of you as I can take. Of course, it’s really my own fault. I was a fool to think someone like you would understand.” This took Sirius aback, but within two breaths he was angry again, his voice a growl low in his throat.

“What do you mean someone like me?” Remus’ use of his surname had stung, but he wasn’t about to show that.

“Just what I said. Someone like you, who’s never felt out of place, never found somewhere they don’t belong. You could never understand.”

“Merlin Remus, you must have missed the fact that I left my family this summer. Left as in they set the dogs on me, would have killed me if they’d gotten the chance,” he snapped back, eyes narrowing. “And maybe if you stopped running away every time someone gets close, it’d be easier to understand!”

“I’m not the one who locks himself up here with the music loud enough to drive him deaf.” Remus rose from his bed, striding towards the door. “So I guess you’d know about running away, wouldn’t you? You should really think about casting a Silencing charm sometime, your music doesn’t drown out the screams,” he snapped, gripping the handle and flinging open the heavy oak door.

It slammed shut before he could leave, Sirius’ body leaning against it.

“Though considering your penchant for angst and drama, I’m not surprised. You have the amazing capacity to make a mountain out of a molehill, a talent you display daily!”

“At least I’m not a wet blanket! That’s why people can’t stand you Moony, you spoil everything with that superior attitude of yours!”

“Unlike you, I want something more permanent than the instant gratification you get from a good prank here or a great shag there. I need something more than that, and I don’t see the point in joining in an activity that would do me more harm than good!

“I’m sick of this place Sirius! I’m stuck inside of a world that hates me, hates me for something that isn’t even my fault! So you’ll forgive my refusal to join in on its favored pastimes.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, still leaning heavily against the door. “And you think I like this? I’m just as sick of this as you are. Everyone strolling about with their big fake smiles, using each other and ruining lives over stupid lies while deep inside—“ Here he paused, a look of horror crossing his face. “You’re bleeding.”

Remus narrowed his eyes, arms folding across his chest. “Very dramatic, Black, in fact I’d say that was almost poetic. Now if you’re finished I’d-“

“No, you twit! You’re bleeding!” Sirius pointed to a scar on Remus’ collarbone—just visible framed by his V-neck button up shirt. He moved as if to touch it, but Remus flinched away, something unreadable blazing in his normally placid amber eyes.

“Don’t touch me.” Remus took a deep breath, and now his voice was shaking with suppressed rage, though he’d quieted it some. “No one ever lied to your face.” He was seemingly determined to continue their fight.

“No one ever stabbed you in the back!” Sirius had retorted, a bit of bite to his tone. He reached for Remus again, and this time got a grip on the collar of his shirt and was examining the place where Remus’ wound had opened. “You seem to think I’m so happy with my life, but the truth is that I’m not.” He watched with equal parts horror and fascination as a drop of blood ran from the wound down the werewolf’s smooth skin. There was an odd pooling of heat in his belly, and he wanted to touch that skin, to be that drop of blood caress—Stop it! He’d told himself this was not an acceptable train of thought many, many times. It never seemed to make a difference. “Some days I wake up and I don’t think I’ll ever be ok. So it isn’t a piece of cake on my end either.”

Remus ripped away from him, his cheeks colored pink with a mixture of fury and something else. “How can you complain? Everyone’s always given you what you wanted. You’ve never had to work for it either, it was just always there! You don’t know what it’s like to want and pine after someone—thing, something you know you can’t have, or even just have to work for. You don’t know what it’s like to be me!” Here he paused, sucking in breath.

Sirius could only stare.

“After so long, a bloke gets tired of working, gets tired of wanting. I’m tired damn it! I don’t know what I did for you to start hating me, but I’m quickly ceasing to care! I’ve been patient, and I—“ Remus was cut off by hands on his face and a mouth pressed to his. For what seemed like an eternity he didn’t move, but then something seemed to snap, and he began returning the kiss with a fervor that took the older boy by surprise.

“When will you learn to just take what you want?” Sirius asked him softly once their lips had parted. Remus hadn’t answered—at least not vocally—but his response to Sirius’ second kiss was proof enough of his sentiments.

Much older and a little bit wiser, Sirius Black sat on the end of Remus’ bed, gazing fondly at the sleeping man nestled in blankets and sheets. The sun’s light was just beginning to peek through the window, illuminating the simple covers and one of Remus’ hands that had shifted to dangle off of the bed in his sleep. Sirius rose and pulled shut the heavy drapes before turning back and placing the errant hand back on the bed.

For a long moment Sirius stood there, his left hand caressing the distinct line of Remus’ jaw. He knew it was time to leave, but he found it extremely difficult to tear his eyes away from the sleeping man before him. The air was still, but heavy as the ex-convict took one of Remus’ own quills and parchment sheaves and scrawled a quick message, folding it carefully and placing it in the werewolf’s palm, curling long fingers around it protectively. That done, he rose and slipped out the door before changing to Padfoot, what he’d written repeating itself in his head as he slunk down and out of the castle.

Once, I could just take what I wanted; now I know I have to work for it, pine for it. I think I understand now. This is what you meant.

It wasn’t much, and leaving it had been dangerous, but the run from the castle to the forest was pleasant and mercifully uninterrupted. He could let Padfoot take over, the dog’s mind streamlining his thoughts and squeezing out unnecessary musings.

It helped, a little.

</div>

Hide and Seek

2007-06-21T05:04:25Z

Title: Hide and Seek
Ship: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Rating: PG-13 (Language and mild sexual themes)
Summary: This is the first part in my series called Lunar Cycles. It takes place around the time of the full moon in the beginning of August 1993. Remus has been alone for 143 full moon transformations. He didn't think it would take this long to lose his sanity.

Where are we? Remus Lupin thought to himself as he blinked sleepily, rubbing the heel of his palm over tired eyes. Wherever it was, it was dark. He was also alone. What the hell?

He sat up, holding his head until the aches dulled and he could feel the blood shift back to its normal places. It took only a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark. It had always taken only a moment. He could smell rain, earth and wet dog—wet dog? That was Sirius’ smell. Almost instinctively he reached a hand over to what had always been his lover’s place. The space was warm, as if a body had just left it.

Remus’ heart skipped a beat.

Wanting—no needing to see, he stumbled through the room and yanked open the heavy drapes. Sunlight streamed through the window, lighting the dust that floated through the air. It had been displaced during his dash to the window, and was only now settling back into the carpet.

Remus had always been intrigued by this carpet. Sirius had picked it up from somewhere or other and had brought it home, saying they needed a nice reading rug, and this would be perfect. It was the one thing of theirs that he’d kept, even all these years.

The patterns were odd, they’d tickled something in his memory and it had bothered him for months before he’d found the reason. It was in an old Muggle textbook he’d taken from the nearest library.

He had placed it on the table in front of an eating Sirius, and pointed to a picture on the page opened.

“See there? That’s what’s on that rug of yours.” His voice was a bit triumphant.

“Circles in dirt?” Sirius had asked, rather unhelpfully. He’d looked up then, and smiled at what must have been a very disheveled-looking Remus. “Moony, love, you need a bath.”

“The books were dusty.” He’d said simply, brushing a hand over his fringe in a half-hearted attempt to tame it. “But look Pads, look.” And Sirius had obliged him with a crooked smile.

“Crop circles,” He’d read aloud. “A phenomenon that has never been fully explained, though some cases report the possibility of vandalism, such as this example from a farm in Dover.” He couldn’t read anymore, he was laughing too hard. “I used to make these. James and I, we’d go out to some bloke’s farm over summer hols and stamp the hay and howl.” He’d looked back at the lanky lad standing over him. “Never knew we’d made designs out of it. You really do need a bath. You smell like books.”

And despite Remus’ loud protestations, he’d been carted upstairs and given just that. Though to be fair, it hadn’t gotten rid of the book smell.

A shiver ran down his naked back, despite the relative warmth of the room. Countless nights had been spent sprawled across this very rug, tracing the designs with his finger as he tried desperately to understand why.

Whether or not he believed in crop circles, their likenesses gave him no answers.

He turned rather sharply to close the curtains, but another wave of dizziness hit him and he sank to his knees into the plush carpet. For long moments the room spun wildly, seemingly in time with the pain he could feel everywhere. Last night had not been easy.

He ached in places he didn’t normally ache, even on the day after the full moon. Muscles he didn’t think he used to change were sore and stiff. If for no other reason than to try and find a focal point for his wavering mind, Remus tried to remember what had happened.

Even in his delusional state he could remember some things, flashes of color or a particularly strong scent or taste. Pack. He remembered Pack. But this couldn’t be right. His pack had been disassembled long ago, ravished by war and betrayal.

But try as he might, he couldn’t. Images of running free, fenced in by white teeth and black fur were all he could conjure beyond the feeling of Pack.

Remus m’lad, you have finally gone completely mental. He thought to himself, and this realization seemed to make things resettle. The walls didn’t swirl and the floor stayed firmly under him. Time to get up then and start the day.

Shuffling feet made a funny sound going down the hall at this time of day. And as Remus glanced out the window he judged it to be late afternoon. It was early August and the air was hazy.

His kitchen wasn’t much better. For some reason the air was stuffier in this part of his house. Not that it was much better in the other rooms, but there was enough to notice a difference. It was also darker than he’d like, the only light coming from the small window above the sink, and the sun was in the wrong place for that be of much help.

He knew some hot tea would do his body good, but he couldn’t bring himself to stoke the fire and heat the room further. He knelt and looked in the old icebox that served as his refrigerator.

Pint of milk, bit of shaved ham, some lemons and—iced tea? Remus sat back on his heels and thought hard. He hadn’t made any iced tea. At least, he didn’t think he’d made any.

A moment’s thought yielded nothing, and remembering his previous conclusion as to his relative sanity, he shrugged and grabbed the pitcher.

There was a sparse enough selection of dishes in his cupboards, but there was a small cup—dusty but usable.

After a few shaky attempts at pouring the tea, and a rather comical fight with the dishrag he used to try and clean up the mess he’d made, Remus sat at his kitchen table, tea in hand and a spread of parchment around him.

He sipped the tea as he leafed through some of the pages: lesson plans for the upcoming autumn term. He was glad indeed of the job, though he was worried. Dumbledore trusted him, but there were others, Snape not the least of them, who didn’t. Remus had never been good at confrontation. It had always been his friends who’d done the standing up for him.

Skimming down the segment of his chosen textbook for the third years, Remus wondered vaguely where he’d come up with a boggart. He glanced up to find his glass in the mess of papers, when he saw something that made his blood freeze. A pair of very familiar gray eyes stared at him from a shadowy corner of the room. Not for the first time, Remus thought it’d be best to invest in electricity instead of relying on these candles—conveniently forgetting his distaste for bright light. He rubbed his eyes.

The eyes were gone.

This can’t be happening.

That was Remus’ only thought as he rose from the table, knocking his chair over in the process. Long fingers raked through his mousy tousled hair as he dug around for his shoes and a shirt, pulled them on, and left the house—he had to get out of here. As he turned and locked the door, the large tawny post owl fluttered down, his copy of The Daily Prophet in its beak.

“Just leave it on the table.” Remus instructed distractedly, waving his hand in that general direction. “Seeds are there.” He said, opened the door to let the owl fly past him, and then closed it again, clicking the lock as he did so. This is good. He thought to himself. Never a better cure for madness than a bit of sun, air and good Muggle curry.

As he walked down the street, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dark trousers, Remus J. Lupin began to think the entire world had gone mad. Everywhere he went people seemed nervous, some nearly panicking. Everyone stood in clumps, some seeming to read something, others talking in hushed voices, some gathered in front of shop windows where the Muggle news came through stacks of televisions.

It was so odd to see no children out on such a nice day.

Remus craned his neck to try and see what all this fuss was about, but he couldn’t quite make it out, and the one time he asked, the old man only gaped at him and said “Why, don’t you know?” before looking over his shoulder and skittering away as quickly as possible. Frustrated and more confused than when he’d left, he rounded a corner and made his way up the hill that would take him back to his house. Curry be damned.

The old alley took him up the hill and alongside an old rail yard. He was seeing shadows take shape everywhere as he trudged through the rapidly dimming light. The sky seemed to realize that it was cruel to be so bright when the mood was so drear, and clouds rolled in, turning the evening grey. He passed a coal car bearing a rather large advertisement for “Suzie’s Super Sewing Machines” and swore he saw a big dog lying beneath it. But blink and it was gone.

The whole trip home was like that, made worse by the fact that it had started to pour—again. Remus was convinced that England was vying to be the next Atlantis, another gem to add to her bloody crown. He fished the key out of his pocket, turned the lock and stepped inside.

His shirt—now soaked through—was tossed haphazardly on the back of his small sofa as he stormed up the stairs. His temper was frayed by his apparent insanity, worn down by thirteen years of seeing ghosts around corners. Today had been bad. He’d never seen so many ghosts in one day. Remus had always known he’d go insane eventually, if not from the mad antics of his friends, then from the strain of being a werewolf. In later years he reasoned it would be from the stress of the war. Now he knew why he’d gone mad, and it wasn’t from any of these things, though doubtless they’d contributed to tipping the scales.

It was losing Sirius that had done it.

He’d lost him in a way that was worse than death. Sirius was gone, fully, completely and totally. And worse, there wasn’t any proof that he’d ever actually been. The Sirius he knew and loved never would have betrayed his best mate, but that’s just what he’d done. It made everything Remus had come to believe in seem like a lie.

But then he’d remember the warm and gentle hands on his own cold skin, the brilliant smile, the eyes that would stare at him lovingly when Sirius thought he wasn’t looking. That was real, wasn’t it?

Remus growled loudly as he gripped the sides of his head, knowing these thoughts very well, and also knowing they’d get him nowhere. It was funny, but most of the time he didn’t feel like a madman; he felt totally in control and quite clear-headed. That was the odd thing.

He stormed down the hall, glancing up at the walls as he went. There were oily marks there, on the places where once had hung pictures of him, of Sirius, of the four Marauders, of him and Sirius together. The memories had become too painful in the first years following the Potters’ death and Sirius’ imprisonment, and Remus had taken them down. He’d always meant to burn them, or at the very least to shred them and throw them away.

He couldn’t bring himself to do it.

There was a certain insensitivity to this still life he led, and somehow the photographs, even tucked away in their snug little boxes made it a little easier, lifted the loneliness just enough for it to be bearable.

There, up at the end of the hallway, a flash of lightning illuminated a large and furry shape, and Remus held his breath, but by the time he reached the door to his room, there was nothing there. There was, to his surprise, the sound of panting behind him. Remus whipped around, but there was nothing besides an old end table.

He’d never heard ghosts before either. At least not while awake.

This made Remus furious. He was sane goddammit! Moving quickly, he tore open the door to the spare room across the hall, tossing things aside and looking in every conceivable nook and cranny.

Nothing.

On to the boxroom Remus had turned into a workspace, and then he tore through the little bathroom and the entire downstairs. It was like a twisted game of hide and seek.

“Sirius! I know you’re here. Damn you, come out! I’m not mad! I’m not bloody mad!” His shouts shook the small house, as did his exploits. His breath was raw and ragged, coming in short gasps as he flew up the stairs to tackle the last remaining refuge—his bedroom. His fingers curled around the cold knob, and he froze for a second, afraid as well as hopeful of what he might find on the other side of that door. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and flung open the door just as another flash of lightning lit the room.

Nothing.

“I’m not mad.” Remus repeated softly to himself as he steeled his nerves and began to search through what little hiding space there was in his room.

Nothing.

How could Sirius be here? He was locked and guarded in Azkaban. No one escaped from Azkaban. Remus wasn’t entirely sure whether to be sad or happy about that fact. Exhausted, he flopped belly first onto his bed. It was small, the mattress was lumpy and the sheets were old and rough, but it was familiar. His hand went to the side where Sirius would have slept had he ever slept in this bed. The space was cool now, but if Remus pressed his face into the linens, he could still feel the scent that was so Sirius invading his mind and making him rather deliriously happy.

He was still tired from his change the night before, and added onto that the stresses of the day, it was quite understandable that he fell asleep right there, shoes and trousers still on and soaking wet.

He dreamed the same dream he’d had for the past thirteen years now. It wasn’t even really a dream, just an unconscious re-visiting of a painful memory.

Remus was at the door, all of the things he could say were truly his—which was not much—were packed in one banged up trunk. He had thought to leave quietly, wait until morning and then send an owl with an explanation. He knew if he was confronted by Sirius in person that he’d never have the backbone to leave. Remus never had been good at confrontations.

Unfortunately for him, Sirius had picked that night to come home earlier than expected. He pulled open the door right as Remus was digging for his key to leave in the letterbox. Sirius’ face broke out in a broad grin, which quickly turned into a scowl as he took in Remus’ appearance and what he was towing.

“Going somewhere?” He fairly growled, knowing full well this wasn’t an Order mission.

This question led to a long and exhausting argument, one which had been mercifully dulled and blurred by time. Remus had the vague feeling that he had said some things he regretted later. The next thing he saw coherently was Sirius, leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen. He was pale and his eyes showed pain and desperation, like an animal caught in a trap. Remus wanted so badly to drop what he carried, take Sirius into his arms, and kiss him until that look went away.

He almost did just that.

Almost.

“Now I suppose you’re going to say you meant well, lying to me and hiding.” Sirius said sadly. Remus opened his mouth, halfway through a nod, but Sirius cut him off. “Of course you did.”

“But Sirius, this is really for the best.” Remus tried to say, but Sirius cut out quickly. “Of course it is.”

“Sirius, this is for the best—“

“You decided this.”

“What?” Remus was caught off guard.

“This, the whole thing. It’s stupid and I hate it. But it’s your choice. Know that if you walk out that door, you’d better never come back.”

And with that, Sirius had left, trudging up the stairs to their room. Remus stood there for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, as sort of a parting jab, he called up. “I’m leaving.”

From the upstairs bedroom came a muffled. “I don’t care.”

The sad part, Remus thought to himself on the damp walk to the station, is that it’s true. Sirius Black could have any man or woman he desired.

But thankfully here was where the dream typically ended, melding into blessed nothingness. But this time it faded into something else.

There were warm fingers stroking cold, damp skin. The touch was hesitant at first, as if the owner of the fingers was afraid to break the one he touched, but after what seemed like hours, he grew more certain and his caresses reflected that. Soon strong hands were turning Remus over gently, so that he was lying on his back. One hand stayed there, serving to hold him close as the other body clambered down with him. The other hand was stroking Remus’ chest, fingers following the pattern of scars and touching almost reverently the bruises from the night before.

“Moony-love, what’s wrong? You were shaking.” That voice was totally and completely familiar, and it made Remus’ heart skip a beat. It was unmistakably Sirius’ voice, but it wasn’t the voice he dreamed of often. No, this was a new touch, and his voice was older, deeper, somehow more sad and more afraid.

Remus decided that he liked this dream.

“Mmmfine. Well, am now.” Remus corrected. He tried to peer through the dream fog and get a better look, but his mind wasn’t able to conjure an older Sirius, and so all he got was a dim-outline, “What’re you doing here?” It’s a dream Idiot, why do you think he’s here?

“I missed you. You and your beautiful brown eyes.” Rumbles the lower Sirius voice.

“You are in so much trouble.” Remus said, teasing. Dreams couldn’t be in trouble could they?

“No—well yes, but not tonight. Tonight, love, is yours.”

“Ransom notes keep falling out of your mouth.” Remus quips with a smile. “When could I ever resist your charm?”

“You did once.” Sirius’ voice said, and Remus reached a hand up to touch his face. “And I was so proud of you.” The hand stopped midair, and an accusatory look crossed Remus’ face.

“You’re lying.” Remus growled, anger hiding disappointment. The words sounded like they’d been clipped from a newspaper romance, there was no feeling behind them.

“No, I’m not.” Sirius said, softly but firmly.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You hurt me—“

“No.” Remus interrupted. “You didn’t care a bit.” His voice was cold, detached. “You don’t care a bit.”

That seemed to do the trick, for the dreamSirius didn’t speak again, and after a while his caresses faded into the usual peacefulness of black and uninterrupted sleep.

When Remus awoke the next morning, his head hurt and his eyes were bloodshot, but it was surprisingly easy to stand. He must have slept really well—well, after those dreams—because his back and shoulders moved freely and without pain. With two cracks his neck shifted back into a comfortable position and he trudged downstairs, aware that his shoes and trousers were still damp.

He made a pot of coffee and stuck some bread in the toaster. It was still too early for the sun to invade his kitchen, and there was a pleasant breeze coming through the little window above the sink. He piled the toast on a plate, spread some jam and filled a chipped mug with coffee before heading in to the table.

There was a small space cleared from his rampage yesterday, and he set up there. He took a sip of his coffee—he’d taken to drinking it black of late, as milk was too expensive to use on a daily basis—and picked up the Daily Prophet from yesterday. He wondered briefly how the owl had gotten loose, and then realized he’d left the window open last night—the little one in the kitchen.

He turned to take a bite of his toast and chewed thoughtfully for a moment as he unfolded the paper. The headline made him nearly choke.

SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES FROM AZKABAN

Notorious Killer On The Loose!

And there was the picture they’d taken of Black in his prison garb, wild and laughing and altogether looking quite the part of a deranged killer. Remus’ face drained of all color. But it wasn’t the headlines or the picture that had done it. On the table where the paper had been only a moment before, was a small parcel wrapped in tinfoil, and a scrap of parchment torn—he noted idly—from one of his lesson plans for the fall.

That hadn’t been there yesterday.

He set down the paper and picked up the object, unwrapping it carefully, so as not to tear the foil. It seemed important just then not to break the quiet any more than was absolutely necessary. Inside was a slim bar of dark chocolate, it smelled spicy, with just a hint of orange. In one corner there were teeth marks that looked unmistakably canine.

He set the package aside, unaware that he was smiling. The parchment scrap he took and held for a long moment before unfolding it, afraid of what he would find written there. Sirius had killed three of their best friends, it seemed only right that he’d come back for Lupin. Best for last. The old Sirius would’ve said. It had a ring of poetic justice to it, however twisted. Taking a deep breath, he unfolded the paper and sure enough there was the old familiar handwriting, but what it said wasn’t a death threat. It was worse. The words hit Remus in the stomach, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. The note slipped from his fingers and floated to the floor, tilted so the words were viewable from above.

I do care.

</div>

Aha, sleepovers rock

2006-01-02T04:58:17Z

Yeah, so I did nothing for New Year's...well, other than teach my dad to play poker.....

Yeah, we all know how that one went. Libs is over now, playing Connect Four with my sister. Wonder if she knows those pieces have been in my brother's mouth. . . .

Yeah, bought Karma and Effect, the new Seether CD, and the Flyleaf debut...(it's about bloody time!) I wanted to buy Dark Light, the newest HIM album, but my mom went all 'uber freak' on me and said no. I'll prolly buy it at Wal-Mart. She doesn't have to know everything.

Other than that I have done nothing really. I know, my life is so exciting over break. *cough*

Yeah, next show starts pretty soon.....if my director ever CALLS ME!!! hint hint...

But I think that's it.....Libby's getting her ass beat by my sister...so I feel inclined to watch. *grabs magnifying glass* Ooh, ants to torture...I mean study!

Singing out,

Saza

P.S. Serenity is one hell of a movie. Watch it, I commandeth thee!

Beautiful things.....

2005-12-29T07:45:23Z

Oh my God......

Sorry, that is about the most coherent thought I could muster. Give me a few seconds and I should have my tongue out of it's knot.

. . . . . . .

OK, now, if you're reading this, either you know me, or are EXTREMELY bored. Either way, I feel compelled to share the source of my utter wordlessness. (Which, if you know me, you know is very, very rare.) I just read the most beautiful thing I have ever read in my life. Maybe you've heard of it, it's called the Shoebox Project. It was recommended to me this past summer by a good friend. (hint hint GB) and I sort of skimmed through it, remembering the funny quotes and whatnot.

However, myself being myself, I had to grow into a few things, learn a few lessons, and gain a few more metaphorical bruises. Thus December rolled around and I found myself very sad at lack of a good read. (Christmas break takes me away from my glorious collection of school-owned books. *moment of silence for tear*) So, I figured, 'What the heck? Maybe they've added something new.' But this time, I was a good little girl and read the whole thing, start to finish, in one day. To my anguish, it was not updated, but it might as well have been, because I got a whole 'nother angle on the story entirely.

Point being, I am officially hooked, line and sinkered. I'd like to blame it on my friends, but that wouldn't really be fair. After all, it wasn't 'their' fault that I had no winter reading...or was it...? *dun dun Duuuuuuhnnn* My REAL point being, if you are reading this and don't know me you are obviously some sort of nutter, so GO READ IT.....It made my day, but made my mother crazy trying to detach me from the poor computer. *mutters* Really, I don't see how it's any different from burying my nose in a book all day.....it's the same basic principle. . . . .right??

So while I may in fact be a "stupid emo head" and while I may "suck at life" (coughcough) I feel my journal was lonely sitting there all empty and blank. So I figured, 'What the hell? This wasn't my idea, but why not make use of it? Perfectly good space for a rant like this one you know.'

My only regret is that I had not taken the time to read (instead of skim) it sooner.....oh, that and the fact that for now there is no more.......well, that and the fact that I myself am out of chocolate....and coke.....and--ok, well, now I'm rambling....ta loves!

*runs off to steal sister's chocolate, snickering madly*

Saza

Edit at 3:13 a.m.: Correction, they HAD updated it....I am just too much of a blind blonde to see it first round over.....so yewah....go read it I tell you, it's bloody amazing!