This Broken Soul is Biting Back

7 Heavenly Virtues: Second-Assistant Librarian: Diligence

mogwai13@live.co.uk — Tue, 20 May 2008 15:57:33 GMT

Title: Second-Assistant Librarian
Fandom: Abhorsen Trilogy
Characters: Lirael
Prompt: # 07 - Diligence
Word Count: 460
Rating: G
Summary: Lirael’s total dedication to the Great Library results in an early birthday present.
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Garth Nix and his publishers. I own nothing.
Author's Notes: No 7 in my 7 Heavenly Virtues Series.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Second-Assistant Librarian

I don’t remember ever feeling as happy as I do, right now.

For the first time since I was granted the privilege of working in the Clayr’s Great Library – back when the twins thought a job would be the best thing for me – I can honestly say my lack of ‘Sight’ isn’t bothering me in the slightest.

The yellow waistcoat of the Third-Assistant Librarians no longer clings to my chest, no longer symbolises a ‘new-girl’ who can be held responsible for little more than the occasional handful of Sendings.

No, I can’t suppress a tiny giggle of delight as I shrug enthusiastically into the red waistcoat of the Second-Assistant Librarians, buttoning it up and admiring myself in the mirror standing proud before me.

This, too, procures a wide smile. The room reflected back to me is no longer the shabby, one-roomed study I had grown to call home during my time as a Third-Assistant Librarian. No, this one’s bigger.

And better.

With its own small ensuite bathroom!

And all because I excelled at the task set out for me when I first donned the yellow jacket.

Ryelle and Sanar were right. A job was just what I needed!

I’ve surpassed everybody’s expectations because I’ve loved this job. And loved every minute of it – well, I say every minute, but the … incident … with the Stilken wasn’t much fun, thinking back on it. But apart from that … yeah, I’ve loved working in the Great Library. Deputy Librarian Ness said she was impressed by the level of dedication I was showing to my work, which is why she suggested my name for promotion to Chief Librarian Vancelle.

And now look at me! A week before my birthday – the most hated time of the year, in my opinion – and I just can’t stop smiling!

I guess it just goes to show you: those who maintain an air of diligence when they find something worth living for - something worth taking time and effort over - will always be rewarded.

Me, I would never have dreamed it possible.

But it has happened, nonetheless.

I may be ‘Sight’less - and this time next week, I will be a nineteen year old ‘Clayr’ without the Sight which I’m sure will only serve to depress me most spectacularly.

But while I may not have the Sight, and while I may not be a true Daughter of the Clayr … yet… I do have something that’s going to make sure I stick this job out until the end:

I have the red waistcoat of the Second-Assistant Librarians.

The waistcoat that I’ve earned after years of hard work, perseverance, and the appropriate display of attention to a job I love.

And I couldn’t be happier.

OoOoOoOoOoO

7 Heavenly Virtues Table

7 Heavenly Virtues - Generous: Liberality

mogwai13@live.co.uk — Tue, 20 May 2008 14:19:37 GMT

Title: Generous
Fandom: Abhorsen Trilogy
Characters: Lirael, the Disreputable Dog
Prompt: # 06 - Liberality
Word Count: 990
Rating: G
Summary: “Sometimes you give too much, Mistress.”
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Garth Nix and his publishers. I own nothing.
Author's Notes: No 6 in my 7 Heavenly Virtues Series

OoOoOoOoOoO

Generous

Lirael contemplated her empty plate in front of her and allowed a small, sad sigh to escape her lips.

Once again, she had stolen for one, and eaten none of it. As was nearly always the case, these days.

Her rationed mealtimes were being cut shorter and shorter, her appetite slowly disintegrating away into nothingness as the Disreputable Dog continued to grow. It was a peculiar thing: Dog didn’t need to eat, and yet Lirael was the one going without.

Not that she minded, of course.

No, she didn’t mind at all. She was just happy that Dog was happy, even if that meant almost-certain death by malnutrition on her part …

“Mistress?”

Lirael blinked and looked up, eyes regaining their lost focus in time to see her companion lick her lips contentedly, but stare at the girl as though she had two heads.

“What is it?” she asked, frowning, eyes raking over the spotless plate, before she shuffled hurriedly to her feet and scooped it up, turning to place it on the desk behind her.

The Disreputable Dog - resting on her haunches as she licked absentmindedly at a claw on her left paw – considered Lirael thoughtfully. After a moment’s silence, during which Lirael squirmed most uncomfortably, her eyes flickered over towards the plate.

“You did it again,” she said simply, at last, shaking her head.

Lirael bristled and turned away, running a hand delicately down her tunic to dispel the dust that had gathered there after sitting on the floor; feigning complete ignorance as to what the Dog was referring to.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite know what you are talking about, Dog,” she replied airily, but the stiffness of her posture spoke otherwise.

The Dog snorted derisively and straightened up, stretching her limbs before padding good-naturedly over to her Mistress’ side.

“Well let me refresh your memory, then,” she replied, sitting down directly in Lirael’s path, seemingly enlarging her body to ensure her concerned gaze filled all of the girl’s sight. Lirael rolled her eyes, but said nothing. Hesitating for a second, Dog glanced at the plate once more, before continuing. “You returned from the kitchens with one plate of food. You managed to eat all of three mouthfuls of said food before saying I could have the rest. This seems rather a strange notion, to one who does not really need to eat, yet as you are one’s Mistress, one had to obey.”

Lirael restrained a second eye-roll with difficulty.

“You know, that posh accent of yours is kind of irritating,” she responded bluntly, an eyebrow raised. Dog growled, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Quit changing the subject,” she replied firmly, tilting her head to one side so as better to consider Lirael’s face. “Now, as I was saying … If adding today’s repeat performance to the thirty-two other meals of similar order that preceded it, one can safely assume that liberality is a trait you possess in abundance.”

Lirael blinked.

“Liber-what-now?” she asked innocently, trying and failing to catch Dog off guard.

It didn’t work, of course. Dog simply nudged her firmly on the leg with her snout. “Call it generosity, then, if you will, but I’m simply trying to say that sometimes, you give too much, Mistress. That food would have been of more help to you than it is to me, and yet you chose to give me more. Why is that?”

Lirael shrugged nonchalantly.

“Not hungry?” she replied bluntly. The Disreputable Dog shook her head, and though the presence of a snout made it very hard for Lirael to be sure, she had a strong inkling that the Dog would have been beaming at her, if she could.

“Not quite,” Dog replied wryly. She paused, uncertain of what to say, then allowed her tail to sway slightly as a mute sign of her gratitude. “You have a good heart, Mistress Lirael. I feel generosity has long since been in your nature.”

Lirael blushed and turned to busy herself with cleaning up.

“Yeah,” she murmured with as little conviction as she could muster.

But as she reached out for the empty plate, she couldn’t cover up a small smile of happiness. Nor could she disguise the low rumble from her lower midriff. Blushing scarlet, she cleared her throat quickly and turned towards the doorway. “Yeah, well, I suppose I can just grab something else for myself while I’m down there,” she admitted finally, avoiding the Dog’s knowing gaze. “Now, if you’ll just wait here until I get back, I need to return the plate to the kitchens before they realise it’s missing.”

The Dog grinned at her, nodding as she stepped aside, leaving room for Lirael to pass by.

“Just as long as whatever you bring back with you doesn’t find itself in my digestive system, too,” she warned playfully.

Lirael shrugged, but shot the Dog a grateful smile nonetheless, turning away quickly as she felt the heat rising in her cheeks.

And without another word, nor a backwards glance – which would have shown to the Dog that her assumptions were one hundred per cent correct – she swept quickly and quietly from the room, letting the door swing softly shut behind her.

Silence fell in Lirael’s study, and not for the first time, the Disreputable Dog found herself mulling over the retreating back of her Mistress with nothing short of amazement.

That girl truly was remarkable.

“I just hope her generosity doesn’t kill her,” she murmured to herself, shaking her head a fraction. As she settled down in front of the desk, absently licking at a matt of sticky fur on her paw, she closed her eyes and whispered to no-one in particular, “her survival of the tasks laid out before her may well depend on her sense of liberality. But dying because she saved me two too many Chinese ribs would be far too ironic an occurrence for even me to contemplate.”

OoOoOoOoOoO

7 Heavenly Virtues Table

Frodo/Sam Wallpaper

mogwai13@live.co.uk — Thu, 10 Jan 2008 11:30:15 GMT

Hey, guys!

I've made a Sam/Frodo inspired wallpaper, and just thought I'd share it with you all!
Click on the image to see it full size - 1024x768.

Hope you like! ^^

Caged - Part 2

mogwai13@live.co.uk — Wed, 09 Jan 2008 15:36:11 GMT

Title: Caged
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Rating: PG-13
Summary: ‘I’m sorry, Sam. I can’t do this. The closer I get to Mount Doom, the weaker my will becomes. He has me, Sam. He has all of me and I can’t ever escape!’ Frodo’s strength is failing, and Sam fears the Ring's Burden will be the death of his best friend. (Movie)
Disclaimer: I don’t own Lord of the Rings, neither book nor film versions. Love them, though.
Author’s Notes: Set in the ‘Movie’verse, during ‘Return of the King’. Told from two different points of view – hence the combination of normal text (Frodo) and italics (Sam).

This is my first LotR story, so constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated!

OoOoOoOoOoO

Part 2

I’m unsure as to whether or not I should be relieved that we’ve stopped.

My body suggests that I should be, that I shouldn’t punch a gift horse in the mouth when it stops at my feet bearing the sweetest of all gifts, and yet the circumstances surrounding this abrupt halt in movement mean I can feel nothing but frustrated concern.

I’m frustrated by my inability to help, and made restless by the feeling of complete and utter uselessness that is overwhelming me as I hold Mister Frodo close to my wheezing chest.

I’m concerned for the Ring-Bearer who’s life is no longer his own. I’m concerned for the Fellowship, broken and separated and, for all I know, hopeless.

And I soon realise I am, in fact, concerned for the whole of Middle Earth.

But at this particular moment, my fears are burning so passionately strong for one particular hobbit - as I gaze upon the one person who has been with my through the hardest year of my life - that he is the only one I can think clearly about.

It isn’t fair. He doesn’t deserve this. None of us deserve it! Not us, nor Pip or Merry, nor Aragorn or Gimli or Legolas, wherever they all are…

Oh, how I pray that they are safe. Safe and in far better health than Mister Frodo and I. I’d give anything to see them unharmed and healthy and happy, just one more time, even if it turns out to be the last time I ever see them…

But I can’t.

Not now.

Now, it’s too late. Far too late. We’re stuck here, Frodo and I, and there’s no going back, not even if we wanted to. The honest truth is we wouldn’t make it back.

I fear we wouldn’t even make it out of Mordor.

O---O---O---O---O

Another hour has passed in silence, and the sky above my head is almost black, now. Mister Frodo still has not stirred, and I am torn between feeling relief on his behalf that he is finally resting, and terror that this time, he may not wake up…

But I can’t think like that.

Instead, I turn to dwelling on the hours we are losing, just sitting here, which doesn’t truthfully help to lift my spirits even in the slightest.

We’re stuck here, with little food, even less water, and nowhere to hide from the ever watchful gaze of the great Eye that is sweeping like a torch beam through the darkness.

It torments me.

Its very presence is enough to suck all the joy and happiness out of my heart, to make me feel like I’ve never known such feelings. For so long, I’ve been fighting it, fearing that one day the strain will be too great, fearing that one day, I’ll give up completely.

But then I realise that that is what it wants me to feel, and so I fight all the harder, tapping into strength I thought I’d lost to chase away the shadows from the corners of my mind, clinging onto the faith I have in myself, in Frodo, in the Fellowship…

Well, that’s what I have taken to doing, at any rate. And I know that I must continue to do so for everybody’s sakes.

Because now I can see the truth.

Watching him closely - noting how his eyes shift restlessly beneath their lids, and how his fingers clench and unclench repeatedly, yearning to reach for the solace they think they can gain from touching the Ring - I see that Frodo’s strength is fading fast. He’s losing faith, has perhaps already lost it, and that thought is more terrifying to me than the prospect of this place being our final resting place.

If he loses faith, we die for nothing.

Nothing will change...

-----------------------------------------------------------

The whispers in my head have returned. They won’t leave me alone!

The very moment unconsciousness abandons me, I plead for it to claim me again, knowing full well that if I wake, the hurting will begin. I crave nothingness. I need it to drag me back under, to hide me from the real world, to smother the murmuring voices and drown the pain in blissful unawareness.

But it doesn’t.

It just laughs to itself and throws me back into a vague imitation of reality without a care for the agonies that await me there.

And I’m not ready to face them.

The world lurches, the blackness in my mind throbbing more now than it ever has done before - whether that’s down to the migraine I’ve had for weeks, or down to a lack of oxygen, a lack of that most precious commodity, the one that Gorgoroth has such sparse amounts of, I know not. All I know is that my head doesn’t feel like my own. And it hurts.

On some subconscious level, I know I’m gasping for a breath I can’t inhale. The sound is painful even to my own ears, and yet at the same time, it doesn’t feel like me. Everything is detached, everything is hazy and unfocussed. Everything except the darkness. No, that’s all too defined, all too detailed for my liking.

I tell myself that it will pass, that I need to pull myself together, that I need to finish what I started so long ago… but there is nothing in my heart, nothing in my mind or body, nothing in my soul left to fight with. Everything is dead, everything burns and screams and cries around me, each and every feeling scarring me that little bit deeper.

The pain, the despair… it’s overwhelming.

I don’t know how many times I’ve been forced to return to the land of the living since my journey began, nor how many times I’ve been swallowed up by the darkness only to be forced back at the last second, just to wish for it to take me again. But now I’m beginning to wonder how many more chances I have. Without food, without water, without protection or strength, dragging myself to the surface time and again is becoming less and less of an option. It’s too hard to keep fighting like this, and I can no longer see the point of prolonging the inevitable.

I haven’t died this time, but maybe next time… Just maybe my soul will give up at last, just maybe the darkness will claim me for the final time, and will hold me for an eternity where the pain, the voices and the horrors of reality will never ever be able to find me, ever again.

And then I’ll be able to sleep.

Then, the Ring won’t be my problem, anymore.

Oh, would that it had happened this time around. I don’t think my mind, body or soul can handle trying to start moving again, now that I’ve stopped.

And the whispering voices inside my head are making it impossible to think.

I do wish they’d leave me alone.

O---O---O---O---O

There is silence in my mind for a moment...

But it is enough.

That single moment's silence is the very moment I needed to be able to force myself to return to the surface.

Because of that, my soul is prepared to try continuing, even despite the fact that I've stopped.

After a few seconds, the whispering voices are back, but it doesn't matter. My determination has returned as well, and even if it's but for a second, I have strength enough to move on a little further...

But perhaps I should tackle making it out of the darkness and back to reality, first of all...

-----------------------------------------------------------

I must have zoned out, because the abrupt sound startles me so badly I jump in surprise. Glancing at the bundle in my arms, it is painful to realise that the unearthly sound is of Frodo’s making. He clutches weakly at my cloak as he struggles to control his breathing.

I grip his hand and run the pad of my free thumb across his clammy cheek, mentally willing him to calm down, to breathe normally, to come back to me.

“Mister Frodo,” I whisper, reluctant to shock him, preferring instead to pose as little a threat as I can while he is struggling so. It wouldn’t do to make things worse, not when we’re so close to ending this nightmare once and for all.

After a few moments that seem to stretch on for an age, his distant, pain-filled gaze finally lifts to my face, and I find myself forcing a smile in spite of the situation. It takes him a moment to recognise me, I realise, but there is that spark in his eyes when he finally does – the one that only I can see. I nearly laugh out loud in relief.

Holding in my joy for a more opportune moment, I choose instead to squeeze his hand in reassurance and pull him into a more upright position against my chest. His movements are slow and uncoordinated, and I worry for a second that his body has given up the fight entirely, but after a few moments, the harsh, rattling breaths lower to something that vaguely imitates normality, and I too can breathe a little easier as he straightens up.

He still hasn’t spoken, though.

His eyes slide shut in exhaustion, but I know he will not sleep again. Instead, he muffles a cough with a trembling hand, before pulling away from me as though burned. I wince as he staggers to his feet, keeping my eyes trained on him, arms outstretched to steady him if he needs it.

“You need rest, Sir,” I try to plead, but my argument is a weak one. I already know that he won’t heed my warnings, and must do what I can to support his wishes, even if I think he is being a very foolish hobbit. He shakes his head a fraction, as I knew he would, but it troubles me that the movement is so sluggish and clumsy. His balance falters, and I’m on my feet in a heartbeat, a steadying hand on his arm.

“Careful, Mister Frodo,” I murmur, heart pounding in my chest. “I got you.”

It takes him a full minute to find his feet. He pulls away from me, awarding me a tiny, almost indistinguishable smile of gratitude, before his expression shifts into one of silent suffering.

And again, I find myself cursing this land, cursing Sauron and his armies. And – above all else - cursing the Ring.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Sam is here!

I can see him, watching me, holding me, willing me to return to him, pulling me away from the blackness in a way that only he can…

Yes, Sam will help me. As much as it pains him to see me like this, he will do whatever he can to help me. And I can’t even begin to thank him for everything he has done, for all the times he’s saved me.

The worst thing about this whole ordeal is that I can barely recognise my best friend, these days. It’s so hard to see the hobbit he once was beyond the darkness that is manipulating everything I once knew. I know not if that’s due to him changing after seeing all he has seen, or if it’s simply because my memory of him is slowly fading into blackness. The Ring is consuming everything, bit by bit. Even my dear Sam…

He weeps for me. I see it day by day, or at least, during those few sparse moments when my mind is my own. He weeps for the Shire, and for the family he has left behind – not only the Old Gaffer, but the family he could have had with Rosie. Though no tears ever fall from his eyes, he silently weeps for our friends, for Merry and Pippin, for Gimli and Legolas and Aragorn. And he weeps for Boromir and Gandalf, even though they are the lucky ones – the ones at peace.

Dear Sam weeps for everyone.

There is so much he has given up to follow me. He has sacrificed his own happiness, his own life just to help me, and now his only outlet is to weep for the people he has left or lost.

But me?

No, I cannot weep.

Not anymore.

My eyes have long since wept themselves dry. There is nothing left for me to cry for.

O---O---O---O---O

The darkness is endless, timeless, unforgiving, but there is the smallest dot of light amidst the black waters in my mind that is clinging to me in sheer desperation. It’s Sam’s faith in me.

He thinks I can still do this.

Poor, innocent, naïve Sam. I can’t help but smile softly at him as he offers his weight to me when my legs refuse to support my own. I want to rid him of the ridiculous notion he seems to have of me, that I’m going to make it through this and be whole at the end of it.

But to remove his innocence would be like removing a leg. He wouldn’t be Sam, if I took away his faith.

And it’s reassuring, I suppose, deep down, that at least one of us still knows what we’re fighting for. Because I can’t for the life of me recall why I am here.

It doesn’t matter, though. Sam recalls for the both of us. I just carry the burden.

And I’ll carry it as far as I can, which admittedly at the moment doesn’t feel like a great distance, but all the same...

Sam can be the one to hope and wish for success, the one who will be happy and proud and whole when we come to the end of all things.

It’s too late for me, but if I could make sure Sam got through this relatively unscathed, I would gladly give up my life. If I could keep Samwise safe from the blackness, my sacrifice would be worth it.

Now, if only I could make him understand that…

-----------------------------------------------------------

Blessed Be!

Hugsies,
xXx MissHaun†ed-MoonLigh† xXx

'Caged' - Part 1

mogwai13@live.co.uk — Wed, 09 Jan 2008 15:14:56 GMT

This is my first LotR story, so constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated!

OoOoOoOoOoO

Part 1

The Land of Shadows stretches out for miles in all directions, as far as my aching eyes can see - before us, beside us, behind us. Everywhere I turn, everywhere I look, all I can picture in my mind is ash and dust and flames, and I sense the lingering threat of War and Death hanging over Gorgoroth like a smothering veil.

Sam is troubled; I can see it in his eyes. He has been since the very beginning, just as we all have, I think. But now … something has changed inside of him, and changed him for the worse.

Ever since he carried It, he has been different, but my pained and exhausted mind can’t figure out just what is different about him. All I know for certain is that he has changed, and I wish more than anything that it were not so.

This was my Burden to bear. My own. Sam was never supposed to carry it, not even for a second. And thanks to my weakness and reluctance to fight, it was forced upon him before either of us knew what was happening. I should never have trusted Gollum … none of this would have happened if I’d believed Sam in the first place! The responsibility and guilt is overwhelming, now, but I won’t rid myself of it. I deserve it. I’ve put Sam through something he should never have had to face, and he’s no longer the hobbit I once knew because of it.

But … there’s still a chance, isn’t there? Surely there must still be a chance! Maybe – just maybe - it isn’t too late for him. He didn’t hold It for very long … Yes, he has changed a little, but I must cling to the hope that I took the Ring back before he was changed beyond repair... It’s the only hope I have left, but its feeble light is diminishing second by second.

And where hope abandons me, insanity settles in.

Oh, Sam. You were the one person I didn’t want to force my Burden upon. You were never supposed to see what It was doing to me. You were never supposed to know!

But there is no way to undo what has been done, no matter how much I wish for the return of your blissful ignorance.

O---O---O---O---O

We’ve stopped. I’ve been stumbling along for so long, now, and my thoughts are drifting and clumsy. Stopping doesn’t seem to be an option for me, anymore …

No, I must warn him. We can’t stop here! I’m afraid to rest! If I rest now, I fear I won’t be able to get up again, and then I’ll never be rid of It! I can’t stop, not now, not yet!

So I don’t.

I want to warn him but I can’t, so instead I keep walking, and though Sam is gazing longingly at the giant boulder he was hoping to call refuge for a few hours, he takes the hint and follows me straight passed it, not once looking back.

Brave, loyal Sam. He understands that much, at least. He knows that I can’t rest. Not now, not ever.

‘I’m sorry, Sam. It’s selfish of me, I know … and I know that you need to rest too, but I just can’t do it. If I stop, I won’t start again, and I can’t let that happen!’

I want to speak those words to him, if only to ease my own guilt, but my throat isn’t working and I must settle for speaking them inside my own head. A clear sign of insanity, when one talks to oneself, but I can do nothing about it. My mind is not my own, anymore...

No, I don’t want to be insane. I don’t want to lose what is left of my soul to the darkness that is bleeding me dry! I can’t let it win! So I try to speak. Try to say the very words that I want Sam to hear, knowing that they will mean more to him if I do say them than if I say nothing at all…

But I can’t. The words simply refuse to come. It must be weeks now, at least, since I’ve had anything to say aloud, and I fear that, after so long, speech will never ever pass my lips again.

-----------------------------------------------------------

The days are getting darker, as we get closer to Mount Doom. The sky above our heads is almost black as night, save for the streak of blood-red that illuminates the horizon, where the make-shift ‘Sun’ is nesting. Sun, indeed. Perhaps by name, but not by nature. No Sun have I ever seen that could dishearten my spirit so easily than the pale, weak little ball of fire that hangs like a looming hourglass over the deadened lands of Mordor.

But its presence is useful, all the same.

It tells me that rest is near. We’ve been walking non-stop for hours, and I can see the strain it has put on Mister Frodo as clear as spring water.

I thought we were going to stop, a few moments ago. We passed a reasonable spot, not exactly like home, but a boulder large enough to both hide and protect us for at least a few hours. I was all for unpacking, but Mister Frodo wasn’t. He walked straight passed it.

Which is most peculiar.

For the first time in a long while, he is the one to keep me going! How strange!

For so many weeks, our travels have been shortened, simply to allow him chance to rest. Two hours’ walking was, at one point, enough to weaken him for nye on a day.

Which is why I’m immensely surprised that we have managed to travel so far today without having to stop once. Not that that is a bad thing, o’course. In fact, I am so incredibly proud of Mister Frodo for persevering, where usually we would have given up and called it a day. I’d like to think that he realises how close we are to the end of the journey, and so is pushing himself in the hopes of finally being able to rid the world of Sauron’s evil darkness… but something deep down is telling me otherwise.

A strange something that feels – most peculiarly - a lot like the Ring.

It whispers to me. It has been ever since we left the Tower of Cirith Ungol, ever since I returned It to Mister Frodo. On and on It calls to me, poisoning my thoughts until I’m thinking the most horriblest of things. But I at least have blessed relief when It is too focussed on another young hobbit to bother me: I know for a fact that It never leaves Frodo, not even for a second.

I know It speaks nothing but lies and deceit, but at the same time, something about Its incessant whispering is maddeningly convincing. It claims that Mister Frodo fears to stop, teases that his will might just break if he has to cease walking for even the tiniest of moments.

And though I hate to admit it, I can’t help but believe It might just be right. Frodo has been draining himself of a strength he no longer possesses for days now, walking in a daze, step after painful step to a tuneless, endless rhythm that only he can hear …

For what other reason would he do such a thing but through fear of his own failure?

Oh, if only I could ignore the Ring’s persistent mutterings. I want to believe my own theory, dearly I do… but the evidence points so relentlessly towards Its own…

I know Its game, though. I know what It really wants, and why it is trying so hard to convince me that Master Frodo is falling.

The Ring wants me to take It from him. It fears his strength of will, even though I can see that that is failing - and failing rapidly - the closer we get to Mount Doom. It thinks that I would be an easier host to corrupt, that I would abandon our quest immediately and take It straight back to Its master.

I can’t deny that, sometimes, I’m awfully close to obeying It.

For the majority of today’s journey, I’ve tried to distance myself from Mister Frodo as far as I could without arousing suspicion … but I get the sinking feeling he is too trapped inside his own mind to have truly noticed, anyway.

And that is a most upsetting thought.

O---O---O---O---O

We’ve made it a little further while I’ve been brooding, it seems. The rocks around us are getting bigger, the closer we get to the great Tower. And to reward us, the sky seems all the more darker for it.

I shoot Mister Frodo a side-long glance, but his expression hasn’t changed at all. His eyes are still sightless, glazed and pain-racked, gazing not at our path, but at some unseen, tormenting force. His steps are shaky and feeble, but the eerie beating rhythm he has taken to obeying – the one that I can’t hear - is keeping one foot shuffling in front of the other in an endless, zombie-like fashion. That worries me, but I dare not dwell upon it. Though I can’t see It, I see his hand wrapped weakly amidst the tattered, dirty remnants of his shirt, grasping the Ring so tightly that I fear it will leave marks. As if he hasn’t collected enough scars during this journey …

I have to look away. If I keep looking, my soul might just shatter. I can’t bare to see the darkness shadowing his face! It kills me to see his expression completely devoid of life: absent, broken, hopeless. It’s almost as if the only emotions he can feel are pain and torment and anger and hatred and … oh, who knows what else? The darkest and most unforgiving of all possible emotions are waging a silent war amidst his bloodshot, dimmed blue orbs, and the despair at the very heart of them is almost enough to cause hope to abandon my own heart, too.

And I can’t have that.

As long as I have hope, there is hope that Frodo can be saved, as well…

Deep in my heart, I know that’s not true. The circumstances are so very different for Mister Frodo, so much more complicated. The scars of this quest have pierced him deeper than they have me, and the rational part of me fears the damage may be irreversible.

But I can’t think like that. I have to believe, for my own sanity, that we will get through this.

So I am going to ignore the Ring. I’m going to believe what my heart is telling me, and do whatever I can to make sure that my best friend makes it through this.

He will. He has to. Because I don’t know what I would do if he didn’t …

-----------------------------------------------------------

Darkness … it’s all around me. It’s inside my very soul, shredding it,devouring it!

Everywhere I look, blackness and ashes, destruction and suffering. So, so much pain.

I want to fall. So desperately I want to abandon what tiny shred of hope I’m struggling to cling on to and simply let it all end. I’m tired of fighting, and the overwhelming power of the Ring is making it harder and harder to see just what it is that I was fighting for in the first place.

There is only darkness before my eyes, now. Darkness and flame, all consuming and all powerful, ensnaring me, luring me in, deeper and deeper into its inescapable prison…

There’s a sharp, stinging pain shooting up from my knees, but I can’t make sense of anything, anymore. Everything is swaying around me, everything moves… and the little bit of reality I could make out through the looming blackness a moment ago is suddenly blurred and indistinguishable.

Oh, help! It’s doing it again! It wants me to put It on, but I can’t! He’ll find me if I do! And if He finds me, it’s all over!

But the longing … the burning, aching desire is looming again. If I just hold It for a while … just for a moment, then it might leave me alone …

Sam … Sam will help me … he’s done it before … dearest Sam, he always knows what to do, always knows how to pull me back …

But … where is he? I can’t see him, I can’t see anything. Anything except … the Ring.

-----------------------------------------------------------

No … Frodo …

It’s happening again! Is there no end to my dear friend’s torment?

I stumble to a halt just as a tiny, almost indistinguishable moan of pain escapes his chapped and bleeding lips. He lifts a trembling hand to his head and sways on the spot, feet suddenly abandoning the noiseless beat that has kept them moving for so many hours. His legs give out from beneath him and I rush to his side, his name dying on my lips as his knees hit the scorching ground, hard, his hands gripping painfully tightly to his head.

“Mister Frodo?” I call desperately, my voice betraying my fear, but he makes no sign he even hears me. I drop to my knees in front of him just in time to see him reaching for the Ring, once again. His eyes are jammed shut, his breathing ragged and uneven, his fingers shaking as they loop through the chain about his neck, pulling it clear of his shirt collar.

“Frodo, no!” I yell, reaching out on instinct to knock his hand aside, grabbing both of them with my own and pulling them close into my chest. “You mustn’t put it on, Sir, you mustn’t!”

He doesn’t fight me, this time.

So many times before, he has struggled, tried again and again to reach for It, even after I have intervened. He’s even gone so far as to threaten me at sword point! So, the fact that he gave in so easily to my command is unfathomably worrying.

After a few silent but tense moments, his eyes slide open, and my heart stops.

Those eyes, once so full of life, once so eager for adventure, are no longer recognisable as his own. Their tortured, tormented depths now beg me for a relief that I cannot give. It grieves me so to watch him struggle to focus upon me, his gaze flickering onto his hands, still clasped firmly within my own to stop him from reaching for the Ring. He blinks slowly, then carefully lifts his faltering gaze to my face. And I feel my heart shatter.

His look is one of exhausted confusion.

Which can mean only one thing: He doesn’t recognise me.

-----------------------------------------------------------

I can’t reach the Ring! I can’t reach it and I can’t understand why!

But I need it! I need to know that it’s safe! It’s calling for me to help it, but how can I help it when I can’t reach it ?!

Wait …

Something has bound my hands, is gripping them so tightly that I can’t so much as move a finger…

The blackness fades ever so slightly, giving reality a chance to seep into my vision. I can vaguely make out the outline of someone crouching before me, but the shape is so blurred that naming it is impossible. Turning to where my hands should be, I see the muted colours of whatever our captor is wearing encircling the area where my own skin should be visible, blocking my hands from view … whatever it is, it’s gripping my wrists, keeping me from touching the Ring again …

And I no longer have the will to fight them.

The Ring is whispering in my ear, telling me to pull free, to claim It for myself. It says I have the strength to protect It, that It needs me to keep It safe from our captor, but I can’t.

I yearn to help It, as It moans and pleads piteously, but the creature’s grip is strong, and my body is refusing to obey me.

The Ring shrieks in annoyance and fury as the world fogs around me, the blackness at the edges of my vision slowly, teasingly slowly consuming everything else. The world shifts and tilts, and all I can hear are Its protesting, threatening whispers, before the blackness devours all traces of sound, as well.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Blessed Be!
Hugsies,
xXx MissHaun†ed-MoonLigh† xXx

7 Deadly Sins - Kiss of Gratitude: Envy

mogwai13@live.co.uk — Tue, 01 Jan 2008 20:50:05 GMT

Title: Kiss of Gratitude
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: The Doctor/Martha Jones
Prompt: # 05 - Envy
Word Count: 760
Rating: PG-13
Summary: He sees her kiss Riley, a complete stranger, thanking him in her own little way for being there when things looked hopeless… and he can’t help but wish it’s him she’s thanking.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Doctor Who. Thank RTD and the BBC.
Author's Notes: No 5 in my 7 Deadly Sins Series. Spoilers for ‘Smith and Jones’ and ‘42’. This one ain’t much – It’s more of an introspective drabble, than anything else…

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Kiss of Gratitude

It’s all over.

At the cost of nye on an entire crew, the Sun’s rage is quelled and the S.S. Pentallian is stationary a safe distance away, no longer hurtling towards burning oblivion. And there are but two crew members left to make sure she remains that way.

Inclining his head to Scannell and Riley, he strokes the TARDIS affectionately for a moment, before vanishing inside without so much as a backward glance. Martha stays behind for a few moments, just as he’d known she would.

But he doesn’t need to watch them to know why she’d want to.

His smile slips away as he stops beside the Console, hands in his pockets as he gazes up at the Rotor without seeing it. The TARDIS hums and creaks around him, but he pays her no attention, distracted as he is by his keen senses.

They’re talking, he can tell without listening.

He can’t make out specific words, but the feeling he gets from the whispers he can unintentionally hear suggest a sense of… a sense of belief. They believe in each other…

Yes, Martha is surprised by that. He senses her delight at Riley’s belief in her, senses her pride for the crewman who she almost lost her life alongside as he finally admits to finding someone he can place his faith in…

As Martha thanks Riley before the two of them are forced to part forever, as he sees them in his mind’s eye smiling, and laughing, and kissing, he has to wonder just why he can’t feel pity for them. Why he doesn’t feel bad about separating them.

He tells himself it’s because Riley’s late crew members were responsible for the days’ unfortunate events - that they brought the near-disaster upon themselves, and that because Riley worked for them, he would have to share that guilt.

But that isn’t the real reason.

No, in reality, he envies the connection Martha and Riley have somehow discovered in the space of 42 minutes. 42 minutes!

A connection strong enough to warrant a parting kiss, it seems.

He understands.

That kiss is a kiss of gratitude. They almost died together in that escape pod, and emotions would have been high. He gets the feeling that Riley’s hopelessness had only been overcome by Martha’s refusal to give up hope. She must have helped him see reason. It was inevitable that they’d find some sort of connection during such a traumatic event.

And yet he can’t help but envy Riley’s power over her.

He wishes, as they part with a grin, Martha beaming at Riley as she stumbles backwards into the TARDIS, that it is him she is thanking for saving her life, that it is him she has saved a kiss of gratitude for…

But that is absurd… isn’t it?

He doesn’t want to feel like that, not again. Not after the last time.

Martha’s talking to him, but he doesn’t hear a word of it. Instead, he continues to stare resolutely at the Rotor, thoughts racing and emotions barely just beneath that level of unnatural control.

She kissed him…

She kissed Riley, a complete stranger…

Just like he kissed her back when they first met… He was a total stranger then, too. Up on the moon, running from space-police and hunting down a blood-thirsty cousin of the vampires… she kissed a stranger…

And he can’t deny that he loved it, even if the thrill only lasted seconds.

No, it isn’t fair of him to think like this. Riley was her friend, his friend. He helped them save the ship, helped them save the Sun, helped the Doctor keep Martha safe and sane when luck wasn’t on their side. No, he shouldn’t envy Riley, he should be thanking him!

All Martha gave him was a kiss, because that is her way of saying thank you.

Now, it’s his turn to say thank you to her.

Finally acknowledging her, forcing himself back into the moment and ridding his mind of thoughts he didn’t want to think about, he passes her the TARDIS key. Unbeknownst to Martha, he’s giving her a little part of his heart at the same time.

And though he won’t voice such thoughts aloud, he silently hopes that he need not envy Riley for taking Martha’s heart before he could share one of his own with her… And then turns to wondering if there would be coming an opportunity, sometime soon, when she might display her thanks upon him in the way that only Martha can thank somebody.

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7 Deadly Sins Table

7 Heavenly Virtues - Awakenings: Patience

mogwai13@live.co.uk — Tue, 01 Jan 2008 17:16:50 GMT

Title: Awakenings
Fandom: Abhorsen Trilogy
Characters: Lirael
Prompt: # 05 - Patience
Word Count: 710
Rating: G
Summary: On days like this, I wish for nothing more except the opportunity to weep for myself.
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Garth Nix and his publishers. I own nothing.
Author's Notes: No 5 in my 7 Heavenly Virtues Series.

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Awakenings

On days like this, I wish for nothing more except the opportunity to weep for myself.

But it is unladylike to weep in front of people, or so Aunt Kirrith delights in reminding me. And I must do as she says, because I have so much to make up for.

Nobody understands though, and that’s the hardest thing to live with. Nobody knows how difficult it is to sit through Awakening after Awakening - always in my blue tunic, sitting a head taller than the younger children around me who are yet to gain the Sight - while a Clayr who is practically half my age walks passed me in robes of crisp, pure white, minutes away from joining the others who sit at the ‘Seer’ tables… minutes away from celebrating the ceremony on a day that is dedicated to them… minutes away becoming a true Daughter of the Clayr…

I can’t even begin to describe just how much it hurts to be the outcast, the one who everyone looks and points at – the Sightless freak with the dark hair and dark eyes.

As I sit here, watching eight-year-old Amerelle glide by me, a bright, glowing smile on her face as she makes for the stage at the far end of the Hall, I have to forcibly will myself not to cry.

My eyes burn with the effort.

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The ceremony’s over, thank goodness.

Without a backwards glance, I dash from the Hall, avoiding the many sidelong glances sent my way at my apparent haste to depart.

I don’t even stop to wish Amerelle congratulations, which is most unlike me. Even despite my hatred of them all for getting the Sight before I could, I’ve still wished every single one of them well, to this day – I was brought up to be polite, and so was taught to cast aside my jealousy of their gift in favour of showing them kindness that, deep down, I did not feel.

Today, that lack of kindness got the better of me, and I didn’t speak a word to the newest Daughter all morning. Not one word.

And, even more unlike me, I don’t regret that one bit.

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I find myself sitting alone in my room, blue tunic thrown down unceremoniously onto the floor in front of my wardrobe…

Finally, the guilt’s blossomed.

I take back what I said before; I do regret it, now.

I realise with a start that I should have said something to Amerelle.

My patience has got me through thousands of Awakenings in the past (well, it feels like thousands, at any rate). I’ve always tried to be polite to them, always congratulated them knowing that some day, if it ever did become my turn, I would want every single one of them to congratulate me.

And now I’ve gone and blown it – my clean record is officially wrecked, and it seems patience is no longer a virtue I can honestly claim to possess.

Aunt Kirrith said it was unladylike to cry in front of people. So I didn’t.

But I’m not in front of people, anymore – I’m by myself, all alone.

She never said anything about it being unladylike to cry when nobody else can see me. So I do.

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I’ve made my mind up.

I’m going to go and find Amerelle myself and congratulate her in private, away from prying eyes and reproachful looks.

She’s only young, after all. I’m sure she’ll understand. She’ll know that I didn’t really mean to ignore her, and that I felt worthless, thanks to being the only Clayr my age still wearing Blue rather than White. I’m sure she’ll understand that attending Awakenings always upsets me – she is one of the few people who talks to me these days, so she knows my fears well enough to understand that.

Yes, I’m going to apologise, then I’m going to congratulate her, and then my record of politeness won’t be maimed anymore, and I can return to willing myself through the endless bombardment of Awakenings with sheer persistence.

I know that I must endure them, if I want my own Awakening to mean something.

All I need to do is be patient.

My day will come.

It has to…

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7 Heavenly Virtues Table

7 Deadly Sins - Not Like You: Sloth

mogwai13@live.co.uk — Mon, 31 Dec 2007 10:35:52 GMT

Title: Not Like You
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: The Doctor/Martha Jones
Prompt: # 04 - Sloth
Word Count: 1’365
Rating: G
Summary: After so many years of fighting, his energy is completely exhausted. Her manic hero isn’t so ‘manic’ anymore.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Doctor Who. Thank RTD and the BBC.
Author's Notes: No 4 in my 7 Deadly Sins Series. Non-Italics are Martha’s thoughts, and Italics are the Doctor’s.

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Not Like You

It’s worrying. I’ve never seen him like this before. And my lack of knowledge is making the situation seem so much more impossible to handle.

I think anybody who’s ever met the Doctor will agree that he hates stopping, absolutely despises doing nothing. He’s always got to be up and about, rushing around like a man possessed from one planet to the next, saving worlds and ending wars and curing diseases. Never stopping, never so much as pausing for breath. For him, there is no ‘seventh day of rest’ as God himself intended; there are always going to be people and planets in need of a saviour, and – being the martyr that he is – it is more often than not going to be down to him to save them.

I think that’s what attracted me to him in the first place – his open willingness to help everyone. And not just the people he likes, either. He even goes out of his way to try and make the bad guys gain as much of a good deal as they can under the circumstances. Granted, they only get ‘one chance’, and then whatever happens happens without him so much as batting an eyelash, but even so … they get one more chance out of him than I would have given them.

But putting aside my reasons for loving him for the moment, it’s customary to feel absolutely knackered after spending a day around him. More often than not, I’m having to beg him to let me have a break, because he’s just so used to doing something every second of the day. I think his motto has got to be something like ‘a second doing nothing is a second wasted’, or something. And he doesn’t half live by that!

I guess … what I’m trying to say – really badly, admittedly – is that … seeing him doing nothing is just … it’s not ‘Doctor’. And that’s what’s scaring me, more than anything. See? I’m so flustered by his unusual behaviour that I’m having trouble forming a coherent sentence …

Instead, I’m standing here, in the middle of the Console Room, watching as he … sits. He’s just sitting there, staring at the central column as though entranced by it. The TARDIS hums and clinks around me, distracting me from the complete silence that would be reigning supreme around us without her.

I tried asking earlier – asked him if we were going to be going anywhere exciting today, if he had anything else adventurous and extremely dangerous up his sleeves.

He said ‘no’.

And that was it.

No reasons, no explanations, no mindless chit-chat … just … nothing.

So I’m sure you can see why I’m ever so slightly concerned for him.

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I couldn’t even begin to tell you how tired I am.

I never thought I’d see the day when I couldn’t handle saving the Universe anymore. But it seems that day is upon me at last.

The problem is … I stopped. I stopped doing things, stopped running, stopped fighting. And now that I’ve stopped, I don’t think I can face trying to start all over again. I always knew, deep down, that this was going to happen – that I was going to run out of steam and lose grip on my urgency to help others. I guess I always knew that there would come a time when I would finally have to stop running. I suppose I’ve simply been putting off the inevitable.

I now that it’s happened … well, I wasn’t prepared for it, and now I can do nothing about it.

I see Martha, out of the corner of my eye, standing with her arms folded, just … staring at me.

She’s worried, but she has no need to be.

I’m not.

I always knew this would happen.

And now it has.

Oh well.

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This is getting quite irritating, I must confess.

Before, it was downright scary, but now? Now it’s gone so far beyond scary that he is annoying me, more than anything.

But … that isn’t fair, is it? It’s not his fault he’s tired …

Because that’s the problem. Oh, I know all too well what the problem is, alright.

And maybe the most annoying thing is my inability to help him. But because I can’t blame myself, I want to blame him for giving up, even though that’s the last thing I should be doing. As horrible as it seems, it’s easier for me to be annoyed with him than it is for me to admit that there is nothing I can do to pull him back …

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Tired.

So, so tired.

Tired of running. Tired of fighting. Tired of living.

Nine regenerations, ten versions of myself, nine-hundred years of endless torment …

It’s all just … just too much! I can’t take it anymore!

Why will the Universe not leave me alone ?! All I desire is a moment to myself, is that really too much to ask?

… …

Judging by the look on young Martha Jones’ face, I’d wager a bet on ‘yes’.

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Goodness … he blinked!

Dare I hope that he’s snapped out of it, then?

Whether I think I’m hoping or not, my heart-rate’s quickened considerably. Taking a tiny step towards him, a let a hopeful smile spread across my face as I watch him blink again, his left hand twitching ever so slightly in his lap, my anger and frustration no longer traceable as it is overwhelmed by sheer relief.

“Doctor?” I whisper, unable to disguise the anxiety as well as I’d hoped to.

As he turns to me, at last, hazel gaze focussed upon my face for what feels like the first time in a lifetime, I can’t contain a sigh of pure joy, nor can I quench the urge to run at him and grab him in a bone-crushing hug.

“Oh, Doctor, thank God! I knew you wouldn’t leave me, I just knew it!”

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I’m not entirely sure if I regret snapping out of it, now that she’s crushing my chest. I can’t hide from the fact that I’m no less exhausted now than I was when I thought I was at the end …

The end of it all …

Where has this strength come from? I thought I’d exhausted everything! It felt like I had, at any rate.

It must be down to Martha. Just like it was down to every other companion, at some point in the past.

They are the only constants in my life. If it weren’t for them, I would have given in centuries ago.

And yet here I am once again, saved by yet another wonderful, beautiful friend, and she – just like all the others – has no idea just how much she has helped me.

“I knew you wouldn’t leave me, I just knew it!”

No, Martha. I wouldn’t leave you. I couldn’t.

I can’t deny that I’m still tired, still fed up with fighting for the right thing when the wrong thing happens anyway.

But because she’s here, I can’t give up, not yet. It would break her heart.

So I’ll just have to wait until she goes – because she will. Oh, I know she’ll go in the end. Everybody does.

I don’t know if I’ll survive that, again, but at least then I’ll be able to give in – be able to give myself that long awaited ‘moment to myself’, when the Universe doesn’t need saving and my hearts can weep in peace.

… …

But is that really likely to happen? I’ll find somebody else, won’t I?

On and on it will go …

Endless, timeless. Never stopping, never resting.

A part of me wants to hope that I can finally rest when Martha leaves me, rest for the first time in years, but a larger part fears I won’t be able to pull myself back if there isn’t somebody else there to catch me …

And giving up is not who I am. Doing nothing is not in my nature.

I’ll leave that to the sloths of the Universe – they do it so remarkably well.

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7 Deadly Sins Table

Doctor Who (2007) - Cloud-Watch: Shapes

mogwai13@live.co.uk — Sun, 23 Dec 2007 19:12:52 GMT

Title: Cloud-Watch.
Fandom: Doctor Who (2007)
Characters: The Tenth Doctor & Martha Jones
Prompt: # 041 - Shapes
Word Count: 1’205
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Martha had never, in all her life, seen multi-coloured clouds before. Nor had she seen clouds with such unusual shapes … But, of course, there was a first time for everything.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Doctor Who. Thank RTD and the BBC.
Author's Notes: Set mid-series 3. No Spoilers. Not really a plot, just harmless, 10Martha fluffiness.

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“I’m not entirely sure what that is, Doctor,” Martha laughed, sparing him a furtive glance as her index finger absently tracing the outline of the large, fluffy-looking lilac cloud above her head. Smiling, the Doctor spared her a small glance before turning to the cloud that had caught her attention.

“Well …” he dragged out, licking his lips slightly as he crossed his arms behind his head and settled further into the azure-coloured grass beneath him. Smirking, he half-shrugged. “To me, it looks like a cross between a torxiphilian pedometer and a rubber duck.”

Martha rolled over slightly, propping herself up on one elbow, the better to stare at him with an eyebrow raised, her expression completely unreadable to the untrained eye. Lucky for him, his eyes were trained, exceptionally well, even if he did say so himself.

“Awhat?” she asked sceptically, half-wondering if she’d misheard him.

He grinned at her, lifting his own arm and reaching out an impossibly long digit to trace the same outline that she herself had sketched seconds ago.

“There, look. There’s a head, there. Head and beak and even a tiny hole where the eye would be, but if you look real close at the base of it, it’s kind of … well, roundish. Y’know. Circular. With a rectangle near the top - that’d be where numbers and letters are displayed on a torxiphilian pedometer.”

Martha rolled her eyes, a grin emerging on her face as she considered the boyish enthusiasm adorning his.

“Yeah, I didn’t mean you had to prove your point, Doctor,” she said before his detailed explanation could expand any further. “When I said ‘what’ I actually meant what the hell is a torxifilli…whatsit?”

The Doctor spared her a calculating look, before he let his arm drop and replaced it cushion-style behind his head, once again.

“A torxiphilian pedometer is a pedometer found on the planet torxiphalia, o’course. It’s kinda exactly what it says on the tin, see. Thought you might have been able to figure that out for yourself, Doctor Jones.” He raised a taunting eyebrow, eyes privately glittering with amusement as she glared at him.

She shrugged, mindlessly flicking an invisible speck of dust from the sleeve of her propped up arm, purposefully avoiding his gaze.

“Youdo know that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, don’t you, Doctor?” she asked amiably, smiling.

He smirked at her.

“Nah, it’s not, is it?” he asked in mock disbelief. “I’d never have guessed.”

She rolled her eyes, before dropping her elbow and sliding onto her back again, quietly chuckling to herself. “You really are quite impossible,” she told him, beaming from ear to ear. “I can honestly say that nobody in the entire Universe could ever hold a flame to you.”

He laughed softly to himself, sparing her a delighted glance before imitating her and considering the skies, again.

“See anything else you like?” he asked her after a moment’s silence.

She smirked.

“Aside from the purple sky, blue grass and multicoloured, randomly patterned fuzzy clouds?” she asked innocently.

He nodded, turning to her again, watching out of the corner of his eye as she glanced hurriedly at him before realising she was being watched. Blushing, she resolutely returned her eyes to the skies, again.

“Well, those three things in particular are still standing out in my mind, Doctor. I’d have to say that seeing such a stark contrast to a normal Earthly summer’s day is more than enough to keep my mind occupied. Give me too much to look at and my head might well explode.”

The Doctor feigned amazement.

“Wow, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Restraining another eye-roll with difficulty, she shook her head and grinned. Licking her lips in anticipation, she straightened up, noticing as she positioned herself cross-legged in front of him that his eyes were following her every movement. Internally beaming, she made certain her expression was neutral before fixing him with a questioning stare.

“Why did you bring me here, Doctor?” she asked, glancing around at the tranquil but incredibly alien landscape.

He shrugged half-heartedly, glancing at the sky again before letting his eyes fall to rest on her face.

“Just thought you might want a pit-stop from all the headless-chicken-style running about we’ve been doing, lately. It was a purely spontaneous landing, I assure you. I let the TARDIS choose for us, this time.”

She smiled warmly, glancing at the precariously parked blue police box silhouetted against the lilac sky not too far away. Standing tall amidst a sea of long, aquamarine-coloured rushes, its ‘square’ness seemed a little less obvious than usual. Despite it being such an unusual shape, the TARIS had blended exceptionally well with its surroundings. Quite like its owner, in fact, she mused as she turned in time to see him staring at her again. The Doctor, too, appeared to be feeling ‘at home’, as he alternated between watching the scenery and studying her …

“You know,” he murmured after a moment, eyes lingering a second longer than was necessary on her softly pouting lips, “the clouds aren’t the only things with beautiful shapes here.”

Martha felt a blush rise in her cheeks but tried to keep her face as neutrally impassive as possible.

Needless to say it was scarcely working.

Ignoring her racing heart, she shuffled ever so slightly closer, a small smile teasing the corners of her lips. “Oh really? What else is there worth looking at?” she asked curiously, feigning disinterest as she sneakily drank in his every feature. ‘Aside from you, Doctor,’ she mentally added, smirking at the thought.

When he was sure he had her complete and utter attention, he shuffled steadily closer and reached out a hand to hers, silently interlocking their fingers as he stared her dead in the eye. The silence dragged on for near on a minute before a smirk spread across his face and he pulled her unceremoniously to her feet.

“Hey, Doctor!” she yelled, startled as he began to tug her away through the rushes, the vivid ‘square’ness of the TARDIS vanishing from view. ‘I thought we were getting somewhere then,’ she silently whined, whilst letting a scowl flutter onto her face as she spotted his triumphant smirk. “You never answered my question!”

Glancing back at her over his shoulder, he winked and tugged her ever further through the undergrowth.

“What? Oh … You mean the one about other things being worth looking at?” he asked in mock-confusion.

At her pointed glance, he laughed softly and waved his free hand at the distant horizon, where the first signs of life were beginning to emerge in the early-morning, dewy light, from the little, oddly shaped village many miles away from them. “Why, the natives, of course! They’re even better looking than those mutli-coloured, multi-shaped clouds up there! Seriously, you’ll love‘em!”

Dragged along behind him, her expression one of total disbelief, Martha glanced skywards, contemplating the clouds, mutely wondering just how oblivious he really was. Or if he really had been about to say something romantic, back there.

Too bad for her, she knew the Doctor well enough to know that she was never going to find out the truth.

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Little Damn Table

7 Heavenly Virtues - None the Wiser: Chastity

mogwai13@live.co.uk — Sun, 09 Dec 2007 22:59:44 GMT

Title: None The Wiser
Fandom: Abhorsen Trilogy
Characters: Lirael, Sam
Prompt: # 04 - Chastity
Word Count: 2’640
Rating: R
Summary: Things were so much simpler before she knew who he was. Lirael/Sam.
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Garth Nix and his publishers. I own nothing.
Author's Notes: No 4 in my 7 Heavenly Virtues Series. Rated for scenes of sexual content. Implied incest, but only because the series says so …

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None the Wiser

Her face was growing hot just thinking about him. Running a trembling hand through her hair, Lirael bit down hard on her lower lip and continued to stare unseeingly out of the Tower window.

He was on her mind, yet again. No matter what she was doing or who she was with, her thoughts continuously strayed to the wayward Prince, robbing her of her breath until her desire was almost too painful to bear. Keeping herself ‘busy’ was a pointless endeavour. And even her duties as Abhorsen were not nearly distracting enough.

Lord, how she missed the old days. Things were so much simpler, back then. Back when it was just the two of them and Mogget and Dog, back when they travelled and had adventures, back when they were young, carefree and … and together.

He was her first friend. Her first real friend, at any rate. The Dog, bless her, was wonderful. Lirael loved her a great deal, and by all accounts she was the first friend Lirael had ever had … but … well, she wasn’t human, so Lirael wasn’t too sure whether she could really be counted as a proper friend or not.

ButSam … he was human. And he accepted her. Was amazed by her strength and apparent power. From the very first moment they’d laid eyes upon each other, Lirael had felt the sudden spark that flew between them. Her lack of knowledge at the time was now her biggest regret. If only she’d known, right back at the start, what it was that she was feeling for him. Maybe then they could have had at least a little bit more time together …

But now it was too late. Now, they both knew the truth. Now, she knew that she was his Aunt, and that any feelings she’d previously had for him were well and truly forbidden.

And that was the thing that hurt the most.

The knowledge that they could never be together.

And try as she might, she knew she would never be able to truly settle with anyone else.

Which is why she was sitting in silent darkness, staring out at the setting sun from her room in one of the highest towers of Belisaere Palace. Brooding on the things that could never be.

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Sam suppressed a shudder with difficulty and straightened up, dropping his tools back down onto the work bench before clambering ungraciously to his feet. The candle was burning low and his workshop was beginning to be eaten by the growing shadows as the sun set outside. Walking slowly over to the window, he bit back a gasp of surprise as he spotted a lone figure leaning against the window-sill of Lirael’s personal quarters.

Only one person would be in that room, and his heart began to pound erratically beneath his chest as he pictured her, every detail so sharp and clear within his mind despite his futile attempts to try and forget her.

Because they couldn’t. They were related, now. And there was nothing either of them could do to change that, no matter how much they both wished for the impossible …

Chewing on his bottom lip as he struggled to keep his body under his control, he ran a trembling hand through his hair and mutely argued with himself over what his next move should be.

Hesitating for a few seconds that seemed to drag on for hours, he finally made up his mind and shot out the door without a backward glance, the candle blowing out in silence as it swung shut behind him.

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The short, sharp knock on her door almost sent her jumping headfirst into the ceiling. Regaining her composure, albeit a little shakily, she hastily ran a hand over her face to dispel any tears that may have succeeded in their escape attempts and brushed a hand down her dress to smooth out the stray creases. Glancing up in mild curiosity, she willed her voice to sound stronger than she felt.

“Come in,” she called out politely, eyes determinedly fixed on the turning door knob.

Only for her to inhale sharply, eyes widening in disbelief as the door was gently pushed open to reveal the one person she didn’t think she could handle seeing, right at that particular moment in time.

Immediately turning away to stare resolutely out of the window, she willed her pulse to return to normal, an order that her body refused to obey as she heard the door click shut behind him.

‘Don’t look at him,’ she thought firmly, clenching her hands in her lap as her muscles tensed painfully. ‘Whatever you do, don’t look at him.’

It was all she could do to force herself to follow her own advice, refusing point blank to turn away from the window, even well after the orange glow of the setting sun had stained the distant horizon a silky, royal red.

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The silence between them was an uncomfortable one.

Sam could sense her unease as she purposefully avoided his gaze. He watched in silent amazement as the first tendrils of a fresh evening wind began to tease her rich, loose-hanging locks, exposing the pale skin of her neck whenever a particularly strong gust ran true through the wide-open window.

Licking his dry lips in unconscious anticipation, he closed his eyes in restraint and shook his head to try and clear his thoughts, suddenly all too unsure about what to do. His plan had been a simple one; knock on her door without running away before she could answer. Well, he’d done that, and here he was for his efforts – standing closer to her now than he had since their return to Belisaere all those months before.

But he hadn’t planned just what he was going to do after that.

And his body seemed to have acquired a fair few ideas of its own as he stood immobile just in front of the door, watching in entranced admiration as her slender fingers clenched and unclenched on top of the silken snow-white gown clinging delicately to her perfect figure.

In his mind, he knew he had to say something, but it seemed that her beauty had succeeded yet again in robbing him of his voice.

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Ignoring the chill of the evening air as it whipped at her face, Lirael shuffled restlessly on the window seat and tried to still her hands. Why had he not spoken, yet? Why was he watching her? Oh, she knew he was watching her; she could feel his eyes burning through the back of her head and was more than a little irritated by his persistent stare.

Or was she?

A part of her relished the attention, if she was to be truly honest with herself. And she could feel her own body responding to the silent but apparent plea of his own – he wanted her, she knew that all too well. He wanted her as much as she wanted him …

Finally unable to take the prolonged and uncomfortable silence that was stretching out between them, she wrapped her arms around her shoulders in an unconscious attempt to protect herself from the cold and blinked, licking her lips.

“Did you want something, Sameth?” she asked softly but curtly, inwardly cringing at the use of his full name. By calling him that, she was reminding herself as well as him that she was his Aunt, that she had authority over him, that nothing more could happen between them …

Too bad it wasn’t working to convince either of them.

“Yes,” was all he said, before she finally turned around in time to see him approaching her, one foot resolutely pushing in front of the other as he crossed her room, fingers of his left hand absently trailing over her bed railing before falling to his side as they reached the end. His eyes locked with hers and she suppressed a silent shudder of delight, suddenly lost within their seemingly timeless depths.

Her head was telling her that nothing good could possibly come of this.

Her heart couldn’t have cared less.

As he stopped so close to her that she could feel his breath ghosting across her cheek, as he reached a hand out to hers and gently tugged her to her feet, as he leaned in and whispered the one word that made her knees go weak, she cursed the day she’d learned of her relation to the one man whom she loved with all her heart.

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‘Did you want something, Sameth?’

Oh, did he ever.

She was trying to remind him of the complications. A tiny, nagging part of his mind almost wanted to turn and run as she said it. But he stood his ground, refusing to buckle, now that he was so close.

This was it. He was finally going to say it.

“Yes,” he replied quietly.

To Hell with the Charter, to Hell with rules and regulations, to Hell with the ‘relation’ complication. He simply didn’t care, anymore.

He didn’t know what was going to happen, what the consequences would be. He didn’t know where their relationship would go from this point on, whether they would simply forget about this moment and let things return to normal, or whether things would change for the better. Or for the worse.

He didn’t know what his parents would say if they ever got wind of what he was doing, nor did he know how Ellimere would respond to hearing about his outburst and to whom he’d revealed his innermost feelings.

But he did know that he could no longer keep them to himself.

‘Did you want something, Sameth?’

Steeling himself and making damn sure that he was staring her dead in the eye, gaze one of open sincerity and the utmost love, he inhaled a calming breath, squeezed her hand and, in a soft but determined voice, gently whispered, “you.”

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‘You.’

The word echoed around her head, leaving her breathless, confused and aching with a desire so strong that her teeth ached.

He wanted her.

Of course, she’d already known that, had known it for a while, in fact.

But hearing him say it, hearing him admit it straight to her face …

The world around them was suddenly insignificant. If only for a few moments, there was only the two of them, hands entwined and gazes locked, the breeze flying in through the window sending the skirt of her dress billowing around her ankles, teasingly licking at his heels as he closed the gap between them.

His face inclined painstakingly slowly, his lips parted and his face flushed with excitement. Lirael could feel something pressing into her midriff and immediately felt the excitement building in her lower abdomen - that aching need to touch him, to taste him returning with a vengeance.

Before either of them could think of anything else to say that might possibly spoil the moment, Lirael straightened up higher and closed the gap between them herself, pressing her lips tentatively onto his, testing the boundaries. When she felt him smile against her, she suppressed a tiny giggle and strengthened it, nibbling ever so gently on his lower lip, mutely asking for permission which he readily gave her.

Slipping her tongue into his mouth, she wrapped her arms around his neck as he wrapped his own around her waist, drawing her closer to him as he hungrily deepened the kiss, his member straining painfully hard against its confinements as he let his fingers slide up and down her spine. He felt her shiver in delight and couldn’t contain a tiny groan of pleasure as she let her own fingers glide teasingly over the hairs at the back of his neck.

“Sam,” he felt her whisper against his mouth as she slowly pulled away, her tones huskier than usual and her eyes alight with a desire that he knew was mirrored in his own. Gasping for breath, he relinquished his grip on her waist and let the palms of his hands rest against her hips, simply drinking in every tiny quirk that made her ‘Lirael’ ...

But then he noticed the internal struggle waging a silent war deep within her bottomless orbs, and he knew there and then that there would be no persuading her.

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“Sam, wait,” she murmured, stilling her racing heart as common sense finally caught up with her. Biting her lip, she shook her head, crystalline tears welling in her eyes as she noticed the look of horrified resignation adorning his handsome features.

With a heavy sigh, he half-nodded and dropped his gaze, letting his hands fall to his sides.

“I know,” he whispered back, voice hoarse and expression unreadable. “I know we can’t.”

She paused for a few seconds, just looking at him, drinking in for what could well have been the last time the person she knew she could have been eternally happy with. How she dearly wished she could give in to her desires, give herself up to him …

But she couldn’t.

Her own chastity simply would not allow that.

And she found it even harder to say what they both knew she had to say, because he seemed to have accepted it without her speaking a word. Suppressing a sob with difficulty, she swallowed her self-hatred, swallowed her disgust that she was giving up a chance for happiness simply because of a familial technicality …

“I’m sorry, Sam,” she tried, but he shook his head, lifting his index finger and gently resting it against her lips before she could say another word.

“I know,” he repeated, feigning nonchalance, while they both knew he dearly wished for there to be another way.

She didn’t know how to say what she needed to, and he didn’t need to hear it, anyway.

Shaking her head again, she let her forehead fall against his chest, drawing him in for a bone-crushing hug, mentally wishing that the moment could last forever.

Too soon for either of their liking, she pulled back with noticeable reluctance and he let his arms drop to his sides once again, turning away to avoid her apologetic gaze.

“I’m sorry,” they said in unison, looking up simultaneously and half-laughing at just how similar they really were … before realising that that was making this even harder.

With a mutual but silent agreement, they pulled away, Lirael dropping heavily back down onto the window seat while Sam turned towards the door, once again.

Ignoring the icy sting of the now bitter evening wind, Lirael wiped hastily at her leaking eyes and returned to staring mock-raptly at the blackened horizon, unable to contain a wince as the door swung closed with a soft click a few seconds later. Shaking her head and wrapping her arms protectively around her chest, she willed her heart to remain in one piece, as she silently wept for the future that she could never have.

Would that they were still living the lie of months gone by. Back when they knew nothing of their familial connection, back when their relationship had no boundaries, no barriers. Back when they were none the wiser about who the other actually was.

She watched with an aching heart as the light returned in Sam’s workshop across the courtyard from her room, watched as his shadow momentarily blocked out the warm, friendly glow of the candles on his desk.

And while she silently yearned for his warm embrace, ached for him to hide her from the horrors of reality, the guilt buried deep within her chest was, if only for a few moments, briefly silenced.

They were doing the right thing.

But that didn’t make her desire for the ‘wrong’ thing any easier to quench.

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7 Heavenly Virtues Table

7 Heavenly Virtues - Temptation: Abstinence

mogwai13@live.co.uk — Tue, 20 Nov 2007 11:56:20 GMT

Title: Temptation
Fandom: Abhorsen Trilogy
Characters: Lirael
Prompt: # 03 - Abstinence
Word Count: 650
Rating: G
Summary: She’d gone and done it again. She’d walked passed the door. And the temptation to enter was almost too much for her to bear.
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Garth Nix and his publishers. I own nothing.
Author's Notes: No 3 in my 7 Heavenly Virtues Series.

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Temptation

She’d gone and done it again.

She’d walked passed the door. The door that looked so inviting, so tempting, so … exciting.

There was something about it that she loved, something she just couldn’t put her finger on. Her desire to peek beyond its rich oak front, her need to see passed the gleaming silver doorknob and the sparkling griffon-shaped knocker, her desperation to step over the threshold and expose its inner secrets to the world for the first time in eight centuries was so great that it was making her teeth itch.

Standing stock-still in front of it, her eyes locked unblinkingly onto a knot in the wood just above the knocker, she suppressed a shiver of excitement and tentatively reached a hand up to run her fingers smoothly down the panel. With a nervous glance in both directions, checking that the freezing stone corridor was, in fact, deserted, she took a step closer and let a tiny smile slide onto her lips as she pressed her hand against it.

The library was quieter than ever.

Another meeting involving the full Nine-Day Watch was underway, so nearly every Librarian had left to attend. Not remotely interested, Lirael had grabbed another stack of books and left the main entrance in a hurry, dashing through corridors and down spiral staircases towards where she’d thought was the correct section.

But unfortunately for her, she’d not been paying attention to where her feet were actually taking her, ending up instead in the corridor that appeared to have been calling out to her for weeks, now.

She always ended up being here by accident … but was it possible that destiny had actually played a part in introducing her to the immaculate doorway to an unknown realm?

She knew not.

All she did know was that she was sick of walking away from it, when the door quite obviously wanted her to enter it. So today was going to be the day.

… …

Or not.

No sooner had she gripped the handle, steeling herself to push it downwards, than a memory of the Stilken in the ‘Day and Night’ room penetrated her thoughts, accompanied by the fear clawing at her racing heart as she recalled the impossibly sharp talons stretching out through the wrought iron gate towards her.

Pulling back as though burned, she breathed in sharply and bit her lip, heart thumping wildly as she stared half-wistfully, half-terrified at the gleaming silver knocker.

‘This isn’t the same room,’ she tried to convince herself. ‘It’s a different door. It’s a different chamber. It’s a new adventure!’

… …

But what if it wasn’t?

Blinking and tearing her eyes away, she shook her head forcefully and bent down to collect the books she’d deposited to the floor upon realising where she was. Determinedly avoiding glancing at the door again, she set off back down the corridor, her footsteps echoing around her as she grit her teeth and tried to ignore the sense of complete disappointment that was welling in her chest.

But just before she could be sure that she was completely out of sight of the doorway, she turned back one last time, stopping in her tracks and staring at it intently, a sense of hope flying her way from its direction – almost as though it could sense her desire to uncover its contents. It wanted her to enter … could she really ignore its cry? Could she really ignore her curiosity?

…

‘Yes,’ she told herself firmly, turning away and marching out of the corridor without a backwards glance. ‘You must have a tiny amount of abstinence hidden somewhere deep down, Lirael. It’s high time you learned to exercise it!’

Letting the gateway to the stone corridor swing shut of its own accord behind her, Lirael never heard the little broken whimper of sadness emerge from beyond the strangely inviting oak door.

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7 Heavenly Virtues Table

7 Deadly Sins - Too Late: Wrath

mogwai13@live.co.uk — Tue, 13 Nov 2007 18:52:11 GMT

Title: Too Late
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: The Doctor/Martha Jones
Prompt: # 03 - Wrath
Word Count: 2'330
Rating: R
Summary: His apology came too late. Her patience was all but spent. The Powers That Be felt she deserved a chance to show him that ignorance must never go unpunished. Very AU. We’re talking ‘hints of an evil Martha’ AU, too …
Disclaimer: I don’t own Doctor Who. Thank RTD and the BBC.
Author's Notes: No 3 in my 7 Deadly Sins Series. Set after ‘Family of Blood’. Rating for language … This is a bit different to how I normally write, so let’s just see where the wind takes me … fingers crossed it isn't too much of a disaster ...

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Too Late

“I’m sorry, Martha,” he murmured finally, watching her almost warily as she stood with her back to him, staring mutely out over the wide expanse of open water ahead of her.

She held her tongue, expression completely devoid of emotion as she curled her toes into the cold, wet sand and wrapped two shivering arms around her chest in a vain attempt to procure warmth.

His apology meant nothing.

They were words, that was all. Empty words.

And the only words that seemed to mean anything at all to her were the ones that had caused her entire being to become totally and utterly numb.

“This is … well, it translates as Bad Wolf Bay … and it’s the last place I ever saw her.”

No. She didn’t want to know, he knew that much, but it was too late to take the words back. He’d already said them. And she couldn’t simply pretend he hadn’t because the words were echoing around her head with a vengeance, leaving her too unfeeling to try and stop them, too unfeeling to do anything

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, a greater sense of urgency leaking into his voice this time. He stared at her sadly, noting the tremors that were overcoming her stubborn stance, and took an anxious step closer, silently willing for her to understand his motives. “I just … you wanted to know what I was thinking about, and I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t find words enough to describe it. So I thought … maybe showing you instead … well, you might have understood better.”

Martha shrugged apathetically, eyes still resolutely focussed upon the lapping waves before her.

“You ignored me for so long,” she whispered finally, words almost carried away on the wind, “that I thought I’d done something wrong. I thought I’d broken your trust, broken our friendship, when I asked it of you before. But all that time … all that time you were avoiding me, you were just thinking about her!”

The Doctor shook his head so hard his neck cracked. Rubbing it absently, he reached out a hand to her, but then decided against it and let it fall to his side again.

“Martha, you know that’s not true,” he said sharply, astounded that she was taking the situation so personally. He’d brought her here hoping she’d understand, hoping to show her why he wasn’t quite himself these days, and yet all it had done was apparently clarify in her mind that he thought more highly of her predecessor than he did of her.

“Isn’t it?”

She rounded on him at last, her eyes glistening with tears that she simply refused to let fall. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She wouldn’t be weak. She couldn’t. Curling her hands into fists, she brushed angrily at her fringe and couldn’t bite back a dark little laugh as she spotted the hurt in his eyes. “You ignore me for a week, barricading yourself in your room and completely neglecting not just me, but the TARDIS, too. You don’t show your face again, not once – I don’t see you for a week, damnit, - and when you finally do resurface, the first place you run to is the one place that connects you and Rose Tyler! So explain it to me, Doctor, please, because I’m trying so hard to understand, here.”

He could sense her anger growing by the second, see it inching ever closer to its boundaries, prepared to fall full-pelt over that metaphorical waterfall. But he couldn’t deny that she had reasons to feel neglected, reasons to feel incredibly pissed off with him. But what she didn't understand was that he’d been so confused, his thoughts so mixed up ever since she’d asked about Rose a week prior. And it worried him … no, it terrified him that every time he saw her after their discussion about Rose Tyler, every time he looked at her, he was seeing somebody else.

Yes, he’d been avoiding her, but only to avoid seeing Rose again. He couldn’t understand it himself, how Martha was slowly but surely worming her way into his hearts, into a place that he thought had died when Rose ‘died’. Yet she was accomplishing the impossible … or at least she had been until she’d taken this visit the wrong way. Rose and Martha … it was all so confusing! Feelings he’d thought belonged to Rose and Rose alone were suddenly sprouting for Martha … and it was terrifying, just how similar those feelings actually were. Seeing Rose in her had helped him to make sense of it all– he felt more comfortable associating such feelings with Rose, which was probably why every time he saw Martha, he saw that little bit of Rose, at the same time …

Even in his own head the excuse was ridiculously lame. It was so hard to make sense of that he thought it pointless to try and argue his point to Martha. She wouldn’t have listened, anyway.

He’d thought she’d understand why he found it so hard to talk about Rose if she could experience the kinds of feelings associated with her, and what better place to show Martha that than the last place they’d been together? In a way, he’d also hoped that seeing Bad Wolf Bay again might have helped him to move on properly, so he could focus more on the companion of the present, rather than the companions of the past … but no. Martha hadn’t seen those motives.

And now, it seemed, blind jealousy was clouding her judgement. Blind jealousy … that bitch was going to ruin everything for him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Shaking his head and dropping his gaze to inspect the infinitesimal specks of sand beneath his feet, he sighed heavily and tried to ignore the penetrating glare that was burning a hole into his skull.

But that was the wrong move to make, and again, he’d gone and realised it too late.

“You’re doin’ it again …” she whispered darkly, eyes narrowed slits now. “You’re ignoring me again.”

Blinking quickly, he glanced up and shook his head.

“No, no I’m not, I just can’t answer your question. I don’t know what to say. I’ve tried to explain why I brought you here but you don’t want to listen.”

“So it’s my fault, now,” she stated bluntly, folding her arms across her chest, a dark scowl on her face that the Doctor never wanted to see there again. It was so cold, so cruel, so … inhuman …

And so were the glowing ruby-red eyes.

“I’m sorry, Doctor,” she said at last, voice eerily calm now as she stared him down, the intensity of her blood-red irises leaving scarlet imprints on his vision. “I’m sorry it’s come to this. But it’s your own fault, and I think you understand that.”

Bewildered, he took an anxious step backwards as she raised her arms into the air, palms outstretched and expression one of composed determination.

“What is it?” he asked when he finally found his voice, eyes wide and hearts racing as he stared at her in complete confusion. Why had everything spiralled so far out of control in such a short space of time? Why were they even having this argument ?! … And what the Hell was she doing ?!

Suddenly he wished he’d never asked.

He’d always believed in the impossible – had revelled in it, had loved conquering it and had relished the feelings of achievement and accomplishment that accompanied proving people wrong.

But at that moment, he’d never been more of a believer in his entire life. In any of them, in fact.

Clouds above his head were gathering, swirling angrily as blacks and greys mingled with the white fluffy ones that had been there before, consuming the calmness and devouring the softness, leaving nothing but a blanket of darkness to fall over the entire bay. The waters beside them were churning with renewed vigour, waves rearing high up before powerfully crashing back down onto the sand. That itself was blowing about around them, a typhoon, almost, careering around the Doctor and Martha cyclone-style even as he watched.

But the look in her eyes soon grabbed his attention again. Never mind the unnatural weather patterns – it was the darkness that appeared to have fallen over her soul that was worrying him the most.

And that worry turned to downright fear as she finally dropped her arms, scarlet gaze boring unblinkingly into his. Her expression vacant and unforgiving, she smiled an eerie, unnatural smile, then flicked her wrists almost absent-mindedly in his direction, one eyebrow raising expectantly.

“Mother Nature agrees, Doctor,” she called out over the din of the rising winds and the roaring sea and the pounding rain, - her voice almost robotic - as the subtle movement of her hands sent sand, rain and half of what had been a previously calm ocean flying straight for him. Turning to her, staring helplessly at her as she smiled that unsympathetic,’ un-Martha’ish smile, she was the last thing he saw, and hers were the last words he heard, before the roar and power of the onslaught overwhelmed him.

“Mother Nature agrees that ignorance must never go unpunished.”

------------------------

For a few frantic seconds as he bolted upright, the Doctor could almost feel the icy spray freezing his skin as the waves completely swallowed him. He felt the sand tearing into exposed flesh and tasted the saltiness of the rain upon his tongue. After a few moments, common sense took over and everything was calm, once again.

But the darkness in her eyes, the shadow upon her face … they were a different matter entirely. They’d been burned into his vision, a look so …so wrong, so out of place on her usually interested, excited features that he knew it would be imprinted in his mind for the rest of his life.

Panting a little, he ran a hand anxiously over his face and swung his legs around, jumping shakily from the Captain’s chair and landing unsteadily, having to lean against the Console to keep himself upright.

That … dream ?! Was it a dream? Whatever it was, he’d never been so afraid in his life. Running a hand through his hair in distress, he shook his head like a dog would to rid its ears of water and straightened up, heart-rates slowly but surely returning to normal.

“A dream,” he murmured to himself, hardly daring to believe it, the phrase tentatively leaving his lips as though afraid even whispering the words would somehow make it become reality. “Of course it was. Martha doesn’t have supernatural powers, and you promised yourself you’d never set foot on that beach again as long as you lived.”

Reasoning.

He loved it. His ability to reason with himself had saved him a great deal of heart-ache in the past, and here it was again, convincing him that he wasn’t losing his marbles.

Gradually regaining his composure, he shrugged away the last of his worries just in time to hear steady footsteps growing louder and louder as Martha approached from beyond the TARDIS’ internal door.

Plastering a convincing look of total serenity onto his face, he smiled warmly, shook his head one last time and tried to remind himself that Martha Jones did not have red eyes and could not manipulate the elements.

Nevertheless, a flash of the 'dream-Martha' seemed to leak into his mind as she finally stepped over the threshold and strode anxiously towards him, expression one of mild concern and curiosity.

Wearing the same outfit he’d seen her wearing at Bad Wolf Bay … hair pulled back into a tight, neat pony-tail, a worn-looking pair of faded jeans clinging to her curved hips so perfectly that they appeared to have moulded to her skin, an ebony-coloured shirt buttoned to a point where the tiniest amount was made visible at the bust …

His breath caught in his throat, and a cold chill danced playfully down his spine as she perched herself precariously on the edge of the Captain’s chair, her dark eyes wide and curious as she stared at him expectantly, a frown just skimming across her lips, as though she was daring herself to say something but was worried about how he would take it.

“Doctor,” she started, avoiding his gaze. She paused, and his hearts appeared to have worked themselves into a nervous frenzy. Trying to pretend that they weren’t beating a thousand beats a second beneath his rib cage, he waited for her to continue, leaning against the railing and staring at her intently, silently willing her to not say what he thought was about to come. “ … I was just wondering if … if I could ask you something.”

‘Don't say it, don't say it don't say it!’ he thought anxiously, unconsciously biting his lip and turning away, eyes jammed tight shut as he clenched his fists in his pockets.

She paused, the words on the tip of her tongue but her mind trying to keep them from escaping. After a few furious seconds of internal battling, she shrugged to herself. ‘Ahh, what the Hell,’ she thought, her curiosity winning out over her anxiety about the consequences she could probably expect from this. Sucking in a deep breath, she turned to stare at the column as it rose and fell, humming melodically in the background.

“I was wondering if you'd tell me about … Rose Tyler …”

The Doctor turned to her, arms hanging limply by his sides and a flash of those gleaming, evil red-eyes momentarily consuming his vision. He noticed her sitting there, avoiding his gaze, her question obviously innocent enough in her mind ... And only one thought came to mind as the words reverberated around his head, again and again and again.

‘Oh, dear. You said it.’

OoOoOoOoOoO

7 Deadly Sins Table

Doctor Who (2007) - Black And White: Dark

mogwai13@live.co.uk — Tue, 13 Nov 2007 16:05:50 GMT

Title: Black And White
Fandom: Doctor Who (2007)
Characters: The Tenth Doctor
Prompt: # 074 - Dark
Word Count: 3’085
Rating: T
Summary: There’s a darkness aboard the TARDIS, something that shouldn’t be there. But unfortunately for the Doctor, extracting it will be a tad harder than he first thought. How do you extract darkness when it’s part of who you are?
Disclaimer: I don’t own Doctor Who. Thank RTD and the BBC.
Author's Notes: Set post-LotTL, so spoilers ahoy! AU (Let’s pretend the whole ‘Titanic crashes into side of TARDIS’ thing never happened …) Two-parter ... or there abouts ... (grins)

OoOoOoOoOoO

There’s a darkness, here.

I can feel it. I can sense it.

Something deep, something hidden. Shrouded in a veil of secrecy and coated by years’ worth of accumulated lies and false promises, it follows me, watching me from the shadows, waiting for the moment when I slip up, when it can finally unleash its evil and drag me down with it.

I can sense it.

But I can’t see it.

I begin to wonder if it’s not just tiredness and overwork screwing with my brain. If it’s not just the fact that I’m still trying to get used to being alone again that’s making me paranoid …

And as soon as I think that thought, the darkness vanishes.

Maybe it’s all in my head …

---------------------------------------------------------

I can’t ignore the fact that I hate this. The TARDIS, bless her, tries to provide comfort, and for the most part she succeeds. I don’t know what I’d do without her – I certainly wouldn’t have lasted all these centuries had she not been here to keep me sane. Well … sane-ish, anyway.

But even so, the loneliness is becoming more and more overbearing, the more people I lose.

And I know, I know for a fact, that as the loneliness grows, so too does the darkness inside me.

At first, I was naive enough to believe it was a physical manifestation. Y’know, a living thing. I mean, sensing things is what I do best, even if I do say so myself. My sense of imbalance is profoundly acknowledged – I can almost always tell when something isn’t right.

And I figured that, like every other time such an imbalance occurs, my unrest was being created by some nameless, faceless evil creature inside the TARDIS, bent on conquering some nameless, faceless planet or other in a vain attempt to secure personal glory and self satisfaction.

Wait, though …

Oh dear … nameless, faceless planet … that’s not like me. That’s not like me at all.

You see? My naivety made me search the TARDIS from top to bottom, from left to right and all of the diagonals in between, searching for something that could be responsible for the darkness I felt … but all the time, I was directly on top of my unease.

Because it’s me. The darkness that’s causing my teeth to ache so badly I want to pull them out, causing my skin to bristle constantly, causing the hairs on my arms to stand on end … it’s all coming from me.

Nothing in any Universe can ever be called nameless or faceless (well, unless the Wire is involved, in which case ‘faceless’ would pretty much fit the bill), and yet through my tiredness of fighting, through my reluctance to face the Universe alone again, I’m growing cold. I’m becoming reluctant to see the wonders of the worlds and blurt names out to innocent bystanders in a grand show of impeccable knowledge.

And I can no longer clearly distinguish the differences between good and evil. The barrier between the two is blurring.

Things aren’t black and white, anymore.

They never were, but I was too caught up in my need to travel and marvel and astound to notice. I praised myself on being one of a select minority who could always see the bigger picture but … really, I’ve been completely ignoring it for all these years.

The races I’ve wiped out, the planets I’ve destroyed, the homes I’ve demolished, the lives I’ve taken away … how many of them really deserved it?

Not even half of them.

So many innocents have been caught in the crossfire. And even those who were reverently evil … well, they’ll have had families and lives. They’ll have had some ‘good’ within them at some point. They may even have been acting on what they thought was best, on what their culture thought was the ‘right thing’.

I’ve run in headfirst, all guns blazing, reputation as being a Universal ‘cleanser’ plastered in big letters across my chest and the fate of an entire planet (usually Earth, for some reason) on my shoulders. And I haven’t even stopped to contemplate just how much right I really have to do it. How much right I have to kill one species in an attempt to protect another …

But I’m contemplating, now. Being alone in the Universe means I’ve got a lot of time to contemplate, and in fear of losing what’s left of my somewhat shaky sanity, contemplation’s about the only thing I can do.

Too bad it’s only serving to make things much, much worse.

As the realization that I don’t really have any right to play ‘God’ with the Universe finally hits home, the darkness continues to grow inside me.

And all I can think is that it’s penance for the trouble I’ve caused over the centuries, retribution for the deaths I’ve dished out and the lives I’ve torn to shreds.

The darkness grows inside me.

But I accept it.

I deserve it.

---------------------------------------------------------

Hmm, I stand corrected.

Isaid it wasn’t a physical manifestation, didn’t I? Yup, that’s exactly what I said.

Now I wish I’d kept my mouth clamped shut.

Standing here, staring up at the central column in nothing short of annoyance, I can no longer ignore the swirling black tendrils that are slowly coiling themselves around the support beams above it, inching closer and closer towards the walls on all sides.

I foresee that in approximately twenty-two and a half minutes, the ceiling will be completely covered.

And that is so not good.

Being the, pardon my language, ‘smart ass’ that everybody seems to think I am, I’ve just realised that I know what it is and how I have to get rid of it.

But that knowledge isn’t really going to do me much good.

I ‘bless’ed the TARDIS earlier on, didn’t I?

I take it back. She’s being mean, again.

I think she thinks that if my ‘darkness’ is a living thing, I’ll be able to tackle it like I do any other alien threat I find myself up against on a daily basis. And because she has so much faith in me, she believes that I’ll conquer it before it can completely consume her. I think I should be happy about that – she trusts me implicitly, see.

But the snag in her little plan is that to conquer that living darkness, I have to conquer the darkness inside me, and there’s absolutely no way I can do that without taking away a part of myself – something I swore I would never do, no matter how hard things get. I can’t take away my pain, no matter how much it hurts, because emotions and past experiences are what make us who we are. And to get rid of the darkness, I’d have to get rid of the things that have caused it – my memories of the people I’ve lost, the places I’ve destroyed, and the creatures I’ve annihilated.

And I simply can’t do that.

Glancing sky-wards, I have to admit that my ‘twenty-two and a half minutes’ prediction is a little too generous. Perhaps I should have said fifteen.

Great. In fifteen minutes’ time, the TARDIS is going to be little more than an amalgam of my internal darkness, forever lost to a blackness that I myself have brought on. And there’s absolutely nothing I can do to stop it.

I think we’re doomed, old girl.

OoOoOoOoOoO

I wonder what death feels like.

I mean … y’know, true death, not regeneration. Will it be quick? Will it painless? Will there be the predicted endless tunnel of light, lined by loved ones, a tunnel of light so warm and inviting that you simply can’t wait to follow it?

Yes, I know. ‘You’re being morbid’, I hear you cry. But what else is a guy to do when he’s inadvertently doomed not only himself but his best friend in the whole Universe, too? I should probably be blaming the TARDIS for this sticky situation, but I just can’t. She’s my responsibility – which automatically makes it my fault, anyway, - and I know that she was only trying to help me. And that means more to me than I can ever say.

But regardless of whether I forgive her or not, there’s still that tiny, little problem involving almost-certain death on our parts …

Any ideas? Anyone? … No?

I thought not.

---------------------------------------------------------

I think we’re down to ten minutes and eleven seconds, now. Make that nine seconds. Eight … seven … six … five …

Oh, what the Hell am I doing ?!

This isn’t me! I don’t give up at the first hurdle! Never have, never will! I think it’s time for a bit of motivational speaking, something that I’m usually quite good at. Admittedly, this isn’t the time for, pardon the crude imagery, blowing my own trumpet … heh, classic ‘Human’, that … but what the hey? It’s making me feel better, knowing I haven’t completely lost it. Yet.

If, indeed, I ever had it, o’course …

But I’m sliding off track again, and the existence of my marbles is neither here nor there. My apologies. My mind’s too complex for even me to follow, sometimes.

So, where was I, again? Oh, that’s right – motivational speaking.

Let’s start with the classic, ‘you can do it!’ phrase. That usually helps. Or perhaps, ‘nothing’s impossible!’, or my personal favourite, ‘there’s no such thing as ‘can’t!’.

… …

I think I’ve been hanging around on Earth for far too long.

---------------------------------------------------------

But ... oh dear. When I said I wanted motivational speaking, I was kinda hoping I could skip the ‘recollecting’ that usually comes along with it. But no. I hadto go and say it, didn’t I? ‘I’ve been hanging around on Earth for far too long!’ Why did I have to say that? Now I’m thinking again. And that’s so way beyond not good.

Earth …

Rose …

Martha …

Jack …

Rassilon, I miss ‘em.

I’ve been so caught up in my self-berating that I’ve forgotten what upset me in the first place. Forgotten what really matters.

And the fact of the matter is … I miss them. I miss the company. I miss the joy and wonder each new companion brings into the TARDIS with them, making every single new discovery as remarkable as they were the first time I myself discovered them.

I just miss them, I guess. Miss everything about them.

Things are so quiet, now. And I don’t just mean aboard the TARDIS. I mean for me, as well. Everything’s too … too slow, too safe, too quiet without them around. And I don’t like it, I really, really don’t like it.

But what can I do? Jack’s got his responsibilities and I could never ask him to abandon his team, his friends. Heh, never thought I’d see the day when Captain Jack Harkness, ultimate flirt of the Universe actually decided to ‘settle down’ and play the devoted hero. Living a day-to-day life just seems so … so not Jack. But he’s doing a terrific job, I’ll grant him that, and I s’pose that’s all I can really ask of him, in the end.

Then there’s Martha. Dear girl. I’m completely amazed by her. She can read me in ways that are so foreign, see things that even I myself am blind to. And a sharper, young mind would you scarcely find anywhere else. But she, too, has her responsibilities, hers revolving more around a personal goal to become the best at what she loves, rather than to save the Universe. Though, of course, she kind of is saving the Universe anyway, in her own little way. It’s hard to be a Doctor, and she understood that, I think. She was right to get out when she did, and I can only love her more for having the common sense to do what was best for her.

And then that just leaves ...

Well, I don’t know what to say, to be honest. I just don’t have the foggiest. I can think of nothing, no word or phrase in the ultimate ‘Universal’ dictionary, in any existing language that could possibly even come close to describing her. She was Rose. That was it. Everything about her was so ‘Rose’. And I’m never going to see her again. Never going to have a chance to say the things that I couldn’t but should have said.

That thought hurts so much more than I could ever describe, but I think the TARDIS understands. She’s humming and buzzing and blinking and winking away around me, completely oblivious to the blackness inching its way hungrily down the walls on all sides.

She must have a lot of faith in me to let it get this far. Too bad her faith is going to kill us both.

---------------------------------------------------------

Three minutes.

Three measly, miserable minutes to come up with a non-existent solution to this alliteratively pesky predicament.

I’m torn between the ever-growing darkness that’s telling me I might as well give up now, and the stubborn, hot-headed intelligence that’s reminding me I can do this. But who to believe … ?

I wish I knew.

My reputation as a super-genius should really be kicking into action, right about now. I can’t understand why it hasn’t. But there’s still time ... still time for me to fix this ... right?

---------------------------------------------------------

Two minutes …

Damnit, Doctor, think! This isn’t right! Why are you just sitting here waiting for it to happen ?! What’s the point in staring aimlessly into space ?! Why are you giving in without a fight ?!

…

Oh, but come to think of it … I already know the answers to those questions. I know too well why I’m not fighting, why I’m giving in and waiting for the inevitable. The darkness inside of me wants me to believe that there’s nothing to fight for, anymore.

And as much as I loathe to admit it … it does have a point.

No matter how quickly and spontaneously my thoughts wander, they can never stray far from the fact that I’m alone, again.

And that’s what it comes down to.

That’s what it will always come down to, in the end. The fact that I can’t take the losses anymore, can’t take facing the dangers alone. So it would be so much easier to simply give in to this and end it all now. Why should I have to suffer for the rest of my lives, meeting new people and growing to love them only to see them leave in the end for bigger, better things? Why should I have to endure so much pain just to keep myself busy? Why bother?

A small smile inches its way onto my lips just when I thought I would never smile again.

Because I know the answer to those questions, as well.

Why bother, I asked myself?

Simple.

Because I can.

Because there’s a Universe out there that needs me.

And because I wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t a martyr.

I already know for a fact that I’m going to continue travelling, no matter what the darkness thinks, because it’s all I’ve ever known. And I also know for a fact that I’m going to find new people, invite new companions into the TARDIS and new friends into my hearts because I couldn’t survive if I didn’t. And I know that it’s going to hurt, oh yes, it’s going to hurt unimaginably so when they go, just as it has on every previous occasion up to now.

But I’m going to go on and do it again, anyway.

Because I have to.

---------------------------------------------------------

I’m suddenly furious with myself for the fact that it took fourteen minutes and thirty-nine seconds to realise the truth. Fourteen minutes and thirty-nine seconds of my life, wasted, spent with me morbidly dwelling on the darker side of my existence when really I should have been celebrating the right side. I’m furious with myself for forgetting my purpose, for letting my mind wander to places I can’t even bare to consider, now. Places that should have been unthinkable.

But most of all, I’m furious with myself for forgetting them. The darkness only prospered because I was forgetting the light they brought with them into the TARDIS when they first arrived, the light that they gave to me. The light that I should have cherished but instead let become consumed by my own self-berating. My own darkness.

Not anymore, though.

How about that? My companions aren’t even here and they’ve helped me more today than any of them could have ever believed possible.

Along a similar line of thought, it doesn’t really come as much of a surprise to me when I glance sky-wards just in time to see the last tendrils of darkness vanish into nothingness, quite obviously the TARDIS’ doing. It’s quite remarkable, really. I was so worked up about how to save us both, but in the end all I really had to do was search inside myself for the light. Had the TARDIS not given me a time-limit, I might never have had the courage to dig that deep, to move on from the losses I've faced over the years and forgive those who’ve left for doing just that. But thanks to her, I have. She, too, has helped me more today than she’s ever helped me before.

She truly is the most wonderful being I’ve ever encountered.

And it delights me to see the winking of her lights that signifies her flattered gratitude. I do wish she’d take a compliment, though I suppose it’s only natural that she’s as uncomfortable with the ‘mushy’ stuff as I am. Two of a kind, we are.

Which is why I know that she, like me, thinks it’s a little bit too lonely around here. Too dark.

We should fix that, old girl.

Question is … do we want another human friend? If we’re looking for homo sapiens, there’s only one planet really to visit.

We’d better make it a nice, bright, light, happy day on Earth, though. Don’t want to give that diminished darkness of mine a reason to return with a vengeance now, do we?

Hmm ... light, bright and happy ... what d'you think? Christmas Eve should be good. I like the sound of Christmas Eve …

OoOoOoOoOoO

Little Damn Table

7 Heavenly Virtues - Kindness: Kindness

mogwai13@live.co.uk — Wed, 08 Aug 2007 23:58:32 GMT

Title: Kindness
Fandom: Abhorsen Trilogy
Characters: Lirael, mentions of the Disreputable Dog & the Clayr
Prompt: # 02 - Kindness
Word Count: 775
Rating: G
Summary: ‘Kindness’ is a funny word. They think I’m ‘kind’, you know. But I’m not so sure …
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Garth Nix and his publishers. I own nothing.
Author's Notes: No 2 in my 7 Heavenly Virtues Series.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Kindness

‘Kindness’ is a funny word.

It’s one of those words that just rolls so beautifully off the tongue. And it writes well, too – if you’re one of those people who has an elegant, sophisticated, and clearly legible hand, then the curled letters and dainty marks upon parchment are candy for the eyes.

But that’s not why it’s a funny word.

No, the reason I think it’s funny is because it’s so often misused. So many people catalogue things beneath it without fully understanding the true meaning of the word.

Take me, for example.

They think I’m kind, you know.

But that isn’t a word I’d generally use to describe myself.

No.

Timid? Yes. Quiet? Absolutely. Hard-working? Most definitely. Lonely? Completely. I couldn’t be more lonely if I tried!

But kind?

I’m not so sure.

What they take to be kindness I see as being … well, me, I guess. I do as is asked of me. I complete tasks and accomplish goals just like everybody else who works here. I take my time with jobs, take the time to do them properly, take the time to make sure I’ve done said job to the best of my ability. I work in silence, keeping my head down and avoiding as many people as I possibly can simply because I can’t handle the pitying looks they shoot me.

Because let’s face it – standing out like the proverbial needle in a hay-stack is a sure-fire way to catch peoples’ attention, and when dark hair and dark eyes are a complete contrast to the blonde hair and blue eyes of everybody else around, there’s no need to guess who the proverbial needle is.

So keeping myself to myself is pretty much the only way of life I’ve ever known.

Which is exactly why I can’t understand how everybody else has come to the conclusion that I’m a ‘kind’ person. I just do what I do because it’s who I am. It’s all I am.

I work in silence to avoid others. I take my time with jobs simply because I don’t want to end up having to do the same job a second time. I do what I’m told to do straight away because kicking up a fuss usually results in nothing but punishment or unwanted consequence, more often than not with me on the receiving end.

To me, those don’t seem like the sorts of reasons a ‘kind’ person would give if asked why they acted in the way they did.

Although saying that, the Dog would probably disagree with me completely on that one. She’d say those are perfectly legitimate reasons that merely congress to form a warm, adventurous, lovingly kind young woman, who just happens to have the longest streak of bad luck ever known to have coalesced within one soul.

Charter bless her. She’ll do anything to lift my spirits.

And I’m truly grateful. Seriously, I couldn’t ask for a better friend. She’s everything to me, these days, the only creature I can confide in with complete confidence no matter what is on my mind. But she just won’t accept the fact that I can’t not think badly about myself. It’s just been such a long time. So many things have happened, and I just feel like I don’t know myself, anymore. If, indeed, I ever did know myself in the first place.

Who knows? Maybe I did, once. Back when I had a family. I suppose back then I’d probably have said I was a kind person. I hate violence – always have, always will. And I’ve always tried to do what’s best for others, tried to keep my mistakes to a minimum or tried to patch things up before they could wrongly affect my cousins.

But ever since … well, I don’t know when, really. All I know is that after Mother left, my kindness became nothing short of a burden. An act. A constant performance.

And these days, I don’t believe myself worthy of labelling my ‘kind’ acts in such a way, simply because they’re more selfish than kind.

Yet even deep within myself there’s that vain, desperate hope, clinging dearly to the light of life, that I can still change. That acts I perform in the future can at last warrant, in my own eyes, that very title. That for once in my life I’ll be able to do something completely selfless rather than selfish.

Only then will I be able to accept what my cousins so often try to tell me, as though they know more about myself than I do; that I am, actually, beneath it all, a ‘kind’ person.

OoOoOoOoOoO

7 Heavenly Virtues Table

7 Deadly Sins - Performer: Gluttony

mogwai13@live.co.uk — Wed, 01 Aug 2007 18:23:42 GMT

Title: Performer
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: The Doctor/Martha Jones
Prompt: # 02 - Gluttony
Word Count: 730
Rating: G
Summary: She thinks I never notice her, but she couldn’t be more wrong. I notice everything. And she doesn’t even know. 10Martha.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Doctor Who. Thank RTD and the BBC.
Author's Notes: No 2 in my 7 Deadly Sins Series. Minor spoilers for ‘Family of Blood’.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Performer

It’s rather surprising, even to me, just how good an actor I am. After all, ‘acting’ was never exactly my forté. Nor was it a career generally advertised broadly at the Academy. Who wanted to act when we could strive to enter the Senate and take our place beside our associates at the heart of the Universe? Strive to join the forces of Ultimate ‘Good’ that were the observant Time Lords?

No, acting wasn’t really our ‘thing’, as it were.

And yet it’s the ‘actor’ within me that’s the one persona of myself which is practically faultless.

Because I do it so very well.

She thinks I never notice her. She said so herself; said it to ‘John Smith’, admittedly, but she still said it, all the same.

She couldn’t be more wrong.

In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion I actually notice her a lot more than I probably should.

Because I just can’t help but notice her.

The way she holds herself, so confident and up for anything, the way the light catches her auburn locks, bouncing around her like an aura as her head flicks contemplatively to one side, the way her lips quirk upwards when she’s thinking, or when she’s itching to laugh but is not exactly sure the situation warrants it, the way she tries her damndest to put everybody else’s needs and desires before her own, the way she watches the worlds flash by in a daze, craving each new adventure, each new planet to quench her thirst for knowledge and excitement…

No, I simply can’t help myself. One glance in her general direction, no matter where we are or what time we’re in or who’s around, and that’s all it takes. With just one look, I’m drowning. And before long, I have to admit to myself that I’m gorging. Plain and simple. I have to admit to myself that I simply can not turn away from her, whether I want to or not.

Meeting her gaze is the hardest part about it. Even if it’s only for a second, I find myself lost to their timeless, swirling depths, hazel eyes locked with chocolate as I stare into her very soul, drinking in everything about her and memorising it in abject desperation, terrified that as soon as I turn away, she’s going to vanish from existence.

She thinks I never notice her, but she couldn’t be more wrong.

I notice everything.

And she doesn’t even know.

That’s how good a performer I am. I can feast on her beauty, feast on her without her ever so much as suspecting that I’m doing such a thing.

She thinks I never notice her, and I can’t tell her how much it hurts that she thinks that, because then she’d know the truth – she’d know that I’m addicted. I can’t let her know that, can’t let her realise I’m captivated by her, or I’ll never be able to ‘kick the habit’, so to speak.

But the funny thing is, I’m not entirely sure I really want to kick the habit in the first place.

I like watching her. I like noticing every tiny detail - no matter how small or insignificant, because each and every one of those tiny little things makes her ‘Martha Jones’, makes her the young woman standing at my side through thick and thin – and I like the fact that she doesn’t realise I know more about her than she knows about herself.

Is that selfish of me? Is it selfish that I want to continue pretending I don’t see her just so I can go on feasting without her say-so?

Not that I care, of course.

And not that it really matters, either, because it’s not about to change any time soon. Not if I have anything to do with it, at least. Maybe one day she’ll finally understand. Maybe one day she’ll finally know the truth. Maybe one day she’ll finally know that I do notice her, even if it means confessing that I notice her way more than I probably should.

But until then, let’s hope that my ‘acting’ skills remain as up-to-scratch as they have been in the past. Because if they don’t … well, I think I’d be in big trouble. Not least of all because the performer within me would most definitely be out of a job.

OoOoOoOoOoO

7 Deadly Sins Table

Doctor Who (2007) - Fascinated: Air

mogwai13@live.co.uk — Mon, 30 Jul 2007 19:52:27 GMT

Title: Fascinated
Fandom: Doctor Who (2007)
Characters: The Tenth Doctor & Martha Jones
Prompt: # 054 - Air
Word Count: 344
Rating: G
Summary: There’s an air of mystery about the peculiar ‘Mr Smith’. Martha muses during S&J.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Doctor Who. Thank RTD and the BBC.
Author's Notes: Set during Smith & Jones. Spoilers for that episode.

OoOoOoOoOoO

There’s an air of mystery about him, something she can’t quite pinpoint but is fascinated by, all the same.

Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that he’s got two hearts … well, she thinks he’s got two hearts, at any rate, even though that is completely impossible.

Or is it the sparkle in his eyes? Something about their swirling depths is just so … inviting. Something’s drawing her in, calling to her as she stares down at him, silently marvelling at the fact that he’s grinning cheekily despite his apparent ‘pain’.

Yeah, right.

There’s nothing wrong with this guy, she’s quite sure of that. Though she is also admittedly known for being a person to give credit where credit’s due, and the peculiar ‘Mr Smith’ is most certainly a brilliant actor. Perhaps a little too good ...

“I weep for future generations. Are you having trouble locating the heart, Miss Jones?”

Great.

Not only is he smirking at her like he knows exactly what she’s thinking, - smirking that Cheshire Cat smirk that’s undeniably sexy but also incredibly annoying in its own, tastily fiendish sort of way - but he’s gone and made her look like an idiot in front of her fellow soon-to-be-colleagues! …

And yet …

For some reason, she simply cannot bring herself to feel angry about that. Quite on the contrary, in fact. She finds it quite hilarious. Just as he does, she thinks.

There’s just something about him. Something she likes. Something she really likes.

Something that’s fascinating her.

Walking away with a smile on her face, she glances back one final time to see him still grinning that wide and cheeky grin, watching her as she watches him, eyes twinkling with obvious amusement.

And remarkably enough, she knows that her smile’s going to linger, thanks to him, even through Mr Stoker’s soon-to-begin unbearably long lecture, an experience that usually has her scowling with boredom before he’s even reached his stride.

For that, though she’ll never say it to Mr Smith’s face, she is eternally grateful.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Little Damn Table

7 Heavenly Virtues - Confidence Issues: Humility

mogwai13@live.co.uk — Thu, 12 Jul 2007 23:02:37 GMT

Title: Confidence Issues
Fandom: Abhorsen Trilogy
Characters: Lirael, the Disreputable Dog, the Clayr.
Prompt: # 01 - Humility
Word Count: 995
Rating: G
Summary: Lirael had most definitely turned ‘avoidance’ into an art form.
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Garth Nix and his publishers. I own nothing.
Author's Notes: No 1 in my 7 Heavenly Virtues Series. My first ‘Abhorsen Trilogy’ FanFic.

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Confidence Issues

Lirael had most definitely turned ‘avoidance’ into an art form, of that she was certain.

Keeping herself to herself, hiding behind her head of dark hair as she mutely attended to the tasks she was set by the First and Second Assistant Librarians, it became ritual for her to work in silence, following orders and wordlessly dreaming of the day when the Voice of the Nine Day Watch would come for her, at last.

And yet even having work and responsibility to occupy herself with couldn’t keep her from dwelling on her loneliness.

On those rare occasions when she willingly left the comfort and solitude of the Library, deciding that she couldn’t go another day without eating at least something, that loneliness became even more overpowering.

She’d walk through the heated corridors of the Clayr’s Glacier with her head down, dark eyes downcast and the faint Charter Mark on her forehead hidden by her sweepingly dark locks, all the better to avoid the looks she received from her blonde-haired, light-eyed, white-robed cousins.

It became customary for her to eat alone in the Lower Refectory, too. At least there, she wouldn’t be easily noticed. She wouldn’t stand out like a needle in a proverbial haystack, a fourteen-year-old Daughter of the Clayr without the Sight. In fact, it was rare that she was even noticed at all.

Fed, watered and depressed, she’d return to the Library, avoiding as many people as she could along the way and only relaxing when she was safely barricaded in her study until her next assignments were brought to her attention.

An endless cycle.

The truth was, even having a position of her own, even having work and responsibility, even having her own study - despite its small size, it still being a space to call her own, - she still felt beneath her cousins. Almost unworthy, if her mood dropped beneath its usual desolate barriers.

And all simply because she didn’t have the Sight.

That one, simple attribute resulted in her feeling like she didn’t belong. Skilled though she may have been in fighting (though said fighting skills were probably dwindling due to her frequent refusal to attend her classes), in Charter magic, and indeed in her work as a Third Assistant Librarian, she was only recognised as being a Clayr without the Sight.

And at times like this, when even her responsibilities couldn’t quench her desire to be accepted by her ‘family’, or have at least one person to confide in, she felt particularly humbled.

Which is why Lirael kept herself to herself, working in resolute silence and making sure to stay as unnoticed as humanly possible as she went about her business, passing the days and silently wishing for her chance to be accepted as a true Daughter of the Clayr, praying for the day when she’d be Seen at long last.

Surely, her time would come soon?!

------------------------

Months later, and Lirael finally had somebody to confide in.

Granted, the Disreputable Dog wasn’t exactly a person, and was instead bordering on eccentric bizarreness, but she was enough.

Just one friend amidst a sea of 'ignorers', and yet she was enough.

But even so, Lirael was insufferably reluctant to admit to herself that she’d done a remarkable thing in creating her.

Studying the Disreputable Dog in those hours when they sat together in her study, eating whatever she’d managed to pinch from the kitchens on her evening strolls around the Glacier, Lirael could always sense the Free Magic lurking just beneath the surface, eyes trailing over the collar about her neck and reinforcing her quelled fears.

And she’d think, contemplate, remember the day she’d poured Charter knew how many marks into a small, wire frame replica of the miniature dog statuette that had later become the very creature sitting before her. She’d been hoping, that day, not for a real-life, talking companion, but a dog-sending that would serve as company and nothing else. That was what she’d been aiming for.

And yet what she’d created was far from anything she could ever have hoped to have produced knowingly, remembering all too well just how many of those marks she hadn’t known at the time, hadn’t ever even dreamed of using when she’d planned what she wanted to do.

Which is why she held no praise in her own abilities, choosing instead to marvel at the fact that the Dog existed after the events that had taken place on that fateful day.

The Dog, of course, disagreed with her, though she’d never tell her Mistress that she was being far too modest for her own good. She knew all too well that Lirael was responsible for her existence, though the girl still seemed to have convinced herself otherwise.

And it pained her, though she’d never say it, that Lirael’s life with the Clayr, growing up as she had around a family who barely had time to give her the time of day, was solely responsible for her lack of confidence.

And the Dog was more than prepared to dedicate her life to helping her Mistress see otherwise.

Something about the young girl spoke of immense power and strength, and there was a touch of destiny about her, something that, as of yet, the Dog couldn’t quite read but was certain would come in to play in the not-so-distant future.

Which meant she had that long to help Lirael prepare herself. To help give the girl the confidence she needed to accept her path, to face the dangers that would lie ahead. For there would be many dangers, of that she was sure.

And for the time being, - while the girl contented herself with exploration and expanding her knowledge of the world, of the Charter and the ways of life beyond the Glacier’s icy walls, - standing at her side every step of the way, the Disreputable Dog would muse to herself that what Lirael didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

OoOoOoOoOoO

7 Heavenly Virtues Table

7 Deadly Sins - Voracious: Greed

mogwai13@live.co.uk — Wed, 11 Jul 2007 11:32:44 GMT

Title: Voracious
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: The Doctor/Martha Jones
Prompt: # 01 - Greed
Word Count: 1’320
Rating: PG-13
Summary: “So is that all we are, then?” she whispered, staring up at him sadly, eyes brimming with tears that she simply refused to let fall. “A distraction?” 10Martha.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Doctor Who. Thank RTD and the BBC.
Author's Notes: No 1 in my 7 Deadly Sins Series. Very 10Martha. Don’t like? Don’t read. Simple as, really. Set mid-series 3, no spoilers.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Voracious

His desires were insatiable, clawing away relentlessly at his soul as he struggled against his inhibitions.

It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t fair. He’d had his chance already, had it and lost it. In fact, he’d had more than enough chances. So many companions, so many hidden loves and buried secrets. And each and every one had killed him that little bit more.

And yet still, here stood his latest companion, her dark eyes wide and staring, glinting with anxiety and the faintest trace of mute hope as she shrugged silently out of her cardigan, hanging it over an arm rest and watching him apprehensively.

This wasn’t right.

This wasn’t right and he knew it.

So why were his legs carrying him forwards without his say-so?

Why did he put himself through it?

Greed. The only word for it. He couldn’t quench the aching need, the incurable desire for company, for somebody to share the Universe with. It was a long-since accepted fact, now; he needed people with him, laughing, crying, joking, running, screaming, shouting, venting …

And there was nothing he could do, no power in the Universe strong enough to quell his boundless craving for company.

“Martha …”

But he fell silent, clearing his throat as the croaky huskiness of that one simple word echoed ominously around the Console Room.

She shook her head once, a hungry smile slowly spreading across her face despite her attempts to contain it, as she watched in silence, heart racing beneath her ribs as he approached her, step after painfully slow step.

But then he stopped, biting down hard on his lip and forcing himself to tear his gaze away from her.

“I can’t,” he less than whispered, shaking his head in desperation. “Please, I can’t. It’s not fair. Not fair on you, not fair on them!”

“Doctor … they’d want you to move on,” was all she said, tones quiet and eyes betraying her anxiety as she fought to keep her expression passive. ‘Am I pushing too hard?’ she thought, fingers fiddling with a stray thread of cotton hanging from her top.

She knew his reservations, knew them all too well.

He was afraid.

Afraid that if he opened up to her, she’d vanish, just like the rest of them had.

So many companions, so much heart-break.

And he was afraid that her mark on his hearts would soon tear them in the same way that the rest had.

Then there was the guilt, the feeling that he was betraying the memory of all those he’d lost already. If only she could make him see that it wasn’t betrayal at all. Not one of his companions would ever have wanted him to be alone.

And only he seemed to be too blind to see that.

Dropping her gaze, she sighed heavily and shrugged nonchalantly.

“I’m here, Doctor,” she said softly, rising to her feet, respecting his wishes because she understood them, but hating herself for giving in so easily. “I’m here if you need me.”

And she turned to leave.

Only to be stopped a moment later when his hand enclosed around her wrist, turning her back to face him, the tumult of emotions burning within his auburn orbs so intense that she found herself drowning in his gaze.

“I shouldn’t,” he whispered, voice hoarse and a trembling hand lifting a stray lock of hair from her face, tucking it delicately behind her ear. “I shouldn’t but I can’t help it.”

Martha remained silent, quite sure he’d robbed her of her voice.

“I shouldn’t want it. I shouldn’t need it. But I do. Every time one person leaves, I need someone else, because if I’m on my own, I think. And it hurts to think, Martha, it really hurts!”

“So is that all we are, then?” she whispered, staring up at him sadly, eyes brimming with tears that she simply refused to let fall. “A distraction? A way for you to ignore the pain?”

He hesitated, then shook his head.

“No,” he replied, running the pad of his thumb over her cheek. “Not one of you has ever just been a distraction. And it’s because of that that I just can’t do it. I can’t betray them. And I can’t hurt you by giving in only to have to watch it all crumble away around us. You’re going to leave, and I’m going to be alone again. And if I give in, it’s going to hurt us both.”

“I don’t care,” she murmured, shaking her head and letting the tears fall. “I don’t care how much it’s going to hurt, Doctor, ‘cause it hurts already! It hurts that you can’t forget the others enough to let me in. It hurts to think that you let them in but only now decide to discipline yourself. It hurts that you can’t trust me enough to let me help.”

He shook his head vehemently, mutely begging for her to understand.

“I do trust you!” he told her firmly, hands squeezing her shoulders in comfort. “And I’m doing this now because I’ve seen it all burn too many times. I don’t want to put you through that. I’m not worth it!”

Martha’s eyes widened in shock and she choked back a sob.

“How can you say that?” she demanded, tones hushed in disbelief. “How can you say you’re not worth it? You’re worth every minute of it!”

Shaking his head, he pulled away and ran a hand over his eyes, trying to blot out her words but failing miserably as they echoed annoyingly around his head.

“Don’t,” he whispered.

She ignored him.

“So many people would die for you, Doctor. Me included. Because we all know the same thing. We all know how much the Universe needs you! So how you can stand there and say you’re not worth it I just don’t know.”

“Martha, please -”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help how I feel. I get that you can’t return it. Really I do, but I can’t help but wonder what use I am to you, if not as little more than a distraction.”

Hands trembling as he ran them across his face before dragging them through his hair, he was struggling so damn hard to ignore the roaring emotions welling within his chest.

But he couldn’t.

Broken, confused and guilt-ridden, he turned on the spot, took one look at her, drinking in her pained expression and the not-so-subtle hint of regretted desperation behind the hazy film of tears.

Greed and guilt battled it out against one another inside him.

And greed won the fight.

Pulling her in without another thought, he kissed her, unable to find the words that he so dearly needed to say and instead trying to portray his feelings in a way that she could hopefully understand. Pouring as much as he possibly could into one simple act of total spontaneity, his first move was hesitant but heart-felt.

But it didn’t stay that way for long.

And for a few moments, it didn’t matter that he was going to lose her eventually, that she was going to leave and he was going to need somebody else, need another companion to share the Universe with. It didn’t matter that he’d gone ahead and done the very thing he’d sworn to himself he’d never do again; gone ahead and fallen for another companion, another friend. It didn’t matter that taking things one step further was going to change them both, change what they’d had, nor that he couldn’t be sure yet if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

All that mattered was that, as she returned it, her hands looping and linking around his neck in a vain attempt to ascertain that he really was there, the aching need in his hearts was momentarily silenced.

Too bad the desires, the feelings, the greed couldn’t be silenced as easily.

OoOoOoOoOoO

7 Deadly Sins Table

7 Heavenly Virtues Table: Lirael

mogwai13@live.co.uk — Sun, 08 Jul 2007 21:49:53 GMT

The Abhorsen Trilogy - Lirael
Started: July 12, 2007
Completed Stories: 07 / 07
Finished: May 20, 2008

Total Word Count: 7'220
Count includes only the stories themselves, and excludes the required info at the beginning of each one.

1.	Humility.	2.	Kindness.	3.	Abstinence.
4.	Chastity.	5.	Patience.	6.	Liberality.
		7.	Diligence.

7 Deadly Sins Table: The Doctor/Martha Jones

mogwai13@live.co.uk — Sun, 08 Jul 2007 21:22:48 GMT

Doctor Who - The Doctor/Martha Jones
Started: July 11, 2007
Completed: 05 / 07

Total Word Count So Far: 6'505
Excludes Required Story Info.

1.	Greed.	2.	Gluttony.	3.	Wrath.
4.	Sloth.	5.	Envy.	6.	Lust.
		7.	Pride.

Doctor Who (2007) - Keep On Running: Touch

mogwai13@live.co.uk — Thu, 05 Jul 2007 22:30:11 GMT

Title: Keep On Running
Fandom: Doctor Who (2007)
Characters: The Tenth Doctor & Martha Jones
Prompt: # 038 - Touch
Word Count: 1’617
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It was so easy to touch her when they were running for their lives. But then they stopped running. 10Martha. Slightly angsty.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Doctor Who. Thank RTD and the BBC.
Author's Notes: Set mid-series 3. No spoilers.

OoOoOoOoOoO

It was so easy to touch her when they were running for their lives.

All he had to do was reach out for her hand, grinning cheekily at her as they bolted through streets, or corridors, or sand dunes, or underground tunnels – usually depending largely on where, who or what they were running from. She’d take it in a second, half-smiling back, albeit with slightly less excitement and a tad more fear for their welfare.

And every time she returned the gesture, his hearts would skip a beat. There’d be something, something deep inside of him that was nothing short of delighted by the contact.

Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that her hand fitted so perfectly within his.

They’d sprint together, clinging to one another like their lives depended on it, fearful that if one of them let go, they’d be lost forever. He’d relish in their closeness, smelling her perfume as they tripped and stumbled on away from whatever danger had taken to chasing them. They’d work in tandem, work as a well-oiled machine works, encouraging one another to keep on running or supporting each other if the situation required it. And while half of him would be concentrating on making sure they both lived to tell the tale, mentally thumbing through plan after plan after plan, the other half would secretly wish that they could stay like this. Keep on running through said street, or corridor, or underground tunnel, hand in hand. Keep on running like this forever.

But then they stopped running.

The danger would pass, and they’d relinquish their grips on one another, smiling shyly and avoiding each other’s gazes as they struggled to find the words that both knew would never come.

And he’d miss the contact.

Suddenly, - selfish though it may have been to even so much as think it - he’d wish they were running for their lives again.

Because he couldn’t touch her when they weren’t.

She was so close to him, so infuriatingly close, close enough for him to reach out and cup her chin, reach out and lift the stray lock of hair from her eyes or run a loving palm down the side of her face. And yet he couldn’t close the gap between them, and she knew as much.

She knew it, and her heart would break because of it.

Which is why she, too, longed for the danger, longed for the life-threats that each passing day seemed to warrant before she could call it a night. If only for the chance to touch him again.

And he knew as much.

He knew it, and his hearts would ache because of it. He knew her dilemma, knew her love for him was insatiable. And he so dearly wished he could return the favour.

In those times when they touched, those times when they were running for their lives, he could forget. Just for a moment, he could pretend that there was nothing stopping him, no inhibitions, no memories, no fears of what would happen if he did touch her. And he’d take advantage of that, would grip so hard to her that he’d be rather surprised later on that he hadn’t actually crushed her fingers.

But then they stopped running.

And the inhibitions, the memories, the fears would return. He’d drown in them, drown in guilt and sorrow and apprehension and would let her hand drop from his, feeling its sudden vanished weight scar his hearts in such a way that only running for their lives again would be enough to heal them.

Ahh, the irony.

How he hated fate’s cruel and twisted idea of a joke.

For each to have the one thing they wanted above all else, they’d have to risk losing the one thing they wanted above all else.

And he simply wasn’t prepared to lose her, not even for the pleasure of touching her again.

-----------------

They’re running for their lives.

She has no reason to believe that today will be any different. But then … neither does he.

They skid gracefully around a corner and he reaches out to her. She takes his hand in a heart-beat, glancing nervously over her shoulder and suppressing a cry of despair as their spear-clad pursuers screech their war-cries, sprinting ever closer to their retreating prey.

She glances sideways and he flashes her a delighted grin. She smiles back, muscles working a little harder than usual to procure what overall looks more like a grimace as they pick up the pace, pulling one another along through the maze of streets, people on the sidewalks or in their gardens watching the chase with apparent interest.

They run for what feels like miles, vanishing into a forest and weaving their way through the undergrowth in forced silence, wincing if a twig snaps underfoot as they press on, the density of the surrounding trees increasing the darkness as sunlight is gradually blocked from above.

Slowly, the cries are lost to the sounds of nature, and another anxious glance over their shoulders depicts little more than enclosing shrubbery, sealing them off from the outside world, hiding them from their attackers and consequently giving them a chance to pause for breath.

The adrenaline rush slowly fading, she falls forwards in exhaustion, a small moan escaping her lips. He leaps forward and catches her, sliding to his knees as he takes her weight, frowning in concern.

“Easy,” he murmurs, hearts racing. “I’ve got you.”

She chuckles weakly and presses a hand to her chest, unable to suppress the wheezing coughs that are soon piercing the sleepy silence around them. He coaxes her upright, and she leans against him, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back as she struggles to control her breathing. After a minute or so, she falls silent, turning to him and offering him a shaky smile.

“Sorry,” she whispers, ignoring the sinking feeling in her chest as he pulls his hand away. “Haven’t run that far in a long while. Must be a bit out of practice.”

He smiles back and nods in agreement, lowering his gaze. His fingers twitch, resting on his thigh now that they’ve left her back but wishing they were touching her, instead. He ignores them.

“We should be safe here. We’ll give it a few minutes, then cover our tracks. Hopefully, the ‘mob’ will be too preoccupied with searching the woods for us to notice us slip back to the TARDIS.”

She nods too, running a trembling hand through her hair and sighing heavily, her heart rate slowly returning to normal.

Silence falls between them.

He’s nervous, she can tell. Though she can’t for the life of her understand why he should be.

She’s about to ask, but she never gets the words out.

Because he’s kissing her.

Startled, it takes her a few seconds to grasp onto what’s happening. But when she finally does, she smiles against his lips, letting a hand slowly rise up to hang over his shoulder, curling a lock of hair at the base of his neck around a finger as he silently asks the question she’s so long been wishing to hear.

She obliges and he deepens the kiss, mind a whirlwind of emotions as he tries to tell himself that he’s doing the right thing.

And it works.

Just touching her soon convinces him that he’s doing the right thing.

For the first time, they aren’t running for their lives. And yet the feelings are exactly the same. He can still smell her perfume, still sense her silent joy that he’s reached out to her, still feel his hearts slowly healing as her added weight gently slides them back into place.

Rather identical to the feelings he has when he’s holding her hand while they’re running for their lives.

He doesn’t hesitate to admit to himself that this is better.

-----------------

Everything returned to normal, after that.

They’d touch only when they were running, silently praying for one another to keep on running once they’d started - just so they could keep on touching.

But it didn’t matter.

For her, it was a case of ‘any contact with him is better than nothing at all’. For him, it was a case of ‘anything more than this and I won’t be able to let her go’.

Each had accepted the truth the day they’d acted on impulse. They’d tested the boundaries, taken things one step further and touched one another in ways that both had dreamed of but had never really expected to come true.

And while the boundaries themselves had held fast, they’d mutually agreed that they couldn’t risk what they had for fear they’d lose everything.

Yet even now, she still dearly hopes that one day things might change again, that he might drop his guard, even if it’s only for a second, and allow the real him to shine through the mask he wears on a day-to-day basis. The ’him’ she met in the woods while they were hiding from an angry mob of psychopathic land-owners who’d caught them ’trespassing’ in their secluded village.

But she doesn’t expect him to, not really. In fact, for all her hoping and wishing, deep down, she knows he can’t. So for now , she’s content.

They’re usually running for their lives more often than not anyway, and with the running comes the contact she so greatly loves to have.

So for now, she’s content for them to just keep on running.

While he only wishes he could overcome the irony, once again. Because the contact they shared when he did so the first time was most definitely its own reward.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Little Damn Table

FanFic100 Table - Doctor Who (2007): The Tenth Doctor

mogwai13@live.co.uk — Tue, 03 Jul 2007 21:53:03 GMT

Doctor Who (2007) - The Tenth Doctor
Started: April 15th, 2007
Completed: 14 / 100

Total Word Count So Far: 57'967
Excludes Required Story Info.

001.	Beginnings.	002.	Middles.	003.	Ends.	004.	Insides.	005.	Outsides.
006.	Hours.	007.	Days.	008.	Weeks.	009.	Months.	010.	Years.
011.	Red.	012.	Orange.	013.	Yellow.	014.	Green.	015.	Blue.
016.	Purple.	017.	Brown.	018.	Black.	019.	White.	020.	Colourless.
021.	Friends.	022.	Enemies.	023.	Lovers.	024.	Family.	025.	Strangers.
026.	Teammates.	027.	Parents.	028.	Children.	029.	Birth.	030.	Death.
031.	Sunrise.	032.	Sunset.	033.	Too Much.	034.	Not Enough.	035.	SixthSense.
036.	Smell.	037.	Sound.	038.	Touch.	039.	Taste.	040.	Sight.
041.	Shapes.	042.	Triangle.	043.	Square.	044.	Circle.	045.	Moon.
046.	Star.	047.	Heart.	048.	Diamond.	049.	Club.	050.	Spade.
051.	Water.	052.	Fire.	053.	Earth.	054.	Air.	055.	Spirit.
056.	Breakfast.	057.	Lunch.	058.	Dinner.	059.	Food.	060.	Drink.
061.	Winter.	062.	Spring.	063.	Summer.	064.	Fall.	065.	Passing.
066.	Rain.	067.	Snow.	068.	Lightening.	069.	Thunder.	070.	Storm.
071.	Broken.	072.	Fixed.	073.	Light.	074.	Dark.	075.	Shade.
076.	Who?	077.	What?	078.	Where?	079.	When?	080.	Why?
081.	How?	082.	If.	083.	And.	084.	He.	085.	She.
086.	Choices.	087.	Life.	088.	School.	089.	Work.	090.	Home.
091.	Birthday.	092.	Christmas.	093.	Thanksgiving.	094.	Independence.	095.	New Year.
096.	Writer‘s Choice.	097.	Writer‘s Choice.	098.	Writer‘s Choice.	099.	Writer‘s Choice.	100.	Writer‘s Choice.

Doctor Who (2007) - Spirit Lifter: Lightening

mogwai13@live.co.uk — Tue, 03 Jul 2007 17:28:46 GMT

Title: Spirit Lifter
Fandom: Doctor Who (2007)
Characters: The Tenth Doctor & Martha Jones
Prompt: # 068 - Lightening
Word Count: 2'830
Rating: G
Summary: There’s a book, it may surprise you to hear, that’s completely devoted to lightening the mood of a 900 year old alien from the Planet Gallifrey. Trust Martha to find it by accident. 10Martha.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Doctor Who. Thank RTD and the BBC.
Author's Notes: Post-Gridlock. Minor spoilers for that episode. A bit of a complex one-shot.

OoOoOoOoOoO

v. tr. Light-en-ing
1. To lesson the oppressiveness, trouble, or severity of.
2. To relieve of cares or worries; gladden.

The Book had grabbed her attention the moment she’d spotted it.

Standing alone and relatively inconspicuous atop a shelf in the TARDIS library - its dust-covered black binding glinting with an aged beauty - its nameless face had been the epitaph of ‘intriguing’.

And there, on the first page, flipping open the cover with precise care, Martha had found nothing but the definition, standing alone in the middle of the yellowing page, the parchment upon which the scrawled, amethyst lettering was written seeming as fragile as glass beneath her fascinated fingers.

Glancing over her shoulder at the half-open doorway, she’d hesitated, wondering if the Doctor would miss her. She’d come for a book. Any book, Martha wasn’t fussed. She’d said she wouldn’t be long, and that she’d bring one back to the Console Room and read it in there while he did ‘repairs’, or whatever it was he did when his mood slipped.

And it seemed she’d found one, granted not a book she’d originally have chosen to read, but still…

A few minutes of peaceful reading would be guaranteed to her, would they not?

Sinking into a conveniently placed armchair, Martha Jones drew her legs up underneath her body and rested the Book carefully on her thighs, gently running her fingers over the untitled cover before inserting a thumb and flipping it open again, eyes drinking in the ‘lightening’ definition a second time before she turned the page.

-----------------

Four hours later, and she’d read the entire thing.

A broad smile on her face, she glanced at her watch before bolting to her feet in shock, snapping the Book shut and carefully sliding it back onto its dusty shelf. Running down an aisle, Martha plucked a different book at random from another, slightly less-dirty shelf and hurried from the library in silence, the door clicking itself gently closed behind her.

-----------------

He’d asked her where she’d got to.

She’d told him she’d fallen asleep in the library.

He’d bought it, telling her calmly that he’d managed to ‘reconfigure the stasis controls’ and ‘alter the matrix in such a way that it’ll allow for random co-ordinational search journeys’. Or something.

She’d switched off after that, mind drifting to the pages she’d been thoroughly engrossed within minutes before.

And for a moment, she’d found herself wondering if he even knew of the Book.

Then she realised that if he did know of it, he wouldn’t be so neurotic. And wouldn’t be so psychotically chipper in the moments when he wasn’t neurotic. And wouldn’t have the strangest, most hormonal mood swings of anyone she’d ever met.

Quite obviously, she admitted to herself, he knew absolutely nothing of the Book.

Her little secret, then.

-----------------

She’d returned to the library again, that night.

Not quite prepared to whisk the Book from its surroundings and read it in the comfort of her room, she’d caved and improvised, bringing with her a cup of tea and reading by candle-light, appropriately enough, a small but sufficient wax candle resting on the side-table beside the leather armchair.

Dressing gown hanging down over her shoulders as she became absorbed once again in the violet-coloured-ink handwritten words splayed out before her, she’d finished the Book a second time three hours later.

A bright smile on her exhausted features, she’d replaced it, much as the first time, onto its shelf and hastily departed for her room, marvelling slightly at how vivid each page was beginning to become for her, even when she wasn’t pouring over it.

-----------------

He’d noticed the dark circles under her eyes. He’d heard her frequent yawns and watched in silence as she raised a wobbly hand to her mouth in a vain attempt to disguise them.

And he’d asked if she was okay.

She’d replied that she’d slept badly the night before.

He’d bought it.

Sinking into a stupor as he prepared breakfast, she’d found herself wondering vaguely if he’d agree to letting them have a ‘lazy day’.

Much to her surprise, he’d agreed almost immediately, placing a full-English breakfast down in front of her before helping himself to her bacon, telling her he could get on with some more ‘maintenance’ and she could catch up on the sleep she’d apparently lost the previous night.

She’d nodded her thanks and eaten promptly, talking when he encouraged her to, but otherwise devouring her breakfast in silence.

And with a suppressed yawn, she’d smiled a grateful smile at him and vanished from the room.

Heading for the library again.

-----------------

It only took her an hour and a half to read from cover to cover, that time.

And as the broad smile had stretched the entire width of her face, she’d realised, then, just what the Book was doing to her.

Returning it to its home, Martha had quelled the butterflies in her stomach and swiftly steered herself from the room, collapsing on her bed minutes later only to give herself up to the darkness, the content smile lingering.

-----------------

He’d asked her what she was so happy about.

She’d said she’d had a good night’s sleep – well, good day’s sleep, really - and felt much better for it.

He’d bought it.

She’d sensed his mood and later discovered that he was feeling homesick.

He’d told her of Gallifrey, of the War and the fight against the Daleks during their time in New New York, but he’d never admitted weakness before. Biting back tears, he shrugged sadly and sank onto the sofa, staring almost wistfully at the console, as though hoping it could magically take him back to his planet, if only for a minute.

Just to see it, in all its glory, one more time. One final time.

Vowing not to return to the Book that night, she’d spent the evening with him, the two of them curled onto the sofa, Martha leaning against his chest, soothed by the double-heart-beat beneath her cheek as he gently stroked her hair. They’d simply sat there, watching as the emerald column rose and fell before them, its iridescent light dancing like fireflies around the Console Room.

She’d fallen asleep there, her last conscious thought a delighted realisation that she’d done just as page two had suggested.

-----------------

After the fourth reading (which only took an hour and a quarter), she’d accepted the fact that she knew it by heart.

Automatically replacing the Book on its no-longer dusty shelf, she’d smiled fondly at it and left the library again, glancing back at where its bookcase stood for a second before pulling the door closed and meandering through the maze of corridors towards the Console Room, humming to herself.

-----------------

Running from a family of blood-thirsty dragons on a distant and ancient planet, they’d found themselves hiding together in an old, abandoned farm house, the odd creak of the windmill sounding in their ears as their feet silently boiled, dragons torching the barns around their hideout in anger that their prey had escaped.

Thinking they were done for, he’d confessed to her at last, told her all about ‘Rose’ and their relationship as they leant side by side against a gradually-heating-up wall, listening to the furious roars of their pursuers and the frequent rustles of mighty wings as the dragons swooped and dived around outside.

She’d listened.

Listened in silence, drinking in every single word, an arm wrapped comfortingly around his shoulders as he silently trembled, tears leaking beyond his notice as he spoke of the events at Torchwood One, the pain of remembrance too much for him to handle alone.

She’d learned about Addie, that day, too.

Learned about how the Cybermen had taken her, and of how he’d had to … well, do what he did. How he’d done it to help her. To save her.

And while a tiny part of her wanted to be angry with him for killing her cousin – even though she fruitlessly told that tiny part of her it ‘wasn’t even his fault’ and that ‘the Cybermen had killed Addie long before he could’ – she ignored her own worries and bit back her own tears.

She’d told herself that they could wait.

And as he’d gone on to describe his and Rose’s final goodbye, the goodbye that was left unfinished and the words that were left unsaid, she’d listened.

Under siege from angry dragons on a foreign planet, hiding together in a stranger’s house and leaning against a brick wall that was slowly melting under the pressure that their fire-breathing pursuers were putting it under, she’d listened.

-----------------

Hours later, after realising that they weren’t done for, he’d apologised for going all ‘manic depressive’ on her. And he’d thanked her.

Thanked her for listening.

She’d told him to think nothing of it.

She hadn’t added that page thirty-three had suggested it beforehand.

-----------------

The fifth reading took her an hour and four minutes, though partly to blame was a sudden craving for chocolate that had struck about two hundred pages in. She’d given in and vanished to the kitchens, returning a couple of minutes later with a bar of Cadbury’s Dairy Milk and another cup of tea.

The rest of the reading had been plain sailing.

-----------------

He’d asked her where she kept vanishing off to.

She’d told him the truth, albeit partially, telling him she’d found great entertainment in reading, lately.

He’d bought it, smiling to himself at that, nodding his agreement and commenting quietly that he’d have to get around to cleaning out the library properly, some day. ‘The dust just doesn’t do it justice,’ he’d said, shaking his head sadly.

Martha had silently agreed.

Then she’d offered to help him.

He’d smiled at her warmly but then shaken his head, telling her it’d take a millennium at least for him to clear it out to a decent, worthy standard.

He’d politely declined her offer, yet the thanks in his eyes had said more.

Just asking had been more than enough.

She’d let the day pass as it wished, then, deciding that it hadn’t been a wasted one, after all. For she’d successfully accomplished page three-hundred-and-twenty-six’s suggested task.

-----------------

The days had passed, and it had gone on.

She would read the Book in silence, smiling in delighted confidence as she replaced it delicately, almost lovingly onto its shelf.

Then with her spirits at an all-time high, the buzz the Book had given her running like poison through her veins, she’d feel a sudden need to pass it on.

And with her only company being the Doctor, it wouldn’t take her long to find somebody to pass it on to.

Every day, she’d follow just one of the Book’s many instructions, mentally reciting just one of its hundred-fold pages before acting upon it.

And every night, she’d sleep soundly, knowing that she’d done what she could to help him. Knowing she’d made him smile, if only once that day.

Once was enough.

If he’d ever suspected, he’d never asked.

And she’d never said.

-----------------

Three weeks in, down to the day - three complete weeks since she’d first discovered it - and Martha had returned to the library again, just as she had done every day bar that first one.

But she’d returned to find the Book was no longer there.

She’d completely upended the entire library before admitting defeat, tears welling over a ‘book’, of all things.

Biting back a sob, she’d run from the room, slamming the door shut behind her with enough force to send the layer of dust that had gathered on the library floor over the years jumping skywards before floating back down and settling again.

-----------------

He’d asked her why she was so upset.

She’d simply clung to him, sobbing into his shoulder, already feeling the weight of the Book’s absence in her heart as she gripped painfully tightly to the arm that was resting comfortingly around her.

She’d felt him smile into her hair, apparently content to just sit with her while she composed herself, over the moon that she’d come to him in the first place.

And in doing so, she’d successfully but inadvertently achieved the goal set down on page one-hundred-and-eight-five.

‘Prove to him you need him.’

-----------------

Three more weeks had passed, and she’d soon come to realise that she could remember less and less of the Book’s passages with every passing day.

And yet not a day went by when she hadn’t somehow made the Doctor smile.

The Book may have gone, with her memories of it slowly following one by one, but she hadn’t given up on the task she’d set herself during all those delightful readings.

-----------------

Weeks later still … and she’d forgotten the Book completely.

-----------------

Sitting cross-legged on the sofa, a pen tapping absent-mindedly at her teeth as she studied the Doctor’s abandoned crossword, she frowned and reached for a dictionary.

“To relieve of cares or worries … ten letters, first letter - ‘L’,” she said out loud, a small, concentrating frown creasing her forehead.

The Doctor’s head popped up from beneath a floor panel, a medley of wires and cables clutched in one hand while the Sonic was carefully enclosed within the other.

“Lightening,” he answered immediately, shooting her a small smile.

She raised an eyebrow.

“If you knew that, how come you didn’t write it in?” she enquired dryly.

He shrugged.

“Must have missed it,” he replied, sinking back into the hidden depths of his ship. Martha rolled her eyes in silent disbelief and promptly set about filling in the blanks on his crossword.

Curling the ‘g’s tail with a flourish, she felt her smile slip clean away as her pen dropped into her lap, eyes fixed on the word staring up at her from off the page.

‘Lightening’ …

With a flash, she recalled an ancient, dusty tome, hundreds of pages long, it’s first parchment page glistening with amethyst words … a definition to a word she’d never have expected to find a book solely dedicated to.

Her bright smile returning, she carefully folded the paper in half and climbed to her feet, strolling around the console towards the Doctor. Crouching beside the open grate, she grinned down at him.

“Doctor?” she called quite calmly, smiling innocently as he straightened up and studied her dubiously. She paused, then said, “I think I have something you may want to know about.”

“Oh?” he replied airily, eyes narrowing slightly. “That sounds ominous.”

Struggling out of the hole and gripping her hand for balance before finding his footing and leaning against the console, eyes on her and a small smile tugging at his lips, he waited as she stared at the word looking up at them from the folded newspaper on the seat behind her.

“Well, not exactly ominous. See … it’s about a Book …”

-----------------

A day later, she returned to the library again.

The Book wasn’t there, not that she’d expected it would be.

Instead, there was a slip of paper, sitting alone on the shelf where the Book had once stood. Curious, she plucked it from its lofty perch and blew the dust clear, staring at the parchment with raised eyebrows, recognising the purple hand-writing immediately.

For it was quite identical to the tidy hand that had scripted the mysterious Book’s many detailed passages.

Her smile stretching, she read it in silence, dropping into the armchair and glancing momentarily at the half-open door before giving the note her full attention.

‘The Spirit Lifter.
A companion’s guide to all things ‘Doctor’.
To those who need a starting point, the Book is there to guide. But to those who have the gift themselves, it need not hang around. Digest the words and drink in the feelings it gives, but don’t forget to pass them on to the one who needs them most.
Remember not its teachings, for there are too many, far too many to learn. But if you can make him smile but once a day, the Book has served its purpose a thousand-fold.’

Read and understood, the note was replaced onto its shelf, and Martha left the library beaming, a finger absently curling a stray lock of hair as she pulled the handle after her to close the door behind her.

But before it could click shut, the note was gone.

-----------------

A week later, and nether Martha nor the Doctor remembered even remotely of her mystifying Book.

But curled up together on the sofa, staring at the column as it gently rose and fell before them, its iridescent light bouncing around the room like a family of fireflies, Martha had the distinct impression that he was smiling as he ran his fingers gently through her hair, the soothing double-heart-beats beneath her cheek more than assuring her of his present contentment.

So here was another day when she’d managed to lighten his spirits.

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Little Damn Table

Doctor Who (2007) - Pub Lunching: Lunch

mogwai13@live.co.uk — Tue, 03 Jul 2007 17:25:31 GMT

Title: Pub Lunching
Fandom: Doctor Who (2007)
Characters: The Tenth Doctor & Martha Jones
Prompt: # 057 - Lunch
Word Count: 2’700
Rating: G
Summary: ‘It’s a pub lunch, that’s all. Not a date, not a promise, and most certainly not domestic. It’s just … lunch ... alright?’ 10Martha
Disclaimer: I don’t own Doctor Who. Thank RTD and the BBC.
Author's Notes: Set mid-series 3. Minor spoilers. The italics are what happened prior to the non-italics… and if you followed that, have a cyber-cookie.

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Martha Jones couldn’t quite understand how they’d come to this.

Through no fault of her own - well, through no direct fault of her own, at least, - she found herself smiling in complete bewilderment at the young waitress who was staring almost disbelievingly at her ‘husband’.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” the girl said slowly, Northern accent rich and sugar-sweet as she treated the couple to her most professionally calm smile, fingers tapping the pencil in her hand absent-mindedly against her notepad. “We don’t sell dishes like that, ‘ere. Can’t say I’ve ever ‘eard of it, mesel’.”

The Doctor sighed and nodded in acceptance.

“Ahh well, it was worth a try.”

The waitress tugged at her ear, wavy blonde locks beginning to unfurl themselves from what had – during the early hours of the evening - been an incredibly tight ponytail. Martha was beginning to feel rather sorry for ‘Lucy’, as her name-card read. The girl was quite clearly incredibly flustered.

“You ain’t from round ‘ere, are you?”

Martha shook her head, smiling calmly. “No, London. We’re here to celebrate our second wedding anniversary. Came up to the Lakes for a holiday, but we got a little side-tracked.”

The waitress grinned delightedly.

“Aww, and how sweet is that that it fell on Valentine’s Day? Aww, congratulations!”

Martha blushed awkwardly and hastily dropped her gaze. Feeling a hand slowly rest on top of hers, she blinked and looked up, smiling awkwardly at the Doctor who winked back before turning back to the waitress.

“Anyway, what was the special, again?”

Promptly returning to her usual, professional manner, Lucy pointed towards the large blackboard standing behind the bar.

“Well, since there’s two o’ ya, we’re doin’ a two for one, four course meal for £11.99, - Valentine’s Day Special, see, if ya fancy that. Unfortunately, that don’t include … well, whatever it is that you asked for. Sounded foreign.” She shrugged awkwardly, not even bothering to try to get her tongue around what the Doctor had requested.

“No, I thought as much,” he said brightly.

-----------------

“It’s a pub lunch, that’s all. Not a date, not a promise, and most certainly not domestic. It’s just … lunch … alright?”

“Oh, Martha. If only things were ever that simple.”

-----------------

Clearing her throat, Lucy tapped the pencil absently against her cheek and reeled off the starters, voice distinctly professional, all of a sudden. Quite clearly rehearsed, both Martha and the Doctor realised.

“We have … prawn cocktail - comes with a side-salad, o’ course, salmon pate on toast, - freshly prepared usin’ only the finest ingredients transported straight from the Dales, spicy meatballs on a bed of home-cooked spaghetti doused in a sumptuous tomato and basil sauce, or lemon sorbet - made from locally grown lemons, o’ course.”

She beamed at them, and Martha couldn’t deny that her mouth was watering. With a stunned look at the Doctor, she couldn’t suppress a wide grin as she spotted his attention raptly focussed on Lucy as though expecting to hear more.

“I dunno,” she said finally, spoilt for choice. The Doctor turned to her and shrugged.

“I’ll have whatever you have,” he said simply, sitting back in his chair and staring at her, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

“Oh, you know how bad I am at making decisions, Doctor,” she grumbled, missing his cheeky grin as she turned back to Lucy. “Well …” she hesitated, then said, “prawn cocktail. Haven’t had that in a while.”

She blinked and turned to the Doctor, who grinned and nodded.

-----------------

“Doctor?”

“Hmm?”

”I’m hungry.”

He blinked and turned to her.

“Oh.”

Cuffing her feet against the floor and staring at her folded arms, she blushed and asked quickly, “can we go somewhere? Y’know, to eat. Somewhere nice?”

“Oh,” he said again, scratching at the back of his head before shrugging. “If you want. Where’d you have in mind?”

She grinned awkwardly at him, unfolding her arms and strolling around the console.

“Fancy a pub-lunch?”

-----------------

“Right, mains,” Lucy said, a little apprehensively. The Doctor was positively beaming now, while Martha looked more than a little irritated.

“Oh no,” she called quickly, glancing at the Doctor. “This one’s yours, Doctor.”

He stared at her in surprise, smile slipping to be replaced with a, “who, me?” look. She nodded, smirking, and imitated him, leaning back and crossing her arms, staring at him with a somewhat smug look adorning her features.

“Okay,” he said calmly, straightening up and fixing Lucy with a beady, attentive stare. “Hit me.”

Martha rolled her eyes, a low murmur of, “don’t tempt me,” escaping her lips before she could bite it back. He glared at her, but spoilt the look a little when a small smile broke out across his face. She chuckled lightly to herself, examining their surroundings, a small fluttering feeling rising up in her chest as she spotted a collection of pink and red heart-shaped balloons floating, bundled together, above the table behind them.

“Well …” Lucy frowned, slightly put-out now. This couple was extremely weird. There was just something … not normal about them. Dearly wishing she’d accepted Janey’s suggestion that they swapped shifts, she had to glance at the board herself, having momentarily forgotten what they had on offer.

“Well,” she started again, turning back to him, “we’ve got …”

-----------------

“A pub lunch?” he asked, restraining a snort with difficulty as he stared at her in bemusement.

She nodded eagerly, eyes twinkling.

”Yeah,” she said simply, shrugging into her jacket and perching herself on the edge of the Captain’s chair, grinning.

He paused, smiling.

“You’re actually serious, aren’t you?” he murmured, shaking his head in wonder.

“Yeah,” she repeated.

He paused, shrugging.

“I dunno … you don’t think it’s a bit … domestic?”

-----------------

Twenty minutes after spooling off the main course menu, Lucy was beginning to feel incredibly uncomfortable.

Staring at Martha, the Doctor shrugged casually.

“You know what? Keep it simple. Steaks, medium rare, all the trimmings, as they say.”

Sighing in relief, Lucy nodded, scribbling on her notepad and sweeping her hair from her eyes as she glanced wilfully at the bar. Her colleague, Chris, shot her a bemused look, nodding at the Doctor. She shrugged and glanced at the ceiling in silent prayer, glaring at him when he snorted and returned to wiping out a glass. Scowling, she shook her head and turned back to her clients.

Eyes closed, she asked, mentally wishing she could be anywhere else, “an’ … and for desserts?”

Seeing the look the Doctor was giving her - his ‘I think it’s your turn now’ look - Martha let her head bang down hard onto the table, suppressing a groan of annoyance, and sighed heavily.

Lucy appeared to want to do the exact same thing.

Too bad she didn’t have a table of her own to do it on. Maybe the wall behind her would work just as well …

-----------------

Martha raised an eyebrow.

“What’s wrong with domestic?” she asked, puzzled.

He leant against the console running a hand through his hair.

“Well … nothing, I guess. For a human. It’s just … I don’t do domestic. Not well, at any rate. I’m not a domestic person.”

Martha was smirking, now.

“Right,” she said, face passive but only through pure determination. Standing again, she walked around the console towards him and placed a hand on his arm.

“Well, if you’re chicken,” she started, tones contemplative, “we can do something else.”

-----------------

Before the Doctor could say anything, Martha straightened up and considered Lucy thoughtfully.

“Just … surprise us,” she said quickly, knowing the girl was more than desperate to get away from them. “Chocolate’s good. We’re not fussy. Something with chocolate.”

“Righ’,” Lucy said softly, choosing not to rebuke Martha’s, ‘we’re not fussy’ comment. She may not have been, but her husband most certainly was.

Nevertheless, she’d been presented with an escape route and she was damn well taking it.

“So, we’ll be out with your starters as soon as poss. Drinks can be … oh, whatever,” she murmured, placing the pencil behind her ear for safe keeping and pointing to the bar. “Just order them over there.”

Chris started in surprise as her finger pointed at his chest, silently mouthing ‘don’t you dare’ to her. Sticking out her tongue, she ignored his warning and turned away.

And flashing Martha a disbelieving smile of gratefulness for assisting in her getaway, Lucy promptly nodded to the Doctor and vanished into the kitchens.

-----------------

“I’m not chicken,” he whined, pulling away and retreating around the console.

She followed him, grin widening.

“Oh no? Daleks? Easy. Devouring Suns? No problem. One pub lunch? No way. So … if you can face Daleks and devouring Suns, but you can’t face one pub lunch, you don’t reckon that’s being chicken?”

Feeling distinctly hot under the collar, he rolled his eyes but remained mute, glaring at the console and circling around it as Martha inched ever closer.

“See?” she called smugly, pointing at him around the central column. “Chicken!”

Irritated, he shook his head, rather as a four-year-old would, and slammed his hand down onto a control, yanking it upright and glaring at her. “Fine!” he huffed, flicking switches and sliding the scanner around to eye-level. “Pub lunch? I’ll show you a pub lunch. I know just the place … and just the time, too. If we have to do this, we’re doing it properly.”

Gleefully delighted that she’d won, she nodded calmly, pursing her lips to stop herself from laughing out loud at the contempt and resolute look on his face. Twiddling the key around her neck between two fingers, she returned to her seat and watched him in fascinated silence.

-----------------

As soon as Lucy was out of earshot, Martha turned to the Doctor, eyes wide in frustrated disbelief.

“What the Hell was that all about?” she demanded, spotting his sheepish smile and shaking her head.

He scratched at his ear and fiddled with the napkin in front of him.

“I did tell you I don’t do domestic,” he replied simply, almost as though he wanted to make it quite clear that this whole thing wasn’t his idea. Martha rolled her eyes.

“I can see why after that. Twenty freakin’ minutes to choose one dish? You’re even worse than I am! And that is saying something,” she added, downing what was left of her free glass of water. It had been a full glass half an hour ago, and they hadn’t even started eating, yet …

-----------------

Stepping out of the blue doors in silence, her eyes immediately travelled to the river flying along to their right. They were standing in a car park, the doors to a delightfully quaint-looking public house standing metres away from them.

“Where are we? It doesn’t look like London,” she said brightly, glancing back as he locked the door. She was faintly surprised to see him looking more than a little apprehensive, now. He’d been resolutely silent since he’d given in to her, but she’d thought nothing of it until now.

Surely lunch couldn’t be that bad?!

“Bradford, West Yorkshire. A bit of a … rather unexpected discovery of mine a while ago. It’s rare that West Yorkshire is acknowledged for much, but I can’t deny it’s a wonderful pub. There’s just something about it that’s … really inviting.”

He shrugged and ran a nervous hand through his hair. Again.

He paused, then added quietly, “and … it’s Valentine’s Day.”

Not exactly prepared for that, she blushed scarlet and was momentarily lost for words. When her vocal chords finally agreed to heed her request, she forced out a croaked, “oh,” and couldn’t restrain a giggle as she spotted his face. “Why’d you pick Valentine’s Day?”

“Two for one,” he said simply, though the look in his eyes didn’t quite match his blasé response.

“Okay,” she said carefully, grinning. “Does that mean we’re … y’know …”

He cleared his throat uncomfortably and said, “well, if that’s okay with you. We need an excuse. Just tell them we’re on our … anniversary, or something.”

He blinked and turned away.

Taking pity on him, she thought it best to clear the air. Stepping towards him, she smiled warmly and gripped his hand.

“It’s a pub lunch, that’s all,” she said softly. “Not a date, not a promise, and most certainly not domestic. It’s just … lunch … alright?”

He shook his head in disbelief, staring at her gleeful smile and wide-eyed look of innocence with nothing short of amazement. Reaching into a pocket and pulling out two gold rings, he shrugged casually and slipped one onto her finger before sliding the second onto his own.

He completely missed the look of surprise and unadulterated joy that lit up her face, then. Instead, looping an arm through hers, he sighed and escorted her across the car park.

“Oh, Martha. If only things were ever that simple.”

-----------------

Two hours later, and they were standing out in the car park, Martha gulping in fresh air and staring at the Doctor as though he’d sprouted a second head.

“Well,” she said finally, accepting his hand and strolling across the car park towards the inconspicuously parked TARDIS, standing behind a tall oak tree near the exit.

The Doctor grinned and shook his head a little.

“Yeah,” he murmured, fishing through a pocket for the key. “I told you they did nice food.”

“That wasn’t exactly what I was going to say,” Martha replied dryly.

“Oh,” he said, stopping and turning to her. “Then what were you going to say?”

She smirked.

“That that was … eventful. Definitely a unique dining experience.”

He grinned too, dropping her hand and slipping the key into the lock, glancing over his shoulder to check nobody was watching them.

“It wasn’t exactly bad, though, was it?”

She smiled and shook her head. “No, I s’pose not.” She paused, then added, “poor Lucy. What exactly did you ask for, when we first got in there? Ever since you said … whatever it was … she’s been lost.”

He frowned, nodding.

“Oh, Malrichekniquilastrinchia? Never mind. It’s a delicacy I’ve found myself growing rather fond of, served in the Ribnoss galaxy. I kinda didn’t expect them to sell it at the George and Dragon but, well, there’s no harm in asking.”

Martha raised an eyebrow.

“Not usually, no,” she amended, grinning, “but I think this time you may just have knocked a perfectly capable waitress into confused uncertainty.”

“D’you think?” he asked politely, nodding for her to go inside.

But placing a hand on her arm, he held her back instead, a palm against the door while the other rested on her elbow. Staring at her, he smiled cheekily. “So do you accept that I don’t do domestic?” he asked brightly.

Martha narrowed her eyes, the truth dawning on her at last.

“You did all that on purpose, didn’t you?” she accused, finally getting it. “Confusing Lucy, taking forever to pick one meal, leaving an impossibly ridiculous tip with coins that are by no means British if indeed they’re even human, disturbing that couple who was sitting behind us by asking them how far it was to the Lake District … you did it all on purpose!”

He nodded, pulling his hand back.

“But do you accept that I don’t do domestic?” he asked again, watching as her frustrated smile stretched a little.

“Fine,” she murmured. “I can’t believe you did all of thatjust to prove a point!”

He shrugged happily.

“What can I say? Call me a chicken and you see my darker side. I don’t like to lose.”

“Yeah, I’d noticed,” she whispered, staring at his cheeky smile before silently handing him his ring back., staring at it almost wistfully before smiling shyly and dropping her gaze. He took it in silence and pocketed it, grin widening. Turning away, she shook her head in disbelief and retreated into the TARDIS without another word.

He spared a glance for the quaint little riverside pub, and laughed softly.

“Well, how about that?” he murmured, following her in and closing the door behind him. “I win.”

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Little Damn Table

Doctor Who (2007) - It's Just a Scratch: Red

mogwai13@live.co.uk — Tue, 03 Jul 2007 17:21:57 GMT

Title: It’s Just a Scratch
Fandom: Doctor Who (2007)
Characters: The Tenth Doctor & Martha Jones
Prompt: # 011 - Red
Word Count: 31’655
Rating: PG-13
Summary: ‘It’s just a scratch,’ he says. Too bad his blood-red eyes say different. The Doctor’s becoming a vampire, and Martha’s life is in danger yet again.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Doctor Who. Thank RTD and the BBC.
Author's Notes: This is a complete story, so the post is too long to add here. Click on the link to be taken to the first chapter, which is located at my FanFiction.Net account.

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Click the link to be taken to the first chapter.

It's Just a Scratch

Little Damn Table