Follows this.

The warm air of the Pacific hit the Doctor as he pulled open the door to the TARDIS. A beach, as promised. It was about time he managed that. He'd always been so preoccupied with this disaster or that disaster, he'd often forgotten the little things in life, like watching the sun set over an ocean.

"Hawaii, as promised," he said, grinning to his companion. "The island of Maui, to be precise. Should be April 5, 1973. And not a bad landing, either."

He nodded back to the TARDIS, sitting comfortably in some soft, silty sand. It would be good for them, Jack and him, to stay somewhere touristy, he thought. To take away from the strange but very real fact that time had been altered, removing Jack and the Doctor from each other's timelines.

Jack must've meant a lot to the Doctor, considering how loudly his emotions rippled back to him.

"Had planned to land us in the morning," he said. "But! The nightlife in Maui can't be that bad, don't you think?"

As best_served_hot reminded me yesterday, Gallifrey One is about a month and a half away and I know that quite a few RPers will be attending the L.A. bash! Since we're all going to be pretty much in the same place and pretty much the same time, I thought we could make a mini-event of it! Or...something!

For those who don't know, Gallifrey One is the Los Angeles Doctor Who convention running from February 26-28, 2010.

( Cut for Gallifrey One blathering! Also, polls! )

EDIT: Since there were some issues with this (for some reason) cause of it's locked status, it's now non-flocked, but all of the poll information is private.

THE HMS ABSOLUTELY F*&!ING RIDICULOUS ROUND ROBIN!

Other parts: Part One

"You know, if you could just take the time to understand how very practical steam is in a ship."

"A space ship can't use steam. You've got to just have them on there for show."

"For show! I'm not from the species that puts spoilers on sportscars, Jim."

"Hey, those look cool."

"Or spaceships."

"What?"

"I've seen the modifications you make to the Enterprise."

"I would not!"

( 'You know, there is a hotel right there,' Dorothy said. )

i.

Regeneration is like dying.

Pain floods his system, it crashes through every cell. He feels himself crumbling, dying from the inside out. He can feel regeneration energy struggling to flow through his system. He can feel it, he's dying.

And it hurts. Oh, god, it hurts so much.

But it's not death. Not really. He's just going to sleep, in his own mind. To sleep in a room in his mind without windows or doors. To rest.

That will feel good, he thinks. To rest. This regeneration started out so happy, so full of life. But struggle and battle and heartsache left him crippled, a hollow shell of a man. He's too cold, now. Too cold and too cruel. Regeneration would be best. He can start over. Start anew.

And it's worth it, sacrificing himself for someone he loves.

He doesn't cry; he just tries to smile through the pain.

"You were fantastic," he says. "And you know what?"

She stands there, shaking her head, unsure.

"So was I."

It's good, he thinks, having her here. At least he's not alone.

And he's gone. Pulled away by light and energy. It's like a curtain pulls back in his mind, like another layer of him has been peeled away.

There he is. Bright-faced and big-haired and grinning as though he wasn't racked with pain seconds earlier. It takes him a moment to associate where he is and he grins over to Rose.

"Hello---Oh." He runs his tongue along his wider molars. "New teeth. That's weird."

( It's just the beginning. Cut for spoilers to S.5 'The End of Time, Part Two.' )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 2,010 <==Surprisingly appropriate

The holidays always take it out of me! Sorry for being so sparse on my tags and slow on my prompts! I'll get caught up in 2010, I promise!

But! Tonight, I will be partaking of Rock Band, highly caloric food, and it's my year to be the DD, so I have to be prompt. Talk about one hell of a year end. I lose my Doctor and I can't even drink about it! But I'll be back tomorrow evening, ready to write up spoiler-heavy posts (under cuts, of course) and discuss what I anticipate will be the best episode of David Tennant's reign.

Until then, be well, eat fruit, and remember to watch The End of Time, Part Two on January 1, 2010 at 18:40 on BBC One, and on January 2, 2010 at 830/730c on BBC America.

Happy New Year! And remember: It's Twenty Ten, not Two Thousand Ten.



( And my obligatory hiatus'd image...but this one has a spoiler for End of Time, Part One, so it gets a cut. )

• God that was strange to see you again
Introduced by a friend of a friend
Smiled and said 'yes I think we've met before'
In that instant it started to pour,
Captured a taxi despite all the rain
We drove in silence across Pont Champlain
And all of the time you thought I was sad
I was trying to remember your name… •

1763

He lands on her birthday.

It's quite by accident, of course, he's not even supposed to land along her timeline at all. But most things in life, well, in his life, are by accident, happenstance, or chance. He's come to accept these sort of things.

It's still disarming to see her again. He walks around the corner of a hallway and she turns as well and there they are, standing in the same space.

"Reinette."

"My Angel."

With a wave of her hand, the two women she was addressing leave without question. She turns back and looks up at him, her face at once angry and anticipating. She is young and old as well, and it is a tribute to her beauty that he can't figure out what year he's landed to visit her.

"I had often wished you would visit again," she says. "But I had often imagined it under different circumstances."

He looks down at his clothes. The blue suit he wears is torn at the sleeve and knee, and the tie around his neck is askew. The TARDIS had been parked out in one of the gardens, unfortunately near where a fire-breathing Graske had taken up residence. He'd meant to take a quick look 'round before heading back to the TARDIS. But, well, he walked into a piece of his own history before then. He's come to accept these sort of things.

"Well, never a chance to slow down," he says. "You know me."

She smiles thinly, and coughs into a small handkerchief. Tuberculosis takes her in the end, he thinks, seeing the bloodstain on the white fabric. But she was sick (is sick) for a very long time prior to that. A silly, stupid illness that could've been cured not even two hundred years in the future. Time is so short for them. Truncated, sliced away. There's not enough time to see anything, or do anything, and even a life as fantastic and accomplished as Madame du Pompadour will be lost to time.

But not lost to him.

He wishes he could tell just how long it's been for her. It has been so very, very long for him. Has he left her waiting by the fireplace? How could she look so calm, talk to him so sweetly, if she knew (knows) he has already left her?

Or perhaps she doesn't know how old he is. Perhaps, for the first time, they are on the same timeline, both old and both lonely for a long while without each other.

One of the women reappears and gestures to Reinette, who ignores her. If anything, the gesture appears to put her out more than interest her.

"They are planning for the ball, tonight," she says. "For my birthday." She takes in a breath. "You'll come. You'll dance with me." There is no question in her voice.

"I don't dance anymore," he says.

"Which is what you said before," she replies, her lips very slightly turning upwards, pleased by the challenge his refusal gives her.

"I only dance with the stars, now," he says.

"A noble pastime," she says, nodding to placate him.

"I don't dance with people," he insists. "I don't love them, not anymore. I dance with time and space." He dances with universes and unrealities, he rewrites history and undoes time. It's what he's become, now. He's not the same man who sipped watered-down wine at the Yew Ball and danced with a pretty woman simply because he wanted to.

Her smile changes, very subtly. He can see the lines in her eyes, the creases in her smile. She's much older than she was when he left her at the fireplace, he decides. She may not show it on her face, but it's there, in her eyes.

"Time and space is all that you love?" she says, her words crisp and delicate 18th century French vowels. "You must be aware that it will never love you back."

They're both far too old to be dancing, he thinks. Far too old to be playing. He needs someone to stop him, and she deserves the stars. Deserves them at least once.

"Come with me," he says.

He reaches out a hand to touch her face, but she moves back, very slightly, leaving the warmth of her skin in the cold December air. He can feel the streams of her timeline in her wake, touch the fragile strands binding her to this December, what must be the last December she spends alive.

He's shattered fixed positions in time before, but he'll never quite accept that he can.

"Dance with me," she says.

They stand together here, but timelines away from each other.

• There's one thing I want to say, so I'll be brave
You were what I wanted
I gave what I gave
I'm not sorry I met you
I'm not sorry it's over
I'm not sorry there's nothing to save

I'm not sorry there's nothing to save… •

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 851, not including lyrics from Star's "Your Ex-Lover Is Dead"
Mike says it's romantic and depressing, so it must be one of my stories. =|

Dear Russel T. Davies,

( Cut for spoilers to S.04, 'The End of Time, Part One'. )

•happy • holidays!•

Happy Holidays, everyone! It's about time for me to get my little caboose to bed so that visions of sugar plums can dance about in my head and all that. And you should, too! What are you doing up at this hour?!

I won't be online at all tomorrow, and possibly part of the 26th, as I'll be out of town and may end up getting iced out of town, as well! But, we'll see! I'll catch all my belated holiday tags and finish up those last few drabbles when I get back!

But! Until then, be safe, be well, eat fruit, and remember to watch The End of Time, Part One on BBC One at 6pm on December 25th and on BBC America at 9pm on December 26th!

And for goodness' sake, no spoilers!



And for those of you who don't know, Hamlet will be airing on Boxing Day! So that's two awesome Christmas shows in one neat weekend.



( Also, my spouse made a video that is funny, but spoilerly for previous Christmas episodes... )

FOR THE DRABBLE MEME.

• So hold her
You may think you know her
I used to be her lover
Yeah, I'm the one who broke her

You'll be her one and only
Don't you ever leave her lonely… •

Rose Tyler is sixteen and in love with Jimmy Stone.

Jimmy Stone is a poser rock band wannabe moron and is lucky Rose Tyler even looks in his direction.

The Doctor shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be in this time, in this place. But he is, because time is idiotic like that. Time doesn't work the way the Doctor expects it to.

And so, he's in a bar, trying desperately to stay hidden as sixteen year old Rose Tyler is waving goodbye to Jimmy Stone at his job. When one lands in London in 2004, one should expect to hide from at least a few people. The Doctor peers over his shoulder from where he sits, watching his young companion walk away. He misses her. Misses the person she will be, when he watches her fade from view on that beach in Norway.

But he's not staring. He's just hiding. Well, it starts out as hiding, of course. Then, this lanky, nineteen-year-old fool walks in, ready to start his shift as a bartender. What the hell did Rose see in him? Well, what does Rose see in him?

He knows Jimmy Stone is the reason she never finished her A Levels. He knows she considers him one of her biggest mistakes, but she never told him (will never tell him) why.

So, the Doctor sits at the bar.

This is not his most clever moment, no. But he's curious.

He watches the boy pull a pint for him. Takes in the ugly leather jewelry and the chipping black nail polish. For a sixteen year old, maybe that look is cool. Maybe he's not as much of a loser as he looks.

He's no Time Lord, that's for sure.

Jimmy places the drink in front of the Doctor and turns away. What would the Doctor say to him?

But he doesn't have to think of what to say, because some bulky man walks in, obviously a friend, and starts up a conversation right on the topic the Doctor wanted to talk about.

"Break it off with her yet?" the newcomer says.

"Nah, nah, she'll figure it out," Jimmy says.

The Doctor barges in, taking a drink from his glass. "Breaking up with your girlfriend? Blonde out there? She seemed awfully pretty."

Jimmy doesn't even bat an eye to the Doctor's intrusion, probably used to that sort of thing while working at a bar. "Not my girlfriend. My girlfriend's in Surrey. And yah, breakin' up with her next week. When I get 'round to it."

"For the blonde?"

Jimmy and the other man laugh. "Nah, that's not worth the breakup. That's just Rose. Turns out she's leavin' school, comin' to stay with me, so she thinks. Sixteen years old, dumb as a hat, but she's good for a laugh."

The Doctor feels his hands clench around the glass. Rose is a lot of things, but dumb isn't one of them. "Really?" he says, his voice a forced calm.

"Yeah," Jimmy says, leaning casually by the Doctor. "You know the difference between a toilet seat and a sixteen year old girl from Powell Estate?"

The Doctor has a bad feeling that Jimmy's about to tell him.

Jimmy laughs. "A toilet seat doesn't follow you 'round once you've used it!"

The Doctor's not entirely certain what happened next. At some point the glass in his hand shattered, and Jimmy wound up on the floor with a bruise on his jaw in the shape of the Doctor's fist. Jimmy is stunned that a man so much older and thinner than he is could hit with that level of strength.

The Doctor doesn't hit people. It's not who he is. He doesn't get frustrated to that point. He gets disgusted, but not to the point of violence. But this bastard took Rose's future from her, used her, and then dared to insult her like this.

And the Doctor can't go tell her to stay away from him. She has to suffer through her mistakes and suffer through this piece of scum.

"You know what?" the Doctor said, picking a piece of glass from the palm of his hand. "She'll be the most important woman in the world one day. And you'll still be nothing. Funny, how time works out."

And as he leaves the bar, he passes by a pretty sixteen year old girl, running in to check on her boyfriend after hearing a commotion. She turns as she enters the door, glancing to his back for just a moment.

She doesn’t know him yet. She'll never know why he did this.

Funny, how time works out.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 741

FOR THE DRABBLE MEME.

• You sure know what you're doin'
Holdin' me this way
And I'll go where you lead me
Anywhere you say
You've got me where you want me
So Darlin' please be kind
Before you take it all
And I make that final fall
You've got to keep in mind

(That) I'm a new fool at an old game
A kid out of school tryin' to find my way
But I don't know the rules, (so) teach me how to play
I'm just a new fool at an old game.... •

She reminds you, in many ways, of yourself.

It's in the way she dances, in the way she holds herself. She's older in her heart than she is on the outside, just like you do. She tosses her long, ginger hair back and laughs at something one of her girlfriends says, but it's all show.

She reminds you of someone you used to know. Someone who left you. Maybe that's why you tilt your wide-brimmed hat back and head over to the table. Sure, she's tall and curvy and ginger, not short, petite, and blonde, but she's got the same grin. The same fire in her eyes.

"I beg your pardon, ladies," you say, and they all look a little surprised at your appearance and grin. You turn to the ginger woman. "Would you dance with me?"

She looks to the girls like this is some big joke, but takes your hand without a question to you. You take her to the dance floor.

The song is slow and unfamiliar, but you dance to it anyway. She gives you an odd look.

She smiles at you as she puts a hand to your shoulder, but her expression, while flattered, is unimpressed. You're not her type, you figure. Too eccentric, maybe a bit too old. "No offense, mate, but I don’t think I'd be dancing with you right now if I didn't have two pints in me already." The honesty is refreshing, you think. You know (if you do say so yourself) that you're charming, but having someone tell you that you're only charming when they're a little drunk feels more genuine than all the fake laughs in the world.

She'd do that, you think. Even before she was blonde, even back when she was regal and brunette, she'd always tell you how things were.

"Well, that's all right," you say. "I'm not entirely sure I'd be dancing with you if I wasn't in the same predicament." And if you weren't missing the one that only too recently had gotten away.

You smile widely, though, and it's mostly fake, and her expression changes. It isn't the same smile from before, it's almost awed, like she can't figure you out.

"You've got such an interesting smile, though," she says. "It's like I---Like I know your smile, like I've seen it before."

"Oh, I used to have a friend who told me I was many men, and that was why my ego was so inflated."

"Sounds like a brilliant girl, that one." Her smile changes again, and you're surprised by how much one woman can say with that simple turn of the lips. Now, she's empathic. She understands. "Let her get away, did you?"

"Quite presumptuous of you," you say.

"Yeah, well, I know that smile of yours when you talk about her. You all right?"

"I'm always all right." It's something you've only just decided has to be true about yourself. You have to always be all right. Even when your companion is unemotionally standing by the food table and you're grieving for a love you've lost. You have to.

"Is that the kind of all right that's really, really not all right?" she asks.

You smile again, and this time it is almost entirely genuine. It's strange, to dance with someone who truly understands. And, even though you have never met her before, you feel like you have always known this woman.

Time is like that.

She picks a piece of lint off of your long scarf, and even though the song changes to something more upbeat, she doesn't pull away from your arms.

"Come on, Smiler," she says. "Let's have one more dance to make it really all right, eh?"

Muse: The Doctor (Four)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 622

FOR THE DRABBLE MEME.

•
Don't wait, act now
This amazing offer won't last long
It's only a chance to pave the path we're on
I know there are more exciting things to talk about
And in time we'll sort it out
And in time we'll sort it out

And though they say it's possible
To me, I don't see how it's probable
I see the course we're on spinning farther from what I know
I'll hold on
Tell me that you won't let go.... •

beep

"Hello, is this the Sparrow residence? The---wait, I think I might have the wrong number---"

"Doctor, you don't---"

click

beep

"Hello, sorry about that last message. Martha's shown me that, yes, I have the right number. This is the Doctor, just calling, looking for Sally. Sally Sparrow. This---Martha, are you sure---"

"She probably doesn't have that long on her machine, Doctor."

"---And I've got a proposition for you. Not an inappropriate sort of proposition of course, not even really certain why those are called---"

"Ten seconds, Doctor."

"AnywaywecoulduseyourhelpforsomethingregardingTorchwoodokay, bye."

click.

"Did you leave your number?"

~

She opens the door before he even knocks. "What sort of thing regarding Torchwood?"

He blinks. "I'm sorry?"

"That message," she says, a little breathless with excitement. "About Torchwood?"

His expression shows he has absolutely no idea what she's talking about. She sighs. "So what're you here for? And how did you get my address?"

He holds up a paper. "I was following an ad. For an old Beatles poster."

"I haven't posted that yet!"

"Well, you'd better. And I think you should post it for two quid instead of six."

~

to: larry_video@eggnetforums.com
from: smithj34442@unit.gov.uk
subject: Number
Can I have Sally's mobile number? I've got a question for her.
-D

to: larry_video@eggnetforums.com
from: smithj34442@unit.gov.uk
subject: RE: RE: Number
No. It's not Dave, it's the Doctor.
-D

to: larry_video@eggnetforums.com
from: smithj34442@unit.gov.uk
subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: Number
Yes, that Doctor.
-D

to: larry_video@eggnetforums.com
from: smithj34442@unit.gov.uk
subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Number
All right, fine. Just send me a photograph and a self-addressed envelope.
Oh, and Sally's number.
-D

to: larry_video@eggnetforums.com
from: smithj34442@unit.gov.uk
subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Number
UNIT Headquarters is fine. I'll send it back eventually.
Sally's number?
-D

to: larry_video@eggnetforums.com
from: smithj34442@unit.gov.uk
subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Number
No, really, I'm not answering any more questions until you give me the number.
-D
PS: Why are you worried about me asking her on a date?

~

"The Beatles. I like it."

"Thanks."

"I've got one just like it."

"Do you really?"

"Yes." A pause. "So, are you going to tell me what this is all about?"

"Eventually."

"And until then we're…?"

"Sorting out Torchwood."

"Fantastic." Another pause. "Where's Martha?"

"With her family."

"I thought she was traveling with you."

"Wrong timeline."

"Isn't it always that way with us?"

"I'm beginning to think so."

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 411

FOR THE DRABBLE MEME.

• We sit in the car outside your house, whoah
I can feel the heat coming ’round
I go to put my arm around you
And you give me a look like I’m way out of bounds
Well you let out one of your bored sighs
Well lately when I look into your eyes
I’m goin’ down...

We get dressed up and we go out, baby, for the night
We come home early burning burning, burning in some fire fight
I’m sick and tired of you setting me up, yeah
Setting me up just to knock-a knock-a knock-a me down
I’m goin’ down.... •

It's a warm summer night and they are watching a planet burn.

They can't travel to all of the places one of them wants to go to without some sort of compromise. His compromise is the occasional viewing of a dying world or a collapsing star.

Something to silence the drums. Anything to quiet them, just a little while longer.

"Can't you hear them?" one asks the other.

"You know I can't," is the quick reply.

They both have ice cream as they sit, legs dangling out of the hovering TARDIS, but only one of them eats it. The other thinks it is far too sweet, and there's no real reason to sweeten a moment as terrible as this.

"How many die?" he asks, breathless at the destruction below them.

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters," he says. "It's important to know the numbers. The people you didn't save."

"Stop it."

"The people you didn't save for me." He smiles, victorious in his own way. "That's very nearly romantic, you know."

"You would think so."

He finishes up his ice cream and takes his uneaten companion's. If he were the sort to worry about his weight, he might be concerned about this gorging, but his metabolism is far too fast in this incarnation, and he's feeling far too guilty to care.

"We can't stay like this."

"No, I'll move the TARDIS once the flames reach this level of the sky."

"You and I, like this. I can't be your prisoner forever." It's one of his more lucid moments, and when he speaks his words are quiet and threatening. The quiet is always worse than the loud. The quiet comes with the knowledge that it will be loud soon, and no matter how much the quiet is savored, it will always, always end.

No, of course they can't stay like this. It isn't forever.

One of them stopped dealing in absolutes when he lost someone he was idiotic enough to believe he could have forever. The other never gave up on absolutes, even when he should've. But they'll cling, in their strange way, for as long as they can.

The flames lick across the surface of the world. Everyone is dead, there are no more minds crying out for help, begging for release. In a way, they've dried up this resource, sucked the bad from it that one of them needs to be calm.

"Can't you hear them?"

"You know I can't."

There's a quiet chuckle, followed by a loud sigh.

"I don't think you're trying."

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 420
Based on RP with best_served_hot

FOR THE DRABBLE MEME.

• The known, the unknown, and the underknown
Look at what she found
Digging all around by the goldfish pond
She's going to get in trouble now
Shaking up the bees, swinging from the tree
Doesn't understand
She's in trouble now
. •


"Why are you here?"

It's not the most pleasant way he's spoken to someone, and he shouldn't be too surprised that Jeanne-Marie looks offended. The offended look is brief, though, flickering quickly on her face before settling into pleasant surprise. She likes the Doctor, she hasn't seen him in a while.

"It's a party," she says. "We only meet up at parties."

She takes a step towards him, and he takes a step back. She looks a little offended again, but she shakes it off. It's been a rough year for mutants. He's not surprised she's learned to shake off little offenses.

"I'm talking to a reporter from the Sun about what happened to my brother," she says. She looks around the room in disgust at the anti-mutant members of Parliament giving her glares. There are so many of them here.

The Doctor touches the detonator in his pocket. He came here for a very different reason.

"You need to leave," he says, and there's no warmth to his voice, no pleasantries. None of the kind, friendly man she knew, or thinks she knows.

"But---"

"Just go," he says.

She's not offended this time, she's just confused. She thinks she knows him, but she only knows part of his story, the part he spends on Earth, the part where he's had a few glasses of champagne and can't dance properly to save his life. She doesn't know about this part of him.

He doesn't want her to.

But she wants to. She crosses her arms and stands her ground. She's much shorter than he is, but she's a presence in and of herself.

"What if I don't want to?" she demands.

He thinks about what he left in the basement, thinks about the things he's doing now, and thinks about the one innocent life standing before him.

Three years ago, when he first met her, he wouldn't have been here. There'd have been no other choices but to save the one life.

Now, he weighs the loss.

Muse: The Doctor (The Valeyard)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 326

FOR THE DRABBLE MEME.

• Pretty things, so what if I like pretty things
Pretty lies, so what if I like pretty lies
From where you are, to where I am now
I need these pretty things, around the planets of our phase
Everything's a sign of my astrology
From where you are, to where I am now
Is its own galaxy. •

The Doctor taps his foot impatiently, but that only makes Martha smile. It's good, him waiting for her for once. And, besides, it's not like she does this sort of thing all the time.

"We'll be late," he says, irritably.

"I'm just fixing up my hair," she tells him.

"You've been trying on clothes for a half hour, Martha! We need to get going!"

She sticks her head out of the door, half of her hair up in curlers, the other half out and fluffed. "I've seen how long you spend on your hair, mister," she says. "You're not allowed to start talking about how much I like dressing up or not."

She goes back in and continues to work on her hair. "Besides, just because I work as a doctor and like running about with you, I'm still a girl. I still like pretty things!"

"I noticed," he replies, still grumpy.

Martha sighs and pulls out the rest of the curlers. Her hair is in a perfect 60's bob, just right for the party the Doctor wants to go to. She straightens the skirt she's found in the wardrobe room and buttons up the jacket. The outfit is a little loose on her hips and shoulders, but she looks damn good, if she does say so herself.

Not that he'll notice, of course.

She steps out and gives a little spin. "What do you think?"

He actually starts at her appearance, and she thinks, just for a moment, that he's impressed. That somehow he really likes the pink skirt and jean jacket combination on her with the slightly-too-loose pink high heels, and he's seeing her for the first time.

But his expression settles quickly, and he's all masks again. She's done something wrong, but she hasn't the faintest idea what. It's so frustrating with him. She thinks she's done something right, but it's never right. Never what she expects.

"It's fine," he says, and he turns away.

And no, no, he didn't see her again. But she'll lie to herself, just for a little while, because it keeps her from turning around and going back home. She has 1960 to see. She can't miss that because she's hurting.

Muse: Martha Jones
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 369