handful_of_sky

New Fic: The Upper Hand (Castle, Castle/Beckett, T)

2009-05-14T18:43:29Z

The usual disclaimers apply: I don't own them, never will, blah, blah, so on and so forth.

Title: The Upper Hand

Castle (Castle/Beckett, T) one-shot fluff

The Upper Hand

Castle (Castle, Castle/Beckett, T) one-shot fluff

***

Kate Beckett is out of breath, and it's all Castle's fault.

She tightens her grip on his shoulders and pants, "Is there anything that you're not good at?"

"Is that a complaint I hear?" he chuckles. "Don't forget, this was your idea."

He's right. This was her idea, and and it's way too late for second thoughts. She's not surprised by Castle's energy and his unflagging enthusiasm--that's just who he is-- but she is surprised by his expertise.

She exhales sharply and blows a strand of hair out of her face. It's late afternoon and the air is hot and heavy with humidity. Castle's body is hot and heavy as well, but she wraps her legs around him a little tighter anyway. He grunts softly and grins. His blue eyes twinkle with his usual good cheer, but there's something dangerous there as well--something dark and smoky that rises up and challenges her--and she feels an answering jolt deep in her belly.

"Had enough?" he asks huskily.

"Not nearly."

She bucks underneath him and twists her hips, and then he's on his back. She's the one on top now, and she uses her position to her advantage, leaning in close to him until she feels his breath hot on her lips.

"What about you, Castle?" she teases. "Ready to plead for mercy?"

"Never."

He rolls quickly to his side and she traps his knee at the same time that he grabs her elbow. She doesn't push her advantage, and neither does he, each of them applying just enough pressure so that the other is aware of just how debilitating the joint lock could be. She won't gain the upper hand, not this time. For one thing, they're just too evenly matched, and for another...she doesn't want control. She needs a partner, not a rival. Their skills complement each other, and that's exactly the way that she likes it.

"I can think of better ways to make a human pretzel than with judo," he says softly.

"And more enjoyable things to lock?" she smiles, releasing her grip.

"Oh, yeah." He uses his hold on her elbow to roll her gently across the mat toward him. He smiles tentatively, uncharacteristically unsure of himself, but she grabs the cloth of his gi and pulls him close.

His kiss is soft at first--a question more than a caress--but it still ignites something within her. Heat blooms across her skin and she slides her hands into his hair, kissing him harder, opening her mouth to his. She has wanted this--has wanted him--for too long now to be satisfied with anything less than everything he has to give. He responds in kind, putting a hand in the small of her back, and pulling her tightly against him, kissing her deeply, urgently, making her acutely aware of just what she's been missing since she met him. This, too, is something that Castle's exceptionally good at.

She hears voices in the hall and pulls away from him, unwilling to be caught making out on the floor of the precinct's workout room. By the time Ryan and Esposito arrive, she and Castle are back on their feet and collecting their belongings.

"So who won?" Ryan asks.

Castle, for once at a loss for words, just smiles, shrugs, and leaves. Beckett sidesteps the question and follows him out, but not before she hears Esposito murmur, "I think they both did, man. About damn time, if you ask me."

He's waiting for her in the stairwell. He takes her gym bag from her, drops it to the floor beside his own, and presses her against the wall. Castle takes her face between his palms and kisses her hungrily, and she sighs and melts into the contact. It's too much and not nearly enough, and he finally lets her go, winks, and whispers "'Night, detective," as he leaves her alone with her thoughts.

Kate Beckett is still out of breath, and it's still all Castle's fault.

***
fin

New Fic: "Closure" (Doctor Who)

2006-11-14T18:49:57Z

Written for dark_aegis and wendymr's Rose Tyler Ficathon.

The story was written for malana, who requested Ten, Jack Harkness, and Four's scarf.

Title: "Closure"
Spoilers: DW through "Doomsday", Torchwood's "Everything Changes"
Summary: Jack needs to know what happened to him.

Closure

Spoilers: DW through "Doomsday", Torchwood's "Everything Changes"
Summary: Jack needs to know what happened to him.

Jack Harkness stabbed impatiently at the activator he wore on his wrist, but the topside lift still refused to budge. The Cardiff branch of Torchwood wasn't without a certain amount of charm (much like Jack himself), but the endless damp belowground contributed to a fair number of mechanical and electrical difficulties. Making a mental note to have Ianto check the problem, Jack used the normal egress and decided to make sure that nothing was blocking the reluctant mechanism from the outside. What he found stopped him in his tracks.

In a daze, he found himself in a dead run, desperate to reach the TARDIS before it could dematerialize the way that it did in so many of his dreams. The doors opened to receive him as he approached, and he skidded to a stop inside the familiar control room as the doors closed again behind him.

"Doctor?" he called out. "Rose?"

A tall, pale stranger stood up from where he had been crouched beneath the console and gave him a wide, friendly grin.

"Jack!"

The man fit the description of the Doctor that had circulated after the Sycorax and Cyberman invasions, but Jack had to be sure.

"I'd heard you'd changed, Doctor, but they never told me that you were pretty."

"Pretty? Is that what I am?" The Doctor circled the console and stepped off of the supporting platform. "I suppose I might be, at that. And you haven't even seen the mole yet."

Jack smiled in spite of himself. He didn't act much like the old Doctor, but Torchwood's records showed that the Doctor tended to change personalities as he changed bodies. "If it's really you, Doctor, tell me about the last time you saw me."

"Right. We were on Satellite 5, ready to fight the Daleks for control of the universe itself, and before you left to buy me some time, you kissed me goodbye. For some reason, I was expecting cinnamon, but you tasted of ashes." His eyes were downcast. "I suppose you knew you were going to die."

Jack's legs suddenly felt weak, and he sat down hard on the platform. "I did die, Doctor. And then, somehow, I was alive again. And when I came back, the Daleks were gone and so were you. Ever since then, I've wondered what happened."

"Of course you have." The Doctor ran his hands through his hair and seemed not to notice or care that he left it sticking in strange directions. "It was the Bad Wolf. Rose and I kept seeing those words over and over again, in different places and different times."

"I saw it a few times too, Doctor. But what does it mean?" Jack asked.

The Doctor sat beside Jack and swung his legs over the edge of the platform. "The Bad Wolf was the physical manifestation of the time vortex--the heart of the TARDIS itself. You saw it at work the last time we were in Cardiff. The energy it controls is vast, but it couldn't leave the TARDIS without a host."

"And it chose Rose." Jack grimaced.

"It didn't choose her, Jack." The Doctor stroked the console lovingly. "Rose chose to take the energy into herself. She used it to destroy the Daleks, and she used it to give you back your life."

"She may have given me more than she intended to. I've been hurt a hundred times since then, sometimes badly enough to be fatal. Everything heals within seconds. I've lost count of how many years it's been, and I never seem to age."

"I think I know why." The Doctor leaned close to Jack and flicked his tongue across Jack's neck, just a little below the jawline. "Mmmmm, yes, you're still full of vortex energy, bursting with it, in fact."

"Are you sure?" Jack angled his neck aside. "Maybe you should try it again."

The Doctor clapped Jack's shoulder. "The years haven't changed you that much, have they? Did you notice that the TARDIS let you in without a key? She recognizes you as a part of herself now."

"And Rose?" Jack asked. "Where is she?" He looked around the control room hopefully.

"Not with me anymore," the Doctor said flatly.

"She's dead, then." Jack's heart sank. "I know she was with you when the Cybermen came, but she hasn't been seen since. I saw how the two of you were together. She would never have left on her own."

"No, no, not dead. She's on Earth, in London, actually."

"She can't be," Jack insisted. "I would have found her by now."

"I never said she was on this Earth, Jack."

"Dimension-hopping? She's on an alternate Earth? I never figured you to be so reckless, Doctor. That kind of travel can totally unravel the fabric of the continuum."

"Like this?" The Doctor reached for the bundle of fabric he'd been using as a pillow as he worked beneath the console. It was a long, multicolored scarf. At one time, it must have been quite extraordinary, but it was badly worn now--full of holes and covered with stains. The Doctor plucked at a loose bit of yarn and unraveled several inches of the scarf before pulling the strands idly through his fingers.

"It couldn't be helped, Jack. I did the best I could for her. My only regret is that I couldn't say goodbye."

"Yeah, you've got a lousy track record where that's concerned," shot Jack.

"I'm sorry," the Doctor said softly. "Rose was dying, so I took the vortex into myself. That started this process--" he indicated his new body "--and I never think too clearly while I'm regenerating."

"We're not so different, are we Doctor? I can't die. You can, but you just create a new body and start over."

"Don't get too cocky, Jack," the Doctor warned. "I've got a limited number of regenerations, and your energy will run out eventually. I can't say when, but it's not inexhaustible."

"So if I kept throwing myself off a cliff--?"

"There'd come a time when you wouldn't get back up again. That how you want to use her gift?"

"Nah," Jack said. "Believe me, I've got more important things to do. But speaking of gifts, Doctor, I need to show you something." He picked up the remnants of the scarf and held a largely intact section in the air between his face and the Doctor's. Jack gradually stretched the fabric until tiny gaps in the knitted yarn allowed him the merest glimpse of the Doctor's face. "Do you see what I see?"

"If I can't punch through the fabric of space, maybe I can find a thin spot…" the Doctor mused.

"Maybe you can," Jack said. "Of course, I don't think the rift will cut it--you'll need the energy of a sun--but you can find her, Doctor. You can give her the closure that I never had."

The Doctor jumped up and started checking displays and adjusting the TARDIS controls. "I think you're right. I'm sure of it, actually, but how did you know?"

Jack stood and began walking toward the now-open doors. Just before he reached them, he turned back to wink at the Doctor and blow a kiss at the console. "She told me, Doctor." He patted the door gently on his way into the night, but his voice drifted back once more to the control room.

"She told me."
*****

end

New Fic: "Flotsam" (Doctor Who)

2006-10-31T19:45:33Z

This was written for dark_aegis's Rose Tyler Ficathon.

This story was written for athousandwinds, who requested Rose in post-Doomsday AltWorld with Mickey/Jake and a focus on Rose's relationship with Jackie.

Title: Flotsam
Summary: Rose can't forget that she doesn't belong here.
Rating: G/all ages

Flotsam

Rose Tyler hears the ocean everywhere now.

She hears it in the bathtub as she shifts her body weight and the water laps gently against the sides of the tub.

She hears it in the shower as the water droplets gather companions, and then speed, before rushing for the drain.

She hears it in the rain that runs off the roof of her attic bedroom in Pete and Jackie Tyler's mansion.

The water mumbles merrily to her and she can't hear it without remembering the beach and the last time that she saw him. It’s a constant susurrus, whispering to her, reminding her (as though there were ever a chance of her forgetting), that

This is not your world, not your world, not your world…
This is not your world, Rose Tyler…

*****

The dew-drenched garden sparkles in the early morning light. Rose comes out here most mornings in a vain effort to connect with this planet that, after a year now, still feels like not-home. Today her calm is disturbed by black-jacketed caterers, who are busy setting up tables and arranging flowers in preparation for tonight's celebration. It's the first anniversary of the healing of the breach between the Earths, but it's also a ceremony of remembrance for all those that were lost fighting the Cybermen. Pete hasn't spared any expense, and Rose knows Jackie is enjoying planning the event in spite of being heavily pregnant.

As usual, Rose spends her day at Torchwood. There are always sightings to investigate, objects to analyze, reports to be written, and rewritten, and sent out in triplicate. She's given up hope of ever clearing her desk, but she's glad of the work and the effort it requires of her. She's worked so hard over the last year and learned so much that she can't help but think how proud he would be, if only he knew. He never will.

The party's almost due to start by the time she gets home, so she gets dressed and waits for the guests to arrive. There are dignitaries and politicians, industry leaders, and, of course, some of her coworkers from Torchwood, including Mickey and Jake. The champagne flows freely, the food is delightful, and many toasts are made to the future and to those who've made it possible. Jackie has set aside a little area in the garden for those who might wish to light a candle in remembrance of loss, and, by the end of the evening, the table is ablaze with light. Rose can't bring herself to go anywhere near it.

She finds an empty bench in the corner of the garden and waits for the last of the guests to trickle out. As the caterers begin the process of cleaning up, Jackie walks over and settles herself gingerly on the bench next to Rose. "Feels a bit odd, doesn't it?"

"What, the bench? I'll get you a pillow if you like."

"Not the bench, Rose," Jackie smiles. "I mean us--all of us: you, me Pete, Mickey, this little lump." She rubs her stomach affectionately. "It's all a bit much for you, sometimes, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that." Rose tries not to stare at Mickey and Jake, who are snogging each other enthusiastically in the gazebo. It's just one more reminder of her failure to connect to this place.

"It's like when your dad died, you know?"

Rose isn't sure what relationship there could be between her father's death and being trapped in an alternate reality, but she asks anyway. "In what way, Mum?"

"The mourning, Rose. The wanting things to change. The what-if's and could-have's and should-have's and if-only's."

Those kinds of thoughts have crossed Rose's mind with astonishing regularity, but she never before realized that Jackie had seen them all before.

"It's a process, you know. Can't finish it all at once, cross things off a checklist, and you're all done. It takes time."

Time. Rose snorts softly. "At least I've got a lot of that, haven't I?"

"That you do." Jackie tucks a stray wisp of Rose's hair back behind her ear. "I noticed that you didn't light a candle."

"He's not dead, Mum."

"Isn't he? You can't see him, can you? Or talk to him, or touch him, or give him a ring? You can't do anything but remember him. If that's not the definition of dead, then I don't know what is, but that's not what I meant, anyway." Jackie reaches for Rose's chin and turns her head until they're looking straight into each others' eyes. "You have to grieve for your old life, Rose. For all that was left behind, not just for him. It's easier on Mickey and me because we've got more going for us here than we had back there. We gained more than we lost, but I still miss it terribly sometimes." Her voice is gentle. "I can see that you do too."

"I don't know why," Rose confesses, "but, yeah, I miss it. Even though there wasn't really anything there for me. Not for a while."

"You had me, Rose," Jackie chides gently.

"I did." Rose blinks away tears. "I still do, and I'm grateful for that, and for Pete, and for the baby, but sometimes…sometimes--"

"Sshhh. I know." Jackie smiles in a way that won her not just one, but two Pete Tylers, and engulfs her daughter in a warm hug. A few moments later, though Rose pulls away laughing as she's jabbed violently in the midsection.

"Good Lord, Mum, he's got a kick like Beckham!"

"Don't I know it," Jackie sighs. "I told Pete that one day and he had no idea what I was talking about."

"Yeah, I looked him up at work, once. Drives a zeppelin in this world, apparently."

Jackie laughs. "Daft, this place is. And of all the parallel Earths, how come we had to wind up in one that doesn't have EastEnders? Although, I admit--" her face takes on a slightly dazed look as a tuxedo-clad Pete approaches and takes her hand, "--there are certain compensations."

Pete winks at Rose as he escorts his wife back into the house. A moment later, a shaggy bundle of fur jumps onto the bench and settles itself into the recently vacated spot. Now simply known as "the dog", she sits and wags her tail enthusiastically as Rose scratches behind the furry little ears.

"How about you, then?" Rose asks. "Is there another you on the other Earth with another name, cadging treats at another party?"

The little dog licks at Rose's hand before jumping off the bench and foraging under the tables for dropped tidbits.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Rose makes her way across the deserted lawn to the memorial table. She picks up an unlit candle and holds it in her palm for a few seconds. "This isn't for you, Doctor," she says quietly. "And, in spite of what Mum says, it's not really for my Earth, either. This is for Rose Tyler of the Powell Estates. She was an ordinary girl who worked in an ordinary shop and lived an ordinary life, until she met someone who helped her become more than she could have ever dreamed. She's gone now, but the lessons she learned are not forgotten."

She strikes a match and it quivers for a moment in the freshening breeze before catching strongly enough to light the candle. "Rest in peace, Rose Tyler." She cups the candle between her hands, protecting the fragile flame until it's well-established before placing it with the others of its kind.

She heads back to the house, pausing for a moment to listen to the fountain at the center of the garden. As always, she hears the rumble and hiss of the ocean, but the cadence has changed.

It's a brave new world, new world, new world…

It's a brave new world, Rose Tyler…

*****

end

New Fic: Afterlife

2006-07-19T16:57:03Z

This was written for yahtzee63's Alias: The Dearly Departed Ficathon

For spazzo47, who requested Jack, Jack and Sydney, and Jack with one of his grandchildren.
Rating: PG
Summary: Jack's back, and Rambaldi was wrong all along.

Afterlife 1/1

*****

I have always despised incompetence in other people. I've recently had ample opportunity to curse it in myself as well. Being trapped in a cave in Mongolia for five and a half years results in a hell of a lot of time for self-flagellation.

As far as final deeds go, I thought mine was pretty decisive--blow up myself, my worst enemy (although Irina had managed to make herself a pretty damn close second), and the tomb of the ancient genius-cum-madman that has caused my family more trouble and heartache than I'd ever imagined. But I hadn't considered the possibility of the resulting explosion spraying said madman's regenerative fluid all over what was left of my own body. And I sure as hell hadn't counted on the unbelievable itching as my torn-apart flesh started knitting itself back together. By the time my body was whole again, I came to the realization that I'd made a major miscalculation.

Perhaps the only saving grace about my imprisonment was that Arvin was there as well--and in considerably worse shape than me. Pinned by several boulders, he couldn't move anything below his neck. There was nothing wrong with his voice, though. His incoherent ramblings were almost constant until I threatened to feed him a few handfuls of dirt. When Arvin took to cursing Sydney and Nadia for our predicament, I, of course, followed through. I'd like to say it gave me no pleasure to do so. No, that's not true. It gave me intense pleasure, and I don't mind admitting it. And at least things were relatively quiet for a few weeks.

Fate was kind to me, though. I eventually got out with both my body and my mind relatively intact. I was able to tap into hidden accounts set up long before that final mission, and more than five years of compounded interest added up nicely. My network of contacts wasn't in such great shape, however, and it took a few weeks to get back to the States and a few more before I finally found Sydney.

I wanted to see her so badly, but I didn't want to complicate her life any further. We parted on the best of terms, but that wasn't enough for me. I needed to see that she finally got her chance to be happy. I wanted to see how much Isabelle had grown, and to see her little brother--born just two months ago. I found a little café with an outdoor patio near the playground that they frequently brought the kids to. I sat down with my coffee, a croissant, and a newspaper. The park had a few trees that didn't allow me to get a good look at Sydney, but I circumspectly cheered Isabelle on as she crossed the monkey bars.

And all that brings us up to now--when I received something I didn't order: a hard poke in the ribs with the muzzle of a pistol as a man slips into the seat behind mine. Apparently, I was so besotted with my grandchild that I never noticed that I had attracted attention as well. Have I mentioned that I despise incompetence?

"You seem to have an unhealthy interest in my daughter," Vaughn says.

"I could say the same about you." He is silent as he digests this information, and I turn slowly to let him see the part of my face that I had kept hidden behind the paper.

He nods as though my reappearance is not unexpected and leads me over to one of the park benches. Sydney is waiting there with a baby stroller parked beside her. My God, she's so beautiful. She's aged a little, which is to be expected of everyone-- except, I suppose, for Arvin and myself. But there is a sense of contentment around her that I never saw while she was working in the field. Her joy obviously comes from her new role as a wife and a mother. The fact that I have missed all those years hits me like a physical blow.

She barely looks at me as she passes the stroller to Vaughn. As he moves and takes up a position closer to Isabelle, Sydney motions for me to sit on the bench with her. She takes a silenced pistol from the diaper bag beside her and points it meaningfully at my midsection.

"Three questions. No multiple choice, and no second chances. When SD-6 first came after me, you arranged a flight out of the country. Where was it going?"

I've seen her in far worse danger since then, but I know that evening left indelible marks on us both. "I tried to send you to France, with a connection to Switzerland."

"When you had the toaster accident, where did we stay for the next week?"

Sydney looks pained as she asks this, and I know it's because of what eventually happened to Irina. But it's her test, and I have to answer the question. "The Summit Hotel. And every day was Sunday."

She nods to acknowledge the answer to the question she asked as well as the one she didn't--she ate ice cream sundaes every day that we stayed there.

"Which birthday was it when you gave me a red bike?"

For the barest moment, I'm surprised. But then I see the slight narrowing of her eyes as she waits and I realize that she hasn't, in fact, forgotten. It's a trick question, and the rest of my life depends on the answer. "I never gave you a red bike for your birthday, Sydney. I gave you a bike for Christmas one year, but it was blue."

"Dad?"

And then she's in my arms. She's soft and warm and smells of baby powder and she's so real that it takes my breath away.

"Oh, my God," she says as she clings to me like she'll never let go again. "I thought about you every day. You haven't changed at all."

"Sydney," I say as she finally pulls away reluctantly, "I wish that were true."

She's still holding her gun. "Do these even work on you anymore?" she asks as she puts it back in her bag.

There isn't an easy answer to that. "Yes and no. It'll knock me down, but not for long. Even the scars will be gone within minutes."

This will change things between us, it has to, but she's still grinning from ear to ear, she's still holding my hand tightly in hers, and she's still--always and forever--my daughter.

The smile falters a little as another thought occurs to her. "What about Sloane?"

"The earthquake that freed me wasn't as kind to him. He's still in Mongolia, presumably ranting at Nadia's ghost even as we speak."

Sydney's lips tighten at the mention of her sister, and she's reminded of just how much Rambaldi has cost our family. "You know about Irina."

The fact that Sydney no longer calls her 'Mom' doesn't escape me. "I know. I read the reports. You don't need me to tell you that there was nothing else you could have done." But from the look on her face, that's exactly what she needs, so I say it again. "It wasn't your fault, Sydney. She left you no choice."

There are no tears--she must have shed them all years ago--but she scoots a little nearer to me and rests her head on my shoulder as we watch Isabelle scampering through the playground. After a few minutes, Vaughn returns with the stroller and parks it beside us again before taking Isabelle by the hand and walking her over to the ice cream stand across the street.

Sydney lifts the baby from his nest of blankets and pulls a knitted blue cap over his head before placing him into my arms. I used to think that all babies look the same, but, in my admittedly biased opinion, he is absolutely beautiful. He has Sydney's eyes and her nose, but his coloring and his chin must come from his father. And, unless I'm very much mistaken, his brow is much the same as mine. It's amazing how someone so tiny and so utterly helpless can also be so captivating. He wraps a hand around one of my fingers and squeezes tightly, as though to remind me that mighty things come in small packages. Not that I needed the reminder after watching his mother grow up.

Rambaldi had it all wrong. True immortality is found in the wonder that is this little child, knitted together from the very best parts of both of his parents. Arvin lost his chance when he sacrificed Nadia on Rambaldi's altar. Irina lost as well when she tried to do the same to our daughter.

Sydney and Vaughn will live on through this baby and through Isabelle, and no one and nothing on this earth will interfere with that.

I'll be watching.

fin

And the rest of the story...

2006-07-09T00:39:21Z

***

Chapter 2/2

He scrambles to his feet, holds his hands up in front of his face, and looks at them in disbelief. "What have you done?" he yells.

I've meddled,

she thinks, but she tells him, "What you should have done for yourself."

His first face had been a kind one, even when relaxed in near-death. The face he wears now is as stark and stony as his thoughts -- all bony prominences and jagged angles over a core of pure granite. His eyes glitter menacingly and his voice is hard and rough as he advances on her. "You. Had. No. Right."

"You came here," she insists. "Your ship called me."

"And I told you to let me go."

She tries to touch him again, but his mind is quicksilver now--hard, slippery, fluid beneath her touch.

"Don't do that again."

He's looming over her now and River knows that no one in the 'verse as she knows it can possibly be a threat to her while unarmed, but she retreats anyway, overwhelmed by his intensity. When her hip bumps the console she puts a hand on it to steady herself, but pulls it back at the sensation of wetness. She looks dumbly at the ichor staining her palm and the Doctor takes her hand with surprising gentleness.

"I'm sorry," he says, "I didn't realize…"and his gentle words surprise her until she realizes that the Doctor isn't talking to her. He releases her hand and turns his attention to the console, turning wheels, pushing buttons, then finally giving it a thump with his fist. A column in the center of the console pistons up and down and the machine begins to make a sickly wheezing noise.

"Might want to hang on," he tells her. River's been traveling in space long enough to know that it's wise to belt in first and ask questions later, but there aren't even any chairs, much less seat belts, so she grabs the railing around the console and wraps her arms firmly around it. A second later, the room gives a mighty heave that nearly causes her to lose her grip. The Doctor is thrown hard against the console, but he's still standing--monitoring gauges and adjusting the controls. The control room continues to pitch and spin wildly like a ship on a storm-swept sea and the TARDIS

falls, flies, soars like a leaf on the wind

while River wonders how much her mind and body can take before she simply flies apart.

"Come on, come on," the Doctor's voice is encouraging. "Get us home, and I'll do the rest." After several more minutes of heaving and tumbling, they finally stop with a bone-jarring thump and the room is still and quiet once more.

River waits for a few more minutes before relaxing her grip on the railing and standing cautiously. The Doctor studiously ignores her as he opens panels and pulls out wiring, muttering to himself the whole time. River crosses to the door. She knows that Serenity isn't out there anymore, but she wonders about what she'll find in its place.

The doors swing inward at her thought, and River steps onto the surface of a barren planet. They've landed on a rocky mesa and, although she can see for miles and miles in every direction, there's nothing to catch her eye and nothing to catch her mind. She can feel something vaguely like an emotional residue that tells her that this planet was home to millions, if not billions, of beings. But it's even worse than Miranda, now. There's no life here at all -- no animals, no birds, not even insects. The sun--larger than Earth's--hangs low in the sky and the temperature drops a little as the light begins to fail. The swirling dust motes in the air turn the sun's dying rays into a dull scarlet color that stains the boulders and rocks and it looks like

the world is soaked in blood.

"This is Gallifrey." A voice startles her out of her reverie. "It was my home."

When River turns, she sees the Doctor--standing on a dead planet in a dead man's clothes--haloed in the light from a dying sun. She wants to weep for him, but she ran out of tears a long time ago.

"What happened?" she asks.

"You didn't see enough to understand, then?" He looks relieved.

"No. I saw lots of things, but they didn't make much sense."

"Good. You've got quite a future ahead of you, River Tam, but inventing time travel isn't supposed to be part of it."

"Time travel?" Some of the things she saw in the Doctor's mind suddenly begin to take on new meaning. "How do you know my name?"

"Let's just say that history will remember you fondly." The Doctor cups her face in his hand and captures her eyes with his own. "And bear in mind that if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."

Unnerved, River turns away from him. She's not comfortable with the thought of anyone seeing inside her. The more they know, the more they fear, and the more they think of her as a freak. "Why did we come here, Doctor?"

"The TARDIS was born here, so I hoped that she'd be able to find her way home." He pats the outside of the box lovingly. "She needs the energy from a dimensional rift to heal and to complete the repairs. And there's a huge one here now, thanks to the Time War."

A Time War…

She digests the thought. "What happened after your people lost?"

"But we didn't." He grins broadly, showing a mouthful of white, even teeth. "We won!" He throws his head back and laughs heartily and continuously until tears stream from his eyes. River--who has seen and endured more horror in her few years than most people see in a lifetime--feels her skin crawl.

"I'm sorry," she says as she edges back inside the TARDIS. She knows the words will never be enough.

I'm sorry about your people and your planet and about what happened to you. But I'm still not sorry for what I did.

***

River spends the next few days exploring while the Doctor fixes and fusses with his instruments. She's found a superb playmate in the now-healing TARDIS, who rearranges rooms and hallways for her with abandon, constantly challenging River to figure out where she is. The Doctor finally finishes tinkering with the controls and disappears for a time, but when he walks in on her while she's poring through the books in his library, she sees a few obvious changes. He's washed the blood from his new body and found new clothes: dark pants and sweater, black, rugged boots, and a black jacket. It's all dark, somber, and colorless. He mourns.

"We're ready to leave. Shouldn't be as bumpy as last go around, but I thought I'd warn you."

River's not sure if she's pleased at finally being able to leave the company of such a mercurial companion, or if she's disappointed that her fairytale adventure is coming to an end. She finally decides that the experience is what it is, and wasting time dwelling on events out of her control is counterproductive.

True to his word, the Doctor handles the TARDIS controls deftly and easily, and there's only the slightest bump to signify their landing.

Eager to see Simon, River runs to the doors. When they open, she finds something she never expected to see. She looks over her shoulder at the Doctor, but he just shrugs and says, "Call it a parting gift."

River is standing on Miranda--newly colonized and bursting with life.

"Don't try to change things here, though," he cautions. "It can't be done. Just spend a little time and replace some of those memories you shared with me with new ones--with good ones."

It's a bright, beautiful day, and River finds a bench in a shady spot of the sprawling office complex. She's always loved to watch people and she does so now with abandon. There's a man and a woman walking side by side, but with a professional distance between them.

They're lovers, but they don't want anyone to know.

There's a young man, not much older than her, chatting excitedly into his phone.

He's going to be a father soon.

There's a woman tossing a coin into a reflecting pool for luck.

If this new project succeeds, she may get that big promotion.

All around her, the people of Miranda are living for the day, every day, never suspecting that those days are already running out. But seeing them like this--laughing, smiling, enjoying themselves--makes the ruined faces and shriveled bodies of later years seem a little less horrific.

After a time, the Doctor emerges from the TARDIS and sits on the bench beside her.

"Can you do this, Doctor?" she asks. "Can you go back to your world…before?"

"Yes and no. I could--that is, the TARDIS is capable--but I won't, because I couldn't bear to." His voice grows hoarse. "And I couldn't change anything anyway. All you and I can do now is hope that our people didn't die in vain."

"But they're already dead, and they don't even know it."

"Would it be better if they knew what was coming? They're alive now, and that's a beautiful thing."

It is beautiful.

River stands abruptly and walks over to the pool. "Do you have any money?"

"I might have." The Doctor rummages through his jacket pockets. "What would you wish for?"

"You know I can't tell you," she says. "It would break the luck."

"Here." He presses a coin into her upturned hand. "Mind you, it's not legal tender anywhere but Grentis IV, but I suppose it'll work as well as anything."

River takes the coin--a green hexagonal disc--and tosses it in.

As they watch it sink, he says, "I understand why you did what you did, River. I'm not ready to thank you for it yet, but I forgive you. That's the best I can do right now. That, and get you back to your ship."

"Her name is Serenity."

"That's a good name. Serenity. Maybe I'll find it myself one day." He manages a small smile at the thought.

"Maybe you will."

After all, sometimes her wishes come true.

They walk back to the TARDIS in companionable silence. The Doctor takes her hand, and she barely stifles a cry at the contact.

Sometimes River sees things that haven't happened yet. They're usually bad news. She sees something in the Doctor's future now--a grey, shaggy wolf with deep-set brown eyes, its tongue lolling out as it paces across the TARDIS control room. River has no idea what it means, but she senses that it is both the Doctor's salvation and his annihilation. She's meddled enough already, so she doesn't tell. He'll find out soon enough.

***

Epilogue

River feels the TARDIS arriving before she hears it, and she's back in the spare shuttle almost before it finishes materializing. She touches the blue wood to make sure it's really there and then the Doctor steps out--

new, new Doctor

--and she takes a moment to memorize his face again before wondering how many more times she can meet him for the first time.

"Doctor?" A woman's voice comes from inside the pretty blue box full of excitement.

"It appears I've mixed up the coordinates," he calls over his shoulder. "Hang on, be right back." He puts a finger to River's lips to shush the questions threatening to burst from her and whispers conspiratorially, "I'm ready now." The Doctor bows slightly at the waist, looks into her eyes, and says softly, "Thank you, River Tam. Thank you very much."

He presses a kiss to her temple and even though there is still a fair measure of

pain/sorrow/anger

in his mind, she feels something that wasn't there when they first met. His resolve to live shines brightly now. The once-crushing grief is tempered by his delight in seeing the universe through the eyes of his companion. No--not just a companion--his

Rose.

Mal's told her more than once that the first rule of flying is love. Love is what keeps your ship together, what makes it a home. The Doctor isn't whole--not yet and maybe not ever--but he's becoming because

he loves.

The TARDIS, the girl, the 'verse--he loves them all.

The doors are closed and the light is flashing and she doesn't know if she can still touch him, but she reaches out as far and as wide as she can.

You're welcome.

fin
***

Author's note:

The title is borrowed from the following passage from Babylon 5. I mean no disrespect or infringement.

There is a darkness greater than the one we fight. It is the darkness of the soul that has lost its way. The war we fight is not against powers and principalities...it is against chaos and despair. Greater than the death of flesh is the death of hope, the death of dreams. Against this peril, we can never surrender. The future is all around us, waiting in moments of transition to be born in moments of revelation. No one knows the shape of that future, or where it will take us. We know only that it is always born in pain.

J.M.Straczynski, 'Babylon 5: Z'ha'dum.'

New Fic: "Moments of Revelation" (Firefly/Doctor Who)

2006-07-08T23:55:39Z

Woohoo! I finally finished my entry in rheanna27's Choose Your Own Companion Doctor Who Ficathon.

Doctor: Primarily Nine, with brief appearances by Eight and Ten
Companion: River Tam from Firefly
Rating: PG

Moments of Revelation 1/2

***

The Doctor: "… The Time War--the final battle between my people and the Dalek race."

Van Statten: "But you survived too."

The Doctor: "Not by choice."

From Dalek, by Robert Shearman

***

The singing wakes River up. It's a lamentation--low and lyrical--and even though she knows every language ever spoken on Earth, she can't identify this one. She wonders briefly if it's a dirge for her, if maybe she just dreamed that she and the others (well, most of them) survived the attack by the Reavers. When she gets out of bed, the sound stops abruptly, but the deck is cold beneath her bare feet. She's alive, then. The dead either have more important things than cold toes to worry about or nothing to worry about at all. She climbs the ladder quickly and pokes her head through the hatch, waiting.

No Reavers, no Alliance, no one here, no one to hear, nobody here but me...

She reaches out for the others. Simon is with Kaylee, and they're actually sleeping for a change. Mal is dreaming of Inara, and Inara is dreaming of snow and red silk. River doesn't like to touch Jayne's mind--the others think she's disturbed--but she can hear his snores echoing up from beneath the deck. Zoe's on the late watch, playing with the dinosaurs and missing Wash.

She hears the strange song again--louder now and mixed with something that feels like sobbing even though it isn't--and when no one else stirs, she knows it's in her head. She follows the trail through Serenity, through her mind.

Kaylee knows about the engines and instruments that keep the ship flying. Mal knows about all the storage areas big enough to stow a crate or two of cargo. But River knows about all of the dark places in between: cubbies, alcoves, service conduits. She knows how to hide and how to seek and it doesn't take her long to figure out where the song is coming from. By the time she gets to the shuttle bays, the sound is so loud that River's resorted to putting her hands over her ears. It doesn't help. She opens the spare shuttle's hatch and finds a pretty blue box full of pain.

Simon put her in a box once. River didn't like it.

Box can't think, can't feel, can't scream, can't sing, can't cry--

but this one does. She lays her hands on it but the hurt is too much so she pushes at the doors with her mind instead.

Let me in.

The panel swings open and she walks into a room bigger than any place in Serenity. A bell tolls far in the distance, reinforcing the idea that the blue box--

TARDIS,

it tells her--is enormous. The dirge fades away even as the sense of grief intensifies around her.

River knows that this can't be, but it is and it's strange and magical and would be beautiful if it weren't in such an obvious state of decay. A thick blackish fluid is oozing from what look like wounds in the walls and fixtures, and there are more puddles of fluid on the floor. There is so much pain here, so much despair, and when she wanders around the center console in the impossible room, she finds its source.

When River turned three, Simon gave her a puzzle box with a toy surprise inside. When she finally opened it eight minutes later, she found a miniature porcelain doll, pretty and perfect. She dropped the doll some time later and then it was not-so-pretty and not-so-perfect, but she kept the box until she could solve it in less than twenty seconds. The broken figurine was lost and forgotten but now she's found it again, lying on the floor of the strange, almost-beautiful room.

Pretty young/old man shattered into a million pieces.

On Miranda, the people laid down and they died because they forgot how to live. This man forgot how to live too, but River is going to help him remember.

***

She sits beside him and pulls his head into her lap. His hair is soft and fluffy where it's not matted with blood, and his features are almost as delicate as Simon's. His clothes are strange and through what's left of them she can see raw burns, strange angles that must be broken bones, and more blood, both old and fresh. She can sense that there are worse injuries inside, so she doesn't try to move him any further. Simon could set the broken bones, dress the burns, stop the bleeding both internal and external, but he can't do anything about the

Gallifrey burning/Daleks gone/ashes to ashes/everything dies…

buzzing around the Doctor's head.

River doesn't like doctors (except, of course, for Simon). The doctors that she's known offered only pain, but this man is The Doctor and the distinction seems to be important to him. Perhaps being The Doctor is what's kept him alive when ordinary men in his condition would be long dead. In any case, he's dying now, but River feels an odd duality as well. In some way that she can't quite understand he is hovering on the brink,

dead/alive.

Then there's a spark of awareness and his mind asks the question that his body is too far gone to articulate.

"Who are you?"

She hardly knows where to begin.

Albatross, little girl lost, time bomb, killer woman, weapon, why don't you cry me a

"River."

Her voice echoes through the chamber and she's suddenly unsure of whether he's still capable of hearing it. She gives him her name again mentally, along with the self-portrait she holds in her mind: a wide, lazy, tree-lined ribbon of water meandering along a grassy valley, the current creating gentle eddies against boulders and rugged banks. There was a time when she was nothing but whirlpools, swirling round and round, but she's better since Miranda. Simon and the others expect her to be normal now, but River was never ordinary and she grows tired of pretending sometimes.

"Let me go."

His mind's voice is drenched with so much pain that she almost does, but she sees so many impossible things in his mind and she hungers to learn more about them. The Doctor is special, and not just because he's not human.

I won't let you die like they did.

She can't explain about Miranda, no one can, but she can show him her memories. He hurts so much already and it's not fair to hurt him worse, but he has to see in order to understand.

They're still in my dreams--the dead and the ones worse than dead. They're dust, but your heart--hearts--are still beating. You have to get up now. You have to try.

"Too late,"

he insists, but she knows it for the lie it is. She's doesn't understand most of what she sees in his mind, but she's sure that he's worn many faces and lived through several lifetimes. He could live through this too, if he truly wanted to. There's new life ready to burst into him, but he's shutting it out, damming it all up behind a thick, seemingly impenetrable wall.

River weighs the risks and the benefits of trying to save him and calculates her odds of success. If she's wrong, he'll die quickly, with no more pain. But River can't remember the last time she was wrong about anything.

She gathers herself and reaches out for him. Her earlier sending was from a time of peace and tranquility, but she is angry now and her avatar is dark, muddy, and storm-swollen. She is the River-- a cascade of white water surging against his self-imposed dam--and it's much too much for his battered body and mind. His chest hitches in a final, agonal gasp as the shock kills him, but the blockage trembles, trembles, and then explodes into a torrent of white light.

River pulls away from him just in time as the energy fills him and then spills out of every break in his skin. The floor beneath them quivers as the TARDIS keens in sympathy and the gonging first slows and then finally stops as the light fades away, leaving behind a different body. River knows the flavor of his mind, though, and that's changed only slightly. He's more bitter now, more acidic -- like the way the coffee tastes when Mal makes it.

He's also very, very angry.

***

Chapter 2

Here's what happens when you're up at 3.a.m. and the plot bunnies keep scurrying through your head!

2006-04-08T09:14:32Z

Doctor Who fic:

Title: Ephemeral
Author: handful_of_sky
Rated: All ages
Spoilers: None, really

Story behind the cut:

Ephemeral

The Doctor understands that Rose is ephemeral. Humanity burns so brightly in her-- a holiday sparkler in the hands of a small child (look, mummy, isn't it beautiful)-- a visual spectacle to be admired for the extent of its all-too-brief lifetime. He knows she will leave him, whether it be through boredom, homesickness, a cause worth fighting for, a lover, or through death. She will leave and he would almost rather that she died than know that she chose to leave him willingly.

Almost.

The Doctor understands why his dreams of Gallifrey are different now. Why, as he picks his way through the rubble and weeps for what was lost, he's likely as not to come across an occasional oasis of green--a garden that survived the holocaust. Roses are native to Earth, but the gardens in his mind are always full of flowers in full bloom--huge yellow roses, soft pink ones, delicate red tea roses--a hundred varieties and their fragrance almost washes away the stink of death and decay.

Almost.

The Doctor understands the look he sees on Rose's face now and then. Oh, he's seen it before from other companions--equal parts awe, hero worship, affection, and possessiveness. It makes up for the times when it's merely annoyance, but that look stirs him now in a way that he can't shake. He is the Doctor--900 years older and wiser than she is--and she is ephemeral. But she is Rose and when he sees the universe through her eyes he remembers why he fell in love with it to begin with. He's almost ready to fall in love with her as well.

Almost.

handful_of_sky @ 2004-10-15T12:07:00

2004-10-15T17:18:47Z

Gee, it's only been forever since I updated. Guess too much has been going on lately. I've been sick for the last two weeks and now the kids are horning in on the action. The good thing about being sick, though, is that it's a great time to curl up in a corner with the laptop and read fanfiction. I've been reading quite a bit of Angel stuff, some Farscape, and even a new Lost story by Yahtzee. I haven't seen the show yet, but it sounds like an interesting premise. Or, I could just do what I've done with pretty much every other fandom that I've ever had any interest in: ignore it studiously for a season or two and then be forced to buy the DVD sets so that I can catch up. Maybe it's time to bite the bullet and just jump in now while I'm only a few episodes behind. Cheaper in the long run, anyway.

handful_of_sky @ 2004-03-31T10:19:00

2004-03-31T16:19:52Z

Man, I'm tired. Suffered through the strangest dreams last night. Maybe that's what comes of watching too much Farscape right before bed. I need coffee badly.

Yay!

2004-03-30T20:03:42Z

I got the music recognition feature to work. As it turns out, I was using an outdated version of Windows Media Player. I guess I need to check for updates more often. I'm a happy camper.

It's not working!

2004-03-30T16:47:56Z

So even after downloading the suggested blogging plugin, Semagic isn't detecting my music. I'll have to investigate further.

Since it's been a whole hour now,

2004-03-29T23:07:58Z

I feel I should update again. I've been playing around with some of the formatting. I'm using Semagic as my client, and so far I guess it's okay. I don't really like any of the default backgrounds all that much, but I'm too lazy to start messing with modifying anything right this moment. Add to that the fact that I know jack about programming, and I'm guessing it's going to be a long time before I get everything customized the way I want it.

Wading, but not yet jumping into the pool...

2004-03-29T21:44:40Z

Ooooh. I've been reading the livejournals of others for quite a while now, so I finally decided to bite the bullet and get one of my own. For some reason, setting it up wasn't as easy as I thought it would be. Maybe I'm not quite as computer literate as I thought it was. Playing with the features is going to take some time, but I think it's going to be a lot of fun.