(I can't remember exactly where the idea for this came from. I know I thought about writing for Rose, but couldn't think of a point in canon that would appropriately answer the question. I also don't see Rose as fitting so much as existing as a body unto herself, affecting the Doctor with her gravity. Same for Donna, really, except louder. And the only way to answer for RS!Donna would be "perfectly", and that's not much of a story. But Reinette is perfect for this prompt, because she does just fit in, quietly, like a piece of a the Doctor's puzzle.)


What's Still Unsaid (I always come up with titles either during or at the end of my story. This one came after the last few lines. I actually was inspired by a lyric from the first musical episode of Xena. "What's still unwritten, you can't erase." What's still unsaid can't be taken back, but it also can't hurt you yet.)

She finishes his sentences, which is something he never expected from her. It's nothing against her, really, it's just that none of his companions have ever been like that. (I'm always very very careful to hint that the Doctor has had a whole lot of companions.)Usually they interrupt him, and less usually they let him finish before they speak. But it's rare to find someone whose mind mirrors his own enough that it's like they share one thought.
( More commentary behind the cut. )

Are you more comfortable when a relationship you're in progresses quickly or slowly?

Quickly

"Did I mention it travels in time?"

He's known, of course. For awhile. Since he saw that look in her eye as he held her hand and explained himself. Known that she'd go with him if given the chance. This brilliant little shop girl, wasting away in a life meant for someone ordinary. All she needed was a shove in the right direction.

(The right direction is always the TARDIS. He has yet to invite someone that wasn't worth inviting, and that didn't need to be traveling through time and space with him as much as he needed to travel through time and space with them. Even Romana.)

So he shoves. Gently. And she says no, and clings to her boyfriend, and the Doctor knows she just needs a bit more of a shove, but isn't so sure he's the one to do it. So he goes off for a few days, decides he doesn't like traveling alone anymore, and then goes back to give her just the proper amount of shoving.

"Did I mention it travels in time?"

And that's it, she's in. His companion (assistant), his friend. She smiles at him and it's like the whole Time War melts away for that split second. It's enough, though. The Doctor can live a lifetime in a second. It's all he needs.

She'll be his light and he'll show her the universe.

It seems like a fair bargain, so he takes her to the end of the world. She survives the inevitable disaster he brings in his wake, but he recognizes the look in her eye when all's said and done (it mirrors his), and the darkness scares him.

So he makes her treat him to chips in a crowded pub in the middle of London.

"Where to next?" She asks, and smiles her bright and wide smile at him.

"The past, I think." He shrugs and takes a chip, staring at it thoughtfully. "Somewhere quiet."

She's quiet for a few minutes, eating chips and watching him eat chips. He pretends it doesn't make him uncomfortable, and makes several jokes about the origin of her species and its love of fried foods to ignore the rising feeling of dread in his stomach. She's going to stay in London. She's going to leave him. He was wrong about her.

"I don't think you do quiet," she interrupts, and pokes her tongue between her teeth. "Don't mind, though."

He smiles at her, relieved. "Don't do loud, either. Most of the time." He has memories of explosions stretching back hundreds of years. "Okay, some of the time. But only when absolutely necessary."

She laughs. "You do loud just fine, Doctor. Night I met you you blew up my shop, remember?"

"Only because it was absolutely necessary!"

"'Course it was."

The Doctor rolls his eyes at her and stands, holding out his hand. She takes it, no questions asked. Back to the TARDIS.

No questions asked.

"Rose..."

"Yeah?"

He shakes his head. "Nevermind. C'mon. I've got something fantastic to show you."

What's Still Unsaid

She finishes his sentences, which is something he never expected from her. It's nothing against her, really, it's just that none of his companions have ever been like that. Usually they interrupt him, and less usually they let him finish before they speak. But it's rare to find someone whose mind mirrors his own enough that it's like they share one thought.

At night, while she sleeps, he wonders if it has something to do with the link forged between them when she first saw into his mind in her past and his future. Or maybe, he thinks, it's the time they've spent together, rubbing off on her in a way it has on so few others. Maybe it's the long conversations they often have, stretching so long that they're only broken when she finally needs rest.

Or maybe it's just her. Maybe she's just special.

His special little queen.

Whatever it is, he finds himself continually amused and impressed by how quickly she learns. So far, she's had the last word in conversations with philosophers, poets, and... physicists. The look on Marie Curie's face had been priceless but, unlike the Doctor, Reinette had known enough to soften the blow by thanking her for her contribution to France's legacy in the world.

The look on the Doctor's face had been as priceless as the one on Madame Curie's. Later that night they talk of feminism, science, and death. "I wish I could have told her that inside her pocket was the cause of her death," she said. She looked at him as though he understood, because of course he did. "But she still has much to do, does she not?"

"She likes the colors it gives off in the dark," was all he said at first. They were speaking of Madame Curie, but he was thinking of Madame de Pompadour. By now she had learned of her own death, the natural consequence of a library full of books on the history of Earth, but they had never spoken of it. He took her hand in his, and she offered him a warm smile. "She'll always have work to do, and she'll always have done it. Every death of every person we meet can be prevented, but that doesn't mean it should be."

His special little queen.

At night, while she sleeps, he thinks of the day he'll have to say goodbye to her. He knows that a time will come soon, by his counting at least, when her health will begin to falter and she'll whither before him. He can extend her life, keep her healthy until he returns her to France in time to fade away and die. But should he?

"No," she whispers from behind him, arms sliding around his waist. She presses her face to his back and finishes his thought for him, even if it's in a way he could never finish himself. "You should not."

"You're always finishing my sentences, you know." His chest feels tight. This time, for the first time, he wishes she hadn't.

"Am I?"

He stares into the monitor on the console and says nothing.



[ ambitious_woman appears with permission of her writer. ]

Who has more authority in your relationship, you or your partner?

Note: Actions will be in italics. "Off camera" dialogue/actions will be in brackets, [like so].

Begin Video Log Response, Couples Therapy Week Fourteen. The Doctor.

Hullo. Waves at the camera. I'm the Doctor. Donna said I should do a video response this week. She said something about sharing my glares and rolling eyes with everyone. Whatever that means.

[You know exactly what it means.]

Rolls his eyes. Haven't the slightest. So, you asked who's got more authority in our relationship. That one's easy; I do. [Laughter.] Oi! I'm the Doctor, after all. Only one Doctor per TARDIS, unless you count the times when I've had to travel with myself for one reason or another, in which case I'd still be in charge when it really comes down to it. [Now there's a mental picture...]

Glares off camera. As I was saying. I choose where we go - when we could go places - and when we get there, I choose what we do. Yes, I take Donna's suggestions into consideration [In one ear out the other.], but it's my decision in the end. Besides which, [Big, ears, at that.] OI! Besides which, she's not a qualified TARDIS pilot yet. I"ve taught her a bit, and - [ You said I have a natural affinity!] I was getting to that! Frowns off camera. She has a natural affinity. But she still needs me as backup, and she can't read star charts.

[Who needs to read bloody star charts, we never land where we mean to anyway!]

Look, Donna, this is my counselling response, maybe you ought to go make us a cup of tea.

[Make you a cup of tea? Oh yeah? Would you like the morning paper and a spit shine on your shoes as well, guv'nor?]

Flails. I only meant that maybe if I were alone, I could better answer the question.

[Uh huh. You want to know who has authority?] Donna! Sit down. This video thing was your - oh. Now? The Doctor's cheeks turn pink. Well.

Yes, dear.




Word Count: 335

Hi everyone.

I just wanted to make a small announcement that you may or may not be interested in.

I've been struggling with the Doctor's voice for a little while, and trying to get to the roots of that struggle. I've felt some disconnect from the fandom as it's moved farther and farther away from the ninth Doctor's season. I've also felt some disconnect from the fandom in general, and have been a little unhappy with the way a few things have developed roleplaying wise in the past few months. All of this has led to almost total silence from my ninth Doctor, and for that I apologize.

Right now I don't know what to do about it. I can't drop him entirely, because I love him and couldn't bear to see him completely in another writer's hands without me having any say whatsoever in the kind of stories that are written for him. I think that's the nature of all of us, to some extent, when we grow attached to a character that other people might write at some point.

So what I plan to do is something of a stop gap. For the foreseeable future, I'm making this Doctor relativespace 'verse based only, with two exceptions (whom I've already spoken to). That goes for roleplay and prompts. I realize that neither of those things have been particularly copious lately, but I'm trying to remedy that. And in order to do so, I need to re-evaluate what I want to do with the ninth Doctor, and whose company I want to do that with.

I hope no one takes this personally. It's not personal, other than that it is about me and I'm a person. I've had difficulty maintaining in character relationships with this Doctor, for whatever reason, and I need to figure out what I want to do to remedy that, and whether or not I want to remedy that at all.

So that's it. I welcome questions/suggestions/comments about how amazing I am and how you understand my decision and love me and want to give me Freema Agyeman's phone number. If you have some sort of killer storyline that requires a ninth Doctor, and I play the ninth Doctor for you, drop me a line and we can chat about it, and maybe you can drag me back into other 'verse playing, or canon 'verse playing again sooner than I would get there on my own.

In the meantime, I'll still be RPing with him in RS and writing RS-based prompts in the prompt communities I'm in.

Less than three.

A Beginning is a Delicate Time

All the best human stories start in the middle, so that’s where this one starts. You lot even have a name for it: in medias res.

In medias res! Fantastic! You have to appreciate Latin. How many languages do you know that could die and still get used all the time?

This is a human story, which is why I’m telling it a human way. Time Lords don’t really have things like beginnings, middles, and ends. We’ve got parts that come before other parts, but since Time is an infinite loop of never ending experience, what’s the point in beginnings and endings?

Exactly.

I was hanging upside down by my ankles, a bit annoyed at the situation, trying to find my sonic screwdriver.

It all started with a picnic, you know. A perfectly innocent, lovely picnic on a planet known for its perfect picnic weather.

What? I’ve already started the story, I can hop back to the beginning if I want. Besides, we finished the picnic later. There, now you know the ending. Let’s finish the middle bit; I’m late for dinner.

I was hanging upside down by my ankles, trying to find my sonic screwdriver. All the blood was rushing to my head, which set off little sparkleys behind my eyes, and made it ridiculously hard to see properly. That was why I was having trouble finding my sonic screwdriver.

Suddenly, much to my delight, the sonic screwdriver was in my hand. I don’t remember being telekinetic and, it turns out, I’m not. I twisted around a little, only to find an upside down Reinette – it’s all relative, you know – smiling down at me.

“You seem to be in an intriguing situation, Doctor.”

I scowled. “You’re just saying that because my shirt’s off.”

“That, yes,” she set to work at the bindings around my ankle. “But you also appear to be upside down.”

“That’s only because you’re looking at it from your point of view, Reinette. I promise I’m very right side up the way I look at things.”

“Of course you are.”

I rolled my eyes, just as she got my first leg free. “Reinette?”

“Yes, Doctor?”

“Why aren’t you tied upside down with your shirt off?”

Her hands paused at the second binding, and I could just make out her upside down face warring between amusement and embarrassment. That seemed to be a pretty common thing for her since she started traveling with me. Actually, that seems to be a pretty common thing for all of my traveling companions. Ah well.

“I believe I persuaded the… locals… that I was no threat to them.” She undid the second binding, and I fell to the floor.

“OOOOOF,” was about how it sounded, but what I meant, as I clarified a second later was: “We were only having a picnic! Is this the kind of planet that jails people for picnicking? If it is, it’s not the sort of planet I want to picnic on in the first place. That’s daft.”

She made it through without interrupting me before she crossed her hands over her chest – that’s a companion thing, too! – and said, “I do not think picnicking was your offense.”

I stood and dusted off my pants, and set about looking for my jumper and coat both of which, of course, Reinette already had on hand. “Fantastic. So I was wrongfully convicted of nothing.”

“That is not what I said.”

I grabbed my jumper from her and scowled. “Well, what was I imprisoned for?”

If it had been anyone else that told me what Reinette told me at that moment, I’d probably have stalked back to the TARDIS and not come out for a week. Not that I’m sensitive, mind, just that people tend to pick on, well:

“Your ears.”

Yes, yes, that’s right. They were afraid of my ears. They were a small-eared people! Who knew? I didn’t! Besides, there are plenty of small-eared people in the universe that don’t have big-eared bigotry!

Reinette was biting back laughter, I could tell. But she remained as poised and graceful as ever as she handed me, of all things, one of those hunting caps with the ear flaps. The ones that come down and cover your ears.

“They said you’re free to go, provided you agree to wear this head covering at all times.”

Bloody small-eared people.

“Fantastic,” I muttered, snatching the hat and placing it firmly on my head. The jumper and coat followed a few minutes later, after I finished ranting about the small minded, small-eared people of the universally famous picnicking planet.

We got our picnic, like I said, and it was a good one. There was the slight issue of the flannel hat clashing with my jumper and causing me to sweat profusely, but Reinette didn’t seem to mind. She handled it all with poise and propriety I’ve come to admire in her.

And she seemed to like that hat. Now that’s the end of the story: Reinette, the hat, and me. But that’s none of your business.

1. How about a brief introduction?
I'm Sam!
( The rest is under the cut! )

It's Six O'Clock. Do You Know Where Your Time Lord Is?
(Inspired by and dedicated to my upstairs neighbors who (we think) wanted to fit some in (pun intended) before the Super Bowl party.)

The Doctor was finishing up a series of completely pointless upgrades to the kitchen. The second kitchen. No, the third. The one with the gas range. Maybe. He certainly hoped it was the one with the gas range, because if it wasn't the next few days would be very awkward and smelly. He sniffed. Definitely the gas range. Fantastic.

That was when Donna arrived. The Doctor didn't know she had arrived, because his head and a good bit of his torso were still in the oven, but then she announced herself. "Why are you in the kitchen?"

Okay, more of an annoyed-voice question than an announcement, but both worked for him. "I'm upgrading the oven."

Silence. The Doctor smiled to himself - or the top of the oven, depending on how you prefer to think of things - at the thought of what was going through Donna's mind. He imagined all the retorts she was running through, and he could picture the look on her face as she decided on the best one.

"We don't use the oven."

That was the best one? Hm.

"Maybe we should!"

He heard Donna's laugh, muffled a little. And then she sat on him.

Unexpected, but not entirely unpleasant.

"Donna?"

"Yes, love?"

"Are you naked?"

She put her hands to his hips and squeezed a little. "How can you tell that? You're wearing pants, and your head is in an oven."

"And part of my torso."

"Yes, and part of your torso."

Silence. Then he remembered that she'd asked him a question. "Oh, I can just tell."

"Really?"

The Doctor tried to nod, but it only caused his head to knock against the top of the oven. "Yes."

"How?"

"Time Lord thing."

"Oh really?" She pinched his hips and he squirmed a little. "Time Lord thing? Well, Mr. Time Lord, you need to see to your wife."

"I agree, I do. But it's six o'clock." More silence. Enough that the Doctor wasn't sure Donna was still conscious. "Donna?"

"What does it being six o'clock have anything to do with it?"

"Six o'clock is an odd time for sex."

Normally that would have caused Donna to stalk angrily (and nakedly) from the room - a fact that the Doctor hadn't seemed to pick up on yet - but for some reason, tonight she stayed where she was. Her hands disappeared, and he imagined she had just crossed them over her chest. Her naked chest. Her naked, well-endowed chest.

"Donna?"

"Mmhmm?"

"It's not six o'clock somewhere."

Donna's hands moved back down again. "I think that's the smartest thing you've ever said."

She was right.