Fic Post

[settiai]

This post is where everything happens. All stories/ficlets/drabbles go in the comments here. If your story's too long to fit in a single comment, please post it in your own journal and leave the link in a comment here along with your next pairing request(s). Make certain that you include the pairing you've written as the title of the comment, so that specific pairings can be found easily.

Please don't post any comments that aren't stories. That way, this post will show an accurate count of all the written stories. If you make a mistake or forget something, just edit your comment. If you write a story featuring a specific pairing but somebody posts their story before you post yours, please post it in the overflow post instead of the main one.

If you need help thinking of a pairing to request next or getting inspiration, don't forget The Doctor Who Random Pairing Generator. It includes all of the "main" characters from the various shows, audios, books, and spin-offs. People who aren't participating in the writing can list pairings here that authors can write and/or use as requests in this post.

The rules can be found on the community profile. The masterlist of all written pairings can be found here, while all requested pairings that are still open can be found here. If you want to leave feedback for one of the authors, please go to this post. Any other questions can be asked here.

Note: If you're writing a story for someone's request, please post it as a reply to their comment. Only create a new thread if you've written a pairing that nobody has requested yet.

Comments

Ten/Donna

[doyle_sb4.livejournal.com]

"What? What?"

"I said 'don't get cross'," the Doctor said, scuttling backwards behind the console and, he hoped, out of reach of a potential slap. "I did say."

"In what way," Donna said, very slowly, "are we, you and me, married? Because I think I'd remember."

"Firat time we met. You in a white dress. Biodamp ring. Remember? Except - oh, you'll laugh at this - probably - possibly - I sort of made a tiny mistake with the type of biodamper and we're actually legally married in nine-tenths of this part of the galaxy." Donna was quiet, in much the same way that the eye of the hurricane was quiet just before the other side of the storm hit. "Not on Earth, though," he added. "Well, only on Earth between the years 2250 and 5 billion and you look magnificent when you're angry, have I said?"

"Well, I must look bloody gorgeous at the moment," she snapped. "And why've you suddenly come out with this 'married' nonsense?"

Ah. All things considered she was taking this quite well, but he didn't think she'd like this bit. "It sort of didn't legally count until... consummation."

Donna blinked. "Oh," she said. "In that case we're all right, aren't we? Because we haven't..."

"We did," he said. "Yesterday. When you kissed me to save me from the poison. Um. Thank you, by the way."

"On what planet does one kiss count as consummating a marriage? Planet Disney? Cinderella World?"

He could have explained the particular article and subclause of the Shadow Proclamation that covered these things, but sensed that it would only lead to him spending his first day of married life recovering from a regeneration. "Anyway," he said hopefully, "now that that's out of the way, where to next?"

Donna folded her arms. "So long as we're clear that you and me aren't married."

"Except in the technical, legal sense, absolutely not."

"And one snog, which was only to save your life and which I didn't enjoy at all, doesn't count as consummation."

"Yes. Agreed."

"And wherever we're going now, it's definitely not a honeymoon."

"The thought never crossed my mind."

"Good."

"Good."

He tried a tentative smile. His wife glared back. "But I suppose," she said, "if you really wanted to take us somewhere with a posh hotel and room service and a beach, just to make it up to me, that'd be all right."

Requests: Nine/Astrid, Ten/Ross, Ace/Martha

Ace/Martha

[carawj.livejournal.com]

Ace is the first person Martha meets who she already knew. Later there will be others, but Ace is the first. She's come looking for the Brigadier, she says, and she won't settle for seeing Colonel Mace.

"I could murder a drink. Is your shift over? Want to go to the pub?"

Martha finds she has a terrible, burning desire to say I saw you die.

She remembers a woman who grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the back of a motorbike on the outskirts of Edinburgh in the early days. They drove for twenty miles, thunder in their ears and the ground shaking under their feet, before Ace pulled over in a deserted field.

"Cloaking device on the bike," said Ace, by way of greeting, fast and practical. "I know you've got one too, but you could still get blown apart. Sarah Jane told me you'd come this way. You're hard to track down, Martha Jones."

She grinned, and it was beautifully unexpected. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Martha felt herself grin back.

He broadcast it live. He did that with all of the companions he caught. He wanted me to see.

It was Ace who got her across the North Sea and into Scandinavia. It was Ace who saved her life again in Copenhagen, and in Bruges, and in that village in Andalucia. It was Ace who kept her sane, while she learned how to cope with the devastation all around them.

It was Ace who hadn't made it into Egypt.

And here she is, leaning on Martha's desk in the bright new UNIT office, with her jacket slung over her shoulder. She looks younger than Martha remembers her.

He wanted you to scream, but you wouldn't.

Martha leans forward and kisses Ace on the lips, to both their surprise. "Yeah," she says, smiling. "Let's go."

Requests: Ace/Rose, Harry/Martha, Jo/Sarah Jane

Jo Grant/Harriet Jones

[minerva-fan.livejournal.com]

Title: Incognito

There were benefits to traveling in remote areas. Beautiful scenery, lush vegetation, exotic foods. Harriet found herself relaxing for the first time in years as she watched the waterfall from her vantage point.

Jo was there, chattering on about this species and that, her legs tanned and beautiful in khaki shorts and roughed-up trainers. She knew more about the Amazon region than anyone Harriet had ever met, and wasn't shy about sharing her experiences.

A bird swooped up from the lake far below them, its cry odd and alien to her ears as it flew straight over them towards some destination they could never fathom. Jo laughed at her expression of shock, and kissed away the frown that followed. "It's okay," she murmured, nuzzling her cheek against Harriet's. "They can be a bit rowdy."

"Undoubtedly," Harriet said, hiding her smile. She was just another British tourist here. Just a middle-aged lady in sensible shoes on an ecological tour of one of the most beautiful places on Earth.

Nobody recognized her. Nobody would have cared if they had.

She kissed Jo briefly, grateful that the woman had insisted on this vacation. The only thing nicer than traveling icognito was doing so with someone you loved.

Jo/Brig, Sarah Jane/Josh Townsend, Three/Jo

Three/Jo

[stunt-muppet.livejournal.com]

When he gets back to UNIT HQ from Llanfairfach, the first thing the Doctor does is take the TARDIS twenty years into the future – just to make sure.

Jo isn’t easy to locate, but he finds her eventually. Or rather, she finds him; he is checking Dinas Powys when she waves to him from the opposite side of the street. He barely has time to greet her before she dashes across the road and hugs him, saying “Doctor, it’s so good to see you again!”

They go back to her house, on the edges of town; she makes tea and biscuits “for old times’ sake”. He notices that there’s no one else at home.

As their tea cools on the kitchen table she tells him about everything that’s happened to her in twenty years: the expeditions to the Amazon (wonderful, just wonderful, they were just so full of life, and Doctor, you wouldn’t believe what happened that time their canoe got stuck in the middle of the river), the degree in botany (even without those A-levels), the activist life (rewarding, for the most part, and the mines did close eventually), the divorce (amicable; she still worked with Cliff sometimes), the start of her own career. She smiles and chatters just like she used to, like it really has been just a few hours since he bid her goodbye.

The Doctor is used to nonlinear time; he is used to events happening before their causes, and to watching the birth and death of worlds all in a single relative minute. But she has spent so much time living with him in his shifting chronology that to suddenly skip ahead of her feels somehow like abandoning her.

She asks him how things have been for him since he left; she seems puzzled when he says it’s been only hours. “You could have just come back the next day,” she says. “Why wait all this time?”

“I had to make sure you’d be all right, Jo.” He places one hand on her cheek, and smiles to lighten the mood. “I can’t trust just anyone with you, you know.”

She laughs, but her face falls, just a little, as she rests her hand on his. “I didn’t leave you just for him, Doctor. If that’s what you’re so worried about.”

“Oh?”

Jo looks down at the table, and her smile is a bit fainter now. “All those adventures, and all those places we went – and I wouldn’t trade them for anything, Doctor, believe me. It’s just that…we never went back.”

“What do you mean? Was there somewhere you wanted to go back to, something else you wanted to see? We could still do it.”

“No, no, that’s not it. I mean, we never went back anywhere. We never stayed. We never made sure that everything really would be all right. And, well, that’s what I’ve been doing here. The past twenty years, I’ve been staying.” She looks back up at him, and he’s suddenly and sharply aware of all those unseen years between them. “You said you couldn’t trust anyone with me. D’you trust me with me?”

Staying. Not abandoned. Not left behind. “Yes. Yes, I rather think I do.”

They spend the rest of the day reminiscing about the Axons and Daleks and Sea Devils and Draconia and Peladon (he really should go back and check that one, he thinks); it’s near midnight before she checks the time and mentions all the work she’s got to do in the morning. They both step outside to say their goodbyes and she kisses him, just once, as they stand in the night air.

“Do come back and visit anytime,” she says. “And I do mean anytime, Doctor; I’d like to remember you being here at least once before I shut this door.”

“I’ll make it my first stop, Jo.”

“Goodbye, then! ‘Till the next time – or the last time – or something!”

And the Doctor walks off, back to his TARDIS, to let the present take its course.

Requests: Two/Jamie, Four/Harry, Zoe/Isobel Watkins

Ten/Romana

[in-the-end.livejournal.com]

“I did what you asked me to,” he says, almost pleading for forgiveness for something he already knows no one can forgive. No one needs to. Except himself, of course.

She makes no immediate response to his plea and simply stares at him. He can see her mind working.

Feels it.

She’s counting, almost. Stripes on his suit? Freckles, maybe. “And this is what you have become?” she asks.

And now he knows the answer: battle scars.

“I see it cost you, too.” She is taller now. Her hair reminds him of someone on some American TV show that Rose used to watch. It suits her, though. She is still very ... her, he thinks.

“A new body and a few decades stuck in the Matrix, Doctor. Not too much. I think it cost you a lot more.”

And it did. So he tells her. Tells her about the Daleks and about Rose. He tells her about the woman who walked the Earth for him.

He doesn’t tell her about the Master because, well, he doesn’t have to.

And it’s good, remembering. He has focussed on the distant past for so long; he forgets what he has become.

“It’s how they heal,” she says, almost absentmindedly as she sits down next to him. It’s as if she could hear his thoughts, he thinks. Then he chuckles because, of course, that is exactly what she was doing.

“What’s funny?” she asks.

And he kisses her because he’s pretty sure that will help him heal as well.

Requests: Martha/Master, Rose/Jo, Jack/Romana

Martha/Master

[allfireburns.livejournal.com]

Martha Jones is not particularly interested in politics. Sorting out her family drama is politics enough for one lifetime. Studying takes up enough of her time, and she has dreams of one day having some semblance of a social life. In all of that, she doesn't have time to be particularly interested in politics.

She knows Harold Saxon is speaking, not far from the hospital, if only because the preparations for it meant she had to take a detour this morning and arrived at the hospital late. It's over by the time she leaves the hospital, the crowd gone, for which she's very grateful. She just wants to go home right now, have a cup of tea, watch stupid television and maybe take a nap before she absolutely has to study.

Instead, she bumps into someone, walking down the street, and stumbles back, the apology faltering on her tongue when she sees the man, realizes she recognizes him. He smiles in a way that makes her breath stop momentarily, and tells her it's quite alright, and asks her name.

Martha Jones tells Harold Saxon she's not particularly interested in politics, and that she's already voting for him. She's a little surprised, honestly, when that doesn't give him pause at all, when his smile doesn't change in the least as he mentions that she looks tired, and asks if she's alright, and God, she can't help but be charmed by it.

*

For some reason, Harold Saxon likes her. He thinks she's bright and interesting, or at least gives a very convincing impression of it. He listens when she talks. He takes her out to lunch, once, and asks question after question – innocent questions, not prying, and maybe because of that she somehow ends up telling him the story of her life, silly things like childhood games she and Tish used to play, important things like her parent's divorce...

She just wants to keep talking to him. She wants him to keep talking to her, she just wants to stay around him, because the world somehow comes into sharper focus when he's around, while at the same time sidling away so it's merely a background for him. Harold Saxon isn't in the world, he is the world, and everything else is merely an accessory to him.

Before he leaves, he passes Martha a card with his number on it, tells her to call him if she needs anything at all. Her fingertips brush his, and she draws a startled breath despite herself – his touch is like ice.

*

Harold Saxon has a wife. Martha Jones has no interest in being second best to anyone, and she's not going to be some politician's mistress. She has better things to do with her life than be someone's dirty secret, or the person he turns to when he's tired of pretty and sweet and blonde.

Somehow, she forgets all of that when he's in her flat, which always seemed a comfortable size before but with him here suddenly seems too small, too cramped, like now that he's here, there's not enough air to breathe. Or maybe it's just that he's always left her breathless.

Martha opens her mouth to tell him that maybe he should leave.

Harold Saxon steps forward and kisses her instead, before the words even reach her lips, and like some stupid cliche, she goes a little weak at the knees. Eyes closed, Martha rests a hand against his chest, just to steady herself, and tells herself she's imagining the steady, four-beat heartbeat she feels under her palm, on the wrong side of his chest.

*

The Doctor says he'll recognize the Master when he sees him. Martha has the sinking feeling she already knows, growing more and more certain with every second that ticks by.

She swallows hard, eyes flickering over the stark black and white Saxon posters on the wall of every building, the T-shirts, the...

Martha Jones knows the voice she heard at the end of the universe. She's heard it hundreds of times, on television, on the street, sitting across from her at lunch, murmuring in her ear while they're both lying in her bed...

"That was the voice of Harold Saxon."

It's a realization that comes several hundred billion years or just a few months too late, depending how you count.




Requests: Yvonne Hartman/Ianto Jones, Martha Jones/Grace Holloway, Liz Shaw/Toshiko Sato

Martha/Tom Milligan

[livii.livejournal.com]

"Tom. Doctor Milligan."

He turns around. There's a very pretty girl leaning against the wall across from his building, and she's looking right at him.

"I'm sorry, miss," he says with a grin. "I'm sure I should remember you, but I don't quite."

She laughs, and the sound is clear and comforting. "You're such a flirt," she says, sticking out her hand. "Doctor Martha Jones. We met once, before. It's okay if you don't remember."

"Don't know where my manners went," he replies, shaking her hand. "I can make it up to you, if you like. Busy tonight?"

Martha laughs again, and turns to walk away. "Meet you here at seven. You can buy me dinner."


* * *


Dinner turns into another dinner into a film into lunch on Sunday with Tish into telling her mum that she's seeing someone new, now, yes, he's a doctor, no, he's perfectly normal. More or less.


* * *


She did wonder when he would ask.

"How did you know me?" he says suddenly, pausing. Martha groans, tries to encourage him with her hands, but he continues. "That day, at work, you called out to me. I mean, how did we get here from there?"

"Once upon a time, I walked the earth," Martha says, moving her hips to set her own tempo. "And I met you."

"The whole earth?" he says, with a grin and a gasp as she squeezes him tight. "What was I like?"

She pushes him off, then, sits up and rummages around in her purse by the bed. She finally pulls out a key: it's got a faint glow, slightly iridescent even in the dark room.

"You were the best man I met," she says, pressing the key into his hand and settling down on top of him. She wraps her hand around his, and increases the tempo. The key cuts into his hand as he comes, and she laughs, sits up straight, and follows him over.


* * *


"Martha. Doctor Jones."

She turns around, leaving the car door open. He's leaning against her front door, smile on his face like the cat that ate the cream. She's just finished a really long day at work. He has a small box in his hand.

"I'm going to Africa," he says. "Please marry me when I get back."

"The whole earth," he says later, kissing his way across her skin. "The whole earth."

She smiles, and thanks her lucky stars.


* * *


Their wedding rings are plain, solid gold bands; nothing fancy, nothing gaudy. On the inside, each ring is engraved with a tiny, perfect key.


Requests (let's try all new ones this time!): Ace/Hex, Tegan/Nyssa, Ben/Polly

Nyssa/Tegan

[atraphoenix.livejournal.com]

“What would you have done if we had been trapped on that ship forever?”

Nyssa was sitting on her bed, legs swinging, and Tegan looked up in surprise when she spoke. She’d asked it in a perfectly normal voice, as if it was a perfectly normal question. No different to inquiring about the weather or wondering aloud what outfit she should wear today.

“I don’t know.”

What was she supposed to say? It was all over now, anyway. Tegan didn’t particularly want to dwell on it. The Brigadier had been returned to his own time, with his memories fully restored and, as usual, the Doctor had swept away just as suddenly as he’d arrived.

Sometimes his detachment alarmed Tegan, but, the more time she spent with him, the more she came to understand why it was necessary. He’d been willing to give up his regenerations to save her and Nyssa, but they’d never speak about it again. Couldn’t speak about it again. It would be too hard.

In fact, if it hadn’t been for Turlough, they probably would have swept the entire incident under the metaphorical carpet. But, with him on board the TARDIS, it was rather hard for any of them to forget. Nyssa was worried. So was Tegan, actually, but she wasn’t going to admit as much. She was supposed to be the brave one, wasn’t she? Brave heart.

“There are worse things than being stuck with you for an eternity,” Nyssa continued, with that soft smile of hers. The smile that made Tegan feel hot and cold at the same time, and – when it was directed at the Doctor rather than her – inordinately jealous.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and Tegan found herself wrestling with an urge to reach forward and do it herself. She was sitting on her own bed, only a few feet away. It wasn’t impossible. Just a little foolish.

“No, there aren’t!” retorted Tegan with a laugh, “I’m just…”
“A mouth on legs?”
“Exactly. I’d drive you mad!”

Nyssa shook her head, brown curls bouncing on her shoulders. Again, Tegan fought the impulse to tangle her fingers in them, drawing Nyssa to her across the room and…

“You could never drive me mad, Tegan. You’re my best friend.”

…and kissing her. Kissing her until she couldn’t breathe. Over and over again, until they’d both forgotten themselves enough for Tegan to pluck up the courage and slide a hand beneath Nyssa’s skirt.

“Are you alright? Tegan?”

The ivory skin of a pale thigh beneath her fingertips. Nyssa’s eyes were half closed, and Tegan brushed her lips over the eyelids – over every inch of skin she could reach, in fact – before moving them down to the hollow of her collarbone. She could feel breathless sighs and moans against her own skin, and then, when Nyssa finally summoned up some courage of her own, a small hand moved to cup Tegan's breast through the material of her blouse, and…

“Tegan?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” she replied quickly, “I was just thinking.”
“About what life on the ship would have been like?”
“In a way.”

She grinned at her friend. “It wouldn’t have been too bad, would it?”

Next: Shakespeare/Romana II, Donna/Lee McAvoy ('Forest of the Dead'), Romana I/Romana II

Harry/Sarah Jane

[minerva-fan.livejournal.com]

Title: Snow and Rain

"I hate when they mix," she said, toppling a bit on her toes as she reached up to hang her coat. They were drenched, first from rain, then from snow, and she hated the chill in her bones. "Fancy a cuppa?"

Harry shivered in his wet clothes, eyeing the disaster that was Sarah Jane's flat. It wasn't that she was untidy, so much that her possessions far exceeded the capacity of space. He grinned to himself. Perhaps she thought this place in Croydon was a TARDIS as well. "It's late," he murmured. Ever the gentleman, Harry, Old Boy, he chided himself. "I should be going."

Sarah grinned at thim, and tugged at the lapels of his coat until she had it off him. "No, it's late and you should be staying."

Harry's eyes widened, then a grin brightened his face. She didn't, of course, mean what he'd thought she meant. Sarah was a friend, and while she was an attractive, desireable friend, he also knew she was an unattainable friend.

She kissed his lips softly, and Harry felt a sigh of desire.

Okay, maybe she wasn't so unattainable after all? "Just a short one," he murmered, and kissed her back. After all, it was really beginning to snow out there.

Jackie Tyler/Chrissie Jackson, Andrea Yates/Sarah Jane Smith, Evelyn/Six

Rose/Martha - a drabble

[in-the-end.livejournal.com]

“Jack told me what you did; who you are.”

“I told him not to,” Martha says as she busies herself in her office.

“I just came here to say – ”

“If you’ve come here to thank me, then please, don’t bother.”

“You didn’t do it for me, why should I thank you?”

“Then what?”

“Hello, I guess.”

“Hello? Is that it?”

“What else can I say?”

After a pause, Martha says,“You’re shorter than I expected.”

Rose smiles. “You’re everything I hoped he’d find: brave, wonderful... beautiful.”

“He said that, did he?”

“I can just tell,” Rose whispers against her cheek.

Requests: Barbara/Ian, Jo/Benton, Gwen/Rhys

Gwen/Rhys

[doyle_sb4.livejournal.com]

“I thought you’d forgot.”

“Oh, so that was why you had such a face on this morning. Not likely to forget our wedding, am I? It was weeks before I could look my mam in the face again. I haven’t been near a chainsaw since.”

“And you obviously wrapped it yourself,” she said, weighing the present in her hands. “Well done you. Did you just use the one roll of sellotape or did you have to go to the shops?”

“Go on and open it, then.”

It’d be a book, she thought. It was about that size, and it was paper for a first anniversary; she’d got him tickets for the rugby semi-final. She smiled at him, at her big, daft husband, and ripped off the paper.

After a moment, when she hadn’t spoken, Rhys moved quietly to her side and put his arm around her shoulders. “I found them on the computer the other day,” he said. “Just silly snaps I took at the reception, but I thought… maybe you’d want that one framed to keep.”

Herself in her wedding dress, creased up in laughter at something Jack was saying into her ear, Ianto smiling at them both with Jack’s arm slung casually across the back of his chair; Owen frozen in the middle of reaching across the table for the last bottle of champagne. And Tosh, the only one of them who’d noticed the camera, smiling shyly out of the picture, looking happier than Gwen could remember.

“It’s perfect,” she said.

Requests: Gwen/Rhys/Jack, The Master (Simm)/John Hart, Clyde Langer/Luke Smith

Mickey/Jenny, drabble (100 words)

[aberrantcliche.livejournal.com]

"So you came here from an alien planet from another universe, another time with just a shuttle?"

"And of all people I could meet right after landing on a new world, I meet someone who has travelled with my dad."

Mickey smirked and shook his head in disbelief.

"Mind me saying, judging on your stories about your travels, it sounds like you missed out a bit. You could see so much more, do so much more."

Jenny held out her hand.

"I’ve got the whole universe and a shuttle that is apparently capable of a lot more than I expected."

Sarah Jane/Mr. Smith

[minerva-fan.livejournal.com]

Title: Peak Efficiency

Sarah stretched out in the attic, every muscle aching, every nerve tensed and strained with exhaustion. She had spent the better part of the day lugging junk from the storage unit she'd hired to house Aunt Lavinia's things after her death to the house on Bannerman Road.

"Sarah Jane?" The masculine voice made her jump. The alien computer, Mr. Smith, had been growing, expanding at a rate that might have been frightening had she not already seen so much. He'd taken over her old laptop, then coached through a remedial course in computer technology as he invented himself into a supercomputer.

Each day, he was more than the day before. Each day, he showed another talent, another way to be useful to her new purpose.

"Sarah Jane?"

"I'm tired," she groaned, pulling a cushion from beneath her and covered her face. "I don't care about drivers and hyperthreading and accelerator boards and..."

"You're tired. My sensors have determined you are functioning at only 68% capacity."

"Do they?" She breathed in heavily. "I would have bet no more than 45%, meself. Take a break, Mister Smith." She tucked the pillow back under her head. "The lair is almost finished. I need a break before I install the the cave door for the BatMobile."

"I believe I can improve your efficiency."

Sarah frowned, looking up weakly at the place in the wall her new alien computer friend had appropriated. "What?"

To her utter surprise, Mister Smith projected a beam of pink light towards her. Before she could even react, the light engulfed her and an intense tingling began to spread through her body. Sarah gasped as the pink light penetrated her body, down to the cellular level, injecting her with tiny microbursts of energy.

The pulse ran through her, and she moaned slightly. The sound of her own voice embarrassed her, as did the involuntary writhing. "Damn," she whispered as the light dissipated. She couldn't be sure if she was damning her own reaction, or damning the fact that it ended.

"82%," Mister Smith reported, then went back to his work.

Sarah Jane caught her breath, staring at the ceiling in her wreck of an attic.

Her life was just far too weird for words.

Requests: One/Cameca, Alan/Andrea, K9/K9 Mark 2

Martha/Frank

[gothic-veils.livejournal.com]

He's completely normal, a human in the traditional sense of the word, thrown headlong into extraordinary events just like her. He's 100% normal, but he deals with everything that happens to him extremely well. He's brave, intelligent and cute (although she pretends she hasn't noticed that fact, even though everyone knows she has).

He notices that she exists in a way she knows the Doctor never will. He offers her protection even though he has no idea what he's offering it against. All she wants to do is protect him because she does.

He's young and innocent but speaks up for what he believes in. The Doctor is so old and worldly (or more accurately universally) wise, she can see the 900 years of his life in his eyes. In Frank's she sees wonder, amazement, fear and hope.

She has to admit as human males go he's certainly one of the more impressive she's ever met. He isn't the Doctor, but then so few people throughout space and time are. He is special though, in his own completely normal, human way; much like Martha herself is. He may not be the Doctor but he offers her something the Doctor never will- himself and so he'll do because otherwise Martha might drive herself slowly crazy, waiting.

Requests Toaster/Barbara (from Sick Building), Martha Jones/Ross Jenkins, The Rani/The Doctor (Ten)

Rani/10

[rodlox.livejournal.com]

He hadn’t heard from her – nor of her – since the Time War. And now, here at Near Enough, the Doctor sees why that is so.

The space station was aptly named: in safe orbit the first stars in all the universe, stars that were only three years old right now. Well, three years after they started burning. Not the neighborhood of the Big Bang – no way to see anything, not that early.

The Rani had manned this station alone during the Time War – defending the dawn of the universe from the Daleks. One woman - one o so glorious woman! against uncounted armadas.

She’d won - we all did, insofar as much as was possible, considering the stakes and the combatants - but the dying Dalek fleet on the edge of this solar system (empty, this early on, without anything local heavier than – not now) had lashed out in its last moment of conciousness… rupturing the station.

The Rani was mummified. The Doctor looked at her, ran one spacesuited hand along the contours of her face, never touching, always a centimeter from her toughened skin. Skin that, in life, was so alive. Not since the ages before the Gallifreyans became the Time Lords has there been a mummy of their species.

“We disagreed from time to time,” he says, not sure why, but it feels right that he do so, “but show me somebody I’ve never disagreed with, and I’ll wager I’ve never met him.” It tugs at his hearts, being so close, and yet so distant. The Rani is borderline dead: finish the job, and she’d regenerate, coming fully to life.

He can’t feel her, can’t sense her presence…but doesn’t dare wake her, can’t bring himself to unleash her upon the universe. If not for recent memories of the Master with the Toclafane, he would. He’d bring her back.

So, not feeling her, he aches.

-
Request: Donna/Seven, Ace/Ten, Ace/Four

Martha/Romana II

[netgirl-y2k.livejournal.com]

Martha gets called in because she's the resident expert on Time Lords in general and the Doctor in particular.

She's able to confirm to UNIT that the alien they've got in the sickbay isn't the Doctor. For one thing she's a woman, and for another she wakes up and introduces herself.

"My name is Romanavoratrelundar," she says, "and you wouldn't happen to know what happened to my planet, because it doesn't seem to be where I left it?"

Martha swallows and tells her the truth. She'd give quite a lot of money to never again have to tell someone that their entire species except the Doctor has been wiped out.

Later, she helps Romana escape using her UNIT ID, a borrowed lab coat and a spaceship that UNIT has been forced to confiscate from Torchwood.

"Come with me," Romana says.

"I can't," Martha can't deny she's tempted, really, really can't deny it. "I've got work, my family's here."

"You did just tell me that my entire species has been wiped out."

"That's emotional blackmail."

"Yes," says Romana, holding her hand out to Martha.

"One trip," says Martha, taking Romana's hand. "Just one trip."

And she really means it. Almost as much as the Doctor had meant it when he'd said the same thing to her.

But there's going to be no sexual tension this time. Almost, probably, definitely not.

Requests: Nine/Donna, Six/Peri, Ace/Mel

Six/Peri

[bibliophile1887.livejournal.com]

The Doctor sat up in the bed, interlacing his fingers behind his head. He watched Peri as she prepared for bed.

Peri was watching the Doctor watch her. She sat in front of the mirror, brushing her hair. Occasionally her eyes would flit over to the Doctor's in the reflection and she would smile.

“Humans are so vain,” the Doctor observed.

Peri slapped the brush back down to the table. “And you're not?”

The Doctor looked indignant. “How could you suggest such a thing?”

“We both know that the only reason you wear that coat,” she gestured to the multi-colored garment draped across the foot of the bed, “is so that people will look at you. How much more vain can you get?” She picked up a jar of hand cream and opened it, dabbing some on to the backs of her hands.

The Doctor huffed. “Perhaps it's not Humans that are vain, it's just the females of the species.”

“There are an inordinate number of men who would agree with you. However I think male Time Lords are just as much.”

“You don't know any other Time Lords!”

“I've met the Master, and he's just as vain as you are.”

Peri finished rubbing the hand-cream into her palms and arms and walked over to the bed and slid in next to the Doctor.

The Doctor huffed again. “So you've met two Time Lords. That hardly allows for such a gross generalization.”

Peri snuggled up next to the Doctor and sighed. “If we're going to have this conversation every night as I prepare for bed, you can start sleeping in your own room.”

The Doctor stiffened, in more than one way. “I just like a distraction so I'm not so focused on your lack of clothing.”

“You say that every night.” Peri kissed him, shutting him up, just as she had done every night for the previous month.

---

Sarah Jane Smith/Alan Jackson, Five/Six, Six/Maxil (Arc of Infinity)

Eight/Karl

[brewsternorth.livejournal.com]

Karl Sadeghi came to his senses slowly and painfully.

The sun was already high in the Hitchemian sky, slanting directly into the apartment. The stuffy heat from the solar gain was only relieved by an open window through which could be heard someone in the street below belting out Va, pensiero in ragtime.

As for Karl, the sensory assault of these combined with the night before had left him not merely headachey but entirely exhausted. He felt as though he’d grappled with a tornado, and the state of his bedclothes seemed to agree. It had been a good party, even if he couldn’t recall some of it.

Almost before he was conscious enough to get up and walk, he’d taken the vague decision to shower, and staggered on still not-quite-cooperative legs across the few steps required.

He had been convinced that the sound of falling water was a trick of his ears. But the shower was already taken. A stranger – no, the violinist from last night – stood under the feeble spray, half-turned away from Karl. He stared, dumbly, his wayward brain thinking of Bach. There was a mathematical rightness to the lean musculature in those shoulders as they worked. Long, sinewy fingers were teasing their way through still-longer hair the colour of cherry-wood, steering it away from a statuary jaw -

The violinist was staring back at him, his gaze unblinking. After a few moments, his expression composed itself into one of wry amusement.

“Karl,” said the violinist, “I thought you made concerti, not overtures.”

Pairings: Two/Jamie/Zoe/Martha, Benton/Yates, Kamelion/The Master (Ainley)

Rose/Sarah Jane

[carawj.livejournal.com]

"Sarah Jane! Sarah Jane Smith!"

Sarah was quite certain she'd never seen this young woman before in her life; not in the flesh, at least. Of course, everyone had heard of Pete Tyler's long lost daughter, who apparently turned up out of nowhere with his presumed-dead wife. It was all over the papers. Might have been worth investigating, if Sarah hadn't been tied up with following that report that there was a colony of Wirrn trying to breed just outside Aberdeen.

Except that the girl seemed not only to know her, but actually to be quite thrilled to see her. She was standing in front of Sarah, blocking the corridor, with an enormous grin on her face and looking much too young to be wearing that suit.

"You're Miss Tyler? I'm sorry, but, have we met?" Sarah held out her hand warily and the girl grabbed it, her smile widening even further.

"Rose. Call me Rose. I sort of, knew you. Once. A long way from here." She looked a bit lop-sided suddenly, twisting her fingers together nervously. "You won't remember me."

If nothing else, her life had taught her to think on her feet. Sarah came to a decision. "That would sound so much stranger if I didn't work for Torchwood. Look, you're the new girl Captain Benton said he'd hired, aren't you? I think you'd better come to my office for a cup of tea and you can explain what the hell is going on, ok?"

***

Sarah lay with Rose's head resting in the crook of her arm, and their legs tangled together.

"I always knew there was more out there," she found herself saying. "Way back, when I was just a journalist for the local rag, I knew there was meant to be more than that. More adventures. More life. I fell on the leads about Torchwood by accident, except it wasn't an accident, really, because I suppose I'd been looking for it, all along. And then, of course, I started working for them." She stopped and smiled wryly. "Listen to me, reminiscing. I sound about a hundred years old."

"Yeah," said Rose with a hint of laughter behind her words. "You're just a big cradle-snatcher, you are." Her fingers drifted down Sarah's side in a way that made her shiver.

"Don't mock an old woman," Sarah threw back, kissing the mess of blonde hair. She was quiet for a moment, feeling Rose breathe against her.

"Rose?"

"Mmm?"

"The other me. From your world. She got to see the stars, didn't she?"

A long minute of silence passed. "Yeah," said Rose, quietly. "She did. Stars and planets and aliens and all sorts."

"Well I've got the aliens covered, but I'd have loved to see the stars." Sarah knew she sounded a bit wistful. "Whole other worlds..." She tightened her arms around Rose, this girl who had even been born in one of those unimagined places.

"You will, Sarah Jane." There was a strength in Rose's voice that Sarah hadn't heard before. "We're both still gonna have lots of adventures. You'll see."

Requests: Ten/Martha/Donna, Five/Nyssa/Tegan, Sarah Jane/Romana II

Sarah Jane/Romana II

[nextian.livejournal.com]

Out of You and Me (non-canon compliant for SJA)

"Excuse me," the woman says, standing in the threshold. She is what Sarah Jane would normally describe as 'unassuming,' except for that her next question is, "I wonder if you could tell me who I am," which assumes a great deal. As it happens, most of what it assumes is true.

"You're Romana," Sarah Jane Smith says, and opens the door a bit wider for her. "Why don't you come in for tea and I'll give you the details I'm privy to. I'm afraid none of them include how to pronounce your name correctly."

~

"That sounds reasonable," Romana admits, watching the steam rise from the top of her cup. "It also sounds like something that man would decide was a good idea."

"Yes," says Sarah Jane, watching her assume: the size of the cottage, the dye in Sarah Jane's hair, the unquestioning faith at the door, and again wishes not quite so much of it was right. "Would you like your watch now?"

Romana smiles unexpectedly. "No."

Sarah Jane takes a long breath in.

"No," says Romana, again, "because from what you tell me, being a Time Lord is a great deal of waste, and from what that man--" Sarah revises this; those capitals were audible-- "That Man tells me, there aren't enough of them." She shrugs. "I'd rather be human. I have a very nice position, you know. UNIT. I'm surprised I haven't seen you around the office."

"I don't work with men with guns," Sarah Jane says, and Romana adds, off-handedly, "besides, I quite like being a lesbian, and from the way That Man looked at me I'm sure that wasn't the case."

Right, Sarah Jane doesn't say. Assume your way out the door. Instead she says, with a little smile into the tea, "What a coincidence."

~

Neither of them make crude jokes about going to see the bedroom; instead they unpack Romana's bags. For a few days, the Doctor said, just until she comes to her senses. They wait, and smile at each other, and size each other up piece by piece. Romana leans her chin over Sarah Jane's shoulder to help her with the crossword. Not all of her help is accurate.

~

Sarah Jane hands her the watch, and Romana kisses her, slow and certain, and tucks it back into Sarah Jane's hand. Later she will trace foreign alphabets onto Sarah Jane's skin. What has been lost will lie between them, and will be comfortable, familiar, invisible, assumed and therefore true.



Requests: Martha/William Shakespeare, Fitz Kreiner/Tenth Doctor, John Smith/Seventh Doctor

Nine/Rose

[livii.livejournal.com]

Two Suns

He watches her –

there are two suns rising in her eyes, orange skies and silver leaves

– he can't find the words, not yet.



"Where to next?" He's open and light, and she's looking at him and he knows he must be off.

(off – on – still constructing)

"Your choice," she says. Her eyes say: "what else?"



He holds her –

not yet, not yet, not yet.

"What now?" she asks. "Where we going from here?"

(forward – backwards – repeat – repeat)

"Your heart's desire," he replies, and her smile rebuilds another fraction, another moment in time.



Her eyes are full of questions but he sees the suns and whispers "stay, stay, say you'll stay with me."

She nods. The suns take a breath to wait for the dawn of the new day.



They blow a lot of shit up. It feels good.



He watches her –

maybe the next life, the next grab at the ring, but this one, this one

– he watches her shine and he basks in her glow, refracted.



(right – left – up – up – up)



He still has a soul, he realizes. There are two suns in her eyes –

all the civilizations he has met and loved and destroyed

– and she watches him carefully, and her touch is light and sweet and free.

This is good.

Requests: Turlough/Nyssa, Two/Polly, Tegan/Donna

Two/Polly

[stunt-muppet.livejournal.com]

“I’m just saying, Doctor, you don’t have to look all rumpled all the time,” Polly said, digging her way through an endless line of coats.

“I like looking rumpled,” he protested. “I should hardly get anything done at all if I had to worry about keeping my clothes neat.” He was beginning to regret showing her where the wardrobe was, because after the initial shock wore off she was completely undaunted by its size.

“The other you stopped a whole great gang of robots and a living computer in one day and he still looked perfectly nice.”

“Did I now.”

“That’s what Ben told me. And he had on a frock coat that fit him right, too.” She pulled a long red overcoat off of the rack, examined it critically, looked briefly at him, then shook her head and dove back into her search.

“This frock coat has survived world wars, I’ll have you know. Can’t say that about just any coat.”

She laughed. “Too bad it looks it, then.”

The Doctor gave her his best insulted scowl, which only made her laugh more. “Come on, Doctor. You looked just lovely when they got you cleaned up at the Colony!”

“They only cleaned us up so we’d be primed for hypnosis, Polly!”

“So you had to muss up your hair, did you? To keep them from taking over your mind?” She stopped giggling long enough to look at him, her gaze drifting upward. “You know, I think that might just be it.”

“What might just be it?”

“Your hair! I’ll just straighten it out; you’ll look better in no time. Hold still…” From one of her pockets she suddenly brandished a comb.

“Oh no no no no.” The Doctor backed away, only to find his back up against the coat rack. “Polly,” he protested, holding up his hands as a last line of defense, “there is nothing wrong with my hair.”

“Oh, stop squirming, Doctor. You know, you might not have known it, traveling in a TARDIS full of boys, but you really do look smashing when you pay a little attention to your appearance.”

“Well, thank you, but –” he dodged as she raised the comb again. “- but I really don’t think this is at all necessary –”

He tried to duck out of her reach once more, but at that Polly placed one hand firmly on his shoulder and (quite unexpectedly) kissed him. This had the unfortunate effect of immobilizing him for a moment or two while he tried to figure out what exactly she was doing.

And it was in that moment or two that Polly discretely brought the comb to his head and began – impressively, considering her obstructed vision – to fix his hair.


Requests: Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart/Bret Vyon (from The Daleks Master Plan), Steven/Dodo, Rose Tyler/Lynda (from "Bad Wolf"/"The Parting of the Ways")

Liz Shaw/Professor Yana

[pimpmytardis.livejournal.com]

Liz Shaw is weary. She leans her head against the cool window and her thoughts stray to Earth: of the green hills of England, the sprawling cities, of human music and Margaret Thatcher.

“Doctor Shaw,” he says softly. “May I have a word?”

She gestures for Professor Yana to sit beside her. “Please. And for the last time, call me Liz.”

“We’ve received the confirmation from the government. We’re going to implement your terraforming program on Malcassairo. I wanted to be the first to congratulate you.”

“The Malmooth have agreed?” Her face grows hopeful, then falls. Yana avoids her eyes, unsmiling.

“There’s still no word from the capital city.” A pause. Side by side, they observe the hazy blue-grey planet from orbit. “Doctor—” She raises an eyebrow. “Liz—” He is unable to finish the sentence.

“Yes?” Liz softly puts her hand on top of his.

“I- I’ve been appointed downside. You’re returning to headquarters next morning-cycle.” Yana holds his head with a grimace. “So this is goodbye.”

“Oh…”

Liz places a cool hand on his weathered cheek, a tentative kiss on his lips. “You will serve the humans and Malmooth well, Yana. That’s an order.”

Professor Yana’s eyes are glassy, vacant for a moment. “Yes, Doctor Shaw,” he answers, with a bemused smile. “I will obey.”

On the other side of the window, the stars pass judgment on the travelers, unblinking.


Requests: Section Leader Elizabeth Shaw/Scientist!Petra [Inferno], Harry Sullivan/Toshiko Sato, Leela/Mickey

Leela/Mickey

[rodlox.livejournal.com]

She dresses up nice, that Leela does. Mickey fancies her, and not just because she's a distraction of his feelings away from the matter of Rose; no, he likes Leela for reasons that are entirely Leela. And it doesn't hurt that some of the reasons are Leela-shaped.

Mind you, ev'ry now and again, she does something that sparks words of exclamation from him, and she just looks at him, eyes shining with humour and Leela informs him "I am a barbarian." With a perfectly straight face, she says that.

As they get closer, she tells him about her time travelling with the Doctor -- and Mickey starts to back away, wanting to run, to escape before he gets burned by another woman who was spoiled by exposure to the Doctor.

But she won't let him go, that Leela. Makes it known to him in no uncertain terms, that the Doctor was her past and past alone. Once run through to their completion, loyalties are remembered, not encumbering.

Mickey appreciates that. Leela appreciates the tickling he can do across her back.


Requests: Leela/Seventh Doctor, Leela/Owen Harper, Leela/Benton

Martha Jones/Donna Noble

[starletfallen.livejournal.com]

It's half-hidden glances and meaningless conversation across the console while he nearly kills them. It's laughing about how hopeless he is, and hugging when they both turn out to still be alive at the end of it all. It's tears and fear and relief and surprise, in quick succession. It's an adventure they weren't expecting to have, but neither one of them is complaining.

It's a fond goodbye, and a promise to stay in touch even if he doesn't. It's feeling like the TARDIS is just a bit too empty when it's just two again. It's putting her engagement ring on the nightstand and closing her eyes to fantasize about someone she's not getting married to. It's confusion and acceptance and all sorts of things that neither one of them can pinpoint.

It's not even the shadow of a relationship, it's not even a flirtation, it's just two women more alone in the world than they'd like to admit, knowing that the other is just as alone. It's imagining that someone who understands more could fill that space, and resigning themselves to nothing more than smiles and camaraderie at the end of the world.

It's everything and it's nothing, and neither one of them can make it anything else.


Requests: Sally Sparrow/Larry Nightingale, Toshiko Sato/Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones, Larry Nightingale/Mickey Smith

Larry Nightingale/Mickey Smith

[nextian.livejournal.com]

"Yeah, like, it all just means so much, y'know," Larry says, babbling now, and Mickey's taking it all down, cutting in with, "Yeah, mate, I see you, did you ever see the one on the back disc of Dancing with the Stars," and, well, he'll blame it on the contact high and the fact that Larry kinda looks like a bloke he knew back before Rose, but afterwards Larry always blushes at 3:14 on the playback, and Mickey has one more thing he's never telling Rose about when she weren't around.

Requests: One/Ten, Jenny/Jack Harkness, Lucy Saxon/Harriet Jones

Tegan/Turlough

[livii.livejournal.com]

"Tegan. There's very little other choice here. Either you do this, or Turlough gets thrown in the pit."

"Wouldn't be so bad. Oh, okay, okay, if you'll stop pouting. Honestly, you're like a little kicked puppy. But I promise I'm going to kill you both afterwards."

"Wouldn't expect anything less." The Doctor held out a hanger to her. "Here."

Tegan opened and closed her mouth a few times before she grabbed the garment. "Painful, excruciating, drawn-out deaths," she muttered, stalking off.


***


"Psst. Turlough. Turlough. You idiot, over here."

"I'm sorry, miss, I'll be whipped if I'm caught talking to one of the – what the hell."

"It was the only way to infiltrate the king's court," Tegan said, pulling on the fabric self-consciously. "The only ones he lets close to the slaves are the harem girls. And you'll keep your mouth shut if you want to get rescued."

"Wait, hang on, let me get this straight. You're wearing a – "

"Shut. Up."

"You're wearing a bikini so you could rescue me. Wait. Did the Doctor put you up to this? I must remember to thank him."

"I'm thinking the Iron Maiden for you two. Together. Honestly, this is the daftest situation you've got yourself into yet, and for how often you get captured and put into bondage, that's saying a lot."

"Hey, that blobby guy is pretty fierce. I saw him eat someone. Well, think about eating someone. Well, look at someone funny. What I mean is, I'm chafing under these restraints. Any chance you've got a knife hidden somewhere on you? Oh my god."

"Brutal, messy, vicious deaths with no funeral," Tegan swore, as she pulled the sonic screwdriver out of her top. "And then I'll salt the earth underneath you just to make sure. Come on, you're free, let's get out of here. And stop staring!"

"It's just that – " Turlough motioned over her shoulder with a flick of his eyes. Tegan turned around.

"Oh, rabbits."

There were three guards aiming very pointy sticks at them.

"Well, come on, you're supposed to do something fancy and brave to save us now!" Tegan said. "I already rescued you once, the Doctor didn't say anything about a second time in the same mission."

"Fancy and brave," Turlough said, stepping behind Tegan. "Yeah, I'm kind of out of ideas at the moment."

"Oh for – " Tegan stepped forward, and aimed the sonic screwdriver at a pile of ropes hanging from the ceiling. They fell heavily onto the guards, along with a couple of sandbags, knocking them out. One of the ropes swung to a halt in front of them.

"Handy," Tegan said, grabbing onto the rope. "You coming with me? The Doctor's on the other side of the pit." She grinned, and Turlough grabbed on.

"That's not the rope," Tegan said, and Turlough blushed. "You idiot," she continued, but with a wink, as she waved the sonic screwdriver and then pushed it between her breasts.

She let loose a yell, then kicked off hard, and they went swinging out across the pit.

Halfway across, Turlough kissed her.

On the other side, she slapped him, and stomped off into the TARDIS.

"Good to have you back, Turlough," the Doctor said, grinning.

Turlough rubbed his cheek. "Just like old times. I'd better make sure Tegan's okay, though. Not sure she can undo that outfit without a little help. She did save my life, after all."

From inside the ship came a loud, frustrated roar. Turlough grinned, and set off after it.


Requests: Benton/Harry, Four/Romana I, Susan/David

Susan/David

[dynapink.livejournal.com]

Bah, I was in the middle of writing it anyway! ;P

It wasn’t a case of “waiting for the wedding night” because of tradition, or because of moral objections that had fallen out of fashion a very long time ago. No, it was a matter of practicality more than anything else.

London was in ruins, food was scarce, and even with the Daleks gone it wasn’t particularly safe. It was better for everyone to stay together as a group until arrangements could be made for them to get to the countryside. For what seemed like an eternity, Susan and David had to make do with stolen kisses whenever they had a few moments to themselves.

But things progressed, and within a few days someone who had once been a judge was found. They held hands while he said a few words over them and pronounced them husband and wife, to have and to hold from this day forwards. With that ceremony, as legally binding as anything could be said to be these days, Susan traded the name Foreman, which was never really hers anyway, for the name Campbell, which absolutely was. She was sixteen years old, and most likely the youngest Gallifreyan bride in history.

Their friends took pity on the newlyweds and gave them as much privacy as possible, but still the marriage remained in name only. They were young and in love, and romantic enough to want everything to be perfect.

They’d been married nearly a week by the time they made it to Scotland. The farmhouse was grey and dilapidated, and the land surrounding it was full of rocks and debris and some absolutely unspeakable things. But to David, the land symbolised a new beginning, the start of his quest to give back to the shattered Earth. And to Susan, the house symbolised the home she’d been searching for for years.

Only one of the bedrooms had a bed left in it, and even that was uncomfortable and not really big enough for two people. There wasn’t one thing about that marriage bed or what they considered their “real” wedding night that could possibly be considered perfect.

But Mr. and Mrs. Campbell, snuggling together in that lumpy bed, would always believe it was.

Requests: Jack/Mike Yates, Five/Tegan, Six/Peri

Nyssa/Master (not Ainley)

[rodlox.livejournal.com]

This is an AU of _Keeper of Traken_...no Ainley!Master:

Nyssa was done her tending for the day, and was about to walk away from the statue, when –

“Clever girl.”

“Who said that?” she asked, looking all around, seeing nobody.

Answered the statue, “Walk around me,” she was instructed.

“Okay,” Nyssa said, and walked a circle around the statue. Found nobody there. “Now where are you?” standing before the object.

And before her very eyes, a man emerged from the statue. Or ‘emerge’ was a pale shadow of what he did – step through the solid-looking object, his edges shimmering until he was fully departed from it.

“You’re hurt!” Nyssa exclaimed, and wrapped her arms gingerly around him, walking him to a bed where he could be properly tended to.

He permitted the manhandling, but once they were got to a bed, he gripped her arms by the wrists. “And what of you?” the Master asked.

“What of me?” she asked, puzzled.

“What do you want?”

“I want for nothing.”

“Good. But I did not ask what you want for – I asked what you want.” A deliberate pause to ensure she understood, “I can read your mind, if need be. So can the Doctor.”

She gaped.

Not my intended reaction. Still… “Envy, in a small measure. And of the one who had tended me before your appointment.” Finding what he was looking for, the Master used it to guide him as he kissed Nyssa on a very sensitive spot of the Traken lady’s face – more hormonally-charged than the lips of a human.

Soon enough they had collapsed onto the bed, Nyssa never stopping her tending to him, though, not wanting him to be harmed.

“But what about -?” Nyssa started to ask, only to be shushed. “She’s tended your – to your -” ship? base? refugia?

“She is a tool,” the Master soothed her, whispering to her. “You are more.”

“Thank you,” she said.

-
{and my Morden muse finally shows up} :)
Requests: Sarah Jane Smith/Maria's dad, Group Captain Gilroy/Liz Shaw.

Three/Liz/Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart

[stunt-muppet.livejournal.com]

“You realize this is entirely your own fault, Brigadier.” The Doctor protested, retrieving his jacket. “I did warn you this would be dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” The Brigadier sputtered. “I hardly think dangerous covers it. Do you have any idea what my superiors would think of this? We could have been –”

“I’d say it’s a good thing they weren’t here, then.” Liz snapped, looking none too pleased herself as she straightened her skirt. “Now do stop shouting; someone will hear you!”

“I told you specifically: the pheromones of the adult Angynosis can have unpredictable mind-altering effects on humanoids, even if the specimen is dead. I told you to stay out of the lab. I told you to wear a face mask.”

“Not that it did us much good.”

“It was a basic safety precaution, Liz. And it would have been sufficient under normal circumstances. Like if this oblivious twit hadn’t started shooting at it.”

“Considering that it would have impaled you if I hadn’t, you ought to be thanking me, Doctor. And has anyone seen my hat?”

“Post-mortem muscle spasms are completely normal in this species, I’ll have you know. Especially during dissection. My, Liz, you haven’t half got fingernails, have you,” he added, rubbing at the raw skin on his shoulders.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, I’m sure.” What might have been either panic or rage had finally crept into her voice. “Both of you stop arguing and get out of here, before we all get arrested.”

The Brigadier visibly bit back a shout and made a last attempt at looking dignified – which was somewhat spoiled when he had to retrieve his UNIT beret from atop an unlit Bunsen burner. “The next time you bring in something with…pheromones, you’ll do your work on it outside. Or at least somewhere extraordinarily well-ventilated.”

“So we can undress and degrade ourselves in public? You’re too generous, Brigadier.” Liz retorted, but he had already shut the door behind him. Turning back to her equipment, she pushed a wayward lock of hair back into her ponytail and began gathering up the scalpels and pins.

“You missed a button, Doctor,” she said flatly, and walked off to the sink.

Requests: Eighth Doctor/Sarah Jane Smith, Fifth Doctor/Todd (from Kinda), First Doctor/Steven Taylor

Fifth Doctor/Todd (from Kinda)

[marzipanilla.livejournal.com]

She once said paradise was too green.

Now she's seen so many places that could be called paradise, all painted in their own colors- she doesn't think that conclusion holds true anymore. Mauve and teal streaked skies over a violet setting sun, white marbled sand stretching on around her. Grey and blue mountains swathed with rich maroon trees, reaching up into skies that hold moons in all the colors she never thought existed. Buildings as ancient as the universe, twisting together in patterns too intricate for her to trace.

Her definition of a physical place of paradise expanded far beyond what just one planet could hold.

If it's possible to feel the abstract, she thinks she has experienced paradise. Alien fingers twined in her own, the double pulse of veins that are part of a binary-vascular system against her palm. Cool lips against her skin, the rustle of fabric when clothes are shed, the occasional accidental crunch of a celery stick. Stars, moons, planets and galaxies traced on her skin with skilled fingers, soft sighs and low moans that echo in the cosmos around them.

When she lets herself experience all those things, she knows that is how paradise should make you feel. How she would define the emotion of such a place.

So, now that she has more to go on, more to base her guesses (for nothing can really be a fact) she says that paradise is blue, just the right amount. The particular shade of the door that brought her out into the universe, and opened the way to the Doctor.

requests Davros/Dalek, Jo Grant/Dalek, Lost Moon of Poosh(Midnight, Journey's End)/TARDIS

Sam Jones/Iris Wildthyme

[glinda-penguin.livejournal.com]

Alternative ending to the Scarlet Empress?

It’s draftier than she’s used to and the hot water is, if anything, less reliable than in the Doctor’s ship. Travelling through the Vortex in a red London bus is by turns thrilling and terrifying, with attacks from the strange things that live within its swirling chaos a regular interruption.

Iris’ new body is certainly younger, and arguably more glamorous, but she’s still at heart a temperamental plump, raffish, lady of a certain age. They both take a great deal of pleasure in rebelling, sometimes going places and doing things just to see if they can shock each. Other times they do them just because they know the Doctor would disapprove.

For a while Sam gets the distinct impression that Iris is waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the rattling unreliability of the ship or the traumas of confined space and short tempers to drive Sam to demand that she be taken home or back to the Doctor. They have to get extremely drunk before they can have the necessary conversation. Stumbling home post unexpected victory, drunk on the local equivalent of very dark rum Sam shoves her firmly against a the outside wall of their bus, calls her a fool and informs her that if she thinks she’s getting rid of Sam that easily she’s got another thing coming. She kisses Iris firmly on the cheek and stumbles off to bed before she can say something far more foolish on the matter, but Iris catches her in the well of the stairs and, slightly wild about the eyes herself, kisses her properly and thoroughly. And that, appears to be that.

Sam revels in getting immersed in cultures, in trundling around planets exploring them properly rather than passing through stopping a burgeoning apocalypse on the way. She manages to involve Iris in a few of her crusades, pricking her conscience and kicking her out of her bubble of comfortable self-involvement, while Iris teaches her to see the big picture and to accept that she can’t save everyone (or some days anyone at all). But somehow they both find a ridiculous joy on those terribly rare occasions when everybody lives.

They do, eventually, track down the Doctor, several times in fact. Gate crashing his life at inappropriate junctures becomes a pleasant hobby for both of them. Iris charms his new companion, a personal young man from the nineteen sixties, round her little finger and steals his cigarettes. Sam notices the way he and the Doctor fit together, like she and Iris do (like she and the Doctor almost but never quite did) and briefly wonders how she would have dealt with that if she’d stayed. Badly, she imagines, and dismisses the notion, didn’t happen, doesn’t matter.

Sometimes she wonders who she would have been if she hadn’t crashed out in Iris’s ship after the Doctor returned from his quest back on Hyspero. May be it would have been better, maybe it would have been worse. Maybe she wouldn’t be any different. Whatever, it doesn’t matter, she wouldn’t swap tumbling round the universe in an aged London bus, mix tapes blaring, with a glamorous older woman for anything. There’s a million choices they could have made, a million people they might have been, but none of that really matters. This is who they are right here and right now, and that’s all that truly matters.

Edited (because it helps if you actually add prompts): Eight/Fitz, Ace/Shou Yuing, Dodo/Zoe

Eight/Fitz

[brewsternorth.livejournal.com]

The world was sliding sideways and his guts were turning in strange directions.

It was just shock, Fitz told himself. Shock. He’d nearly caught his death of cold.

“Nggh,” he groaned as the circulation finally came back, painfully, to his fingers and toes. The Doctor was hugging him, rubbing at his back to get the blood flowing again, murmuring something soothing into his ear, and all Fitz could think was that his ear tickled where it was being spoken to.

And that the Doctor had very little on, even if he had slung on a dressing-gown after hauling Fitz out of the pool, rescuing the man who’d been attempting to rescue him. What had possessed the Doctor to “meditate” starkers and fast-asleep lying on the bottom of a pool of ice-cold water hidden somewhere in the TARDIS, Fitz would never know.

It wasn’t even fair that the Doctor was now warmer than he was (jammy bastard), so that Fitz ended up clinging to him as he shivered under a vast bath-towel and a butterscotch-coloured fur coat in about the Doctor’s size. God, what he wouldn’t do for a ciggie and a glass of brandy, if only he wasn’t shaking so badly. “’M sorry,” he choked, trying to force his teeth not to chatter so much.

“Oh, Fitz,” the Doctor sighed. “You’re a riddle inside a contradiction, you know that.” Before Fitz could ask him what the hell he meant by that, he was kissing Fitz – not just your usual peck on the mouth but a full-on snog.

Oh bloody hell. The rational part of Fitz’s brain was screaming that this was madness, but the rest had just gone into meltdown and was trying and failing not to whimper. It didn’t help that the hands rubbing his back had started to knead it instead, manipulating the muscles so they loosened. Okay, he was warming up fast, but you could have too much of a good thing. This was – too much. He could taste tea and thunderstorms, and something else he couldn’t place, something vaguely salty.

He wondered what he tasted like to the Doctor.

No, that was just too weird.

“Thanks for saving me,” murmured the Doctor as they broke off, smiling gently. “I should apologise. I haven’t been the easiest of people to travel with of late. Too preoccupied with my own mind.”

Fitz could only make a strangulated sound by way of reply. “Ghk.”

The Doctor seemed to understand, and patted his shoulder. “Let’s get you out of those wet things, shall we?”

Fitz groaned. The Doc might’ve found his Zen, but he was totally off balance. “Tell me,” he managed in a small voice, “tell me you didn’t say what I think you just said.”

Pairings: Rassilon/Omega, Five/Nyssa/Adric, Five/Turlough/Peri

Ace/Master (Simm)

[rodlox.livejournal.com]

She was blonde now.

She was doing a favor for a friend when she re-met the Master: Ace was teaching. Seeing some guy coming in and sitting down halfway through her lecture, she did the only reasonable thing.

She called on him. “You there! Why don’t you tell us what’ll happen in a Big Crunch scenario.”

“Very well,” he replied, crisp and smooth. “If such an event were to occur, everything in the universe would slam into each other with all possible force, until there remains only a single pinprick of matter and energy. A pity it’ll never happen.”

“What makes you so sure?” one University student asked.

But Ace didn’t need to hear his answer. She could see it on his face: absolute certainty. This here was no tragic philosopher, and she’d lay odds that he wasn’t from UNIT. That left… a time traveler. “I’d like a word with you after class,” she told him. If he was the Doctor in some new regeneration, she had some choice words for him. More than a few, in fact. Just up and vanishing like that! Leaving her all alone.

He’d been right behind her, just two steps. Then he was gone, and without even a sound from the TARDIS those yards away at the time.

After the class ended for the day, this man came down to the teacher’s desk Ace was using. “Yes?” the Master asked.

“What’s your name?” Ace wanted to know.

“John Smith,” pulling out his wallet and showing his psychic paper badge. “Lately, Harold Saxon, Ministry of Defense.”

‘John Smith.’ That’s one of his pseudonyms. “Professor?”

“Oh I’m afraid my teaching days are long behind me.” Though I do believe there’s still a lesson for the Doctor.

“Sorry, you reminded me of a f- of somebody I used to know.”

“No worries then. What was his name - I might know him.”

“The Doctor.”

Saxon made a big show of astonishment. “As it happens, I do know the Doctor. He – oh, I really shouldn’t say.”

“Really shouldn’t say what?”

Looking contrite and awkward, “The Doctor may have fallen in the Time War.”

Time War? Anything to do with his vanishing on me?

“I was there, at the end of the universe, and that was the last I saw of him.” Shaking his head as it to clear out the cobwebs, “Seeing as I’ve got a TARDIS, would you care to come with me? We can look for him.”

“Sure!”

That was before Ace saw the end of time, in all its stark and horrid barrenness. It touched her mind, touched her in a way neither Fenric nor the Destroyer had been capable of.

Ace/Five

[wiccagirl24.livejournal.com]

He doesn't ask her any questions about the man who is her past and his future. He doesn't ask how they met and she doesn't tell him why she left.

They spend their time doing things other people would find ordinary, even boring. He takes her to the movies (nothing too sappy, he knows better) and she convinces him to give roller bladeing a try (she manages to keep from laughing when he falls and rips a hole in the knee of his trousers.) Dinner is eaten in a small restaurant, nothing fancy (all those extra forks make her uncomfortable) but with candlelight and flowers (he wants to show her she's special.)

When dinner is over he proposes they walk down the street to the ice cream parlor. She informs him that her flat is nearby. She has ice cream there, three flavors, and bananas too (she buys them every time she goes to the grocery, but never seems to eat them before they go bad.)

They don't even make the pretense of pausing by the kitchen as they fumble down the hallway towards the bedroom, (nothing like her room on the TARDIS) leaning against the door-frame together to share a kiss. She tugs at buttons but he stills her hands. Wanting the moment to last he undresses he slowly (beige and black jackets fall into a pile on the floor) his fingers caressing her skin. She returns the favor, but the moment his clothes are all off she pushes him onto the bed (patience never has been a gift of hers.)

Afterwards they stay awake for hours, her head cushioned on his chest (the double heart beat is comforting in its familiarity) and talk of silly unimportant things. Favorite jelly baby colors, which planet has the best sunrises, possible ways to alter the chemical structure of glycerine, what style of trainer has the best traction for running (but never Daleks, fear, or a war that is days and centuries away.) In the morning they have bananas and chocolate ice cream for breakfast (he can taste them both when he kisses her goodbye.)


Request: Ace/Nine, Sarah Jane/The Brig

Ace/Nine

[rodlox.livejournal.com]

Title: Slow Burning into Out
"Something's wrong," Ace said, breaking from their huddle - cuddle - and darting off to recalibrate and put her own special touch on the explosives. Even high-and-mighty wars like this one, occassionally descended into shoving matches whose outcomes were determined by things going 'boom.'

She'd wanted to help. Wanted to help him.

President Romana had wanted the War restricted as much as possible - if the Time Lords started letting the Gelph and others fight, who could know just what the Daleks would recruit or create for their side. But Romana had allowed her old friend to bring in one of his other friends.

She'd wanted to help, so he let her. Let her rejoin him, even though a Time War was no place for a plain normal human, let alone for the singularness that was Ace.

She had been there at the fall of Arcadia with him. She'd felt outright redundant watching it unfold and infold; but the Doctor knew that, if she hadn't been there, if he'd been alone, he would've gong mad...might "have gone Dark Side" as she put it, referring to a movie she'd seen just before he'd come back for her. Or was that another Companion's remark? the Doctor briefly wondered, last week's temporal memetic concussion space-mine still affecting him, a bit.

"Ace?" the Doctor asked. "ACE?"

"Moment, Doctor," not saying Professor - that was another Doctor; she knew they were the same, and she liked Nine...but she also liked him more than him. 'Nothing personal.'

Done. Heading back, to him.

She didn't get far enough fast enough.

Traditionally, Time Lords didn't say 'my heart(s) broke.'

Intellectually, the Doctor knew why humans had such phrases. Particularly now, as the not-very-distant-at-all sound of detonations rending material wrenched his hearts even in here.

His eyes burned with the fire of what was left unto him, even as the fires around him all extinguished.

Susan Foreman/Jagrafes

[rodlox.livejournal.com]

She strode across the surface of the ice, her mind massaging the Jagrafes below, could feel his neuro-muscular system rippling back satisfaction at her kindness, her gesture, and at his own work well done. "Yes, you did good."

His kind were well-suited to high-level organization and sorting, managing whatever system they were placed in charge of & bringing even marginal systems to abundant - fruitition? was that the word David used? and shrugged it aside.

"Thank you," she told it. The Jagrafes was burrowed beneath the ice, but he could feel her psychic praise. She'd brought him here to re-order the sparse life in this ocean, which had been near-empty when she'd first arrived, five million years ago.

Far enough from the sun to host life, was also freezing cold. And the sun was about to die - ten million years was abnormally old for this sort of star. No chance of the native life developing star travel and escaping. "We have to find another solution," she said, and imparted that comment to her Jagrafes.

Idea. I possess an idea, he imparted back to her. They were nothing if not quick.

request: Susan Foreman/John Hart, Susan Foreman/Owen Harper

Susan Foreman/John Hart

[glinda-penguin.livejournal.com]

When it comes to addictions John could write the book. He’s flunked out of more rehab programmes than most people even realise exist. Drink. Drugs. Sex. Murder. He’s got quite jaded about the whole process. Rehab is just a way to abstain for long enough to improve the inevitable highs that follow.

He’s never cared that much about the gender of his partners, much less their shape, colour or species. When he first ran into the leather-clad freelancer with too many hearts he’d expected a pleasant distraction, not a new obsession. He’d tied her up, she’d tied him down, they’d run the gamut of interesting things to do with humanoid bodies without clothes in normal gravity without getting bored. Then he’d made the mistake of challenging her to blow his mind, and she’d climbed inside his head and showed him how little he really knew about cross-species sex.

She tastes of tea, thunderstorms and the time vortex, her kisses leave an ashy taste in his mouth that reminds him of battlefields so he calls it death. She smiles her strange sad smile below her cold dark eyes and agrees with him.

Just before she comes she babbles the names of the planets she’s seen burn (she burned them to save them from something worse) and when she goes crashing over the edge he can see the flames reflected in her eyes. In that moment he can feel the heat of the backwash, smell the death and cordite in the air, hear the screaming and the silence. And it’s just so damn hot he does it far more often than is entirely wise. He calls her his favourite addiction to hide that she’s spoiled him for everyone else ever.

She flits in and out of his life and his bed. When she’s gone he pretends he doesn’t miss the feel of her inside his head. He gets off on whatever sex and drugs are offered, drinks too much and takes far too much pleasure in putting a permanent stop to those who get in his way at work. She disappears permanently one day, for long enough that he can throw his pride to the wind and go looking for her. He tracks down Jack for a trial run, the pretty boy makes an excellent distraction and a better hunting partner. Besides riding the rift that far and fast has just enough kick of certain death to sate his thirsts for long enough to keep him rational. Well, relatively, as rational as he ever gets.

These days the pretty boy’s got some weird immortal kick going on which he’d really love to explore the potential of, but its more fun to torture his little team. Weirder still he’s got himself his own strange sort of fidelity going on, yeah to five people but that’s pretty tame among their kind. Won’t come join the fun. Seems Jack’s managed to kick his addictions into line a little, and he hates him a little for that. He hates her more though, for making him miss her like this.

Fitz Kreiner/Charley Pollard, Jack Harkness/Susan Foreman, Iris Wildthyme/Tenth Doctor

Alice Guppy/9th Doctor

[rodlox.livejournal.com]

When she had been a little girl, growing up brotherless, her father had entertained her quirks regarding the reading of natural philosophy, procuring for her a copy of Mr. C.Darwin's book on barnacles. Alice had loved it, had soaked up all the knowledge in that text about the bizarre creatures that did headstands & glued themselves in place, forever upside-down & unable to live any other way.

When she'd grown up, she joined Torchwood, rather enjoying the 'if its alien, its ours,' always treasuring her discoveries in how novel'ly-foreign -- and how sadly tediously familiar -- aliens could be.

Then He fell through a hole in time. Not the Rift, but by a different means. And, obliged though she was, Alice couldn't bring herself to turn him in, to turn him over.

When he spoke, when he was coherent, he spoke of a War throughout and throughin Time itself. Through his recovery - his physical recovery at least - he clung to her. Did whatever she asked; let her lead, let her be submissive, he didn't care so long as she didn't leave him alone. He needed, and she was there.

Alice felt flattered, having never been needed before. Called upon, yes, but never needed.

And, one day, when she returned home from Torchwood, he was gone...having left a gift, a sizeable token of his esteem, for her. "Thank you" he said.

Alice thought, God save Queen Victoria. And God help my Doctor.

----
requests: Alice Guppy/10th Doctor, Alice Guppy/Mickey, Alice Guppy/Jack Harkness

Alice Guppy/10th Doctor

[doreyg.livejournal.com]

She was still a thief at heart; Torchwood had not blunted her… Instead it had refined her inner mayhem and had trained her in all matter of weaponry.

No matter how much she had seen though her first love would always be thieving and as long as her…. Tendencies did not affect Torchwoods business she was free to do as she liked in her own hours, with the doubtful protection of her majesties behind her.

On that particular day she had been in one of the busier parts of Cardiff, observing and occasionally stealing… A gold watch there, a slim book there, a snuff box there…

And then her hand closed around something cold and metal, something that she had only felt before in the very darkest recesses of the archives…. And she looked up, and she saw eternity in her targets eyes.

“Hello.”

And so she ran, despite her strange attraction to everything about such a man, despite her fascination as to what manner of creature he was… She ran.

And Alice Guppy would regret it until the day a cold bullet ended her life.

Requests: Ianto Jones/Jenny ("Doctor's Daughter"), Ianto Jones/Susan, Luke (SJA)/10th Doctor

Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart/John Benton

[safcooper.livejournal.com]

It’s difficult not to stare.

In fact, it’s so difficult not to stare that John fails entirely at the task.

“Do you have a problem with my attire, Mr Benton?” the Brigadier asks. His raised eyebrow dares John to respond, but there’s a wry smile playing on his lips; they’re in private after all, even if they are on duty.

John stares a second or two longer before dragging his eyes back to the Brigadier’s face. “No, sir,” he says, “I just wasn’t expecting you to be wearing… that, sir.”

“It’s just a kilt, Benton.”

Well, yes, John thinks, that’s really rather obvious. Not to mention extremely distracting. It’s an effort, frankly, to keep his gaze up above the Brigadier’s waist. Of course, ‘up’ is not necessarily best for everything. He shifts awkwardly, trying to make his interest less obvious.

He’s pretty sure it hasn’t worked though because the Brigadier looks rather pointedly at his camouflage-print trousers before launching into a lecture about Stewart tartans and hunting variations.

John’s not really listening though.

He can see the Brigadier’s knees. He knows that there are far more exciting parts to be seen, and that knees and elbows are only really notable in that they tend to get in the way during hurried fumbles, but they’re a tantalising glimpse of bare flesh that would ordinarily be covered with drab army green.

John has never understood the fascination that women seem to have for a man in uniform. To him there are days when the uniform feels like nothing more than a barrier, physically and psychologically.

The uniform reminds him that they have greater responsibilities, higher loyalties, and never forget, Mr Benton, a code of conduct.

The uniform signifies he’d die for his CO, but can’t even call him by his given name.

But that uniform is strikingly absent from the Brigadier right now.

John really can’t help but grin. “If you don’t mind my saying, sir, I rather like it.”

“I’m not wearing it for you, Benton,” the Brigadier says, suddenly stern. “It’s a fine Scottish tradition. As you know, I’m very proud of my heritage.”

“Yes, sir,” Benton says, snapping to attention and cursing himself for forgetting that despite appearances they aren’t on their own time yet.

“Of course,” the Brigadier says, stepping closer. Closer than is strictly necessary in a quiet backroom of a small country pub. “There are plenty of traditions associated with the actual wearing of kilts too…”

Benton relaxes fractionally; just enough to bring them face to face. “There are, are there, sir?”

“Oh yes. Particularly regarding what a true Scot wears under his kilt.”

No one can ever accuse John Benton of being slow on the uptake when it really matters. “So,” he replies, throat dry, “are you a true Scot, sir?”

“What do you think?”

The Brigadier steps away, but not before letting his fingers brush almost casually against John’s. It’s about as much contact as they ever allow themselves on duty and it sends a shiver right through him.

“Well, I’m sure I know the answer, sir,” John replies distractedly, watching the gentle, hypnotic sway of the fabric as the Brigadier heads for the door. “But I’d be remiss in my duties if I didn’t investigate fully.”

The Brigadier pauses, hand on the doorknob, and looks back at him. “Then I shall have to hope the Doctor arrives shortly and that he can solve the mystery of these missing oil rigs.” He smiles, his warm private smile, just for a second. “I should hate for you to be remiss, after all.”

John watches the Brigadier leave knowing full well that his silly grin, never mind anything else, will have to be brought under control before he can step out and face the troops.

He also wonders how long it'll take for the Doctor's psionic beam to… well, do whatever a psionic beam does. Perhaps, he thinks, he could take one of the Land Rovers out for a quick spin, check the countryside for odd blue boxes.

It wouldn’t do, after all, to postpone his investigation for too long.

Requests: Jack Harkness/Fitz Kreiner, Vislor Turlough/Captain Wrack (Enlightenment), Sarah Jane Smith/Liz Shaw

Fitz Kreiner/Jack Harkness

[settiai]

Jack clapped along with everyone else as the young man on stage finished playing. Smiling slightly, the guitar player reached up and ran his fingers through his already tousled black hair. He gave a short, jerky bow that was barely more than a nod before hurrying offstage.

Downing his drink, Jack glanced down at his watch. It was getting late, but they weren't expecting him back in Cardiff for at least another day. And it's not like he would care much even if they were. He had time to enjoy himself for a little while . . . and it was finally the Sixties, after all. He had been looking forward to this decade for close to half a century now. He just hoped 1960 and the years that followed would end up being everything he remembered.

But first things first.

"You're good," Jack said, sidling up beside the young musician at the bar. "Really good."

The musician shot him a skeptical look before nodding. "Thanks."

Jack glanced down at the man's empty glass. "Buy you a refill?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "It looks like you could use one."

"I wouldn't turn it down," the man said slowly. There was more than a hint of suspicion on his face.

Grinning, Jack motioned for the bartender to bring them both another beer. "The name's Jack," he said, turning back to the man and holding out his hand. "Jack Harkness."

The man hesitated for a few seconds before taking his hand. "Fitz Kreiner."

Without pausing, Jack brought Fitz's hand up to his lips and kissed it. Fitz jerked his hand away instantly, an incredulous look on his face as if he couldn't believe what Jack had just done. He quickly drained his drink.

But he didn't leave.

Jack's grin widened. "Refill?"

Fitz paused for just a second, wavering between accepting what Jack was obviously offering and leaving. He took a deep breath. Then, a hint of a smile playing on his face, he pushed his empty glass in Jack's direction.

"That's what I hoped you'd say," Jack said with a wink. He gestured for the bartender to bring two more drinks before downing his just as quickly as Fitz had his.

Fitz accepted the fresh drink with a growing smile. He held it up in a mock salute that Jack quickly imitated. "Is this the part where I ask your place or mine?" he asked before taking a long swallow of his beer.

Jack laughed. "My car's outside," he said, his eyes twinkling. "I was thinking that it had been awhile since the backseat was put to good use."

His grin only grew when Fitz did a spit-take.

---

Requests: C'rizz/Eighth Doctor, Eighth Doctor/Tenth Doctor, Fifth Doctor/The Master (Ainley)

Rose/Hex

[livii.livejournal.com]

Up until a minute ago, Hex was really glad to be back on present-day Earth, for a change.

The explosion that knocks him flat changes things a little.

"Are you okay?" a voice says, from above him, and he works hard to focus his eyes. It's a girl - blonde, a bit tough-looking, quite pretty - and she's holding out a hand to him, worry written all over her face.

"Yeah, thanks," Hex says, taking her hand and pulling himself up. He's sore, but doesn't think anything's broken, though his ankle is protesting a fair bit.

"Anything for you," the girl says, and she leans in and kisses him squarely on the mouth.

He can only stare at her when she pulls away; her face falls, and he feels terrible, despite himself.

"Time travel," she says, spitting her words out, like a curse. "Always fucking with - you don't know me yet, do you."

"Sorry," he says, feeling inadequate, out of his depth. "I really am sorry, but - "

She kisses him again, and he shivers, her hands on his back and he's suddenly quite, quite interested in the future.

"Don't tell anyone," she says, backing away. "Timelines, and all that. Especially not the Doctor. He hates this sort of thing."

"Yeah, okay," he calls out after her, as she turns and runs.

It takes him a couple of minutes to realize she's robbed him blind; the small transmitting device he was bringing to the Doctor, gone.

*

That evening, he helps her up from the ground.

"Bet you weren't expecting Nitro-9," he says. "Ace's specialty."

She's shaking her head, and has a rueful expression on her face.

"I'm really sorry," she says, "but it's a useful trick. Taught you a valuable lesson, at least, right?" She smiles, and despite himself, he smiles back.

"So what about the future, then?" he asks. "Am I going to get the device back?"

She laughs. "Burnt it out to try to reach someone across the void," she says. "And no one knows the future, Hex. Not even the Doctor - remember that. What would be the point of going forward, if you knew?"

"Yeah, I guess so," he says. "But you know my name. You know something."

She smiles again, and her eyes turn light and kind. "Rose Tyler," she says, sticking out her hand. He shakes it, carefully.

"Be careful, Hex Schofield," she says. "There's a war on out there, and we're all fighting, no matter where we are in time. Watch out for the future. We'll have to meet someday, after all." She leans in then, suddenly, and kisses him again.

"What am I missing this time?" Hex says, after she pulls away, leans down to pick up the gun she'd been toting before the explosion.

"Innocence," she replies, and turns and sprints away. He watches her go, until she's faded off into the distance.

He tells the Doctor the transmitting device fell out of his pocket and got smashed during the explosion. From somewhere far off in the TARDIS, he hears a noise, building, a howl.


Requests: Ace/Mickey, Ace/Leela, Duggan/Romana II

Ace/Mickey

[rodlox.livejournal.com]

"C'mon!" she said, voice strong and insistant.

More out of reflex than habit or thought, "I'm not a tin dog," Mickey said.

Ace just grinned at him, laughing, and - he could've sworn - put a howl in that laugh. Laugh done, "Hurry up, or there won't be any Sontarans left for us."

You're lucky you're cute, and wondered if he was falling as hard for her, as he had fallen for Rose.

-
Requests: Ace/Two, Sally Sparrow/Mickey

Leela/The Brig

[wiccagirl24.livejournal.com]

“I will only speak to the old warrior.” The knife is held tight in her grip as Leela shifts from side to side. Half a dozen men face her. She could take them if need be but she would rather not try. They are trained in the ways of combat and will not go down easily.

“The old warrior, miss?” The man in front of the others speaks in a voice that is deceptively gentle. He has strength, this one, both in his body and his ability to control the others, but he is not the one she wants.

“I look for the man called Lethbridge-Stewart, and will talk to no other.” She knows this is the right place and the right time - she has listened well to the Doctor’s stories.

“I believe I may be of some assistance in this matter.” The group before her parts. The man who has come does not need the shiny baubles on his clothing for her torecognise what he is.

“You wear the scars of many battles and walk with pride.” There is a tug of attraction in her gut, but she ignores it. Now is not the time.

“Thank you, I think.” He holds out his hand in greeting. Leela switches her blade to her left hand and shakes with her right. His grip is firm, his eyes are honest. The Doctor picks his allies well. “I afraid you have me at a disadvantage. You know who I am, but I don’t know you.”

“I am Leela.” The other men are still watching her, but she only speaks to the one. “I have been sent by the Doctor.”

“I should have suspected as much. Would you care to come to my office and tell me what our friend is up to now?”

“He is not up to anything." He leads the way to the nearest building, and she follows. "The last time I saw him he was below the ground, in a cave.”

"Needs a bit of rescuing, does he?" The man chuckles. He knows the Doctor's ways as well as she does, it seems.

"Doesn't he always?"


Requests: Ancelyn/Bambera, Brig/Doris

Ancelyn/Bambera

[rodlox.livejournal.com]

The chivalry can be grating at times, she'd be the first to say. But after a long day - or week or however long it takes - the familiarity and grace of it, is a welcome soothingness to her nerves.

They entertain company from time to time; the Brigadier and his wife are frequent visitors, and even Sarah Jane Smith stops by on ocassion (Bambera is convinced that Sarah envies her getting to keep her time traveler; nobody's ever envied Bambera before, so its a little disorienting).

Ancelyn has, if anything, Bambera thinks to herself, only one downside: when she wears velvet or lace, he slips and says she's being particularly Italian...or Byzantine. (not that he's complaining at the time, mind)

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Requests: Ancelyn/Ace, Mordred/Rose