Doctor Who | Song Without Words
Feb. 26th, 2008 11:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eponymous_roseTitle: Song Without Words
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eponymous_rose
Word Count: 250
Rating: G
Characters: Fitz Kreiner, Eighth Doctor
Fitz leans over the railing and contemplates the pros and cons of being violently ill.
"Still haven't quite got your sea legs?" the Doctor says, with just enough sympathy in his voice that Fitz hasn't the heart to snap at him.
"Urgh," he says instead, and straightens partway, watching the rise and fall of the waves with the vague hope of hypnotising himself out of his misery.
The Doctor leans against the railing next to him. "Just look at the horizon, Fitz," he says, and the quiet awe in his voice is enough to drag Fitz's glance up from the roiling sea below to the tilting, swaying slash of water against sky. "Storm clouds building."
Fitz watches the flicker of lightning across the distant clouds, imagines he can hear the drumroll of thunder echoing back. "Yeah," he says. "Electric."
And it's like that, sometimes, with the Doctor - ordinary things take on extraordinary meaning and focus and drive, and it's not just a storm anymore, it's the future or the past or maybe even that sliver of present they keep clinging to. There's a song running through Fitz's head again, the sort that gives everything a purpose, a place, puts everything together as long as it plays on and on.
"Feeling better?" says the Doctor, grinning, and Fitz wants to hum the song, to find the words and notes, see if it makes any difference.
"No more ships," Fitz says instead, and slumps back against the railing with a groan. "Ever."
Author:
eponymous_roseWord Count: 250
Rating: G
Characters: Fitz Kreiner, Eighth Doctor
Fitz leans over the railing and contemplates the pros and cons of being violently ill.
"Still haven't quite got your sea legs?" the Doctor says, with just enough sympathy in his voice that Fitz hasn't the heart to snap at him.
"Urgh," he says instead, and straightens partway, watching the rise and fall of the waves with the vague hope of hypnotising himself out of his misery.
The Doctor leans against the railing next to him. "Just look at the horizon, Fitz," he says, and the quiet awe in his voice is enough to drag Fitz's glance up from the roiling sea below to the tilting, swaying slash of water against sky. "Storm clouds building."
Fitz watches the flicker of lightning across the distant clouds, imagines he can hear the drumroll of thunder echoing back. "Yeah," he says. "Electric."
And it's like that, sometimes, with the Doctor - ordinary things take on extraordinary meaning and focus and drive, and it's not just a storm anymore, it's the future or the past or maybe even that sliver of present they keep clinging to. There's a song running through Fitz's head again, the sort that gives everything a purpose, a place, puts everything together as long as it plays on and on.
"Feeling better?" says the Doctor, grinning, and Fitz wants to hum the song, to find the words and notes, see if it makes any difference.
"No more ships," Fitz says instead, and slumps back against the railing with a groan. "Ever."
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