kaffyr (kaffyr) wrote,

Doctor Who Fiction: Single, Double, Triple

Story: Single, Double, Triple
Characters: Rose/Nine/Jack//River Song//Amy Pond/Rory Williams
Rated: PG13
Edited by: un-edited; all mistakes mine.
Summary: Rose in the heights, River in the forest, Rory in his cups. A micro-collection of shorts.
Author's Notes: Offered for the reader's consideration, a drabble, a double-drabble,  and a triple-drabble. The drabble is the oldest,  originally offered as part of a fic comment thread at betterwiththree some time ago. The two longer pieces were written over the past couple of days. None of the three are connected, except by being in the Whoniverse. (100, 200, and 300 words per Google Docs)
Disclaimer:  As much as I wish it were otherwise, no Whoniverse characters are mine. They are the sole properties of the BBC and their respective creators. I intend no copyright infringement, and take no coin.  I do, however, love them all, and thank the BBC for letting me play (and create the occasional original character) in their sandbox.

betterwiththreeThe Height of Service 

    Terrifying didn't begin to  cover it, Rose thought. She fought vertigo, looking at the dizzying heights above, the bone-strewn rocks below. Jack and the Doctor looked grim. 
    "Fine time to disappear," she muttered, but she couldn't blame the TARDIS; maybe She had to, after that Skarpian maniac stole the key to break in. If only they'd reached Her first —
    Wind howled and solidified into welcoming open-doored blue, hanging before her, 2,000 feet off the ground. Below Her, an enraged Skarpian screech.
   Rose grinned as the door beckoned: "We don't tell You we love You nearly enough, do we?"


 After convincing the nursing sisters she was alright, she was fine, thanks, she needed to go, for the love of god, she enrolled at the University. Her major was archaeology, her minor linguistics; first human-humanish linguistics, then xeno-linguistics and — after convincing the right people— temporal linguistics. Still, it took longer than it should have to trace her name to the Gamma Forest.
    Probably because she hadn't wanted to know how much she'd forgotten, she thought as she scrubbed her tears away. The great trees shaded her as she wept, the river's thunder transformed by the baffles of their trunks and limbs.
    The women in the clearing with her cried too. They'd been told to forget the foster child they'd loved for too short a time — she was off for a soldier, they'd been told, to fight the Doctor. The poor wee thing ... but even Kovarian couldn't erase her from their hearts.
    That she'd returned to ask about the name they'd puzzled out from her strange birth language, that she cried when they told her ... they nodded, satisfied. Something had gone wrong with Kovarian's plans, the wicked woman. Perhaps the Great Warrior would triumph after all.


Career Counseling

 "Look, I don't care — probably says more about me than you, but it's true. I don't." Rory nursed his pint and looked frustrated.  
 Amy sipped at her lager, keeping her eyes on him and most definitely off the pair of young wankers in the corner whose drunken hoots had precipitated this. "Neither do I. You know that."
    "Thing ... the thing, I mean, the thing —"
    "You're potted."
    "You're Scottish."
    "Right." Best not to tease him, then, she decided. She waited. "So?"   
    "The thing is, you're gorgeous. You're gorgeous and you've got a great act. Ever'body loves it when you show up. Takes brains to act. So. Beauty and brains ...." He trailed off and his eyes worshiped her.
    The heat that suffused her was nothing like the prickly embarrassment from the catcalls. "And?"
    "Do you like doing it? I mean really like it?"
    "Yes!" Of course he'd be the first person to ask her how she felt about it, not tell her how they felt about it. Bless.
    She considered it again. "Why do you ask?"
    "'Cos ... because sometimes you do things because you hate to," he replied in a very low voice.
   Amy wanted to disagree. She almost wanted to slap him. But she didn't because he was right. He was Rory, he'd picked up the pieces too often when she'd done just that.
    "No. I'm doing it because it's fun." And it was true, she realized with slightly bewildered relief.
    He looked up, his angular face soft with the same relief. "Then that's OK, then ... N' they're ... not."
    She laughed, feeling light. "Yep. And you're drunk."
    "You mentioned. And you're still Scottish."
    "You mentioned."
    They sat in comfortable silence after that, until it was time for Amy to take him home.

Tags: dr. who, fanfic, my fanfic, writing
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