#post-midnight

[auggusst-art]

girl dad <3

[pellaaearien]

Wip Week, Day One: Oldest WIP

Most of this week is going to be taken up by Locum Tenens, but I still wanted my kidfic (tentatively titled Family Reunion) to get some love.

At this point, the Doctor and Rose have been reunited and the Doctor has already met his son, Connor. (2467 words)

“So did you just… let yourself in here?” [Rose] asked, sounding unsurprised.

The Doctor pulled on his ear. “I did knock,” he said. “Twice. But you didn’t answer and…” He broke off, knowing he didn’t need to share his fears. “I needed to see you,” he finished simply. Rose met his eyes in the mirror with understanding, before taking his hand again and leading him back out into the hall.

In the airy kitchen, Rose put the water on to boil and they both looked at each other over the island countertop. There were so many questions to ask, neither of them really knew where to start. Finally, the Doctor took a deep breath.

“Rose,” he began. “How?”

He sounded mortified that he even needed to ask, and honestly, Rose didn’t know how to begin her explanation, despite having had years to endlessly rehearse this conversation in her head. She attempted a grin.

“Well you see, Doctor, when a man and a woman love each other very much…”

He rolled his eyes, reaching out to tweak her nose, but she earned a breathy laugh. “First of all, I’m not a man, technically speaking…”

“Semantics,” Rose teased, amazed in some small part of herself how naturally they’d fallen back into the same patterns. She wondered how long it had been for him, if it had been longer. He was still looking at her and she knew a more serious answer would be required.

Rose bit her lip, starting to tremble as tears came to her eyes despite her concerted efforts to quell them. It had been so long since she’d thought of this, pushing the thoughts away into a deep, dark corner of her mind where they emerged only in nightmares, and the pain was still fresh because of it.

The Doctor, of course, noticed her distress immediately. “Rose. Hey. Hey.”

He was around the counter in an instant, drawing her into his arms where her tears immediately started to stain his shirt, guiding her gently to sit in his lap at the kitchen table, cradling her like the most precious thing as he pressed feather-light kisses into her hair.

“Shh. It’s going to be all right,” he murmured, rocking her slightly back and forth as she sniffled, trying to get her treacherous emotions under control. “It’s going to be all right.”

“There were…” She croaked eventually, clearing her throat to try again. “There were supposed to be two.” The admission was scarcely more than a breath.

The Doctor stilled, but his hands never paused in their attentions to her hair. He didn’t speak, didn’t try to interject, merely waited, patiently, for her to recover enough aplomb to continue, which she did after a moment.

“When I realised I was…” She shut her eyes against the remembered sensation of utter terror, sending fresh tears cascading down her cheeks. “I had no idea of what to do. Not the slightest clue.” She hadn’t even known if she wanted to go to her mum, unable to see beyond her fear that Jackie would scold her for getting knocked up with an alien baby the way she’d always warned her about.

The Doctor squeezed her tightly, and she drew comfort from his solid presence surrounding her. She’d fantasised about it, just him holding her, so many times in the course of the last near-decade just to get her through. Now that it was really happening she could feel the old pains start to ease and she couldn’t stop the flow of the words that she’d held inside for so long, now that she was finally able to give them to their intended recipient.

“When I was late at first, I just thought, well, Void travel, could have been some interference. I made it through another whole month before I took my first test. Even then I still thought it was a bit of a lark but it was best to be safe… and maybe I wanted to believe that I could have something to keep you close to me.” She still couldn’t express the deeply conflicting emotions she’d felt before getting the results of her first test, but from the way the Doctor hummed low and sympathetically in his chest, he understood.

She focussed on the way his hands gently caressed her in soothing patterns, encouraging her words to keep coming.

“I think I must have taken every brand of test there was, from every store,” she said. “I thought, maybe the tests in Pete’s World are defective, maybe they won’t work on someone from a different universe; I dunno, anything. But eventually I accepted the truth: I missed my third month and every single test came up positive.”

The Doctor pressed a shaky kiss to the top of her head, and she fancied she could feel his regret at not having been there: for her, to see it for himself. Rose understood. It should have been a happy time for them, waiting anxiously, together, for the test results and celebrating in each other’s arms when they found they’d created a miracle.

Instead it had ended with Rose lying on the cold tile of the bathroom, curled around the toilet, pressing her face into the linoleum as she wondered what the hell she was going to do now.

And then, of course, she’d received the telepathic summons to Norway.

“Oh, Rose.” The Doctor’s voice was so quiet she didn’t notice he’d spoken at first. She clutched his arms tighter around her and the Doctor obliged, curling protectively around her to place a kiss on her temple. “Did you think you were going home?” The words came out of him so easily; too easily, and she wondered how long he’d been waiting to ask that.

Rose shook her head but the Doctor held her tighter and she knew he’d sensed her hesitation. She truly hadn’t known what to think, careening wildly between ecstatic hope and ruthless pragmatism. And she still hadn’t told anyone about the baby.

“You were the first one I told,” she said at last, her voice gone all squeaky but there was no help for that now. “In a way.” The Doctor let out a shuddering sigh. Rose squirmed, and he loosened his grip just slightly, enough for her to maneouver herself in his lap until she was facing him. They met each other’s eyes for an instant before she threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest.

That bloody beach had been haunting her dreams for the better part of a decade. Now he was here, she could touch him, she was touching him. She was never going to stop touching him.

“When did you tell your family? Your mother?” The questions were quiet, optional. Leaving everything up to her but also giving her direction if she wanted it. Rose sniffed, turning her head to the side as a small grin broke out on her face.

“In the end it was decided for me, I suppose,” she said. She’d managed to hold herself together until they’d gotten home from Norway. “One day we were sitting together, just watching telly. I had a complete breakdown over a nappy commercial. Mum put the pieces together pretty quick, after that.”

He huffed a laugh at that, because it was funny, even though it wasn’t. Rose pulled back slightly to look into his face.

“This… this isn’t a dream, right?” Her voice trembled slightly. “I dreamed it so many times, you were here and I was holding you, then I woke up alone…”

The Doctor pulled her impossibly closer, Rose wishing she could disappear into his body so they would never have to be separated again. “I had the same dreams,” he admitted. “And I swear to you, Rose, this is not a dream. I’m not going anywhere. Not without you. Not without my family.”

They embraced a moment longer, both lost in the way the Doctor’s voice reverently caressed the last two words, then rose by mutual agreement. The kettle had switched itself off ages ago, and they fixed their tea before moving to the living room, curling up as close together as physically possible on the couch.

Rose closed her eyes as she sniffed at her tea and the Doctor thought he could guess what she was thinking. He looked out the windows at the park view, drifting in his own memories of lying in the apple grass on New Earth. It seemed so long ago now. Longer for her, clearly, yet he could see no hint of the years in her face. He, who should be able to calculate exactly how long had passed by the subtlest physiological changes, could see no differences between the woman sitting beside him now and the one who had been ripped away from him all those years ago.

It was the second biggest question he had. Rose had never actually elaborated on what she’d meant by two, either, and he was intensely curious but also unsure of how to prompt her if she wasn’t ready.

“Go ahead, Doctor,” Rose said. “I know you want to ask.”

“How long has it been, Rose?” he asked. “How old is our son?” Again, the question seemed a terrible admission, twisting his hearts with guilt.

“How old do you think he is?” Rose asked instead of answering, and the Doctor buried a flash of resentment that she was still gatekeeping this vital information.

“Whatever age he is, he’s clearly much older than the four years it’s been for me,” he said shortly. “And aside from that I should be able to tell your age to the hour, but I look at you and I can’t tell how long it’s been. Please, Rose.” He put down his teacup and took Rose’s shoulders gently. “Just tell me.”

Rose closed her eyes and sighed.

“Connor’s seven,” she said at last. “Seven years old. He’ll be eight in May. It’s been eight years.”

“Eight years…” The Doctor felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him. “So I haven’t missed it!” The breathless words were out of his mouth before his brain caught up, and Rose opened her eyes.

“What? Missed what, Doctor?” But the Doctor was already shaking his head - how could he have been so thoughtless? To even think of subjecting the child he’d barely met to some archaic Time Lord ritual?

“It’s nothing, Rose, really. It doesn’t matter.”

“Doctor!” Rose put down her own cup, eyes searching his. “For seven years, I’ve raised our son on my own. And I don’t blame you for that,” she said, as his brow began to crumple, “not for a moment, but there were so many, so many times I wished I could just talk to you, terrified that I was screwing everything up because I didn’t know anything about Time Lords. So you are going to tell me, and you are going to tell me now - missed what?”

The Doctor winced. He could hardly refuse her when she pointed that out.

“I’m so sorry, Rose,” he said, taking her hands instead. “Of course, I will answer any and all questions you may have, and to hear that I’ve missed so much of our son’s life… of your life…” Rose squeezed his hands, and he took a deep breath and continued.

“Don’t ever think I won’t always regret not being there for you. But when I heard Connor hadn’t turned eight yet…” He shook his head again. “I spoke without thinking. Still so deeply ingrained, even after all this time.”

Rose raised her eyebrows slightly and he realised she was still waiting for him to explain.

“When a Time Lord turns eight years old, Rose, we were brought to the Untempered Schism. It was a gap in time and space, left open to the raw energy of the Time Vortex. We were made to look into it as part of our initiation, the beginning of our education. It was what awakened our time senses, so that they could be developed and directed.”

Rose’s eyes were round as saucers as she listened. He’d told her about Gallifrey before, in bits and pieces, but never anything so specific. Nothing, he thought with another surge of guilt, that would have been useful when raising a Gallifreyan child.

“And you went through that?” Rose asked, wonder in her tone as she considered him as a child.

“Yup!” he replied, resolutely facing the uncomfortable memories. “We all did.”

“Hang on.” Rose’s voice was sharper now, and he winced, knowing she’d caught him. “‘The raw energy of the Time Vortex’? That sounds a lot like the Heart of the TARDIS, Doctor.” Her eyes were hard as she looked at him, and the Doctor convinced himself he was imagining the briefest flash of gold. He swallowed.

“Well… yes. Essentially. But in this case the source of the energy wasn’t a sentient time and space ship intent on merging with a very determined human woman to come and save the life of a daft Time Lord,” he said, brushing his thumb across her cheek.

She smiled a little, leaning into his touch. His words expressed the awe he would always feel at the devotion of his precious pink and yellow girl.

“It was a natural occurrence.” He had to be honest with her. “But you’re not wrong. You’re staring into eternity. It’s terrifying, and painful.” He stared, not really seeing, as memories that were never quite buried took the opportunity to surface. “Some would be inspired, some would run away, and some would go mad.”

Rose stiffened beneath his hands. “And you want to put our baby through that?” she snapped, and the Doctor came back to reality with a jolt.

“No! Of course not,” he said automatically. To tell the truth, he hadn’t even wanted to put his own children through it, and he’d already connected far more with Connor than he had with his first family. He couldn’t imagine willingly subjecting a child of his blood to such an experience.

Unexpectedly, Rose’s demeanour softened. “But it’s important to you, or you wouldn’t have said it. Or at least, an important part of your culture.” She stroked his cheek. “Let’s think on it? We still have some time. We have… quite a lot of time, actually.”

The Doctor’s hearts leapt, and he worked to keep his voice even. “Why can’t I tell how long it’s been, Rose?”

“Well, funny you should mention Bad Wolf,” Rose said slowly, and all at once it clicked in the Doctor’s mind.

“You’re not aging,” he said. “You’re not aging because you merged with the TARDIS. That’s how our genes were compatible and you were able to carry the baby to term.“

[zippywords]

Post-Midnight

It’s been a while since I’ve been up past midnight, feeling as if I had time to spare. It must be a combination of lack of stress, lack of commitment, and lack of exhaustion.

           Because of this “return to the night”, I’ve been reintroduced to nostalgia. I thought I was always walking with it, hand-in-hand, everywhere I went (because I’m way too sentimental, as it turns out). However, I was wrong. Nostalgia wasn’t holding my hand before. It was merely wandering around in my general vicinity. I had forgotten what nostalgia really felt like. Tonight, it didn’t just merely take my hand. It pummeled me to the floor in a vicious game of “Mr. President” (which you should look up if you haven’t heard of it).

           It’s so much easier to say things in the dark. Even to people through a screen. I wonder why that is.

[mattelikeme]

Post-midnight Feels

Allnighter conversations in the car and rain are the best at maintaining sanity. I think I need little moments like that more often.

[et-vous-blog]

I think Parks are most magical at night ... et vous?

[upinthecloude]

You're doing it wrong.

I always tell myself that I will be happy and content once I accomplish a certain goal. Most of the time, this is what drives me to do what I do. But what I’ve noticed today is that I’m usually not satisfied when I accomplish these goals. Sure, I recognize my accomplishments, but it’s not long before I set new expectations for myself.

And I like that. I like that I can never check off all of the items on my todo list. I like that there are always new goals to achieve and new challenges to meet. It’s similar to a very greedy kid who’s never satisfied no matter how many toys he gets. Except, in this situation, I think it’s good. Having an endless list of goals provides you with a target that will never cease to exist.

Imagine that as a college student, you make it your personal goal to land an entry-level job in a lesser-known firm. And let’s say that you do indeed land that job. What separates the best from the mediocre is what happens after landing that job. The driven, and motivated will continue to develop their skill sets so that they can land a better job. The mediocre won’t do anything. Now map this situation to every possible scenario in life and you can see the point I’m trying to make.

Some may identify this ambition with a thirst for power. Unless your goals involve undermining a national organization and throwing an entire nation into absolute chaos, I don’t think this ambition is a bad thing. In my opinion it’s good to continuously set expectations, no matter how many of them you meet. At a certain point in time, you may find yourself at the top of the ladder of success. It's true that a part of who you are is defined by what you did to get there, but the rest is determined by what you do after you get there. If you ever find yourself taking a break after succeeding at something, then you’re doing it wrong.

[upinthecloude]

I like it here

I really do. I wake up everyday and I'm reminded how lucky I am to go to school in the heart of LA, in a beautiful college town, 20-30 minutes away from the beach, 20-30 minutes away from home, sunshine almost year round. Yet, I can't help but yearn for something more. I want to escape. Maybe it's the fact that I'm still in LA. Maybe it's just because I'm too close to home. I had all these expectations built up for college, and well, none of them have been met. Granted, there have been unexpected situations and experiences that I am very lucky to have had. That's why I don't regret my time here. But maybe what I really want is to pop myself out of this bubble and go somewhere new.

[seerauberin-blog1]

god damn

Mozart is still my favorite composer

of all the composers