Drabbles, part two.

[orange_crushed]

Here they are ! I promised, and I'm sorry I made you guys wait so long. Thanks for the delightful ideas- these were tons of fun. :)


For boxed: music prompts, by Ehma. FoB/HN.

La traversee.

John's at the window again.

The servants shut them whenever they find one open; he's loathe to leave them closed, heavy and oppressively thick as they are, when the countryside outdoors smells so delightfully wild. It's worse when the rain's come- the glass steams up and the whole room smells like rotting leaves.

"You'll catch a cold," Martha says.

"I'm a grown man," he retorts, not feeling like one. He waves her out. "Leave them open."

So many things come back to him as he stands there, alone- sensations and colors, pricklings at the tender flesh of his cold hands. They aren't memories as such, no childhood beach holidays or mad frolics with his schoolmates, no; more like impressions in plaster, little hollows where his thoughts gather and regroup. Wild winds he once smelled, like a dog, breathing deeply. The last brush of autumn. At last it's too cold; he resists until the skin of his throat is trembling from the exposure, and he pulls the latches closed. His breath clouds up on the pane and he runs his fingers through the fine mist- sketching, idly, listening to women's voices on the stairs below.

He doesn't mean to draw her, but he does.

She comes out of the glass all eyes and mouth, all sensation and echo, like the winds; this dream-woman, this ghost of Christmas past, this opened inner window. But of course he's got to come back to earth- when Joan knocks on the door he rubs out the little sketch with his sleeve. The smudged blank fills him with a kind of dread, a terror, but he smothers it.

"Cold ?" she asks.

"A little," he says.






For flinkkamingo3: Logan/Veronica, zombies.

Epic.

"This isn't what I meant."

She looks up from across the room, towards Logan, where he's thumbing shells into the shotgun.

"What ?"

He smiles at her, raw.

"Epic." He leans against the boarded-up windows and glances out; daylight, outside, bright and gaudily beautiful as California often is. The motel sign is still blinking on and off. "Lives ruined, bloodshed." Veronica, in spite of everything- maybe because of it- laughs out loud.

"You remember that." She looks down at her own taped-up hands, scratched from the boards, and there's still a hint of the nail polish she put on three days ago. "You were so drunk."

"Veronica-"

"Don't," she cuts in. "Don't do that. Don't tell me you love me, we're going to get through this, we'll find my dad, it's probably not the whole state. Okay ? Not a word. That's what characters say in shit horror movies, just before they-" she breaks, shuts her eyes. "Not you, okay ? Don't say it, Logan."

He gets up and walks over, stands in front of her and puts his hand on top of her head, strokes her hair.

"Don't have to say it," he tells her.






For frenchroast: Jack Harkness, Jack Sparrow, Hook, the Doctor & Rose.

That Jack.

"I don't see him," Rose muttered. "All the whirling and clashing, I can't tell which is which. Maybe the dirtier one- nah, probably the one with gold buttons. You think ?" The Doctor shrugged, crouched behind a coil of ropes. "I'm going to find out."

"Rose, I don't think that's a-"

"Jack !"

Two heads turned, and somebody got in an extra cutlass swing.

"Oi !" The grimier fellow gave a slight dip and pointed one jeweled finger accusingly at a pirate in a red waistcoat. "Bad form." His opponent had the grace to look abashed, and retreated into a sort of elegant pacing. "And who might you be ?" he added, addressing the Doctor but quite clearly staring at Rose's chest.

"I'm the Doctor," he said, correctly. "And this is Rose."

"Your doxy ?"

"My friend," the Doctor cut back, irritated. "My dear, dear friend," he continued, folding his arms across his chest. The pirate gave him a smile that rolled as easily as a deck.

"I see," he sighed. "A eunuch. Well, that's for the best."

"I'm not a-"

"Doctor," Rose interrupted, "could we maybe discuss this later ?" She was perched on the end of the plank, tottering over deep water. The man in the red coat stood at the other end, menacing her cheerfully with the point of a sword. "I don't much relish being either a pirate or a fish," she added.

"Don't suppose either of you know Jack Harkness," the Doctor said, stalling for time. "This tall, Ameri- colonial accent, incredibly good teeth ?"

"Jack Harkness ?" the pirates cried out, as one. They both seemed to be fuming with righteous indignation. "That Jack Harkness ?" Rose and the Doctor exchanged a look.

"That's the one," said Rose.






For fireworkfiasco: Doctor, Rose, Peter Pan.

Storytelling.

"All grownups," Peter said, aggressively, swordpoint about level with their waists (he really was a dear little thing,) "are pirates." Rose started forward to pat his darling shoulder reassuringly, but nearly got a blade up the nostril for her trouble.

Perhaps a change of attack.

"Well," she said, tossing her ponytail, "I'm hardly a grownup, am I ? Does nineteen count ?" She winked conspiratorially to the Doctor, who seemed to be doing an uncomfortable sort of math in his head. "Nineteen's not really-"

"I'm twelve," Peter cut in, flatly.

"Ah," said Rose.

"Pirates, then," said the Doctor. He glanced skyward, sighing. "Again."

"You could be a mother," Curly said suddenly, edging forward past the other boys. He scuffed the ground with one bare foot, and Rose felt an awkwardly tender sensation, like a hiccup, in her chest. "You'd make an awfully pretty mother."

"Sorry, but no." She gave him a gentle smile. "I'm not the mothering type."

"She knows plenty of good stories, though," the Doctor added, with a slightly distracted air. He had the screwdriver out and humming, and didn't even have the grace to look embarassed when Rose shot him a shut-up-now glare. "She could tell you all about the mutant uprising on Raxus Nine. There was a lost princess and everything." Ten pairs of radiant, adoring eyes turned on her. "Right, Rose ?"

"Sure," she grinned. She cocked her head to the side. "Right after we tie up this pirate, eh boys ?"

"Uh, Rose-"

"Quiet, pirate," said Peter.