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nonelvisTitle: The Cold Curve of the Moon
Characters/Pairing(s): Tenth Doctor/Reinette
Rating: Teen
Word count: 200
Summary: Reinette never tells the Doctor that when she stepped into his mind, she saw more than just his past.
Author's Notes: I rewatched Girl in the Fireplace the other day as part of #LockdownWho, and I just had to write a little bit more about Reinette. Double drabble.
:: archived at A Teaspoon And An Open Mind and AO3
Reinette never tells the Doctor that when she stepped into his mind, she saw more than just his past.
Futures branching like frost crackling across a windowpane, overlapping paths of possibilities. A blue door swung wide to a night sky vaster than she’s ever seen; the Doctor bringing Reinette’s hand to his lips, whispering promises to trace her name in a journey from star to star. Herself, in trousers like a palace guard, her swordplay as finely honed now as her blade, fighting back-to-back with him against a swarm of giant ants. A quiet evening at Versailles, sharing poetry by candlelight.
A less quiet evening in bed.
And beside those memories that haven’t yet happened, others, blurred and frayed, of Reinette alone. Gazing up at the cold curve of the moon, longing for him. The rose petals on her bedspread flung aside, furious tears on her cheek. Huddling in a shawl at her desk, her pen strokes slow, unsteady; her body failing.
The Doctor draws back from Reinette’s touch, and she paints a clever smile on her face. Men don’t need to know everything women know. Perhaps they’ll find out together.
But her heart tells her they won’t.
Characters/Pairing(s): Tenth Doctor/Reinette
Rating: Teen
Word count: 200
Summary: Reinette never tells the Doctor that when she stepped into his mind, she saw more than just his past.
Author's Notes: I rewatched Girl in the Fireplace the other day as part of #LockdownWho, and I just had to write a little bit more about Reinette. Double drabble.
:: archived at A Teaspoon And An Open Mind and AO3
Reinette never tells the Doctor that when she stepped into his mind, she saw more than just his past.
Futures branching like frost crackling across a windowpane, overlapping paths of possibilities. A blue door swung wide to a night sky vaster than she’s ever seen; the Doctor bringing Reinette’s hand to his lips, whispering promises to trace her name in a journey from star to star. Herself, in trousers like a palace guard, her swordplay as finely honed now as her blade, fighting back-to-back with him against a swarm of giant ants. A quiet evening at Versailles, sharing poetry by candlelight.
A less quiet evening in bed.
And beside those memories that haven’t yet happened, others, blurred and frayed, of Reinette alone. Gazing up at the cold curve of the moon, longing for him. The rose petals on her bedspread flung aside, furious tears on her cheek. Huddling in a shawl at her desk, her pen strokes slow, unsteady; her body failing.
The Doctor draws back from Reinette’s touch, and she paints a clever smile on her face. Men don’t need to know everything women know. Perhaps they’ll find out together.
But her heart tells her they won’t.