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paynesgrey_fics2014-09-17 09:03 pm
paynesgrey.livejournal.com) wrote in paynesgrey_fics2014-09-17 09:03 pm
Doctor Who, "Soothe" The Doctor(12), Clara | rated PG
Fandom: Doctor Who
Title: Soothe
Author: Paynesgrey
Characters: Clara Oswald, The Doctor (Twelve)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,093
Spoilers: up to 8.04, "Listen"
Warnings: Current season spoilers.
Notes: Written for the "secret" prompt for the Summer Mini Challenge. Part of my Turn and Face the Strange unrelated snippets serial, ongoing.
Links: AO3 | FFnet
Serial Summary: Clara realizes she has to get to know the Doctor all over again; loving him, however, is a fixed point in time. These are unrelated snippets of the relationship between the Doctor (12) and Clara.
Head cracking like an egg, he reaches out to a familiar dream. A kind female touch encases him, maybe the bright woman in the copper-colored moon, tracing her delicate fingers through his hair and singing him a lullaby. He’s a scared boy who hides in the darkest shadows of the barn, but she calls him out with her soothing melody, dispelling his fears and erasing his shame.
He likes the way her voice sounds against his ears. Is she an alien? Well, she comes from a moon, so naturally… Fear trembles out of him and he feels satiated and strong. Her fingers brush through his short strands, over and over again, moving with the rhythm of her song.
'Please...Never leave me,' he thinks. 'Never leave my side. Stay as my companion through the fearsome dark and into the spiraling white pulses of time.'
*
“Stop fussing,” she ordered him, holding his fidgeting head over her lap. He settled, begrudgingly of course, and her gave her a fierce look through closed eyes.
“Ow,” he complained, “I don’t do resting in laps. This is...ahh…” He cringes. “I’m against something right now and I’m not really sure what it is.”
“Course not. You’re in too much pain to narrow down a solid complaint; now rest easy,” Clara said, her voice going softer after the scolding. “How did you manage to get a migraine? Shouldn’t your Timelord genes be immune to such things?”
“Gratuitous amounts of… air pollution, royal blowhards, obnoxious pudding-brain soldiers, and shrieking idiots,” the Doctor droned, wincing between angry words.
Clara sighed heavily. “Tragic. You went meddling about people and planets without your carer again. How did you manage to leave such a situation without your head exploding, Doctor?”
“Good question,” he said quickly. “And don’t banter. It isn’t helping. Ah!” he complained, as she began to rub her fingers on his temple in circular motions, slow and soothing. She fanned her fingers through his short silver hair, and his protests turned into a growling lull.
“Shouldn’t bother… Clara. I just need to lie down alone, let the TARDIS take over… maybe I’ll have a dip in the pool,” he muttered.
“Without me? That’s rude,” she said, almost wishing they would go for a swim. She missed the TARDIS pool, and it was getting colder by her again. Her students were already wearing sweaters and wool scarves. Snow showers were forecasted for the coming days, but thankfully, the Doctor whisked her away - yet he’d been grumpier than usual. She wouldn’t have noticed much of a difference in his mood if he hadn’t doubled over in sharp pain, and then in added misery, banged his poor head on the center console. He’d been clumsy before, but not in this new form. Something was definitely wrong.
She’d never heard the Doctor swear like that afterward either.
Distressed, she’d ran to his side and managed to get him onto her lap as they settled onto a gray chaise next to his bookshelf. She didn’t know where the chaise had come from, but she suspected the TARDIS was behind the added help.
“Easy,” she whispered, as his fidgeting decreased and he surrendered to her touch. He must have been in serious pain because normally, the Doctor wouldn’t allow all this attention and petting, and though she colored to even think of it as “petting”, she did admit she missed this contact with him. She’d had more of this when he’d wore his younger face, and she’d delighted in memories of him hugging her and twirling her around the TARDIS. Lately, the Doctor held her hand on the rare instance she needed comfort - or to be yanked out of a dangerous situation that he’d put her in.
She heard light, steady breathing pass through his lips, and she traced fingers through his hair and down the lines of his face, taking note of the prominence and display of his wiser age. Sighing, she reminded herself that the same person who twirled her happily in the TARDIS was still the one in her lap, though grumpier and older, he was alive - and someday she hoped he’d reveal the secret on why he’d once had a young face for a woman like her, and now he had yanked the assumptions and fanciful regard away, replacing it all with seriousness and stoic reserve.
“Clara…” He whispered her name as he slept, and the light sound of his voice warmed her heart. She gazed at his face, glowing peacefully without a trace of complaint or brooding madness. Oh, he wasn’t always solemn and serious, she noted, and his new humor and pensive demeanor were growing on her.
He’s still the Doctor, she thought with a smile. I’m still his impossible girl.
Strange relief assailed her as she thought of it. It wasn’t like he had some other companion that he bothered, fitting his TARDIS in her bedroom or whisking her away after bad dates to meet historical figures or visit glorious alien worlds.
She continued to absently run her fingers through his hair lightly as he slept. Clara wondered if she should move to let him settle on the couch alone. She hated to think of what he’d yell about when he’d realized he’d fallen asleep on her lap, or that she’d massaged away the migraine that left him completely helpless to her touch.
Clara grinned. Nah, she thought. She wasn’t going anywhere. Where was the fun in letting the Doctor always get his way and be comfortable? He didn’t have a vote in the hugging, so he didn’t have a vote in her affection as well.
He could insist to her that he wasn’t her boyfriend, and well, he was right.
Boyfriends were commonplace and boring compared to the Doctor. Most women had boyfriends - silly boyfriends that sent roses and bought dinner and then awkwardly took them to bed.
Not all woman had a Doctor. Not all women could brag to her girlfriends that hey, my Doctor shows me the stars whenever I want him to. Can your silly boyfriends do that?
Clara grinned again, and she looked down and saw the Doctor make a strange, sour face in his sleep. She drew her hand away softly and suppressed a giggle.
She wondered how deeply that telepathic contact could travel into his subconscious; though, she most certainly guessed that even in his sleep, the Doctor was probably cross with her for all of this.
He’d just loudly hold it against her once he was awake.
END
Title: Soothe
Author: Paynesgrey
Characters: Clara Oswald, The Doctor (Twelve)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,093
Spoilers: up to 8.04, "Listen"
Warnings: Current season spoilers.
Notes: Written for the "secret" prompt for the Summer Mini Challenge. Part of my Turn and Face the Strange unrelated snippets serial, ongoing.
Links: AO3 | FFnet
Serial Summary: Clara realizes she has to get to know the Doctor all over again; loving him, however, is a fixed point in time. These are unrelated snippets of the relationship between the Doctor (12) and Clara.
Head cracking like an egg, he reaches out to a familiar dream. A kind female touch encases him, maybe the bright woman in the copper-colored moon, tracing her delicate fingers through his hair and singing him a lullaby. He’s a scared boy who hides in the darkest shadows of the barn, but she calls him out with her soothing melody, dispelling his fears and erasing his shame.
He likes the way her voice sounds against his ears. Is she an alien? Well, she comes from a moon, so naturally… Fear trembles out of him and he feels satiated and strong. Her fingers brush through his short strands, over and over again, moving with the rhythm of her song.
'Please...Never leave me,' he thinks. 'Never leave my side. Stay as my companion through the fearsome dark and into the spiraling white pulses of time.'
*
“Stop fussing,” she ordered him, holding his fidgeting head over her lap. He settled, begrudgingly of course, and her gave her a fierce look through closed eyes.
“Ow,” he complained, “I don’t do resting in laps. This is...ahh…” He cringes. “I’m against something right now and I’m not really sure what it is.”
“Course not. You’re in too much pain to narrow down a solid complaint; now rest easy,” Clara said, her voice going softer after the scolding. “How did you manage to get a migraine? Shouldn’t your Timelord genes be immune to such things?”
“Gratuitous amounts of… air pollution, royal blowhards, obnoxious pudding-brain soldiers, and shrieking idiots,” the Doctor droned, wincing between angry words.
Clara sighed heavily. “Tragic. You went meddling about people and planets without your carer again. How did you manage to leave such a situation without your head exploding, Doctor?”
“Good question,” he said quickly. “And don’t banter. It isn’t helping. Ah!” he complained, as she began to rub her fingers on his temple in circular motions, slow and soothing. She fanned her fingers through his short silver hair, and his protests turned into a growling lull.
“Shouldn’t bother… Clara. I just need to lie down alone, let the TARDIS take over… maybe I’ll have a dip in the pool,” he muttered.
“Without me? That’s rude,” she said, almost wishing they would go for a swim. She missed the TARDIS pool, and it was getting colder by her again. Her students were already wearing sweaters and wool scarves. Snow showers were forecasted for the coming days, but thankfully, the Doctor whisked her away - yet he’d been grumpier than usual. She wouldn’t have noticed much of a difference in his mood if he hadn’t doubled over in sharp pain, and then in added misery, banged his poor head on the center console. He’d been clumsy before, but not in this new form. Something was definitely wrong.
She’d never heard the Doctor swear like that afterward either.
Distressed, she’d ran to his side and managed to get him onto her lap as they settled onto a gray chaise next to his bookshelf. She didn’t know where the chaise had come from, but she suspected the TARDIS was behind the added help.
“Easy,” she whispered, as his fidgeting decreased and he surrendered to her touch. He must have been in serious pain because normally, the Doctor wouldn’t allow all this attention and petting, and though she colored to even think of it as “petting”, she did admit she missed this contact with him. She’d had more of this when he’d wore his younger face, and she’d delighted in memories of him hugging her and twirling her around the TARDIS. Lately, the Doctor held her hand on the rare instance she needed comfort - or to be yanked out of a dangerous situation that he’d put her in.
She heard light, steady breathing pass through his lips, and she traced fingers through his hair and down the lines of his face, taking note of the prominence and display of his wiser age. Sighing, she reminded herself that the same person who twirled her happily in the TARDIS was still the one in her lap, though grumpier and older, he was alive - and someday she hoped he’d reveal the secret on why he’d once had a young face for a woman like her, and now he had yanked the assumptions and fanciful regard away, replacing it all with seriousness and stoic reserve.
“Clara…” He whispered her name as he slept, and the light sound of his voice warmed her heart. She gazed at his face, glowing peacefully without a trace of complaint or brooding madness. Oh, he wasn’t always solemn and serious, she noted, and his new humor and pensive demeanor were growing on her.
He’s still the Doctor, she thought with a smile. I’m still his impossible girl.
Strange relief assailed her as she thought of it. It wasn’t like he had some other companion that he bothered, fitting his TARDIS in her bedroom or whisking her away after bad dates to meet historical figures or visit glorious alien worlds.
She continued to absently run her fingers through his hair lightly as he slept. Clara wondered if she should move to let him settle on the couch alone. She hated to think of what he’d yell about when he’d realized he’d fallen asleep on her lap, or that she’d massaged away the migraine that left him completely helpless to her touch.
Clara grinned. Nah, she thought. She wasn’t going anywhere. Where was the fun in letting the Doctor always get his way and be comfortable? He didn’t have a vote in the hugging, so he didn’t have a vote in her affection as well.
He could insist to her that he wasn’t her boyfriend, and well, he was right.
Boyfriends were commonplace and boring compared to the Doctor. Most women had boyfriends - silly boyfriends that sent roses and bought dinner and then awkwardly took them to bed.
Not all woman had a Doctor. Not all women could brag to her girlfriends that hey, my Doctor shows me the stars whenever I want him to. Can your silly boyfriends do that?
Clara grinned again, and she looked down and saw the Doctor make a strange, sour face in his sleep. She drew her hand away softly and suppressed a giggle.
She wondered how deeply that telepathic contact could travel into his subconscious; though, she most certainly guessed that even in his sleep, the Doctor was probably cross with her for all of this.
He’d just loudly hold it against her once he was awake.
END