phoenix_storm05

Photoshop

Fri, 23 May 2008 14:28:07 GMT

Thought I would post up my photoshop gallery in case it ever gets deleted off Pandora's Closet and I have to then go track down all these links and rebuild it again. It's been ages since I made anything from photoshop actually, I need to start practicing again and getting better.

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Creative Writing

Tue, 13 May 2008 12:21:45 GMT

Well it's been a while since I actually used my LJ. I...could not even begin to make a post about uni and all that's happened in a few months, but I'm just gonna post up some of my stories from my course as I promised Tam :) .

Crosshair is from an assignment in the first semester so it's pretty polished and done.

Crosshair

It is a funny thing, desire. Consuming and illogical, it’s still the thing that keeps us burning. I’ve never been very good at desiring what’s good for me but where’s the fun in wanting what you can have? I’m pretty good at getting to the source of my desires, though I admit I didn’t think there’d be quite so much risk of losing my life when I chased after this one.

There is a cliché for moments like this, just as there is for all moments worthy of note. Something about life and flashing and some such crap. Since I’m the one standing here with every possibility of getting a bullet in my head within the next few moments I’m pretty sure it qualifies me to dismiss that cliché. Or perhaps I am just doing it wrong. All I can think about is that I left bread in the toaster. It’s one of those old ones; one of the ones you have to manually check if the toast is done yet and it won’t turn itself off. Not pissing myself is also pretty high on my priority list at the moment, especially in front of him.

“You’ve been following me.”

tock-tick

I knew the party was going to suck as soon as I stepped in the door. I had no idea why I’d let Cathy talk me into going. As usual her promises of sticking with me and having a good night together vaporised as soon as she caught sight of on-off boyfriend Brett with his tongue down another girl’s throat across the room.

Dismissing Cathy as gone for the night, I made my way over to where there was alcohol on offer: might as well make the most of it. I grabbed a bottle without looking at it and wandered towards the stairs where the god-awful music was at least a little quieter. The gleaming mahogany banister and general décor to the Victorian house made my lip curl. I hoped the house got trashed.

Running my eyes over the room and idly wondering at the paintings on the walls that seemed to pass for art here, I spotted him slipping out the patio doors. I froze for a moment, not having expected in the least that he’d be here. Still, since he was, perhaps the party wasn’t going to be a total waste after all.

Setting my drink down on the floor where there was a good possibility of someone knocking it over on the still-perfect cream carpet, I followed him outside.

tock-tick

“Evan, you’re looking all…fixated again,” Cathy reprimanded in exasperation as she followed my line of sight to its usual subject of late.

“So?”

“So you’ll put him off if you keep staring all the time like that.”

“He likes the attention,” I said with surety. He turned around then and met my eyes with unwavering intent. It thrilled me when he looked at me like that: like I was worth his full attention. I dropped my gaze first.

tock-tick

I watched him pushing back that long hair of his as he slid the motorbike helmet over his head, slid into anonymity. It was easier to watch him then, pretending he couldn’t see me sitting on the bench across the street, didn’t know how I drank in the sight of his leather-encased legs stretching around the bike.

That sightless gaze swept in my direction once, but I didn’t even twitch. There was a different power to that glazed face and I got up to leave just as he roared the machine into life and sped down the road.

tock-tick

“I know his name.” Cathy took a seat beside me on the coach, exuding that smugness of hers that irritated me now and then.

“Whose?” I asked, looking out the window in an effort to feign disinterest.

“That tall guy you couldn’t stop watching at the bar the other night.”

The silence stretched hollow between us until I broke first.

“So, what is it?”

“What’s it worth?”

I didn’t bother to respond to that until eventually she rolled her eyes and tossed out the name when the coach was coming to stop, as if it wasn’t worth everything I knew it to be.

“Zach.”

tock-tick

I saw him ducking out of the bar with a group of guys I knew had a bad reputation. Presumably he knew them well as they kept themselves to themselves, but I hadn’t seen him around before.

I tuned out Cathy and stared avidly at the door, waiting for him to come back as I somehow knew he would. I was rewarded not too long after when he stepped back in and swept past me smelling of smoke. There was something undeniably predatory in the way that he walked and I think that’s what drew me to him most. He wasn’t traditionally attractive perhaps: mousey-brown hair a little too long that he was wearing tied back, jaw and cheekbones that were that bit too defined, and a height that put him a head above everyone else. He fascinated me though, kick-starting something that felt a little like possession somewhere inside of me. There was something in his eyes when he met mine briefly on the way past, a sharp glance that stayed with me long after he had gone. I knew that I could not resist that power.

ticktockticktockticktockticktockticktock

He pushes the gun against my head in emphasis to his accusation. I smile a little; he’s certainly not wrong. Standing so close to him is not helping me think straight. I’m noticing little details about him that I didn’t get to see from a distance. There are tiny lines on one side of his throat as if something scratched him there a long time ago. The faintest dusting of light hair lines his upper lip and those eyes are even darker up close, and they’re looking at me in that way that only he can manage. If I don’t die here I’m probably going to get off on this later.

I manage to shrug, which seems as appropriate a response as any. It makes him narrow his eyes though.

“Why are you following me around?” There’s little emotion to his voice.

“You’re very beautiful.”

There’s silence from him and I wonder if this is one of those moments when I’m supposed to stop breathing. If it is I’m failing again, and the sound of my breath is all I can hear, a rushing noise in my ears.

“How do you think this ends?” he asks finally, eyes not seeming to need to blink. I blink enough for the both of us.

“That depends,” I say, deciding to risk it. “For me there is fantasy and reality.”

For a moment I swear I can sense amusement from him and I cannot help but hope just a little.

“Why don’t you tell me both.”

“In the fantasy world there are many possibilities to how this ends. Maybe you walk away now and that’s good enough for me. Maybe you’ll give me your number or take me back inside to the party and we’ll have a good time. Or maybe you’ll screw me against the wall here, who knows.”

“And in the real world,” he prompts, the coldness of the gun still pressing against my temple.

I lift my head a little so as to look him full in the face and there’s an almost half-smile twisting his lips that Cathy tells me are too thin but that I think are just right.

“You already shot me when I walked out the door after you.”

***

Anaethesia is kinda incomplete. It was for a class exercise about Greek myths and stuff and could only be like just over a page so it's sort of half a story. I might go back to it and finish it for the hell of it sometime though so thought I'd post it up to have it somewhere.

Anaesthesia

You push the door open slowly. The mantelpiece across the room gleams briefly in the reflected sunlight. Upon it, there is a wooden clock that has always been there, its only decoration. The clock seems larger to you than usual, faithfully ticking your seconds away.

Taking a seat on the rigid chair against the wall, your thoughts turn back twenty-four hours before wrenching restlessly back to the present at the chime of eight am. The incense burner on the windowsill to your right catches your eye. Someone has lit it before your arrival and the tendrils of smoke twist lazily through the air, wrapping your mind in its haze.

There is a scratching at the window. A cat picking determinedly at the chipped frame to get at the spider it can see on the inside pane. You drum your fingers on the solid arm of the chair; body coiled as the clock ticks and the cat scratches. Getting up eventually, you move to the window, watching as the cat leaps away in surprise and streaks away across the gravel drive. There is a man walking up it towards the house, dressed formally in a shirt and trousers. You notice how his tie is a little askew and feel in a detached way as though you should be panicking.

“He came back, Selene,” says your sister’s voice in your ear. You jump slightly, not having noticed her enter the room. She registers this and gives you a pointed look, which you diligently ignore. You wish your edginess could be blamed on your lack of sleep but you have not slept for such a long time now that rested is a state long forgotten.

She leaves the room to answer the door as you make no move to do so. His name is Morpheus and already he is clouding your senses before he even enters the room. You hadn’t expected him to come after you when you’d just left him with no explanation. Still you know, as you knew then, that you cannot afford to let another push beyond the walls you have so painstakingly built.

Your sister shows him the door to the living room, but does not follow him through as he makes his way across the room. You’re barely even aware of her abandonment as he looks right at you, a little hurt but still determined.

“Why won’t you let me help you?” he asks, stopping a couple of steps from you. You take one back anyway.

“Why did you follow me?” you counter, but know that despair tinges your words. Already you can feel yourself crumbling as you always do with Morpheus, and you’re so weary now.

He is captivating in a way you can’t define, but you know he expects the relinquishing of a part of you that you aren’t sure is separate anymore. He asks a lot. Surviving a betrayal as deep as the last is beyond you.

Forcing yourself to sit, you are at least prepared to listen to him. He follows your example and takes a place at the opposite end of the sofa.

“You can’t change me,” you say eventually.

“And you’re fine the way you are?” he prods gently.

“No,” comes your eventual reply, “but it has to be on my terms.”

“Fair enough.” An almost promise that he can’t keep. You quirk your lips into a small smile anyway.

There seems no need to say more for now and the silence envelops you peacefully. Finally you break it.

“I’m tired.”

He makes no mention of the hour but only nods and shifts a little closer.

“Lay down.”

“You know I don’t sleep.” You obey anyway and rest your head on his lap, eyes fixed ahead at the clock whose ticking you have forgotten to hear.

“Just rest your eyes a little then,” he says.

The walls are sand now, cascading from you and through stunned fingers.

“Alright, Morpheus.”

You close your eyes and yield.

***

Eris is for my final assignment that I only just handed in, and easily took me the longest to write of the three.

Eris

I had a dream last night. I like dreams. You give the man in the tall hat a lettuce and he’ll tip the world upside down the way you like it. Maybe he’ll shatter the sun for you in a shower of light that you want to call Aurora but he corrects to Hespere. Whatever. Last night he gave me a tissue and I made a statue. I named her Liberty. Then I sneezed and she exploded.

My boyfriend is an apprentice builder, but he prefers to destroy. He keeps me broken and alive. I don’t have to ask him to either, he just knows. The man in the tall hat doesn’t approve of him though, but that’s all right.

Tomorrow I’m supposed to get on a plane to somewhere but I don’t know where. I think –

“Martha, are you listening?” Mr Jenkins is always interrupting me.

“Your world is going to end,” I tell him. There is no reason why I shouldn’t tell him.

“Do try to pay attention.”

Well it’s not like I didn’t warn him. The man in the tall hat sniggers in my ear. I’m not sure when he got here, but it is only natural that he be behind me. He’s coming on my journey with me. It’s his idea, you see.

Airports are too crowded but everyone takes one look at me and steps around, eyes averted. It is unusually helpful of people and I reward them with a smile. Mr Jenkins tells us that smiling is good but I wonder if he knows that smiles have teeth too. He has to give Natasha her medicine early that day.

There is still a long time until the flight I’m supposed to catch so I find a row of seats behind a tall sign that no one else seems to have seen. I know if I wait for long enough the man in the tall hat will find me and then I won’t have to work out the airport on my own. This will be better so I nibble on an apple I brought with me while I wait.

My sister visits me in the morning. She is the only one who does. I tell her about another dream I had. She is in it and we are riding like we used to, but she goes too fast and doesn’t see when I fall off. The man in the tall hat is there to offer a hand and lightning strikes a nearby tree. Three times. I notice for the first time that he isn’t alive. I decide it doesn’t matter. My sister squeezes my hand and tells me to get better before she gets up to leave. She always says this, and it is always with surprise that I tell her I am not ill.

“Excuse me, Miss.” One of the security guards approaches me. Normally I don’t like people who look like police, but he speaks gently. I give him my attention. “Are you alright here?”

“I’m waiting for someone,” I reply, smiling like Mr Jenkins would want.

“Okay then. I’m just over there by those doors if you need anything.” He points to the doors through which I walked earlier and I nod so he will go back. The man in the tall hat doesn’t like me talking to other people.

My boyfriend should be with me too, but the man in the tall hat wants me to let him go. My boyfriend made me a dolls house once, when I was younger. He’s been with me a long time but he burnt my toys a year ago. The flames burned very high.

Mr Jenkins is arrested. Everyone knows what he did with Natasha, but they are still surprised. Even he is surprised. I don’t know who will teach us anything now, but it doesn’t really matter since I’m leaving. Mr Jenkins is very white when he is led out of our big house. I told him his world was going to end. He really should have expected it. Maybe only I know that they always catch you for things like that because of before. Maybe Mr Jenkins hadn’t learned that yet. It doesn’t matter though: it’s not a lesson he needed to teach me. His arrest gives me the chance the man in the tall hat said I should take and I leave. Natasha probably won’t need her medicine early anymore.

The man in the tall hat is here now. I knew he would come. He smiles at me and his smile is all teeth. I hand him my apple so that he won’t get hungry. He tells me to run and I notice the security guard hurrying towards me. I do as he says and flee. He shows me beautiful islands we can fly to and endless stretches of freedom to explore if I run fast enough.

My boyfriend used to run. He won most of the time and I loved being there to congratulate him. He doesn’t anymore.

“Martha!”

It is my sister’s voice and I hesitate. She has never been someone I should run from. I stop and the man in the tall hat hands back my apple. My sister grabs hold of me and shakes me.

“Where did you think you were going?” she demands.

“The man in the tall hat told me,” I explain calmly. I notice that she looks hurt by this but I do not know why.

“David is dead, Martha.”

David? David is my brother’s name, but he hasn’t been around for a year now. I frown at her. The man in the tall hat laughs, but not unkindly. David had a hat just like his actually.

Several security men are behind my sister now, yet they seem not to want to interfere.

“David will come back,” I tell her with confidence and she looks away from me.

“You don’t remember.”

I turn to the man in the tall hat, confused now. He offers his hand and I take it without question. He will show me.

*

I am seven years old when the colour green first makes me angry. It is everywhere and inescapable, reaching out to trap me and I lash back in the only way I know how. When my parents find everything in my room in pieces they shout even though I explain about the green. They don’t argue with me but with each other, like they always do. My sister whispers that it is all my fault in my ear and I shrink from her, but she laughs and goes to her own room anyway.

They argue a long time and I sit in the corner of my destroyed room, locked deep in a storybook where it is far safer to be. David is the next to come in and I stand up quickly, letting the book fall to the floor. He is twelve and the eldest; I like him best. He takes my hand, picks up the fallen book and leads me to his room and, as always, I let him.

When he sits me on his bed and opens the book to read to me, I notice that he has removed everything green from his room and I smile for the first time that day. It is safe with David.

*

I am ten years old when my parents tell me that they are going to be living apart now. My mother won’t meet my eye and when I look to my father in confusion he turns away too. My siblings and I are to stay with our father, but it doesn’t make sense. My sister glares at me and storms out the room. I retreat to the world in my head but I feel David gripping my hand tightly. I cling to him even harder and he doesn’t let go.

*

I am fifteen years old when I learn what a boyfriend is. My friends at the school I go to separately from my brother and sister all seem to have them and I come home in tears. The green of the trees and grass seems to be reaching for me on my way home that day and it only makes it worse. David is in the kitchen and the only one in when I burst through the door. He takes one look at me and then leads me to his room where it is not long before I am calmer.

He asks what is wrong and when I explain he laughs. Injured, I stand up to leave but he grabs for my hand and spins me back around. He tells me that I don’t need a boyfriend, but it doesn’t help and I can feel the tears coming back again. Then he makes it better in the way only he can.

“Well then, I’ll just have to be your boyfriend,” he says to me and laughs again at my look of delight.

With that sorted, I am happy to sit on his floor and do the work my teachers set today. He offers me an apple he has brought up from the kitchen and I look at him in horror. When I inform him that apples are green, he examines the one in his hand very carefully. He proclaims it yellow, maybe gold, but definitely not green.

“Kallisti,” he says as he hands it to me. I don’t know what he means but it doesn’t matter. This is the first thing my new boyfriend has given me and I couldn’t be happier.

*

I am nineteen years old when I find out about sex. One of the other girls in my class has told me all about how she has had sex with her boyfriend and that it is what you’re supposed to do. I didn’t realise I wasn’t doing being a girlfriend properly for David, but it is all right because I will go home and fix this with him.

I barely notice the green surrounding me as I make my way home. David isn’t back from his work yet, but I go and wait for him in his room anyway. He is usually the first one back of everyone in the house, but it doesn’t bother me to have to wait for him.

Sitting on his bed, I look around the room that has always been my favourite place to be. As usual, David’s tall hat hangs by the side of his door but I resist the urge to put it on when he isn’t there. David has always told me not to play with his things and this is okay because he makes things for me to play with from the leftover material at his building job. Instead, I fetch some candles from our parents’ room as I don’t think David will mind that and this is what Helen told me she did.

David greets me with a smile when he finally comes into his room and says he’s sorry for being late.

“I didn’t touch anything,” I tell him. He thanks me and comments on the candles.

Getting up, I walk over to him and he turns to me after throwing his jacket toward his chair. He looks at me in puzzlement for a moment as I stand much closer than is usual. I reach up quickly and for the briefest moment press my lips to his before he backs away.

“What are you doing?” he questions, and I do not understand why he looks afraid.

“Helen told me about what she does with her boyfriend,” I explain, stepping forward once again. “So now we can have sex.”

For a moment all David does is stare at me, but he gathers himself quickly.

“Woah now, just a minute, Martha,” he starts to say. “Let’s just sit down for a moment and talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I reply, confused as to why he is making this difficult.

Putting a noticeably shaky hand to his head, he takes a deep breath.

“Martha, I think you haven’t understood properly. And I know this is my fault and I should have realised, but we aren’t actually boyfriend and girlfriend.”

His words make no sense to me and agitation is beginning to take hold of me like it never has before while I’ve been with David.

“I don’t understand.”

“When I said I’d be your boyfriend, I just meant in a pretend sense. Martha, we’re brother and sister, this isn’t how this works.”

I don’t know what is happening but I know that David either wants to be my boyfriend or he doesn’t, nothing else matters.

“You’re breaking up with me?”

“No, don’t say it like that. We weren’t ever a couple. I love you very much, but as a sister.”

I love you, but…I love you, but…

His words are all I can hear and it feels like he’s breaking me. His words twist at me, ripping down a foundation that had been so solid a few minutes ago. It’s his fault, he’s doing this to me and I have to be away from him. I spin from him, purposely grabbing at anything around me and tearing at it. One of the candles singes my hand as I knock it to the floor and David is shouting but I don’t hear what he’s saying.

I love you, but…

I push past him as I run from the room and swing myself round the corner into the bathroom. It’s the only room in the house with a lock on and I push it into place as hard as I can. It is only then that I realise how much green is in this room, and it presses in on me. There are leaves on the tiles, even on the floor; the shower curtain is green, the glass covering on the light, green, green, green. There’s pounding at the door but it can’t hold my attention. Curling up, I want only for the world to disappear and one by one I let the locks inside slide shut.

*

Pain…lack of breath…strong arms that have always been there pulling away…sirens…heat…voices…“The brother…” “Crazy…” “Dead…got her out alive…” uniforms…“We have to ask you what happened…” “Severe burns…damage to the lungs…limited recovery…” questions…a lot of questions…didn’t mean to…don’t know what…“Had such a future…a shame…” blame…“History of mental illness…” lost…what’s happening…don’t want to go… “Institution…” David.

*

There is a girl splayed out on the floor of an airport. She is screaming. It is a fascinating scream, one full of the aftermath of destruction, beautiful in despair. There is turmoil and confusion rife in the people surrounding her. None of them know what to do or if they should even touch her. And still she screams, piercing each and every one of them. Yet it is not a loud scream; her voice has been damaged since she suffered from smoke inhalation a year ago, but it only makes it that much worse to hear. It is the sound of a broken mind. It is chaos. Nothing can tread the paths of chaos quite like the mind, no physical disorder can compare to the discord to be found on the inside. It is perfect chaos.

To the people encircling the girl, she is all they are thinking about. To her, only the remnants of a lost memory exist. Her screams cut off abruptly when she sees him, that man in the tall hat, step towards her. She trembles on the floor, as she has done so many times before on his bedroom floor when he used to make her better. She reaches out a hand to him but all he can do is offer her the smile he always has. He bends over her, and kisses her softly with that smile that lacks the bite it has held for a year. She lets her eyes fall shut as he fades from sight, and surrenders.

***

Anything else I wrote this year is not worth mentioning :p

Doctor Who fic - Beyond Reach

Sun, 01 Jul 2007 10:06:19 GMT

Summary: Beautiful banner by mist_shadow. And so he stood once more without his counterbalance, and the universe was empty again. He had held him as he died, raging against the unfairness of it, so angry that the other had let go. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and its characters belong to the BBC.
Genre: Angst, Romance
Pairing: Doctor/Master
Wordcount: 2500
Rating: PG
Spoilers: episodes Utopia, The Sound of Drums, Last of the Time Lords
Warnings: Slash, character death

Comments and critique very welcome :) .

Beyond Reach

The Doctor grasped at this new world, hung onto life like he always did, watched the old destroyed as his mind ran to keep up with the new.

To run. How well he understood the concept. It was not just a motion to him, one foot in front of the other as he tore away from the source of fear; the words could not encompass the overwhelming terror, the primal need to be away before the mind was split, broken, torn apart at the seams by something so far beyond it.

He had run so far, for so long, and he had watched, been alert to the universe, to time, moving ever on as he told himself he was meant to do. But he had been running; disguised as it was, it was running all the same.

In watching he had learned many things. Ever watchful were the Time Lords. And yet for all their watching, for all that they saw, their wisdom was still finite, still bound by the time they had tamed further than any others.

Watch.

Had come the instruction.

Look upon Time. Your companion and master.

*

He stood before the Untempered Schism and he looked into the vortex, the citadel in all its splendour rising just in sight, but he was blind to its beauty, his eyes captivated by the swirling power before him. It roiled in great waves, colours colliding and merging in a chaotic pattern, beautiful in its terribleness. He felt he could almost touch the life that breathed through time, that made the universe pulse with it. But the pain, the sheer hurt of this organism – for living it surely had to be if it could feel like this – it clutched at the Doctor, twisting his eight-year-old self’s hearts as it ripped through him. It called to him, breathed feather-light touches across his mind, whispered in his ear as it sought to wrap him in itself, to show him what life had done to it, to make him understand the very fabric of itself.

It was too much, too young, it was too soon to tear his innocence from him, to throw to him the truth of the world and expect him to shoulder the burden. He couldn’t do it; his mind recoiled, sharply and suddenly, snapping at his sanity with seeming malice. And there was screaming, screaming so loud, all around, in him and through him, over and over.

He ran.

He ran long and hard, not stopping to see if anyone was following, mind consumed by what he had seen. Finally, gasping for breath, he pulled to a halt outside a cave he had always liked to sit in. He didn’t know what material the cave was made of but the walls made the light dance, made it shimmer and shine in gentle waves. He found the place calming and he entered to sit in the very centre, like he always did. Only, this time, there was someone else there first.

“Who’re you?” asked the other boy sharply, somehow managing to look at him imperiously despite his youth, his clothes that of the Academy.

“I…” the Doctor started to reply, but realised suddenly he had no current name, his old one had been stripped from him for the initiation ceremony and he had not yet chosen a new one. Legs still burning from running, he let himself slump down on the floor.

The other boy sniffed, his eyes darting everywhere restlessly. He could not have been much older than the Doctor, yet he was so much more sure of himself.

“New Academy initiate?” the boy guessed, recognising the haunted look to the other’s face.

The Doctor hesitated, thoughts still dwelling on the vortex he had looked upon.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, not meeting the other boy’s eyes. “I…I ran away.”

The boy smiled then, eyes unreadable as they finally settled on him

“Some will be inspired, some will run away, and some will go mad,” he said, teeth flashing as he grinned at him, daring him to choose which had happened to him. “You’ve seen it now though, they won’t let you go, we all have to complete the Academy.”

“It was so…raw,” the Doctor said in a rush. “It hurt so much, and I couldn’t do anything, I couldn’t stop it, heal it.”

“Heal it?” the boy repeated, regarding him lazily. “I wanted to rule it, I will rule it, one day.”

The Doctor looked at him properly for the first time, heard the heat in his voice that somehow did not seem so out of place as it should have in one so young.

“Who are you?” he asked then, returning the boy’s first question.

The boy got up, walked over and offered his hand to him to help him up.

“I am the Master.”

*

The Master had been the yin to the Doctor’s yang, but not separate, one concept as one gave and the other took. Their teachers despaired as the boys grew older, grew up, and still they wanted to take a further role in the universe, they could not settle for not interfering. Both startlingly clever, one would want to save the universe, believed one being could make a difference, and the other believed the universe was meant for him and him alone. And still they remained tied together, so close and so far, they raged battles through time against one another, each stepping lightly in what had become a game to the players as species and kingdoms rose and fell.

The Doctor stood now, on Earth where he had stood so many times before, his adoptive planet you might say, and behind him – behind and not beside – stood Jack and Martha. One who was so wrong it made his stomach clench and his gaze harden to look upon him, the other so enraptured with him but so good at anything he asked of her. He was fond of them both, perhaps he even loved them, but they didn’t make him burn or show him things he had not seen before. They were beautiful in their own right, one perhaps as close to understanding him as any had before, and they loved him, he knew that, they would follow him wherever he led if only he would let them. And yet for every hurt he healed, for every wrong he cured, three more took its place and time ached with it. Now, he just didn’t know how much he had left to give.

The two or the one, all those he had taken along over time, they ran with him as his life spanned the galaxies, as his running feet paused between steps, and they supported him but they couldn’t balance him. Not the way one had always done.

They had truly touched once, melded together, one day where the time that they had lived their lives by ceased to matter. Where semantics were ignored, and they really were just one concept, perhaps bruised and rough around the edges, but whole as they never were again.

*

“Doctor.”

“Master.”

No other words had been spoken as the Doctor entered the cave of dancing lights, the amber glow bathing his face. He had not expected to find the Master here, but neither was he troubled by his presence. This was Gallifrey, their home planet; while they might wage battles outside of this world, here was somewhere time ceased to progress for either of them. It would not always be this way, but for now, they did not question when the calm would end and the storm would arrive. Time didn’t matter, and for two Time Lords that was a strange thought, but neither had known when they were going to, neither of them knew even now, but it was a time when Gallifrey stood whole and untroubled.

The Doctor sat down, beside the Master this time, just a foot away. Able to sense other Time Lords, their awareness of each other had always been extraordinarily heightened, and being so close set them on edge even though neither showed it.

“Still trying to heal the wounds of the universe?” the Master asked, his gaze steady for once as he turned to look at the Doctor, who thought that those eyes held the vortex in them.

“Still trying to conquer it?” he returned, both their voices lacking bite. The Master smiled and turned back to watching the lights. The Doctor was the one who finally broke the silence, “Why do you come here?”

“It’s quiet,” the Master said without preamble, as if he had been waiting for the question. “All sounds are diminished here.”

The Doctor looked at him suspiciously, but the Master did not seem disposed to elaborate further. He wondered then what it was that united them and bound them so neatly together. Perhaps it was their respective impossible goals, so far out of reach: the universe would never be conquered and ruled by a single being, and neither would it be healed. And yet they both tried, always and whole-heartedly, throwing themselves at the mercy of it and getting up again when they lost.

Reaching a hand across the space between them, the Doctor placed his on top of the Master’s. The Master smiled faintly, and the Doctor wondered if he had known it would come to this one day. It felt wrong to touch him somehow, like for all their differences, in the end they were the same pole of a magnet and were not meant to meet beyond a certain point. His senses felt burned up with their closeness, overloaded and functioning through a haze. In this moment though, in this place where time didn’t matter, the Doctor fought to hold on, to touch what he should not and capture that which could not be caught. And the Master let him fight.

They were lost to fleeting moments, to connection and fusion and blurred sensation. It was a crushing of barriers so carefully erected, a breakdown of walls that were there for a reason. And the universe granted them this time, for it would never happen again.

Later, they sat in the centre of the cave, watching but not seeing the lights on the walls, a foot of space between them once more.

“We aren’t meant to be like this,” the Doctor said finally, the silence crushing him first as he gave voice to what he didn’t want to hear.

“No,” the Master agreed. He got up then, and exited the cave past the Doctor without looking back.

*

And so he stood once more without his counterbalance, and the universe was empty again. He had held him as he died, raging against the unfairness of it, so angry that the other had let go. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

*

Another time, another fight, another forgiveness. They stood on their sides, opposing as always and manipulated others as they moved the pieces of their chessboard against one another. A pawn, a knight, a bishop, all lost, but there were always sacrifices. One cared about each loss as they wrenched at him, the other cared only about the opposing king and himself.

A world was brought to its knees before a new master, but a world was never enough for him. The Doctor stepped in, stopped him, released a species from its self-wrought manacles. He was tired as he stood opposite to him and knew he could not stop him getting away, was wearied from this fight and the countless others they had fought; hating what the other forced him to do to him. And still he forgave him, said the words that made the Master’s face contort in anger, in denial of a kindness and love he had not deserved. But love is so rarely bestowed deservingly, and the Doctor did not truly mind what the Master did, no matter how it tore at him, willing as he was to feel the pain and the guilt for the both of them.

“Why do you forgive what I do to you?” the Master spat out, tongue curling scathingly around that hated word forgive.

The Doctor smiled infuriatingly, face gentle as he looked upon him.

“Because you helped me stand when I would have fallen; there is nothing you can do that will ever change that,” he replied, reaching out for him and offering new possibilities. He watched as the other narrowed his eyes, sneering as he turned away and left the Doctor behind on one more planet that was picking up the pieces.

*

For all that he was a Time Lord, he could not always see consequences, could not always make himself see that to which he was blind. Through kindness, he lost lives, through love, he caused pain. The loss of his home was his own fault; he had made that decision to sacrifice his people in order to bring an end to a race meant only to destroy. And he ran from that knowledge, from that blade that hung over him, and he tried to right the wrongs of the world, in penance and in faith. He had never been able to forgive himself like he always forgave the Master.

He had said the words to him, as he always had, and even now he forgives him for leaving him alone. Even now, as the new world begins again. And they all leave him, one after the other, like they always have and always will. He could never really have taken Jack anyway, and he leaves him to lead his own people. Martha he knows is going to stay before she does; she asks him to look at the people within her house, and he sees the breaks and cracks that she will try to heal and repair, so like himself. Nobody sees his own cracks, his own injuries that he hides so well, and he lets her go without breaking as he never has and asking just one of them to stay with him.

It is an end, and like all the ends the Doctor has seen, he goes on beyond it, ever onwards as the latest loss to the universe makes its space within his hearts. Cutting deeper than others, the wound is raw and it hurts so much to breathe, to take a step, to make an effort to outrun this pain. Time calls to him, and he understands its pain as he was meant to, knows how he has done his best to soothe it and brushes away the memory of a mere minute when he believed he could stop, could leave the universe to its own ends as he cared for the one being who had claimed him first. But as he always has, the Doctor steps on, rejoins time as he shoulders the burden of this new world, and carries with him another hurt that he knows he can never heal.

Torchwood fic - Duty

Sun, 07 Jan 2007 14:43:45 GMT

oo, first post on my journal :D . Well I really only made this to put this fic somewhere or else it would just gather dust in some lonely corner of my documents ;) . I was feeling all inspired after watching the finale of Torchwood series 1 so here I am venturing into a new fandom :) . I hope you like it, all comments welcome.

Summary: All credit to mist_shadow for the incredible banner. songfic to Show Me Heaven - Maria McKee. Song altered slightly to be shorter and fit better. “It is my duty.”//The only words you can offer me, yet the only words that could have shone for me. It is all right, I try to tell you while you’re still caught in my gaze. It is what I would do.
Disclaimer: the song is Maria McKee's, Torchwood and its characters are the BBC's
Genre: Angst, Romance, Songfic
Pairing: Jack/Jack
Wordcount: 2500
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: episodes Captain Jack Harkness, End of Days
Warnings: Slash, hmm...character death I suppose

Duty

Captain Jack Harkness was the last to leave that night; his men had already gone, declaring none could out-drink their Captain, and each making some good natured complaint about the routine exercise they would have to perform tomorrow. They had already dismissed events from earlier from their minds, each finding it not so difficult to reach for man’s inherent ability to be blind to what he did not want to see. The two strangers so many had spoken to? They had slipped away in the confusion after emerging from downstairs; no one had seen them after. The Jap had probably been a spy anyway, a spiteful woman said as they laughed together later, we don’t need that sort around here. There had been an electrical fault that caused a blinding light for a few moments, disorienting all for a short while, likely this could account for a few stray memories that had no place in their owners’ minds anymore. There was one who perhaps sent Jack the odd glance, the navigator, but if anyone mentioned a kiss, it was concerning a blond woman.

Jack downed another dram of whiskey. He knew the truth. He knew his heart would not shatter for a false memory, for an illusion.

There you go
Flashing fever from your eyes

A glance with alcohol glazed eyes to where he had stood, where Jack had first seen him. What had he called himself? James Harper, Captain James Harper. Jack shook his head. That was not right. Jack. That was what that woman, Toshiko, had called out to him at the last. That was better, yes. The same as me.

Hey babe, come over here and shut down tight

Captain Jack Harkness’s eyes held Gwen’s across the space between them. Her face was still blotched from tears, her eyes raged at him with helpless grief still fresh on their surface and the sounds of her screams still rang in his ears. But her expression was set, her body thrummed with a last spark of hope, and somewhere in his own broken heart, he wished she could find what she had lost. And yet he knew. He knew it was a false hope. He had always promised her everything and nothing; it was all he could offer.

I'm not denying
I'm frightened as much as you

Yes. I’m afraid. Unbidden, the memory, the still open wound, whispered in his mind. But this was not Jack, this was his team, his men; he could not be afraid if he were to save them from themselves.

“Don’t do it, Gwen,” he instructed, his voice harsh to his own ears. It’s over, let him go, he wanted to tell her, but he could not break her, not when her eyes were pleading with him like that. She was going to open the rift as her only chance, and he would not be able to stop her.

His eyes turned then to Owen, who held a gun raised steady against him. Their Captain, their leader, the only one who was seeing somewhat clearly and his team had united against him. He saw what his damning words had done to the man in front of him. He saw his desperation to put right what he believed was his fault. Believed because Jack had made him believe, had run home the guilt that drove him now. How ironic.

Jack laughed, he taunted the man before him, but the time had passed when words could reverse what they began and the shots rang out. They would not kill him, he knew, but the time they would steal would make him much too late.

Though I'm barely touching you

And time was chasing down still fresh memories as reality faded from his sight.

He reached for the familiar territory of death that he had traversed what seemed so many times already. And the memory of a breath, a whisper, a name that were all somehow his and yet not his followed his descent.

You've such amazing grace
I've never felt this way

Your body is against mine, the room no longer exists, the music that I had been sure was playing faded now and your arms hold me steady as the world spins, or is it us who are the only ones in motion now?

It is strange in a way that I never want to lose to feel the ungiving solidity of another man’s chest on my own, harsh angularity matching mine, and yet I know I could so easily drown in you. Perhaps I already have; it does not feel as if I am breathing any longer, perhaps this is death.

Then she calls you, a pleading cry that holds you to reality while I stubbornly want to keep you in this dream we’ve created in a moment that is everlasting and over much too soon. There’s light, such bright light, but your light is fading from me. The feel of your cheek leaves mine and all I have now is your eyes to be lost in, your touch slowly receding. I already know you will go, and though I have never feared death, I fear this separation now.

“It is my duty.”

The only words you can offer me, yet the only words that could have shone for me. It is all right, I try to tell you while you’re still caught in my gaze. It is what I would do.

Show me heaven

You’re already gone, but some connection holds you in place. Your words uttered with such forcefulness several hours ago now echo for me. Kiss her goodbye, you told me, live every moment as if it’s your last, make this the best night of your life. And I do want it as you’re once again in front of me, fire in your eyes fuelled by desperation and tempered by despair. I need you, I want to feel, before I lose this breath of life you’ve given me forever, to touch that fire one more time even though I know it is goodbye.

Cover me

Then your lips claim mine and surely the world has crumbled, and the world can be damned for all I care. Your hand brushes against my cheek, comes to rest at the base of my neck, thumb grazing my faintly stubble lined jaw as you tilt my mouth more towards you. Your lips are soft, yet teeth scrape along my lower lip in desperation to be that one bit closer, to prolong this moment, to never let go.

The hesitancy I feel at first vanishes quickly, the fire in my veins soon melts coherent thought and all that is left is you. My hand rests on your shoulder and my lips are moving against yours in the now bruising kiss. There’s a tremor to your touch that I would never guess would be present in you, but it touches me more permanently than any assured stroke could.

Leave me breathless

There’s some feeling that tells me I need to breathe soon, not these small snatches of breath that are more you than air, but properly breathe, yet I would happily die here if it meant I could keep you for always.

I know, almost in the way that I know myself, that you were never one for restraint, that once you started something, you relinquished your heart to it and I wonder how many times you have suffered for it. This is no different, and for once my heart rises too, responding to your flame, and meets you clash for clash.

Show me heaven please

And then that voice is calling you again, calling you away, and you’re responding accordingly. I know now that she is not your woman as I asked you before, but she is still yours. Yours the same way my men are mine and you will do anything to keep her safe, because that is what you have sworn to do, what you have to do. Understanding does not stop the stab of jealousy at the sound though, does not stop me from knowing intimately the pain that I will never be yours, can never have more than a stolen moment in time, enough to touch heaven and fall burning from that fleeting sin.

Here I go
I'm shaking just like the breeze

It is my duty. They had already done it by the time Jack woke up, his body humming with pain as it strove to rid itself of the last vestiges of death, the pain most acutely concentrated in his chest, though his head certainly span too. He was not concentrating fully on how he got up, knowing how imperative it was to find out the full extent of what had happened.

He stood in the road bare minutes later, his team – for they were his once more – around him, staring at the consequences of their actions. Acting upon the driving force of hope, they had almost done enough to end everything, and now they looked to their Captain to right their wrongs, to return the world to how it should be and their faith would surely never waver again.

Hey babe I need your hand to steady me

He looked to Gwen, the shadow of her believed loss still remained in her expression, a hurt he could understand, but she would do what needed to be done. It was she who first turned to him for instruction, and it was she whom he would take with him.

“Just one of you.”

She got him there quickly, to stand before the monster that had been unleashed, the monster that fed on life and would either end Jack’s previously indestructible one or be ended by it. He did not know the outcome, but he would die to return his men to safety. This was his duty, and he would not turn from it now.

For the second time that day, he felt death grip him, but this was worse, far worse, than the death caused by the gun. Pain as he had never known coursed through his body as it seemed his very life-force would crumble. He died countless deaths before finally slipping into the abyss that called to him, leaving his last link to the world as the girl who wept over him, but who would never give up.

I'm not denying
We're flying above it all

Captain Jack led the formation as they flew over the designated area. Jack knew exactly what he was flying to, no matter the routine nature of the exercise, he had seen it last night in the other man’s eyes. But he had taken to the air anyway, back in the environment he would have loved if war had not hung over his time spent in it.

His voice issued the instructions over the radio communication, but he could not help the tremble and hesitation to his hands to carry on. He knew what was coming.

Hold my hand, don't let me fall

For a moment he could have sworn the touch of a lost moment held still his hand and leant him the courage to continue. As that touch had let him express how he really felt and be more himself than he had ever been before, now it let him know, just as it had then, that it was okay to be afraid, but that he must do what had to be done even in the face of fear.

He did not really know what he was doing anymore, but somehow his body moved by itself, flying his plane without his mind’s input, leaving it free to wander.

If you know what it's like
To dream a dream

The communication came from the outermost flier in his team, informing him of enemy aircraft closing in fast in a voice trained for professionalism, but that held an unmistakable note of suppressed fear.

He closed his eyes, summoning the dream he fought for of a future after this war, the hope of a more peaceful world. Never ultimate peace, that was a fool’s idealistic dream, but some when where people could carve a piece of happiness that would not be threatened with destruction at any moment. He had already known his own happiness, brief as it had been, but now his time in this world was almost over.

He opened his eyes. He knew what he had to do, what he would do, but his men could still return to safety.

“It is my duty,” he whispered to himself, the curve of a half smile touching his lips.

Baby hold me tight

He gave the command for their retreat, one that brooked no disobedience as he continued flying towards the enemy. Even so there was a delay before the other planes turned away from him, but he had never led them wrong before and their trust had not been tried enough to waver now. Then he realised one was still with him, the man who was not the best of pilots, but who could locate anything. He’d turned off his radio too so Jack couldn’t even yell at him.

Well then, nothing for it, they would fight together.

And let this be your...heaven

Jack let his instincts take over as he dodged fire from the German bombers, taking one of the five out immediately and covering his co-fighter. His radio would have been turned back on now, he knew; it was stupid to fight together without being able to communicate, and Jack issued instructions as he would at any other time. This time they were obeyed.

He took out another and smiled as the other man also landed a hit. Leading one of the remaining two bombers away, he sighted more dark specks in the distance getting more solid by the second and he knew others would soon be here. Again he ordered the retreat and mentioned he would take care of these two before following, and this time the command was followed.

Cover me

His third hit brought down another bomber, but as he turned, he felt his plane jar as it too took a crippling blow and he knew the moment had come. He laughed, feeling the inevitability of it all, but still there was that steadying memory of a man who had known this would happen, but who still chose to show him something he had never dared know before.

Leave me breathless

The flames had taken proper hold of the plane and he gave up fighting for control. The heat seemed strangely distant as he remembered the feel of his lips, the touch of breath, his hands ghosting along his skin.

He was with him now, he was sure, as the world rose up to meet him and his sight faded from reality.

“Goodbye, Jack. Carry our name well.”

He let his eyes close for the last time as he relinquished himself to the darkness.

Show me heaven please