It was just after sunset in Whitworth Park, the moon just having peeked over the horizon to bid its celestial sister a good night. The Doctor and Rose lay out on the grass in a rare fit of relaxation after one of their adventures, having spent most of the time alternating between being tied up, jailed, and run after by people brandishing pointy sticks (as per usual). The Doctor had landed the TARDIS here on a whim, and he and Rose had tumbled out hand in hand before sprawling on the ground. Now they lay in silence, each alone with their thoughts.
Rose had tipped her face up towards the sky, letting pale moonlight spill across her features. Under the silvery light, her skin shone like ivory. Her hair was transformed into pale corn silk, glinting gold as he reached across the small space between them and sifted it through his fingers. At his touch, she looked at him with those fathomless eyes, just a hint of amber glimmering out of the shadows. She quirked an eyebrow at him, saying nothing. He didn't give any reply except with his look of wonderment, skimming his fingertips across a cheekbone, his touch feather-light. She cast a wolfish grin his way. And there, under the moon, he saw her transform.
Her eyes were the thing that alerted him to the change, the look in them becoming something so alien, yet so familiar it took his breath away. Just for a moment, there was a flicker of molten gold there, so brief he almost thought he had imagined it. And there was a knowing there that she should not have. It was as if she knew all of him from the beginning of time itself. And then she tipped her head back and howled.
It was a true howl, not the paltry human mimicry of the sound. He heard the whole of time and space singing within it, weaving its song into the melody of a wolf's cry. He didn't think any humanoid life form could ever utter such a cry. It set the hairs on his neck on edge and made his hearts beat just a bit quicker. It was a cry of love and loss, pain and joy, life and death. The raw emotion of it made him want to weep.
Much later, when this woman beside him would burn with the light of a thousand suns, he would look back on this moment and see it for what it really was.
Doctor Who and its accoutrements are the property of the BBC, and we obviously don't have any right to them. Any and all crossover characters belong to their respective creators. Alas no one makes any money from this site, and it's all done out of love for a cheap-looking sci-fi show. All fics are property of their individual authors. Archival at this site should not be taken to constitute automatic archive rights elsewhere, and authors should be contacted individually to arrange further archiving. Despite occasional claims otherwise, The Blessed St Lalla Ward is not officially recognised by the Catholic Church. Yet. |
Script for this archive provided by eFiction. Contact our archivists at email@example.com. Please read our Terms of Service and Submission Guidelines.