A Teaspoon And An Open Mind: A Doctor Who Fan Fiction Archive
Ninth Doctor
The Beast Howls in My Veins by MElizabethPenn [Reviews - 1] Printer
Author's Notes:
A/N: I swear, I get inspiration for fics in the strangest places…This idea came to me this summer while I was cleaning and cutting string beans. I had been watching all four seasons of Doctor Who, and this just appeared out of nowhere and came to me in fits and starts. I had to keep stopping to dry my hands and write snippets of this on post-it notes…lol. Much of those original snippets are still here exactly as I wrote them then. =) The title comes from Howl by Florence & The Machine.

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.

The cry of the Bad Wolf.
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