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crack_van2012-02-21 11:56 am
reeceer.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2012-02-21 11:56 am
Entry tags:
Worth Living For, by Sahiya (g)
Fandom: DOCTOR WHO
Pairing: River Song/Ninth Doctor, River Song/Eleventh Doctor
Length: 5k
Author on LJ: Sahiya
Author Website: AO3 link
Why this must be read: She didn't need to check the Book of Faces to know which Doctor this was. Short hair, sharp features, long, lanky body - this was number nine, whom her Doctor had told her she would never meet. This was the Doctor fresh from the Time War. Because of the timey-whimy nature of River's relationship with the Doctor, there is this possibility of her having met other versions of the Doctor aside from Ten and Eleven. This is one of my favorite fics that explores that avenue, while perfectly fitting into canon. Here, River meets the Doctor moments after he's regenerated into Nine, and it's such a broken, guilt-ridden and angry Doctor that greets her. I just love the hurt/comfort aspect of this, and how Nine is so distrustful of River but at the same time recognizes her importance in some unknown way. It's gorgeously written.
Worth Living For
He was screaming.
She staggered back against the door, breath coming short and fast. It took her nearly a minute to regain enough control to realize the sound was in her head and not her ears. She threw up barriers, just as he himself had taught her, and that brought the noise down to a manageable level - still awful but no longer overwhelming. She swallowed and took in the wrecked console room before her; beneath the still-settling dust and debris, it wasn't one of the models she recognized. It looked as though a Gothic cathedral had been ruthlessly ransacked.
"Doctor?" she called shakily. She had to pick her way across the console room floor, pausing once to smother a still-flickering fire. "Doctor, it's me. If you can hear me -" She stopped. It wasn't likely he could hear her, and somehow she didn't think he'd be very far from the console room at a time like this.
She was right. She found him lying unconscious on the other side of the console, a tall, lanky figure in an incongruous velvet frock coat.
Frock coat.
Oh.
Oh hell. This wasn't a much later Doctor, as she'd first thought, but an earlier one from before she had ever met him. Her Doctor had been very clear that she was to avoid this sort of situation at all costs. The temporally responsible thing to do would be to walk out the door and tell the TARDIS she was sorry, so sorry, but she'd brought him too early and River couldn't help him.
That option received the split-second consideration it deserved before River discarded it. That may have been the responsible thing to do, but she would have never forgiven herself. She'd spent her lifetime rescuing the Doctor and being rescued in return, and she wasn't about to break the habit now.
She knelt on the floor, wishing suddenly that she were wearing rather more than a towel, and rested her fingers against his temples. She took a moment to steel herself and then dropped her barriers. Terrified, incoherent screaming flooded her mind and it was all she could do not to jerk back as though she'd touched her hand to a hot stove. She forced herself to stay still and project calm. Shhh. Hush now. You're safe.
He fought her. She hadn't expected that. Her Doctor had never fought her; his mind recognized hers and welcomed her in, no matter what. This Doctor lashed out like an injured, frightened animal. But he was too weak from the trauma of regeneration and whatever had come before to be much of a match. She kept herself a steady, calming presence, until at last he stopped trying to throw her out and subsided into exhausted resignation.
There now, she said, then. No need for any of that. You're safe with me.
Who are you? he replied, with an undercurrent of snarl.
Someone you will trust deeply one day. Rest, Doctor. Let me take over for a bit.
You - you're -
Don't try to wrap your head around it. Rest, she said again, and this time soothed him as only she knew how. He protested a little, but sleep was already dragging at him. She barely needed to do anything to push him into it.
When his mind finally went quiet, she withdrew, allowing her hands to drop from his temple to rest on her thighs. She was already exhausted, and this had barely begun.
"Right, then," she said aloud. "First things first: put some clothes on."
Pairing: River Song/Ninth Doctor, River Song/Eleventh Doctor
Length: 5k
Author on LJ: Sahiya
Author Website: AO3 link
Why this must be read: She didn't need to check the Book of Faces to know which Doctor this was. Short hair, sharp features, long, lanky body - this was number nine, whom her Doctor had told her she would never meet. This was the Doctor fresh from the Time War. Because of the timey-whimy nature of River's relationship with the Doctor, there is this possibility of her having met other versions of the Doctor aside from Ten and Eleven. This is one of my favorite fics that explores that avenue, while perfectly fitting into canon. Here, River meets the Doctor moments after he's regenerated into Nine, and it's such a broken, guilt-ridden and angry Doctor that greets her. I just love the hurt/comfort aspect of this, and how Nine is so distrustful of River but at the same time recognizes her importance in some unknown way. It's gorgeously written.
Worth Living For
He was screaming.
She staggered back against the door, breath coming short and fast. It took her nearly a minute to regain enough control to realize the sound was in her head and not her ears. She threw up barriers, just as he himself had taught her, and that brought the noise down to a manageable level - still awful but no longer overwhelming. She swallowed and took in the wrecked console room before her; beneath the still-settling dust and debris, it wasn't one of the models she recognized. It looked as though a Gothic cathedral had been ruthlessly ransacked.
"Doctor?" she called shakily. She had to pick her way across the console room floor, pausing once to smother a still-flickering fire. "Doctor, it's me. If you can hear me -" She stopped. It wasn't likely he could hear her, and somehow she didn't think he'd be very far from the console room at a time like this.
She was right. She found him lying unconscious on the other side of the console, a tall, lanky figure in an incongruous velvet frock coat.
Frock coat.
Oh.
Oh hell. This wasn't a much later Doctor, as she'd first thought, but an earlier one from before she had ever met him. Her Doctor had been very clear that she was to avoid this sort of situation at all costs. The temporally responsible thing to do would be to walk out the door and tell the TARDIS she was sorry, so sorry, but she'd brought him too early and River couldn't help him.
That option received the split-second consideration it deserved before River discarded it. That may have been the responsible thing to do, but she would have never forgiven herself. She'd spent her lifetime rescuing the Doctor and being rescued in return, and she wasn't about to break the habit now.
She knelt on the floor, wishing suddenly that she were wearing rather more than a towel, and rested her fingers against his temples. She took a moment to steel herself and then dropped her barriers. Terrified, incoherent screaming flooded her mind and it was all she could do not to jerk back as though she'd touched her hand to a hot stove. She forced herself to stay still and project calm. Shhh. Hush now. You're safe.
He fought her. She hadn't expected that. Her Doctor had never fought her; his mind recognized hers and welcomed her in, no matter what. This Doctor lashed out like an injured, frightened animal. But he was too weak from the trauma of regeneration and whatever had come before to be much of a match. She kept herself a steady, calming presence, until at last he stopped trying to throw her out and subsided into exhausted resignation.
There now, she said, then. No need for any of that. You're safe with me.
Who are you? he replied, with an undercurrent of snarl.
Someone you will trust deeply one day. Rest, Doctor. Let me take over for a bit.
You - you're -
Don't try to wrap your head around it. Rest, she said again, and this time soothed him as only she knew how. He protested a little, but sleep was already dragging at him. She barely needed to do anything to push him into it.
When his mind finally went quiet, she withdrew, allowing her hands to drop from his temple to rest on her thighs. She was already exhausted, and this had barely begun.
"Right, then," she said aloud. "First things first: put some clothes on."