Realm of the Muse, Prompt 1.59.3, Lyric Prompt
But all in war is so cold, you either win or lose
When all is put away, the losing side I'll play
You’ve had the communicator for the entire time you’ve been exiled on this planet. You’ve dutifully checked in every two weeks-roughly-when your handler, the equivalent of a parole officer, calls to make sure you’re getting on and not trying to subjugate the planet to your will.
Until one day when he speaks to you of an oncoming conflict. War is brewing in the galaxy. Encroaching upon the home you’re forbidden to see ever again.
The calls become fewer and farther between, and in each one the reports-for it’s him doing the reports now, not you-are direr. They’re coming. The ancient enemies, the relentless foes, unstoppable, swarming over planets and leaving death in their wake.
Let me come home, you beg him. You can help, you know you can. You can come up with new weapons for the fight. If nothing else, you can get down in the trenches-for the war’s come to your home now, to the planet where you were born-and fight on the ground beside the rest of your people.
He refuses. Rules are rules. That shouldn’t surprise you. That’s how your people always have been. They’ll abide by a rule, let their pride rule them, even to their deaths.
…which is what happens, in the end. After the communicator falls silent, you keep trying for nearly two Earth years before you accept the inevitable.
Your people are gone, and you’re the last survivor.
All is fair in love, love's a crazy game
Two people vow to stay, in love as one they say
He likes to argue the point with you, sometimes, but in your eyes, everything about him suggests strength. The sort of strength that lasts forever.
He’s bent over the console, repairing a fuse. One large hand is braced up against the top of it, near the rotor, his leather-clad arm and shoulder bracing his weight effortlessly. Even curled down like this, with his sonic screwdriver in his hand, prodding at the console’s guts, he’s imposing. Tall. Still. Athletic. Focused.
His presence carries a weight, a gravity that draws you in. There’s a sense of timelessness in him. You felt it the moment he appeared on your doorstep, all those years ago. Time stood still as you looked up at him, as those piercing eyes met yours, and from that moment on, though it took you a bit to figure it out, your path was inexorably joined with his.
Forever.
Forever is what you both promise, and you never doubt him for a moment. You never doubt anything about him. He’s your rock, your anchor, your safe place, and you wonder, as he stirs and catches you watching him work, how it is you ever lived without him.
It’s certainly not a condition you ever wish to exist in again.
His gaze meets yours, and softens as he straightens, unfolds, sets the screwdriver aside. He rounds the console in long, certain strides, closing the distance between you and folding you up in his arms at once, smiling, murmuring endearments in a low voice. You’re sheltered in that embrace, safe from anything and everything as long as you’re in those strong arms. You love it. You love him, so much it overwhelms you at times, makes you choke up, and he teases you for it but you don’t care. You don’t care about much as long as you have him.
And you will.
Forever.
All of fate's a chance, its either good or bad
I tossed my coin to say in love with me you'd stay
It’s raining again.
Seems to do that a lot, when you’re together. You wonder, with no small amount of amusement, pulling the blanket you’re both wrapped in tighter around you, if that’s your “thing” now. Rainy days.
He pauses in the middle of a spirited recounting of the events that led him to turn up for this meeting covered in pine needles and tree sap and lacking a tie, to kiss the back of your neck softly, and you lean back against him with a contented sigh, nudging him to resume his story.
The tale is full of adventure and surprise, slightly fantastic and ridiculous, but spellbinding. Much like finding him, that was all of those things as well. It was an unexpected gift, so soon on the heels of finding him the first time, and it was maddening and complicated and layered and at times it hurts. It’s bewildering.
Oh, but you love him. Madly. Without reservation. And he loves you as well, this man who leaves you feeling as if you’ve faced down a storm at each visit-but in a good way, in a way you really rather enjoy. You see it in his eyes, behind the doubts, the pain, the weight he seems to carry and rarely lets you share. He needs you, though he thinks himself weak for it at times, thinks he’s dragging you down.
But you need him just as much. He’s never far from your mind or your hearts when you’re not together. You feel the lack of him keenly, there’s no sense of peace when he’s away. Not in the corners of your hearts or the part of your soul that belong to him.
So you give him as many rainy days as you can, days like this one that find the two of you wrapped in a blanket together as you rest against him in a picture window. The rain beats down steadily from the grey sky, fat drops striking and rolling down the glass as his clothes dry on the radiator and he shifts to plant a kiss in the crook of your neck. He missed you, he says, though not so much in words than in the way his lips linger over your skin, and his arms cradle you closer as you both gaze out the window.
The storm may rage outside, but inside, finally, there is peace.
Catherine Endicott/The Rani
Doctor Who
Word Count: 954 (not including lyrics)