Fic: Lineage (Susan)
DW fandom needs a Mickey comm, and sarah531 is hosting a poll as to what it should be called. Mickey fans, go vote.
Oh, and this is a teeny (500 word) fic I found knocking about my hard drive yesterday. Inspired by Clive's drawing of the Doctor in Rose and the Third Doctor's claim in Inferno that he was present at the eruption of Krakatoa. Sort of regeneration fic, except Nine doesn't get to say anything.
Title: Lineage
Author: Doyle
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: Susan gen
Rating: G
Grandfather didn’t like this planet. Too primitive, he said. Too wet. Its climate was too changeable, its dominant species barely-evolved primates. If they hadn’t landed here by mistake he wouldn’t have come near the place.
Susan thought it was charming.
This island, from what she’d gleaned from the people scurrying all over the place, was called Java, and while her grandfather wrestled with the Ship’s controls she took pencils and a book of blank paper from the library and went to sit on the beach. She sketched the distant volcano first of all - it seemed the most obvious choice, with the amount of attention everyone around her was giving to it. She hummed to herself as she shaded the ash columns, rising like fingers from the side vents, wondering in a distracted way whether the humans knew how close it was to eruption.
Someone was watching her.
It was quite comical, really, how the man was hanging back against the trees, as if that would hide him when he wasn’t dressed remotely like anyone else. He was tall and lean, dark hair shaved close to his head, hands locked in the pockets of a leather coat - a Time Lord, she could tell that from here, and one much older than her grandfather. High Council, come to take her home? But then she would already be in custody and halfway back to Gallifrey, not left at liberty to draw pictures and enjoy the sea.
She turned to a blank page and drew him in quick, black lines. The picture was finished in minutes, but by the time she looked up her model was gone and there was only her grandfather walking towards her, struggling a little on the soft sand.
“There you are, child. Come along, the Ship’s repaired.”
“Does that mean you’ve worked out how to fly it?”
He peered over her shoulder at the book, tutting at either her drawing or her cheekiness.
“Oh, that’s just one of the humans,” she said quickly, tearing out the page and letting it drop to the ground. “A sailor, I think. It’s not very good.” She didn’t say he was the saddest person I’ve ever seen because he would have dismissed that as romantic imaginings; anyway, she didn’t know why she thought it.
She left the picture behind, worried that Grandfather might look at it more closely, realise the man’s clothes didn’t look like those of anyone else they’d seen here. If she didn’t say anything he might just assume she’d been homesick and tried to draw her father; she had noticed, as she'd finished, that there was an odd likeness in the face, something familiar in the eyes. There was no sense in letting Grandfather worry that the Council was pursuing them when it might have all been a coincidence or a misunderstanding, just her imagination running wild.
As she opened the TARDIS door she thought she heard a roar of engines, off in the jungle, but perhaps it was the volcano, or just the sea.
Oh, and this is a teeny (500 word) fic I found knocking about my hard drive yesterday. Inspired by Clive's drawing of the Doctor in Rose and the Third Doctor's claim in Inferno that he was present at the eruption of Krakatoa. Sort of regeneration fic, except Nine doesn't get to say anything.
Title: Lineage
Author: Doyle
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: Susan gen
Rating: G
Grandfather didn’t like this planet. Too primitive, he said. Too wet. Its climate was too changeable, its dominant species barely-evolved primates. If they hadn’t landed here by mistake he wouldn’t have come near the place.
Susan thought it was charming.
This island, from what she’d gleaned from the people scurrying all over the place, was called Java, and while her grandfather wrestled with the Ship’s controls she took pencils and a book of blank paper from the library and went to sit on the beach. She sketched the distant volcano first of all - it seemed the most obvious choice, with the amount of attention everyone around her was giving to it. She hummed to herself as she shaded the ash columns, rising like fingers from the side vents, wondering in a distracted way whether the humans knew how close it was to eruption.
Someone was watching her.
It was quite comical, really, how the man was hanging back against the trees, as if that would hide him when he wasn’t dressed remotely like anyone else. He was tall and lean, dark hair shaved close to his head, hands locked in the pockets of a leather coat - a Time Lord, she could tell that from here, and one much older than her grandfather. High Council, come to take her home? But then she would already be in custody and halfway back to Gallifrey, not left at liberty to draw pictures and enjoy the sea.
She turned to a blank page and drew him in quick, black lines. The picture was finished in minutes, but by the time she looked up her model was gone and there was only her grandfather walking towards her, struggling a little on the soft sand.
“There you are, child. Come along, the Ship’s repaired.”
“Does that mean you’ve worked out how to fly it?”
He peered over her shoulder at the book, tutting at either her drawing or her cheekiness.
“Oh, that’s just one of the humans,” she said quickly, tearing out the page and letting it drop to the ground. “A sailor, I think. It’s not very good.” She didn’t say he was the saddest person I’ve ever seen because he would have dismissed that as romantic imaginings; anyway, she didn’t know why she thought it.
She left the picture behind, worried that Grandfather might look at it more closely, realise the man’s clothes didn’t look like those of anyone else they’d seen here. If she didn’t say anything he might just assume she’d been homesick and tried to draw her father; she had noticed, as she'd finished, that there was an odd likeness in the face, something familiar in the eyes. There was no sense in letting Grandfather worry that the Council was pursuing them when it might have all been a coincidence or a misunderstanding, just her imagination running wild.
As she opened the TARDIS door she thought she heard a roar of engines, off in the jungle, but perhaps it was the volcano, or just the sea.