ladymercury_10: (Team TARDIS)
[personal profile] ladymercury_10
I did [livejournal.com profile] fandom_stocking again this year and it was quite fun.  Thanks to everyone who helped fill my stocking!  I wrote three ficlets, so I thought I'd repost them here since I haven't posted fic in forever.

For [livejournal.com profile] karate0kat, I wrote this Martha/Mickey ficlet:


Martha hasn’t worked for UNIT in years, but in today’s post she found an unmarked envelope with Thought you should know and her old boss’s initials scrawled on the inside of the flap. Enclosed is a single photograph: a boyish man wearing a blue bowtie and something tweedy. She studies it for a moment before she understands—it’s the hair that tips her off. Foppish and absurd, as per usual. 

Martha smiles. He looks well. Not quite as skinny, and happy without being manic. His mouth is open, as though he’s speaking to someone outside the frame. Lecturing, really, by the look of it. He’s doing that thing where he his hands are scolding and his eyes are laughing. 

Mickey comes up behind her and rests his chin on her shoulder. “That,” he says, “is the bloke who loaned me twenty quid last week when I was five pence short at Tesco. Told me to keep the change.”

“That,” Martha replies, “is the Doctor.”

“Explains why he was carrying around his money in a brown paper bag,” Mickey muses. “And why he was wearing sunglasses with that getup. And had nothing in his trolley but a bunch of bananas and ten jars of jam.”

“Did he say anything?”

“I told him it was too much money. He said to consider it part of a favor he owed some old friends. Wish I’d known it was him.”

Martha runs her thumb lightly over the edge of the photo. “Do you miss him?” Mickey asks.

“Of course,” she answers, bending to kiss him on the temple. “And all of time and space. But I’d rather be here, after all. With you.”

“Good answer,” he says, and turns to kiss her back.

For [livejournal.com profile] sahiya, I wrote Eleven/River h/c:


Everything had been going so well; his plan to spring River from the detainment facility had gone off without a hitch until he nearly ruined it by getting hit by a tranquilizer dart. At least, he thought it was a tranquilizer; the drug made him mildly drowsy, but once he and River made it safely back to the TARDIS, he started having awful muscle spasms. Now he is curled in a miserable heap on his bed instead of off taking River to enjoy the universe. All of time and space, and here he is, trying to lie as still as possible to minimize the pain. He groans and pulls his knees to his chest. His back is seizing up, and the stomach cramps are so bad he thinks he may be sick. 

The bed sags slightly near his legs; even this slight disturbance sends shooting pains through his muscles. He feels something warm against his shins, then fingers lightly brush his temple.

“River, is that you?” He doesn’t open his eyes.

“Mmm, who do you think?” she teases. Her hand moves to his forehead. “Sweetie, you’re running a temperature.”

“Lovely, that,” he mumbles. “Just what I needed. Goes with the queasiness.”

“Poor thing,” she murmurs, half sympathetic and half amused.

“If you’re just going to laugh at me, you may as well go have some actual fun. The TARDIS’ll take you anywhere you like.”

River withdraws her hand abruptly. “First of all, sweetie, I don’t need to be taken anywhere. I can fly her myself—and better than you. Second, I know you didn’t just tell your wife to whisk off on an adventure and leave you here so sick you can barely move.”

He opens his eyes and squints up at River. Her tone is offended, but even in the half-dark he can tell she is smirking fondly at him. “Of course not, dear,” he amends. 

She stands up and starts to walk around the bed toward the door. “I thought you didn’t want to go,” he says, confused.

“I don’t,” she answers, and she climbs into the bed from the other side. She moves slowly, disturbing the mattress as little as possible. 

“There,” she says, once she is settled. He can feel her breath on the back of his neck. It would have made him shiver, once, but now it’s warm and familiar. She lays a hand between his shoulder blades, smoothes it gently up and down his spine. He focuses on the movement, and a little of the tension leaves his muscles. She reaches under his shirt, and he can feel her tracing patterns—Gallifreyan words, trigonometric functions, molecular structures. Hydrogen, helium, lithium, and then he falls asleep. 

And for [livejournal.com profile] eponymous_rose, I wrote a Doctor Who + TNG not-quite-crossover, featuring Rory, Amy, and Doctor Crusher:


Rory Williams is eight years old. He likes Jammie Dodgers, checkers, and most of all, Star Trek. He runs home every day after school to watch the crew of the Enterprise save the universe once again. The Enterprise has a French captain with a posh British accent, a machine that replicates food, and several alien crew members whose faces seem to be constructed from plastic and grease paint. Rory loves all of it, but his favorite part of the ship is the med bay. 

He already knows he wants to be a doctor when he grows up, and the Enterprise’s doctor has put stars in his eyes. He thinks Beverly Crusher must be the bravest, smartest woman in the whole world—the whole universe, maybe. (Except his mum, he amends.) She has piercing eyes and gorgeous red hair, and she won’t take crap from anyone. Rory is head over heels for the first time in his life. He’s old enough to realize that telly isn’t real, and he’s unbearably disappointed that he won’t get to marry Dr. Crusher when he grows up.

Rory Williams is twenty-eight years old. He still likes Jammie Dodgers, but he’s too old for checkers now and Star Trek hasn’t been on in years. He works in a hospital, but he’s not a doctor. In uni, he realized he actually wanted to see his patients—real doctors without magical scanners and hyposprays don’t really get to do that. He did get to travel in space, though. It was mad and wonderful and terrifying and heartbreaking and nothing at all like he thought it’d be. He loved it while it lasted, but he doesn’t miss it. In the end, all he wanted was Amy, and his own two feet safely on the ground. 

He comes home from work to find Amy asleep in front of the telly; she must have been waiting up for him and nodded off. He sits down on the end of the sofa to unlace his shoes before he wakes her. The commercial break ends, and suddenly a familiar roundish spaceship flashes on the screen. Rory looks at Amy and grins. He’s married to the bravest, smartest woman in the whole universe, and she has gorgeous red hair to boot. He leans over to kiss her on the cheek and wonders how he ever got so lucky. 

Date: 2012-02-19 03:12 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] eve11.livejournal.com
Aw, all three of those are wonderful :). I love your description of the doctor, scolding and laughing at the same time. And the middle one, with the doctor learning some of the finer points of marriage and River tracing patterns on his skin. And the third is so cute and a very apt parallel :). (Though do British shows have commercials? Maybe breaks between shows...)

Date: 2012-02-19 05:09 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ladymercury-10.livejournal.com
Thank you very much!

British shows don't have commercials? What sort of magical land is the United Kingdom? :P

Date: 2012-02-19 05:13 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] eve11.livejournal.com
You're welcome!

What sort of magical land is the United Kingdom? :P
;D One where the television stations are state-run and you need to pay a license fee to own a TV, I believe.

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