Spiegel im Spiegel, Chapter 14/14
May. 22nd, 2009 10:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fic_of_forkWord Count: 2689
Summary: Like a mirror reflected into a mirror, choices made create an infinite of possibilities, and images seen may not be what they appear. An encounter with an elusive, incorporeal race leads the Doctor and his allies on a dark journey.
Warnings: None specifically for this chapter
Rating: Teen
Characters: Ten, Donna, Braxiatel, Torchwood, Original characters (Mike)
Genre: AU, Adventure
Author's Note: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mtemplar_fic for the beta. Thanks to persiflage_1 for reading a detail. The story at the end is from Beautiful Chaos. The mention of Donna's cousin, Janice, was in The Ghosts of India. The warehouse at X19 was first mentioned in Tears of the Oracle.
Chapter 13, Chapter 12, Chapter 11, Chapter 10, Chapter 9, Chapter 8, Chapter 7, Chapter 6, Chapter 5, Chapter 4, Chapter 3, Chapter 2, Chapter 1
Braxiatel felt the artificial sunlight on his eyelids before the light registered. As he opened his eyes, he had a moment of uncertainty where he was, but when he woke and felt the warmer body his was curled around, he remembered. New muscles and sinews felt warm, although pleasantly exercised. He removed his arm from his sleeping partner's waist, and gently brushed red hair away from the back of her neck.
Purring softly, he remembered the night before. He wondered how the new generation of Time Lords--those left after the Time War--would view what he had done. In his time, it would've been decadent, if not slightly twisted. Intimacy with a human was one thing, but what they had done before, during, and after a regeneration would've pushed it into the category of scandalous. Not so to humans. In fact, the entire soirée had been Donna's idea.
His old body had been wearing out--it served him through two invasions, a civil war, and the Time War, after all. He had felt the need to regenerate strongly, deeply needing the renewal he knew it would bring in mind, body, and spirit. Although his people never openly spoke about such things, those who had experienced at least one regeneration knew that it wasn't an end, but a profound moment of rebirth.
Braxiatel marveled at how readily Donna understood the notion of regeneration, even asking what she could do to help him through it. He shivered, as he recalled how he had expected the pain of regeneration, but, instead, was drowned under wave after wave of the most indescribable pleasure. That intense innovation had also been Donna's idea. No ordinary person would have extrapolated that from their discussions. She stirred, as he gently kissed the nape of her neck. When that didn't provoke the response he wanted, he gently nipped it.
Swatting the air in front of her, Donna mumbled, "Piss off...'m sleeping...." After a bit more gentle insistence, she woke up more and rolled over. Sleepily, she lifted the sheet between them and glanced at Braxiatel underneath while her eyes tried to focus.
"No tentacles," she said.
"Tentacles?" Braxiatel laughed as he propped himself up on an elbow. "Where am I going to hide them? Wait, don't answer that. I really don't want to know."
"You look like you're human, but aren't the same inside. How did I know it didn't extend to other parts?" Donna wondered aloud.
As Braxiatel moved to pull Donna closer to him, she jerked fully awake and sat up in bed, yanking the sheet around her. "Oh God, what time is it?"
"He's never on time," Braxiatel responded, sleepily rolling over onto his stomach.
Donna disentangled herself from the sheets, limbs, and pillows, and grabbed a dressing gown that had been hastily discarded on a chair by the bed. Wrapping it around herself, she checked a clock. "Still have an hour before we're supposed to meet," she said. On the nightstand by the clock, she saw the leather notebook and caressed the cover. With a smirk, she picked up a pencil, and opened to to the end paper and wrote, "Let the Watcher peep again." Her notations spilled over past the last page of the book, and she had to cram her writing onto a tiny bit of the end paper. She felt another little nibble at the base of her neck and a pair of arms encircle her.
"Is that neck thing something that drives the Time Ladies mad?" Donna asked.
"Yes, actually, it is. I can't summon a Watcher whenever. Just when a regeneration is imminent," Braxiatel responded.
"Are you sure you want to do this? We can reschedule. I'm sure they'd understand."
***
The Doctor prayed to whatever gods he could think of, then remembered a few others he'd forgotten, that he got this particular materialization correct. As the TARDIS shook and lumbered to a halt, he offered up thanks to a dozen more he forgot in his first petition that he landed precisely where and when he needed to be with his two passengers. Of course Wilf was taking it all in with glee, while Sylvia primly sat on a chair dredged up from the other rooms in the TARDIS. She exuded antagonism like some expensive perfume.
The Doctor opened the doors and held them for Wilf and Sylvia, carefully locking them after they passed the threshold. He'd landed before one large warehouse emblazoned with the stencil, "X19," and the area was covered with similar warehouses. In the sky above, thousands of spaceships criss-crossed in an intricate dance that formed the traffic of the spaceport.
Taking a moment to calm himself, the Doctor opened the door to the warehouse and let Sylvia and Wilf inside, as lights came on automatically. Although the Doctor hadn't been here in centuries, he knew the way through the maze of crates piled to the ceiling. Finally, after winding around through the maze, they arrived at one stack of crates. Trying to ignore the tension building behind him, he pulled Martha's phone from his pocket and began to dial a number.
***
"We really should've rescheduled," Donna said, as she stirred something over the stove. There was no answer, as Braxiatel was cleaning a greasy spot on the floor. "Look, accidents happen, and luckily for you, my cousin Janice's husband taught me how to throw together the best curry this side of the south Asian subcontinent." There was still no answer from Braxiatel as he cleaned. "You may look the same, but it's a new body. I'd think it would take some getting used to," Donna said, as she left her spot by the stove and let a finger trail against his collarbone. "You can make it up to me later."
Braxiatel stood up with a little help from Donna for balance. He leaned towards her and whispered, "Is that a promise?"
Donna leaned closer, then thrust a ripe mango at him. "Make yourself useful and chop this, will you?" She double-checked the curry and said, "I don't see why we didn't have dinner at the Embassy."
"My apartments here are more neutral," Braxiatel explained as he got a knife and a cutting board out of a drawer. "If I'm meeting a party that has hostile intentions towards me, I'm certainly not going to antagonize them further by an ostentatious display of power, which is certainly why I wouldn't bring your mother to the Citadel. And, frankly, your flat is a mess."
"And a dinner prepared by a celebrity chef is a neutral gesture? I thought you've met Mum," Donna said. "Only way she'll respond is with an ostentatious display of power. Plus, if we were meeting in the Citadel, it would be a crime if she slapped you again."
"Knowing the current Castellan, he'd probably point and laugh, given that his in-laws are human."
Donna jerked her attention away from the stove, as her phone blared from its spot on the other end of the counter. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Braxiatel flinch. "That's them," she said. "Shall I let them in?"
"Damn!" Braxiatel uttered, as he dropped the knife and mango back onto the cutting board and stuck a bleeding finger underneath cold running water.
"Would you get a plaster on that? Don't need you bleeding into the curry."
***
The Doctor wondered if he had finally died, and this was reparation for his many sins, although he was quite certain that his people's concept of hell didn't resemble dinner parties and inane conversation. Although given the state functions he was forced to endure growing up, he wondered if this wasn't a place of eternal punishment. Quickly scanning his neurological, endocrine, circulatory, and respiratory systems, he found that, unfortunately, he was still very much alive.
Why was he here? He didn't owe Braxiatel any favors. Glancing at Donna--who looked to be on the verge of having it out with her mother--he wasn't sure who he felt most sorry for, should an argument break out. He knew Braxiatel could play politics that would astound the most devious Time Lords. Donna was, well, Donna. But Sylvia was formidable. His own odds, especially if all of the three united against him, were rapidly dwindling, and he didn't think Braxiatel stood a chance, based upon his first encounter with Sylvia. The Doctor rather liked the body he was currently in, so he began to formulate an escape plan, also hoping to rescue Wilf from the ensuing row. The Doctor was just about to feign food poisoning, when there was an awkward silence and lapse in conversation among the others seated at the table.
To break the tension, the Doctor jokingly asked Braxiatel as he motioned to the bandage, "What? You couldn't heal up a little cut?"
"Bit low on residual energy," Braxiatel muttered.
"What the hell were you two doing, that you're too low to heal a tiny cut?" As soon as the Doctor heard himself asking the question, he knew he made a fatal mistake. Sylvia had noticed.
"I rather think I'd like to know what you two were doing," Sylvia announced.
Wilf jumped in and saved Braxiatel: "So tell me, sir. What are you doing these days?"
"I'm currently serving at a diplomatic post on the edge of the Dronid System," Braxiatel gratefully explained. "We had a small colony on Dronid, and after the Time War, we've been trying to reestablish ties with them and the surrounding worlds.
"Then how come you live in a warehouse?" Sylvia asked.
"This is merely one apartment I maintain as a retreat. As we work to reestablish the Braxiatel Collection, it helps to be closer to where the main cataloging takes place."
Sylvia neatly folded her napkin next to her plate. "So you live in a warehouse, and you're one of those hoarders?"
"The Braxiatel Collection contained one of the largest and most prestigious art galleries in this galaxy," the Doctor said, leaping to Braxiatel's defense.
"Sylvia, please," Wilf hissed. "We're guests here."
"Just what is your problem, Mum?" Donna asked out of desperation more than anger. "I do what you always wanted me to--move out and get on my own--and it's still not good enough?"
"What kind of life is this?" Sylvia snapped. "Here you are, trotting around like a kept woman. Why, you're nothing better than a w--"
Braxiatel leveled a look at Sylvia that left little doubt as to what he thought of her. "You will not speak about Donna in that manner around me--" he began, his voice barely above a whisper.
"You know absolutely nothing about my life," Donna interrupted, ignoring both of them. "You know nothing about Brax, either. No, let me speak. You don't want to get to know him. You're still blaming the Doctor for what happened with the Daleks, when it wasn't his fault. You know what, Mum? The universe is a dangerous place, and they would've invaded, regardless of the Doctor. Do you know how many times the Doctor manages to save the universe before tea? No, you don't. You've never bothered to ask. We've just sat through an entire meal--which was Brax's idea, by the way--and you didn't say two words to either the Doctor or Brax. It's as if neither exist."
Donna paused for breath, but nobody dared move or say anything. "As to what I'm getting out of all of this? How about the fact that I have someone who adores me. Brax treats me like a queen. You know what? I'm special, and I deserve this." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Doctor, gobsmacked, but not saying anything. "I know you're scared of something happening to me, Mum, but it could happen anywhere. I could've gotten run over by a bus any number of mornings going to work. Yeah, you're right, we are sleeping together."
The Doctor choked on his water, a remarkable feat, considering his respiratory bypass system. "Did not need to know that," he croaked, as Wilf patted him on the back.
"Here's another shocker, Mum. In another thirty--or God willing, forty--years, I'm going to die. Even if I had a time ring, it would only extend my life, but I'd still never be able to spend the rest of my life with Brax. Right now, we're enjoying the time we have, because he will bury me one day. You didn't dump Dad, when he was terminally ill."
Without saying a word, Sylvia got up from the table and left the apartment, slamming the door behind her. Wilf sighed and pushed himself away from the table. "I have to apologize," he said. "We didn't raise Sylvia like that, but I guess Donna gets her strong will honestly."
"Oi!" Donna snapped.
"It's part of her charm," Braxiatel said, smiling.
"I'll give you charm," Donna retorted.
Wilf began to gather plates. "Least the Doctor and I can do is help with the washing up," he said. "You two can supervise, how's that?"
Time passed quickly with Wilf and the Doctor washing dishes while they regaled Donna and Braxiatel tales from their lives. Wilf talked about being a paratrooper in the war, while the Doctor recounted stories of various worlds that had them laughing until their sides hurt. Then Braxiatel began to tell stories about their childhood.
"Did he really run away during his initiation?" Donna asked, while gesturing at the Doctor, who was busy drying plates.
"Wet himself, too--" Braxiatel responded with a wry grin.
"Did not!" the Doctor countered. "I fell in a puddle."
"He bit the Gold Usher, as well," Braxiatel continued.
"That's our Doctor. Doesn't do anything half-arsed," Donna said.
"Gigantic puddle!" the Doctor explained. "Tripped and fell right into the middle of it."
"I seem to recall a certain Donna Noble, who got sent home her first day of school for biting," Wilf mentioned.
"I'd still like to know why she has such an aversion to any insect with more than six legs," the Doctor dryly remarked.
"Oi! We are not talking about that." Donna spat each word. "And are you forgetting that my ex-fiancé tried to feed me to a gigantic spider?"
"You noticed?" Braxiatel asked, ignoring Donna. "She came face-to-face with a Dronid millipede and could've woken the dead with her shrieks."
Donna put a hand up between Braxiatel and herself. "Not listening," she informed him.
From the foyer, there was the sound of the door quietly opening and footsteps to the kitchen. Sylvia stood in the doorway, observing the mirth. They could see a look of intense sadness tinged with happiness in her eyes. Awkwardly, she shifted her weight from foot to foot.
Braxiatel noticed the aura of fierceness about Sylvia--similar to the one that Donna radiated that he found so stunningly attractive in her. But Sylvia's was tempered by time and losing those she loved. He knew Sylvia understood what it was to see everything one held dear crumble to dust in an instant. Sylvia's gaze softened, as she began to speak directly to him.
"I had thirty-eight years with Donna's father," she quietly explained. "I wouldn't have exchanged those years for anything. I'd do it all over again, even if it meant going through his death all over again. Do you understand me?" Her voice regained a bite of sarcasm, as she added, "I want a real answer, not a politician's remark. If I wanted one of those, I'd ring my MP."
Braxiatel was silent for a moment as he looked across the table at Donna. "Yes," he finally responded. "Yes, I do understand."
In the silence that followed, the Doctor deposited a round of teacups and a teapot. "I believe were discussing Donna's distaste for any insect with more than six legs."
"Oh? That story?" Sylvia said with a wry grin.
"You wouldn't--" Donna snapped.
"Let me see," Sylvia continued, ignoring her daughter. "Donna was about eight years old, when my husband and my father took her to the Broads near Norfolk. She loved to swim. Took to it like a fish does to water. Anyway, she was paddling about..."
Summary: Like a mirror reflected into a mirror, choices made create an infinite of possibilities, and images seen may not be what they appear. An encounter with an elusive, incorporeal race leads the Doctor and his allies on a dark journey.
Warnings: None specifically for this chapter
Rating: Teen
Characters: Ten, Donna, Braxiatel, Torchwood, Original characters (Mike)
Genre: AU, Adventure
Author's Note: Thanks to
mtemplar_fic for the beta. Thanks to persiflage_1 for reading a detail. The story at the end is from Beautiful Chaos. The mention of Donna's cousin, Janice, was in The Ghosts of India. The warehouse at X19 was first mentioned in Tears of the Oracle.Chapter 13, Chapter 12, Chapter 11, Chapter 10, Chapter 9, Chapter 8, Chapter 7, Chapter 6, Chapter 5, Chapter 4, Chapter 3, Chapter 2, Chapter 1
Braxiatel felt the artificial sunlight on his eyelids before the light registered. As he opened his eyes, he had a moment of uncertainty where he was, but when he woke and felt the warmer body his was curled around, he remembered. New muscles and sinews felt warm, although pleasantly exercised. He removed his arm from his sleeping partner's waist, and gently brushed red hair away from the back of her neck.
Purring softly, he remembered the night before. He wondered how the new generation of Time Lords--those left after the Time War--would view what he had done. In his time, it would've been decadent, if not slightly twisted. Intimacy with a human was one thing, but what they had done before, during, and after a regeneration would've pushed it into the category of scandalous. Not so to humans. In fact, the entire soirée had been Donna's idea.
His old body had been wearing out--it served him through two invasions, a civil war, and the Time War, after all. He had felt the need to regenerate strongly, deeply needing the renewal he knew it would bring in mind, body, and spirit. Although his people never openly spoke about such things, those who had experienced at least one regeneration knew that it wasn't an end, but a profound moment of rebirth.
Braxiatel marveled at how readily Donna understood the notion of regeneration, even asking what she could do to help him through it. He shivered, as he recalled how he had expected the pain of regeneration, but, instead, was drowned under wave after wave of the most indescribable pleasure. That intense innovation had also been Donna's idea. No ordinary person would have extrapolated that from their discussions. She stirred, as he gently kissed the nape of her neck. When that didn't provoke the response he wanted, he gently nipped it.
Swatting the air in front of her, Donna mumbled, "Piss off...'m sleeping...." After a bit more gentle insistence, she woke up more and rolled over. Sleepily, she lifted the sheet between them and glanced at Braxiatel underneath while her eyes tried to focus.
"No tentacles," she said.
"Tentacles?" Braxiatel laughed as he propped himself up on an elbow. "Where am I going to hide them? Wait, don't answer that. I really don't want to know."
"You look like you're human, but aren't the same inside. How did I know it didn't extend to other parts?" Donna wondered aloud.
As Braxiatel moved to pull Donna closer to him, she jerked fully awake and sat up in bed, yanking the sheet around her. "Oh God, what time is it?"
"He's never on time," Braxiatel responded, sleepily rolling over onto his stomach.
Donna disentangled herself from the sheets, limbs, and pillows, and grabbed a dressing gown that had been hastily discarded on a chair by the bed. Wrapping it around herself, she checked a clock. "Still have an hour before we're supposed to meet," she said. On the nightstand by the clock, she saw the leather notebook and caressed the cover. With a smirk, she picked up a pencil, and opened to to the end paper and wrote, "Let the Watcher peep again." Her notations spilled over past the last page of the book, and she had to cram her writing onto a tiny bit of the end paper. She felt another little nibble at the base of her neck and a pair of arms encircle her.
"Is that neck thing something that drives the Time Ladies mad?" Donna asked.
"Yes, actually, it is. I can't summon a Watcher whenever. Just when a regeneration is imminent," Braxiatel responded.
"Are you sure you want to do this? We can reschedule. I'm sure they'd understand."
The Doctor prayed to whatever gods he could think of, then remembered a few others he'd forgotten, that he got this particular materialization correct. As the TARDIS shook and lumbered to a halt, he offered up thanks to a dozen more he forgot in his first petition that he landed precisely where and when he needed to be with his two passengers. Of course Wilf was taking it all in with glee, while Sylvia primly sat on a chair dredged up from the other rooms in the TARDIS. She exuded antagonism like some expensive perfume.
The Doctor opened the doors and held them for Wilf and Sylvia, carefully locking them after they passed the threshold. He'd landed before one large warehouse emblazoned with the stencil, "X19," and the area was covered with similar warehouses. In the sky above, thousands of spaceships criss-crossed in an intricate dance that formed the traffic of the spaceport.
Taking a moment to calm himself, the Doctor opened the door to the warehouse and let Sylvia and Wilf inside, as lights came on automatically. Although the Doctor hadn't been here in centuries, he knew the way through the maze of crates piled to the ceiling. Finally, after winding around through the maze, they arrived at one stack of crates. Trying to ignore the tension building behind him, he pulled Martha's phone from his pocket and began to dial a number.
"We really should've rescheduled," Donna said, as she stirred something over the stove. There was no answer, as Braxiatel was cleaning a greasy spot on the floor. "Look, accidents happen, and luckily for you, my cousin Janice's husband taught me how to throw together the best curry this side of the south Asian subcontinent." There was still no answer from Braxiatel as he cleaned. "You may look the same, but it's a new body. I'd think it would take some getting used to," Donna said, as she left her spot by the stove and let a finger trail against his collarbone. "You can make it up to me later."
Braxiatel stood up with a little help from Donna for balance. He leaned towards her and whispered, "Is that a promise?"
Donna leaned closer, then thrust a ripe mango at him. "Make yourself useful and chop this, will you?" She double-checked the curry and said, "I don't see why we didn't have dinner at the Embassy."
"My apartments here are more neutral," Braxiatel explained as he got a knife and a cutting board out of a drawer. "If I'm meeting a party that has hostile intentions towards me, I'm certainly not going to antagonize them further by an ostentatious display of power, which is certainly why I wouldn't bring your mother to the Citadel. And, frankly, your flat is a mess."
"And a dinner prepared by a celebrity chef is a neutral gesture? I thought you've met Mum," Donna said. "Only way she'll respond is with an ostentatious display of power. Plus, if we were meeting in the Citadel, it would be a crime if she slapped you again."
"Knowing the current Castellan, he'd probably point and laugh, given that his in-laws are human."
Donna jerked her attention away from the stove, as her phone blared from its spot on the other end of the counter. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Braxiatel flinch. "That's them," she said. "Shall I let them in?"
"Damn!" Braxiatel uttered, as he dropped the knife and mango back onto the cutting board and stuck a bleeding finger underneath cold running water.
"Would you get a plaster on that? Don't need you bleeding into the curry."
The Doctor wondered if he had finally died, and this was reparation for his many sins, although he was quite certain that his people's concept of hell didn't resemble dinner parties and inane conversation. Although given the state functions he was forced to endure growing up, he wondered if this wasn't a place of eternal punishment. Quickly scanning his neurological, endocrine, circulatory, and respiratory systems, he found that, unfortunately, he was still very much alive.
Why was he here? He didn't owe Braxiatel any favors. Glancing at Donna--who looked to be on the verge of having it out with her mother--he wasn't sure who he felt most sorry for, should an argument break out. He knew Braxiatel could play politics that would astound the most devious Time Lords. Donna was, well, Donna. But Sylvia was formidable. His own odds, especially if all of the three united against him, were rapidly dwindling, and he didn't think Braxiatel stood a chance, based upon his first encounter with Sylvia. The Doctor rather liked the body he was currently in, so he began to formulate an escape plan, also hoping to rescue Wilf from the ensuing row. The Doctor was just about to feign food poisoning, when there was an awkward silence and lapse in conversation among the others seated at the table.
To break the tension, the Doctor jokingly asked Braxiatel as he motioned to the bandage, "What? You couldn't heal up a little cut?"
"Bit low on residual energy," Braxiatel muttered.
"What the hell were you two doing, that you're too low to heal a tiny cut?" As soon as the Doctor heard himself asking the question, he knew he made a fatal mistake. Sylvia had noticed.
"I rather think I'd like to know what you two were doing," Sylvia announced.
Wilf jumped in and saved Braxiatel: "So tell me, sir. What are you doing these days?"
"I'm currently serving at a diplomatic post on the edge of the Dronid System," Braxiatel gratefully explained. "We had a small colony on Dronid, and after the Time War, we've been trying to reestablish ties with them and the surrounding worlds.
"Then how come you live in a warehouse?" Sylvia asked.
"This is merely one apartment I maintain as a retreat. As we work to reestablish the Braxiatel Collection, it helps to be closer to where the main cataloging takes place."
Sylvia neatly folded her napkin next to her plate. "So you live in a warehouse, and you're one of those hoarders?"
"The Braxiatel Collection contained one of the largest and most prestigious art galleries in this galaxy," the Doctor said, leaping to Braxiatel's defense.
"Sylvia, please," Wilf hissed. "We're guests here."
"Just what is your problem, Mum?" Donna asked out of desperation more than anger. "I do what you always wanted me to--move out and get on my own--and it's still not good enough?"
"What kind of life is this?" Sylvia snapped. "Here you are, trotting around like a kept woman. Why, you're nothing better than a w--"
Braxiatel leveled a look at Sylvia that left little doubt as to what he thought of her. "You will not speak about Donna in that manner around me--" he began, his voice barely above a whisper.
"You know absolutely nothing about my life," Donna interrupted, ignoring both of them. "You know nothing about Brax, either. No, let me speak. You don't want to get to know him. You're still blaming the Doctor for what happened with the Daleks, when it wasn't his fault. You know what, Mum? The universe is a dangerous place, and they would've invaded, regardless of the Doctor. Do you know how many times the Doctor manages to save the universe before tea? No, you don't. You've never bothered to ask. We've just sat through an entire meal--which was Brax's idea, by the way--and you didn't say two words to either the Doctor or Brax. It's as if neither exist."
Donna paused for breath, but nobody dared move or say anything. "As to what I'm getting out of all of this? How about the fact that I have someone who adores me. Brax treats me like a queen. You know what? I'm special, and I deserve this." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Doctor, gobsmacked, but not saying anything. "I know you're scared of something happening to me, Mum, but it could happen anywhere. I could've gotten run over by a bus any number of mornings going to work. Yeah, you're right, we are sleeping together."
The Doctor choked on his water, a remarkable feat, considering his respiratory bypass system. "Did not need to know that," he croaked, as Wilf patted him on the back.
"Here's another shocker, Mum. In another thirty--or God willing, forty--years, I'm going to die. Even if I had a time ring, it would only extend my life, but I'd still never be able to spend the rest of my life with Brax. Right now, we're enjoying the time we have, because he will bury me one day. You didn't dump Dad, when he was terminally ill."
Without saying a word, Sylvia got up from the table and left the apartment, slamming the door behind her. Wilf sighed and pushed himself away from the table. "I have to apologize," he said. "We didn't raise Sylvia like that, but I guess Donna gets her strong will honestly."
"Oi!" Donna snapped.
"It's part of her charm," Braxiatel said, smiling.
"I'll give you charm," Donna retorted.
Wilf began to gather plates. "Least the Doctor and I can do is help with the washing up," he said. "You two can supervise, how's that?"
Time passed quickly with Wilf and the Doctor washing dishes while they regaled Donna and Braxiatel tales from their lives. Wilf talked about being a paratrooper in the war, while the Doctor recounted stories of various worlds that had them laughing until their sides hurt. Then Braxiatel began to tell stories about their childhood.
"Did he really run away during his initiation?" Donna asked, while gesturing at the Doctor, who was busy drying plates.
"Wet himself, too--" Braxiatel responded with a wry grin.
"Did not!" the Doctor countered. "I fell in a puddle."
"He bit the Gold Usher, as well," Braxiatel continued.
"That's our Doctor. Doesn't do anything half-arsed," Donna said.
"Gigantic puddle!" the Doctor explained. "Tripped and fell right into the middle of it."
"I seem to recall a certain Donna Noble, who got sent home her first day of school for biting," Wilf mentioned.
"I'd still like to know why she has such an aversion to any insect with more than six legs," the Doctor dryly remarked.
"Oi! We are not talking about that." Donna spat each word. "And are you forgetting that my ex-fiancé tried to feed me to a gigantic spider?"
"You noticed?" Braxiatel asked, ignoring Donna. "She came face-to-face with a Dronid millipede and could've woken the dead with her shrieks."
Donna put a hand up between Braxiatel and herself. "Not listening," she informed him.
From the foyer, there was the sound of the door quietly opening and footsteps to the kitchen. Sylvia stood in the doorway, observing the mirth. They could see a look of intense sadness tinged with happiness in her eyes. Awkwardly, she shifted her weight from foot to foot.
Braxiatel noticed the aura of fierceness about Sylvia--similar to the one that Donna radiated that he found so stunningly attractive in her. But Sylvia's was tempered by time and losing those she loved. He knew Sylvia understood what it was to see everything one held dear crumble to dust in an instant. Sylvia's gaze softened, as she began to speak directly to him.
"I had thirty-eight years with Donna's father," she quietly explained. "I wouldn't have exchanged those years for anything. I'd do it all over again, even if it meant going through his death all over again. Do you understand me?" Her voice regained a bite of sarcasm, as she added, "I want a real answer, not a politician's remark. If I wanted one of those, I'd ring my MP."
Braxiatel was silent for a moment as he looked across the table at Donna. "Yes," he finally responded. "Yes, I do understand."
In the silence that followed, the Doctor deposited a round of teacups and a teapot. "I believe were discussing Donna's distaste for any insect with more than six legs."
"Oh? That story?" Sylvia said with a wry grin.
"You wouldn't--" Donna snapped.
"Let me see," Sylvia continued, ignoring her daughter. "Donna was about eight years old, when my husband and my father took her to the Broads near Norfolk. She loved to swim. Took to it like a fish does to water. Anyway, she was paddling about..."
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Date: 2009-05-23 05:20 am (UTC)And I laughed out loud at Ten choking on his water!
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Date: 2009-05-23 05:25 am (UTC)reading Beautiful Chaos, I don't think Sylvia's a clone of my mom. I think Sylvia actually wants Donna to be happy, and she's willing to abide Brax. :)
Yeah, the Doctor is a bit of a prude when such things come up. I mean, if an Edwardian adventuress can shock him...
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Date: 2009-05-23 05:29 am (UTC)LOL, yes.
Reading Beautiful Chaos, I don't think Sylvia's a clone of my mom. I think Sylvia actually wants Donna to be happy, and she's willing to abide Brax. :)
I think Sylvia's a lot more complex than RTD ever gave her credit for - and Gary Russell shows that beautifully. I love him to bits for his portrayal of Sylvia in 'Beautiful Chaos'.
Yeah, the Doctor is a bit of a prude when such things come up. I mean, if an Edwardian adventuress can shock him...
*giggles*
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Date: 2009-05-23 05:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-23 05:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-23 05:28 am (UTC)A lovely line in a very satisfying chapter. It's good to see Donna sticking up for herself and for the Time Lords in her life.
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Date: 2009-05-23 05:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-23 10:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-23 04:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-24 11:14 am (UTC)