Like trying to weave a box of shadows in which to carry water

[bodldops]

Fic for fightingthecage, from here. Requests are, as always, still open.


He just needs one. One person to step outside of the coccoon of oblivion that humans are so good at wrapping around themselves, one person to realize that without prompt action, there won't be a tomorrow to fulfill all of the duties that have been assigned to it.

This is why it is easier with companions, he realizes, not for the first time. Most of his companions have been human, and they fit in better, relate better, for all of their relative inexperience. It's as if humans can tell he isn't one of them, even though he has known them for so long.

The hairs along the back of his neck stand up on end as the first ripple of disrupted time snakes through the shopping complex. They are running out of time, just like a car speeding along a canyon's edge will eventually run out of ground. No one else seems to notice, of course they don't notice, it's not their job to notice, it's his, but no one is listening. He just needs one to listen, once one listens, then that one can convince another, and those two can convince two more, and it all comes together with almost ridiculous ease.

Humans. He sometimes wishes he could shake some sense into all of them. But then they wouldn't be the same silly, brave, obstinant, glorious humans he knows and loves. Normally he'd try to do this alone. He's saved this crazy planet on his own enough times that it should be second nature by now, but this time... this time he can't, he needs more than one set of hands. And he would be in France this time - it figures, the one time he really would like to call on UNIT, they're on the wrong land mass. Sure, they would still come, but they won't make it here in time.

Time. He can almost hear the edge coming, the drop-off that will prevent tomorrow from following today.

"You have to listen to me, the generator has to be turned off, the calculations are wrong..." He tries again. He has to keep trying. It's not just for this one crazy planet, it's for everything - time rips like cheap fabric, given half a chance.

"... I know." He looks down, and... oh Rassilon, she's so young. Young, with dark, scared eyes and a determined set to her mouth. Why are they always so young? Can only the young imagine that there is something beyond the obvious?

He smiles at her, attempting to be reassuring but vaguely aware that he most likely is only projecting manic joy at having someone hear him. He has his first piece, a bit of knowledge that resonates with a fraction of himself that was once dominant. It's all about getting that first piece.


And, because I'm still low on things to do, another fic:
"Ignorance is not stupidity, but it might as well be"
For moofoot, who wanted Star Wars :D



"So we're still short a pilot?" The background hum of the bar is relaxing, familiar, and above all, masks their conversation.
"Yup. The new kid's probably packing his bags right now." Two bottles of lum are slid down the bar towards them, the cold glass rattling on the worn wood. Lum's still nasty stuff, but it's what's available.
"Too bad. He wasn't as bad a pilot as most of the idiots trying out lately."
"No, just stupid. Or badly informed. Or both. Though, if he'd picked any other film star..."
"He'd just be cleaning the barracks with a toothbrush?"
"With his personal toothbrush, but yeah."
"Did he really go into details?" He's not sure he really wants to know, but there's a sort of sick curiosity that surrounds these things...
"Oooooh yeah. At length. Probably nerves, but I don't think I need to know that much about anyone's fantasy life. He was a creative sort of guy, I'll give him that."
"And he didn't know that she was the Boss's sister?"
Wes takes a long drag on his bottle of lum, and grins crookedly at Hobbie.
"Well. He does now!"