A/N. I have no idea why I keep writing these short little things. I'm going to start writing a series of short stories, things that happen in between each episode. Yeah, I'm starting late. Sue me. Expect it sometime tomorrow maybe. Please, Review. Review if you have something to say, because I'll love to hear it. Thanks to all who liked my last story!
Disclamier: BBC owns the doctor. And everything else. Grr.
-dw-
His rough hands slid down the smooth, blue wood. His breath was heavy, his eyes half closed. His tweed jacket was ripped; his bow tie burnt a small amount on the corner. His boots covered in thick mud. He turned sharply, his breath still thick. She was laying on the floor a few steps away from him. The dress that she had found in the wardrobe, a beautiful pinstripe long dress, had been ripped to a little before her knees. The headpiece that used to sit perfectly on her head was now slipping to her ear. The dress was ruined, that was for sure.
Shame, he had loved that dress.
They locked eyes for a moment. They shared the look. He took one last breath before running to the control panel. He paused for a moment before figuring out where they needed to go. Everything spun and lurched and tugged at her hearts strings.
The noise of the disappearing TARDIS was starting to get to her.
After the noise stopped, she sat still, staring at the closed door. He just sighed, his hands lightly resting on the knobs and switches. His fingers danced over them, unsure of what to do next. Suddenly, his arms withdrew from the panel and he walked quickly over to her. He lightly kissed her on the head before,
"Go and get changed."
His voice on her scalp tickled a small amount, but as soon as she was comforted by his presence, he was gone. She didn't look up.
"Thank you."
He glanced at her, confused.
"Pardon?"
She took another breath.
"I said, thank you."
His brain calculated to why she would be saying this. Nothing came to mind.
"What for?" He asked angrily. "I have caused so much danger to you. I was so close to losing you tonight. I'm nothing." He slammed his fist down on the railing, and she winced at the noise. He came bounding down the stairs, stopping behind her. She was still seated.
"Tell me why!" He hissed, fists balled to his side. She pushed herself off the floor, and faced him. She reached out to stroke the side of face, near his dark eyes. He tensed.
"Thank you," she paused, her words coming out slowly, "for being so brilliant, and so wonderful, and so…" her expression hardened, like she was debating a decision. She shook her head then, and started to lean in towards him.
The alarms went off in his head.
He couldn't. Shouldn't. Wouldn't. Would he? No. Not now. Not yet. Musn't… no.
Well…
Their lips so close now, noses pressed. They lightly touched, and they gave each other another look. Lips pressed harder, now. Her hands tangled in his dirty, damp hair, and he pulled her close.
Where ever they went, where ever they will go, it will always come back to this. This moment defines them. Who they are, who they were, who they will be, who they want to be.
Her eyes open for a moment, and she sees a figure on the other side of the room, someone out of place. She swears he has a pained look on his face, his hands in his pockets, his plaid shirt untucked. His posture straightens, and he gives her a slight nod.
She blinks, and he's gone.
And she forgets again, and her eyes close once more.
This is who they are.
This is them, defined.
End