Title: Weathering The Storms
Author: tromana
Rating: T
Characters: Doctor/Romana
Spoilers: None
Summary: Funny how the weather can represent your mood, sometimes. Doctor/Romana
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. Never have, never will.
Notes: FANFIC:100 fic. Prompt: Rain
You stare at him, like he's gone insane. Third moon of Delta Magna, this is going to be your death-place. Sacrificed for some stupid squid that some primitive beings believe is a God. Your back is aching, being stretched to its very limits. And all he can do is open his mouth and positively screech.
The rain crashes down on you, thick, gushing. You've never been so glad to get soaked, or of your companion's ridiculous party tricks.
--
Her laughter is like medicine as she skips through Paris. The rain doesn't bother her. It's that annoying sort, that drenches your clothes but you barely feel it. You smile at her as you wrap your scarf around your neck tightly. She just grins and grabs hold of the end. You wish it could never end.
But she'll leave some day, they all do.
--
You're screaming at him, until your throat is hoarse. Surely he can understand how utterly awfulthe idea of going back to Gallifrey is? He was young once. He knew about this thirst for adventure, this need to travel. The desire to help others, to do somethingrather than sit around and observe.They just want you back to shove into something terribly dull, now they've finally realised you haven't returned from the quest for the Key to Time.
A thunderclap echoes around you, and you can't help but snort. It's not often the weather represents your moods.
--
Adric is eyeing you warily, through the sleet. So cold, so lonely. It hasn't been this bad since… No, you don't want to think about that. You trudge along aimlessly, agreeing with the boy's twittering. He could be saying anything. You don't care, your hearts are elsewhere. You left them behind in E-space with her and that little tin dog.
"Of course she'll be wonderful," you agree.
Whether or not you'll be, is another matter.
--
Rain on Gallifrey is not particularly common, but that may be just because you've grown used to the comfortable shelters of the Capitol. He's smiling a lopsided grin and wearing velvet. It suits his current regeneration. Secretly, you're fond of the long curls he's obtained. You've missed his dark curls, although there was nothing wrong with the other regenerations of his you've met along the way.
You approach him tentatively, the rain streaming down your back, through your robes. You place a kiss gently on his lips; an utterly reckless act for the Madam President to carry out, but you don't care. All thoughts of drenched clothing are forgotten in a moment.
--
You're lonelier than ever. There's no gentle whisperings at the back of your mind, which you've always been used to. It's slightly terrifying, the sound of silence. She's gone now, with the rest of that godforsaken planet. A spark of light snuffed out too soon. You focus your energies on listening to the drip, drip, drop of rain surrounding you. You're soaked to the core but you don't care.
You'll move eventually, you've never been one to stay still for too long.