The Lightning Strike: What If This Storm Ends?
It was only 9:42 in the morning, and the day was already being chalked up as a lost. River, his recently acquired long-haired kitten, had decided that nights were obviously meant for playing with every crinkly piece of paper and plastic something-or-another he had ever acquired. After an hour of attempting to sleep with the racket, he exhaled heavily and got out of bed. He managed a quick pick up of anything potentially noise-making by way of curious kitten paws, and then collapsed back onto his bed, ignoring the little needle-like pinpricks of claws as she walked on his back and settled on his bum. He finally managed a few hours of sleep before the ringing of his phone startled him into confused consciousness.
Reaching an arm blindly to his night stand, he discovered that his phone was not where he had left it the night before. He squinted as he tried to locate the missing device. His gaze settled on River who was just outside the doorway, paws curled inwards as she watched him silently. Her eyes seemed to be laughing at him, as if she knew something he didn't, and he sighed loudly. He stood and walked towards her, and she quickly darted away, revealing the ringing phone that was now decorated with her long golden fur. He picked it up and shut off the alarm, yawning as he glanced at the time. He was late.
Of course.
Rushing about the room, he quickly changed into his usual, finding a pair of clean trousers in the closet and a mostly-clean shirt in the bathroom. He almost tripped on his suspenders before he slid them in place and then found his favorite bowtie under the bed courtesy, he was sure, of Miss River. He hauled on his boots, pausing to put on his trusty tweed jacket and watch, and then tied the laces. Okay, he was dressed. He looked up to see River's petulant face. He glanced at the time, slipped his phone into his pocket, and ran into the kitchen. River followed, zipping between his legs as he made his way to the cabinet where he kept her food. He poured some into her bowl, checked her water, grabbed his keys and wallet, and flew out the door. If he had timed it right, he would just make the bus.
He ran down the steps, taking them two at a time, before he reached the bottom floor. Giving his reflection a quick glance, he sprinted to the front door only to stop dead in his tracks. It was pouring out! He looked at his watch again, straightened his shoulders, and ran out into the rain. He'd barely make it as it was; there wasn't time to go back for an umbrella. He dashed out the building and ran towards the bus stop, frowning as his jacket became heavy with rain.
"Lovely," he grumbled as he reached his destination just in time to watch the bus he'd been hoping to catch turn the corner and disappear. He groaned as lighting flashed in the distance. Just perfect. He peered into the rainy streets, debating his next course of action. He was about to take out his phone when he heard a honk behind him and turned to see a cab waiting, the door slightly open. A slender hand stuck out of the crack and waved him over, and with another glimpse at his watch, he jogged back towards the cab and opened the door. Inside sat a drenched blonde with a glowing smile. She had scooted to the far side of the cab and patted the seat next to her.
"Have a seat then," she told him. He deliberated for half a second before a loud thunder crash urged him into the car. She turned to the driver.
"Thank you, we're ready now." The driver nodded and turned into traffic, starting down the road.
"Thanks," he managed, pushing his wet hair out of his face.
"No problem," she looked him over and laughed. "You work at the theatre, right? The one a few blocks over?"
"Yes," he turned surprised eyes in her direction. "I'm John Smith - I play the Doctor." She laughed again, and he settled into the seat, feeling surprisingly at ease.
"Rose Tyler," she introduced herself, offering a damp hand. He shook it and gave her a cautious smile. "I run the bakery near the theatre," she supplied and his eyes lit in recognition.
"The Powell Estate," he realized. "They make phenomenal biscuits – my favorites are the ones with jam." She blushed lightly and they released each other's hands.
"Mine too," she confessed, before leaning in to whisper, "they go great with the Bad Wolf blend from The Last Centurion tea shop."
"Brilliant," he laughed before shifting the wet jacket slightly, trying to make the material less uncomfortable. He looked out the window and sighed. "I could use a cup of tea; today's turning out to be complete rubbish," he admitted, and turned to face her again.
She laughed, before giving him a sunny smile. "It's not even half way through yet!"
"It's this bloody storm," he grumbled, and she laughed again.
"Yeah, but... what if this storm ends?" She tucked wet strands of hair behind her ear and gave him a bright smile. It was cliché, but he was pretty sure his heart skipped a beat. She was absolutely beautiful. The cab pulled off to the side and idled. She handed the driver some bills and opened the door, giving him a wink, before dashing out and shutting the door behind her. He watched her retreating back quickly disappear into the crowd of bodies and umbrellas, and then the cab gave a lurch as it once again merged into traffic. He blinked and swallowed, turning his head forward to watch the falling rain drops on the windshield. His heart seemed to squeeze almost painfully. He lifted a slightly wet hand to rest on his chest and felt the rapid beat.
"Blimey."
Author's Note: Inspired by Snow Patrol's The Lightning Strike; give it a listen if you have the time. This trilogy has come to fruition through the unintentional help of SomeDeepMystery (who introduced me to this song) and Emmitha (who wrote a piece inspired by it) - so thanks for that. :) Be sure to check them out! (Though SDM has yet to post anything in the Whoniverse…)