A/N: Well, this is just a short one, but I have three longer ones on the way.
Set: During Let's Kill Hitler - kind of midway.
Spoilers: Implied knowledge of LKH
Disclaimer: I sadly do not own.
Typos are my bad, sorry for the unimaginative title, and hope you enjoy my little ficlet. x
My Love
by
Tricki
She calls him 'my love' even though it's the first time she's ever met him.
It is in no way a generic platitude; she has loved the idea of him since she was a child, and now in the flesh he is even more than she could have dreamed. Maybe it has something to do with her newly regenerated state, but the mere presence of him seems to set her every cell on fire. Her whole body is humming, drawing her to him like they're two halves of a magnet. She's hyperactive and flighty, but there is something within her that has honed in on him, is always aware of him, of her position relative to him. It is the steadying force within her homicidal being, and yet she feels like she could levitate. Their eyes lock, and she realises that the internal lo-jack is pulsing with those same words: 'my love'.
it thrums within her, and she recognises a veracity to it that must have come from something more than their brief acquaintance and her long years of childhood fantasy – like a past life but not in the past; like she knows she'll know him but somehow she already has. Her internal lo-jack beats the words so fiercely that they could almost override her programming. Almost. The only kiss they will ever share is brief and will be fatal for the man she loves so innately that she can literally feel him flowing through her veins alongside the little gold sparkles that bring her back to life when she does something reckless. She wonders how they're going to react when she does something as reckless as acknowledge the fact that, even though she has been raised to kill him, she may have been born to love him.
But she won't do that, because that's ridiculous and lame and Jesus, this isn't Corrie, is it?
Defensive, cool Melody Pond disappears, however, when her eyes meet his. It's like she's someone else all at once, and her body betrays her love while her mind protests her indifference. He's wounded beyond repair, but emotionally more than physically, and somewhere in her gut she feels a physical tug towards him. But she's already on the windowsill now. She's done what she came to do. She has killed the Doctor.
With a throwaway comment at her parents and last glance at the man she cannot fathom but is sure she already knows, she drops gracefully from the window. Her lips still tingle from the kiss - or is that the poison? – and she tries not to wonder what such a love would've felt like had it been given the chance to grow.
Her lips tweak ironically.
They would have been amazing.