A/N: Warm-up, to be honest. I have no real direction to this xD Still love 'em though! Writing this while exhausted, so any mistakes you see, I'd greatly appreciate you pointing them out.
3. Light
The alarm sounds.
She wakes, hand coming up to silence the device.
For a moment she lies in bed in the sudden silence, eyes squinted in the onslaught of the sun's rays through the slivers left uncovered by her too-small curtain.
She hasn't moved—not since she fell asleep and so Barbara doesn't even have to think to know where the corner of her coverlet is (right beside her left arm, thank you very much) and in the same move suddenly she's rising, legs swinging over the edge of the small mattress.
Her hair is mussed, the right side slightly more flattened due to her uncanny habit of tilting her head in that direction in her sleep. Her toes curl as they come in contact with the carpet and her arms automatically come up in a most unlady-like stretch as she winces through a yawn.
The light warms her skin through the rough material of her modest nightwear, the warmth caressing her skin in an inviting, happy nudge to rise as she finally gets up to begin her morning routine. Making her bed properly takes her no time at all, yet she checks the small clock on her nightstand religiously to make sure the hands haven't gone flying forward without her.
They never do.
She grabs the towel that is always draped the night before on the back of her vanity's matching chair, not even sparing herself a glance in the mirror as she passes into the en-suite. As the room temperature rises with the steam, she inhales, a content smile rising on her face as she feels the hot water welcome her.
A new day unfolds before her and Barbara Wright greets it warmly.
4. Dark
The alarm sounds.
He groans, hand snaking out from under the tower of blankets and banging ineffectually on the nightstand until his hand finds the device and silences it with a heavy slam.
For a moment Ian lies in the silence, begging the clock for five more minutes as he burrows his nose into the pillow and the cocoon of warmth. He's moved a lot during the night (as he is prone to) and frowns deeply as he realizes the covers are tangled, one of his legs clamping them down—which means he can feel the cold in that one spot. Soon it becomes too cold to ignore and he groans, resigning himself to his fate as he kicks off the covers and shivers at the sudden change. His room is dark, the curtains thick and heavy against the one tiny window to the room.
He somehow manages to sit up in the dark and he questions whether his clock was right—it's too dark to be morning.
Then again, it's an ungodly hour.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, Ian sighs and gets up, fumbling his way to the light-switch and wincing when he finds it, mercilessly flicking it and forcing his eyes into a slits. He's muttering as he heads back towards his clock, picking it up and trying to make out the hands through his narrowed gaze.
Fifteen minutes? Did he really lose fifteen minutes in his little snooze? Did time really fly that fast forward without him?
Then again, it always does.
Running a hand through his hair, he sighs as he tries to remember where last he hung his towel (it varies by the rush he gets into to beat the clock) and finds it folded and waiting for him in the bathroom. Huh. Must be the extra.
Shrugging, he begins his morning rush with reminders of what he needs to do, having gone through the routine so many times now that it leaves nothing but room for his thoughts.
A rushed cuppa and three trips back into the flat (for things he forgot) later, Ian slides into his car and slams the door resolutely, placing the briefcase full of graded exams into the seat next to him before turning the key in the ignition.
A new day unfolds and Ian Chesterton greets it with determination.
5. Seeking Solace
There is no alarm on the TARDIS.
In fact, there is no time in the sense that he is used to.
At least that's what Ian thinks until one day Barbara and him fall into the topic of the differences between what they have experienced and what really happened in the Stone Age, and suddenly she's giddily slipping into her room to pull some of the books she had borrowed from the TARDIS library on the subject. On her way out, before the door slides shut behind her, he sees the gleam of the lights off of the face of an alarm clock.
"Really, Barbara?" He asks as she slowly shuffles towards him, one of the books already open on top of her small stack. Her brows raise as she looks up, eyes lost still in the trail of whatever paragraph she was skimming.
"Beg pardon?" She asks, placing the stack in one of the seats the TARDIS had provided in the console room but making sure to keep the one she had been reading in hand.
Ian gestures back towards her room with a nudge of his head. "All of time and space and you want an alarm clock?"
Really, it was rather useless. What good was it to someone who hopped through days or hours on different planets? He could go into a full disclosure of why such an item was absurd, if not a bit comical on the time ship. In fact, he's seriously considering pointing it out through a bit of a reminder as to how the days were counted on earth when he notes her reaction and he can't help but be amused.
The brunette looks sheepish as a light blush stains her cheeks, one shoulder rising slightly in an embarrassed shrug as her eyes fall to the book in her hands and she avoids his gaze.
"It just helps."
He raises a brow.
"Oh, it's silly really." She says, turning away from him with a frown as she makes to leave. A crease forms on Ian's brow, guilt latching onto him as he puts his hand lightly on her arm to stop her.
"I'm sorry, Barbara, I didn't mean to press you too much on the matter. I just found it a bit strange, was all."
Barbara exhales a small laugh, head turned over her shoulder to acknowledge him but still avoiding his gaze. "No, no, you're right. It is strange."
He tilts his head to meet her lowered gaze, brows rising as he smiles at her encouragingly.
"Helps what?"
There is a moment of silence as she contemplates, mouth opening as she makes to reply and then changes her mind. He nudges her, lips quirking into a grin that Barbara can't help but mirror.
"Every day was so. . ." She searches for the right word, brow furrowing as she closes the book gently, hugging it to her chest. "Routine. Normal. Then suddenly we're thrown into this-" She raises a hand to gesture at their surroundings, "-this wonderful, different, and terrifying adventure and I just. . ." Shrugging, her gaze drops, as do her shoulders. "I just need that sense of, well, normalcy in my life."
Ian regards her, contemplating for a moment, as she meets his gaze. She looks so small in that moment, so afraid of what he'll say it seems, that he doesn't think twice before sighing and pulling her into a hug. The book is still cradled to her chest and she seems to cling to it before shyly slipping an arm out from between them to wrap around his back. The tears of fear, of uncertainty as to what is happening to her—them, she amends mentally—sting her eyes but she refuses to let them fall as she feels the brush of the fabric of his jumper on her cheek. Without realizing it her fingers have fisted into the fabric, using him as a lifeline to anchor her emotions.
"Do you think the Doctor will take us home any time soon?" Ian strains to catch the words she nearly whispers into him, breathe warm against his chest.
"I. . . I'm not sure." He answers truthfully, rubbing comforting circles with his thumb on her back. "But I'll tell you what," gently, he pulls back from their embrace and grins at her encouragingly, "there's no one else at Coal Hill I would've rather had this insanity with."
Barbara's smile is hesitant as she chuckles.
"Really, I mean it! Who better to have throughout all of time than a history teacher?"
The laugh he gets out of her is more earnest this time.
"And who better to have by my side through all of space than a science teacher?"
The smile falters a bit as Ian ducks his head, suddenly bashful as his mind snags on her choice of words. Her own laughter dies down as he raises his gaze to her fondly. "Really though, Barbara, get some sleep. Turn that confounded thing off and just let yourself rest. After all we've been through, you must be just as exhausted as the rest of us."
Sighing, she nods. "You're right."
"Cheers! A sensible decision!" He ignores how she rolls her eyes as he takes her shoulder and spins her in the direction she had come from before, giving her a light nudge towards her room. They walk towards the opening door and he stops just short of entering. Barbara turns to him and smiles.
"Goodnight, Ian." She says, and he can't help feeling a certain warmth at her words. He returns her smile, but not before holding out his hand palm up and wriggling his fingers in expectation. Barbara's brow wrinkles in confusion until he tilts his chin in the direction of the alarm clock sitting on the nightstand.
"Hand it over." He wiggles his fingers again insistently, using his best authoritative impression to stress his demand. Without a word, his fellow teacher picks up the device and walks over to place it in his outstretched hand.
"Happy?"
"Very, ta."
Chuckling again, she steps back. "Thank you, Ian."
He waves the hand holding the clock, grinning. "Goodnight, Miss Wright."
The last thing he sees is her rolling her eyes before the door slides shut.
Looking down at the clock, Ian fiddles with it all the way to his room before setting it on his own small table, most likely to be ignored for good. But then he hesitates, staring at it as he wishes there was something better to anchor Barbara to a sense of security. The questions tumbles around in his mind before it inevitably leads to him wondering what exactly has anchored him through the dangers they had faced.
It's not until he's done brushing his teeth and he meets his reflection in the en-suite mirror that he realizes that it's her.
It's Barbara.
The fact that she understands about as much as he does. That she struggles through it and wonders what buttons run which screens, which lever will bring about hot water or cold.
What knobs may guide them home.
The thought strikes him heavily, hands coming up to drag down over his features.
He doesn't know what to do with this revelation—so instead, he takes his father's advice about facing tough puzzles and sleeps on it.
In the morning (or as close as to his own circadian rhythm will reach on a day-less ship) it isn't his own fulfillment of rest that wakes him, but a beeping noise that stays constant until finally he is forced to acknowledge it.
Ian tries to ignore it and soon finds the effort fruitless, choosing finally to just rise and get ready for whatever the Doctor has in store for them that day. As soon as that choice is made, the noise stops. Too disgruntled to be worried about the strange occurrence, he drags himself out of bed.
The routine is smooth, a well-remembered machination that he slips into until finally his door is closing behind him, ready for a cup of tea and the company.
The TARDIS is quiet as he traverses her corridors and he realizes that he's probably the first one up—which is surprising as usually he is the last one to join the others.
Walking towards the console room, he's just about to pass Barbara's room when he's startled by the door sliding open. Barbara's eyes meet his in disbelief.
"Good morning." He says cheerily.
She returns his enthusiasm with a greeting of her own as she joins him. "You seem to be quite chipper today."
He shrugs as they hear Susan already conversing with her grandfather in a room nearby, replying, "slept well."
He doesn't think about the strange alarm that woke him again that day. It's not until it methodically wakes him for the rest of what he assumes is his week that he begins to note the pattern (he is a scientist after all).
He chooses to ignore it one day (which takes more effort than he thought) and finds that his suspicions are true—it is waking him at a time that will allow him to rise before Barbara. The only reason he knows it to be true is because there are some days the Doctor or Susan beat him to the console room—but never Barbara. In fact, it is so uncannily timed that he can walk right on out as if heading to the console room, only to be greeted by the sound of Barbara's room door sliding open right as he's passing.
Eventually it gets to the point where he chooses instead to stop in front of her door, sometimes leaning up against the wall with hands in his pockets as he waits.
He doesn't realize how deeply the habit gets engraved until there are days when he wakes up in a cell here or a cave there and all he can think about as his mind is sluggishly cleared of all sleep is, "I've got to go wait for Barbara."
And can't.
That thought morphs into "I've got to protect Barbara." And yes, that thought includes the others as well, even though the first name out of his lips at the first tendrils of consciousness is hers.
He thinks that maybe the tables have turned, because Barbara never asks for her alarm clock back like he thought she would eventually.
Not that he's disappointed.
Instead he takes what the TARDIS gives them, never consulting the Time Lord on the matter.
And so it continues for the rest of their travels.
It—they—become his anchor.
He looks up as the door to Barbara's room slides open and a sunny smile takes over her features, eyes sparkling.
"Good morning, Ian."
He smiles back, offering her his arm and a grin. "Morning, Barbara. You ready?"
Behind them the door closes and Barbara notes that the alarm the TARDIS has set for her has long since faded.
"As I'll ever be." She says, wondering when exactly it was that he had become such an early riser. Nonetheless, she thanks her lucky stars, knowing that more than any alarm, his presence is the only sense of normalcy she has come to need. "Let's go."
A hand to hold, she realizes. That's the only regularity she needs in such a topsy-turvy life.
But not just any.
"What do you think the Doctor has in store for us today? Future or past?"
Her eyes note the way he glances at her sideways as they walk, awaiting her answer with the excitement of a child.
Her hold on him tightens.
"Doesn't matter." She answers with a grin. "I'm sure the Doctor will still find some sort of trouble."
He laughs. Barbara in turn, smiles as she looks away.
"Well, better not keep them waiting then!"
And before she knows it, she's being playfully tugged into a full-out sprint to the console room. Her laughter and half-protests mixing with his own joy.
A hand to hold indeed.