Title: Epiphany.

Rating: PG-13.

Pairing: Irvine/Fiona.

Notes: Epiphany seems to be.. um. In demand. Oo;; *fright* I never expected that to happen! Oh, well. I can't let you people down, ya know? I'll try to get chapters up, but.. I dunno. I'm lacking in time and I've been working on other things – and to top it off, I've got a horrible cold, which is probably going to progress into the flu. xP

ANYWAY. This is short, because I couldn't think of any other way to end it. It's sort of pointless, too, but. Yeah.

Also, the two chapters following this, as well as this one, are totally unedited. If there are any plotholes, or punctuation/grammar errors, run to someone else to complain: I haven't had time to update, due to being disgustingly sick and I just about over exerted myself trying to FIND these files. xP! Be grateful – I almost killed myself uploading these, blah!

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Sweet.

Do you remember the green, Lynette? The smell of it? The feeling of it, as you eased it between your fingers and gave a small tug? It was rather velvety, wasn't it? How about the taste of it, as your naivety took over and you placed the tip into your mouth, nibbling ever so gently upon it?

Sour, wasn't it?

How about the happiness? The sheer radiating joy as someone – anyone – smiled in your direction. As you picked up the dragging tails of your skirt and kicked up your feet, springing into a mindless dance. The nights spent carelessly, lounging beneath a tree, staring at the two moons. Naming them, plotting their territory, imagining you were upon them, while you probably should have been doing more important things?


Remember the collapse? The downfall? The anger, the sadness, the hate, the pain, the anguish, the death? The rebirth?

Don't you feel it?

Ever?

What had happened..?

She surely remembered pulling a struggling Doctor D along with her, as she ran, full force, toward the dusted hall. She had been chattering excitedly, quickly, about what she had seen – what was waiting, there, for her. What she felt, simply from seeing it—

And then there was nothing.


She had vaguely remembered cringing and screaming. And then – nothing. Black had encompassed her and coaxed her into a painless sleep, in which she lacked a dream, lacked a hope, lacked a soul and a life.

But there were words.

She shivered; her eye lashes fluttering. Above her, some where within the light, a voice broke the silence and howled – it sounded relieved. She moaned, a noise hardly audible to those standing around her, her head lolling to the left.

Instead of pillow, or bed, she ran into something stiff.

Which awoke her abruptly and she reared back, eyes wide with fright. Though, only to see that she had been, with lack for better word, cradled. Irvine's lap had been used as a make shift, temporal pillow; comfortable wasn't, exactly, the most proper word, though it did work while she lacked consciousness.

"D-Doctor D..?"

"You're awake!"


"What happened?"

"Well," His tone sounded as though he were musing over the thought, as his one hand coaxed lightly at his wrist. A bruise, four thin stripes with one exuding from it and circling about the bottom, was rapidly forming beneath his fingertips. She squinted; a sudden bright light that the others failed to see dotted her vision. ".. I don't know. You were excited, Fiona, I suppose you may have collapsed from that.."


"Should we move her..?"

Doctor D sent a brief glance at Irvine.

Panic had clearly risen within him; his cheeks were lightly flushed and within his eyes danced worry. He sat stiff, his legs bent inward Indian-style, and his hands were trembling ever so lightly, subtly hid amidst the pleats of her hair. Though, no longer. He was swallowing hard, as he stared at her back, turned upon him.

How uncharacteristic, Doctor D noted with a wan frown. Though, he nodded. "Fiona, can you stand..?"


"Why are you ignoring me?!" Her sudden explosion caused the Doctor to tip back a few feet. He eyed her in confusion. "Tell me what happened!"


"We're not ignoring you. You simply collapsed and with all the work you've been doing, young lady, it was probably because of exertion!" The concept of her reprimanding him so certainly shocked him, though he couldn't let that be noticed – she had to be worried enough, as it was, and instead, his comment came out as a playful explanation, as a parent would do to a child after having purposely broke their toy and later wonder why.

"B-But.."

"Here." Irvine made haste to get to his feet and offer her both hands. She turned to look at him, frowning.

She realized, abruptly shocking herself, that she loathed looking at him. Her stomach would lurch in the most pleasing of ways whenever she did; it was something she couldn't bring herself to risk, perhaps even stand, doing. Or having. It was unnerving, yet delightful, in all the wrong, horrible ways. In spite of her current position, she found herself growing flustered and red, though her disposition remained the same, "Irvine.."


"Well? You're gonna get dirty, sitting in the dirt like that!" He gestured for her to take his hands and, with a bit of hesitation, she took them. Up to her feet she soon was, her fingers still tightly wrapped about his own, even as she stood silent for a good, long moment.


"What's wrong..?"

"It's – um." She shook her head lightly, closing her eyes. She silently chided herself; he was injured and, more than likely, he didn't need to be worrying over her. He and the Doctor both didn't need to hear, 'Oh, I'm hearing voices – ones that come with premonitions.' "The dust. I just have a headache."

He smiled at her; not exactly the warmest gesture, surely not comparing in comfort to that of Ban's. It was wolfish in appearance and, amusingly, it came out as more of a leer in her mind above anything else. Though she was quick, perhaps too quick, to return it with glee. Her stomach felt like it was doing back flips. "Should've kept the mask for yourself."

"Maybe." She agreed quietly; something inside of her shook and stirred, and if the feeling weren't so warm, she would have felt nauseous.

Why are they clinging..? Clinging, indeed. Yet had they have to release hands; not, exactly, the most 'obvious' gesture, though an ogling Doctor D found it to be highly annoying. Lifting a hand to rub gently at a dirt smothered brow, he sighed. "C'mon, kiddos, let's get her out of here."