(closed) there is a me you would not recognize

[matermali]

WHO: Vanessa Ives and The Doctor
WHEN: After the Clocktower
WHERE: Serthica (Vanessa's place to start)
WHAT: Clocktower drama aftermath.
WARNINGS: Topics on mental illness, religion/Hell, curses, murder, self-harm (scratching), and suicidal thoughts may come up. Will edit as needed.

Though she hasn't exactly turned him away and left him in the cold, Vanessa hasn't the energy that she once did to entertain company even with the world falling apart. Her unending suitors have been turned away at the door, and it doesn't help that the Doctor continues to be let in, despite not even living in Minaras. She doesn't care if people talk. Most of them aren't even real, or they're dead already. Let them talk and talk. She has nothing to say.

There's no small-talk from her, no pleasantries. No tea or snacks are offered, and the droid is threatened away any time it attempts to linger for too long in her company. It's role as her 'chaperone' seems to have come at an end. She exists in the in-between, letting the Doctor ramble about this or that and only responding when such a response requires no heart, no yearning. Her distance is quiet, but tolerant. He isn't made to leave, but eye-contact does not carry on. She knows he only wants to bring her cheer, and that makes it all the worse. It's through her guilt that she doesn't banish him for being such a fool.

She sits at the writing desk in her room, inking what must be the thousandth letter by now. It's a private, rather barren space. With her bare toes touching the floor and dark hair loose around her shoulders, Vanessa should be alone in such a state. Most wouldn't be so careless as to follow her right into her room, but he certainly is, and so she is also careless on the matter. As she feels with anything anymore. She would not so easily let others see her in such an unwelcome and casual capacity, but he has already seen her at her worst. What matter is a satin house robe or bare ankles, once another old soul has witnessed some of the ugliness of hers?

He rummages through Vanessa's vanity now, which seems to finally be enough to garner a sharp glance over her shoulder. His restless behavior has been tolerated, but she cannot understand how he can try to act as if anything is fine between them.

"What, precisely, do you want?"

Comments

[thedreamer]

Their thoughts run astray, apart from each other briefly. This moment could be improved upon, in his mind, by grander things far beyond any shortcomings she may perceive in herself. Had he the ability and resources, they would be together in his TARDIS, journeying across the universe, dancing through the stars, watching a galaxy spark to life. He wants to show her the big, beautiful things she can't possibly fathom, and the small things even he forgets to pay attention to. Because she is worth all of that, and far more than he could ever hope to say aloud. Maybe one day he'll try.

That twitch in her hand, slight and almost imperceptible though it is, cannot be missed. He's too aware of her now, she's too close, and so the slight movement only compels his hand to tighten. She belongs here; here, with him, and he would be very against the notion if she tried to move.

"Lamentable disposition? Shroud?" He repeats her words back, something disagreeable in his tone. "No, no, no, you've got it all wrong. Lamentable - lamentable for whom exactly? Not for my sake. For yours, yes, but that's only because I like your smile. Very much, actually. Bit greedy for it, if we're being honest. I know there hasn't been reason enough for it lately, but we'll get there. It's what I meant by improving the moment. If I had my way - we'd be having that dance by now, at the very least," he smiles a little, in spite of anything. He doesn't know if it's real or not, but it's real enough for her sake.

"And your shroud, well, look at me." He speaks softly, though a bit insistent. "I mean it, really. Look at me. Would I rather be anywhere else? So we're beneath your shroud, so what? Both of us huddled under there together, keeping out the rain. Not so bad at the moment. We'll just shrug it off when we're ready to come up for air. And cake," he grins a little, stroking his thumb across her cheek.

[matermali]

There are moments where it seems so easy for him to take her concerns and send them away. Not dismissively, but gently, as if sending precious cargo down the stream to be tended to at another posting, later on. Not now. Now he only wants her to smile, and that makes her want to smile, so much that it hurts her cheeks even as tears threaten to sting behind her eyes. Only just behind, though.

With his unwavering presence, there's color beneath the shroud.

Vanessa does look for long while he talks, and then long after. She commits to memory the tremble of his lips when he speaks with conviction and tenderness. When he quiets, she lifts her other hand to press her thumbnail just below that lip, her fingertips gently grazing beneath his jawline. Ssshh. There he goes again with his dangerous sweetness.

Her thumb caresses beneath his lower lip, tracing the indent so softly it could be the tickle of air, and she'll indulge herself just enough by leaning up to brush her lips to his cheek in another soft, lingering touch.

"Cake, then. Why wait?"

Immediately, she's pulling away, which will also mean trying to tug that one hand free, so that she can show him where the cake in the kitchen is. That's twice he's brought it up, and that seems a more sensible indulgence than anything else.

[thedreamer]

If he were paying enough attention to his own self at the moment, the Doctor might question why it is that he's suddenly holding his breath far longer than is necessary, while Vanessa caresses perilously close to his lips.

Of course, he can hold his breath a remarkably long time, far longer than humans, but for the moment, he seems to be held in stasis by the promise of her touch alone. To take a breath now, even just the slightest movement, might cause her to pull away, or - dangerously - to draw closer. No, no, best not to move then. Better not to risk it either way. The kiss to his cheek is pleasantly soft and sweet, but then he's already moving on to the promise of cake, the safest and easiest treat to consider partaking in at the moment.

Though he does allow her to pull away now, simply for the sake of this promised sweet, his hand only parts from hers with a final kiss. There, now he's sated so he'll drop her hand and move to follow her.

"Always my motto of course! Why put off anything good when you can have it now," he grins. Truly, he's only speaking of the cake, though perhaps if thought at with any length, his words could have a double meaning he remains unaware of for now.