Thunderbirds Are Go!-Prepared [Fanfiction

 

Prepared

In Grandma’s eyes, her meal rivalled that of a king’s feast.

In Jeff’s eyes, the meal would prove more of a challenge than survival within the Oort cloud.

Still, he had to grin and bear it; he had to make sure his mom was happy.

Somehow that didn’t seem to be too momentous a task, there was a spark of vitality to her, an ethos to her that he thought could easily have diminished on the very instant he went missing.

But the Tracys were made of sterner stuff, they had to be in this field of expertise, where rescues could go awry at any second and lives were at stake, including those trying to preserve said life.

They had to be on edge, their skills and wits always at the ready.

He took a bite of the charred turkey, his mother looking at him with a bedazzled and encouraging stare, daring him to take a bite. He got the distinct impression she was in on something, as if she’d come to an epiphany many years ago about her own cooking and wanted to see just how much the fabled Tracy stomach could take.

Grandma could sense something was bothering Jeff, and that it had little to do with her efficiency at cooking.

“Give me something for my ear to chew on dear, what’s troubling you?” Grandma asked politely.

“I heard the boys talking about Alan’s graduation; it happened only a couple of hours before they set out to find me”

“You weren’t there to see him leave this earth a boy, but in the Oort cloud, you got to see him as the man he’d become” Grandma replied.

Jeff cheered up, and took a bite of the blackened turkey, giving it an aggressive and determined chew; he was channelling his frustration into devouring and ultimately digesting it.

“I was lucky to be in just the right spot, they came at just the right time, their long reach saving me from the short end. When it came my turn to save Scott as the asteroid came apart, I heard no screams, no cries, no desperation; everyone was prepared for something, prepared for hope, prepared for doubt, prepared for rescue, and even prepared for the end”

“You taught them the art of preparation Jeff, they carried it with them all their lives, and it’s what enabled them to save countless others” Grandma assured him.

Jeff wiped his mouth gently with a napkin, threw it down, and rose from his chair fully recharged and primed.

“How do you feel son?” asked Grandma.

“As prepared as they were, and still are. Let’s save lives” said Jeff.

Thunderbirds were go.

Doctor Who-Mrs. Doctor [Fanfiction]

Mrs. Doctor

 

The Doctor was at a loss to know what they meant, Byron, Mary, all those at the villa that had graced her and her family with their company on this disenchanted evening.

‘Mrs. Doctor?’, no, no just Doctor would do.

But why would they care to assign her a lawfully wedded title?

Byron in particular had recently been separated from his wife, why would he address any of his pursuits this way?

And pursue her he did, it was almost flattering, but the rules of historical engagement prevented her from pursuing the matter further.

In truth, they were not wrong.

In another life, she had taken a wife, her parents having conceded to the union, the pairing were tethered to one another on the very edge of existence, time could not move forward without them.

With the mightiest tide of time, the river did soar, and its song was a name that swept across the ocean of stars.

She was a universe unto itself.

The song had ceased for that wife, though her own would never end.

And if her song could never end, who goes on singing with her?

She reflected on her role to her three companions, and came to a rather obvious conclusion.

The dynamic had been obvious to all those in attendance to the villa.

Quite right too.

So who did they assume she was married to?

She walked slowly around the console, creeping up on her three family members, those who had agreed to advance with step two of her plan to avert the rise of the Cyber-armies, her eyes trained and focused on one in particular.

She thought back to the fireside chat she’d had with him in the villa under the cold and daunting curtain of night, a heat of the moment argument between the two that now resonated warmly in her memory. Squabbling over things she didn’t believe in and a man’s failure to complete the sole task he was assigned to, keeping his eye trained on a wandering sleepwalker.

Mary Shelly, Byron and the rest had observed behavioural patterns such as this, and indeed, had noticed the instant Graham O’Brien made reference to the considerable distance she had placed between their transport and their destination.

Their conclusions were easy to understand.

As Yaz and Ryan wandered off to get changed, The Doctor steadily approached Graham, who was hanging around the console, almost expecting what was to come next.

She walked right up to his side and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“What was that for Doc?” Graham asked, a little giddy.

“For giving me a minute” she said.

She encouraged Graham to get a move on, for there was a war to win.

“God speed gentle husband” she whispered.

Doctor Who-A Minute Passes [Fanfiction]

 

DOCTOR WHO

A MINUTE PASSES

Author’s Note: Blimey, what an episode “Can You Hear Me?” was…character development across the board. I’ve noticed some have vented online about how The Doctor reacted to Graham’s concerns regarding his cancer towards the end, so here’s what I took from that scene.

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It’s a fact of life. We’re going to die.

Be of brave heart, cry the distant flight attendants out of the living past.

All our songs, fluent as a River, will fall silent.

But what of it?

Maybe a man’s name doesn’t matter all that much.

Maybe the universe prefers one singular moment.

That moment was the twilight of life. The instant it ceases and slips into the either, and at last the universe is left alone.

For those who walk through eternity, the twilight of others is all that is constant, as is the loneliness.

They are a fact of the universe, they are the testimony of ages, they are the harshest lesson it could ever teach.

That’s how she would approach anyone who sought her expert opinion on mortality. So she takes great pains to conceal it.

Graham O’Brien had confided in her, telling her of his fears that the cancer he had fought so bravely against might one day return, how he had listened to the Doctors, and now turned his attention to the one he knew best.

She observes him as he airs his grievances, her arms folded, her eyes sharply focused, she stays attentive. Part of her is just lost in how dishy he was, the other half knows what is about to be asked of her, and she is not quite prepared to supply it.

She’s been so used to exploring and adventuring in recent months that she’s somewhat blindsided when someone she cares deeply for asks for her opinion as a healer, and to say the right thing. It had been a long time since she had performed duty of care, but she calmly reckoned something along similar lines was bound to come up. It is something requests in a family, usually with a relative or with a partner. It’s a level of trust that is far deeper and meaningful than just a mate you ride along with.

This is putting life and death in your hands, and asking her to be as brave as he is, she doesn’t know how to quite deal with it just yet, how to let him know how touched she was that he would let her into his life like this, but she lets him know she’s working on how she can best go about it.

All it would take was a minute.

In the most unsubtle way, she relayed her intentions. She would walk up to the console, look at something, and in the span of sixty seconds, work out what she could have said there and then, and that it would be helpful.

In reality, what she was looking for on the console was the TARDIS databank, specifically a document archiving all of the meaningful words she had written on the back of cue cards many years and one incarnation ago.

She had been honest enough to remind Graham how socially awkward she was, how the sort of responses he craved from her could not be fully expressed without sufficient preparation.

That was but a half-truth of course. The second side of the coin was that the twilight hours of all those who dwell within the universe weighed once more on her conscience, and she again took to concealing her frustrations with it whenever someone expressed fear their doomsday clock was ticking.

Graham took her response in stride, permitting himself a hearty chuckle, and letting The Doctor know it had been a worthy bit of chatter even if he had done most of the talking, he understood how deliberate she was being with her distractions. He took her at her word that she would find the right words.

She could take a minute to think it, she could take forever to say it, but he knew just what to make of what she was meaning to say regardless of how long the process would take.

He loved her too.

He was driven to live his best life aboard this ship, and beside her, regardless of how she chooses to deal with potentially losing him.

If his song is to end, he will go on singing

She suggests a trip across time to the others, a fact finding mission to discover the roots of the modern Prometheus. Of Frankenstein.

The family gather at the controls, all of them together, with their own distractions, doubts, anxieties, concerns, all of that took a backseat to discovery and adventure as always.

Fifty nine seconds tick by, a minute passes.

And the determined look the Doctor and Graham give each other is all that needs to be said.