The idea for this come from nowhere whilst reading some of Amy Wolf's fics over at Teaspoon (which are quite possibly the best out there). I'm not entirely sure it makes sense, but I wish you luck deciphering it. And I don't own anything.

Rain On Your Wedding Day

Lucy Cole had never understood irony.

Oh, she knew the definition, the endless paradox that did loop-the-loops round her head, but the concept was what she struggled with. Those tiny pieces of feedback, like never-ending story arcs in an over-read novel. But then she was never particularly bright.


Harry used the word all the time.

He used to talk to her about an old friend of his, who loved 'this place' (London? England? Earth?). He used to laugh about the fact that of all the places he should end up, it would be the one place his friend loved more than any other,

However, when remembering this, Lucy always placed the emphasis on used to. Because when Harry began his election campaign, he talked to her less and less. She wondered if this was because he was saving his smiles for the cameras.


The first time Lucy used the word was in conversation with the Doctor, one long evening on the Valiant when Harry was off erasing some country or another. She often sat and talked with the aged man, mainly because he was the only one who she was completely unafraid of.

Afterwards, she could never quite recall the conversation. She knew she had sat there for a while, words spilling from her mouth like water from an overflowing cup, and she knew she had talked of Time Lords, and the women who loved them.

The only part that was clear in her head was when she compared herself to Martha Jones, and realised that the only difference between them was which creature from Gallifrey they called their own.


Lucy Saxon stood in a room with a husband cornered and a reign ended. She barely noticed picking up the gun, but when her gaze drifted from him to the object in her hand, she suddenly realised that a part of her was missing.

Her sanity? No, that was too easy. Her heart? Maybe. And then…

She drifted.

A thousand images accosted her, drowning the exchange between Time Lords in a swirl of colours. The dutiful wife was lost to the dancing eddies of Time, a million billion lights showing children, her father, her future…

And then it was gone. She was alone in a room full of strangers, one she had loved and one she understood, with the pictures so suddenly gone that she felt the loss like they had shattered into so much dust.

And the dust shall become atoms and the atoms shall become nothing.

A small silver piece of a life never loved flew across the room and lodged itself in the heart she had always believed was hers.

Irony, thought Lucy Cole.

And smiled.