AN: I've been away in Sherlockville, a scary land filled with wonderful fics that I could never, ever write. And I really should be updating Mazed and Confused, but I need something to get me back in the mindset of writing Doctor Who, so...here I am. Songfics!
It works like this: I'm going to press 'Shuffle' on my iTunes and let fate decide which song I try to twist into a semblance of a story. Sometimes inspired by lyrics, others just by the title. Anyway...enjoy!
(The Hush Sound)
The Doctor hates beaches. There's something about standing on the fringes of a slowly dying coastline, knowing that, with time, the sand or stones beneath his feet will crumble away into the endless expanse of blue, that leaves him feeling horribly insignificant.
He hasn't always hated them, he supposes... In fact, with a friend and some sunshine, they could be almost fun. Here, though, the dusky clouds block out the twin suns of a planet whose name he doesn't know, cares less. And he's alone.
In the distance, a man in a pinstripe suit watches as his flame-haired companion picks up a large sea-shell, marvelling at the lullabies it sings into her ear. In a matter of days she will never remember hearing it.
Somewhere else a man in a long scarf is explaining the merits of sunbathing to his friend - or trying to. He hears the words, faintly.. "I don't know why they do it, Leela, they're a strange lot."
"Perhaps they're hunting? Lying in wait, pretending to be dead until the prey comes past?"
"No. No, the idea really is to just sit there."
A man in a blue suit stands by the water's edge, grinning madly as a young woman stands knee-deep, laughing as the bubbling seas of Alama Dasz tickle her skin, long before she will return to a broken life and a broken family.
Farther back, a man with a mop of curly hair labours over a sandcastle, which the blonde woman standing next to him is calling "Juvenile. And not even accurate - there were six turrets." He laughs it off and throws a handful of sand in her direction, she grins and retaliates. Somewhere else in time she's fighting another war, one far worse, from which she can never return.
A redhead in a bathing suit and sarong is licking a smear of ice-cream off the impressive nose of the man by her side. He's wearing swimming trunks, and looks decidedly awkward, like perhaps he'd be more comfortable in a suit of armour. They're happy, together. Somewhere out there.
At the foot of the cliff, a fresh-faced young girl in dungarees is gazing in wonder at the huge crystals embedded in the rock. Her companion's eyes are glowing too, reliving the excitement of new discovery through her.
Far out to sea, a curly-haired blonde woman can be seen steering a speedboat, the words "Ocean Harmony" painted on its side. A man wearing a diving suit clings to the rope strung out behind the boat, struggling to stay upright on the surfboard. She's laughing, a gleam in her eye, as she leads him further away from anything he knows.
And finally, right in front of the Doctor, a young woman stands, wiping away tears before they fall into the ocean at her feet. Two worlds and three hearts split down the middle as she chokes out the three most terrible, wonderful words anyone's ever uttered.
The Doctor sighs. This kind of beach is the worst. He looks down at his feet. Someone has scratched the words BAD WOLF into the sand with a stick, the words gradually being gnawed away by the lapping water. The tide is coming in.
It's time to go home.
Shaking the ghosts out of his mind, the Doctor strides back toward the TARDIS. He hates sentient beaches. They're always so reluctant to let him ignore memories of people he wishes he still had.