Gregarius » Camilla Sandman

Camilla Sandman (10 unread)

That Christmas Meme

Posted: December 4th, 2007, 9:04am MST

Tags: wishlist [edit]

Step One: Make a post to your LJ. The post should contain your list of 10 GEEKY holiday wishes; the wishes can be anything at all, from simple ("I want a fanfic!") to medium ("I want toys!") to really big. The important thing is, make sure these wishes are things you really, truly want. If you wish for real life things (not fics or icons), make sure you include some sort of contact info in your post, whether it's your address or just your email address where Santa (or the MaccaBee, or your secret special friend) could get in touch with you. Also, make sure you post some version of these guidelines in your LJ so that the holiday joy will spread.

Step Two: Surf around your friendslist (or friendsfriends, or just random journals) to see who has posted their list. And now here's the important part: If you see a wish you can grant, and it's in your heart to do so, make someone's wish come true. You needn't spend money on these wishes unless you want to. The point isn't to put people out, it's to provide everyone a chance to be someone else's holiday elf to spread the joy. Gifts can be made anonymously or not; it's your call! There are no rules with this project, no guarantees, and no strings attached. Just... Wish, and it might come true. Give, and you might receive. And you'll have the joy of knowing you made someone's holiday special...

1. Fluffy socks as soft as my current Snoopy pair. I only like soft, fluffy socks, so if I am not to freeze my toes during winter, I need more. (Until very recently, I hated all socks.)
2. Icons made just for me. I am greedy and likes things just for me.
3. A pet Dalek.
4. A banner with my hunter and "Misdirection 911" as text. Yes, that's a World of Warcraft yeah. Yes, I'm lame.
5. New LJ layout again.
6. Top Gear episodes I can watch on my DVD player late at night to giggle hysterically from.
7. A fanfic where sexing is had (preferably with a ship I like) while wearing Viking helms. Refences to Norway a plus.
8. A new wallet.
9. Good books.
10. Delicious man-candy.

My address, if you're on my flist.

I need icons for the season, yes.
Five Ways Rose Didn't Reunite with the Doctor - and One Way She Did 1/1

Posted: December 1st, 2007, 8:40pm MST

Tags: fanfic [edit]

Five Ways Rose Didn't Reunite with the Doctor - and One Way She Did
by Camilla Sandman

Summary: The impossible is possible, like she dreamed of. It's still going to be nothing like she imagined. [Implied Doctor/Rose. Special guest stars One, Five, Eight, Nine and Martha.]

Rating: G

Disclaimer: BBC's characters. My words.

Author's Note: Spoilers for Doomsday. Some references to classic Who, a specific spoilery one for "Earthshock". Prompt 036 for 50lyricsfanfic. Partly inspired by some recent speculation, but not really spoilery for season four in any way.

Table of Prompts.

II

Lose someone you love, and you can't help but imagine changing that. Wishful thinking, inability to deal with the loss, fantasy, will to fight what had happened, dreaming of the impossible - it could be one of those and all of, but it always seemed to happen to some degree.

Rose Tyler lost her Doctor. Or maybe he lost his Rose, depending on what angle you tilted from. It hurt. She lived on, that little imagination living with her.

Sometimes, she imagined he crossed over, sweeping her up in a hug and declaring where she was, he was. Sometimes, she imagined she had never lost her grip at all, still spending mad adventures with him as they always had. Sometimes, she just imagined him and her and hands held, no setting needed. Sometimes, she imagined slapping him and snogging him both, both seeming equally desirable. (Promise a girl the Universe and forever. Give her a beach in Norway and the unspoken. If that's not slap-worthy, nothing is.)

Sometimes, she would craft a whole scenario. His confusion at seeing her. His overwhelming hug. His admission of what she already knows. His hand in hers. His promise they wouldn't be parted again. The life thereafter, perfect.

Time passed, as its job is. Hurt lessened. Rose grew. Years came. Years left. Mickey learned.

Mickey built.

And the impossible is possible, like she dreamed of.

It's still going to be nothing like she imagined.

II

"Ow!" Rose says sharply, feeling floor connect with behind - a disagreeable experience always, but even more so when coupled with the speed of cross-timedimensional travel. Or something like that. "Who placed the stupid floor there?"

"That would be me."

The voice isn't the Doctor's, is her first thought. The face isn't either, is her second, looking up. This is an old man, hair white and lines across his face. This is... A white TARDIS?

"Sorry - you wouldn't happen to know if the Doctor has redecorated in here, would you?" she asks hopefully. Maybe he's just picked up some interesting company.

The man raises an eyebrow, something that stirs a faint memory in her. "Young lady, I AM the Doctor."

Oh. Right place. Wrong time. Mickey did say it would be a bit hard aiming this across the Void, didn't he? That's why he gave her a little device to let her come back. All she has to do is push the button.

"I'm Rose Tyler," she says, accepting a hand as he helps her up. "Um. Remember me?"

"No."

Too early, then. At least she hopes so.

"Right. You look older and will regenerate younger. Sure. Ever thought about selling that particular trick?"

He looks at her as if she's mad, which she finds a little insulting. After all, he's got enough of that for the both of them and it's entirely his fault she's taken on his habits. Er, will be his fault.

"I'll just be leaving," she says, and he's still looking at her, clearly thinking.

"Miss Tyler," he says formally, an almost grandfatherly tone to his voice. "Has anyone told you time travel is highly dangerous without an expert in the field present?"

"No, but you've shown me several times," she counters and he looks severely unimpressed at that. But his eyes twinkle, and oh, oh, she knows that. The Doctor's twinkle. It is him. It is...

"I'll see you later," she says softly, leaning forward and kissing him. He's too surprised to stop her, and the look on his face is the last thing she sees before pushing the button returning her.

Wrong time. But just the right confused look she had imagined still.

II

She doesn't have time to see if it's the right TARDIS this time, because the first thing she sees is that it's definitely not the right Doctor.

She's pretty sure hers never wore celery.

He would look very interesting just covered in salad leaves, though.

"What?" he says adorably, but not at her. He doesn't even notice her. No, his attention is on the console, his fingers working tirelessly. "You cannot tell me all of time and those few minutes cannot be done?"

He slams the console and she must make some sort of noise, because he looks right at her and his expression almost makes her want to cry.

"What? Who are you? How did you get here?"

"I'm Rose. I... Doesn't matter. What were you trying do?"

"Save Adric," he says flatly.

Adric. Another name she doesn't know.

"I'm sorry," she says carefully. "Was she-"

"He."

"-He special?"

"He was my companion," the Doctor says - she knows it must be the Doctor, because that petulance can't be mistaken - which seems to be answer enough for him.

"I'm sorry," she says again, and then, because she feels the pain radiating from him, she opens her arms.

His hug is almost crushing, but he doesn't cry, just breathes into her shoulder, breathes and breathes until he swallows, just once.

How much pain in him, she wonders. How many of these has he suffered? How much can anyone bear?

"I'm sorry," she says again, feeling his body fade around her as she lets herself be pulled back again.

Very wrong time, even with a hug, she decides, feels hot tears on her cheek as she appears back in her own world. Crying for him - but someone has to when he won't.

II

Very wrong TARDIS, she knows the moment she smells the smoke. It's burning and smelling sharply of ashes, metal and blood, which takes her about ten seconds to identify before she gags.

She almost trips over him. At least she thinks it's him, because she can't imagine who else it would be to stay in the TARDIS like this.

He's dying, she can tell. The blood is his, half-long hair streaked with it. One arm is badly burned, and something sharp is embedded in his side. His eyes are closed, and he only flinches when she puts her hands on his face.

"Did I do it?" he whispers. "Romana, did I do it?"

"I'm not..." she begins, but bites her lip. "Yes, you did it. You did. Just... Regenerate now."

He coughs; it sounds all the wrong sort of bad. "I didn't want to. Why did you make me do it? The whole planet... I'm the coward. Why did you make me do it?"

"I... I don't know."

"You're dead too," he says, and she remembers what he once told her. Last of his kind.

"Yes," she says. "Last of the Time Lords, you are."

"What good is that?"

"Better than none at all," she says sharply. "You can't die, you can't... One is better than none. You're much better than none. You're... I love you. You don't dare die."

He opens his eyes then, but she can tell he can't focus right.

"Do I know you?"

"You will," she promises. "You'll know me. You'll... You will love me."

It can't be quite called a smile, but what he gives is close enough.

"I think I might just," he says, which she guesses could count for admitting, even if he doesn't know her yet.

He dies; she pushes the button the moment she sees that he is regenerating.

He is wrong, of course. Life takes enough courage to make everyone brave.

II

Right TARDIS, is her first observation. Still painful to land on, but this time the sort of pain she remembers, having fallen over in this particular TARDIS many times. Right TARDIS, yes! Right...

"Rose? How did you get in here?" a northern-tilted voice says, and there's no mistaking that.

Wrong Doctor. Shit.

"Time-travel," she says brightly, pushing herself up to see a familiar sight. The leather jacket. The ears. The body language. The Doctor she got used to until he forced change on her again, mole and all.

"You just said no to coming with me," he remarks, and there's no mistaking a slight hurt to his tone.

Oh. That time.

"I didn't know it travels in time," she says brightly, trying a smile. He just looks at her, eyes like ice, but never freezing her. "You told me that. Will tell me that."

He nods, which she supposes means he agrees. He has to, or she'll just have a massive time paradox imploding the universe or something. He'll probably give her a lecture on that if she stays too long, which almost makes it tempting to stay.

Almost.

"I'll just go bye so you can tell me hello," she says, pausing for a second. "You know, I miss you. I like the new, and also miss the old. Does that make sense?"

"Yes," he simply says. "That's time."

When she smiles, he takes her hand and his smile still changes his face.

Okay, still wrong time. But she still got the hand-holding right.

"Be seeing you," she says, and pushes the button.

II

She manages to brace herself this time, landing less painfully. It's the right TARDIS again, and she almost applauds, but the console room is empty.

"Doctor?"

He could be out somewhere, of course, but there's still something that draws her to walk inwards. Rooms are never quite predictable in the TARDIS, but most seem to be what they were when she was there. It's familiar.

The woman she walks straight into isn't.

That definitely hurts.

Right, the Doctor is a dark-skinned woman now, clutching her nose and looking pained - no wonder, since Rose is feeling her own nose complain most strongly. Right. Rose supposes she could learn to live with that. She could even maybe...

"Who are you?" the woman says sharply.

"Rose...?"

"You're Rose...?"

Okay, the tone clearly reveals the name is familiar, but the reaction is all wrong to be the Doctor.

"Yeah, I'm Rose. You're...?"

"Martha."

"You know who I am."

"Yeah."

They regard each other for a moment, Rose feeling a twinge of jealousy for a moment. But it's just a moment. After all, she always had to share the Doctor with someone. It was just usually the Universe.

"You're back?" Martha asks, and her tone is flat. "He'll be happy. He talks about you now and then."

"Improvement," Rose remarks casually. "He never told me about anyone he'd travelled with. I had to meet one first."

"Not really improvement," Martha counters, then seems to exhale a little. "He fell in love with a human yesterday. One that wasn't me."

Silence. Rose closes her eyes, feeling strangely calm.

"He did that to me once too. I think. He does that. Two hearts, and all."

Something rather like understanding seems to pass between them, at least it feels that way to Rose.

"I didn't think I would like you," Martha comments after a moment. Implied that she might after all, Rose doesn't know.

"You don't have to. Just like him for me. I don't want to... This isn't the right time. Not yet. Look after him? Promise?"

"Promise."

It's not from the Doctor, but it is a promise still and Rose lets it count.

"Bye," she says, Martha's tentative smile the last thing she sees. She could have gotten used to the Doctor as a woman with a little adapting.

Definitely.

II

Empty TARDIS again, but this time she knows it's right. It has to be, because she's running out of power to make more attempts. It has to be, because right is just what you make of it anyway.

She finds him outside. He's standing on a beach, hands in his pockets, eyes on the horizon. Same Doctor she left. Almost a bit like she last saw him, in fact.

She leans against the TARDIS and watches him.

He's going to turn around, she envisions. He's going to turn around and she's going to run to him. He's going to stand still, not even reacting when she puts her hands in his pockets, joining his hands there. He's going to close her eyes when she kisses him. He's going to say something really stupid. She's going to laugh at him and kiss him again.

No.

She's messed up the reunion. But that's all right, the goodbye was a bit messed up too. Symmetry in that. But this would never happen as she imagined either way. It's not going to be perfect ever after. That was the fantasy. When all you have is memories you can polish them how you like. She did it with her father, making him in her mind how she wanted. He wasn't, but that was also all right in the end. He was still her father.

This is still the Doctor. It's not going to be perfect. (For one thing, he's probably going to be rather pissed when she tells him how many versions of himself he'll have to go back and erase the memory of to avoid history changing.)

Why would it have to be when it can be so much more interesting?

"Doctor?"

He turns around.

It's going to be nothing like she imagines it and she can't wait.

II

FIN
World of Warcraft post

Posted: December 1st, 2007, 2:27pm MST

Tags: [edit]

To not deal with fandom at all, this post is exclusively about World of Warcraft. Yes, I know. I'm a horrid geek.

For lotus79 as promised - though others can of course watch it too. My guild kills the Lynx boss in Zul'Aman. I'm there, mostly going "totem!" Includes a first go at the Hex Lord, who we killed the next day.

Now, a pic-spam!

We've killed Void Reaver in The Eye and I've spent far too much time running from his little void balls.

Halloween in World of Warcraft. I have a pumpkin head.

Hurrah, Magtherion the supremely annoying boss is dead. I've spent far too long in this fight going "click the cubes. CLICK!". This is because fighting him involves cube clicking quite often or you're dead. I was so passionate in my click-calls that I still get mocked for it by the rest of the guild. Er, I'm dedicated?

I has a hippo.

Big fish is dead. Hurrah! This is the Lurker Below, a boss in Serpentshrine Cavern.

The Lynx boss from the clip.

Hex Lord is dead. Happiness reigns.

A frog on a talbuk. Because Blizzard has a weird sense of humour.

Dancing Bear.

I likes my bow, I does.

Another of my character is a gnome. Here she just got her mount.

Thus ends this week's gaming geekery.
Open invitation to moderators of Doctor Who communities

Posted: November 29th, 2007, 10:00am MST

Tags: fandom [edit]

Really don't like to see bashing in your comm or in fandom in general? Find it a negative you wish you could be without?

You're not alone.

Me, lotus79 and gabesaunt as mods of time_and_chips got to talking with some other comm mods about making a joint statement across all participating comms that bashing - be it of a character, fans of a character, a ship, a comm or similarly - is quite simply Right Out and will not be tolerated.

If you are interested in joining to make and shaping this statement, please let me know. You can do so by leaving a comment or if you prefer, e-mail me at camilla.sandman at gmail dot com. We'll be setting up somewhere to talk and setttle all details.

Possible co-operation between comms on issues of bashing and trolling might also be discussed, but this is still very much on the drawing board.

Those who might not be moderators, but would like to personally echo the sentiments will of course also be more than welcome to.

Comments are screened; please let me know if you wish yours to stay so, otherwise I will unscreen it.

ETA: Made a comm, it's bashmenot.
That DW Spoiler; Life; News

Posted: November 27th, 2007, 7:55am MST

Tags: fandom [edit]

That spoiler? BBC confirms A Doctor Who Spoiler.

Right. Well, this will make modding T&C quite interesting, no doubt. And fandom is gonna go boom, which makes me kinda sad.

Personally, I'm hoping this will actually be good for Rose's character and I'm afraid it won't be, so... I don't know, really. I like Rose. I haven't always liked the writing, and I certainly haven't always liked the fanon of her, but I like fiddling with her in fanfic and she was my first companion. (That didn't stop me from liking Martha - though I had issues with writing there too - or Donna or Sarah Jane or Barbara and Ian and loads of others I've discovered watching Classic Who.)

Also this gonna bring out all the worst in fandom again, isn't it? All the grudges sure don't bring out the best in people. Hoping it won't get too bad, but... Eh.

Cripes. I really don't know. But I think I won't make any judgement on it until I see how it unfolds. Cautious Norwegian isn't the worst way to live.

I will keep the Wankshelter open, however. All is welcome, your shipping/companion/football/kink preference no hinderance, provided you keep your wank outside. Otherwise, no alcohol for you.

Right then. If CSI and DW goes wankalystic at the same time, my brain might boom. Maybe I'll just stay in a corner and write. Yeah. With drinks.

Of course, it's hard to top stuff like this. Boggle. Boggle.

Meanwhile, in my life, had a bit of a RL blah incident Sunday and yesterday, but such is life. Sending first batch of Christmas cards and stuff tomorrow, and got my first package yesterday. Thanks, falena84 :)

And if you have a spcific wish, any of you on my flist and particulary those I'm doing gift exchange with, speak now or forever be having Norwegian touristy stuff.

I shall make a wishlist myself, but feel free to ignore it. I do also love getting icons specifically made for me, fic, fanart, other stuff that needn't cost money. If you have something like that as well, feel free to link me to it.

I can't believe it's December this week. Eeek.

In other news:
- New Australian PM to apologise to Aboriginees. (FINALLY.)
- Riots in France.
- Iceland overtakes us as world's best place to live. (Curses!)
- Finance scandal in Norway rolls on.
- China unveils moon probe images.
Normality in November (1/2) [AU!John Smith/AU!Rose, AU!Doctor/AU!Rose, special guest stars]

Posted: November 24th, 2007, 7:08am MST

Tags: fanfics [edit]

Normality in November
by Camilla Sandman

Summary: Sleep with a human. Wake up with an alien. Normality is what you make of it. This is what Rose made of hers. [AU!John Smith/AU!Rose, AU!Doctor/AU!Rose, special guest stars]

Rating: Teen. Some naughty activities and adult theme, but not terribly explicit.

Disclaimer: BBC's characters. My words.

Author's Note: Alternate Universe. Rose and the Doctor haven't met, and I've made a few changes in the timeline like the mean narrator I am. Loosely based on the plot of "Human Nature"/"Family of Blood" with several bits changed, including setting. You might also spot some familiar faces in unfamiliar settings. Huge thanks to lyricalviolet for beta. Prompt 004 for 50lyricsfanfic.

Table of Prompts.

II

"Rose Tyler."

"John Smith."

"Nice to meet you, John. Now run for your life!"

It wasn't a particularly special day in any way. It rained, as it was wont to do in London. Rose had overslept and come to work annoyed, without any feeling of something life-changing about to happen. If she felt anything, it was more a slight annoyance that yet another school had reported 'mysterious on-goings', which usually meant yet another Krevlan couldn't resist playing teenager to do some harvesting. Honestly, who would have thought there was a black-market for human hormones?

It was a normal day, as normal went for Rose Tyler. And in that normal November day she met a slightly normal plus teacher, dark-haired and with an infectious smile, saved his life, snogged him, had her life saved, got snogged, saved the world and got a date.

Two days later, she's going to sleep with him.

The day after that, he's not going to be John Smith anymore.

Sleep with a human. Wake up with an alien.

Normality is what you make of it. This is what Rose made of hers.

II

Monday

There are Mondays, and there are Mondays, days that seem to be a punishment for even having a weekend. The sort of day where you oversleep, forget an umbrella and get rained at, forget the access card to work and get frisked, find a pile of things you should have done Friday waiting, overhear gossip about yourself at lunch and draft a resolution to legally ban the day in the afternoon.

It could have been the Monday Rose had if she hadn't answered her phone. It isn't. Instead, she's grasping John Smith's hand while running from his homicidal teenage-disguised alien student.

All right, it's not that unusual to have this happen when you're working for Torchwood. Being chased by aliens, chasing aliens, being chased by aliens chasing other aliens - it's normal, or a version thereof. But usually the people she comes across while doing the chasing or being chased tend not to react like this guy.

Excitement, normal. Fainting, that's normal too. Denial certainly is, even if no one really can deny it anymore. Not after Canary Wharf (mustn'tthinkofMickeydon'tthinkofMickey), though no one is quite sure what happened there, just that There Were Aliens.

John Smith seems more interested in her than the alien, which is definitely a first. It's almost as if he thinks aliens are nothing surprising and humans are.

"I think we lost him," she manages between breaths, halting and leaning against a wall.

"He was flunking PE," he says, sounding infuriatingly full of breath.

"He was flunking human," she counters.

"How do you flunk human?" he wonders, and she can almost see his mind working on a thesis behind his brown eyes. Must be the teacher in him. "Grow horns? Develop hooves? Take an inquisitive interest in cats?"

"I'd say having tentacles qualifies," she says dryly, and he smiles at her.

Right. He has a certain geeky appeal, she has to admit. Unruffled brown hair, a suit that might as well be a second skin for all it clings, big hands, a very active tongue and a smile she finds herself return as if it's a habit already. Right.

"I'd..." she starts, then looks up to see one very angry alien heading purposely their way. "Run!"

They bolt again, almost falling over each other in the narrow hallway. Behind them, there's hissing and oozing and tentacles and Rose reminds herself she'll need a long shower after she's hopefully survived this.

She's not going to share it with him and she hasn't even thought about that. Nope. Not at all.

Though water conservation is good.

They turn a corner, and see another hissing oozing tentacled alien with his human face half on barrelling towards them.

"Oh," John Smith says, and she can see the swallow that follows. "Do they always travel in pairs?"

"Bollocks," Rose says, a faint memory of memos on aliens dancing guilty across her brain. "Yeah, them too. Er."

"Hold on, hold on," he says, and she can almost see his brain racing at three hundred miles per hour, get a ticket and tearing it up as it drives on madly. "I'm still their teacher. You! Mark whatsyourname you rude git! Robert Grenzstein you no good... Ooze! Stand up straight when I'm berating you! I said stand up, not lean on your tentacles! Detention! (Don't you love that word?) Detention!"

The aliens look a little taken aback, but only for a moment. Then they just look mad, purposely barring their teeth.

"Okay, maybe not the brightest idea," Rose mutters, scanning the hallway. There's got to be something, just... Oh.

"I'm going to get eaten by my students," John Smith says a little sadly. "You think they'll put that in my obituary?"

"No," Rose says, and dives for the fire alarm.

It takes about four seconds before Mark-alien and Robert-alien stop covering their ears, but by that time, Rose and John have already run past, have slammed and locked the fire door and leaning against it on the other side.

"You're rather brilliant, aren't you Rose Tyler?" John asks, looking at her with what feels like affection.

"Yep," she agrees, and then, because her heart is thumping and he is grinning and because it's been a long time and she's alive and she likes him, she kisses him.

She can feel his surprise in the slight catch at the back of his throat, but she can feel his tongue too, brushing lightly against her lower lip. He doesn't touch her otherwise, back against the door that is shaking from the pounding from the other side and his head just titled slightly to meet hers. Restraint in him, she feels, and she wonders what happens when it breaks.

She does think of Mickey, but it's just for a second and she's not really cheating, not when he's been dead a year. It is time to move on. It's been for too long, but the guys she usually meet at work aren't all that grand on dating. Killing her, yes. Enslaving the Earth, definitely. Shag and spoon, not so much.

"Rose," John says against her lips, "duck."

It takes her about two seconds before she registers the word with an action, and then she drops herself to the floor with a speed only constant life-in-danger-workout have given her.

Two alien head barge through the door a second later, John lifts a fire extinguisher she hadn't even noticed from the wall and fires.

There is a lot of squealing.

There is a lot of hissing.

There is a lot of foam.

There is a brief silence.

"I didn't know they were allergic to foam," Rose says, looking at the mess by her feet. "Did you?"

A confused look crosses his face for a moment before he shakes his head. Right. He's a teacher, he probably knows nothing about aliens at all.

"Good improvisation," she notes, leaning down to check the pulse on both tentacled messes. "They're just knocked out."

"You do this a lot?"

"Every day," she says brightly and holds out a hand. "Rose Tyler, Torchwood London. Alien consultant."

"John Smith, Middlepark elementary. First time alien almost-meal."

She laughs; he grins.

"Thanks for saving my life."

"Thanks for saving mine."

"And probably helping to save the world," she adds, almost as an afterthought.

He nods, almost a little timidly, which she finds strangely endearing. "So there is life on other planets?"

"Lots and lots," she confirms. "Are you terribly surprised?"

"No," he says, looking thoughtful. "I dreamt..."

He cuts off, leaving her to wonder what he was about to say, but only for a few seconds.

"You got foam in your hair," he observes, and she lifts a free hand to find that yes, yes she has. She can't resist tasting it lightly, as if it could be anything but foam. "Taste like chicken?"

"Taste like powdered foam," she replies, making a face. She's only mildly surprised when he pushes her up against the wall and snogs her until she's not sure if the taste of foam in her mouth is his or hers.

He must like tasting, she notes and saves it for the future.

"I think," she says as he leans his head against her neck, "we better go out. I mean, on a date. And out of here too. Obviously."

"Yes," he agrees, barely audible.

He's still holding her hand, she notes, and doesn't let go for a long time.

II

Tuesday

Rose manages to be late to a late date.

It's not because she takes too long picking an outfit (although what to wear to a date with a teacher did take some thinking when previous dating experience consists of Jimmy, Mickey and Dan) or because she gets lost or even because she wants to be fashionably late.

She's late because one of Harriet's little cousins go missing, and is found in a field, clutching a balloon. There is no sign of violence, but she can still feel something at the back of her neck prickling, a sign something is off.

It's enough to make her burst into the small cafe half an hour late and find John Smith sitting quietly at a table, looking a bit downcast. She takes just two seconds to enjoy it - it's been a long time since anyone has missed her presence - before sliding down at a chair next to him.

"Sorry," she breathes, and his smile seems to be fairly forgiving. "PM's cousin went missing. Bit of an emergency."

"One of my human students blew up a computer. That's a bit of an emergency. Yours is a chunk of one," he replies, making her smile.

"How did the school explain the mess we left yesterday, then?"

"Drugs. Gangs. An unfortunate cooking accident."

"There are a lot of those when Torchwood has visited," Rose agrees and he looks at her a little curiously. "We're the worst kept secret in Britain after Canary Wharf."

"Were you there?"

"Sort of," she says lightly. "I had a friend who worked for Torchwood and... yeah, sort of. You?"

"I don't remember," he says, frowning. "Sometimes I dream about metal monsters."

"Yes," she says, remembering. "They were there. They killed."

"Your friend?"

"Yes."

It feels strangely liberating to say and he looks as if he might understand. For a teacher, he's taking all this abnormality rather well, she has to admit.

"I lost a friend," he goes on. "At least I think I did. Martha. She was brave."

"Died?"

"No. Something else. Something...." he shakes his head. "Did you go into Torchwood afterwards?"

"Yeah," she replies, aware he's changing the topic. "Dad wasn't happy, but... After Mickey, I think he understood. My mum disappeared when I was very little, so he's a bit overprotective."

"Rebel Rose."

"Sometimes," she agrees.

"I have an older cousin that's like that," he confesses. "Barbara. I rent a flat from her and she seems to think it means she has to protect me from everything. She doesn't even let me eat pears."

"I think you're old enough to eat pears," Rose says mock-seriously and they both giggle a bit giddily. "You could start with oranges and experiment your way up. Come on, you can be fruit brave."

"Coward every time," he jokes, or at least she thinks he is.

"Much easier."

He looks at her, and for a moment something crosses his face that can only be described as age, but then she has moments where she feels a hundred too.

"Much easier," he agrees. "Much more boring too."

"I haven't had a boring day for months," she confesses. "I don't think I remember how it's done."

"You've come to an expert," he says lightly, and she thinks he's lying. "I'll tell you over dinner."

They eat. Rose talks about escapades of her father; John about escapades of his students. He tells her about growing up in Croyden, she about growing up a little here and a little there. She jokes about aliens, he jokes about school councils.

It isn't boring. It feels almost normal.

At least until she notices they're being watched.

It isn't terribly obvious, but she's used to looking at things slightly off, and this pair is. He is staring in a way that feels off, she is smiling in a way that definitely is. Great. She can't even date without being stalked by (probable) aliens, usually someone wanting to take over her brain so they can get access to Torchwood.

"John, how good is your running?" she asks casually, making sure her smile stays on her face.

"... Good-good," he says slowly, looking adorably confused.

"Good. We're about to go for a sprint."

He blinks, then nods as if it's the most normal thing in the world and she can feel his leg brush against hers and yes, he is wearing shoes he can run in. Almost as if he's come prepared.

"Right behind you, Rose Tyler," he says and she decides she's going to snog him hard against some wall in a back alley very soon.

For now, she settles for taking his hand, giving him a conspiratorial smile and dashing towards the door with all the speed she's got. He is right behind her, enough that she almost trips on his feet, but manages to avoid disaster and clumsy embarrassment.

The (probable) alien pair is too slow, she notes with satisfaction, barely getting up by the time Rose and John are already out the door and heading down the street.

She can hear herself laughing as they run, and him joining in and it's strange how the realities of her life suddenly seem so much more enjoyable being shared. It's almost as if danger is better with two.

Or maybe she's just lost her mind. Definite possibility. Her father did always tell her if she thought too fast, her brain would fall out. Maybe she's left it at the table now. She certainly feels light-hearted, but that might be for an entirely different reason.

She drags him into a darker side street, looking around the corner carefully and seeing no sign of pursuers. It's just a (semi) quiet London street, a wind whipping through.

"I should probably sleep somewhere else tonight," she remarks off-handedly, scanning the crowd. "Don't want to risk anyone following me home."

"You can stay with me," John says, and she turns around so sharply he looks a little taken aback. "I mean, not like that. Couch! Very good couch. I got it at IKEA. Very good IKEA. I've always liked IKEA, haven't you?"

"John," she says softly, trying not to laugh. "Like that or this..."

She presses a kiss against the pulse in his neck and he inhales sharply, closing his eyes as she touches his face. He has freckles, she notes, and dark lashes against pale skin that makes her want to kiss his eyelids.

"... I'd love to," she finishes, and feels bricks against her back as he kisses her, eyes still closed.

Above, the clouds finally let go; it starts to rain.

II

Wednesday

Metal, monsters and Mickey, Rose dreams of. It isn't a narrative, just fragmented memories mixed with a far too active imagination making it hard to separate the. She didn't die. She still dreams of falling, of void and death and smell and screaming.

She wakes abruptly, for a moment disoriented and not sure where she is, until she sees John as silhouette against the window. What he's looking at, she doesn't know, because it's dark out and the moon is obscured by clouds and rain.

Right. His flat, his couch, her falling asleep.

He's put a blanket over her, she makes a note of, because with guys, it's often in the little things.

"Hey," she says, her voice sounding drowsy even to her. "What time is it?"

"Three a.m.," he replies softly. "You looked pretty tired."

"Long day," she says, pushing off the couch and walking over to him. "Don't you sleep, or is your other identity Bat-teacher, avenger of the night?"

She can almost see him picturing it and the face he makes isn't exactly approval.

"I sleep," he says, voice dropping back to the slightly shy tone she's getting familiar with. "It's just... Hard?"

"Sleeping?"

"So many dreams. It's almost as if they mean something, but it makes no sense."

She tilts her head while looking at him. "I think everyone has weird dreams after Canary Wharf. What are yours?"

"I wrote it all down," he says, indicating his desk. "My book of impossible things. You'll probably think I'm crazy."

"John, I work for a government agency dealing with aliens. We met when one of them was trying to eat you. You're the one who should think me crazy."

"I don't."

"Then maybe you are a little crazy," she teases, putting a hand on his chest. He looks at it for a moment, then puts his own on top and leans in to kiss her.

He tastes of marmalade, an odd choice for midnight snack, but odd is what passes for normal in her life. He'll fit right in. She wants him to fight right in.

She wants him. Sudden and silly and probably terribly unwise, but she does. She's not sure why, but attraction doesn't need to make sense. She wants to kiss his freckles, ruffle his hair, hear him moan, tie him up with his own tie and get purposely and unashamedly indecent.

She starts by unbuttoning his shirt, feeling the smooth skin of his chest as she progresses. Not very hairy, even if his chin has just the tiniest tease of stubble. She's not sure how she feels about beards, but she's willing to explore.

So is he, she notes, his hands slipping down to her waist and one tracing the lines of her thigh. In the dark, she more feels him than sees him - his breath ragged across her cheek, his mouth warm against her jawline, his skin smooth against her palm, his fingers gentle across her skin.

"Rose?" he asks, leaning his face against her neck for a moment, and she knows what he's really asking.

"Yes," she says, and kisses him hard. Oh yes. Oh very yes.

She's not quite sure how she ends up with him under her on the couch, but maybe she's yanked him there or maybe he's lured her there and maybe it doesn't matter because her shirt is off and his hands are tracing the skin on her breasts not covered by the bra and that's definitely not enough.

She can feel him swallow when she unhooks and discards the bra, feeling cold for only a moment before his mouth is warm and there.

He really does seem fond of oral exploration, she notes, and awards points for it. His hands on her back is a plus too, tracing the curve in her spine as she bends down and kisses him.

He's a little fumbling, and she does feel a bit like she's the one leading, but he falls wonderfully in step. Fast learners, teachers. He learns she likes a little pressure there, and that she doesn't here and that right under her knee, she giggles when he kisses.

He closes his eyes when there are no more clothes, and she closes hers when he angles her just a little and the slightly unfamiliar intrusion becomes familiar again. She more feels than heasr him breathe, feels the heat of his skin infuse hers too, feels his hair brush against her forehead as he moves, feels the tension in her own body build tauntingly and wonderfully at the same time, feels his tension and restraint and then, then...

He opens his eyes at the same moment she does and all she can see is stars. When she blinks, it's just his brown eyes again, looking just a tad unfocused and maybe she's just having orgasm illusions and maybe romance novels got it right all along and shagging really comes with stars and maybe she should stop thinking at all.

"Oh," he says, watching her.

"Oh," she mimics when she gets her breath back, leaning in to kiss him.

He still tastes of marmalade, but she thinks she might just get used to it.

II

It's six a.m when Rose decides to sneak out, though not before being sneaky in other ways.

He's sleeping, one foot sticking out of the blanket they ended under, making it very hard to resist tickling him.

She resists that. She doesn't resist looking at his dream book. Maybe it's out of a desire to see if he really dreams of Canary Wharf, that they share that, or maybe she just wants to know what her boyfriend (he rather qualifies for that now, she's decided) finds weird.

He must have been at Canary Wharf, she can tell from even a brief glance. He's drawn what was there, even up to the mysterious blue box Mickey mentioned just before... Well, before. There's a girl that rather resembles Adeola and several other people she supposes must be from some part of his life. There's even a cricket ball and a watch - maybe it's a hobby of some sort.

Impossible things? Possible things, she knows. Maybe that's why he's drawn to her too - she's got the bad life he seems to be dreaming of. Aliens, lost friends and death around the corner.

She feels vaguely guilty at poking into his head, but guilt fades. She's learned that. At least, she hopes she has.

She steals one of his shirts as well since she can't find her top, and is rather glad she keeps emergency clothing change at work. (Never know when an alien might explode!) She leaves a note explaining the theft, offering to bring him one of her own as compensation.

In the end, the sneaking out rather fails on account of running face first into John's cousin in the hallway, who clearly does not approve of sneaking At All.

"Who are you?"

"Rose," Rose manages. "You must be Barbara. John told me about you."

"He didn't tell me about you," Barbara says, voice of steel. She's older than Rose expected, but then, cousins needn't be in the same age group.

"We met recently."

"I see."

"Barbara," a voice says, and Rose turns to see a dark-haired man, some grey in his hair, regarding Barbara with affection. "You can't protect him from everything. There was nothing against relationships on the list."

"It wouldn't occur to him. Ian, he's..."

"He's what?" Rose asks, but neither replies, seemingly lost in a private world for a moment. He's what? Married? On the rebound? Likely to leave the toilet seat up?

"He'll manage," Ian says firmly, taking Barbara's hand and smiling. "He always managed. Remember?"

"Yeah," Barbara says, fixing her gaze on Rose again. "But will you?"

As warnings go, it's not the most dire Rose has ever had. It still leaves something ticking away in her mind, like a clock counting down.

She waits until Baraba and Ian retreats, both without departing any further cryptic messages, and yanks her mobile up to dial the one number she knows she can trust.

"Sarah-Jane? Hey, it's Rose. I need a favour. Yeah. Yeah. His name's John Smith..."

II

Wednesdays is a day in-between before weekend and after weekend, and even Torchwood is marked by this. There's a lot of milling about, more so because Jack from Cardiff stops by, sleeping with half the staff. Or somewhere around there, Rose doesn't keep count.

She does keep the world safe, or something approximately like it. For every alien invasion, there's alien invasion paperwork, and she gets half done and delegates the other half. She looks over a research project. She argues with Harriet. She argues alongside Harriet with Jack. She files reports. She gossips with Adeola.

She goes out to lunch.

John Smith is waiting for her by a fish 'n chips shop, looking a bit nervous and shy, much like the first time, and staring at the sky. She can see his tongue pushing against his upper lip in what seems an almost nervous tick, and it makes her grin even before he sees her.

When he does, his whole face lights up and whatever else might be going on, she doesn't think he can fake that look.

"Hi," he says, failing at casual.

"Hi," she echoes, failing even more spectacularly, especially when she grabs his face to lay one on him. He tastes of chalk, and she's pretty sure she doesn't even want to know why.

"Sorry for sneaking out, I had to get to work."

He just nods, still grinning a bit foolishly. "I missed you."

"You hardly know me," she counters. "I hardly know you."

"Know the feeling," he quips, but must detect something in her tone. "Is something wrong?"

"I don't know," she replies, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, only to have him take it out again and look at it almost seriously. "Who are you, John? Why did you become a teacher?"

"I'm John Smith," he says simply, which isn't an answer at all. "Barbara was one."

"Right. Barbara. You trust her, right? She's rather determined to look after you, isn't she?"

"Yes," he agrees, frowning slightly. "I don't remember my parents. I just remember her. I remember I trust her."

"I have one memory of mum," she confesses. "I can't see her face, I just remember the feeling of her hair tickling my forehead. Do you have memories like that?"

He looks strangely at her.

"I'm sorry, I looked in your book. It was just... It seemed like some of the things there might be memories, not dreams."

"They can't be memories," he says sharply. "They make no sense. I'm a daredevil, a madman. I have ten faces and two hearts and hold a burning planet in my hands. I die. People die. I dance with the stars in a wooden box. There's a watch. There's always a watch."

"I used to work in a shop and think aliens some movie horror. Then my boyfriend is almost blown up by living plastic, starts working for a secret government agency, gets himself killed and suddenly I got aliens in my sock drawer," she counters. "Don't tell me about making no sense!"

He is quiet for a while, and she starts regretting bringing it up in the first place.

"John, I'm..."

"Maybe I dream of some things I've seen," he interrupts. "I asked Barbara once. She wouldn't tell me. When you talked about Canary Wharf, it was... I think I was there, Rose. I was and I don't remember."

"I can help you," she says softly, kissing his palm. "I can find out if you were there."

"I'm not sure I want to know," he whispers, and she remembers Mickey and blood and dying words and trying so, so hard to forget.

"I know," she says, leaning her head against his. Oh, she knows. "So... Want chips?"

"Yeah."

"Me too."

They eat; and when he licks the salt, she forgets about life for a while to just live.

II

It's almost midnight when Rose finally gets done at work, mostly because Harriet's cousin has disappeared again. This time, there is no finding her, and it's another thing to add to a longer and longer list of troubles.

It does mean all Rose would like to do have her brain shagged out, sleep what remains of it until she's proper comatose, then wake up with her almost normal boyfriend and find everything looks brighter in tomorrow.

Well, it's a hope, at least.

Hope enough that she stops by John's even if he's probably asleep, but the light is on in his apartment and she decides the desire to see him is greater than the guilt of potentially disturbing him.

After all, he has left his door open, and that is almost an invitation.

Or a break-in, she realises about two seconds too late.

John's there, looking terrified, and Barbara and Ian, looking defiant. And them - the pair from Tuesday and Harriet's cousin and boy she doesn't know and it doesn't take Rose even a second to know something totally wrong is going on.

"Your lover!" the boy says delightfully, eyeing Rose. "You didn't just make yourself human, Doctor. You made yourself an idiot."

"What's going on?" Rose asks, trying to make John looking at her and failing. "Who are you?"

"We're the Family of Blood. This is Sister of Mine, Mother of Mine, Father of Mine. I am the Son."

"Aliens and your pompous titles," she mutters, but she still looking at John, willing him to look at her. "Made himself human?"

"He's the Doctor," Harriet's cousin - or the sister or whatever she is now and oh no, poor Harriet - injects. "He's just hiding."

"They weren't after me," Rose says slowly, feeling dread settle as the words sink in. "They were after you."

"We are," the Son confirms, his eyes gleaming. "He almost made us look in the wrong time, but here he is. Have you enjoyed it, Doctor? Being human? Has it taught you wonderful things? Has it made you better? Richer? Wiser? Change back, Doctor. Make us live forever - or your your friends will not even live a day."

Pompous, blustering and threatening, Rose notes. Oh good. Easier to deal with then.

"No," John - or maybe not - says for the first time, shaking his head. "That was the dream. I dreamt I was him. I can't change. I'm John Smith. I'm human. I'm..."

"No," Barbara says simply, and Rose feels dizzy as the world seems to spin and crash. The Doctor. There are files on the Doctor, long, empty Torchwood files. He's a legend. Impossible things? Possible things.

Sleep with a human, she thinks distantly. Wake up with an alien. So much for a normal boyfriend.

In the distance, the bell at Big Ben strikes midnight.

Time's up.

(To be concluded in part two.)
In today's massive, massive, massive FAIL...

Posted: November 22nd, 2007, 6:48am MST

Tags: rage [edit]

Dear Saudi Arabia,

FAIL.

Imagine: You're 19. You get raped. Gang-raped, even. 14 times. You're brave. You report the rape. You get sentenced to 90 lashes because at the time of the rape, you were hanging out with a man that wasn't related to you and this is a crime in Saudi Arabia. He also gets punished even though he was attacked as well. You find this a bit unfair. You appeal. Your appeals gets you 200 lashes and six months in jail and your lawyer gets his licence revoked for trying to draw attention to this just being a tad wrong?

FAIL, FAIL, FAIL AND WTF HOW CAN YOU MANAGE THIS MUCH FAIL WITHOUT FAIL IMPLODING. (P.S FAIL US GOVERNMENT TOO. You let Saudi Arabia get away with this shit because they're an "ally" in the war on terror? FAIL.)

Then I read some reactions from BBC readers and I present to you Mike from Sacramento, USA:

Clearly, in many criminal events there are no clear-cut victims and criminals, quite often both sides are guilty. Saudi law clearly criminalises unchaperoned one-on-one contact, as a public safety measure, designed to prevent the occurrence of exactly this kind of situation. Saudi Arabia must be congratulated for their low crime rate. Scurrilous attacks on the judiciary such as the one committed by the alleged victim are deserving of punishment.

...........

Hi Mike. You're a fucking ass of FAIL. If there ever was a crimininal "event" with a clear-cut victim, rape is bloody well it, you ignorant idiot of a human failure. "Public safety measure"? I'm sorry, but since the majority of rapists are in fact men, why are women the ones punished? Following your "logic", you should start campaigning for men in leash. You know, public safety measure.

(Oh, and in case you missed it, Mike: FAIL. IT'S NOT THE VICTIM'S FAULT HE/SHE GOT RAPED EVER. IT'S THE RAPIST. NO, I DON'T CARE IF HE/SHE WAS HANGING OUT WITH MEN "UNCHAPARONED". NO, I DON'T CARE WHAT HE/SHE WAS WEARING. NO, I DON'T CARE WHAT HER/HIS PREVIOUS "SEXUAL HISTORY" IS. IT IS NOT HER/HIS FAULT. EVER. STFU.)

This case has so many fails I feel ill. The fucked-upness of Saudi Arabia's laws in the first place, the increased sentence, the fact that lashing exists as a punishment in this day and age, the lawyer getting smacked too, the looking the other way shown by several governments, the message this sends to sexual abuse victims, the message people like Mike support, the fact that this girl gets this on top of having to deal with being gang-raped and so does her friend (and believe me, getting over sexual assault or abuse is bloody fucking hard)... So much fail.

Fucking hell. We got so far to go still. So far. Blaming the victim is increasing the problem because fewer report, more rapists get away with it - and are free to do it again. You blame the victim, you are pretty much helping rapists.

Don't. They deserve your scorn. The victims don't.

(Oh, and in case you missed it, Saudi Arabia: RAGE. OH SO MUCH RAGE.)
CSI reactions, football=shipping and a truckload of other stuff

Posted: November 20th, 2007, 9:24am MST

Tags: csi [edit]

If you want a Christmas card or are on my gift exchange and haven't given me your address yet, please leave it here. I'll be doing cards and packages this week and the next, as would rather avoid last minute stress. (phdelicious, your moose will probably be sent at the same time - sorry it's taking so long.)

Been sick whole weekend and am still, but so many people are sick at work I have to work extra nevertheless. Wah, whine, wail etc.

So, I have to watch the CiN special and catch up on CSI stuff. On the latter, just from poking in at TalkCSI, I can tell reactions to the recent episode were plenty:

- GSR fans are unhappy CGR fans are happy...
- ... which makes CGR fans unhappy...
- Meanwhile, "george and jorja!! GET TOGETHER AND LMAKE NICKA ND SARA GET TOGETHER!!" says a Nick/Sara fan. Are we going to have to go through the whole "actors? NOT the characters they portray" again?

Ze wank never dies.

I'm too tired to look up Doctor Who blah and also I think I've lost track of all the grudges now and will probably just get confused. But I have decided having a ship is like being a football fan. You do adore your team, but you also have to live with sharing it with other fans you might not like - streakers, hooligans, people you just dislike, the annoying shouter in the front row, the guy always booing the referee, the neighbour always singing along to those embarassing football songs. But there's also friends and joy and excitement and hot men and feeling of togetherness. There's a lot of love in being a football fan. There's also some annoyances and getting lumped in behaviour you might not agree with, which is never fun, but there you are.

In other stuff:

- My AU!John Smith/AU!Rose thing (probable title Normality in November) is almost done. Will need a beta. Anyone willing to do it? It's not a long epic, but a bit longer than some of my usual treats.
- Will probably also need beta for Here be Ghosts, a CSI fic.
- Norwegian townships drawn into dodgy American economics. Geez.
- See Hillary Clinton went after "sovereign wealth funds". Hai. W R teh kingdom of Norway, owning ur economy. Heh. (Biggest fund of its kind in the world. One day to be the biggest fund of all.) Though I agree on visibility and accountability in investment funds. And ethic guidelines, though Hillary might not be with me on that.
- Christmas tree shortage in Europe.. Ooooh dear.
- Massive strikes in France. Being a social democrat, I'm usually found in the favour of the striking, though I have to admit it gets a bit too much at once sometimes. Yowza.
- If you're missing your show meanwhile, and wondering what all the writers are striking on about, see here.
- British shows do well at the Emmy Awards. Go UK.
- Norway's football team sucks and breaks my heart. Woe. It hurts to be a football fan sometimes.
- Top Gear's episode on roadtrip in the US last night on Norwegian telly made me laugh so hard I cried. I don't even fancy cars that much, but Top Gear? Made of win.
- Does Islam have a sense of humour?
- Many exciting adventures in Zul'Aman are being had. Huzzah.

Tell me something new?
Replay 1/1 [GSR, CWR, Nick, Greg.]

Posted: November 15th, 2007, 7:34am MST

Tags: cwr [edit]

Replay
(or Five Things That Happened in the 1980s - and One They Led to in 2007)
by Camilla Sandman

Summary: The more things change, the more they remain the same. The more things remain the same, the more they change. [GSR, CWR, Nick, Greg.]

Rating: Teen. Some language and adult activities.

Disclaimer: The characters are CBS's. I merely borrow for a profit-less spin.

Author's Note: Spoilers up to early season eight. References to back story partially revealed in previous seasons - and some totally invented on my part. For the 'I love 80s!' ficathon at geekfiction. Many gracious thanks to lyricalviolet for beta.

II

Plus ca change, plus c'est la même chose.
Plus c'est la même chose, plus ca change.
(The more things change, the more they remain the same.
The more things remain the same, the more they change.)

- Agatha Christie

II

1981

It's another dead body.

Gil Grissom is used to them by now, it's not that. You can't be a coroner and not be. Young, old, middle-aged, thin, thick, tall, short, big feet, small hands, blonde, brunette, grey-haired - he's seen most variations.

Simple components make such startling variety, he observes and learns.

Another Saturday, another body. Another variation in death.

"I can't believe you can kill someone with a beta mack," Officer Jones says, but Grissom doesn't bother answering that. Jones doesn't believe a lot of things. "What a way to go, with a loser down your throat."

"It's been inserted after death," Grissom corrects, pulling out a piece of plastic and regarding it quizzically. "Someone was making a point."

"What was the cause?"

"Gun. Times change. Some classics don't. I'll extract the bullet for you."

"You know how to charm a girl," Jones says, her smile a little trying.

"No," Grissom says simply. She looks at him a little strangely. "What?"

"Don't you ever think about doing something else Saturdays?"

"Watching Voyager 2 pass Saturn?"

"That's probably your idea of a date too," Jones says, her voice odd and a little flat. "Right. Have a good Saturday."

He nods at her, attention already on the mess crunched into Alan George's mouth and throat.

"Oh, and Grissom?"

"Hmmm?"

"Look at the living sometimes too. Or people will start thinking you're a ghost."

She leaves, he remains in the silence. But that's all right.

He's started a life on it.

II

1983

Nick runs.

His mother always remarks they must have bred an athlete; his father only smiles. Perhaps he doesn't believe that's Nick's path, or perhaps he just finds it something to smile of. Nick's never asked.

He's a little afraid to. He loves dad and he loves mum, but he can't ask them. He's afraid he'll never run out of question.

He runs instead.

Jack invites him to come play Space Invaders; Nick runs. Jessie invites him to the arcade; Nick runs. Tessie asks him to play Pac-Man and smiles at him with

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