Mike (ghost_writer) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2013-02-09 14:05:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, tardis, tenth doctor |
Who: Tenth Doctor and Tardis
What: Tardis (in the future) is having more trouble with her powers.
When: Tara is coming from sometime in the summer, John’s timeline is evening on a Friday.
Where: John and Gwen’s Apartment
Rating: pg-13 ish
Status: Complete
A bright golden light erupted with a wooshing noise as Tara appeared in John’s room. And as she stumbled and giggled, having just come from a time where she’d (perhaps) had a few too many, she hadn’t quite noticed the noises or the light. She had been in just the same spot a few months later in her linear timeline, so was only weirded out now John was no longer in the room.
Looking around as she fell backwards, bum hitting the bed, she giggled and called: “John! Where’d you go?” And then she fell back onto the bed, legs hanging off with arms spread out above her.
John had just settled down in his office to get some writing for the day in, since Tara had left maybe thirty-five minutes ago, in one her her little fits of ‘holy crap I have somewhere to be!’ which, admittedly, John was really starting to get used to and find slightly endearing.
He paused his typing, mid-word and looked up. Listened. That noise was so familiar somehow -- yet fleetingly so. He nearly forgot all about it when he heard Tara calling out for him. Was she back already?
He found her in his room -- and she would probably be surprised to note that he was wearing a completely different outfit than he had been before. Well. Sort of.
“Tara?” He asked, both bemused and confused. “Back already?”
Tara popped back up to sitting when she heard John’s voice, smiling widely. “Hello!” she greeted, because even though they’d just been talking, he had disappeared for a bit. In her state, she probably wasn’t the best judge of time -- best to just greet again. “Where did you go?” she asked, either not hearing or involuntarily ignoring his question. Drinking will do that.
Leaning over, she began untying her shoes, toeing them off one by one. “John, did you know that wine is very good?” she asked as if she needed an answer to that. But she didn’t let him answer because it’s Tara. “I think we drank an entire bottle. Or perhaps only I drank the entire bottle,” she thought on that for a moment, her face going all thinky before she smiled widely and looked up to him again. “When did you change?”
“Wine is good,” John said, because it was totally true. He was about to ask her if she wanted some, except she kept on talking. He sat down on the bed next to her, and rose an eyebrow. Had... she just gone somewhere and gotten mad blitzed in a half hour? Was that even possible?
“Who did you drink a whole bottle of wine with?” he asked, eyebrows raising even as he pictured Tara racing to a friends’ house, downing a bottle of wine, and then racing back here. “Did you drive like this?” Hey, every good friend should ask questions like that. He was so stuck on the question of wine, that he totally missed her question about him changing.
“I drank a whole bottle of wine with my best friend!” she said fondly, because it was true. Though she wouldn’t realize that her wording was not all that great in that moment. She’d come from a time where she had downed a bottle with John, though he wasn’t quite there yet. He might be a little hurt from that.
“Silly,” she scolded teasingly, rolling her eyes. “We took a taxi!” because she was reminding him after all. She furrowed her brows after a moment, now wondering why (and how) he was acting so sober. “Why’re you so...” she waved at him, “not drunk?”
“And why are you so drunk?” John asked, indeed feeling a little hurt and petulant about the fact that she had other people she called best friends. Of course, he knew he wasn’t her only friend, but those blanket forts were really special to him, man, and now he felt weird about it. Still, the brave little toaster forged on in their conversation. “It’s only been like half an hour.”
Tara was really confused now. She just stared at him, mouth slightly open, looking just what she was: mixed up and feeling as if she’d just walked into a weird new world. “I don’t get it,” was all she said. Because drunk brains can’t work that shit out, man.
Apparently, neither did sober brains. “What?” he scooted back enough on the bed to pull his legs up and hug his knees. “Are you okay?” he asked, suddenly. “Did you bump your head?”
Reaching up to touch the back of her head, Tara felt for a bump. Had she hit her head? No, she couldn’t remember doing that. But perhaps bumping her head had caused some memory loss. It was possible! If she was dreaming she was a TARDIS, anything could be possible really. “I don’t think so,” she finally said, slowly shaking her head as she turned back to him. She noticed in that moment that John was wearing his glasses, an accessory she was quite fond of.
Pulling her legs up onto the bed and turning fully towards him, she reached over, grabbed the aforementioned eyewear, and placed them on her nose. She was grinning widely (looking quite silly, really) and giggling just a little. “Do I look like an accomplished author?”
Tara was normally a little strange, but this was strange even for her. He was halfway between letting his brain just explode from BZUH and just giving up and going to find some wine on his own so that he could at least catch up and not worry about being lost.
“About as much as I do in them,” he said finally. “But definitely cute.”
“Cute?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. Tara pushed the glasses back (settling on the top of her head) while she smiled, leaning towards John. “I thought that you were calling me Sexy nowadays,” she pointed out, putting a hand on his chest, looking straight at into his eyes. Because, you know, this was quite normal for her.
John paused everything, like a deer in headlights. He stared at the hand on his chest and just... well. Kept staring. Was this a … pop quiz? He was lost.
“Well. Uhm. Yes. Sexy. You are, I mean. I. Uh.” John Smith: speechless.
Something like a pop quiz, yes. “Sexy,” she reiterated, because she liked when he called her that. “Am I, then?” Tara leaned forward then and, smiling, pressed her lips to John’s. The hand that was on his chest slid up toward his collar, wrapping behind his neck.
He could have been the Doctor, or just some average Joe. Or maybe just something oddly between the two. But no one -- not even those -- would be stupid enough to resist the kiss of a fascinating woman who was quirky, smart and beautiful. Sexy, even. If that was what they were going with.
So John did what any clever man in this situation would do: he kissed her back.
And the return was quite appreciated. Adjusting her position of sitting on her legs, Tara just smiled against his mouth, breaking away for a moment as she kneeled on the bed. Hand still resting on his neck, she giggled a little and gave him one of those adorable eskimo kisses. Because she’s Tara, and she’s cute or something. “Hello,” she said, sounding quite pleased with herself.
Yeah, it was really hard to differentiate cute from sexy sometimes, John supposed, breaking into a stupid sort of grin at the eskimo kiss. “...Hi,” he said after a short pause, both perplexed and pleased by the current situation. Kissing Tara was nice. He wasn’t sure why he’d never thought on it before.
She was grinning when he returned her greeting, though that toothy smile disappeared when she closed the distance between them again. Tara breathed as their lips connected again, this time less friendly and more urgent. Grabbing at the hair at the back of his head, she giggled against his lips. Because no kiss from Tara was complete without the giggles.
IF John had been imagining kissing Tara (if), he would have said that he wouldn’t have imagined it any other way than how they were doing it now -- giggles and all. Because Tara wouldn’t be Tara if she wasn’t happy and giggling (god help the man who ever made her cry).
His hand sat on the inward curves of her waist, right above her hips -- and he could truly admit that he didn’t remember putting them here. When she came up for breath and more giggles, he smiled -- bright, wide, toothy. “Where did that come from?”
“Dunno!” she admitted, pulling back and sitting on her bum. She began pulling off her socks, because they were starting to get annoying. And then she unzipped her sweater and discarded that as well. Because comfort is key in a situation like this. Clearly.
After dropping the sweater onto the floor, Tara turned back to John -- her Doctor -- and smiled that toothy grin of hers. “That’s much better. Where were we?”
John gave that deer in the headlights look again-- because, well, as much as he liked Tara he hadn’t really expected his day to go in this particular direction. And... as much as he liked it (who wouldn’t want a girl to shed one layer after another playfully in front of them?), she was still... well. She was a little blitzed.
“We were...” He blinked, and then gave an almost regretful smile. “Tara?” he asked. “Do you mind getting us a glass of water before we... you know. Continue.”
“Water?” she asked, not exactly recognizing the importance of it in that moment. Of course, water would help immensely with all of the side effects of wine. But she hadn’t quite thought of that fully. “Right, I’ll run and grab that! Stay right here. Don’t move. Please. I’ll be right back!” she assured him, rising up off her knees and onto the ground -- stumbling a bit on the way up. Steadying herself with a hand on his shoulder, she grinned at her best friend in silent apology before hurrying out of the room.
Reaching the kitchen, Tara pulled two cups and began filling them with water. Nearly done with the second, she began to feel as if it was falling through her fingers. She saw that golden light again, and watched as the glass crashed into the sink before that noise happened again and she dissolved from the current space and time. Back to her original timeline and her John Smith!
John was still in the other room-- running his fingers through his hair wildly trying to figure out exactly what had happened here. What was going to happen. Sure, she was getting water now, but she’d be back, and she was drunk and insistent and now that the idea was there he wasn’t sure he could ---
Wait. What was that noise?
“Tara?” He called, his voice as accented as it was ever going to be. He reached over to grab his glasses before investigating, only to remember that Tara had them on her head. Glassesless, he made his way into the living room and then the kitchen, only to... not find Tara. Only a chipped glass in the kitchen sink and the water still running.
“...Tara?”