#attofinale

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Xan’s room has hardly changed at all over the last nine years: a single bed with plain white covers is pushed into the top left-hand corner; there’s a wardrobe, a desk, its surface clear except for her computer ( placed dead centre ), and its drawers kept neatly arranged. There’s a bookcase on the back wall—and the books that it holds are the only real difference from when she was ten, thirteen, fifteen—well, those and the square skylight that Jim had allowed her to have installed in the ceiling only couple of years before. 

She stared up through the glass now, trying to pick out the stars, pinpricks of light through a thick layer of cloud, but the heavens were too overcast for her to be able to see anything. She shifted onto her side and then onto her stomach, tossing and turning but unable to get comfortable. The sheet had quickly rumpled and it rubbed at her skin through the cotton of her pyjamas. Eventually, she wound up on her left side, eyes wide in the darkness, staring out at the rest of the room. All those shapes that had once been familiar felt suddenly alien after a term away at Trinity: the wardrobe loomed over the end of her bed, looking black and hostile; the tiny circle of green light on her laptop charger winked at her like an eye. Xan’s skin flushed hot and then cold. She shivered and lay very still. It took her several minutes to work up the courage to sit, to swing her legs over the side of the bed, and finally to stand. Half-expecting hands to shoot out of the shadows and grab her any moment, she moved towards the door. The hallway beyond her bedroom was dim, but she was surprised to see that, at the very end of it, there were lights still on in the kitchen. Perhaps Sebastian was having trouble sleeping too—that was hardly unusual—or maybe it was her father, who often worked late into the night.

Her frustration feels prickly, like a vine has grown along her back wrapping its thorns around her spine and making her feel twitchy. It was a passive observation before, his distance from her. The way he hadn’t lingered and really looked at her when he’d come in, the way he looks that makes it seem like he knows— like he’s looking inside you. 

He hadn’t sat down near her either, almost pacing around the room instead. She’d cleaned, moved some furniture, had a very funny high that had driven her to the task. Eurus could have put it all off as him taking in the space again, seeing the things she’d changed. Nate liked it, said it felt more open, airy. She liked it too, but she’d quickly moved on from it. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, knowing that the confusion and frustration would bleed into her tone. She stands and starts over to him, stopping however out of arms reach and perching in the armrest of an easy chair. Eurus can read him, knows something off— the evidence is there, but the answer remains out of reach. This out of the ordinary behaviour has stirred her up all the more because he’d  left so quickly last time. 

“England?” Kate picked her head up off the pillows, poked it out from under the fluffy hotel duvet. “Jammy, are you out of your mind!? I thought I told yous last night- I thought yous were joking--we can’t go to England.” Her eyes were bleary; there’d been a strict ‘no alcohol’ policy the previous night, but they’d stolen a bottle of whisky and conned their way into a room, raided its mini-bar. The bubbles from the tiny bottle of champagne had clearly gone to her head. “Jaysus.” 

“It’s a nice chair, but the duct tape is a little much, Jim.” Nate swung lazily in the swivel chair, picking at his bindings. Really, he wouldn’t have complained so much, but the tape was sticking to the hair on his wrists and made a very unpleasant sensation. 

He sucked in air through his teeth when a gentle tug on his part resulted in a sharp pull that uprooted more than a couple of them. 

        see, she’d consider this a bit creepy, if not for the fact that she’s inclined to agree with him herself ( the bit about the Doctor being beautiful, not the other more stalker-ish bit that she definitely needs to press him on ). there have been moments where Rose too has regarded the Time Lord with reverence, especially whenever he was being brilliant and confronting enemies with wit and lengthy monologues, but it was DIFFERENT. she loved him; what excuse did he have?

“i mean… yeah, but can we jus’ go back t’ the bit about you having seen him lots of times? how’d ya even know where he’d be? he’s not exactly predictable.”