#grumpymusings

“If you let someone get that close, it just means they need a shorter knife. Lonely and alive works just fine, thanks.”

There was a bit of a rumble at the station today, just a rumor spreading and making its way to the various floors of the building. Someone was supposed to be joining the team. His department had obviously caught wind. They ran with it, chatting over tea and at their cubicles.

It was some hotshot, someone from the military, whoever the fuck.

When a man wandered into the bullpen, the information was confirmed. He was headed right for DCI Daniel Hegarty's office as well. Daniel inwardly sighed, readying himself for the conversation.

That would be fun.

“You can do your worst. At the end of the day, it's what you do best.”

Disgraced, debased, disentangled from the two men who trusted him most in this cruel world, and yet still dangerous. In spite of it all, he hadn’t lost his bite. Even if the situation was unbearable most days, he managed. No one dared to speak of it in his vicinity. Like a livewire that no one wanted to touch, everyone stayed away from him.

Daniel stalked the halls, turning a corner into the bullpen. He wandered past the cubical area to return to his office, a fishbowl, just a room he wanted nothing to do with anymore. He couldn’t retire just yet, couldn’t really afford to, and he hated the monotony of it all. Too much had happened. His past had caught up with him, and the skeletons in the closet had piled too high.

By the time he reached his office, his eyes lifted to find a woman inside. She was sitting in front of his desk, patiently waiting for him to return from afternoon errands. Her hair was a fiery red, back straight. She checked her nails, glancing at the wall, and eventually down again.

Opening the door, he brushed a polite preamble aside and asked, “Can I help you?” He certainly wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries today. 

“Delicate like porcelain, dirty like a whispered secret.”

It happened one evening while he was in the local tavern. Cresswell (and his crew) would be on land for the entirety of winter. The ship needed a good deal of work after a "tussle" with a few British ships they had encountered on the way home. His men were compensated well enough and didn't mind the time on land, staying in Nassau while they could and enjoying the warmer climate. That was never a problem.

While in the tavern, of course, he caught sight of a young woman at the bar. She was vigorously wiping down a counter, her back turned towards him. He watched her for a while, head tilted as he lost himself to thought. She was new. Cresswell always noticed the little details. Always.

“Does grief, mourning, not exist as an extant form of love? Just as death exists as an extant form of life, one cannot exist without the other.”

Cal was wandering around a school. He'd come for provisions, searching through every room he could find. There was a machete on his back, strapped to a rucksack, and a handgun in his left hand as he cautiously made his way around the building.

A sudden commotion caught his attention. A woman's cry, the groaning of the undead, etc. He ran to help whoever it was that needed assistance, gun at the ready.

"What room are you in?" he called. "You gotta help me here."

“When your heart knows, it knows. There's no explaining. You can only trust it.”

Someone new had moved into the neighborhood. Ronald was aware of that fact, of course, but working down the road at the local bookstore had taken up the majority of his time.

Two weeks passed before he finally had an evening to himself. With a bit of bravery, he found himself walking next door. In his hand was a sage plant, something easy to care for her and beautiful to look at. Maybe it would be appreciated. He swallowed the nervous lump in his throat, and finally knocked at the door, hoping she was home. From what he'd heard from the neighbors, she was rather sweet. She was also a teacher, apparently. She sounded nice.

“I am made of bullets; shrapnel. You are solar flares and soft lips. Better creatures could love you, I know, but now they'll have to get through me.”

Another planet, another kiss - but this time it was to distract the guards that were passing by. He'd found his way to her in a crowd of locals. He recognized her perfume. Someone thought they recognized him, and to hide from everyone, he spun her towards him and drew her in for a kiss, his hands placed on her cheeks.

"C'mere, I need to hide," he mumbled. "Sorry. What are you doing on this planet? I'm just here for the market. I needed parts for the TARDIS."

Not two months ago, he'd said goodbye to Clara, bidding her farewell. He completely lied, saying that he found Gallifrey again. He wasn't about to let Missy know about that, though. Maybe somewhere down the road.

“Grieving, grieving, constantly grieving. I mourn what could have been, what will not be, what I can't save.”

(This story is from twitter and has migrated here. This was the final reply, and this was how it all began.)

After heading into the cottage to place his empty coffee mug in the sink, Kenneth found his way to the guest bedroom. He readied himself for the day ahead, humming quietly beneath his breath.

Just to be an arsehole, and because it did amuse him and would probably get a chuckle out of Lilith as well, he wore a collar. Dark suit, Paul Smith, priest's collar, wingtips, etc. He felt as if he was ready to take on the world. The thought of a room filled with witches and warlocks who already despised him, however, was almost his undoing. He couldn't (and wouldn't) let it overwhelm him.

He'd dealt with worse in his life. Things would be fine.

“Show me your thorns and I'll show you hands ready to bleed.”

Wandering into the Vault after a rather long day of marking and lectures, the Doctor dropped a bag of takeaway on the dining table. He cast a soft glance in Missy's direction.

"Hungry?" he asked, brows rising. "I know I am. Come eat with me."