Fic: Night Time Fear (Sherlock BBC) (Doctor Who)

[keep_counting]

Title: Night Time Fear
Characters/Pairings: Irene Adler/River Song
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Spoilers for ASiB and at least S5 of DW, mild sexual innuendos,
Genre: Romance/Hurt-Comfort
Word-count: 709
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in relation to this.
A/N: Written for novindalf for International Women's Day 2012.
Summary: 'Oh please,' Irene whispered. 'I'm always in trouble'

There is frost on the window: she’s hiding out, lying low and that means no fancy hotels, only cheap accommodations, a motel or a bar or even sleeping in whatever car she’s currently driving in. But it also means that the days are cold and the nights are colder and she chain-smokes in her room, watching the smoke touch the mist on the glass, see them couple and reflect on each other. She can hardly see to the landscape outside, but every time her eyes catch a movement she imagines what it could be, wandering around out there.

She’s testy and she isn’t answering her phone, and how many must think her dead by now? She always answers that bloody phone.

She takes another long drag of her cigarette, enjoying the soft pressure on her lips. She’s plopped herself down in one of the chairs, back resting against an armrest, legs thrown over the other. She isn’t wearing shoes or even socks, and if she reaches upwards she can touch the window with her toes, neatly painted in a deep purple, matching her finger-nails. Her hair is down, for once, still slightly wet and curly after the shower and she’s wearing a fluffy, dark bathrobe, an item carefully tucked into the duffel-bag she’s brought with her.

It’s a silly indulgence, but she loves that bathrobe like she loves cigarettes and dark chocolate and the echo of a voice she hasn’t heard in all too long.

“Hello, Irene.”

She smiles, but doesn’t turn around, opting to sit still and wait instead.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Irene says, now noticing the click of heeled boots against the wooden floor, drawing closer until she is standing right behind the chair Irene is occupying.

“Well, you know me,” River says, bending down to breathe the words into Irene’s ear. “I’m very sneaky.”

Irene lets her leg slide off the arm-rest, turning around in her seat and reaching up to enfold her arms around the other woman’s neck.

“Your hair’s gotten bigger,” she says and River laughs, throwing her head back, the smoke from the still lit cigarette weaving itself through the air and around the blonde curls.

“Yours hasn’t,” she says, reaching over to run her fingers through the long, dark strands. “Just longer, I think.”

“Yes,” Irene says. “It’s been long since you saw me last.”

“I heard you were in trouble,” River says, shrugging under Irene’s hold and kneeling down a little so that they are face to face. It feels like a child hanging unto a toy, but Irene doesn’t want to loosen her grip, instead leaning forward until their faces are mere inches from each other.

“I’m always in trouble.”

River rolls her eyes. “Yes, I know. But this time I heard it was much more than you can manage.” She cranes her neck a bit, looking around the cheap room. “It seems like the rumours were right.”

“And so you broke out of prison,” Irene says, breathing in deeply and smelling oil and perfume and stardust and she has to bite her tongue not to beg River to take her with her, wherever she’s going. “Just to come help me out?”

River’s nails are painted lilac, as if her colours are a lighter shade than Irene’s, starting from the blonde hair and the green jacket, contrasting with all the dark that Irene has wrapped herself in. She notices the nail-polish when River slowly reaches up to touch Irene’s cheek with her finger-tips.

“Of course, sweetie,” she promises. “If you even want my help, that is.”

I always want you, Irene thinks, but she doesn’t say it, only letting a smile slowly spread over her face.

“Let’s go then,” she says, letting the cigarette fall from her fingers and hit the floor. “I couldn’t stand to be a minute more in this hell-hole.”

River frowns as she stands up. “As motels go, it isn’t the best, but I would have to say it stands out in comparison to my cell.”

Irene grins. “Oh, dear, I would love to see your cell.”

River’s laughter rings through the rooms of the motel long after they’ve both left, smoke still curling in the air like letters disappearing in the night.

Comments

[novindalf]

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
You are a goddess =D

[keep-counting.livejournal.com]

THANK-YOU! :D :D

[the-silverdoe.livejournal.com]

...Oh, I love you for this. Perfect.
(I just saw Alex Kingston play a lesbian in another show, so I could totally picture this, and they make a lovely pairing. :)

[keep-counting.livejournal.com]

Thank-you deeear! :D and what is the name of that show????

[the-silverdoe.livejournal.com]

It's Upstairs Downstairs 2.3 (no need to watch the other eps). She made a great couple with Emilia Fox imo. :)

[jess-who.livejournal.com]

LOVE this pairing so much and you do wonders with them. You build upon the atmosphere and the characters self-perseption beautifully with the description of smoke and mist, and the shade of themselv; Irene/Purple and River/Lilac.

[keep-counting.livejournal.com]

Thank-you so much! :)

[euruaina.livejournal.com]

Heh, this was awesome - I'd love to read more. :)

[keep-counting.livejournal.com]

Thanks! :)