continuum_of_drs | Home Again?

"I don't know! I'm not a psychiatrist or a hostage negotiator or a- a- a Time Lord!"

All this flailing simply made her seem smaller and more unhappy than ever. He found himself leaving the chair and walking over to her, curling his arms around her in what he hoped was a reassuring hug.

"We haven't given up, yet."

She burrowed against his coat, small and so very young. She's only twenty six. Or two, depending on how you're counting. "I don't know what to do and oh god, you smell good."

...

Blush.

"Ah. And not in the conventional sense, I daresay."

She was starving. He could sense it. Feel the bones of her shoulders and spine under her jacket even more than usual. And there wasn't really anything about with which to feed her. He vaguely remembered Nyssa--so long ago--in a similar predicament. But the artificial blood substitute she'd devised hadn't worked at all, she'd told him later. She and Clair were two very different kinds of vampires--the haemoglobin substitute might work for Clair, but it would take days to brew.

There wasn't anything else for it, really.

"You need to drink, don't you?" he asked quietly.

Kind of pointless trying to lie to the psychic who can feel your ribs. She nods against his chest, miserable.

There was a pause after which he released her, reaching up to untie his cravat and unbutton his collar. It was pretty obvious what he meant by that. After a thought, he found something to sit on. He figured he was going to need it.

She stared at him, and then suddenly went pale and backed away from him hastily. "You can't... I can't.... I don't want to hurt you!"

He shook his head, remaining where he was. "There isn't anything else that can be obtained quickly enough and you're dangerously underfed as it is. I'll be all right." Smile?

"No, you're not, you're still recovering...." Almost unaware, she draws near him again, her eyes on his bared throat even as she protests. There's a certain amount of animal instinct involved in being a vampire, and Russell is quiet for once, scorning it.

"My species are a little hardier where this is concerned than humans are." That actually was true. For all their cultural and psychological aversion to vampires, Gallifreyans had a remarkable tolerance for their mode of feeding. Perhaps that was why.

Flail! But.... he's a lot bigger than she is, and he can stop her if he has to. Right? Right?

"You're sure about this, aren't you?"

He nodded.

"We do intend to look after you. If this is part of it ... none of us can refuse. None of us would refuse."

In her head, Russell makes an amused, scornful sound at that, but Clair ignores her completely. "I'll... um. It will hurt. I'm sorry. Just... please hold still? And try to relax...." Smile? A very shaky smile. Because doctorly advice really works here. She's trying, but she's not comfortable with this. Awkwardly, she bends close, and curls a hand around the back of his neck. "I'm sorry...."

"It's ... all right."

When the bite comes, he only stiffens slightly, with a small indrawn breath of pain. An instant's instinctual revulsion shivers through him, but he dares not move. Her fangs had sunk into his neck like a pair of particularly large intravenous needles ... best to hold still.

His head drops back. Stay still. Breathe. His hands grip her upper arms, balancing against her.

She adjusts the bite, and then shuts her eyes as she drinks. He can feel the drain, the unnatural suction in his veins. She's gone too long without, and she drinks deep now. Sweeter than human, richer somehow.

Everything he is screams against this--the unnaturalness, the very loathesomeness of the vampire made his skin crawl. But ... how long had she gone without eating? How much did she need?

Consciousness wavers a little--time-sense pulled thin, he loses the flow. How long has it been?

The draining is becoming painful, now. She's pulling more than just his blood. A gasp sounds. His fingers tighten around her arms, much stronger than his slight frame would indicate. A shudder runs through him and he recoils, uncaring whether her fangs tore further, pushing her back from him, labouring for breath.

She tries, for just a heartbeat, to keep her grip and keep feeding, but then jerks back, stumbling away from him with his push and covering her mouth with both hands. Blood, smeared on her neck and jaw, is the brightest color in the room. His blood.

"Oh...." She looks ready to flee, glancing towards the door.

He looks up at her from where he'd almost fallen to the floor. Blood had run down his neck and he was noticably pale, face bearing a slight sheen of perspiration. It curled his hair against his face and under the angle of his jaw.

"Was it ... enough?" he asked softly, gingerly fingering the wound.

She licks the blood from her lips and fangs, breathing fast. "I.... yes, I'm sorry I took so much, I'm sorry...."

Russell's so smug back in there. Nothing more than an animal, I told you.

He could hear Russell. And something in the back of his mind agreed. The part that still carried millennia of Gallifreyan culture, Rassilon's directive, ancient indoctrination, the result of a war whose scale reached proportions almost unimaginable.

But ....

He forced his eyes to focus on her. This was not the face of the undead scourge his people had pledged to fight until the very last. This was a hapless mutant, a haemovore, an isolated case. Could she have made a vampire of him? He had no idea.

"It's all right ... I'm ... fine...."

He quieted the indignant yammering of his memories, of his other selves.

"...I forgive you," he breathed.

He felt time shift.

She stared at him, something new in her eyes. Pain, not caused by him but recalled. Yearning, for something. Something she lost.

The air in here was too thick to breathe.

"I.. I... I have to go."

If she could just get one good breath, she'd be running for the door.

"Clair ... Clair, wait...."

He pulled himself to his feet, wavering.

"Don't be afraid."

Clair took a step back, her hands pressed to her chest to keep them from flailing. "I.... You should rest. I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

"You don't need to run away. Let's just ... make some tea and sit down ... and talk this through. All right?" Smile?

His other selves are varying shades of disappointed, curious, angry... he ignores all of them and attempts to lead clair back to a small cluster of squashy chairs.

Meh! She very much wants to hole up, somewhere quiet and solitary where she can come to terms with whatever just happened. He... he let her drink from him, and forgave her the hurts she'd done him, even though her other self had been fully willing to kill him.

Almost unwilling, she lets him draw her to the chairs and curls up in the one nearest the room's fireplace.

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GIP

And such a lovely icon it is, too.

Re: And such a lovely icon it is, too.

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