April 2nd, 2007



Rachel poked disconsolately at her dinner with her free hand. "I hate this."

"I know, Ray." Dawn patted her friend's leg. "It's your own fault for managing to injury yourself in another weird way."

Spike snorted and contemplated eating the officious little administrator. Declán had called them from the hospital and now they were all gathered around Rachel's bed. The woman with the clipboard and zero medical experience had insisted on a suicide watch, because she didn't believe you could accidentally cut your wrist while washing the dishes.

"This mushy stuff tastes like old socks, Dawn."

"It is hospital food."


open_on_sundaychallenge #210: special dinners
Part of the London!verse and the Wolf&Declán!verse


Gwen shuffled through the documents looking for the missing medical report. "Tosh, have you got the autopsy file?"

"No." Tosh didn't look up from her screen. "Owen still has it."

"That should have been ready hours ago." Gwen stood up and stretched the kinks out of her neck. "I'll go check if he's finished."

"He's not." Tosh opened a scoreboard. "The high score has been creeping up for the past 24 hours. Owen is locked in mortal combat with an opponent using the handle Dreamcatcher."

"I'm sorry?"

"He's being thrashed at Desktop Tower Defence by a twelve-year-old girl."


tw100challenge #20: reverse fandom: doctor who: the war machines