Title: "Stretching Time"

Author: Wish Wielder

Fandom: Doctor Who (2005 series)

Pairing / Character Focus: Ten/Rose

Challenge: Fanfic 100

Theme / Prompt: #80 (Why?)

Word Count: 748

Rating: K / G

Summary: Nine hundred years and nine incarnations to his name and he still could not grasp the concept of the Indian boardgame of Mancala.

Notes: Oh, just a random drabble inspired by my Mancala board falling on me whilst cleaning the closet.

Disclaimer: "Doctor Who" and all respective properties are © the BBC. Meg D. (Wish Wielder) does not, has never, nor will ever own "Doctor Who".

"Stretching Time"

He never understood the purpose of board games, specifically this one. Nine hundred years and nine incarnations to his name and he still could not grasp the concept of the Indian boardgame of Mancala.

It wasn't so much that he didn't understand it – no, he understood the rules perfectly. It was why Rose seemed to enjoy playing it so much that really got him. What could be so entertaining about picking up a few shiny beads and plopping them around a board full of pits? And you couldn't even say it was the thrill of finding out who would win; he had figured out after his first game the simple pattern that always predicted the winner. It wasn't hard to realize that whoever went first could always claim the mantle.

Still, it made her smile, and as he was rather fond of her smile he didn't protest – much.

But one night, just coasting through the time vortex in a rare downtime of relaxation, he found he couldn't take it anymore.

"Rassilon, Rose! What is your fascination with this game, anyway?" he asked when she once again declared herself victorious. Maybe if he demanded he go first more often, ensuring himself more wins than his current record (none, as it was), he wouldn't be so annoyed by the thing. "There's no point to it, really! How can anyone find this fun?!"

She laughed at him, and for a moment he didn't regret snapping. She started to spread the beads out again, choosing to not meet his gaze as she did so.

"You don't get it yet, Doctor?" she asked, and his lips twisted in a frown. Get what?

"I…er…no, not really," he said, hating to admit that she had actually managed to stump him. She looked up at him, smiling at his pout.

"Stretching time," she said, and his eyebrows soared. "S'all it does, really. Gives us just a bit more time."

He never questioned her again after that, and – despite his continuous losing streak – he found he rather liked the game.

- W -

"You have a Mancala board?"

He looked up, eyes wide as Martha picked up the wooden box. The board was folded and bound with two rubber bands, all the beads nestled safely in its inner pockets. She arched a brow and smirked.

"Ain't that a bit too domestic for you, Doctor?" she asked. He looked at the board, the book in his hands suddenly forgotten as he leaned forward a bit in his chair. She ignored the look his eyes took, that misted and glazed haunted look he got whenever he thought of her. Instead, she wiggled the board a little, choosing to be amused at the unexpected discovery. "Want to play a round, then?"

"No," he said quickly, jumping up and rushing to the TARDIS's control panel. He began punching in a set of random coordinates, leaving his book flopped carelessly on the floor. She frowned as she watched him zip ahead, going into that hyperactive race-through-life-as-recklessly-as-possible mode he would force upon himself whenever his mind wandered back to his last companion. She tried not to be jealous, but a part of her knew that – when it was finally her turn to part ways with the crazed man – he would never get that jumpy about her memory. He continued working, sending the TARDIS towards wherever and whenever, brisking along in his silent refusal to continue thinking about the other.

"Never really liked the game, anyway," he finally said. "Always lost. Right, then - hold on!"

She dropped the game back to the floor, kicking it into the small crevice she had found it in. He gave it one final look, one final chance for it to inspire the image of a whooping smile and dancing eyes on a quiet night, before looking back to the console before him. He let it slip to the back of his mind, where the rest of the undisturbed trinkets that were simply Rose were kept. That part of him that felt like a bastard every time he put Martha through this spoke up once more, admonishing him for his brash dismissal of the game. And all the while, the dominant part of his mind – the part that still couldn't let go of Rose, despite all the time since that windy morning on the beach – made a silent vow to never play that game again, with Martha or anyone else. He had no use for stretching time now.

A.n.: Well, you know how it goes. Plunnies strike at the strangest of times. Please note that this unofficial claim for FF100 prob'ly won't be updated as frequently as the PPY claim for a while since I'm still getting used to/my facts together about the series. (Once I'm more comfortable it'll be updated more frequently. ) )