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Title: The End Of The Road (Is The Beginning Of Your Life)
Author: [ profile] chicafrom3
Gift for: [ profile] imsanehonest
Rating: PG. More for safety than anything else.
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Billy Shipton/Sally Wainright, some minor Billy Shipton/Sally Sparrow
Word count: 1,088
Summary: Where it starts, and where it ends. The life and loves of Billy Shipton.
Spoilers: Blink
The Request: "Billy Shipton (from "Blink") and adjusting to life in 1969. Let's hear a bit about his Sally!"
Author's Notes: This didn't come out quite like I planned it, and is kind of surreal and deeply nonlinear, but I hope it still pleases. *hugs* I'm so sorry this is late, I was offline unexpectedly for the weekend.
Disclaimer: Billy Shipton is not mine. His life is not mine. His Sally is not mine, and neither is Sally Sparrow. Let's be honest, I own nothing except for this precise arrangement of words in a row; the BBC owns everything else.

There are days—moments really—when Billy Shipton forgets.

Moments when he forgets that this is not where he belongs; forgets that he was not born into this world (time); forgets to be afraid to blink.

Moments when he forgets the Weeping Angels; forgets that this is not the twenty-first century; forgets the gorgeous girl called Sally Sparrow and the fake police box and the existence of anyone called the Doctor.

Moments when he forgets that he is living out a predestination paradox, and that's his only purpose any more.

And then the moment is over, and it all comes crashing back in.


It ends here: in the rain, in a bed, with gorgeous girl Sally Sparrow crying beside him.

I have till the rain stops.


Billy Shipton was an officer of the police, a Detective Inspector, a good one. He did his job. He caught the criminals.

He goes into publishing because the Doctor tells him that's what he does. Some days he wonders why he's taking the word of a man without a name—not just taking the word of, building his entire world around the word of—and then he remembers that the Doctor is the only one who knows what's going on, and how it all plays out.

Filming the Doctor and Martha is fun, and distracting. The Doctor is focused, reciting mostly from memory, glancing at the autocue only every so often. Martha is good-humored, snarky, beautiful and clever.

He stores the film like the Doctor tells him to. DVD technology doesn't exist yet; but eventually, he will be responsible for passing this message on.


It starts here: he is happy. He's had a good day. He is waiting for something he doesn't know. The year doesn't matter, because he is where he is.

She is beautiful, and smiles at him, and they flirt.

Her name is Sally Wainright, and he drops his glass.


There are the moments when Billy Shipton forgets, and then there are the moments when it is too real to be borne.

Moments when he can't explain his knowledge of things he shouldn't know, and ignorance of things he should; moments when he wants to shout his frustration from the tallest buildings; moments when all he wants to say is fuck the timeline get me out of here.

Moments when he sees the dirty looks directed at him for having the beautiful Sally Wainright on his arm, because she's white and he's black; moments when the casual racism and sexism and just all the isms together combine to drive him to fury; moments when it is crystal clear that this is not when he belongs and the Weeping Angels stole something precious and irreplaceable from him.

Moments when he really does feel like there's nothing left for him, and he really might as well end it here and now, paradox be damned.

And then he takes a deep breath, and he keeps going.


"I'm glad you're out of time," she whispers against his skin one night, whispers like it's something secret and shameful. "Because it means you're mine."

He kisses her and thinks: this is real.


The Doctor and Martha help Billy Shipton set up a life for himself. Find a flat, find a job, fake the paperwork, and move on.

There are days when it hurts to remember that they will get to escape while he takes the slow path—and there are days when he is waiting for that to happen as impatiently as they are.

Because life is short and you are hot, he had told the lovely Sally Sparrow, but here and now, life is long and slow and he is at a loss.

But he is willing to bet that forty years in the future, she is still hot.


His Sally is jealous, but won't admit it, and he knows what she's jealous of, but can't stop.

Kathy (his future mother-in-law, he sincerely hopes) tells him stories about Sally Sparrow and he tells her about his own meeting with the gorgeous girl. They talk about the twenty-first century and the things they miss.

For whole hours, they exist in a time that hasn't come yet, and that Sally cannot be part of, and it hurts her but he cannot stop.


There are nights when Billy Shipton dreams of rain.

He always wakes up with tears on his cheeks.


Their wedding is quiet and inexpensive and the happiest day of his life.

Sally is radiant. Brilliantly, beautifully happy, and he is scared to death (what if he can't do right by her?) but he can't stop smiling.

Kathy squeezes his hand briefly in encouragement, kisses him on the cheek, and goes to reassure her daughter.

While he is saying his vows, he glances at the friends and family gathered in the church, and sees two people lurking near the door—a tall, thin man in a brown trench coat; a pretty young woman in a red leather jacket; and everything is okay and maybe someone is profiting off of his stolen future but this future looks pretty good from where he's standing.

You may now kiss the bride, and when he does, everything else ceases to matter.


The day she dies (he can't—)

The day she dies.

This is how it ought to end, sitting by her bedside, holding her hand, watching everything vanish on him, but it doesn't.

I have till the rain stops.

This is the first time he prays for the rain to come, and for Sally Sparrow to appear, and for the rain to stop.

It won't be the last.

(She's dead, and how did that happen, how does any of this happen, God, why—)


It starts:

Here and now, in a thousand different places, at a million different times.

It starts:

Sally Sparrow soaking wet, abandoned cars still running in the yard of an abandoned house, Miss Sally Wainright consenting to become Mrs. Sally Shipton, goes ding when there's stuff, 1969 and a future that shouldn't have been his but is stretching out in front of him as far as he can see.

It ends:

Then and there, in one set moment that he can't find.

It ends:

In an Angel's touch, when the rain stops, in a DVD he made himself because he was destined to, in a hospital bed and he curses the doctors for their failure to save her.

It ends:

It doesn't end.

Date: 2007-09-03 11:08 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
That was wonderfully written. I love the way the story weaves back and forth much like the episode itself. You did a great job of capturing Billy's confusion, anger and how he went on to make a life for himself.

Date: 2007-09-07 02:11 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Thank you so much! ♥ I'm glad you liked it--and I'm glad that the nonlinear format worked for you. :D Is it possible to write a Blink fic that works linearly? *ponders*

Date: 2007-09-07 05:07 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Well there is a linearness to Blink, its just that it doesn't match with that of the rest of the world.

Date: 2007-09-04 12:42 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Wow, that was amazing! I really, truly, love it to pieces. It's brilliant.

So poignant and sad and lovely, I just... guh. This is amazing.

Brilliant, BRILLIANT stuff.

Date: 2007-09-07 02:12 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
*hugs* Thank you so much! I'm thrilled that you liked it, I was worried about it.

Date: 2007-09-18 08:28 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Oh the Pain.

The sweet beautiful pain of it all, man you made me feel for the guy.

Date: 2007-09-30 02:04 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Awww. *hugs* Glad to, uh. Make you hurt? No, that's not quite right.

Well, glad it affected you! *hugs*

Date: 2008-01-05 11:45 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]

That was beautiful... I need to go cry manly tears now.


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