My Mistress' Eyes ("Feminine" Entry)

[roseglade.livejournal.com]

Title: My Mistress’ Eyes

Rating: PG

Word Count: 725 words

Characters: William Shakespeare and Martha Jones  

Spoilers: “The Shakespeare Code”

Warnings: N/A

Episode Setting: “The Shakespeare Code”

Summary: Shakespeare writes a secret sonnet for his Freedonian beauty.

Author Notes: All lines in Italic are taken from Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130.

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun

Her beauty takes his breath away.  She is a different kind of women than the common women of England. More beautiful than they, he dares say.    Her eyes shine bright but are nothing like the sun’s hot and yellow rays.  They are a deep and warm chocolate brown in which all who need, will find shelter in.

If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun

She is not perfect to the world, but to a special few, she is their world as she has become his.  Her ideas may be wild and her words selective, but her smile will make his heart sing for eternity.  Black is the scorn of night, but if it be then, he will dwell in the darkest night for her love.

“Hey, Will?”  Martha knocks on his study door, opening it slightly.

“Oh, my dear Martha,”  Will smiles sheepishly as he covers his sonnet with copious other papers.  He looks to the sky and it is as dark as ink.  He realizes that he’s been writing for over two hours.  “Come in.”

He watches her every move like a hawk.  She effortlessly captivates his heart in unbreakable silver chains.  He can feel her great courage and spirit surging out from within her.   She gives him strength and causes his weakness.  He wishes to tell her, but he is already a taken man.  He would feel immense guilt if he became unfaithful to his Anne and children.

“What may I do for you?”  Will inquires merrily so as to cover his inner turmoil deep within himself.

“I just wanted to give you a heads up that we’ll, the Doctor and I, we will be leaving in the morning.”

“Ah,”  He should let her go, but her feminine beauty and intellect have him bewitched.  “But why leave so soon?  You have only just arrived in London.  I’m sure that you and the Doctor would love to see the sights of London.  I could give you the grandest of tours of this marvelous city.”

She smiles, laughs softly,  and begins speaking, but he cannot hear her.  They only thing he can see is her smile and hear is her laugh.  Both so precious and delicate.

“... So yeah, The Doctor promised me this one trip so it’s my time to go back home.”

“I see.”  William sighs, but is determined to stay strong for his Freedonian beauty.  “Well, it has been a most wonderful and magical two days and I wish you the happiest of days once you leave..”

“See you tomorrow.”

“Good night.”

She opens the door and something pulls at his heart.  A feeling that he can’t, wouldn’t let her go, but had to.  Will stands up from his desk and shouts.

“Martha!”

“Yeah?”  Martha stops in the middle of the doorway and Will races to grabs her hand.

“If you …  are ever come back to London, you should come and see me.  I can take you out and we can get a drink or something.”

“It’s a deal then, Mr. William Shakespeare.”  Martha smiles and shakes his hand in agreement.

“Yes, it is, Ms. Martha Jones.  Well,”  Will studders.  “Good night! Parting is such, such … sweet sorrow …. That I shall say good night ....  till it be morrow.”

Martha stares, as if in awe, at him.  He smiles so as to ease her shocked expression.  She smiles the brightest he has ever seen.  Ecstatic,  Will pulls her hand up to his lips and kisses it as if it were her own lips.  As he releases her hand she exits the room with the brightest smile and eyes known to man.  

As the door closes in the room, a door closes in his heart.  He will never have that opportunity to confess his overwhelming love for her ever again.  He hopes that this kiss might have given her a small taste of his love for her.  Suddenly, he races to find his paper with his unfinished sonnet for Martha.  As he writes his last line, he pours out the remainder of his love for her.  He hopes that one day, she might read his sonnet and know that it was all for her.

And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.