for oncoming_storms prompt 123.1 single word
Companion
"Well, I shan't keep you awake too long," he said breezily, draping his arm across Tegan's back, a hand upon her shoulder. This seemed the extent of the affection he'd allow himself to take part in, these days.
"I don't know how I'm going to sleep tonight, Doctor." Her gaze settled on the empty bed, its linens crisply folded and awaiting its occupant. "She should've taken some of her things, at least. Can't we go back?"
He eased out a sigh, frustrated and knowing. "She'll not wish for any of us looming over her as she works, don't you think?"
"Suppose not. We're part of her past now, aren't we?"
"I'll check on Turlough."
Tegan thought herself fairly adept at noticing when the Doctor told a lie. He wasn’t going to do anything of the sort, simply offering a valid excuse to leave Nyssa’s room (and all those memories) behind. But she nodded and smiled anyway. "Oh, I think he'll be a right wreck," she said through a knowing smirk. "Don't forget to bring a handkerchief to him. He’ll be bawling like someone’s taken his favorite football."
"Tegan..." The Doctor groaned out her name like the audible equivalent of an eyeroll.
"I just don't think he'll be broken up about it, that's all. It isn't like he's been with us very long."
"And is that any reason to treat him as anything...less?"
"No. No, I didn't mean it like that."
"Good night, Tegan."
"Night, Doctor."
He roamed the TARDIS corridors, reaching the shut roundel-lined door leading the way into Turlough’s room. Reached it but moved past it, not even making the attempt at grasping that copper handle and pushing his way inside. Not even raising a loose fist to give one of those roundels a solid knock to announce his presence.
Best to deal with the boy later.
He frequently lamented this young body, his ancient eyes framed by a face boyish and eager and utterly pleasant. Commanding, he was not. Intimidating, he was not. He found himself more at peace with soft words than shouting orders, particularly when dealing with these youths. For the first time, in a long time, he had a form physically capable of keeping up with them, matching them in energy and in spirit. And yet, at times they still surprised him with their rash, worrying decisions.
At their choice to abandon the TARDIS for lives he couldn’t give to them.
But this felt different. Her chosen life aboard Terminus would bring to her hardship, pain, not much in the way of happiness but much in the way of death. However long he fretted over her choice, the Doctor couldn’t fault it. This was Nyssa being Nyssa after all, generous and determined to a fault, and perhaps the ill and the infirm would benefit from the same resourcefulness which aided the Doctor after his nearly-failed regeneration.
He found himself wandering the route to the console room, its pull inevitable. Had to keep moving, had to bring Tegan and Turlough to the next destination, though he felt hard-pressed to ponder what that destination was. He expected another figure at his elbow, reminding him of much-needed repairs for the old Type 40. No mere dusting of his hands would release those memories to scatter into the recesses of his mind.
Her presence persists far longer than he expected.
And he cherished a brief pressing of warm lips against his cheek.
Character: The Fifth Doctor, feat. Tegan
Word Count: 580
"Well, I shan't keep you awake too long," he said breezily, draping his arm across Tegan's back, a hand upon her shoulder. This seemed the extent of the affection he'd allow himself to take part in, these days.
"I don't know how I'm going to sleep tonight, Doctor." Her gaze settled on the empty bed, its linens crisply folded and awaiting its occupant. "She should've taken some of her things, at least. Can't we go back?"
He eased out a sigh, frustrated and knowing. "She'll not wish for any of us looming over her as she works, don't you think?"
"Suppose not. We're part of her past now, aren't we?"
"I'll check on Turlough."
Tegan thought herself fairly adept at noticing when the Doctor told a lie. He wasn’t going to do anything of the sort, simply offering a valid excuse to leave Nyssa’s room (and all those memories) behind. But she nodded and smiled anyway. "Oh, I think he'll be a right wreck," she said through a knowing smirk. "Don't forget to bring a handkerchief to him. He’ll be bawling like someone’s taken his favorite football."
"Tegan..." The Doctor groaned out her name like the audible equivalent of an eyeroll.
"I just don't think he'll be broken up about it, that's all. It isn't like he's been with us very long."
"And is that any reason to treat him as anything...less?"
"No. No, I didn't mean it like that."
"Good night, Tegan."
"Night, Doctor."
He roamed the TARDIS corridors, reaching the shut roundel-lined door leading the way into Turlough’s room. Reached it but moved past it, not even making the attempt at grasping that copper handle and pushing his way inside. Not even raising a loose fist to give one of those roundels a solid knock to announce his presence.
Best to deal with the boy later.
He frequently lamented this young body, his ancient eyes framed by a face boyish and eager and utterly pleasant. Commanding, he was not. Intimidating, he was not. He found himself more at peace with soft words than shouting orders, particularly when dealing with these youths. For the first time, in a long time, he had a form physically capable of keeping up with them, matching them in energy and in spirit. And yet, at times they still surprised him with their rash, worrying decisions.
At their choice to abandon the TARDIS for lives he couldn’t give to them.
But this felt different. Her chosen life aboard Terminus would bring to her hardship, pain, not much in the way of happiness but much in the way of death. However long he fretted over her choice, the Doctor couldn’t fault it. This was Nyssa being Nyssa after all, generous and determined to a fault, and perhaps the ill and the infirm would benefit from the same resourcefulness which aided the Doctor after his nearly-failed regeneration.
He found himself wandering the route to the console room, its pull inevitable. Had to keep moving, had to bring Tegan and Turlough to the next destination, though he felt hard-pressed to ponder what that destination was. He expected another figure at his elbow, reminding him of much-needed repairs for the old Type 40. No mere dusting of his hands would release those memories to scatter into the recesses of his mind.
Her presence persists far longer than he expected.
And he cherished a brief pressing of warm lips against his cheek.
Character: The Fifth Doctor, feat. Tegan
Word Count: 580