The world's not falling apart because of me... [OTA; multiple threads welcome]
[Sort of wibbly-dated to whenever the rescue groups got back. ...wibbly-dated is totally a valid term.]
With most of the rescue parties in the barracks and probably on their way to a well-deserved rest, the Doctor has managed to get the stream to himself... and he's glad for that. Cross-legged by the edge of the water, he's trying to clean the dried blood off his face, wincing and hissing every time he happens to touch his nose.
He supposes he should go inside for just a little while, talk to Karrin and Neal and apologise for anything the doppelganger might have said to them while he was trapped, but he keeps coming up with reasons not to. And he could just return to the castle, where they've got mirrors and hot water and plenty of things to distract himself with, but everything Karrin said about Tempest won't stop ringing in his head, and suddenly that doesn't seem like such an appealing option either.
Really, what he's doing is sulking, and stubbornly avoiding any chance he'll have to admit he might've been a bit stupid or wrong or... well. Mean. He will eventually, but he spent a week trapped in a mirror in a cave. With a broken nose. He thinks he's entitled to sulk for a while longer.
Meanwhile, just inside the barracks, Emily is sitting halfway up the stairs to the wall, eyes unfocused but fixed on the still open gate. She's exhausted, and looks it, her face smudged with dirt and sweat, hair half falling out of her ponytail and she hasn't bothered to put it back up - but as tired as she is, there's not a chance she's falling into her bed any time soon.
If you asked her, she's sitting here where she can keep an eye on the gate so she can keep count of who's come back in, who's still out there, and make absolutely sure no one got left behind. It's part of the reason, sure, but there's also the fact that she's out of the way here - no one's likely to wander by and ask if she's okay, or notice that her hands are shaking with what she's hoping is just residual adrenaline. She's fine. Or she will be, given a little time.
With most of the rescue parties in the barracks and probably on their way to a well-deserved rest, the Doctor has managed to get the stream to himself... and he's glad for that. Cross-legged by the edge of the water, he's trying to clean the dried blood off his face, wincing and hissing every time he happens to touch his nose.
He supposes he should go inside for just a little while, talk to Karrin and Neal and apologise for anything the doppelganger might have said to them while he was trapped, but he keeps coming up with reasons not to. And he could just return to the castle, where they've got mirrors and hot water and plenty of things to distract himself with, but everything Karrin said about Tempest won't stop ringing in his head, and suddenly that doesn't seem like such an appealing option either.
Really, what he's doing is sulking, and stubbornly avoiding any chance he'll have to admit he might've been a bit stupid or wrong or... well. Mean. He will eventually, but he spent a week trapped in a mirror in a cave. With a broken nose. He thinks he's entitled to sulk for a while longer.
Meanwhile, just inside the barracks, Emily is sitting halfway up the stairs to the wall, eyes unfocused but fixed on the still open gate. She's exhausted, and looks it, her face smudged with dirt and sweat, hair half falling out of her ponytail and she hasn't bothered to put it back up - but as tired as she is, there's not a chance she's falling into her bed any time soon.
If you asked her, she's sitting here where she can keep an eye on the gate so she can keep count of who's come back in, who's still out there, and make absolutely sure no one got left behind. It's part of the reason, sure, but there's also the fact that she's out of the way here - no one's likely to wander by and ask if she's okay, or notice that her hands are shaking with what she's hoping is just residual adrenaline. She's fine. Or she will be, given a little time.