Fanfic - DW/RW: So, a Doctor … - Ch.4 - Into the Body
Title: So, a Doctor, a King, and a Knight Walk Into a TARDIS and …
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Four: Into the Body
The Doctor had already sipped his late-night tea and rearranged the logs for the second time when he heard shuffling in the hallway again, shuffling accompanied by dripping. It was a struggle he prided himself on winning that he didn't look up until his visitor had come to a complete stop, just past the wide arch leading into the control room. When his eyes lifted to see Michael, wearing only his boxers and completely drenched from head to toe, the Doctor's lip twitched upward just a tad, but he re-focused on the console before he spoke. "Took a morning swim?" The words were light, though they seemed strangely flavored in his mouth, the sight of Michael's flushed skin, coated in what was likely sweat, still blazing in his mind.
"Something like that." Michael's annoyance seemed to lay over something else, something more anxious than angry.
"There should be towels in the room." Somehow, saying the room and not your room took conscious effort, but he did his best not to frown about it. If both boys' sleeplessness was any measure, neither seemed especially comfortable there, so they probably weren't staying, which was fine. Things always ended up a mess when he had people around anyway. He couldn't let himself forget that. His mind flashed over a glimpse of red hair and he sighed. He only remembered that Michael was even still there when he spoke again, his arms back in their usual place, bent over his chest.
"So, it's just you?"
The Doctor knew this question and knew his answer, but he brushed it off anyway, fiddling with dials that didn't need fiddling. "Don't think your friend's up yet. Neither of you have to be, though, really. I'll round you up for tea in the morning."
A silence set in and the Doctor wondered if this was Michael's usual way of conversing - short stabs of words, like an agile opponent in a jousting ring. He seemed the type to be on the opposite end of this kind of discussion, though, the one deflecting every blow.
Michael's eventual words were so soft and different, maybe pained, that they almost startled his host. "What do you want? Really."
The Doctor's fingers stopped moving and his stillness forced him to sense the beat of four hearts in the room (his, Michael's, and that of the TARDIS). Michael's was racing, wild and out-of-sync with everything, despite his quiet façade.
"What do you get out of this?"
There was never a good enough answer for this. Fun? Adventure? … Sanity? He laughed halfheartedly at himself and went back to fiddling. "Life."
"What does that mean?"
Mumbling, the Doctor thought out loud. "Whatever it needs to."
Michael breathed in deep like that wasn't quite answer enough, but his next words were cut off.
"There!" Okay, so maybe those knobs really did need fiddling. The Doctor grinned as he swiveled the screen in Michael's direction. "I knew I'd been there, just had to find it in the logs!"
A purple-green world turned slowly in the inky black of space, the recording so vivid that the screen seemed like an open window. If Michael began to lean for a moment as if drawn to it, the Doctor said nothing. Michael caught himself before he'd really made a move, but his eyes were stuck on the revolving image. "What's that?"
Taking a breath, the Doctor tipped his head to one side, watching Michael more so than the screen. "Antar. ... But I think you know that."
Michael dragged his eyes to meet the Doctor's long enough to speak. "Doesn't matter. Can't go back there."
"Right." The Doctor nodded slowly, knowing the truth in Michael's words, but reading something different in his eyes, something he'd seen in mirrors on dozens of worlds that weren't his own.
"No sense wanting something you can't have."
"I didn't say anything about either wanting or going, just ..." He shrugged, lips pouting out as disbelief slipped into his voice with just a hint of a challenging nag. "You don't even want to see it?"
Michael's internal fight was mostly hidden, though his bare chest tensed under rigidly crossed arms. Finally, he shook his head, glancing away as he sniffed with a bitter half-smile. "No, but I'm guessing you're going to show me anyway." His eyebrow tipped up in a way that the Doctor could imagine Max had seen a hundred times. "Right?"
The Doctor took a moment to think - though not about Michael's question - and his face scrunched with hesitant curiosity. "So ... why do you follow him?"
"What?" Eyebrows slamming down in utter confusion, Michael's body felt the surprise enough to tip a little, backwards then forwards.
"Civil war blah-blah-blah other side blah-more-blah hunting you down and so on and so forth." He stopped there, cataloguing Michael's reactions. "I don't mean to pry - or, I do, but not without reason. ... It's just hard to help a situation I don't understand."
"No one asked for your help."
"Oh- ... Well, maybe not exactly, but ... basically that's what it boils down to, isn't it?
"No." Shrugging, Michael shook his head, believing what was comfortable. "You invited yourself into a situation that we were handling just fine."
"So you're not sick of running?"
Michael's eyes seemed to grab hold of his and shake something inside with his conviction. "Doesn't matter. Life's about running."
"Yes and no." The Doctor slid the words out slowly.
"So, that's not what you do - what you're doing? Running?"
Can't stay. "This? I call this ... traveling."
"Oh and I'm just supposed to believe that all you want is travel and travelling buddies."
He wondered if Michael had realized his error, but no, he was still disbelieving and smug. The Doctor grinned. "No one said anything about traveling mates."
"Whatever." Michael looked away, nearly turned away as if heading back into the hallway.
Immediately sober, the Doctor sighed. "Michael?"
Michael stopped, but didn't turn back around.
"I'm not asking for anything, but you don't have to keep running, neither of you."
Michael didn't move, but stayed quiet for a long moment. "The clothes in my room, they're not yours."
A scent seemed to tickle the Doctor's nose with thoughts of Jack - musk and sweat, sex and laughter. Reality made his throat tense, despite the peace he'd made with it all. "He had other plans."
"Did he sleep alone while he was here though?"
He wanted to answer lightheartedly, because it was Jack for goodness' sake, but Michael's tone kept the mood vaguely dark. "It was his choice."
Michael huffed quietly, angling back enough to bring one eye back into view. "Did he have anywhere else to go?"
The Doctor slammed an internal fist down on the trapdoor of negative emotion that was threatening to flood open, but his answer was still terse. "He could have made his own way, if he wanted, and he did - does - now that he wants that. It's not so unimaginable for people to want to travel, to see different worlds, different times."
"Is that the tagline?" Michael's slow smile was razor sharp. "People pay you for that? Work to stay on board?" He strode right into the Doctor's personal space in under two blinks, almost menacing. "I know nothing's free."
Suddenly feeling very old, the Doctor held his ground, knowing this probably wasn't really about him at all. "Company, just company. Bed-warmers are for sale on every world, none worth half as much as one good conversation."
Michael's anger didn't quite deflate, but it seemed to shift away from the man in front of him, possibly turning inwards. "Conversation. Sure. Something I don't really do."
"You just did." The Doctor worked to press his calm out through his words.
Eyelids flicking down and up, down and up again, Michael shook his head a little with a shrug, pulling back as the tension began to diffuse. "I don't get you."
"That is neither required nor expected." He couldn't help feeling like both of them were selling themselves short, but Michael was clearly a no-pressure kind of guy. "Just ... company."
Michael seemed to watch him breathe for a moment, then his body relaxed half a notch. "Maybe." Before the Doctor could offer a supportive phrase, however, Michael had already spun and set on his way into the hallway again. "And unless we're under attack, don't wake me before noon."
When the Doctor could close his mouth again, swallowing the air he'd taken in while watching Michael's retreating back, he shook his head with a gentle laugh. Company would do - it was all he really needed (if that) - but should other options present themselves, well- ... He grinned and flicked a switch, dropping the room into low light. Maybe he should rest up after all.
One - Two - Three - Four - Five
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Four: Into the Body
The Doctor had already sipped his late-night tea and rearranged the logs for the second time when he heard shuffling in the hallway again, shuffling accompanied by dripping. It was a struggle he prided himself on winning that he didn't look up until his visitor had come to a complete stop, just past the wide arch leading into the control room. When his eyes lifted to see Michael, wearing only his boxers and completely drenched from head to toe, the Doctor's lip twitched upward just a tad, but he re-focused on the console before he spoke. "Took a morning swim?" The words were light, though they seemed strangely flavored in his mouth, the sight of Michael's flushed skin, coated in what was likely sweat, still blazing in his mind.
"Something like that." Michael's annoyance seemed to lay over something else, something more anxious than angry.
"There should be towels in the room." Somehow, saying the room and not your room took conscious effort, but he did his best not to frown about it. If both boys' sleeplessness was any measure, neither seemed especially comfortable there, so they probably weren't staying, which was fine. Things always ended up a mess when he had people around anyway. He couldn't let himself forget that. His mind flashed over a glimpse of red hair and he sighed. He only remembered that Michael was even still there when he spoke again, his arms back in their usual place, bent over his chest.
"So, it's just you?"
The Doctor knew this question and knew his answer, but he brushed it off anyway, fiddling with dials that didn't need fiddling. "Don't think your friend's up yet. Neither of you have to be, though, really. I'll round you up for tea in the morning."
A silence set in and the Doctor wondered if this was Michael's usual way of conversing - short stabs of words, like an agile opponent in a jousting ring. He seemed the type to be on the opposite end of this kind of discussion, though, the one deflecting every blow.
Michael's eventual words were so soft and different, maybe pained, that they almost startled his host. "What do you want? Really."
The Doctor's fingers stopped moving and his stillness forced him to sense the beat of four hearts in the room (his, Michael's, and that of the TARDIS). Michael's was racing, wild and out-of-sync with everything, despite his quiet façade.
"What do you get out of this?"
There was never a good enough answer for this. Fun? Adventure? … Sanity? He laughed halfheartedly at himself and went back to fiddling. "Life."
"What does that mean?"
Mumbling, the Doctor thought out loud. "Whatever it needs to."
Michael breathed in deep like that wasn't quite answer enough, but his next words were cut off.
"There!" Okay, so maybe those knobs really did need fiddling. The Doctor grinned as he swiveled the screen in Michael's direction. "I knew I'd been there, just had to find it in the logs!"
A purple-green world turned slowly in the inky black of space, the recording so vivid that the screen seemed like an open window. If Michael began to lean for a moment as if drawn to it, the Doctor said nothing. Michael caught himself before he'd really made a move, but his eyes were stuck on the revolving image. "What's that?"
Taking a breath, the Doctor tipped his head to one side, watching Michael more so than the screen. "Antar. ... But I think you know that."
Michael dragged his eyes to meet the Doctor's long enough to speak. "Doesn't matter. Can't go back there."
"Right." The Doctor nodded slowly, knowing the truth in Michael's words, but reading something different in his eyes, something he'd seen in mirrors on dozens of worlds that weren't his own.
"No sense wanting something you can't have."
"I didn't say anything about either wanting or going, just ..." He shrugged, lips pouting out as disbelief slipped into his voice with just a hint of a challenging nag. "You don't even want to see it?"
Michael's internal fight was mostly hidden, though his bare chest tensed under rigidly crossed arms. Finally, he shook his head, glancing away as he sniffed with a bitter half-smile. "No, but I'm guessing you're going to show me anyway." His eyebrow tipped up in a way that the Doctor could imagine Max had seen a hundred times. "Right?"
The Doctor took a moment to think - though not about Michael's question - and his face scrunched with hesitant curiosity. "So ... why do you follow him?"
"What?" Eyebrows slamming down in utter confusion, Michael's body felt the surprise enough to tip a little, backwards then forwards.
"Civil war blah-blah-blah other side blah-more-blah hunting you down and so on and so forth." He stopped there, cataloguing Michael's reactions. "I don't mean to pry - or, I do, but not without reason. ... It's just hard to help a situation I don't understand."
"No one asked for your help."
"Oh- ... Well, maybe not exactly, but ... basically that's what it boils down to, isn't it?
"No." Shrugging, Michael shook his head, believing what was comfortable. "You invited yourself into a situation that we were handling just fine."
"So you're not sick of running?"
Michael's eyes seemed to grab hold of his and shake something inside with his conviction. "Doesn't matter. Life's about running."
"Yes and no." The Doctor slid the words out slowly.
"So, that's not what you do - what you're doing? Running?"
Can't stay. "This? I call this ... traveling."
"Oh and I'm just supposed to believe that all you want is travel and travelling buddies."
He wondered if Michael had realized his error, but no, he was still disbelieving and smug. The Doctor grinned. "No one said anything about traveling mates."
"Whatever." Michael looked away, nearly turned away as if heading back into the hallway.
Immediately sober, the Doctor sighed. "Michael?"
Michael stopped, but didn't turn back around.
"I'm not asking for anything, but you don't have to keep running, neither of you."
Michael didn't move, but stayed quiet for a long moment. "The clothes in my room, they're not yours."
A scent seemed to tickle the Doctor's nose with thoughts of Jack - musk and sweat, sex and laughter. Reality made his throat tense, despite the peace he'd made with it all. "He had other plans."
"Did he sleep alone while he was here though?"
He wanted to answer lightheartedly, because it was Jack for goodness' sake, but Michael's tone kept the mood vaguely dark. "It was his choice."
Michael huffed quietly, angling back enough to bring one eye back into view. "Did he have anywhere else to go?"
The Doctor slammed an internal fist down on the trapdoor of negative emotion that was threatening to flood open, but his answer was still terse. "He could have made his own way, if he wanted, and he did - does - now that he wants that. It's not so unimaginable for people to want to travel, to see different worlds, different times."
"Is that the tagline?" Michael's slow smile was razor sharp. "People pay you for that? Work to stay on board?" He strode right into the Doctor's personal space in under two blinks, almost menacing. "I know nothing's free."
Suddenly feeling very old, the Doctor held his ground, knowing this probably wasn't really about him at all. "Company, just company. Bed-warmers are for sale on every world, none worth half as much as one good conversation."
Michael's anger didn't quite deflate, but it seemed to shift away from the man in front of him, possibly turning inwards. "Conversation. Sure. Something I don't really do."
"You just did." The Doctor worked to press his calm out through his words.
Eyelids flicking down and up, down and up again, Michael shook his head a little with a shrug, pulling back as the tension began to diffuse. "I don't get you."
"That is neither required nor expected." He couldn't help feeling like both of them were selling themselves short, but Michael was clearly a no-pressure kind of guy. "Just ... company."
Michael seemed to watch him breathe for a moment, then his body relaxed half a notch. "Maybe." Before the Doctor could offer a supportive phrase, however, Michael had already spun and set on his way into the hallway again. "And unless we're under attack, don't wake me before noon."
When the Doctor could close his mouth again, swallowing the air he'd taken in while watching Michael's retreating back, he shook his head with a gentle laugh. Company would do - it was all he really needed (if that) - but should other options present themselves, well- ... He grinned and flicked a switch, dropping the room into low light. Maybe he should rest up after all.
One - Two - Three - Four - Five