Fic: Tea and Sympathy
Title: Tea and Sympathy
Rating: K+
Word count: 833
Characters: Fifth Doctor, Tegan
Timeline/spoilers: Post-Snakedance.
Summary: Tea follows nightmares.
Challenge: "But I rather like hope. Hope's a good emotion."
Someone was crying in the TARDIS, somewhere not too far away - although distance was subjective, particularly in the TARDIS, and his old friend had a habit of making sure he knew if his companions were upset.
It wasn’t Nyssa, of course. She dealt with problems quite differently, internalising and analysing until she had reasoned out her emotional responses. She talked to him about some things, but he had only seen her cry a few times.
Tegan, on the other hand, was…not prone to tears, exactly, but he would be the first to admit that since meeting him, she had been given many good reasons to cry. Not least of which had been their latest misadventure.
With a sigh, the Doctor closed his book and left the library in search of his emotional friend. It didn’t take long; the TARDIS guided him towards the kitchen, and when he reached the doorway he saw Tegan sitting at the kitchen table, elbows on the table top and face buried in her hands. She didn’t look up when he entered, and he wasn’t entirely sure she’d heard him until she spoke.
“Not now, Doc.”
The Doctor looked at her for a long moment, trying to decide what to say. Finally he sighed and shook his head a little.
“I think a cup of tea is called for,” he said. Tegan’s shoulders shook and a choked sort of laugh escaped her. He didn’t respond, instead going to fill the kettle. He put it on the hob and turned on the gas before speaking again. “Trouble sleeping?”
“…nightmares,” Tegan admitted after a long moment. The Doctor nodded, although she didn’t see it. He should have offered her something to aid dreamless sleep, but he was fairly sure Tegan would have refused. “I dreamed it was still here,” Tegan went on, and the Doctor glanced at her. She’d dropped her hands to the table, lifted her head, and he could see wet streaks on her face from tears. “The Mara. It was still there and I…”
“If it would help to talk about it,” the Doctor said gently, “I can be a good listener.” Even through her misery, Tegan was able to roll her eyes at him. “On occasion,” said the Doctor, and he smiled a little. “When I try.” Tegan didn’t say anything, and after a few moments the kettle boiled. The ritual of tea-making was soothing for him and, he suspected, for Tegan also; he could feel her eyes on him as he warmed the pot, poured milk into two cups, brewed the tea. He brought the cups and teapot to the table, and was pleased to see that Tegan had wiped her face.
“The Mara is gone,” he said to her then. “I promise you. It can’t come back.”
“I know,” she said, barely a whisper, and she dropped her gaze to her hands, twisting together on the tabletop. “I know, but it was…it was so awful, Doctor. I felt…” She shook her head. “It made me feel so full of anger and destruction,” she said, and he nodded. “I just want to stop feeling anything,” she muttered, and the Doctor sighed.
“Have some tea,” he advised, pouring the properly-steeped tea into the two cups.
“I’ll never get to sleep,” Tegan protested, but her objection was feeble - they both knew she was unlikely to sleep tonight. The Doctor ignored her, and placed a cup on the table by her hands.
“You don’t mean it, Tegan,” he said then. “If you stopped feeling anything you’d be no better than a Cyberman.” She flinched at the observation, the reminder of her dead friend, but the Doctor couldn’t regret his words. “There are so many good things to feel. Joy, love, the thrill of discovery…” The bleak expression on her face made him shake his head. “But I rather like hope,” he offered. “Hope’s a good emotion, isn’t it, Tegan?”
“Hope,” she murmured. “I don’t think I can even remember what hope is, Doc.” She wrapped her hands around the warm mug but didn’t lift it to drink.
“Hope is…” The Doctor trailed off, trying to find the right words. He’d been where she was now, but it wasn’t necessarily something he could describe - the path back to hope. “Hope is finding something to believe in,” he said at last. “But I can’t do that for you, Tegan.”
“No, I know,” said Tegan, and she sighed, brought the mug to her lips and sipped carefully. “I’m sorry,” she said after a moment. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“You were possessed by a violent, destructive being with no regard for your own feelings or wishes,” the Doctor said gently. “You don’t have to apologise.” She shrugged and didn’t say anything. The Doctor sipped his tea and then put the cup down decisively. “Biscuits,” he decided. “I think we’ve got some chocolate digestives somewhere.”
The smile Tegan gave him was small and watery, but real. “Sounds good,” she said. “Thanks.”
Rating: K+
Word count: 833
Characters: Fifth Doctor, Tegan
Timeline/spoilers: Post-Snakedance.
Summary: Tea follows nightmares.
Challenge: "But I rather like hope. Hope's a good emotion."
Someone was crying in the TARDIS, somewhere not too far away - although distance was subjective, particularly in the TARDIS, and his old friend had a habit of making sure he knew if his companions were upset.
It wasn’t Nyssa, of course. She dealt with problems quite differently, internalising and analysing until she had reasoned out her emotional responses. She talked to him about some things, but he had only seen her cry a few times.
Tegan, on the other hand, was…not prone to tears, exactly, but he would be the first to admit that since meeting him, she had been given many good reasons to cry. Not least of which had been their latest misadventure.
With a sigh, the Doctor closed his book and left the library in search of his emotional friend. It didn’t take long; the TARDIS guided him towards the kitchen, and when he reached the doorway he saw Tegan sitting at the kitchen table, elbows on the table top and face buried in her hands. She didn’t look up when he entered, and he wasn’t entirely sure she’d heard him until she spoke.
“Not now, Doc.”
The Doctor looked at her for a long moment, trying to decide what to say. Finally he sighed and shook his head a little.
“I think a cup of tea is called for,” he said. Tegan’s shoulders shook and a choked sort of laugh escaped her. He didn’t respond, instead going to fill the kettle. He put it on the hob and turned on the gas before speaking again. “Trouble sleeping?”
“…nightmares,” Tegan admitted after a long moment. The Doctor nodded, although she didn’t see it. He should have offered her something to aid dreamless sleep, but he was fairly sure Tegan would have refused. “I dreamed it was still here,” Tegan went on, and the Doctor glanced at her. She’d dropped her hands to the table, lifted her head, and he could see wet streaks on her face from tears. “The Mara. It was still there and I…”
“If it would help to talk about it,” the Doctor said gently, “I can be a good listener.” Even through her misery, Tegan was able to roll her eyes at him. “On occasion,” said the Doctor, and he smiled a little. “When I try.” Tegan didn’t say anything, and after a few moments the kettle boiled. The ritual of tea-making was soothing for him and, he suspected, for Tegan also; he could feel her eyes on him as he warmed the pot, poured milk into two cups, brewed the tea. He brought the cups and teapot to the table, and was pleased to see that Tegan had wiped her face.
“The Mara is gone,” he said to her then. “I promise you. It can’t come back.”
“I know,” she said, barely a whisper, and she dropped her gaze to her hands, twisting together on the tabletop. “I know, but it was…it was so awful, Doctor. I felt…” She shook her head. “It made me feel so full of anger and destruction,” she said, and he nodded. “I just want to stop feeling anything,” she muttered, and the Doctor sighed.
“Have some tea,” he advised, pouring the properly-steeped tea into the two cups.
“I’ll never get to sleep,” Tegan protested, but her objection was feeble - they both knew she was unlikely to sleep tonight. The Doctor ignored her, and placed a cup on the table by her hands.
“You don’t mean it, Tegan,” he said then. “If you stopped feeling anything you’d be no better than a Cyberman.” She flinched at the observation, the reminder of her dead friend, but the Doctor couldn’t regret his words. “There are so many good things to feel. Joy, love, the thrill of discovery…” The bleak expression on her face made him shake his head. “But I rather like hope,” he offered. “Hope’s a good emotion, isn’t it, Tegan?”
“Hope,” she murmured. “I don’t think I can even remember what hope is, Doc.” She wrapped her hands around the warm mug but didn’t lift it to drink.
“Hope is…” The Doctor trailed off, trying to find the right words. He’d been where she was now, but it wasn’t necessarily something he could describe - the path back to hope. “Hope is finding something to believe in,” he said at last. “But I can’t do that for you, Tegan.”
“No, I know,” said Tegan, and she sighed, brought the mug to her lips and sipped carefully. “I’m sorry,” she said after a moment. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“You were possessed by a violent, destructive being with no regard for your own feelings or wishes,” the Doctor said gently. “You don’t have to apologise.” She shrugged and didn’t say anything. The Doctor sipped his tea and then put the cup down decisively. “Biscuits,” he decided. “I think we’ve got some chocolate digestives somewhere.”
The smile Tegan gave him was small and watery, but real. “Sounds good,” she said. “Thanks.”