Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Traveling with the doctor is amazing, you get to see wonders you never thought possible.

The universe is massive and you get to see it all, including the past and the future.

The doctor, the alien in a leather jacket you travel with, is kind, albeit a bit sassy and you get along well.

On your second outing, after witnessing the end of the Earth, he told you his species died in a war, since then you decided to stay with him.

You got nothing to complain about, you’re life has never been better and yet… you’re hungry.

Not that you haven’t been given the opportunity to eat, you have, many times. The doctor has taken you to many alien societies where there have been plenty cafés and restaurants.

The problem is that the food they serve is food you aren’t used to. Food that has different ingredients and textures you aren’t used to.You simply can’t eat it, so you haven’t eaten anything and now that’s a problem.

You’re running from the Cybermen, running as hard as you can.

The doctor holds your hand, he runs faster than you are but you try your best to keep up.

You’re weak, though. Your heart is beating faster than it should and you feel dizzy.

The doctor turns to you. “Y/N, we’ve got to go, come on!”

You try to pick up the pace, following the doctor, but you feel yourself fading out of continuousness.

The last thing you hear is the doctor yelling your name before your body falls to the ground.

You wake up in a dark room, you groan noticing the head ache you know is going to bother you, before realising what happened.

You open and close your mouth a few times, before whispering: “Doctor?”

“Y/N?” The doctor says, stepping next to you. “You’re awake, good. How’s your head?”

“It… hurts.” You admit. There’s not really a point in lying.

“I’m sorry. You must have gotten poisoned when we went to that Cafe in New New Earth. I should’ve taken better care of you.”

You sit up straight looking in the doctor’s eyes. You can’t have him feeling guilty for this.

“It wasn’t your fault, it’s mine.”

“Why would it be your fault?”

You sigh, darting your eyes to the ground.

You don’t want to say it, you don’t want to have to talk about it, but you don’t really have a choice.

“I haven’t eaten in over a week.”

It’s silent, then.

It scares you, the doctor is never silent.

Looking up in the doctor’s eyes, he looks shocked, trying to form words, probably thinking of what’s the best thing to say.

"Why?" he asks, he sounds a bit angry, but his eyes are still worried.

“Because I’m stupid and childish.”

He shakes his head firmly at that “No. The real reason.”

“Because these alien worlds you bring me to are wonderful, but I can’t eat the food they have there. I just can’t. My body will have a visceral reaction to it. All these smells and tastes and textures, they are all so new to me…”

“You’re autistic.” He says, as a statement rather than a question.

You nod, surprised he even knows what autism is.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You look away at that, tears forming in your eyes.

“I was scared you’d… send me away.” You say, blinking through your tears.

“Y/N, look at me.”

You look at him.

“I am never sending you away, certainly not because of this.”

You almost jump in his arms, hugging him. You had been hiding all of this away from him, scared he would see you as less, but he doesn’t. It makes you so happy you’re actually crying, which is not something you often do.

At that moment in time, no matter how weak you’re feeling, you’re happy.

“Doctor?” You ask, whilst you’re in his arms.

“Hmm.”

“Could I go back home? To The Netherlands, for food, I mean.”

He lets you go then, smiling. “Of course.”

Chapter Text

The doctor said he’d take you somewhere special. Which, you thought, was a bit of a weird thing coming from a time and space traveling alien. Everything you see with him is already special, but he seemed so genuinely happy and excited, you couldn’t help but feel giddy as well.

So when you arrived, you felt a sinking feeling in your stomach. You had thought about a million places where you could go, vast and distinct planets you could visit, but you hadn’t thought of this.

You should’ve expected it, really. This newer incarnation, regenerated into after saving your life, loves inhabiting bustling spaces like this. You’ve noticed he likes being among other people, likes getting into social situations, much more than your doctor did.

You wince internally, they’re the same person, you know that. They just have slightly different tastes, slightly different personalities. He still cares, he’s still him, it’s just a bit difficult sometimes.

Looking around yourself as you step out of the TARDIS, you realise you’re in some sort of festive spaceship, your brain immediately registering just how loud this place is. Your first instinct is to wear your noise cancelling headphone, but you quickly realise you don’t actually have it with you. Regardless, the doctor would probably think it rude.

There are so many people crammed into a place far too small to sustain all of you, creating a claustrophobic feel, making you immediately uncomfortable. To make matters worse, there’s a live band. You already feel the baseline of the drums throbbing through your body, making your skin crawl. The sound is grating on you, quickly forming a headache. You look at the doctor, wanting to ask him to leave, but he seems so happy.

He’s wearing his black and white suit, which you know he only reserves for dinners and other special occasions, like this one. He has the biggest smile on his face, his hazel brown eyes scanning the room in a fascinating manner. You wish his happiness is enough to soothe your overstimulated brain, it isn’t.

You decided to stay and so you did, for about five songs the band played. You and the doctor are standing behind one of the tables, talking with other people, travellers. Two sillurians, to be precise, a husband and wife. The doctor’s chatting away excitedly, barely even noticing just how uncomfortable you feel, even though you’re continually rubbing your hands against your arms in a soothing manner. Not that you mind, not wanting to bother him, even though you really just want to leave. Your brain is screaming at you to get out, get out, get out-

After the band’s done playing one of their songs, an Earth ballad, you excuse yourself to the doctor and to the couple. The doctor’s cheery demeanour drops a bit, you can tell that he’s disappointed, but you leave regardless. Hurrying off to the bathroom, finally conceding to your brain’s needs.

You sigh entering it, as you slowly sit down with your head in your hands. You didn’t notice until now just how bad the headache had gotten, just how aggravated you’d been. You can't help but rock back and forth a little bit, trying to comfort yourself. You feel incredibly guilty for leaving the doctor like that, but you’re also grateful you’re giving yourself a moment to breathe.

You feel a sinking feeling in your stomach as you realise how loud this entire spaceship is, even in the bathroom. You feel trapped and incredibly overwhelmed. You feel tears forming in your eyes, but you quickly blink them away. This was supposed to be a fun night, damn it.

Then, you hear him. “Y/N?”

“Shit.” You whisper. He was supposed to just stay behind and have fun, not come here and check in on you like this. You look in the mirror of your tiny bathroom stall and force yourself to smile, trying to make it look genuine. The last thing you want is for him to worry about you. Then, you exit the bathroom.

The second you see him, you start crying.

His face falls, shocked and worried. “What’s wrong?” He asks as he instinctively walks closer to you. He lays his hand on your arm, wanting to comfort you, but you immediately back away. He flinches and quickly lets you go, as if his touch just burned you.

His eyes have a guilty look in them and you can tell just how much he doesn’t understand what’s going on. “Is it me? Did I do something wrong?” He asks, his voice undeniably fragile. You shake your head immediately. It’s not you, you want to tell him, it’s me.

“It’s too much.” Are the words that come out of your mouth instead, sounding just barely like a whisper, but loud enough for his heightened hearing to pick up on it. You’re looking at a spot right next to him, finding yourself unable to look him in the eye.

His eyes widen as he realises what’s going on, relief and even more guilt seemingly washing over him. He can’t help but think back to his ninth face, how you told him about your autism, how he really should’ve known better than this. “Y/N, I’m sorry, so sorry, I didn’t realise. My brain is so stupid…”

You finally do look back into his eyes, warm brown and filled with shame meeting yours. “C-can we go home?” You whisper. He looks disappointed at that, his shoulders sagging a bit. “Home?” He asks, hesitantly.

“The TARDIS.” You answer, voice still a bit fragile, a bit anxious. He seems to light up at that, smiling softly at you. “Of course. And when we get there we can do whatever you feel like, anything to make you feel better.”

You smile back at him, grateful at how understanding he’s being. “Thank you, Doctor.” You say, genuinely. “Don’t do that, don’t- don’t thank me.” He replies, still feeling a bit guilty. “Just, promise me, you’ll talk to me when you’re feeling like this.”

You nod. You know that you won’t always be able to keep that promise, but you’re willing to try, for him. You take his hand in yours and leave the bathroom, walking all the way to the TARDIS together. You know you will have to keep fighting these battles, but as you walk with his hand in yours, it helps to know you won’t be fighting them alone.

Chapter Text

You’re sprinting through the corridors of the Xentaurian Castle, the converse shoes you’re sporting almost stepping on your modest yellow dress while doing so. The doctor holds your hand all the while, bowtie moving along with his body, his tweed jacket occasionally touching your skin. With anyone else, the rough texture would bother you, but not with him. Instead, you look up and catch his wide, manic grin. Despite the ongoing situation, you can’t help but smile, feeling absolutely exhilarated.

The idiot next to you somehow managed to get on the wrong side of the King of Xentaur, the emperor of a humanoid empire millions of years into the future. He managed to sneak into this damn castle, get himself into the Queen’s chamber and then somehow blow up all of her electrical closets, including all of Her Majesty’s best dresses. That, of course, left the Queen with no choice but not to attend the Yearly Royal Xentaurian Ball and His Majesty with no one to occupy him.

“Dresses,” the doctor muttered to you under his breath. “The richest kingdom in all of the Montulla Galaxy, occupying the most advanced technology most species have ever seen,” He had said, rambling as his hands flapped about all the while. “with buildings that reach out all the way into the Seven Suns and all she cares about, are dresses?!“ He spat out the last word like it’s the most bizarre thing in the universe. You sighed, but couldn’t keep yourself from grinning at his idiosyncrasies. “Doctor,” you replied while rolling your eyes affectionately, “that really isn’t the point.”

Abruptly, his hand slips out of your touch as your knees hit the ground. The whole world suddenly feels like it’s banging and screaming at you. You don’t even realise you’ve fallen to the floor until you’re clutching your head in pain, teeth gritting as you dig your nails painfully into your arm. All you can see is a red-hot, eternally bright noise that makes your eyes feel like they’re burning alive. You press your eyes as tightly closed as you can, but no matter what you do, you can’t escape from it. Rocking back and forth absentmindedly, you desperately try to soothe yourself.

The faint footsteps of the Xentaurian soldiers are slowly making their way to the two of you, you realise. Instinctively you know that you need to get up, but you can’t find it in yourself to do so. You can hardly even hear your own thoughts, the presence of the visual too strong to think about anything else, let alone get yourself to move. Grunting against the pain, you dig your nails even deeper into your arms, almost causing it to bleed. You only remember the doctor’s here when he carefully lies one hand against your shoulder, making you flinch.

Haring his pants crack a little, you try to move away from him. His breath is suddenly very close to you, you can feel it on your lips, reminding you of his presence. He’s crouching down opposite you, you can tell, even if you can’t see him. Somewhere in the distance of your dissociated brain, you can even hear his voice. You dig your nails even further into your arm, using it as a means to try and get yourself aware of what he’s saying.

“..please, listen to me.” You can faintly hear him telling you, the desperation in his voice shocks you a bit. “We have to leave, we have to go right now.” He pleads. That’s wrong, he shouldn’t sound like that. You move a little closer to where you think he’s crouched down, wanting to communicate with him, even as your brain is shrieking at you.

You want to tell him that it’s alright, don’t worry, I’ll be up and running in a second. Opening your mouth to respond, to say anything, really, you find that nothing comes out. It’s as if something’s blocking you. You open your eyes to try and look at him, but you can't see anything; it terrifies you. A distant part of your mind is screaming at your body to just please move, but it’s as if you don’t even have enough energy to twitch your own muscles. You can’t do anything, you realise, breath hitching at the realisation. You can’t move or speak and everything hurts and oh god-

The doctor sighs, the sound dragging you out of your own thoughts, but it sounds more accepting than it sounds frustrated. You hear his feet shift and then feel his big, gentle hand touching the right side of your face. It’s such a fragile touch and you can only just about notice it, but it’s enough to ground you. “It’s alright.” He whispers, voice impossibly soft. You slightly lean into his touch, it feels cold and freeing from the heat of your body. He is always so kind to you, why is he always so kind to you? Then he removes his hand and your face immediately feels much warmer, much more uncomfortable, with nothing to distract you from the grinding, burning headache and your endlessly overwhelmed senses.

Once again you hear the faint sound of his clothes, his tweed jacket this time, being crushed as he moves towards you. You let out a little surprised gasp when you feel his lips on your forehead as he places a warm, gentle kiss on top of it. He’s still being so careful, you can tell, acting like you could break any second. Right now, you fear you might. Still, you relish in it, the rest of the world falling away for one short moment. He slowly removes himself from the position and even though there’s nothing to indicate it, you can just tell he’s smiling ever so softly at you now.

Then you can’t feel his breath on your skin anymore. Instead, you hear his footsteps as he leaves you behind on the cold, hard floor. Part of your mind is worried for whatever he’s planning to do, knowing this was in no way part of the plan. As you’re moving your hand to latch onto your head, rocking back and forth against the pain, however, you can’t find yourself caring much at all.

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He’s such an idiot. He thinks to himself, watching you wither in pain on the floor. A total, bloody moron. Xentaurians are known for using their advanced technology to weaponise heightened sensations as a way of harming their enemies and he didn’t even once consider how this would affect you. His blood boils at the realisation that the King had seen the two of you interact, somehow picked up on your disability and then decided to use it against you.

He walks towards the corridor at the end of the hallway, the flickering golden chandeliers above him slightly lighting up the brown stone-cobbled corridor. On the wall next to him hangs the painting of the King and Queen, staring at him through cold-hearted eyes. Any moment now, tens of Xentaurian soldiers will appear and will try to keep the both of you from leaving. He takes his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket and prepares to face the enemy, spinning the device in the air and catching it. He’s going to get you out of this.

As the soldiers come running towards him, a whole horde of blonde men in green armour, he spreads his arms out in an act of bravado. “Hello, boys.” He says, dragging out the hello, loud and smug. He then stands still and gives them one small, self-satisfied smile. “I’m your worst nightmare.” Then he activates his sonic screwdriver to resonate and amplify that same godawful sight, sending it right back at them. As he does so, the Xentaurians immediately fall to the floor, clutching their heads. Like you’re still doing, his unhelpful mind has decided to remind him.

“River-” He tries, talking to the brunette over the intercom in his ear. Concern gnaws at him when he looks back at you from the corner of his eyes, seeing how much pain you’re still in, how much they’re still hurting you. He told River he’d get the two of you in the Tardis as fast as possible, just as soon as he’d make sure the time reavers were all gone from the castle, ridding the empire and its citizens of the outlawed and extremely dangerous technology. That had been the plan. Luckily, she’s already present in the time and space machine, waiting for them patiently. “On it, sweetie.” She responds, the sweet sound of her voice ringing directly into his ear.

Focusing his attention back at anguished soldiers laying at his feet, he stares at them with cold, hard eyes. He kneels down to their level and smiles, smug and proud. “How does it feel?” He asks, voice patronising and dripping with conceit. A feeling of satisfaction washes over him as he sees these soldiers suffer from the same technology they’d used on you, his best friend. “What’s it like, your senses screaming at your mind like that?” One of the soldiers tries to look up in his direction, only missing his face by a centimeter. The young man grinds his teeth, his face red with anger, but the doctor just stares right back at him.

The whooshing sound the TARDIS makes slowly engulfs the air around him and he’s brought right back into reality. He slowly stands up from where he’s crouched and watches as the old girl materialises around the both of you. Once there are no signs left of that dark hallway or the soldiers, he sighs and turns around. His eyes fall on River standing behind the TARDIS console, looking at him from the far edge of the room. He gives her a small, thankful smile, which she returns to him.

Then he quickly turns to you, his eyes watery and wide with worry. Taking the steps on the stairs towards the console room, he walks towards where you’re still crouched down and watches attentively. You’re still rocking back and forth, still clutching at your head with your hands. The effects of the technology are shielded by the Tardis, he thinks to himself as he walks up the stairs, but the input from your brain is probably still overstimulating you.

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You gasp as suddenly, without as much as a warning, the overwhelming sight that felt like it was burning through your mind, is gone. Only now that you’re safe can you fully process just how affected you’d been by it. You shudder and bite your upper lip, that terrible sensation might be gone, but it’s only left you with an agonising headache.

The Tardis lights have always been something you’ve found to be absolutely gorgeous, the current ones matching the doctor more than any previous ones have. The beautifully bright orange and green colours have been a source of joy and stimming for you recently, you could truly get lost staring at them for hours on end. Mr. Bowtie has laughed on occasion as he had to drag you back into the conversation whenever you stared at them for too long. Even so, you could tell he thought it was cute by the way he smiled at you. Some nights, when you couldn’t sleep, you and him would just spend hours in the console room together.

Now, though, the gorgeous lights were much too bright for you. You close your eyes shut to keep the sight of them as far away as possible, their presence making your head hurt even more. Trying to make yourself as small as you possibly can while still rocking back and forth ever so slightly, you try to soothe the headache away. Someone on the far corner of the room, River probably, snaps her fingers. The lights dim right away and you breathe out a massive sigh of relief.

You once again hear footsteps coming in your direction, but then they stop. Faintly, you hear something soft hitting the floor. Then the footsteps come in your direction again and as you hear the crunching of shoes, you can tell that it’s him. His breath is so close to you again, you can feel the warmth of it on your face. You slowly try and open your eyes to look at him and when you do so, you meet his hesitant, careful eyes. You’ve always loved those gorgeous green eyes of his and you’re happier than ever that you can look back into them again.

He’s kneeling down on his feet in front of you, but he’s swaying a little bit. You can tell he’s unsure of how close he should get to you. Hesitantly he reaches his hand out to you and you realise that he isn’t wearing his jacket anymore, a gesture so sweet you fear you might cry. Those big eyes of his are staring at your shoulder with longing, but then he retracts his hand. “Y/N, a- are you…” he asks, voice unusually broken and quiet. You don’t even let him finish his sentence before you fall into his embrace, clutching onto his stripey white shirt. For a moment, he doesn’t react, doesn’t as much as move.

Then he puts his arms around you tightly, placing his head against yours as he breathes out and eases himself into your embrace. You just cling your arms around his shoulders and slowly bury your head into the crook of his neck, the feeling of his shoulders a lot softer and more comfortable now. “Thank you.” You whisper, your voice rough and coarse.

The weight of his head presses against your shoulder as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. “Always.” He breathes, voice smooth as ever. You smile and shift a bit, making yourself comfortable, “Idiot.” He laughs at that and for the first time that day, you smile. As you listen in attentively, you can’t help but notice how his breathing’s a little easier, now that you’re in his embrace.

Chapter Text

Standing on the edge of a cliff, you’re gathered with the only three survivors from the base you’ve visited and are now trying to get the hell away from. Daleks, the doctor had told you through bated breath, daleks had broken free from their asylum and killed every other soldier that had been present. Turning around to look at the dark, metal door at the end of the base, your breath catches. It’s only a few meters behind you. The doctor has used one of his self-made tech gadgets to make it as difficult as possible for them to barge through the door, but you know they’ll be here soon enough.

“Y/N, we have to go.” He tells you, eyebrows raised, frustration clear in his voice. He’s dressed in black jumper, wearing his navy blue jacket on top of it. You turn around and look at the bridge before you, wooden and broken, barely a meter wide. It connects this part of the cliff to the next, which is hundreds of meters away and covered in smoke and dirt. Leaning forward, you can just about see the TARDIS standing there, meters below and away from you, a beacon of comfort and safety.

It’s been a rough couple of weeks, you think as you look back at him, the doctor. Instead of the youthful face you had slowly become accustomed to, this incarnation instead looks like a middle aged white haired Scotsman, accent and all. You sigh, closing your eyes. After seeing all of his previous regenerations, from the ninth to the eleventh, you thought you’d gotten used to the whole process.

But you also thought that you would lose him on Tranzellore. You had spent decades with him in that town, preparing yourself for the inevitable. You had gotten so attached to that face and the way he looked at you, like you held all the secrets to the universe. You’d gotten used to holding that firm hand, used to that adorable bowtie and rough tweed jacket. Even the way he softly planted kisses on top of your head, it had all become so familiar to you.

This doctor, his current form, didn’t kiss you on your head. Didn’t hold you tight in his embrace. Didn’t have that small, affectionate smile, only reserved for you. Sometimes you thought he didn’t even see you. Over the past few months, you thought that you’d accepted that. Thought that you’d learned to see past his rough demeanour, learned to see that he does still care, even if he doesn’t show it the way he used to.

Now though, as you dare to look at the massive pools of lava present meters below the bridge, you weren’t so sure of that anymore. Looking back at the bridge, your breath hitches and you quickly shake your head, feeling your heartbeat quicken. “I can’t do this.” You breathe, panicking, taking a step away from him.

One of the survivors responds to that and you can just tell that he’s staring at you, but you can’t find it in yourself to look up at him. “What does she mean, she can’t do this?” The soldier, Evan, asks. He’s a blonde guy from the 25th century, wearing a red colored military outfit. You’re not entirely sure, but if you were to hazard a guess, you’d say he’s only in his late 20’s. You remember how he introduced himself to the doctor when you first met the group, even though you were standing right next to him, he acted like you weren’t even there.

“I mean.” You say a little louder, irritated at his tone of voice, still looking down. “I can’t do this.” Walking away from them, you can’t help but notice how the wind slowly rocks the bridge back and forth, but then you suddenly stop in your tracks. Out of the corner of your eye you can see the grey, metallic door at the end of the base, reminding you once again of the incoming Dalek threat.

“Yes, you can. Just do as we do, alright?” A dark skinned soldier with beautiful long curls, wearing the same outfit, tells you. Rowanna, she told you her name was. She sounds a little kinder, but you can tell she’s losing her calm. Looking up at the bridge before you, you can see her standing there. Her left foot’s in front of her right and her arms are outstretched, as if she’s doing some bizarre balancing act. The doctor stands before her, feet in the same position, his entire body tensed up. You hesitantly look into his eyes, fierce and fervent ones meeting yours.

You’ve always had difficulty coördinating your body movement, even as a little kid. It was one of the many questions asked by your diagnosticians. At PE class you were always the girl with the lowest scores, always the last one picked for any group activity. When you were eight years old, your parents told you that you only started walking when you were two and a half. They had talked to you with small, nostalgic smiles on their faces. You don’t think they’d be smiling now.

Suddenly a wind blows past that makes the bridge sway dangerously, creating an uncomfortable, creaking noise. The soldiers almost lose their balance, their knees buckling. Evan swears, but the commander - Rowan, that’s his name, you remember - quickly regains his composure. His costume is a lot more detailed than the other’s. You just stare, frozen in place, sweating from the heath and fear. The doctor stretches out his arms slightly, but he remains in the same position, not once letting you out of his sight.

“Y/N-“ He tries again, whispering your name roughly. You take in deep and ragged breaths, trying to slow your racing heart, staring back at him just as intently. The commander takes a careful, but assured step forward. “You have to get up, now.” He orders, cutting the doctor off abruptly, his voice booming with command. You shudder, you’ve never done well with authority figures.

“She can’t.” The doctor replies, closing his eyes for just a moment, voice harsh and broken. “Why the hell not?!” Evan screams, his frustration turned into anger that’s now directed at the doctor. He in turn tries to look at the blonde man, turning his upper body as far around as possible, yet keeping his feet in the same position. For a moment, he’s quiet, staring at Evan dangerously. “She’s autistic.” He then replies through gritted teeth. You gasp, your heart dropping in your chest, face turning red with shame. Your eyes fill with tears and desperately try to search out his, but he’s not even looking at you anymore.

The soldiers fall silent at that and all you can hear is your own heart, thumping loudly in your chest. You watch with bated breath as the soldier’s facial expressions morph into recognition, seeing just how the doctor’s statement hit them. Rowanna’s eyes widen and her face falls, she turns her eyes away from you. Evan just looks angry, staring at you with rage fuelled eyes. You absentmindedly rub your hands against each other, trying helplessly to ignore the worst of your own self-hating thoughts.

“We should leave her.” Evan whispers, seething, to the colonel. Your breath hitches, you look back at the doctor, utterly terrified. “No.” Is the doctor’s cold reply, spoken through those same gritted teeth, voice full of rage. You let out a sigh of relief, blinking away your tears. “I won’t leave without her, is that understood?” His voice is cold, quiet, dangerous and you recognise it, it’s the same voice that he uses when he’s taking apart entire planets, entire empires.

You try to ignore the way your body is shaking as you continue to fiddle with your hands, your heart racing in your chest. “Doctor.” you whisper, but it falls on deaf ears. The doctor is still looking at the survivors, not once sparing a glance at you. Evan’s right, you can’t help but think, you aren’t worth their lives.

The colonel sighs, blinking away the shock in his face. He takes another step towards the doctor and gives him a look of empathy, voice softer than it was before. “I’m sorry, doctor, but I can’t let your companion’s condition get in the way of saving my battalion.” The doctor just looks angry at that, his face red with fury. You’re sure he would have hit the man if he could. The commander turns away to look at Evan and Rowanna, standing a little taller now. “Come on, we’ll find our own way out.” He tells his soldiers, that same commanding tone back in his voice.

You’re helpless to watch as they slowly leave, stepping one foot in front of the other, while you’re trying to swallow past the lump in your throat. Only Rowanna looks back at you and as she catches your gaze, she mouths I’m sorry. You nod. Then, she turns and follows her boss. As you look back from her to the doctor, you notice that you’re sweating from the intense heat of this place. There’s that same breeze again, rocking the bridge back and forth, but the doctor doesn’t as much as move.

“You should’ve left with them.” You tell him, meeting his eyes. He’s staring at you with that same age-old intensity. Taking one careful step towards you, he tilts up his right foot and places it in front of his left. “I know this is hard for you, I know it’s difficult.” He says with that dry, Scottish accent, looking at you through hardened eyes. Extending his hand out to you, he breathes a little shakily. “But I won’t leave until you try, so what’s it gonna be?”

As he stands there with his face so full of worry, you can see every incarnation of him, every face you’ve travelled with, standing before you. You breathe out, closing your eyes, your breath shaking. Then, you walk up to the bridge and set your first, tentative step on it. Taking his hand, you let him help you up. “Look at me.” He tells you, voice demanding, gripping your hand tight. It hurts a little, but you let him ground you. He’s walking backwards, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. “Just at me.”

You do as he says and try everything in your power to not look at the pools of flowing, fiery red lava beneath your feet. He stares at you, looking at you with concentrated wide eyes and raised eyebrows. Slowly raising one foot, you try to copy his body posture. You almost fall sideways, losing your balance immediately, your gaze falling to the ocean of magma beneath your feet. The doctor’s grip on your hands quickly tightens, however, keeping you upright. He snaps his other finger, causing you to flinch and look back up at him. “Concentrate.” He tells you, his voice just chillingly rough, but his eyes endlessly compassionate.

He slowly takes one step backward, keeping his gaze on you the whole time. You gradually place your left foot just before your right, forcing yourself to breathe out and follow him. You stumble a bit, but his tight grip keeps you mostly steady. Closing your eyes, you let out a sigh of overwhelming relief, you’ve succeeded in taking your first step. When you look back up at him, you can just about notice the ghost of a smile on the doctor’s lips.

Taking in a sharp breath as the doctor takes another small step backwards, you force yourself to breathe out and once again copy his movement, placing your right foot in front of your left this time. You sway a little as you do so, but your body relaxes a bit when you’ve succeeded again, your hands sweating in his. Again and again, you take another small, careful step, focusing on his intense blue-ish grey eyes and letting the rest of your environment fall away.

Just as you’re getting the hang of it, becoming more and more confident in your abilities, you hear the whistling of a heavy breeze pass you by. You blink and look at the bridge beneath your still shaking knees. Before you’re able to catch up on what’s going on, the bridge starts to sway, rocking back and forth in awful synchronicity to the wind. Your knees buckling at the sudden movement. Quickly removing your hands from the doctor’s grasp, you instead spread them out to try and balance yourself. Your breath’s coming in sharper, quicker gasps now. Looking down at the bridge, your slightly dissociated mind slowly becomes very aware of just how much danger you’re in.

As if to mock you, the wind only seems to increase at your panicked state. The bridge’s rocking back and forth becomes quicker and more erratic. Finally, your knees buckle and you fall down, not able to keep your balance anymore. The doctor takes two rushed, erratic steps towards you and catches your temple. You gasp and cling your hands to his shoulder in utter fear, shakily breathing out against his left ear. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, see?” He asks, gripping you upright. He almost sounds amused. “That’s not so bad, is it?”

Regaining your strength, you back away from him and take a look at the smile on his face, your face red with anger. “Why didn’t you just leave?!” You yell at him, spitting in his face. His smile immediately falls away. You shouldn’t be angry at him, you know he’s just trying to help you, but the smugness in his face makes you want to punch him.

“What? And just let you die?” He asks, sarcastic and so utterly self-assured, as if it’s the weirdest thought he’s ever heard. You flinch at the sentence, an image of being shot by daleks flashing before your eyes. Opening your eyes again, suddenly all the feelings you’ve been holding back come rushing towards you. You’re hot and tired and overwhelmed and so unbelievably irritated at the man standing before you and his damn smugness. “I- I’m not some victim! I’m not one of the people you rescue on a whim.” You let out a frustrated breath. “I don’t need your pity, doctor!” You all but scream, getting right into his face. You don’t even see him anymore, all you see is red.

He scoffs. “I didn’t-“ You shake your head, taking one tentative step towards him, getting up close and personal. “And maybe I would have died, but let’s not act like you care, alright!” You yell at him, the betrayal you’ve felt for weeks now ringing in your voice. “I mean, you’d have moved on! Found some different girl to take on your adventures.” You breathe, the sound rattling. “Someone fast, someone smart.” Your hands flay around in the air and you really wish you could stop yourself from saying the next part: “someone capable.”

The bridge sways again and he instinctively takes your hands back into his tight grip, keeping you steady and upright. Your eyes lock into his at the movement. The pained expression in his eyes makes your breath hitch and you take another quick, gasping breath. He looks so stunned at your words, you notice, calming down a little. Remaining silent, you’re not quite sure what to say anymore after that outburst.

“Do you really think I only care for you when you’re being useful to me?” He settles on asking, voice quiet and rough with emotion, you can just tell how shattered he is at the mere idea. His shoulders are sagged, his face crumpled. Those eyes of his tell you the opposite of what you’ve just shouted at him. For one short moment, you’re back on Tranzellore. Catching his gaze from the corner of your eye while watching the sun set on the tiny planet, it seemed he only ever looked at you. You blink and that face is gone, but the same man stares at you, his eyes just as full with love.

Absent-mindedly you can feel tears streaming down your eyes, but you don’t blink them away anymore, instead you squeeze his hands tenderly. The breeze has slowly disappeared and the bridge is mostly steady now, although you can still hear it creak a bit. You also hear, somewhere in the distance, the blasts of the Daleks trying to get through the metallic door. “They’re here.” You breathe. He grips your hand a little tighter. “Let’s get out of here.”

You blink once, then twice and finally nod. It’s now his turn to squeeze your hand and once again take another backwards step, his eyes are still trained only at you, but you can tell he’s not really seeing you anymore. You can practically see the turning of his brain, working in circles to get the two of you out of here as fast as possible. You follow him, stepping your right foot in front of your left, quicker than before. You stand a little taller, the adrenaline pumping through your veins aiding your self-assurance and you find that you’re not as scared anymore.

“These Daleks have spent years in the Asylum.” He quietly whispers, looking over your shoulder. Then he adds: “They’re not very bright.” Taking another three hurried steps backwards, seemingly throwing caution to the wind. Just that moment, a BANG can be heard as the Daleks successfully barge down the massive door.

You turn your head slightly and think you’re getting what he’s saying. The Daleks are moving towards the bridge, but they have no way of seeing you through all the meters of smoke. Their hearing is also barely functional, the doctor had told you hours before, you have to suppress your laughter at the realisation. The Daleks being deaf is ridiculously funny to you right now. It’s a horrible game of hide and seek, but it’s better than getting shot at.

You follow the doctor, picking up your pace and you find that for the first time since the ordeal started, you’re confident you’ll get out of this alive. You still sway a little as you walk forwards, your knees still shake, but his tight grips makes sure that there’s no way you’re going to fall to your death. You take a little moment between steps to look behind him and see just how close you are to making it. The Tardis’s calling is almost audible to you now. You take another step, setting your left foot in front of your right once again. You look back at him and see that he’s smiling at you, feeling relieved, you can’t help but grin back at him.

He takes another backwards step, placing his right foot in front of his left and closing his eyes. You look behind him and see why, there’s a major gasp between the cliff and the end of the bridge. He takes one sharp breath and then meticulously places one, and then both of his feet on the ground. You stare at him with eyes full of wonder, questioning inwardly how the hell he managed that.

Standing with both his feet on the ground, he breathes out a sigh of relief. Then, he swiftly holds his hand up for you, nodding at you in an inviting manner. You look at where he’s standing on the ground and exhale shakily. Come on, you tell yourself, just one more step. Opening your eyes, you catch his comforting smile. You take his hand and slowly place one feet on the ground, feeling the rocky ground beneath your converse shoes. Just as you mean to put your other foot on the ground, a breeze passes through again, leaving you stumbling to the ground.

The doctor is too late to catch you this time and you fall right into him, landing both of you on the ground. It’s silent between you and you wince, your hands having hit the ground painfully. You look up and see the Tardis standing there, only a few meters away from you. Then, you burst out laughing. “What’s so funny?” He asks, looking at you with raised eyebrows, genuinely confused. You can’t stop, however, cackling with giddy relief. “We made it, we actually made it!”

Then he burst out laughing himself. The two of you just lay there, cracking up like two little children. Hearing the yelling voice of a Dalek, he pushes himself up and takes your hand, still grinning from ear to ear. Raises you up, you land on your feet, grasping your hand in his hand. Then, you take off, running towards your beloved time and space maschine. Still grinning, you look up at him and catch his wide smile. You might never know what to expect with him, but as he’s looking back at you, you find that you don’t really care. He’s the doctor and that’s enough for you.

Chapter Text

It’s been a week since the doctor and you reunited with Donna Noble again. After a few stressful days and a horrible encounter with the master, he had regenerated again, but somehow managed to regain one of his old faces. His tenth face, to be precise. You were surprised and… shocked, actually. All those regenerations of his and somehow he still manages to surprise you.

The two of you had decided to get back to London for a relaxing trip, still dumbfounded by this turn of events, when the second surprise happened. Donna, the ginger woman you never thought you’d see again, was there. Somehow her brain didn’t immediately explode at seeing the two of you, to both your surprise and relief.

Days later, you’re standing in a big, white version of your beloved Tardis. The large space and lack of friendly colours makes her feel emptier somehow. The newly regenerated 15th incarnation of your time travelling madman is standing outside, just waiting to join you. Donna is standing outside as well, having decided to join him in his waiting, you wonder how their conversation is going.

This doctor, the fourteenth, is stood still before you. He’s only wearing his simple white T-shirt and he looks more naked than you’ve ever seen him. Big Ears and Attack Eyebrows often went by a bit underdressed, but this is different, you can tell that by looking in those chocolate brown eyes of his. Those eyes of his have stared at you so many times before, but now it somehow feels wrong.

His tenth face was always busy, always running. Those eyes would always look at you with fierce intensity, no matter the situation you had found yourselves in. As he’s looking at you now, though, his eyes just seem tired. You realise he’s fully allowing you to look at him. To see past his boundaries and distractions and just see him. It scares you to death.

Closing your arms, you hug them tightly around your body. A bubbling sense of dread is trying to creep its way into your heart, but you won’t allow it. Looking away from him, you head towards the Tardis monitor, pressing at the buttons and typing in random letters. He’s still looking at you, but you’re stubbornly looking away, acting as if he isn’t even there.

“Y/N.” He tries, his voice sounding just as tired as he looks. Ignoring him, you continue to press down the buttons, but now it seems you’ve typing in coördinates. Turning the Tardis monitor, your breath catches in your throat, as you see the coördinates to Akhaten staring back at you. Looking at the monitor, the voices of the singing citizens fill your mind, it was so beautiful. The doctor’s moving closer to you, but his steps are slower than they usually are, less composed. “Y/N, look at me.” He tells you, his voice harsh and broken.

Ignoring him, you walk towards the opposite side of the Tardis, looking at the buttons and levers with newfound interest. The second you decide to look up at him, reality will crash down on you and you’d rather die than face that right now. Footsteps continue making their way to you, taking longer than they usually would. He reaches out and drags you away from the console, his grip firm on your shoulders. You squirm, but you don’t have it in yourself to step away from him. Looking past him, you find yourself staring at the Tardis doors, the reminder of them only making your heart rate quicken.

“I have to do this.” He tells you, his shoulders sagged. The statement should sound sad or frustrated. Angry, even, but he only sounds defeated. Stepping away from him, you quickly mask your sadness with anger. “Don’t you say that.” You spit at him, but he barely even reacts. “You could leave her, you’ve done so before.” At your words, he turns his gaze to the floor beneath his feet, no longer able to look at you.

“Do you really think I should?” He asks, avoiding your gaze. You can tell he doesn’t really mean it, even so, you can’t help but react. Taking a step forwards, you feel the sudden need to hold his hands, but you push that desire all the way down. “I know you’ve missed her, I know-“ Having to cut yourself off, your breath catches in your chest, your heart racing. “I know that she’s good for you.”

He nods at that and smiles a little bit, his eyes seemingly nostalgic. You can almost hear the sound of your heart falling in your chest, a few tears slipping from your eyes, but you quickly blink them away. Your face turns red and all you can hear is the loud thudding of your racing heart. “But I- I’ve been here for you!” You tell him desperately. “I’ve been here through all of it, through everything!”

He just looks at you with those same empty eyes and you hate it. Hate how little he reacts to you, hate how it seems he doesn't even care. “I mean, I thought you and me were-“ you breathe out, not able to stop your flowing tears anymore, your breath coming in in short and ragged gasps. “You can’t just leave! You can’t just leave me, not for her!” You scream into his face, hitting him in his chest while doing so. Even while saying it, you know that that’s not fair, but the thought of him leaving breaks something inside you.

You only notice he’s wrapped his arms around you once you're in his embrace. It’s funny, he’s one of the taller incarnations you’ve travelled with, but right now he feels incredibly small. “I’m tired, Y/N.” He breathes out. Hearing the resignation in his voice, you allow yourself to sob against him, knowing there’s no changing his mind. “I’ve seen so much, lost so much.” He continues, sounding sick with grief, you can almost hear him swallowing a lump past his throat.“All of our friends-” He whispers, his voice hitching. Closing your eyes, you see the faces of every companion you’ve lost: Martha, Donna, Amy, Rory, River, Bill, Nardole, even Missy.

"I’m here.” You sob, your body shaking against his, still holding him as if he’s a lifeline. As if your arms are the only thing keeping him with you. Thinking back, you can so distinctly remember all the times you’ve felt overstimulated, all the times you’ve gone home to rest. They were here to pick you up every time, leather coat, rainbow stripes or any doctor in between.

He ever so slightly removes himself from your embrace to look at you. Catching your gaze, he smiles a little “I know.” You quickly shake your head, rubbing your hands against each other, because he doesn’t. All those times back in your home on Tranzellore, in his study at the university, you were so close to telling him. So close to saying those three little words that meant so much more to you, but something always came up. Trouble came knocking on your door and as you laughed with him at the end of a stressful day, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him, not if it meant breaking the illusion of those moments.

As you look back at those damn Tardis doors, the image of one ginger woman reminds you that there are no future chances anymore. Looking back at him, still shaking, you realise that it’s now or never. “I love you.” You sob, face red with tears. His face falls at that, shoulders slumping even further. “Y/N-“ he tries again, but you interrupt him. “I know you can’t-“ You sob, breathing out, a little needy. “but I need you to know.”

He takes one of your hands and brings it to his face, kissing it delicately. “I can,” he tells you, his voice rough “I do.” Your body starts shaking even more at that, your sobs becoming uncontrollable as you look into his warm, loving eyes. “Please don’t leave me.” You sob and stumble against him, your breathing uncontrollable and painful. “Please, please don’t.” You whisper against his skinny frame, soaking his shirt with your tears.

“I won’t.” He whispers, pulling you tight. “My future incarnation is just waiting for you, you’re going to have so much fun together.” He tells you, a smile creeping up at his face, even as his body shakes against your. You clench your hand, pressing it against his chest. “You’ll still be gone.” You breathe out, more tears escaping from your eyes.

“Yes. Yes, I will.” He replies, holding your arm gently. “But I need to do this,” he breathes out, voice shaking with emotion “and I need you to let me.” You want to protest, but a distant voice in the back of your head is telling you that he’s right, even if you don’t want him to be. The idea of him moving on without you will always hurt, but he’s given you so much, you owe him this. Nodding, you try and take some deep breaths, forcing yourself to calm down.

Intending to move away from him, he suddenly pulls you tighter and you gasp as you feel his lips are on your forehead. He places a single solitary kiss on it, the feeling of it just as warm and gentle as it always used to be. He looks back at you and you meet his warm, loving eyes. Whispering, he tells you: “I’ll miss you.” It hits you again that this is final, you won’t ever see this face again.

A few tears escape at that, but then you step away from him, breathing out forcefully. You turn and look at the Tardis doors, knowing that once he’s walked out of them, he’ll never walk back into them again. Looking back at him again, you fervently nod your head. “Think about me sometime.” You say, trying to sound a little lighter, letting out a half-chuckle half-sob. A few tears slip from his eyes, but he swiftly blinks them away. “Oh, Y/N. I don’t think I’ll ever forget you.”

Then he looks at the Tardis doors, then back at you and finally he walks towards them, his gaze on the exit of his beloved time and space machine. Clenching your jaw, It pains you to think that this is what taking on his role is like. He’ll stay on Earth with her, while you’re going to go on travelling without him. As you watch his pace quicken, his excitement apparently having returned, you realise that you hate it.

Chapter Text

The door bells ring. An old couple, a Welsh grey-haired man in his sixties and his slightly younger wife, walk inside the hallway of the West London Hotel. Upon seeing the couple making their way towards the counter, you forcefully swallow past the lump in your throat, looking over from the desk you’re sitting behind. The counter, as well as the desk, are a greyish white. The chair you’re sitting on and the background behind you are a Christmassy red, however. A speaker above your head plays the newest pop album that’s hit the top 500, “Midnights” by Taylor Swift.

It’s one week from Christmas, a festivity any doctor has been keen to celebrate with you, including his newest face. You’ve been stuck in this hotel for months now, waiting for the right time to go back to the time hotel, but you’ve tried to make the most of it. The boss you’re now both working for has specifically asked you to wear a Christmas sweater, not being able to refuse the kind dark-haired lady, you naturally did as she asked. Right now, the fabric of it is making your skin itch, only adding to the nausea you’re already feeling. You want to scratch it until your own arm is as red as the sweater is, but as the couple looks at you, that doesn’t seem entirely feasible.

“We would like a room.” The man says, having arrived at the counter. You stare past them, looking at the tens of bags they’ve brought with them, wondering how on Earth they’re going to get all of that to their room. Upon hearing the music that has engulfed the long hallway, you remind yourself of what it is you’re meant to do: smile, introduce yourself, ask their names, look at their appointment in the server on your computer, point them to their room.

He wanted it comfortable, I wanted that pain.

He wanted a bride, I was making my own name.

Chasing that fame, he stayed the same.

All of me changed like Midnight.

Right. Somewhere on the peripheral of your vision, you can see their confused faces, staring at you as you stare at the wall on the far end of the room. Blinking, you pull yourself back into the conversation. “Of course.” You reply, turning your attention to the equally white 80’s computer before you. Clicking on the mousepad, you try to log in as fast as possible, feeling their gazes burning holes through you. Because you’re never in luck, however, the computer has decided that now is the perfect time to crash.

Your heart drops at the sight, but you quickly recover, pulling a small blue notepad from the top drawer of your desk. It’s a gift the doctor gave you only recently, a reminder of the Tardis, he told you. A reminder of home. Picking up the pen that lies on your desk with your left hand, you lay the notepad out before you, ready to write their names down any second. “It seems we’ve run into a technical error.” You inform them, a bit quiet, unsure of how loud you should be. The man sighs, you try not to squirm.

“Names?” You ask them, wondering just how badly you’ve messed this up. “Please.” You remember to add, a second too late, looking up to meet the man’s eyes. The sight of them is endlessly distracting to you, so you dig your nails in your hand, frustrated. Come on, you tell yourself, focus. The man’s piercing blue eyes seem very annoyed as he looks back at you, this is very much not good. Smiling a bit, you try to come across as encouraging.

“Griffiths.” The man says, grumbling. The sound of it is needlessly quiet for your tastes. His Welsh accent takes you by surprise, as you’re barely able to understand a word of what he just said. Why can’t they just be English? Looking back at your notepad, you tap your hand against your desk, feeling a bit guilty.“I’m sorry.” You respond, avoiding their gaze. “Can you please repeat that?”

Now it’s the women’s time to sigh, seemingly fed up with your antics. Looking up at her, you force yourself to look into her eyes, rubbing your hands against your legs. Green ones, you note, her eyes seem kinder than her husband’s. “Griffiths. Gareth and Alys Griffiths.” She responds, her voice not unkind, if slightly frustrated. Still looking at the woman, you try to form the word in your head, but you find yourself unable to. Griffiths, how the hell do you write that? “I’m sorry,” you ask her, “how do you spell that?”

The man huffs at that, somehow even more frustrated, but the woman just looks down on your little notepad. “G-R-I-F-F-I-T-H-S.” She responds, drawing out each and every letter. It’s a little condescending, but it helps and you’re grateful. Picking up your pen, you write the letters down as quickly as you possibly can, just wanting this whole ordeal over with.

Moving over to the vintage computer, you once again click on your mousepad. The screen lights up and you try to log in as quickly as possible, despite getting the password wrong thrice, your heart pounding in your chest. Looking at the screen, you remind yourself to thank the woman standing before you. “Thank you, ma’am.” you tell her. Then, as you’ve finally gotten in, the computer slowly activates. Please work, you wish as you continue to rub your hands against your legs, come on. As you stare down your computer, the song that has been blasting into your ears, changes:

Baby love, I think I’ve been a little too kind.

Didn’t notice you walking all over my piece of mind.

In the shoes I gave you as a present.

Of course, despite your pleading, the computer works no better than it did before. Sighing, you take the brochure lying close to your right hand and place it on the counter. Let’s move on to the next step, then. Looking up at them, you force yourself to sit absolutely still, pulling your hands into your lap, trying to ignore the current pop song that’s playing. “Welcome to the South London Hostel, I hope your stay here will be pleasant.” You tell them, smiling once again, your voice nothing but polite.

Their gazes fall on the small flyer and for the first time during this encounter, they don’t seem so frustrated anymore. Following their eyes, you find yourself looking at a little map with multiple big attractions pointed out on it. “Here you can find all of London’s most popular attractions.” You tell them, pointing at the signs scattered across the paper. “As well as how close they are to this hotel. You can also find the best routes to take in order to get there, including public transport, such as the local bus stops and-”

“On the telly they said that the Tower of London is closed.” The man grumbles, cutting you off abruptly. Still staring at the brochure, your eyes fall on a picture of said tower. You nod, thinking back to your last visit with the doctor, only a few months ago. “Yes, unfortunately, that is true. The castle will be closed for another three to four months or so, the government is renovating it so that future generations will be able to enjoy its great sights and rich history.”

Noticing the man’s furrowed eyebrows, you quickly add: “but there is so much more to explore in London, sir.” It’s true, exploring this great city has been one of the things that’s made staying in this hotel for months on end a little less miserable. The man raises his eyebrow at that and looks up at you questioningly, but the woman is smiling a bit: “What would you recommend, sweetheart?” She asks.

“That’s a difficult choice to make, ma’am.” You respond, your feet once tapping on the floor, forgetting the orderly demeanor you’re meant to hold up. “I’d definitely say the Sir John Soane’s museum, though.” You smile a bit, excitement shining in your eyes as you think back to your visits. “It’s free and open from today ‘till the rest of the week. It displays a really cool collection of antiquities, sculptures, architectural models and paintings. There’s also a Stephen Fry audio tour, so that’s fun too!”

When you realize how silent it has gotten, you look up to their faces, as quite astonished ones look back at you. Realising you might have gotten a little carried away, you quickly excuse yourself and step out of your chair, walking backwards. “I-I’m sorry, I’ll quickly get the technician to look at this issue!” You tell them, before practically running to the backroom. Where, with any luck, the doctor will be.

As you walk into the dimly lit backdoor room, the overlapping sounds that were bothering you quickly fall away. Turning the corner, you catch the sight of the doctor sweeping the dusty floor with a broom and a dustpan. The sight of it is so bizarre to you that you almost burst out laughing. It’s a task he’s taken up the past few months of staying here, he’s told you about it in excruciating detail, but seeing him at work somehow turns that ridiculous thought into reality. Compared to whatever incarnation you’ve travelled with before, this current face seems to be a lot better at handling all the human stuff, he almost seems to enjoy it.

The doctor turns around when he hears your footsteps, his grin wide and happy. “Ah, Y/N!” He exclaims, only wearing a blue-ish button-up and regular black jeans, you notice now. Stepping up to him, you quickly shut him up. “Shhh, they can hear you!” You whisper, pointing back at the main hall, still able to hear their muffled voices.

Taking your first good look at the backroom, you notice that it’s surprisingly comfortable, beside how small it is. The room contains one white desk, which the doctor has apparently already cleaned. There are a few landscape paintings on the red walls and on your left is an old couch that seems particularly comfortable. Anita, your boss, has sometimes talked about spending her time here when it’s a particularly stress-free day.

The doctor looks at the small passageway behind you and turns back at you, bemused: “Do you have people waiting for you?” Your cheeks turn red at his question, which he notices, letting out another full-body laugh. “Y/N!” He exclaims, gasping, clearly enjoying this. You swat away his hand, slapping it slightly, but you can’t help but grin back at him. “Just, get in there!” You tell him, nodding towards the passageway.

Grabbing his brown leather coat and sonic screwdriver, he walks towards the couple that’s still waiting for you, walking ahead with his usual excitement. Staring after him, he suddenly turns around, his eyebrows raised. “What exactly do you need me to do?” He asks, a thought that seemingly only accrued to him now. Leaning slightly against the wall next to you, you sigh. “The computer broke.” Looking into his face, you ask, a bit whiny: “Fix it for me, please?” He smiles at that and nods, before leaving the room enthusiastically.

Watching as he leaves, you almost fall on the couch, letting yourself lean into the soft material. It’s so much quieter here and you relish in it, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to relax. In the background, you can hear the distinct sound of his sonic screwdriver, which now looks more like a TV remote than anything else. The doctor’s voice rings through the small passageway and makes it all the way to the room. The man, Gareth Griffiths, laughs at the doctor, making you wince a bit. He certainly didn’t sound like that when you were talking to him.

After a few moments, the couple thanks the doctor. Hearing their distant footsteps, you get up, walking through the small passage to get to the main hall. The doctor’s still staring at the now empty chairs, you notice as you walk towards him, watching him lean against the counter. Upon seeing the small smile he’s wearing, you smile as well, happy to see him so content. In the past, whenever he thought you weren’t watching, he’d always have that far-away look in his eyes. The look of a decades-old creature, who had seen so much, who had hurt so much. Not anymore, apparently, courtesy of one Donna Noble.

“Remind me why you’re not doing customer service again?” You ask, taking a final step before leaning against that same counter. Noticing your arrival, he turns around to look at you, amused. “Because I,” he says, loud and grinning, “am a time lord.” You sigh at that, looking towards the stairs.

“You still did that better than me.” You quietly tell him, shame filling your voice. He theatrically gasps at that. “No, I didn’t! I only came in and fixed the computer.” He tells you, flashing the blue sonic screwdriver. “You handled the rest.” Suddenly, the sound of a knife being scraped against a plate hits your ear, making you squirm. Of course your colleagues would think now would be the appropriate time to do the dishes.

“And I was terrible!” You tell him, exasperated, turning around and facing the red wall. He’s heard that whole encounter, how can he not get that? His face does soften a little bit, but he’s still smiling. “Excuse me, you did wonderful.” He tells you, turning around as well. Looking back into his eyes, you wonder if he’s joking or not, but he seems genuine. Then he adds, his voice soft with fondness: “I heard how you talked about that museum. Honestly, babes, it was impressive.”

Blushing at the nickname, another trait of his newest face, you push yourself away from the counter and move to stand opposite him. “I still think you should do it.” You tell him determinedly, rubbing your hands against each other, your voice a little louder. The determination in his face remains, however, aggravating you to no end.

“I’ve never held a job in my life!” He argues, his voice getting a little louder as well, stepping towards you. He swats his arms towards you. “You worked in the Jumbo for three days!” He insists, seemingly a bit frustrated as well. The radio that keeps playing above your head has decided to switch up songs again, only aggravating you further.

You’re taking shit, for the hell of it.

Addicted to betrayal, but you’re relevant.

You’re terrified to look down.

“Exactly! I lasted for three days!” You yell right back at him, frustrated. How can he be stubborn about this? “And either way, this is different.” You point out, swatting your hands about, as if to gesture to the hotel itself. “That was in a country where I spoke the language, in a city where I was born and raised, in a shop that I actually knew.” Stepping even further towards him, your tone becoming more aggravated at each spoken word. Then, you add: “and I lasted three days, did I mention?!”

Breathing out and looking back up to him, the smile he’s been wearing the whole time seems to have fallen from his face now. Huffing, you scratch at your sleeves, good riddance. The doctor walks over to you and leans against the red wall, letting himself fall against it. Dragging his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket, he presses on it and suddenly the constant music that’s been plaguing you mind, stops. You let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding, relief washing over you.

After a few beats of silence, he asks: “Do you want to stop?” As you look back up at him, you meet his warm brown eyes. Of course, a part of you wants to scream at him, that’s what I was trying to say! Another part of you, hidden and buried, hesitates. Thinking back to your encounter and that woman’s kind face, you turn around to face him, leaning sideways against the wall. “Yes.” You tell him fervently. He just turns to you at that, looking at you questioningly, disbelievingly. “No.” You add, shaking your head. You sigh, frustrated, burying your head in your hands. “I don’t know.”

Walking toward that same small white chair, you sit down on it, finally allowing the exhaustion to hit you. The doctor’s still leaning against the wall, looking at you intently. He’s still smiling, but this time it’s smaller, less grandiose. You let out a frustrated breath as you think back to your encounter, closing your eyes, “Every time someone walks into this room, I just - I get so nervous. I freeze.” You tell him, your heart racing in your chest, it feels like a confession.

“And I like this job, I really do, but there’s just so much stuff.” You tell him, rubbing your hands against your legs. “There’s too much noise, too many distractions, just- too much.” Opening your eyes again, you look back at him. “I stim, doctor, and I hate making eye contact. All of those things should disqualify me from this job.” You’ve gone a bit quiet at the end, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

The doctor continues to stare at you until, suddenly, he stands up and walks away. You blink, not expecting that at all, before getting up from your chair and following him. He crosses the chairs towards the upper floor with speed, you’re barely able to keep up with him. “Doctor-“ You try, he turns around, usual enthusiasm back in his face. “I’ll talk to Anita.” He tells you, kindly. “No Christmas sweaters, no loud music and no dishwashing in the kitchen during work time.” You blink at that. He really does know you, doesn’t he?

“Why?” You ask, looking up at Anita’s office. “Because you are worth it, hon.” He replies, making you blush yet again. “Look, you might struggle a bit or act differently than people expect you to. But who cares? You are so good at this.” He continues, bouncing on his knees, conviction clear in his voice. He adds, a little smaller: “It’d be her mistake if she let you go.” Then he’s off, walking up the stairs to Anita’s office. You smile at that, genuine and real. When he’s almost at the top of the chairs, he adds: “And I’ll be in the backroom at all times, call me when you need me!”

Walking back to your desk, without the radio this time, feeling giddy with relief. As you get back to your desk, you fall down on your chair, sighing. You might be stuck here another few months, but with pleasant clothes, comfortable background noise and a time lord in the backroom, you might start to enjoy yourself after all.