bigapplesauce | On a cold winter's day.... [closed]

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On a cold winter's day.... [closed]

It's too cold out yet for Andrew to want to sit on a park bench and do his tinkering or people-watching outdoors. On the other hand, too much time spent working on his latest scanner inside the small flat he shares with James has been making him stir-crazy. James is lovely company, of course, and they became more or less used to long periods together in a confined space during their travels between the stars, but today he feels like poking his nose into other people's business -- or at least having a good, long stroll while he looks for some business he can poke into.

Thus far, nothing's turned up. Unperturbed, Andrew makes his way to the park, knowing that anything related to the rift is most likely to happen there. He shouldn't hope that someone will come through or that the rift will cause any new shenanigans, but some small part of him really, really does. He fiddles with his scanner as he goes, not expecting any readings that will actually shed light on the situation after so long of getting nothing useful, but hoping this latest model might pick up wavelengths missed by the last one he put together.

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The TARDIS dislikes the cold too, so she's wrapped herself in an ankle-length dress and a thick coat, even wearing gloves for once. Not that that's particularly helping her fairly bleak mood. In recent days she's been aching more than usual under the rift's capriciousness, though at least that intensely disturbing experience with the distorted language perception is over. Still, she feels sore and tired and hyper-aware of how this universe bends at all the wrong angles around her, and she's going as stir-crazy as her pilot being trapped here. So the Doctor had made her go outside to distract herself while he's doing what he can to boost her systems and soothe her aches.

He'd even dug up money for her to buy some hot chocolate with, which she is sipping from now as she wanders aimlessly through the park. It's little use, there's just nothing distracting here, only crowds of humans and barren vegetation. But then a familiar sensation tugs at her attention, a minuscule taste of her own universe, and a second later she spots Andrew on the other side of the path. Well, any port in a storm... She hurries over to join his side, managing a small smile in greeting and peeking at his device. "What are you doing?"

Andrew's too absorbed in his task to see the TARDIS before she sees him. He almost thinks -- there, yes! No? Yes. He frowns and is about to slap the device when he looks up in response to someone coming toward him and sees a rather familiar face.

"Ah! Hello, there!" His face splits into a smile, and he holds the scanner out for her to get a good look. "Testing the new scanner -- I don't think it's working, honestly. I was hoping to be able to get a more accurate reading on the rift's activity, start predicting major events."

She studies the device with a frown, deciding it looks far too cobbled together - is that a flashlight battery? - to be of much use. "You should get more sophisticated parts from the workshop," she comments critically, meaning her workshop, naturally. "Or just use my scanner." Her sensors may not cover the entire island, but she is sitting right on top of the rift's center, so she is getting very clear readings from it. And the Doctor has so much on his plate, having to take care of her, investigate the rift, and whatever other distractions crop up; he'd surely be thankful for some assistance.

"...Oh." And there went all the wind out of Andrew's sails. He's been so used to not having any of her equipment at his disposal -- and, well, he'd felt all proud and manly for building a scanner that would make up for what robot-related senses James has lost. James could have built one just as well ~~or better~~ himself, of course, but he doesn't seem inclined to build things in general and Andrew likes to at least pretend he's useful. "Right," he says, thumbing the thing off and stuffing it in a pocket so she can't look at it and see how stupid it is anymore. "Or that. Good point."

Even without a connection to his mind she can tell he's suddenly upset, blinking in confusion as he pulls the scanner out from under her nose and puts it away. What did she do? She was only trying to be helpful. The familiar feeling of unease that always accompanies dealing with him creeps over her; he's so much like the Doctor and yet incomprehensible to her both in what he is and in how he behaves. The incongruity is jarring.

She sighs, trying and failing to hide her frustration. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No," lies Andrew immediately. "No, 's fine. It's nothing." The last thing he wants to do is to tell the TARDIS she's hurt his feelings --why does he always find it so hard to talk to her? He ought to be familiar enough with her to be able not to make such an idiot of himself. The fact that he apparently isn't really doesn't make him feel any less stupid.

"Well," he amends, then stops again. He knows full well from dealing with James that this kind of question needs a straightforward answer, but it's never been easy explaining why he's upset or embarrassed. "Bit pointless now, isn't it? Stupid of me."

At least one thing hasn't changed - she can still easily tell when he's lying. That doesn't make his jumbled explanation any more understandable to her, though, and she studies him for a moment with a slight frown creasing her eyebrows. Why must he be so... askew?

But then she seems to make a decision and reaches for his hand, entwining her gloved fingers with his. She doesn't want to upset him, so the only other option is to give into her instinctual need to take care of people. Much more kindly she asserts, "It led you here, which reminded you that you may visit me and use my systems, so it isn't pointless."

For his part, Andrew doesn't want to be upset by her. He doesn't want her to think of him as anything less than the Doctor either, though, so he has a feeling he's not going to get his desires when it comes to the TARDIS in general.

A hand to hold is not a bad place to start, though the look he gives her isn't so reassured. "May I?" he asks, sounding just a little incredulous. "I think the Doctor's going to have something to say about that."

Ah yes, she'd been meaning to talk about that with him, hadn't she. With a small frustrated sigh she shakes her head at the thought of their disharmonious relationship. "The Doctor has no reason to dislike you, except the way you treat him in the first place," she points out reasonably. "He has no means of understanding why you are hostile towards him. If you changed this, he would be grateful for the assistance, I'm sure." There's no reproach in her voice, since she is fully aware of Andrew's reasons. But this isn't the version of the Doctor he may justifiably feel wronged by, so it just seems terribly unnecessary to her.

"The way I treat him?" objects Andrew. "He's the arrogant one -- thinks he has some sort of bloody right to me and James. He knows perfectly well why I'm angry with him."

He sniffs and looks away, jaw set -- though he doesn't let go of her hand. "He wouldn't be the least bit grateful," he informs her. "I wouldn't if I were him." Which may or may not be true, but right now it feels true.

"You are both arrogant," she counters rather forcefully in a rare moment of criticizing the Doctor out loud, brought on by Andrew's illogical petulance. Then she continues more diplomatically, "He has no right to either of you; I know how appropriating he can be, believe me. But he does have a right to be concerned about the consequences of his memories and knowledge being abused. You are arrogant if you think they're as safe with you and James as they are with him." She knows she doesn't need to remind him that James has been rewritten on at least one occasion, maybe more she isn't aware of. "Which is all the more reason for you all to be able to cooperate and trust each other."

Her argument made, she adds more softly, "And he would be grateful. I would make sure of that." She would never seriously side with Andrew against the Doctor, but she also refuses to put up with any more of this dissent, especially within her walls. If he decides to visit, she's going to make sure both of them are civil.

Andrew's gaze snaps back to the TARDIS (or, well, to the corporeal form with which he's holding hands), eyes wide in surprise at her forcefulness...and at her willingness to concede that the Doctor's not entirely in the right here. His frown deepens, though, at the reiteration of the Doctor's earlier argument.

"We can take care of ourselves," he insists. "And the memories." He refrains from pointing out that neither she nor the Doctor has couched this in terms of anything other than what it would cost the Doctor if one of them were attacked in that fashion. It stings, but he doesn't want to look like he's going back on his insistence that they be let alone -- and he knows it would be even worse to have them going on about how he and James need protection for their own good.

It seems she does have to remind him, if he's going to keep being too prideful to acknowledge how vulnerable they are. "James was already captured and reprogrammed at least once," she points out somberly. "And you are frightfully human, almost anyone could access your mind."

Her expression darkens at her next thought. "The Master is here, after having left the Cheetah planet. You know what he is capable of doing to either of you. I simply want you to be able to come to us for help and work together, should something happen."

Andrew can feel his face burning in embarrassment. He gives the TARDIS a wounded look, more surprised than he should be that she, too, is so unwilling to at least pretend he and James are capable of warding off attackers and kidnappers. He knows better, but considering he refuses to accept that reality as truth, it's not welcome input. "That was different," he protests. "He didn't have me then." Or vice versa.

He frowns. "He wouldn't. We're -- well, I wouldn't say friends, but all those parties have to count for something...."

His wounded look does nothing to sway her - the truth hurts, but it's a necessary consideration. "And you have us now," she emphasizes, "but only if you get along." Not that the Doctor would ignore it if they got attacked, but a rescue mission or whatever would be a lot harder to organize while they're bickering like this.

And how sick she is of the Doctor (or Doctor-alikes) still expecting the Master to be decent, after everything he's done. Besides, it doesn't even apply here. "He isn't from our universe," she explains coldly. "He will not know you, or care. He will regard you as nothing more than a means to hurting the Doctor." She's speaking from experience, here.

"We've got you regardless of what the Doctor thinks about it," grumbles Andrew, arching an eyebrow in her direction. They'd better be able to rely on her, he thinks. Otherwise, he doesn't know what the universe is coming to.

He sucks in a breath, more hurt than he would have expected by the knowledge that the Master here isn't his Master the one he's come to know and grudgingly accept. "Are you sure?" he asks.

Yes, just take her assistance for granted, no need to consider her explicit wish for them to stop fighting in return. She can feel tried and true contrariness rising in her, but she knows it's mostly just her overall situation making her irritable, so she tries to rein it in. It's good he knows he can rely on her at least.

But he doesn't make it easy to be lenient, when he has the nerve to doubt her, and she shoots him a deeply scolding look. "Of course I am sure." Since when would she be in the habit of claiming something as fact that she doesn't know to be true? Honestly. "The energy signature remaining from our universe is quite distinct, and both he and his TARDIS lack it."

He can take her for granted, though, can't he? Whatever they might disagree about, it doesn't enter Andrew's head that she would ever leave him and James out in the cold if they needed her help.

Andrew also has the nerve to look affronted at her rebuke. "Have you talked to him?" he asks, not deigning to comment on whether he really doubted her.

Of course she would never turn her back on them, but that doesn't mean she can't expect some appreciation. He's starting to get as ungrateful as most of the Doctor's humans and it's certainly not helping to win her over.

"I have no interest in speaking to him," she replies haughtily, both due to her rising irritation and her intense dislike of the Master. "The Doctor did, though. I don't see why that matters."

What species is he crossed with, again?

Really, though, he's being recalcitrant as much because she hurt his feelings as anything else. "Generally when one wants to find out what someone's motives are, talking to them helps," he snips back. "We can't know if -- how dangerous he is if we don't investigate."

As though that's an excuse. And this is pretty much the single worst topic they could have landed on, what with her resentment of the Doctor's tendency to cling to some misguided belief that the Master may be capable of redemption, despite everything.

And because of that, even her considerable patience is wearing thin. "The Master's motives never change! Nor does the danger he represents." She's really quite done talking to a brick wall and lets go of his hand. "And if you insist on being deaf to my advice and concern, there is no point to this conversation."

"He was different the last time!" protests Andrew, remembering the Master who had -- alright, who seduced James, that wasn't so great, but who never did either of them actual harm beyond Andrew's feelings of jealousy.

His hand feels painfully empty without hers, but he doesn't reach out for her. "Don't be like that," he sulks.

"I think I have every right to be," she sulks right back, "when all I am doing is trying to look out for you." Her tone suggests that she may not be willing to invest any more effort into that for much longer, though.

When the Doctor and her get into one of their not infrequent clashes of will and ego, he usually blusters for a while but acquiesces sooner or later, knowing how to soothe and flatter her back into peace. Now, she doesn't quite realize she's expecting Andrew to do the same, even though fighting about the Master has caused rather more seriously upset feelings than whatever squabbles her and her pilot tend to get into.

Andrew would be thrilled if he realized she's expecting him to behave like the Doctor -- thrilled and worried all over again that he won't measure up. Right now, though, he's just sad that he's upset her, and frustrated that she doesn't understand why he can't just go along with what she wants of him.

"You're trying to look out for the Doctor," he corrects her, though his tone is gentler than it has been. He looks away, letting out a sigh through his nose. "I sort of doubt he's going to turn us away if we do come for help," he points out, showing no sign he's actually pleased about that. "He's worried about his memories, remember?"

"He is worried about the people that may be hurt if his memories were to be abused," she counters sharply, frustrated that Andrew seems to be almost willfully misunderstanding them. Is his humanity really clouding his judgement that badly? "And so should you be, since they are your memories too, now."

But it does give her pause that he apparently thinks she doesn't care about him for his own sake. If he's really convinced that she's doing nothing but parrot the Doctor's opinions, then his stubborn defensiveness is suddenly slightly more understandable. "And I'll thank you not to correct me on my own motivations," she adds, though also more kindly than angry. "I am trying to look out for you. You saved my life, you destroyed the Daleks, and I care very much about both the personalities that you contain. I want you safe, and I want you happy."

Andrew stuffs his hands into his pockets, both for warmth and so he can hunch in on himself. The really uncomfortable part -- well, one of the really uncomfortable parts of this conversation -- is that he knows she's at least a little bit right (the fact that the Doctor has been saying the same thing does not, of course, mean that the Doctor is at all right). Sure, he and James have fared well together since Andrew stopped being quite so terrible at paying attention to what goes on in James's life, but here they don't have the support of Torchwood, or a handy little spaceship in which to run away.

He blushes a bit at the confirmation that she does care after all, never all that good at accepting that kind of declaration. "But I'm not him to you," he says, at last voicing the thing that's given him the most heartache when it comes to the TARDIS. "You're always going to care more about your pilot."

For a moment, she's surprised by how much it hurts to hear that from him and she looks away in sadness. "Don't say that as though you fault me for it, please," she replies softly, troubled. "I know what it must do to you to not have me. I know, and it pains me to think on it."

And that's the most important reason why she has such difficulties dealing with him and prefers to avoid the entire mess. Because forcing her and the Doctor to live without one another would be torture and a death sentence, and here that's exactly what's been done to Andrew, even if his human side allows him to survive it. It breaks her heart. "You deserve to be loved like the Doctor, but I can't."

A small, petty part of Andrew wants her to regret it as much as she possibly can. He's never hidden how jealous of the Doctor he is, except perhaps by dint of disguising it as determination to go on being the Doctor.

On the other hand, the better -- and larger -- part of him hates to see her hurting. He knows what she's said is true, and that no amount of arguing will change it. He's bright enough to realize, too, that by arguing with her, he endangers what affection she does hold for him. With a sigh, he reaches out to take her into a hug, wanting to hold her tight even if he knows he won't get to keep her.

While the TARDIS isn't averse to hugs in general, there are a few people whose physical expressions of affection in such a manner mean more to her than others. Now she finds out Andrew has the privilege of belonging to that group, and she wraps her arms around him, pressing close. She tries to take comfort in his warmth, or to somehow offer comfort in return, but it does little to dispel the sadness that's taken hold of her.

"I don't know what to do to make it better," she admits, muffled against his chest. And if he still knows her, he'll know how important it is to her to be able to take care of those she loves.

Andrew envelops her in his arms, rocking her slightly as he rests his head against hers. "I know," he says softly, though it tears at his heart to know they're both admitting defeat. He turns his face to press a kiss into her hair. "Try to put up with me," he suggests, feeling a little more sure now than when they began this conversation that she can -- and and that she will want to.

She lets out a sigh, because putting up with him is far less than she wishes she could give him, and it grieves her that they'll have to settle for that. Hugging him tighter, she raises her head to look at him and respond. "I will," she promises sincerely, "And you are always welcome to visit, no matter what the Doctor may think. He has no authority over either of us." Then she stands up on the tips of her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek.

It's so much less than he really wants -- but it's good that they're having this conversation now rather than in the past. It's almost good -- almost -- that their initial separation was so sudden, and that he was forced to adjust without knowing if he'd ever even see her again. Had he really thought it was possible they might be be something more to each other than they are now, this would have been torture rather than incomplete comfort.

"That's what I like to hear," he grins cheekily. "But you might find he disagrees."

It's good to see him smile, even if she suspects it may be a little forced. But she can appreciate the attempt at lifting the mood, and she knows there's nothing else to be done about this.

So she lets a mischievous smirk tug at the corner of her mouth. "As though that has ever stopped me," she points out teasingly. "He has no idea what he is doing half the time."

"Oi!" Andrew's...actually really not sure how to react to that. On the one hand, he wants to be (playfully) offended that she thinks that of him. On the other, they're not actually talking about him; they're talking about the Doctor. And of course, Andrew doesn't identify with the Doctor at all except for how he completely does.

He experiences several moments of paralyzing cognitive dissonance as the impulse to defend himself battles with the impulse to insult the Doctor. He furrows his brow at her. "You," he settles on, "are a naughty girl."

She had definitely intended that to be a dig at both the Doctor and him, but she wasn't expecting it to throw him off quite so much. Perhaps no more teasing about the Doctor, then, even though the fact that he dislikes the Doctor should make him open to that sort of thing. Clearly dealing with him hasn't gotten any less complicated just because they gave voice to their feelings for each other.

She refuses to be dejected by that though and continues to smirk at him. "But you like that," she reminds him helpfully.

Now that he's faced it once, he might be a little more prepared if she threw another one like that at him. He wouldn't have expected it to bother him so much, either; he's always been fine with digs at the Doctor's other regenerations.

"Oh, yes," he agrees with a grin. "Lucky for you."

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On a cold winter's day.... [closed]

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