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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"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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