@timetakeover discord thread continued under cut
The Doctor was falling apart. One difficult mission after the next, and in the last one, she almost lost Yaz. She certainly couldn't talk to Yaz about it, how she would lose her someday and be left alone. The Doctor knew what would fix her. She just really didn't want to do it.
When she didn't think he was dead, it was never difficult to find him when she really wanted to. He left her little clues, just in case. Always had. Things only the Doctor would understand, encrypted with the code of their history together, that would lead her right to him if she wanted to find him. She was bitterly amused to see he kept the tradition up, but deep down she wasn't surprised. It was what they had always done in the old days. Everything had been so different since the Time War, in so many ways. They hadn't done this in lifetimes.
She knew he heard her TARDIS noise when she landed outside of his TARDIS. It still took the form of that little house. Was something wrong with his chameleon circuit? The Doctor shook her head. No. She wasn't curious or concerned about him. This didn't mean anything. This was simply a tried and true curative, and she needed to fix herself before Yaz noticed something was going on.
The Doctor stood outside his front door, unable to make herself knock. Fix me, she thought. Just fix me. I don't want to ask for it.
She kicked the door instead. He knew she was here, anyway. She was sure of it. "Let me in already!"
She knows where to find him. She always has. It's still a surprise when he hears the faint sound of a TARDIS landing just outside his doorstep. He'd recognize the sound anywhere, he's listening for it, and yet… he's sure at first that it's his imagination run wild, the sound of her joining the drums that taunt him on long nights like these. How long has it been since he's been able to trust his own mind?
But, then she's kicking the door, shouting, and he nearly runs to let her in. Door is yanked open, though this still feels like a dream, and she's standing there, looking angry as ever. He wants to ask what this is about, what she could possibly want from him. He doesn't know any more about her past than what he's already told her, he's not actively scheming anything. He knows their routine, but he also knows just how badly he's fucked everything up since the last time they indulged in it.
Still, he smiles at the sight of her. It's almost genuine, despite the worry and confusion knitted into his brows. "Funny running into you here. Thought you'd be busy with your little humans."
He looks... Tired. And handsome, so frustratingly gorgeous in every new regeneration. It was easier to enjoy it before. Now how pretty this body is just makes the betrayal sting worse. She could have been the one enjoying this body if he hadn't have given up when things got hard.
She scowls. "I'm not in the mood to hear you natter on. This is just a moment of weakness, that's all."
She almost pushes past him, but she hesitates; softens. She needs to make sure this is still allowed. "I still don't approve of the things you do," she says, voice gentler. She knew the lines; so did he. She just hadn't said them since the Time War. She looks for him to continue the familiar back and forth, waiting.
His smile, concerned, suspicious, softens slightly as her voice does. It feels like he's in control again, like she's asking permission, like this is okay. It would be worse if she pushed past him, if things were proven to be different. He wants to grab the control she's offering it and take it to the extreme. How easy it would be to grab her wrist and yank her inside, to make some smart ass remark just so that she knows he can, that he's not vulnerable, that he's not afraid of losing her, that he's not Missy anymore.
She's crawling back to him, not the other way around. He feels raw, like he's going to come apart at the stitches if he doesn't clench his fists and desperately hold himself together. He wants to rub her face in it; that she needs him, that she's not better than him, that they're both fucked up disasters and they're on an equal playing field. That he's dragged her down to whatever low he's at.
He opens his mouth to speak; closes it, glances away. He's on thin ice. She's a cornered animal and if he pushes she knows she'll change her mind. She'll leave. He makes eye contact again, but steps to the side, gestures for her to enter. "Yeah. Okay. Come in."
She can see the journey on his face. She knows the effort it takes for him not to say something stupid and ruin it. She'd almost be appreciative that he never changes if it weren't so annoying. Still, he lets her inside. She brushes against him as she passes by, accidentally, and turns it into intentionally bumping into him with her shoulder to cover up how flustered is.
"Right," she said. His TARDIS still looked like a house on the inside. It was messy. None of her business. She didn't care how he was doing. "No touching me. No talking, either. Just lay down beside me in your bed. That's it. You can read a book or something."
She brushes against him. He notices, of course, would've still noticed just the heat radiating off of her even if she hadn't touched him. Her presence is electric, even angry and distant like this. She covers by shoving her shoulder into him. It gives her away. She wouldn't feel the need to mask it if the soft touch hadn't affected her the same way it affected him. She's all talk, all posturing, further confirmed by the way she starts barking orders.
He follows behind her, closes the front door. He wishes he'd tidied up a little bit. There's a scarf left out on an armchair, one he hopes she won't recognize as her own that's long since gone missing. He's irritated more than embarrassed, really. She could've given him some notice instead of just showing up, like she expects him to sit around waiting for her, like she's entitled to his attention whenever she demands it. Sure, he was sitting around waiting for her, but what right does she have to call him out on that?
"Oooh, permission to read a book in my own TARDIS. So generous, Doctor." He pushes past her to lead the way to the bedroom, shoulders brushing. Soft enough to be an accident, carelessness rather than an intentional refusal of the rules she's only just set.
She gives a condescending smile. "Or whatever you like. Play a video game. Ingenious little creation, those are. You should try them if you haven't."
Still, she can't help but notice her surroundings. She doesn't want to, she desperately wants to shut out every bit of information about her old friend that might make her resolve weaken even faster, but she's got the ability to absorb detail of a Time Lord. She can't not notice. She can see the signs of depression everywhere, starting with the fact that he never redid his interior after his scheme, continuing on with the cups and dishes he hadn't had the energy to clean up, and finishing with the dark circles under his eyes. She saw them. She just didn't care. Of course she didn't.
Even if she hesitates for a moment, wondering if she should say something. No matter if her hand pauses in the air, wanting to touch his shoulder to offer some kind of reassurance. She doesn't do it, so it doesn't matter. She cared as little as he did, when it came down to it. She knew, from experience, that he wouldn't be there when she needed him most.
She turns away, looking for his bed. Her eyes burn, but a moment of furious blinking is enough to alleviate the problem.
"Stay or go as you please. I needed some time alone. I knew you'd never have any friends over."
The last thing the Doctor ever wanted to be was alone, and they both knew it. The humiliation of how much she needed him during their shared childhood burned deep. And she'd never stopped needing him, had she? After everything he'd done, here she was again.
She hated it. She hated herself. She hated him. She found his bed and saw it was unmade just like it always was back at the Academy and crawled into it just so she could face the wall and there was no chance of him seeing her take another moment of furious blinking.