Chapter Text
“Bit messy, that.”
The Doctor shuts the door of the TARDIS behind the two of you, putting her back against it and flashing you an exhausted smile.
You join her instantly, propping yourself up on the closed doors, sighing dramatically to add to the effect. You felt grimy, and exhausted, and every other word that could possibly describe running for your life down a mud-covered hill and through a disgustingly humid forest – but when she gives you that satisfied, slightly-out-of-it grin that always came after these near disasters, you couldn’t help but return the favor.
Your eyes shut tiredly as your body takes a much needed, half-rest, one shoulder pressed against the Doctor’s, both of your chests heaving as you stare forward into the console room; processing the narrow escape you’d just made and the absolute mess that covered the two of you. Deep breaths finally enter your air-starved lungs as you quietly thank the universe for letting you get out of there that easily.
Well… Not quite so easily.
“God, it’s all over me,” You complain, looking down at the dark mud covering every inch of your body, shaking your hands out once as it splatters across the TARDIS floor.
“Hey! Careful with that! You know the TARDIS won’t be happy you’ve dragged in a mess.”
“Me?” You laugh airily, giving her an up and down glance, “Look at you! How did you manage to get mud in your pockets?”
The Doctor scrunches and reaches her hands into said pockets, pulling out comically large handfuls of mud with a disgusted frown.
“For once I wish these pockets were not bigger on the inside,” She tells you wearily, frown deepening.
You snigger at her lightheartedly and wonder how you always manage to end up situations like these, and why she always ends up with the blunt of the damage. Though, you suppose that’s just a part of being the leader – or in this instance, the first one to be tumbling in unplanned somersaults down a sudden mudslide.
The Doctor squints at your amusement silently for a moment before giving you a considerable once over, and you freeze when her frown turns to a tiny smirk and raised eyebrow.
“Personally, I think the brown chunks in your hair are more embarrassing than my pocket situation.”
Your mouth falls open as your hands fly to your head, horrified to discover large globs of mud attached to your hair and a victoriously smug Doctor waltzing up the few grated steps to the console. You groan and place the back of your hand to your forehead, slowly following after her and becoming way too aware of the sticky mud turning dry on your bare skin.
“How on Earth am I going to get this out?” You question half-genuinely, half-dramatically, already attempting to pluck at the disgustingness that’s amassed atop your poor head.
The Doctor rounds the console and give you a slightly apologetic glance, though the slight smirk dancing across her face remains humorously present. She looks just as pitiful as you, though, mud covering her hair the same as yours but only in a slightly lesser amount – blonde turned murky brown, leaves decorating her head like a messy, makeshift crown, even a twig or two comically sticking out from the nest that was the Doctor’s usually well-kept hair.
You couldn’t blame her, though, seeing as running through a pitch-black forest from the planet’s not-so-hospitable species would do that sort of thing to a person; Sliding down a mud-covered hill as heavy rain falls blindingly before your eyes and slickens every step in your path was not something you’d recommend for the average person.
“Just a try of the travels!” The Doctor had said to you as you finally approached the TARDIS, accessorized with mud-decorated boots and mud-covered everything, leaving handprints on the bright blue box as she leans against it for support. You’d shot her a glare that could have easily knocked any trace of dirt from her body with how hard it might have hit her – had she looked over. She was good at that, though. Anticipating and feeling the deadly daggers you throw in her direction and making the wise decision to ignore them entirely.
So now you stood sticky in the TARDIS console room, regretfully apologizing to the sentient space ship for ruining her perfectly pristine flooring, making the decision to drip depressingly towards the closest shower.
You barely make it a few steps before your also-mud-covered half takes notice.
“And where do you think you’re off to?” She quips, the Time Lord swinging less than gracefully around the centerpiece to face you properly. You scrunch at her confusedly – a trait you’re less than inclined to admit you picked up from her.
“To… Shower? I’m disgusting. I feel like a pile of dirt.”
“You are! Well. Wet dirt. Quite muddy. But I can’t leave you alone just yet, seeing as we both did take a nasty fall,” She explains quickly, flipping a switch on the console, “And slip,” turning a dial twice, “And slide,” pulling a final lever as the TARDIS lurches forward and into flight.
She leans against the edge of the centerpiece and turns promptly towards you. “Best to check you over before I leave you to your own devices.”
You immediately go to protest, reminded of the dry mud caking over your body and destroying your clothing, wanting nothing more than to peel the clunky layers off of you and allow the hot water to remove any trace of brown from your sights, but the Doctor must be used to it by now. The pattern of her checking over you after every tumble, and you adamantly assuring her that you were perfectly fine.
She holds up a single silencing finger as soon as you open your mouth, returning her gaze to the console’s display for a moment – analyzing some sort of detailed coordinates – yet still reading your mind perfectly. You reluctantly clamp your much-to-say mouth shut.
“Non-negotiable,” She says sternly, softening as she raises her head to meet your exhausted eyes. A tilt of her head, a careful smile. “Need to take a look at you. Then we’ll clean up.”
The Doctor leaves the console to approach you, sticking a disgustingly brown colored, still muddy hand out in your direction. You can see the cracks of drying dirt forming on her calloused hands.
“Deal?”
You squint at her for a moment, eyeing the hand extended towards you.
“Don’t see how you can look me over if I have twelve layers of gunk covering my entire body,” You grumble, though you take her hand in yours to shake on it anyway, in part complaining just to complain. To be fair, you had a lot to complain about. You’re sure the Doctor could let these few grumpy comments slide past her.
She raises both eyebrows at you, and you grimace slightly.
“Sorry. I know you’re just checking up, but I’m already miserable,” comes your slight backtracking, shrugging half apologetically as she keeps her hold of your hand.
“That makes the two of us, then,” The Doctor chirps with a contrasting smile and hearty thumbs up, “But miserable is more fun in numbers! Or is it worse? Can’t quite remember, suppose we’ll have to find out.”
She squeezes your mud crackling hand in her own, similarly disgusting hand, and scrunches once. “Misery Medbay occupancy: Soon to be us.”
“Clever,” You say dryly, teasingly, and she ignores you for the purpose of not having another reason to raise an eyebrow at you. You’ve already racked up three disapproving brows in the past few minutes – what’s a few more to your collection? But she spares you this once, tucks the rainy day attitude away in order to be the sun herself. And you smile. Even through the mud.
_________________________
Once you make it to the Medbay, the Doctor falls into her usual routine of after adventure checkups. She often stayed true to her chosen name – stocking up in medical supplies, keeping the space perfectly spotless, looking you over with an imaginary magnifying glass and sometimes a literal one. It depended on the day, varied on occasion. Bottom line was, she cared for you – and she did it softly, and with a shimmering grin, and as reluctant as you were for her to treat you like a child after every bump and bruise – not wanting to feel as fragile as she made your entire species out to be – at least it was her.
She became your caretaker, as much as you hate to admit.
You don’t need her worrying over you, or burdening her with your lack of alien abilities and plentiful variety of human incapabilities – getting injured over small things when she simply brushed them off. And though she assured you day after day, happenstance after happenstance, that it was alright, and this was part of the duties as a time traveler with human companions – you couldn’t help but see the stark differences between the two of you; feeling so fragile while she felt so tall. Sometimes, it was like she babied you.
Humans! Like the infants of the galaxy’s many species. So delicate. It’s a wonder you lot survive across the stars as well as you do! is what she had teased after a nasty run in with an alien virus, thermometer balanced in your mouth and wet cloth draped over your forehead, eyes half shut as she peered down at you with a pitiful sort of frown.
You knew it was only her way of caring. You knew she’d lost so many before you, and that looking after you like this was her way of feeling safe. But after a few too many serious scrapes and close calls, the care that she held for you looked more like worry – dread, even – and that’s when you made the decision to put on a brave face so that the lines in hers didn’t dig so deeply into her skin.
When you were hurt, you played it off. Patched yourself up afterwards when she didn’t catch the injury herself, hid the illness even if you had a cold. Because Time Lords don’t get allergies, and you felt ridiculous going to her with such trivial sorts of things when you’re perfectly capable of dealing with it yourself. Sure, if you faced a real injury – one that didn’t just come with the unfortunate circumstances of being a flimsy human – you’d go to her, but she had other things to worry over.
Paying the Doctor back for taking you on adventures by constantly becoming broken and damaged just didn’t feel quite right. She simply didn’t have the time to be fawning over you after each new planet. You knew that. So you’d take yourself off the growing plate of things she had to deal with, and simply learn to be stronger.
But here you were in the Medbay anyway, dragged here by your equally muddy counterpart, being poked and prodded by a sonic screwdriver and a few dozen little instruments – being cared for once again, and feeling just as fragile as always while accompanied by a few dozen layers mud.
“Better look you over, then,” The Doctor starts, rounding the medical cot and patting it twice with a pointed look, “Up you go.”
You push down your protests for the sake of getting this over quickly, thinking warmly of a nice, long shower after an exhausting day full of too much dirt – wanting to please the Doctor as she shuffles along the tiled floors of this sterile room – becoming the gold-star-deserving patient she needs you to be.
But you didn’t like it here. It was too bright, too white – it felt like a place outside of the TARDIS – an uncomfortable sort of ambience that reminded you too much of bad doctor’s visits and echoing hospital hallways.
“How’re you feeling? Any bumps and bruises? Scrapes and scratches?”
You shake your head as she inspects you, stethoscope already around her neck and being plucked into her ears. She brings the circular piece towards your chest, one hand coming up to be placed on your shoulder, her eyes focused on the metal as it presses against the center of you.
“Breathe for me,” She instructs.
You follow her words, inhaling deeply as she listens to your heartbeat. The semi-steady (slightly lovesick) thump must satisfy her, and she moves to press it to your back this time.
“Again, please.”
Another deep breath, and she pulls the cool metal away from your dirtied skin. You’re reminded once more of the disgusting mud now drying and caking across your body, shuddering lightly – unable to focus on anything besides that overwhelming, grimy feeling.
You watch as the Doctor wipes the stethoscope off on her also-dirty coat – to no avail.
She scrunches. “Think we’ve both had our fair share of mud for a few lifetimes, don’t you agree?”
“Quite a few lifetimes, yeah,” You assert, sighing and resisting the tempting urge to work your hands through your knotted hair, knowing it would do nothing but mess it up further while getting chunks of mud across the perfectly clean floor. Your head hurts a bit, you think. But it must just be from the fluorescent lights of the bright white space, and the general push and shove you’d just experienced down a land-sliding hill.
You push it down, looking her over as she removes the stethoscope from her neck and reaches to place it on the counter haphazardly. No need to worry her over something not causing concern.
“Your heartrates fine. Bit high, but, that’s to be expected – had a bit of a fall, then a tumble, and you’re covered in mud. Sure to up anyone’s adrenaline!” She rambles, now holding up a tiny flashlight that’s seemed to appear from nowhere, standing before you once again.
“Taking a look at your eyes now. Wouldn’t want any head injuries – that’s what I’m most worried about. You did hit that one tree pretty hard.”
You scoff at her, the memory relived in your head clear as day. “You mean when you told me to veer left, and I listened?”
She cringes.
“Miscalculation on my part. Few miscalculations today. But, what can I say,” She defends herself, flashing the light between your eyes quickly and squinting to analyze you, “Seem to have come back all in one piece. I’d call that a victory.”
She steps away from you, looking down at the floor and acknowledging the plentifully muddy footprints remaining where she just stood, and the trail from when you’d both come in dirtying her usually clear floors. Her stiff, muddy hair falls forward into her eyes, and she quickly pushes it out of the way in slight disgust.
“Half a victory,” She corrects sheepishly.
You can’t help a small smile, and she returns the favor brilliantly. The shine contrasts the grime covering the two of you, becoming the light at the end of the tunnel as per usual. You bask in the glow and try to reflect the same sparkle in your own eyes.
“It’s alright. Adventure comes with danger. Would be pretty pointless if we didn’t get dirty at least once,” You reassure her, wanting to see that smile decorate her face once more – to light up the worried creases, to soften her slightly hard expression.
It works. She grins with the tilt of her head, moving away from you to shuffle through drawers and throw you a wink.
“Well said!” She agrees, “And you’re quite the partner to get dirty with.”
You both pause.
She freezes in her spot and you stay still in your seat, taken slightly aback by her accidental implication as she casts you a wincing side glance, quickly moving to brush past it.
“What I meant was–”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t–”
Another pause. She stares forward at her task, still unmoving, while you stare at her.
“Sorry,” She says finally, continuing before you have the chance to follow her up. She turns to face you, cheeks just slightly red – though you’re sure yours reflect similarly. “You look well. Just a minor cut above your eyebrow, probably from a stray stick or two. Nothing major that I can see. But you’ll have to let me know how you feel later, if anything changes. Understood?”
You nod, knowing internally that if you found anything wrong, you’d probably just handle it yourself. The Doctor squints at you – and you wonder if there was some sort of Time Lord mind reading that she hadn’t made you aware of when she says your name in a warning tone.
“Sound good?”
She squints deeper.
Your head does hurt.
But you cast her a cover-up smile, nodding to avoid any tension or hesitance, avoiding that dull thought in the back of your head. She looked tired. Exhausted. She needed rest just as much as you; Surely that would help the slight lightheadedness, and hopefully it would remove the anxiety furrowed in the Doctor’s brow – the anxiety you caused, the anxiety you’d wish would dissipate.
“Got it, yeah. Good.”
She stares at you for a second longer than she needs to, giving you a once over before looking back through her drawers and various medical supplies to put things back in their places.
“I’m sure a good wash will clean the tiny cut out. Didn’t notice anything serious.”
Her muddy boots make their way back over to you, eyes scanning over you even further.
“And you’ll tell me if that changes,” She states. Not much of a question, no room for an answer. An assertion. If something goes wrong, I need to know.
An unspoken, I want to be here for you.
You hear her. You just know that you’re completely capable, too, and there’d be no reason to worry her – you’re just lightheaded, after all. No long term effects in a bit of dizziness. And certainly no need to worry her.
“I just need to clean up,” You tell her truthfully, rubbing your palms across your forearms, feeling the dried mud pill beneath your hand. You cringe slightly and pinch the dirt between your fingers, watching it drop to the floor and noticing some black spots in your vision. Funny. Must just be from the lights.
You look up at the ceiling to the fluorescent shine, squinting, finding that didn’t help your situation at all and looking back down at your feet. The Doctor’s eyes are on you, and you try to breathe evenly.
You’re really fine. It’s just the lights.
“Cleaning up should do the both of us some good, I’m sure,” She tells you, a certain question to her voice – just the slightest edge. You continue avoiding her eyes, sure there’d be an accompanied raised eyebrow, or an accusatory side glance – also fearing any more dizziness that might come with moving your head too fast. But that was fine. It wasn’t bad.
You close your eyes for a second too long, and the black dots increase in number just slightly.
Okay. It wasn’t that bad.
You simply needed a shower. And some rest.
And the Doctor can get on with her tasks, and worry about herself, and not worry over you. Not that you minded the attention. She just had other things to concern herself over.
You didn’t have to be one of them.
“I’d better go shower, then,” You suggest, looking up at her carefully. She’s still staring, head tilted ever so slightly. An analysis. Picking apart each word you just said, piecing together any fluctuations in your body language. You stay perfectly still. You didn’t have anything to hide, anyway. Because nothing was wrong.
Really.
You felt fine.
“Okay,” The Doctor says. Just that.
Okay.
You stare at her a second longer, unsure if looking eager to hop off the medical cot would hint at something being wrong, but more unsure if looking hesitant to do anything gave even more of a sign. Especially unsure of why she only said one word, but worried of the implications behind such shortness.
You slide off the side of the bed slowly. Your feet hit the ground firmly.
You stare at the Doctor in front of you for a moment longer than you should.
“See you later,” You say to her carefully. You don’t know why it seems so questionable, or why your head feels murky. Your hand comes to hold your side to support yourself, though you’re not sure why you do that, either. Your body is covered in mud. Oh, that must be it. The mud felt kind of… heavy. Or was that just your body?
The Doctor nods. That was worrying, you think. Too simple for her.
You wonder when the room got a bit colder.
“See you,” She replies. Her words are a bit far away, aren’t they?
You tilt your head at her as if to ask a question, though you’re not sure of what it is. You feel like you might be missing something. No, that was fine, actually.
You could probably tell her another time.
Your feet turn your body, you follow your instincts.
You travel down the hallway. You don’t really remember leaving the Medbay, but do you usually remember that sort of thing? You think the Doctor watches you walk down the corridors. Your feet are even, though, and you’re definitely breathing fine. There was nothing to worry about.
Nothing to make her worry about.
And a shower would certainly fix everything.