Chapter Text
A few minutes, she’d said.
You remembered it clearly.
“Just over that ridge, past the largest sand dune - It’s a quick trip! Done it a million times. Well, twice. Actually - once. Maybe. Can’t remember!”
You’d stared at her for a few seconds. She’d stared back.
“We’ll be fine,” She drew out the last word, tilting her head. Blonde hair had slipped out from its usual spot behind her ear, falling before her eyes. “Don’t you trust me?”
You’d pursed your lips. “I trust that you’re doing your best.”
“Oi!” She’d looked offended, scrunching into a furrow. “Cheeky.” A pause. She’d looked out onto the desert landscape - no sign of any sort of existence for miles - yet a permanent smile still stuck to her bright face. “Better get a move on, then.”
And you had. Moved on.
For a while.
But that conversation was now in the past - a good while in the past - and you were still moving.
And it was hot.
Agonizingly so.
“How long has it been, then?” The Doctor was asking now, trekking through the deep sand with her laced up brown boots. Her coat was folded loosely over her arm, white sleeves rolled haphazardly up. Like you said, hot. And not just due to the sun. “Thirty minutes? Forty-five?”
“Two hours, Doctor,” You remind her, attitude void, simply exhausted. Not quite able to take your eyes off of her. (You’re obviously just attentive, nothing else.)
She grumbles something unintelligible, furrowing deep as she scans the whole of nothingness surrounding you. “Must be getting there, then. Sometime soon.”
It’s your turn to grumble. “You said that an hour ago, Doctor.”
“And every second we get closer!” She retorts, somehow still enthusiastic. You watch the sweat glisten off her usually pale, already tanned skin. “Least we’re not standing in one spot, waiting for someone to find us. It’s good to take initiative!”
“Yeah. But what if we’re headed in the wrong direction?”
The Doctor plants her feet in the sand, hands on her hips. She looks at you as though you’ve just slapped her. “I’ll have you know that I have an excellent sense of direction.”
You stop, too, staring back at her. You decide not to say anything.
She hmphs at your silence (your barely quieted frustration, more like), turning on a heel and heading pointedly forward.
“Off we pop! Got lots more sand to look at!”
You trudge after her, creating a reluctant path in said sand. You try not to die of heatstroke.
The lack of breeze made the sweat stick to your tired body, and the blinding suns made it hard to focus on the reflective, light sand. Instead, you look at the Doctor - a monument of blue in a sea of tan - hair bouncing as she walked, tucked dutifully behind her ears. She puts her thumb under the top of her suspenders, pulling them off of her shoulders with a snap and letting them hang by her pant loops, just before wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. You could tell she was slowly growing more exhausted, even if she wouldn’t outright admit it.
Her face was stuck in a permanent scrunch, chest often heaving breaths. Every half hour she’d remove another layer or somehow alter her appearance. Her hair was very obviously bothering her, though you’d never seen her put it up - and you figured now would probably be the time for firsts. She’d simply slicked it back as best she could with simple fingers through her hair (fingers you’d quickly wished were yours, which was a thought you’d quickly pushed down). She took a pause, every once in a while - barely noticeable to the average person (to anyone who had ever seen the Doctor move, talk, or act at all), but too noticeable to someone who’d been traveling the universe alongside her bustling never ending energy for far too long.
Regardless.
She was handling it better than you were.
The sun was truly getting to you, even if you did share the stubborn trait of not-being-able-to-admit-that-to-anyone, too. Every once in a while, the Doctor would look back to make sure you’re still following - or breathing - tilting her head with subtle analysis. Her blonde hair was turned darker, strands sticking to her forehead and curling in some spots due to humidity and a lot of sweat. You’d offered her small smiles, which probably gave you away. Just as you knew her, she knew you.
And she knew when you were lying.
“Feeling alright?” She casts in your direction, the third time she’s asked in the past twenty minutes. You nod when she throws a look over her shoulder - a movement that makes your head feel heavy and your vision turn blurry.
You close your eyes for a second. When you open them, the blur is still there, only worse. You try to ignore it.
It doesn’t quite work.
“You sure?” The Doctor checks again.
“Fine, thanks.”
She squints.
It doesn’t seem to quite work on her either.
She’s stopped completely now, tilting her head at you. “You can tell me. Really. Have you had any water?”
You nod - wincing. “A bit.”
She hums. “Not good enough.”
She’s trudging over to you before you can protest, outstretching a hand to hold to your forehead.
“Doctor, I’m -”
“Speak when spoken to,” She interrupts sternly. Her eyes are soft, though. “For now, hush.”
You purse your lips, immediately silenced.
The Doctor feels for your temperature, looking sharply between your eyes for any sign of distress. Her nose was inches from yours. You feel her breaths fan against your cheeks as she inspects you, and you try to hold your breath - but when she runs her thumb along your temple and slides her palm down to hold your face in her hands, the air hitches in your lungs. Her eyes dart to yours.
“Sorry. That hurt?” She asks quickly.
You shake your head. “No.”
Her furrowed eyebrows raise slightly, concerned eyes becoming a bit too knowing. She runs her tongue across her bottom lip. “I see.”
The two words were murmured. She steps back from you, hands returned to her hips. You missed her closeness despite the boiling temperature.
“Well,” She starts off, “mostly fine. Dehydration can lead to serious symptoms, and I’m sure the exertion can’t help. Best we hurry.”
She reaches into her definitely bigger-on-the-inside pockets, producing the canteen she’d bought at the markets a few notable hours ago. She shoves it into your hands with a very stern look. You go to protest, though you don’t turn away from the offer of more water, staring down at the object and feeling the liquid slosh around in its container. Your tongue suddenly felt very dry, each swallow harder than the last. That, and your interestingly blurring vision, and the concerning amount of dissociation you were slowly beginning to realize. But it was her water supply, and you’d already drank the last of yours a good half hour ago. She may be an almighty Time Lord - a fact she would not soon let you forget - but she did need water, just the same as you. Especially in a setting like this.
“I’m alright -”
“Ah,” She cuts you off, as if expecting a retort, a finger suddenly pressed to your lips.
You make a surprised sound at the action. If the Doctor happened to notice the heat spread across your face, you’d blame it on the triple sun's continuous beratement.
“Wasn’t a question,” She lectures. Her eyebrows raise in a dare. “Very firm statement.”
Your eyes were still wide from when she’d silenced you with a single finger (you wished you could have worded that better), flickering your gaze down to her hand at your lips. You look back up. She’s still staring.
“This planet isn’t to be messed with,” She tells you. It’s softer this time, a carefully placed cushion to her voice. “And you are too delicate to be pushed too hard.”
You furrow at her, chancing a word. “Delicate?”
“Human,” She supplies, like that makes it better.
You furrow further. “Ow.”
Slowly, she lifts her finger away from you, as if testing the waters to see if you’d explode at her with the freedom. You stay silent - though your glare says ten thousand choice words.
“Yeah, yeah. I know,” She gives you. She looks away, into the endless desert, considering her options and the probable consequences of your situation. “Just can’t risk being too rough with you, that’s all.”
To your absolute horror, you let the tiniest, traitorously surprised and equally pleased sound slip from your lips at her words.
The Doctor’s eyes snap to yours.
You watch something pass through them - a sense of realization, or the affirmation of something she already knew.
It was her turn to make a small sound. Different, but with the same type of… thrill.
Intrigue, almost.
You try to stay still.
“Interesting,” She murmurs. Her head tilts.
Taking note of something.
You feel your face burn, not liking her tone one bit - not liking that knowing look in her deep gold eyes. “What?”
“Nothing.”
The two of you stare at each other. Again. As you usually do.
With a lot of unspoken somethings between it.
She takes a step away from you, and you don’t know why it hurts.
“Right,” The Doctor says, snapping the tension turned taut with a single word. She clears her throat, presumably to shake off the odd strain that came with her questioning voice. “Drink up. Need you better.”
She turns away from you - and again, it hurts. You don’t know why.
Or maybe you just wouldn’t admit that you did.
The Doctor starts off in her same direction again, you standing behind. No witty quip telling you to get moving, no look back to check you haven’t faceplanted into the sand. She was very silent.
A concerning thing for the woman who never was.
You swallow down the urge to call after her and simply follow, deciding that was probably best. With a long, drawn out sip from the canteen she’d provided you, you watch after her carefully. Your fingers twitch on the object tightly held in slightly shaking hands. You were tired, and she was right - you had to get moving to get out of this desert somehow.
And as if the gods had heard your plea (though you didn’t quite remember praying), it only took another fifteen minutes of silence, contemplation, and shared skeptical glances before your hurried, quite ahead of you companion was erupting in some sort of unseen joy.
“There!” The Doctor shouts, pointing triumphantly across the vast desert landscape, all looking the same, all still being hot, all remaining quite sandy. She was bouncing on the soft and slightly moving surface beneath her well-worn boots, looking back at you for a reaction. “Just over that hill!” After noticing how behind you are, she gestures a wild hand for you to hurry up. “Come on, be impressed. You can thank my excellent intuition and survival skills.”
With a skeptical hum, you reach the top of the sand dune and plant yourself a few feet away from her. Her pointed finger was still firmly stuck on some distant point. Out of breath, hands on aching hips while standing on sore legs, you follow her finger - unentertained by her enthusiasm in your dreary state. At least the water had helped, and you didn’t feel completely useless and faint as you had before. You squint into the distance. “I don’t see anything,” You tell her with pursed lips. The Doctor shoots you a look, quickly bounding her way over to your exhausted and somehow still standing figure.
“Don’t be discouraged! We’ve got a sign of life!”
She squints back in the direction she’d previously been looking, focused scrunch stuck once more on her tanned face. Her freckles stood out like this, dotting her skin like the stars in the sky. You try not to stare.
“There, again. Look closely. Follow my finger.” She stands just next to you as she says this, shoulder to shoulder and extending her arm to direct you from her perspective. Reluctantly (yet still hopeful, as most that travel with the Doctor must be) you follow the movement, leaning slightly into her. Usually, her warmth would welcome you - but right now, you were just hot.
“Are you looking?” She asks, and you are. Your eyes drag dutifully across the boring beige landscape before landing on their mark.
At the end of the Doctor’s pointed finger, billowing into the sky, seemed to be a dark plume of smoke - a signal from something or someone or anything that wasn’t just sand upon sand and more sand. It trailed upwards from somewhere not too far.
Your face erupts in an enthused grin, joining the Doctor’s small victory, turning to see her already looking at you. She takes the canteen from your hands, obviously already set to investigate her new find, tucking away the now empty container somewhere on her person.
“Not sand! Result!” She cheers. She throws you a very quick, overly enthusiastic double thumbs up before practically breaking into a sprint towards her goal.
“Doctor, wait -”
You shouted, but she either ignores you or has gone completely deaf, leaving a trail of disrupted sand in her wake. You follow after her with a low groan.
It’s only another minute before the two of you (her first, of course) reach the peak of the second hill, the Doctor standing as a pillar in the single colored landscape. She points down at the ground with a wide grin on her previously frowning face.
“How could we get more lucky than that?” She questions, inflection high pitched in small victory. Her hands stick to her hips once more, and you tilt your head down at the object she’s dubbed your savior - a large transport billowing smoke from every orifice.
“That looks safe.”
She makes a considerable sound in agreement with your sarcasm, tongue poking out between her lips as she tried to get a gauge of the smokey situation below. Her eyes are narrowed, head tilted again.
“Not the worst we’ve dealt with,” She looks back to you, the final confirmation before probably diving down this hill to go after it. “Have you got any better ideas? Going once? Going twice?”
You keep your lips in a line, staring skeptically down at the possible fireball below you, then back at the firey gold in your Doctor’s eyes. You didn’t know which was burning brighter.
She hums, lips in a line with that good-try-doubting-me expression. “S’What I thought. Come on, forward march.”
This time, not leaving you to trail behind, the Doctor pulls your hand into hers and heeds her own advice. The way down the dune is steeper, and the two of you slide more than walk to get to the bottom. Sand billows up into your eyes as you squint harshly. By the time you’re level with the vehicle, you start to smell the burning smoke, paired with oil, gas, and the harsh sting of fire. You cast a questioning look at the Time Lord who didn’t seem the least bit turned off. The clank of metal and squealing of a very unwell engine sounded out against the silence of the desert.
“Are you sure about this, Doctor?” You check for the last time, knowing it was mostly fruitless - throwing your concern into the ringer just incase she cared to take hold of it. She shrugs, hand still firmly in your grasp. Her hand in yours was warm, palm soft against your own.
It kept you grounded, despite a lot of things. Like a stream of hope originating from her, keeping you in place and washing most of the worries off your exhausted and sweat ridden body.
“We’ll be alright,” She says matter-of-factly, gentleness in her eyes despite the enthusiasm turning gold to glitter. Her assurance did well to help your nerves, but did damage to your fluttering heart. “Always are!”
You hum at that - questionable, arguable, but mostly true.
You just wondered, sometimes, if that luck would ever run out.
As the two of you approach your target, the Doctor slowly slips her hand out of yours to shield her eyes from the blaring suns. You, in turn, do the same - the pressure of the bright sky starting to get to your head. You squint forward, making out the shape of a kneeling figure beside one of the smoking vehicles' giant metal wheels. They looked human, it seemed, or bipedal at least - dressed in dull and dusty blue overalls with large brown boots that were sunk into the sand. Their attention was focused fully on the vehicle and its many trails of smoke.
“Hiya!” The Doctor shouts, cheery expression slapped over pure exhaustion. You rivaled how she always did that, trying your best to match her. You spread a genuine smile across your face despite the sweating, scalding, sweltering feeling across your body, mind, and practically soul. The Doctor nudges you - you smile wider. Or maybe grimace. You couldn’t tell, but the Doctor looked concerned.
The figure looked up quickly, head whirling until their attention landed on you.
“Howdy there,” The man shouts kindly, a twinge of confusion but politeness nonetheless in his voice. His tan complexion matched the desert sand and the boiling suns, a straw hat sitting atop his head. The large brim shaded the upper half of his bearded face. He greets you both with a wide smile, tipping said hat forward with an exaggerated gesture while still crouched on the ground. “What can I do ya for?”
“Ah, well, isn’t that the question,” The Doctor answers in return, finishing her approach and stopping before the man and his still smoking, very tank-like vehicle. She swings back and forth from her heels to her toes, scrunching with an open mouthed smile. “I’m the Doctor, this is my friend. We seem to be a bit lost.”
“A bit?” You say under your breath, which earned you a solid nudge from the Doctor as she continued.
“Is this your transport?”
The bronzed man nods firmly, rising from his crouched spot beside the large wheel of the rugged vehicle. You were able to see a bit more of his face now, the previous hint of a scruffy beard connecting to a large, equally scruffy mustache. He played with a toothpick poking out between his chapped lips, chewing on the end of it like the classic rugged cowboy. His eyes were watchful, a deep, coffee brown - you see the twinkling kindness in his eyes, a genuine sort of emotion that shone through in the best of people. He looked a bit worried, though, the lines of his face deepened from obvious overworking and a little bit of stress. His skin, tanned, littered with the typical scars and scratches of a mechanic - the kind the Doctor would come up with when she resurfaced from beneath the TARDIS console, the kind she kept hidden to avoid your pointed, careful gaze - was covered in a sheen of sweat.
The gray shirt he wore under thick denim overalls was darkened with patches of sweat, the fabric on his chest and under his arms tainted, and he heaved out a hard breath. His face was furrowed, the squint that formed beneath bushy eyebrows made to look through the brightness of three suns pointed towards you.
You didn’t blame him, of course, you looked the same. So did the Doctor. Your own sweat drips off your temples and hits the heavy sand below.
“Yes ma’am,” He drawls out, “Finest vehicle out in these desert sands.”
Said finest vehicle let out a damaging, metal to metal, five second long screech.
The man grumbles lowly, producing a dirty cloth from his back pocket - wiping his greasy hands and casting a disgruntled look to the whining transport behind him.
“Well,” He draws out. “Usually the finest vehicle.”
He puts his hands on his hips, cloth still clutched in his right hand.
“What happened?” You ask, stepping forward as the Doctor's eyes linger on your movement. She joins you, keeping herself noticeably closer than usual. You squint at the transport to prevent yourself from meeting her watchful eye.
The man lets out a long whistle, chuckling by the end of it. “Finding it harder than I’d like to figure that one out, ma’am.” He shakes his head and removes his hat, revealing dark black hair that stuck to his forehead with slick sweat. One hand pushes the hair back as he sighs. “One second she was fine, and the next she was grumblin’ like a wild Mantirbu on a hot day. Figured it was a build up of sand between the gears or the tires, but cleanin’ it out hadn’t fixed a thing. Still right where I started.” He sighs heavily, looking towards the transport in woe - deflated, almost, but not entirely defeated. He didn’t seem the type. When he looked back to you, a polite smile settled back onto his face. He sticks out a hand towards the two of you. “Name’s Jackson. You can call me Jackie.”
You eye the thick layer of grease stuck to Jackie’s extended palm, but the Doctor’s hand meets his without a second of hesitation. “Hello, Jackie! Lovely to meet you. Mind if we take a look, see what we can help with?”
There she was, setting out to fix every problem with that so-very-Doctor glint in her shining eyes. She runs a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face, cheeks tinged pink in the heat.
You were acutely aware that these are not, in fact, the things you should be observing at the moment. You were also aware of the drop of sweat trailing down her neck, gliding across her throat, and disappearing into the hollow of her collarbone.
You rip your gaze away and focus on the smoking transport before you.
The suns above could not have burned as hot as you did.
“Help yourself,” Jackie offers gratefully, though a tinge surprised, thick eyebrows raising slightly. “Been workin’ for a few hours, but a new pair of eyes might do the trick. You’ve got experience in mechanics?”
“Sure do!” The Doctor confirms cheerfully. Her hands were already working into her pockets, fishing for her trusty multi-purpose tool with a scrunch and her tongue sticking out between her lips. She gestures to you with a sharp nod of her head. “They’re a quick learner. Excellent tool identifier. Always handy to have some good company while you work!”
In one quick movement, the Doctor was five long strides away from you, brushing past Jackie and yourself to get up close and personal with the smoking vessel. Its wheels groaned, the gears shifting and turning uselessly, obviously spent and struggling to keep it together.
A grin lights up the Doctor’s face.
“Love a good challenge!” she announces, tongue poking out between her lips. Her hands settle firmly on her hips, joining where bright yellow suspenders still hung loosely from her waist in loops on her thighs, eyes turning to a squinting scan as she sized up the very large vehicle before her. It didn’t discourage her, mind you. Not in the slightest. If anything, her grin grew wider, and you stared on as if watching a child open a present on Christmas day. “Increases the brain activity. Keeps me on my toes! Oh, what a treat. Must be my birthday!”
You really hoped that Jackie didn’t think she was absolutely insane, and you did your very best to convince yourself that you did not think the same.
“Need any help, Doctor?” You offer a bit blindly.
“Not sure yet! Let you know if I do, though. Probably will. Maybe. Might not. Look, I’m very excited.”
She quickly produces her sonic from a random pants pocket, flashing it out extravagantly towards the transport before her. Its buzz echoed blearily through the dunes the three of you stood in. The dull orange glow matched almost strikingly with that of the triple suns that continued to berate you, the sky painted only in warm shades of oranges, pinks, and yellows, the horizon a darker hue - nearly red. With a flourish, the Doctor snaps the sonic in her wrist and holds it up to practically her nose as if she were smelling it. She might have been. You wouldn’t put it past her.
She scrunched once, until her face lit up in a very wide smile.
“Life forms! Tons of them!”
Suddenly she was moving, swinging herself and the coat that was still folded over her arm towards the back of the vessel, eyeing it carefully and scanning for something with her sonic. “Jackie, how many passengers are you transporting?”
You and Jackie follow automatically after her, attempting to keep up as she seemingly found the entrance and traced the lining of its opening with her sonic meticulously.
“About 250, give or take. Overbooked us. Poor souls are packed up like a can of sardines in that there transport.”
The arguably small hatch comes open with a hiss, lowering itself down to the desert sand and forming a ramp to reach the decently elevated vehicle’s opening. You peered in, confirming Jackie’s sentiment with the sight of all types of people and species crowded into the long but quite narrow space, a chorus of grumbling and questioning coming from the passengers squinting down at the opened door and influx of sudden sunlight.
“Sorry,” The Doctor offers with a scrunch, mouth open in that thinking-too-hard-to-notice way, probably getting a feel for the inner workings of the vessel as her eyes scanned every inch of what she could now see of it.
“Lucky I’ve got my driver’s spot at the front or I’d be standin’ like those poor fellers for the whole six hours of the trip,” Jackie continues, mostly to you beside him, “You’d struggle to find your own feet in there.”
“They couldn’t catch another transport?” You ask curiously, and Jackie shakes his head with a long whistle.
“Not if they wanted to wait another month for the next one. These treks across the desert take a toll on our vehicles, as mine is so kindly demonstrating to you. Takes a lot of repairs in between trips. Wish it worked another way, but I’m only the driver.”
“Ah, don’t sell yourself short!” The Doctor remarks animatedly, now buzzing the hatch shut again as the passengers blinked still confusedly down at her. “You’re out here trying to get them across this desert, doing your best to fix it so they can be on their way. You’re important! They’re all tucked away, hidden from the sun, and you’re out here risking your life to help. Good on you, Jackie!”
“Well, thank you,” Jackie fixed himself, a prideful smile complimenting his kind face. “Only doing what I can.”
“Sometimes, that’s all you can do,” The Doctor affirms.
There’s that hopeful, brilliant twinkle in her eye, and it took your already exhausted lungs by surprise when you suddenly hitch a breath. You watch her throat, stretched out as she looked after the obediently closing hatch, finding that it was very hard to blink with the sight now set before you. With each heaving breath, her chest rose wondrously, skin sparkling with the heat, her sleeves rolled up to show more skin you rarely had the chance to see. You could feel your heart beating wildly in your chest, maybe from the still suffocating heat, or maybe from something else that was far more debilitating. It thumped in your ears, drowned your senses, probably loud enough for the entire godforsaken desert to hear it.
The Doctor’s eyes flick to yours, then quickly away.
You gape for a moment. No, not the entire desert. Just her.
You almost bury your hands into your face in embarrassment, wondering how you were going to continue to survive this. The heat must be affecting your head, somehow fuzzying the edges of your mind and making it impossible to focus on anything but her. How typical of you to not be able to keep it together while also going through the crisis of being stuck in an increasingly hot desert with an increasingly hot Time Lord. You look to the sky defeatedly, squinting through the orange, cursing whoever was up there for having their good fun testing you. This was, truly, hell. Hell with a blonde, rainbow chested woman who continued to remove layers of clothing, making you wish you’d simply drop dead in this unwavering heat just to avoid the feelings that sparked through you at even the sight of her collarbones.
Which were, mind you, looking quite lovely today.
“Jesus Christ,” You murmur to yourself, shocked by your own uncontrolled sentiments. This time, you did run a tired hand across your face, attempting to reset it and your traitorous thoughts.
Again, the Doctor’s gaze flicked to yours. Rather than looking away - as if you even could, the hazel embers of her eyes were melting into yours - you held her look with a very exhausted expression. Maybe you could sell the tired bit. The dazed element. You were, in fact, extremely fatigued - that much was true. That’s what you’d blame it on, then. The way you couldn’t look away from her, the way your heart stretched thin and went high into your throat with almost anything she had the audacity of doing. Heat stroke. Sudden insanity, maybe. Or something. You’d think of something.
Anything to stop her very knowing eyes from addictively investigating you.
“Better get started, then?” You question, somehow, keeping your voice as steady as you could and ignoring the subtle shake at the end of your sentence. The Doctor’s eyes do not leave yours, which does nothing to ease the tremble of every fiber of your being.
But then she was moving, as if nothing had even happened at all.
“Alright, Jackie!”
You felt almost breathless by it, the snap of her eyes away from yours leaving an aching burn in the pit of your stomach, the feeling of being ripped away from something so quickly that even your heartbeats felt taken from you. Maybe they were with her, now. Settling into her chest.
The Doctor tucks her sonic away and sizes up the transport once more. Her eyes scan the outer metal shell with a low hum, curiously squinting as if willing the non-sentient (you hoped, what did you know) object to tell her all of its secrets. As she analyzed, obviously not receiving a response from the vehicle itself, question after question sprung from her lips – this and that about the engine, what and how about the power source, even some light commentary on the many consequences of desert travel. She whips a stethoscope out from an unsuspecting pocket – Time Lord technology, you knew, much bigger on the inside – hooking the pieces into her ears and pressing the drum of it against the transport. She held her head against it, too, cheek to metal with its surface, squinting with a harsh, focused scrunch. Her eyebrows were furrow, mouth left open in that thinking-too-hard-to-notice kind of way again.
“Ah,” She breathes quietly, pulling away from the vessel almost sadly. Soft eyes glaze over the surface of it, a palm pressed to the probably scalding material with the gentle tilt of her head. “Just overworked, aren’t you? Nothing a little help can’t fix.”
Jackie and you look on with a squint. If he thought it was odd of her to be comforting a transportation vehicle, then he didn’t show it. He even seemed to be handling her usually handful of a presence (not that you were complaining – oh, you never, ever would) decently well. You were used to it, of course. Admired it, even. Always. Her ability to connect with anything – that special glint in her eye over knowing she could provide even a little bit of help. Traveling the universe, throwing herself into every problem with the satisfaction of knowing she could solve it.
The Doctor turns, then, shoving the stethoscope back into her pocket and bounding across the sand to the two of you. She gives you a smile, a scrunch with excitement gleaming in her eyes, and then an exaggerated thumbs up. Her very existence drew you in to the point where you felt as though you might fall.
She shoves her coat into your arms, earning a slight “umph” from you at the exhilarated, accidental force of it, setting her hands firmly on her hips.
“Think I’ve got an idea where to start!"