TM Topic #165 -- Night
There was no strict rhythm of night and day on the TARDIS. When his companions grew tired they slept, and when they awoke it was morning. The Doctor might rest in the meantime, or make repairs, or read in the library, or do any number of things but he rarely interrupted them.
Now, during the early hours of this makeshift night, he was walking resolutely through the corridors, gaze soft and jaw set with concern.
It hadn’t been long since Tegan had left. They had recently distracted themselves with an involved mystery in the English countryside but that was done, leaving nothing but more memories to cover the old ones.
Some refused to stay buried.
There was no sound as he pulled the door open, nothing to disrupt the short, trembling breaths inside.
He could tell from any distance when his companions were having particularly intense dreams, and Turlough’s fear and distress had screamed at him every time his friend slept since they left Frontios. Now he twisted fretfully, skin shining with sweat as his hands clenched the sheets until his knuckles turned white.
The Doctor strode forward, steps quick and light, until he stood at the side of Turlough’s bed. Carefully, brows knit with worry and concentration, he placed two gentle hands on the younger man’s temples.
It was such a temptation - to look, to see, to know - but that would be an invasion, one of the few rules he would never break.
Letting his eyes fall closed, the Doctor soothed the jagged flashes of pain and horror and guilt with tender tranquillity, pushing back the haunting echoes of Turlough’s fiercely guarded past.
His touch lingered after he felt them fade into calm oblivion, Turlough’s body relaxing against the mattress. Softly, he brushed damp hair away from his face, so young without smug sneers or darting eyes.
He knew the nightmares would return, and that it would be endlessly difficult to get Turlough to talk about them. All that the Doctor could do was remain at his side until he felt comfortable confiding in him, if that time ever came.
So he knelt there and laced his fingers with Turlough’s, waiting for his night to pass.
Now, during the early hours of this makeshift night, he was walking resolutely through the corridors, gaze soft and jaw set with concern.
It hadn’t been long since Tegan had left. They had recently distracted themselves with an involved mystery in the English countryside but that was done, leaving nothing but more memories to cover the old ones.
Some refused to stay buried.
There was no sound as he pulled the door open, nothing to disrupt the short, trembling breaths inside.
He could tell from any distance when his companions were having particularly intense dreams, and Turlough’s fear and distress had screamed at him every time his friend slept since they left Frontios. Now he twisted fretfully, skin shining with sweat as his hands clenched the sheets until his knuckles turned white.
The Doctor strode forward, steps quick and light, until he stood at the side of Turlough’s bed. Carefully, brows knit with worry and concentration, he placed two gentle hands on the younger man’s temples.
It was such a temptation - to look, to see, to know - but that would be an invasion, one of the few rules he would never break.
Letting his eyes fall closed, the Doctor soothed the jagged flashes of pain and horror and guilt with tender tranquillity, pushing back the haunting echoes of Turlough’s fiercely guarded past.
His touch lingered after he felt them fade into calm oblivion, Turlough’s body relaxing against the mattress. Softly, he brushed damp hair away from his face, so young without smug sneers or darting eyes.
He knew the nightmares would return, and that it would be endlessly difficult to get Turlough to talk about them. All that the Doctor could do was remain at his side until he felt comfortable confiding in him, if that time ever came.
So he knelt there and laced his fingers with Turlough’s, waiting for his night to pass.