The Daemonsretcon additions by Jeri MassiFrom a story by Barry Letts |
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A retcon is the deliberate retro-fitting of a story to make it fit the canon. The following story is from the televised canon of Doctor Who, with sections added to smooth it out and make it fit better.
NOTE: Anything that appears in indented boldface type is retcon material that I wrote as additional or changed material. The rest of the text is summary of the canonical version of the story.
Jo Grant was nearly perfectly happy. Her own optimistic nature usually required no more than sunlight and fresh air to keep her bright and cheerful, and today she had both. Running on a full tank of optimism, she was keeping up a steady stream of conversation with the Doctor, her supervisor and sometime patron. At the moment he had his head under the bonnet of his beloved Edwardian roadster, Bessy, and so far he had been unenthusiastic about Jo's choices of conversation.
She had gone through the Beatles, Elton John, the Brigadier's recent budget cuts, and the late snow they had seen three weeks earlier, getting only curt or short answers in reply. This was the only crimp in her happiness: the knowledge that in some moments the Doctor's only pleasure seemed to be in letting her know that the enormous gulf of knowledge, experience, and travel that lay between them was not going to be bridged by her.
At the moment he was too busy to even tease her, which lately had been his usual ploy. Teasing her about her limited views, and making quips over her comments, but always with a smile, always with a twinkle in his eyes, so that she could not protest much or justify hurt feelings.
Jo knew that they had seen too many dangers together for the Doctor to really be completely unfeeling towards her, and she understood that he was frustrated and restless with his exile on earth. When in danger with her, he was gentle, even comforting, and had risked his life several times in order to protect her. But when things were quiet, the nervousness and restlessness built up in him.
Now that they had traveled once together in the TARDIS, she possessed a much clearer idea of his nature. He wanted action and complexity and challenge. He had to have change and adventure or be miserable, and---cooped on earth---he was often miserable. So, no matter how pleasant she tried to be, and no matter how helpful, there were days when she was just one more accessory of his imprisonment; one more reminder of the unbreakable ties holding him pinned to the earth.
He broke into her reverie.
"I say, Jo, since you're of no use working on this engine, you might keep up your end of the conversation. What were we talking about anyway?"
She was a little tired of the teasing of the Doctor. And it embarrassed her in front of Mike Yates to be treated so like a child. Mike, she knew, had to work at minding his own business around her. Much as he liked her, he often worried that Jo was in over her head on this job. And he also often disapproved of the Doctor's teasing, though he never dared say so. He and Jo had fought shoulder to shoulder against the Axons, and the effect of a life and death battle together was to make him loyal to her. In spite of seeming a bit of a lad at times, there was a lot of the old British soldier in Mike Yates.
As Jo marched off towards Mike's car, the Doctor shot a grin and a wink at the young Captain. Trying to stay neutral, Yates offered a brief smile back and changed the subject.
All her minor grudges and injuries forgotten, Jo spoke up:Jo asks the Doctor what is wrong, but he does not answer her. On the television, Horner is goaded by Fergus into explaining what Beltane is: the high occult holiday of spring time.
Jo's sense of dread was not illusory. Without thinking, Yates and Benton caught her from either side, so that for a moment their reunion was as hearty as that of three long lost friends. Jo caught her breath in with a sigh of relief.While Yates goes to oversee the Doctor's condition, Benton goes off to do a quick recce of the field and woods where the tracks led. But as the sergeant passes by the vicarage, he hears faint cries of distress. He enters the vicarage, breaks open the cedar chest, and frees Olive Hawthorne.
Instantly professional again, Mike straightened and said, "You all right, Jo?" But he glanced around the silent village houses with uneasiness, and was suddenly glad for the handgun in its holster on his belt. Was it just his imagination, or was somebody watching them?
His rebuke about Latin was still fresh in her mind, but the presence of the corpse outside in the stillness was overbearing.They strip away the splintered boards and enter the narrow tunnel. They pass down into the barrow, seeing that it is not a tomb at all. Once past the fallen rubble, they are able to stand upright in a large, echoing chamber. The Doctor takes up the discarded trowel, clears away some dirt, and points to what looks like a small model space ship on the earth floor. He invites Jo to pick it up. She cannot. He tells her that it ways over 750 tons and asks her to look around the vast room. She does, and she realizes that the chamber is the same shape as the tiny space ship.
The Doctor caught himself with a guilty twinge at her quiet reply. He looked down at her face, her eyes big with anxious fear, but her features also taxed with weariness from having watched over him all night.
On the way out the door from the pub, he had seen the quick flash of resentment in Mike Yates' eyes at his public criticism of Jo. Guilt nudged him, and he gentled his voice and answered her: "Of course I wouldn't mind," he said. "I'm glad of your company. Come on."
"But they integrate themselves into the culture of a species by creating rules that also bind them to your behaviours," the Doctor added. "The Daemon becomes a part of the culture in many ways, and is subject to what he himself has set up as a cultural frame of reference."The Doctor then relates to them that the Master has established contact with the Daemon in charge of Earth. The renegade time lord is obviously trying to push things to their ultimate conclusion.
"You mean he has to follow his own rules," Benton said.
"But wouldn't that mean that people well versed in the occult could control the Daemon?" Miss Hawthorne asked.
"To an extent, but the whole system in the long run works out to further the experiment." The Doctor inclined his head slightly. "That's really what the Daemons want. If they can create a species, or a member of the species, who fulfills their objectives, they will pass on their power and leave. And they can be taken by surprise. Some cultures in the human species have always been what you could call 'anti-daemonic' or 'non-daemonic.' The Daemons do not seek to suppress these elements. Indeed, they accommodate to them in many ways to see how the whole experiment will turn out."
Head down, Jo followed him out. Benton shot a grin at Mike Yates, but the young captain was displeased.Bert has been clearing up lunch during the tail end of the conversation. As the Doctor and Jo exit, he hurries back to the phone to alert the Master of the latest developments.
"He speaks to anybody exactly as he pleases," Yates said. "And then becomes angry when she imitates him." Olive Hawthorne looked down but said nothing. Benton went to connect the RT to the re-charger. Yates stayed where he was, looking out the pub door.
The trip in Bessy was silent. At last the Doctor spoke, to make a complaint. "Trapped under a bowl! That's my fate is it? Trapped under this great heat bowl. First trapped here on this planet, alone, reduced even to half my education and memory, and now this! It's like the great cosmic joke at my expense."Their silence is interrupted when Jo sees the helicopter coming after them. Thinking it is Yates, they pull up, but the chopper swoops down, trying to take their heads off. As it misses and realigns for another attack, they start off to get away from it. They see Mike driving after them on the motorcycle.
Jo made no reply. She often did feel sorry for the Doctor because of his exile. But at the moment she did not.
If the Master won at whatever game he was playing, they were all going to perish together, apparently. And if the Doctor found no warmth or comfort or consolation among the humans who would have been his friends, whose fault was that?
He glared at her, waiting for the sympathy to start, but she had her eyes fixed on the way ahead, grim and set and unwilling to talk with him.
"Look, we're both the worse for wear," he began.
She knew what was coming, some excuse in which he justified his behaviour or pretended it didn't happen. Because the one thing the Doctor never did was apologize.
But he suddenly dropped the conversation, equally grim.
"That's a wicked knock on the head," the Doctor said. "She may very well have broken her neck, but the ground here on the moor is soft.The Doctor drives on to the heat barrier where the UNIT people are assembled. The Brigadier has watched his cherished helicopter go up in smoke and tries to bear it well. Calling Osgoode in to take down his instructions, the Doctor describes a device that will cool down the heat barrier on the reverse of the same principle that a microwave oven uses to cook meat pies. They can buffer the molecular movement of the heated air with short wave emanations.
He finished a quick check of her head and neck, then checked her pulse again. "She needs to be looked after."
"Then I'll look after her!" Mike said sharply. The Doctor shot a glance at him but said nothing. They lifted her into Mike's arms, and Mike carried her to Bessy.
"Get Doctor Reeves," he began.
"I'll see to her, Doctor," Yates snapped as he settled her onto the back seat.
"Young man, I'll thank you to keep a grip on your nerves and watch your tone of voice with me," the Doctor exclaimed.
"So, is rudeness a sign of losing your nerve, Doctor?" Yates asked, snatching the keys and climbing into the driver's seat. "Thanks for the tip!" He started the engine and said, without looking at the Doctor, "She stayed by you when they were ready to take you to the morgue, you know. She never slept while she thought you were in danger."
There was no time to have a decent argument. The Doctor stepped back to let them go. "She did her duty," he objected. "That doesn't excuse insubordination." But Yates pulled out without another word or glance, and the Doctor ran for the motor bike.
At sight of the monstrous syringe, Yates instinctively caught the medical doctor's wrist before Reeves could give the injection. "I say, what is that?"Convinced, Mike helps him to give Jo the injection. Jo protests in dazed confusion and voices her fear that the Doctor is in the cavern. After a moment or two, she feels the influence of the narcotic and falls asleep.
Reeves looked at him and for a moment seemed to go blank. Then with a slightly indignant shake of his wrist, he said, "Be careful, young man. It's a mild sedative. It will help her sleep."
"But she shouldn't sleep with a danger of concussion should she?" Yates asked. "Isn't that dangerous?"
A look of recognition crossed Dr. Reeves' face, but then he frowned. "Out---outdated!" he snapped. "A sedative is what she needs. Now, do hold her steady for me, and be of some help."
The Master retreated up the steps, obedient as great waves of heat radiated from the cavern. He was not eager for Azal to meet the Doctor, yet if it became necessary, there was one way to bring his enemy and to control him at the same time.This is the summons that brings Jo so purposefully to the cavern. Guided by the Master's will, she climbs out the bedroom window in order to escape notice, shakily makes her way across the green, and then collapses in the church yard garden as the narcotic again takes effect on her.
In the dark stairway to the cavern, as the heat radiated up, the Master closed his eyes and fiercely concentrated. He felt Bok stir, and he ordered his minion to stay and scan only with his mind. Shortly, it found her, distressed and confused. Reeves had done his part to incapacitate her. The Master focused on her: a warning, a plea for help. The Doctor was in danger. In the cavern. She must come to the cavern. The Doctor was in danger.
The Master paused, seemed to recall something, then said, "Go and summon a few of the villagers I can trust. Start with Thorpe. Wait for me in the parlour when you are finished."In the pub, Miss Hawthorne is coaxing Sgt. Benton into having a cup of tea. But Benton is on edge. The Doctor should be back by this time. Mike has been gone for nearly an hour, and some type of interference is blocking out R/T transmission to the Brigadier.
As Bert nodded and strode out, eager to make amends for his failure, the Master cast his mind to Bok, and then through Bok to the girl. Bok, though dormant, was tracking her. She was asleep again, stupefied by Reeves' heavy sedative. The Master closed his eyes, then focused through Bok.
"The Doctor is in danger. Warn him. He is in the cavern. You must come to the cavern. You must find the Doctor in the cavern. Warn him. He is in danger."
Four of the largest local men pushed the Doctor against the May pole. While two of them inexpertly wrapped the streaming ribbons around him, another produced a length of rough cord. He quickly bound the Doctor's wrists behind his back and behind the pole. When they were finished, the time lord was securely bound to the pole, with the rest of the villagers looking on, some of them uneasily. The Doctor did not struggle, and as his captors stepped away, he met Bert's leer eye to eye. Bert put the muzzle of the gun up to his face, considering the next step. The pub owner was enjoying this rare moment of being in complete control, and the time lord saw the route the Master had taken into the man's desires in order to control him.The Doctor immediately begins to speak, forcefully and with authority, warning the people that the vicar will enslave them. The power of his voice works to good effect, and Bert counters quickly, denying the Doctor's charges. Bert brings matters to a head by accusing the Doctor of witchcraft, and declaring that he must be burned as a witch.
But for Bert, there was something unnerving in this helpless prisoner who nonetheless regarded him so coolly and so steadily: not threatening and not begging. There was a quietness in the Doctor's eyes where Bert had expected fear.
Ron Thorpe dropped a thick, bound sheaf of last year's hay atop the enormous pile of wood that had been built up to the Doctor's knees. Watching from the pub window, Benton turned grim and anxious eyes to Miss Hawthorne, whose own expression was steady, though tense, as she watched.
Unwillingly, Jo forced herself to lift her eyes. The great cloven hooves were like enormous church bells, the massive hairy legs like tree trunks. She was afraid to look at his face, yet some awe-filled wonder drove her eyes upward. As the coven chanted and echoed the garbled, foreign words of the Master's inverted prayer, she forgot her own impending death for a moment, in the captive fascination of a natural creature for the supernatural. She looked up into the vast, remote face of the daemon. Her knees gave way beneath her, and she felt her captors on either side tighten their hold on her arms until they were all that held her up.The Master orders that Jo be brought to the stone. Her captors turn her backwards and drag her back to the altar. The Master toys with Jo's hopes and fears but finally tells her that it is determined that she must be sacrificed. In the Target novelisation, she is laid on the stone altar. In the television series, she is not.
Long ago, in some forgotten catechism class, she had read that one of the torments of Hell was simply to look on the faces of devils. Now she believed it. The face of Azal, so remote that it seemed hardly to be paying attention, so perfectly formed, with eyes and flattened nose, and lips, nonetheless lacked every single feature of a human face. She understood in an instant how deeply his lack of concern for life and joy and human passion made him unapproachable. She to him, was part of a ritual that he and his kind had ordained in imitation of human religion. But she was nothing, her blood nothing, human religion nothing. She suddenly recalled PC Groom and realized the indifference, not the malice, with which Azal had stamped him into the ground.
He turned Jo's head, forced back her chin, and would have drawn the knife across her throat in that terrible smile, when the door to the heavy cavern crashed open.Fascinated by Azal, and respectful, the Doctor is interrupted from his reverie by the Master's sarcasm. Azal interrupts any verbal dueling by demanding to know the Doctor's identity. The Master declares the Doctor an enemy and orders Azal to destroy him.
"Stop!" Azal commanded, and even the Master did not dare disobey.
Eyes clenched closed against her death, it took Jo a moment to realize that the ceremony had been stopped again. As the Master reluctantly released her chin, she opened her eyes and saw the block of light made by the open doorway in the cavern, emitting light from the open doorway at the top of the steps. And, against the light, with his hair whitened by it almost like a halo, the Doctor stood and stared up at the arresting figure of Azal.
She tried to say his name, but no sound came out. Recalled to the urgency of her danger, the Doctor came forward, his eyes still fixed on the great Daemon. But as he reached Jo he dropped his hand to her forehead. It was almost as though he were the high priest of his own religion. He looked at her for a moment, his eyes calm and quiet. "Jo," he said. "I'm glad I found you alive."
She said his name again but could not say anything else.
The Master set the knife aside, suddenly civil again, appearing relaxed. "Oh how very touching," he said acidly. "And how ineffective."
But the comment was wasted on the Doctor. The time lord again looked up at the mighty Azal, but he kept his hand on Jo's forehead, as though making his own claim on her, or perhaps as a plea to the Daemon to spare her. Nobody in the coven dared to move.
"Are you all right?" he asked herThe Doctor attempts to negotiate with the Daemon, but he is in a position of absolutely no power. He attempts to intimidate Azal by suggesting that there is another machine like the first one that can drain off Azal's power. But Azal knows that this is a lie. The Master again urges that the Doctor be killed, and Azal agrees.
She could only nod, her eyes closed against him, overwhelmed for a moment. It was not only dying that frightened her, but being so dwarfed into insignificance by this creature of vast power, knowledge, and savagery, and seeing the Doctor so dwarfed, facing a creature who could create rules of his own and had the power to enforce them.
Yet even in this horrible place that reeked of blood and nauseating incense and the smell of animals, she felt that same quietness in the Doctor that she had seen and felt before.
"Stay right here by me," he whispered. He had his arms tightly around her, but after a moment the strength returned to her legs, and she could stand. She did. More able to face the Daemon with the Doctor nearby, she also looked up at it.
The Doctor suddenly caught Jo. She gasped, and with the quick motion one saw only in humans and a few other species, cleared his sleeve and hung over his arm, and was sick.
"Jo, I'm sorry."
"Oh, it does hurt, and I do feel quite ill," she said suddenly.
"The poor child, take her to my cottage," Miss Hawthorne insisted.
The Doctor instantly swept Jo up, just as Mike Yates stepped forward. "I'll look after her, Captain." The Doctor's words were quiet, but there was a chastened look in his eyes. Yates met his glance, but the Doctor suddenly was in control and giving orders. "Find that Reeves fellow. Did he give her medication?"
"A sedative," Yates said.
"What? What was he thinking? Go on then." He glanced down at Jo, whose eyes were closed in pain. "I'll take you to Miss Hawthorne's Jo. We can make you comfortable there." And he carried her across the green.
"My head, Doctor," she whimpered. "My head."
"I know, my dear. This is a nasty business."
She came around much later, toward the warm evening, her head still pounding. The Doctor offered her tea, but she was too sick. Her head hurt so much she could hardly see, but she heard a voice, a voice that she thought was the Brigadier's.
"Oh, some of them thought they should get up a dance around the May pole for the children."
"What about the coven?" the Doctor asked.
"It's amazing how fast they got out of those robes. We nabbed about seven of them. The rest got away. Yates is on guard duty here at the cottage. Just in case."
She heard the Doctor sit down by her. "Most of them were as frightened as Jo here." A warm cloth was pressed on her forehead. "Poor girl. We would have been lost without her."
There was a pause. "So," the Brig's voice said, and it was not without a degree of coldness. "She's won your respect at last."
She did not hear the Doctor's answer. The sounds of music fluttered through the open window, and she shivered.
"Close the door on your way out," the Doctor's voice said, and his strong, warm hand pressed the cloth to her forehead and eyes.
She fell into a dream about dancing around the May pole. It was too bizarre to endure even as a dream, and she struggled to wake up from it. Then she was sick again. Somebody's hand was holding her forehead. It eased her back when she finished. It was going to be a long night, haunted by the distant music.
For a long time, all she knew was the intermittent sound of the music from the green, sometimes real and sometimes simply her mind refusing to let the sound go, and her own bouts of sickness with that same hand holding her forehead. Somebody kept offering tea to her, but she did not want tea. She wanted to sleep and forget.
At long last, a frail and gentle drowsiness stole over her. And the silence of the deep, deep night crept into her and let her rest. She did not stir or even dream again until the first rays of dawn lighted up the room.
The macabre dance around the maypole--was it just a dream? Could she have really joined in a maypole dance with Bert the pub owner just killed, several UNIT soldiers annihilated, and her own life inexplicably saved just as she had determined to give it up? Confused and troubled by new images of carefree dancing around the maypole while the destroyed village church smoldered in the background, Jo tossed in her sleep and struggled to wake up. She heard herself sigh, and the sound helped dispel the troubling images.
Something clinked with the reassuring, familiar sound of the kitchen at home, and the smell of coffee cleared more of the mists from her mind and brought her back from the disturbing fantasies. Some inner sense of time returned to her, and she knew she was in a bed at early morning. She stretched, eyes closed against the intrusive morning light, unwilling to wake up. Most of her aches and pains were gone, and without realizing it she turned her head towards the reassuring sound of cups and saucers being arranged. She was inclined to fall back to sleep until the last bit of headache and nausea went away. But she was troubled by the memory of the maypole and the dancing. "Was it a dream?" she whispered to no one in particular, under the impression that she was at home in her parents' house.
"Not all of it, no," a gentle voice said. "But it's over now, my dear." The voice dispelled the illusion of being at home. She opened her eyes and looked at the Doctor, for it was he who had spoken. He was arranging items on a tea tray. The morning light in the small room was coming in the window behind him, making his hair silvery and white.
The realization that something terrible had happened--or nearly happened--and that she was still in the village of Devil's End brought her more fully awake, though the lingering headache made her weak. "Where am I?" she asked, her eyes narrowed against the light.
"In a room at Miss Hawthorne's," he told her. "We carried you here. Everything is all right, now." He sat down in a straight backed chair by the bed, blocking the glare, and leaned over her. He rested his hand on her forehead. "You seem better," he said. With him blocking the window, it was easier for her to focus her vision. He smiled at her as he saw her eyes adjust. "Let's see how you're doing. Looks like you've still got a bit of a headache." He gently turned her head, and his careful fingers explored the bump above her ear. "I don't know what that fool was thinking to narcotize you when you may very well have had a concussion," he said gruffly. But he instantly gentled his voice again. "Still, I sat with you last night and woke you up now and again. You don't remember, do you?"
"No," she whispered.
"That was because of that incense. Rather numbing agency to it. Somewhat hallucinogenic." Finished, he smoothed his hand over her head. He rested his thumb in the notch between her eyebrows with a firm pressure that eased the faint throbbing behind her eyes and reduced the sensitivity to the light that she had felt on waking. As he let his thumb rock slowly back and forth over the pressure point, she turned towards him to take advantage of the pressure. Her nausea subsided.
After a moment, he deliberately leaned closer to her to block out anything else in her line of vision. He looked down at her with an expression of quietness and tenderness that she recognized. The Doctor had used the power of his eyes, months before, to gently unlock the chains of the Master's hypnotic hold over Jo. And now his eyes quieted her confusion and unease, and stilled her. She returned his gaze with open trust and confidence.
He saw her relax under his gaze. "What am I going to do with you, Jo?" he asked her gently, kindly. "I scold you and snap at you, rebuff you time and again, and then you step in and take my death blow for me."
She didn't answer him. Nothing could protest before the great quietness of his eyes. But she realized that at last she had touched the hearts of this great, austere, timelord. He was grateful to her, touched by her desperate attempt to save him.
"You are my friend, aren't you?" he asked her. "The human ideals of friendship are very important to you, aren't they, child?"
"Yes," she whispered.
He brushed the fine strands of her hair back from her forehead. She thought he would speak again, but he did not, only stroked back her hair, his eyes still holding her in their quiet spell. After a moment he used his other hand to find her wrist, and he gripped it to take her pulse. He used his first three fingers on the pulse line, and he sat and seemed almost to be listening through his fingers. He sat still and silent for a long time, reading the pulse through his fingertips, his other hand still stroking and touching her forehead with a gentle, strange accuracy that lifted the remnants of her headache away.
After a moment, though she wanted to look at his eyes, her own eyes became heavy and nearly closed. Quieted by him, she was able to make some sense and order out of the events of the previous day. She remembered the cavern. That had been no dream, and she remembered her own quick decision to step in front of the Doctor and plead for him. But the sudden end to the entire, horrible situation was inexplicable.
"Why did he stop?" she asked sleepily. "What stopped him? I was helpless."
"Remember what we learned when he met Bok," he told her quietly. "The Daemons put themselves under the strictures of blood and spells, my dear. The willing sacrifice of one pure life, given for another, must always overthrow them. That is their own code that they created as they integrated themselves into human folklore, a sort of fail safe through which the Daemons could use humans to control other Daemons--but only in times of great extremity. Azal was not prepared for it. He had seen precious little self sacrifice in his long career on earth. You took him completely by surprise with the only weapon that really could have defeated him."
She could easily have gone to sleep again, but as he fell silent she opened her eyes again and looked at him. He wanted to tell her something, and she knew it.
"Someday," he told her. "Someday I will be free again, Jo. I'll have my TARDIS working again. I'll be able to go where I like--anywhere in the galaxies. And I will go. You know me well enough now to know that I must leave someday."
She thought that he was warning her of the costliness of her friendship with him, warning her of the separation that would come. After his many rebukes over the past few days, and this new warning that he must leave her behind eventually, no matter how her heroism touched him, her eyes stung with tears. "I don't want that to happen yet," she said. "I know I get on your nerves dreadfully, but I like having you here. I would miss you terribly if you left."
"Oh, my dear, I don't mean to make you cry." He used the back of his fingers to take up her tears. "I was thinking that maybe you would come with me," he told her. "In fact, I am hoping that you will come with me." He smiled faintly. "To be perfectly honest, my plan is to talk you into coming with me--talk you into it now, when you're tired and weak, before you can think better of it."
"Go with you?" she whispered.
"Yes. I could show you all sorts of things. You would love the universe. It's not all Daemons and Nestenes, you know." He smiled again, briefly, and then his expression returned to one of grave kindness. He used a corner of the sheet to carefully pat dry her tears. "Please, come with me. Traveling is meant for companions; A Chinese poet once said that a journey and a friendship are much the same thing, and to venture one without the other is to disrupt harmony."
She realized that he was offering her the noblest gift that he could give; it was his way of at last capitulating to her repeated attempts at friendship. He was personally accepting her, with the humility and graciousness that he had with held up until then. She couldn't speak for a moment.
Puzzled at her silence, but apparently reading from her pulse and eyes that her headache and any lingering nausea were gone, he straightened up, his eyes and voice still gentle. "I brought you coffee," he said softly. "Would you like some?"
"Yes, please."
He reached for the tray that he had set down by the bed, while she struggled up to a sitting position. She was still in yesterday's clothes, and the room was warm. She threw back the covers. He poured her a cup, and as he did, she saw one slight tremor run through his fingers and shake the stream of steaming coffee as it poured out, and then he handed her the cup. She gratefully took it. But though he had brought in two cups, he seemed to forget to pour any for himself. He thoughtfully stroked his chin and looked at her as though she were some enigmatic mathematical problem he could not solve. She took a long sip of the black, strong coffee. "Oh, that is so good," she sighed. She used her other hand to wipe away the traces of her tears that he had missed. "Bit silly, really," she said by way of an excuse.
He did not reply. She knew he was deeply troubled. She summoned up her courage, reached out, and put her hand over his, and his fingers instantly tightened around hers, somewhat awkwardly, but earnestly. Only then did she realize that he was very moved, very unable to express a wealth of emotion in his hearts. Jo already knew that the Doctor could withstand sentiment from those around him only in very small doses, and when the limit was exceeded he would become grumpy and irritable. Feeling a great deal of emotion was apparently completely out of his design, and he did not know what to do. But she had enough sense not to let him off the hook and merely smooth things over. Certain things had to be confronted. As great as her awe of him was, and as much as they had been through together, she knew that she could not endure another week such as this.
"What will you do with me, Doctor?" she asked pleadingly. "While you're still here on earth, I mean." she added. "I know I get into lots of trouble without meaning to, but I want to be your assistant. And I want to travel with you again in the TARDIS someday. But I don't know Latin, and I don't know Greek, and I never was very good at science. We both know that. I can't change myself. Anyway, I can't change any time soon."
He looked down, regretting his previous harsh words to her. She was surprised to feel a certain satisfaction and vindication. But she didn't want to punish him with guilt, only make him see things her way.
"All the same," she added softly. "I know the lab, and I know what you want when you can't think of what to call things. And I can coax anything out of the supply clerks." He still had his eyes down, and she stopped, but then she added, "I can take care of you, Doctor. I'm good at that. Where ever we are, and what ever happens, I do take good care of you."
"Yes, you do," he whispered, and when his eyes looked at hers, they showed her a creature often alone and wandering, so alone that her care for him left him nearly dumbfounded. He would have given up his life for her without hesitation, yet it stunned him to realize that she would do the same for him. She feared death more, and he knew it. He acted on ethic and morality, and she much more on feeling and personal commitment. Perhaps, she thought, he at last understood that her friendship was everything she actually could give him, and at last he valued it. He was not a creature of passion or romance, and his own remoteness and alien nature made it sure that there would be a hundred ways that they would never understand each other. But his hand tightened on hers. "Stay with me," he said. "Until you're a little older. It's a good way to grow up, Jo." He caught himself. "I--I hope you don't mind me saying that. But you're centuries younger than I am."
She smiled. "No, I don't mind a bit. You're a grand teacher." She tightened her hand in affirmation and said, as coaxingly as she could, "Look, I don't expect to be your equal. I don't even want to be. I know I'm human and ordinary and all the rest. I don't even want you to slow down for me all the time--but maybe sometimes, when I'm really out of my depth."
Her humility wrung him, and he instantly leaned closer, overwhelmed, and took her face in his hand, "Jo, I know now that you have many strengths. Thank you, for saving my life." For a moment he seemed nearly overcome. He couldn't say anything at all, but then he told her, "If you travel with me, I know you'll look out for me, and I'll look out for you. I promise you."
His eyes held hers, and she smiled again. She tilted her head and looked up at him with a hint of mischief in her bright eyes. "You know I always want to go with you, where ever you're going," she reminded him. "Your biggest problem will be keeping me out of the TARDIS if you decide to go somewhere in it."
Suddenly he smiled and seemed greatly relieved. He sat back and let her go. "Then it's a bargain, and I must drink to it." He turned to the tray and poured himself coffee.
She glanced around the room and could not repress a sigh. How she hated this place--even the comparative refuge of Miss Hawthorne's cottage. He heard the sigh and read her thoughts. "The heat barrier is gone. I can take you back this morning," he told her. "Or we'll wait until tomorrow, depending on how you feel."
The careless offer made her realize that he had truly changed. Normally the Doctor would have taken Bessy back to his precious lab as soon as he was able to get away. Mike Yates or Sgt. Benton or the Brigadier himself would have seen her safely back to UNIT, and he knew it. But he was waiting for her. And patiently at that.
"Will you have toast?" he asked, reaching for the tray again. "Miss Hawthorne assures me that the butter was in the cow only a few days ago." And he grinned at her.
"Yes, thank you. We ought to hurry, though. The trip is ever so long," she said ruefully, for though she wanted to get away as quickly as possible, she was tired and a long car trip seemed daunting.
He handed her the toast. "But the way is beautiful. And we shall take it together."
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