He'd been taking a kind of refuge in the stillness, her sleeping and him sitting by her side, holding her hand, getting up now and then to check the instruments, but otherwise just sitting, watching her, being with her. Stillness isn't an easy thing, for him even less so than for his others. The drums urge him to action, to movement, to nervous tapping and restless pacing, but the TARDIS helps him. It creeps into the back of his mind and makes the drums into something else—something more like music than the usual, mindless percussion. He lets it. He holds Astrid's hand, as she sleeps, and the TARDIS holds his hand, in its own way, lending him patience and a measure of peace. They watch her sleep, together.
When her eyes open, he's not ready. He'll never be ready, because the choices begin again, now, and he's so tired of choices.
"'Lo," he says, smiling, warm, his voice pitched quiet. "Feeling better?"
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Date: 2008-11-17 09:07 pm (UTC)When her eyes open, he's not ready. He'll never be ready, because the choices begin again, now, and he's so tired of choices.
"'Lo," he says, smiling, warm, his voice pitched quiet. "Feeling better?"