RP: Log: "Guest in His Own Home," for not_from_mars and stardustflying

[watch_is_me]

((And Watch!Ten moves in to Canon!Ten's TARDIS. Feel free to come poke around in his room, if you want to, not_from_mars and stardustflying; he's asleep at the end of this little fic-bit, so you can come in and leave without waking him up or you can wake him up, either way. OOC comments are chill, too. Woo!))

Standing in front of the closet, he sighed, ran his hands through his hair, and looked over its contents. The dark clothes he favored; a few technological bits and bobs he'd picked up in his travels and thought might come in handy. The two guns propped in the back of the closet, both salvaged long ago from Van Statten's museum, kept drawing his eye—one, massive, black, two-handed, very hooah testosterone; the other, more plastic-bubble-gun, Marvin-the-Martian, shoots-a-little-flag-that-reads-BANG. Dated from the same era as K-9, that one. He had a fondness for that design period.

Should he hide those?

No. He shrugged to himself, stepped back from the closet, and closed it. Let his other find them, if he chose to look—he wasn't about to hide himself from himself, especially not here, on his/their own ship.

Funny thing, looking around the TARDIS, when it wasn't his TARDIS. Doors all in the right place, hallways all accounted for, even the contents of most of the rooms the same. But it was the little differences that got to him.

In the wardrobe, he'd found his clothes—the jacket, the jumpers, the dark trousers—on the rack, unworn, he could tell, for years. Part of the past, for his other self. The back rooms full of souvenirs and artifacts from his travels—most of the objects in those he'd recognized, but there were some he hadn't—and the room where he kept the occasional weapon he picked up, chose to retrofit and reengineer, that was full of...feathers. Very nice feathers, really. They'd avalanched out at him when he'd opened the door—he imagined walking face-first into Big Bird felt something like that.

Here and there, he'd come across other reminders—not of his past, but of the past he'd seen in his other's mind, the past they didn't hold in common. He'd felt their names, their faces, their identities—not everything, but enough to know that this might have been left here by Mickey the Idiot, this set aside by Martha, this...

Oh. By Rose.

He wanted those memories like he wanted Astrid now, wanted them to be his, wanted to demand them by right of war and hardship, superiority, self-sufficiency, the drums in his head.

Oh, and he wouldn't even get started on the console. He couldn't believe his other was still treating the TARDIS like that. Didn't he have any sense?

Hands in pockets, he spun on his heels, taking in the room. Mismatched furniture, pulled from different eras, cultures, planets—so this was him, now. Son of Gallifrey from the far land of Spare Oom.

Hm. He fell back on the bed—flump, the TARDIS always did have good mattresses, none of that cheap hotel rubbish—and regarded the ceiling, hands behind his head. Hm.

Quite the day.

The last thing he intended to do was go to sleep—it just wasn't something he did, not if he could help it—but, ever since escaping from the watch, he'd worn out faster than he'd used to. Sleep crept in through the gap left by the energy he'd sunk into restoring Astrid, and made itself at home.

It slowed his breathing and the pulse of his two hearts, but it did nothing for the drums.

Comments

[stardustflying.livejournal.com]

Astrid was still wandering - or rather running - around the TARDIS in absolute amazement. It was huge! She'd been given the obligatory explanation of course, nodding along like she actually understood, but she was more eager to explore it than understand it or question the nature of quantum relative dimension whatever physics.

Who needed to explore the stars when you had this?! She dashed from room to room in a flurry of 'wow's' and 'woah's'. Opening doors, rushing in and marvelling at the eclectic things gathered from... well gathered from everywhere she imagined!

Rest was the last thing on her mind, infinite amounts of adrenalin seemed to be rushing through her veins, taking her down the next hallway, opening the next door. She didn't think she'd ever felt so alive. ALIVE! She was alive, and here! In that tiny blue ship that she'd convinced him once upon a time she could find a corner in to stowaway.

Even in her excited dashing though, that to anyone watching might appear to be random and without forethought, she was mapping the TARDIS out in her mind. Looking back on herself as she rushed down hallways, getting her bearings, attempting to remember every nook and cranny.

This door! She hadn't tried this door. She took a breath and burst in, flinging it open in her passionate curiosity, expecting anything and everything to be lurking behind.

"Oh!" She gasped, hand on heart at the sight infront of her. The speed at which she'd skidded in gave little opportunity for a subtle exit.

[watch-is-me.livejournal.com]

He blinks awake instantly, shooting up to a sitting position on the bed, staring at Astrid.

"Hello." He wasn't sleeping hard, but he still has some of that disheveled look that comes with dozing—he pushes a bit of bangs that's lost some of its spike off of his forehead and regards Astrid curiously, distant. What's she doing on his TARDIS? Mm. Wait, what's he doing in this part of the TARDIS, come to that?

OH RIGHT. He draws one hand down his face and hello, world, he is completely awake now.

"Right. Astrid, hello. Knocking isn't traditional on Sto?" He's teasing (and borrowing from his other's memories); but he's pleased to see her, if a little embarrassed that she caught him asleep.

[stardustflying.livejournal.com]

"Oops." She sinks her head into her shoulders in an exaggerated cringe. "I didn't... I mean I shouldn't..." She gestures over her shoulder indicating that she'll go, "well I didn't mean... sorry."

Fascinating as it is to see him when he's just woken - and the sudden moment of strange voyeurism isn't lost on her - she wishes there was a rewind button right now this second. But then he's with it, fully compus mentus and alert and not just staring at her like an intruder now.

"Knocking?" She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, looking to the ceiling as if to trying to place the word. For all her own embarrassment at waking him so abruptly, she'll tease back just as well.

"Nope." She shrugs, "Must be an Earth thing, or Gallifreyan maybe? How does it work again?" Astrid replies with as much innocence as she can muster. She can't quite hold back the smirk that's creeping through though.

[watch-is-me.livejournal.com]

He pushes up off of the bed, launching into motion with all of his usual energy, no slowness to indicate he was just asleep or disoriented. A long stretch or two—crack the neck, get the shoulders and the arms, small of the back—as he crosses the room to her, and then he's by her side in the doorway.

"Highly technical procedure, knocking. It's one of the signs of an advanced civilization, ranks right after the wave and the high-five. The 'oh, hello, I'm over here' wave, not the sort that never works out quite right in football stadiums. Here." And he takes her hand, prompts her to make her fingers into a fist, and holds it to the door. "Fist-to-door percussion, any rhythm you choose." As he speaks, he taps her fist against the door, and the rhythm he chooses comes out 1-2-3-4.

[stardustflying.livejournal.com]

Astrid nods along sagely, pursing her lips and creasing her brow in mock fascination; a giggle barely contained by her 'serious business' face. She has no idea what a 'wave in a football stadium' is or even a football stadium for that matter - she would have stopped him and asked, but she finds her hand in his before she has chance.

His hand, touching hers; leading her, teaching her. She watches their hands together, seeing his fingers curl round hers as he folds them into a fist. She easily forgets that's it not really him, not her Doctor. He's the same man at that moment, the touch making her swallow, her gaze drifting up to his face before she returns to the matter at 'hand'.

But the rhythm, she knows that 1-2-3-4, she heard it at the party and it sends chills down her arm, tiny goosebumps making the downy blonde hairs stand to attention. She can't ask, she daren't ask, but the distinction between the two is somehow marked by that rhythm.

"I see." She smiles, shaking off her thoughts, her momentary distraction not as well hidden as she'd like to think. "And I do this whenever I want to come in? Yes?" She's laughing now, "I'll have to remember that. Aaaand a football stadium is?"

[watch-is-me.livejournal.com]

'Yeah, I'd like that,' his other had said; and it's as though he's said it himself. A promise made, and sealed with a kiss. Trust forged in danger and death and loss. As he had folded the fingers of her hand and raised it to the door, that past had been his and the future it led to had been his to claim—only his, and hers, free of his other.

She would be his first companion since the Time War, and she would help him restore humanity, wipe out the Daleks, quiet the drums. She would ask the right questions, find the right answers, surprise him, be with him. The universe would shine again, and everything would be, not alright, but exhilarating and beautiful and brilliant.

And then he raised her hand to the door and used her as an instrument for the drums—heard her hand, beating out that rhythm, because of him—and he was the Other Doctor again. Alone, and dangerous.

Her reaction to the moment matches his own, and he's more than happy to fall in with her teasing, to move away from his mistake.

"Yes. Well, you could just come barging in. But that's called invasion of privacy, and is, in fact, frowned upon in most societies." Though Astrid likely won't recognize the hijacked quote from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, she may pick up on the 'I am making a cultural reference and am not to be taken entirely seriously' tone.

"Mm. A football stadium, right. I could explain, or you could just see for yourself. Come on," and he's out in the hallway, walking backwards, hands in pockets, in the direction of the console room. "First trip in the TARDIS, how about I take you out to the ballgame?"

Someone's having trouble remembering he's not captain of this ship.

[stardustflying.livejournal.com]

"Maybe we should..." She starts, holding her breath to stop the sentence, pausing for open mouthed consideration of her Doctor mid-flow. But she's too caught up in the excitement of seeing something new, and he wants to show her. Adventure, something breathtakingly new is waiting just around the corner and he's backing away from her, exuding promise and energized spontaneity with every step. Just like he did, just like she imagined he always would do.

The reticent pause is gone in a flash, wiped away by his infectious verve and she's skipping to catch up with him. "Sounds good to me!" She beams, her own thirst for everything new and alien twinkling in her eyes and the broadness of her smile.

[watch-is-me.livejournal.com]

Her smile and enthusiasm encourage his own, fanning the flame at his heart, the spark that exhilarates in every breath, every moment, every opportunity for novelty and change and discovery. He grins back, his eyes reflecting the sparkle in hers.

"Now, football. The Americans call it soccer. Or the English call it American football, all depends which football you're talking about, you know, relative positions of reference, sides of the pond. We could stick to football, or you could pick your game. What d'you fancy? Baseball, lacrosse, basketball, rugby, cricket, hockey, volleyball, New Norse croquet, curling, high-impact lawn tennis?" He snaps his fingers as an idea comes to him. Yes! "Ullamaliztli! Aztec, South American, game of nobles, very dramatic, you'll love it, come on!"

[not-from-mars.livejournal.com]

The Doctor enters the corridor in time to hear his own voice exclaim the word 'Ullamaliztli', and the excited sentence that follows makes it extremely easy for him to find the room that Astrid must be in -- well, of course, unless his other is making travel plans with himself.

"Blimey, you can run!" Stepping in the door he slants a grin at Astrid, then turns his attention to his other self. "Travel plans without me, then?" He half-grins, looking between them. "I see how it is. -- What were you talking about? Ball sports?"

[stardustflying.livejournal.com]

It's hard to get a word in edge ways when you're faced with a Doctor rattling off a list of - what were they anyway? - ball sports? at a million miles an hour. A few of them had ball in the title, and she knew what hockey and tennis were at least, so it was a fairly safe assumption. It seemed words in edge ways weren't necessary though, he'd decided all on his own.

"Ullamaztowotsit it is then!"

Astrid was just about to throw out a barrage of questions at him, her head still spinning trying to hang on to half the vocabulary...but instead gave her Doctor a 'what can I say?' smirk at the sudden direction change in conversation, and her attention too.

"And in heels too!" She gave a smug nod. She'll leave the rest to the other Doctor though, because honestly, she hasn't got the foggiest what Ullimazithingy is and the bit about the plans, well she's just happy to not have to answer that at all.

[watch-is-me.livejournal.com]

Oh. Damn, this isn't his TARDIS, and his other might have something to say about him whipping them all off to pre-Columbian central Mexico to take in a sacred ballgame. He's not used to having to take a vote before choosing a destination, and the reminder that he's not entirely at all, really in charge here sobers him. It chaffs, a tug back into a new reality, a pull on the reins and a bit in his mouth where he was always entirely free before.

"Astrid here doesn't know about football. So I thought, why not take her to see a game? And if we're going to see a game, why stop at football?" He gestures expansively, throwing out his arms. "Ullamaliztli! Game of the gods, the Sun and the Moon battling it out, as interpreted by strapping young men and a rubber ball. Aztecs, you know, we've been there before." He watches his other, to judge his reaction to this plan, to see how he'll react. "Didn't work out too well that time, but I'm sure we can do better. The three of us." See, there, he was including you in his plans. Really. Ahem.

((Icon menu's not working, whee -_- ))

[not-from-mars.livejournal.com]

The Doctor grins suddenly, so if it appeared that he didn't approve of their plans, he's not showing it now. "Don't see why not! Start off with some culture. The Aztecs, now there was a civilization. Come on, then!" To the console room, obviously. He instinctively takes Astrid's hand and turns on his heel.

[stardustflying.livejournal.com]

Astrid's hand will gladly slip into his, hand in hand, being tugged along on their way to adventure and thrills.

"So these Aztecs? What exactly happened last time you went? Will they remember you?"

[watch-is-me.livejournal.com]

This Doctor hangs back, noting the change of roles—it's his other's turn to be the Doctor, and his turn to be...someone else. But who? Take that identity away, and what is he left with? John Smith, Theta Sigma, the Oncoming Storm, the sound of drums and a touch of madness?

"It's been a long time. I—we look different now. I don't think they'll recognize us." Referring to himself in the plural, that's a new one. He walks behind them, casually, trying to assume the air of indulgence and pleasure at their enthusiasm that he knows he would feel if the couple in front of him didn't include himself. "Don't drink the cocoa. It won't give you Montezuma's Revenge, but it will get you engaged. Oh, and if anyone tells you you're the reincarnation of an ancient priestess, point and laugh."

[not-from-mars.livejournal.com]

The Doctor grins and chuckles at the reference to their own past, thinking back for a moment on Cameca; on Susan, Ian and Barbara, such a long, long time ago. "Yep! New look, new company, new adventures. Brilliant."

He's aware of the way his other self must be feeling now; it's a constant sort of empathy, brought on whenever he remembers that this guest - companion? - of his is in fact still himself in almost every way. And this is where he begins to anticipate the speedbump that is their complementary and yet clashing personalities.

[stardustflying.livejournal.com]

It's a good job he's holding her hand and leading the way, because Astrid's spending half her time looking over her shoulder, raising her eyebrows at the warnings that if not followed apparently, could just as easily have her married off to or having her feet kissed by one of these Aztecs.

"You're kidding!" She laughs to the Doctor behind her, falling behind by a step as she attempts the 'I'm not looking where I'm going walk' to not exclude him. It's also one of those laughs that doesn't know if to take him seriously or not.

She beams at her Doctor though, he's right. This is brilliant. The best.

[watch-is-me.livejournal.com]

He doesn't want her walking into the walls, so he gives in—and with a few fast steps, he's on her other side, keeping up with both of them.

"Nope. Almost had to settle down, last time I was there." And now he's teasing, because it'd take more than cultural misunderstandings to get him to settle down.

[not-from-mars.livejournal.com]

And then it's a Doctor sandwich, of sorts! And he grimaces at the mention of settling down; a truly frightening subject. "That was an experience, let me tell you. Back out in the universe, though, obviously..." he trailed off, peeking his head around the corner. Just about to the console room.

[stardustflying.livejournal.com]

"Right." Astrid nods, making sure she's got all this straight, her head then turning from Doctor to Doctor like she had front row seats at Wimbledon.

"Don't drink cocoa. Point and laugh if they mention Montez... No, me being a priestess, and this is all just for a ball game. Okay..." resolute nod, "got it."

They were amazing, both of them. She wondered if there was anything they didn't know, a small smirk teasing at her lips at the conclusion she drew. Probably not.

[watch-is-me.livejournal.com]

Oh, they're at the console room!

"Oi, not just a ballgame!" And his enthusiasm gets the better of him. It's been years since he's had this opportunity, to pilot the TARDIS for an appreciative audience, to describe the wonders of a waiting universe to a heart and mind as eager to explore, to see, to believe in it all, as his own—and he can't help himself, he soars over to the console, right to the scanner, as though this TARDIS were his own.

"'S a matter of life and death, epic, mythological! The whole game symbolizes this battle, goddess Coyolxauhqui against Huitzilopochtli, the god of the sun. Brother against sister, sun against moon, first sibling versus second sibling, male against female, yin versus yang, Jung would have a heyday with the archetypes. Not to mention Freud, women getting pregnant by hummingbird feathers, I have no idea. He defeats her, and chucks her body up into the sky, creates the moon. Bloody-minded culture, the Aztecs, but it does really add something to the atmosphere. Face paint and foam fingers can't compare."

The entire time he's running on, he's jumping around the console, hands flying over the controls, adjusting the settings, getting the TARDIS primed and ready to go, so engaged in the work that he doesn't look up, back over to Astrid and his other self.

[not-from-mars.livejournal.com]

The Doctor is caught between being amused and annoyed -- this is his TARDIS, not his other's, and yet here he is, dashing about it like it's his own. He doesn't blame him, really, but there's still that flare of annoyance in his chest -- and the feeling of unsure bafflement he knows his TARDIS has right now. Because this is her Doctor, but... not?

He stands, though, next to Astrid, not saying anything. He'll let him have this one.

[stardustflying.livejournal.com]

Oh my vot! She's going to see the TARDIS in action. Not that spaceships are anything new to her, but TIME! It can travel in time too! Earth is populated by a primitive culture already, without going even further back than that!

"They really believed all that nonsense?" She asks them - but mostly the one who's actually standing still - barely keeping her excitement contained as she bounces on her toes.

The concept of a race with foam fingers raises a giggle from her

[watch-is-me.livejournal.com]

And he'll let his other answer Astrid's question, because he just made a jab for a control that should be right there and it isn't, now where could it possibly have...?

He scowls at the console, running his hands over the various knobs, dials, toggle switches, buttons, and deedliebobs. Whipping his glasses out of a jacket pocket, he shoves them on and leans in to examine the console further, his frown deepening. And then he's peering under the console, like a student looking for the wad of bubble gum he could swear he stuck there yesterday.

"Right, where've you hidden it?" He turns a sideways almost-accusing look on his other. One hand taps out his signature rhythm on the console, impatiently.

[not-from-mars.livejournal.com]

The Doctor grins, noticing the bounce. Long live excitement! "Oi, it wasn't nonsense to them," he said good-naturedly. "That was their way of life, you know."

He returns his eyes to his other self before he notices that something isn't right - or he notices that his other self notices that something isn't right -, raising an eyebrow. He knows his own TARDIS console inside and out, so he has no idea what his other is talking about. "Where've I hidden what?" His eyes move for a short moment to the Doctor's hand.

[stardustflying.livejournal.com]

Astrid's going over what he said in her mind, trying to make sense of the hummingbirds and the gods and goddess thing, and Jung and Freud and a whole host of other names he flung at her in his enthusiasm. It was like having an encylopedia thrown at you five minutes before an exam and being expected to remember it.

"Hang on..." She says, screwing her face up in confusion as she stands by the console herself now. "If she was the Goddess of the Moon, this Coyoloxi-madoojit person? How come she became the moon after this battle with her brother?"

She looks from one Doctor to the other, waiting expectantly for the explanation amidst the conversation about the missing control, as she scans the buttons and knobs and levers with fascination, feather light fingers tracing over them curiously.

[watch-is-me.livejournal.com]

He's still distracted by his failure to find everything on this TARDIS in the order he expects it, but he interrupts himself for long enough to throw Astrid a smile and a quick aside. "Well, that's how she became the goddess of it, isn't it?" In the Doctor's world, that is a perfectly logical explanation. Circularly logical, but that's still a kind of logic.

And he's back to giving his other an exasperated look, fingers drumming on the console. "Oi, you know, the SBIM microcorporeal-collision Thrin redirection co-inhibitor. The dial...toggle...thing should be right...here." He prods a spot on the console that's control-free, just a tangle of wires. "I should know, took me hours to work out the..." He stands up straight abruptly, realizing. "Ohhhhhhh, right. Right right right. You haven't reinstalled it. Which means it's still..." And he's sweeping around the console, until he's standing right by Astrid. He gives her a grin, leaning across in front of her to depress a tiny silver plunger. "...here."

"Can't believe you haven't seen to that. The extra wear-and-tear it saves on her, you've no idea. Well, maybe you do. Let's see..." He's got his tongue to the top of his mouth, leaning in, intent on the wires surrounding the plunger. One hand dips into a jacket pocket and comes out with his screwdriver (which, though it looks almost identical to his other's, isn't quite the same—his other may or may not notice it appears to have been altered to have some offensive capabilities). He poises it, ready to do some quick pre-flight reengineering.