Ah yes, new chapter as promised. Here you go!

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Sorry, it's been a couple of days. I had promised myself to do one every day, but…well, things got in the way. Stuff.

And by 'stuff' I mean the Doctor being a complete and total shitwad who won't treat me like an adult.

But uh—you'll find out more about that soon enough, if I'm consistent. Which I will be, if I'm lucky.

Anyways…

Log: Week Two

After the first week things settle into a sort of pattern. I sleep on the chair, eat breakfast, walk around the TARDIS, maybe eat lunch, walk around some more, eat dinner, and go back to sleep. It's monotonous and dull, but it's stable.

You would think that after the nightmares and the 'sleeve incident'—as I've decided to name it—that things would be a lot more comfortable. The first week's the toughest, right? Yeah, that's complete bullshit.

I mean, yeah, things are a lot better. I don't have to sweat out my weight in sweatshirts anymore, even though I do prefer them more now than I did earlier on. And even though the secret's out, I feel like I still have to hide them. Otherwise he stares at them. He looks at them, really, like they're a horrible story being covered by the evening news. He's in despair, but he can't do anything about it.

Surprisingly, with all that's gone on, he hasn't many questions. In fact, they've stopped altogether since he sleeve incident. He goes on like nothing has changed, or at least he's trying his best. Like we just returned from our Christmas celebration and we're taking a couple weeks off. And I suppose that I should be happy about this, but in all honesty I'm afraid of when he will begin asking questions like "What happened while you were thrown around the universe?" or observations such as "You know, you spent three months tucked away at an all-boy's school out of the apparent fourth months you were being tossed around, and yet it looks like you went through a lot more then you let on".

So, to buy myself some time, I'm the one asking the questions. Even if he doesn't like it.

"What've you got there?" I ask, peering over his shoulder to view the cylindrical object the Doctor's been tampering with.

He sits up straight in the car seat where he is residing, breaking from his concentration. "Hm? Oh, it's just the temporal accelerator. I'm fixing it."

I squint. "What's wrong with it?" I wonder.

"Nothing, actually."

"Then why are you tampering with it?"

"I'm making it faster."

I silent long enough for him to go back to his work. "But why try to fix something that isn't broken?"

He sighs and sets down the screwdriver he's been using. And yes, it is an actual screwdriver. "Because," is his answer.

I stand up straight and cross my arms. "Because. That's your final answer. Because."

"Yes," he tells me, shutting the temporal doodad closed.

"'Because' what, exactly?" I press.

He stands up, dusts himself off, and looks at me. "Because I say so, that's what," he finishes with a hint of irritation in his voice. He walks towards the stairs leading down below the glass.

I follow him, leaning over the railing. "But that makes no sense," I observe.

"You don't make sense," he says bitterly.

"Ouch, nice comeback," I mock. "Really got me, I'm going to need to sit down for a couple of minutes and rethink my life."

"No need to be so sarcastic." He walks into the tangle of wires, aiming towards the center column where there is an obvious cylinder-shaped hole.

"I just don't see the point," I explain. "Besides, everything you try to fix just ends up doing a complete 180 and malfunctions."

"How about you try to fix a temporal accelerator like this one," the Doctor argues. "Then you might see the point."

"I won't have to," I point out.

"And why is that?"

"It's not broken."

He glares at me through the glass before angrily pushing the device into the column. "There. Finished and running perfectly."

"For now," I add. "Give it an hour or two."

He scowled. "What do you have against me?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Other then what I know, I mean."

I shrug. "Nothing, really. I just like seeing you get irritated."
"Why, though?" he whines.

"Because," I explain. "You're like the goofy, slightly socially inept older brother I never had."

"You said you had siblings, though."

"First born."

"Ah. So you were the one constantly being poked and prodded."

"Pretty much, yeah," I admit.

"You know," he says, making his way up the stairs. "That's still not a good excuse."

I frown. "Why not?"

"Being rude because others were rude to you means that they have control over you," the Doctor clarifies. "And you are stronger than that."

I consider this. "I guess that makes sense," I admit.

"So no more teasing, eh?" He looks hopeful.

"No, I'm going to keep teasing you," I tell him. "It's fun. You think it's fun, it makes us laugh. I just won't be cruel."

"Ah, see? Learning new things every day."

I smirk. "Thanks, Mr. Rogers."

"Oi, Mr. Rogers is cool. I learned how they make soda, you don't see that anywhere else," he checks the scanner.

"I wasn't saying he's not cool," I argue. "I loved Mr. Rogers Neighborhood as a kid." I turn around. "You know, you look like him. You know, if you gave a bow tie and took away his loafers."

He frowns. "I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult."

I shrug. "Take it as both."

He smiles and we return to silence. And, as you already know, I don't like silence.

I roll my head back. "I'm bored."

"Then go play ping pong," he suggests.

I snap my head up. "By myself?"

"It's actually very fun."

I laugh. "Sorry, I'm not in the mood to play against myself."

"Then go do teenager-y things. Text people, go on Facebook or Twitter or any of those other confounded sites," he lists off. He looks up. "Watch me, you've got a lot of catching up to do."

"Oh, no," I say, shaking my head. "No, no, no. I'm trying to not spoil you, remember? I mean, I guess I could watch something else, but…nah. No more TV for me."

"Not even just a little of the daily news?" he asks.

I laugh. "It's not like I watched the news before."

"I understand not wanting to watch all those other programs and things, but what about me? I'm interesting, I'm cool!"

"Also full of yourself."

"That," he says, pointing his finger at me briefly before returning to his piloting, "is not the point. I'm interesting, you used to think I'm interesting."

"I still think you're interesting," I admit. "But I don't want to spoil you, and you don't want to be spoiled. Simple as that."

"Well, you are obviously not enjoying yourself sitting in the console, so do something."

I look at him with disdain before walking over to the console, looking over the buttons and switches and levers with a fixed expression.

"Teach me how to fly," I request.

He stops and looks at me. "What?"

I look up at me. "The TARDIS. Teach me how to fly the TARDIS. With a machine like this I'd never be bored." I reach for a button, curious to press it.

"Ah ah ah," the Doctor says, hurrying over and slapping my hand away. "Do not touch any of the buttons, you send us through a black hole if you do."

I cautiously put my hands behind my back. "Well, if you teach me, I'll know which ones to press and which ones to avoid."

"I'm not going to teach you, you are going to stay away from the console and not touch anything," he denies.

"Why can't you teach me?" I ask.

"You don't have a license."

"As far as I know, neither do you."

"I actually do have a license, thank you very much," he says proudly. He digs a hand into one of his pockets and pulls out a crumpled, ancient-looking piece of paper. He clears his throat and starts to read it. "By the Gallifreyan High Council, we hereby give permission for me, the Doctor, to pilot a TARDIS."

"Okay, fine. But surely you've let other companions fly this thing. I can't be the only person who would want to drive a time machine."

He sighs. "Yes, there were people. But they weren't teenagers! They were adults who know what they were doing, not bumbling around and such."

The realization hits me and my mouth forms into an 'o' shape. "You don't think I can do it, can you?" I ask. "Think I'll mess up."

"No!" he denies. "No…no, well—yes."

I hit him. "I can so fly this thing, watch me." I push the button I was shoved away from and a couple others. Nothing happens. "See? I didn't mess anything up at all."

And, on cue, we're thrown to the side.

The room rumbles and I groan from being shoved into the railing. I look up, watching as the air around us trembles and bursts.

"What's going on?" I yell.

"You've sent us spiraling!" the Doctor yells.

The noise the room is making doesn't sound too healthy.

"Spiraling?" I throw back. "What do you mean by spiraling?"

"As in we're tumbling at the speed of a comet through space!" he yells.

"Can that be taken as a positive thing?"

"Not really!"

Red and blue lights start blaring.

"That's the 'everything's gone to shit' alarm, isn't it?"

"If you wanted to phrase it that way, yes!"

The room lurches again and we're hurtled towards the other side of the room, hitting the console in the process. My head slams onto one of the contraptions.

"Quigs, move! You're pressing on all the buttons!"

I groan and lift my head off of the console. "Wha'?"

"Move!"

Without thinking I take a step to the left and end up sliding back into yet another set of rails.

"Ow," I whimper weakly.

"Are you okay, Jenna?" the Doctor calls out.

"I just got slammed into a fucking wall, what the hell do you think?" I retort.

"If I've got the timing between lurches right, I should be able to pilot us back into a straight line!" he shouts. "I'll give you a heads up so that you can catch yourself!"

I nod and turn around so that I'm lying on my back. I clutch my stomach, wincing has I apply pressure to some of my ribs in the process. That can't be good.

He continues piloting on the panels he can reach before the ship makes another laborious moan and his eyes go wide.

"Jenna!" he yells. "Prepare yourse—woah!"

The room heaves again and I brace myself for impact, catching myself with one hand and falling through the rail with the other. I twist around up and watch as the Doctor pulls himself up and continues piloting to the best of his ability.

I grit my teeth as I take a deep breath. Yep, definitely not good.

"How much longer?" I ask.

"Not long, not long!" he reassures. There's a banging noise and he looks at it in panic. "Not long at all…"

"Well, hurry up!" I order. "I don't want to get tossed around for all eternity!"

"Don't be silly, Jenna!" the Doctor dismisses. "Eventu—oh, here comes another one!"

This time I'm ready for the impact, sliding across the floor and turning so that I am on my back yet again. The Doctor is still piloting.

"You were saying?" I remind him.

"I was saying that eventually the turning will stop, because the ship will soon be turning faster than time and we'll be perpetually frozen," he explains, "and/or we'll get caught in a planetary orbit and crash land."

"So either way we're screwed, right?"

"Again, phrasing is slightly off, but—" The ship groans again. "—if you want to put it like that, yes!"

I grip the bar tight, tired of being tossed around. The ship lurches again and I hang on, dangling above the console.

"Give me one minute!" the Doctor requests. He flips a couple more switches and puts his hand on the big lever. "Geronimo!"

He pulls down on the lever and the ship lurches one last time. I sit up and my back hits the railing for the last time. The lights fade away and the ship's groans cease. The only sound is the time rotor.

I take deep breaths but they hurt every time I attempt to inhale. I sigh.

"Yeah, maybe it is better that I don't try to pilot the TARDIS," I mutter.

The Doctor lets out a wheezy laugh. "Agreed."

"So where are we now?" I ask, pulling upwards and getting into a hunched position.

"Not sure," he admits. "TARDIS has to realign itself, get in order. Signals might be a little wobbly for a little while."

"You think she's going to hate me even more now?" I joke, wincing. "I do."

"Now, now. Don't be so harsh on yourself—" He turns around. "Jenna, are you alright?"

I laugh weakly. "I just got thrown around a room, what do you think?"

"We should get you to the infirmary," he suggests. He walks over. "Here, I can carry you."

"Hah, no," I say, pushing him away. "I can walk."

The walk isn't that far. Still, the offer of being carried becomes more tantalizing when I reach the infernal devices known as "stairs".

The infirmary is a simple white room that kind of looks like a school's nurse's office, with cots lined up and a glass cabinet at the end lined shelf after shelf with bottles full of powders and pills of different shapes and sizes. I collapse onto one of the beds and stay there.

"That was extremely foolish of you to do that, you know," he scolds, pressing buttons on the machine next to me.

I snort, face planted in the cot. "Like you haven't done that before."

I can almost see him sputter. "Well, yes. But I was young!"

"I'm young," I point out.

"Still, no more piloting the TARDIS for you. Even if I wasn't going to allow it in the first place."

"For once, I wholeheartedly agree with you." I turn my head to face him. "What are you doing, anyway?"

"Setting up the medical scanner," he says distractedly. "Should be able to diagnose your injuries. Now roll onto your back."

"Piss off."

I'm pushed onto my back. "Hey!"

"The scanner can only take an anterior view, and I don't want you wallowing around," he explains. "Now just stay still for thirty seconds."

I do as he says. There's a green light that comes and goes, and a dinging sound.

"Aha! Now let's see…three bruised ribs, cut on the forehead, scarring on arms," he says, glancing over to me at that last one. He squints. "Huh. That's not right…"

"What's not right?" I ask.

"Nothing…TARDIS is still getting back in order that must be it." He shakes his head. "Be back in a mo."

He leaves and returns a couple minutes later with two purple pills and a white one.

"These two are for the cuts and bruises," he says, giving them to me. "Should make you feeling fit as a fiddle in under twenty four hours. You know, I always wondered about that phrase, 'fit as a fiddle'. Are fiddles actually fitted? And if so, why? You don't see fiddles taking morning jogs or going to the gym every Thursday afternoon."

I grumble and take the pills, swallowing them dry. "What's the white one for?" I ask.

"Hm?" he asks, being pulled out of his ramble. "Oh, yes! This is for the pain. Healing can be a nasty process, especially if you have to speed cell division and things like that. This should help."

I take the other pill and rest my head back onto the cot. "I think I'm going to sleep for a bit, okay? Go back to the console room."

"Jenna—"

"It's just going to be a nap, don't worry. And if I have any nightmares I'll deal with it. I just want to sleep."

He nods, and starts leaving the room before turning around at the doorway. "Quigs?"

I roll my eyes. "What is it?"

"Just one question…you haven't told me any more lies, have you?"

I feel myself freeze up. "No. Why?"

"No reason…must just be a glitch. Goodnight, don't let the bed bugs bite."

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He doesn't ask me anything, except for that.

"Have you told me any more lies?"

Yeah, I have.

"No, stop asking. It's annoying."

And each time I answer the number of lies I've told him piles up higher, one lie stacked on top of another and layered until it's a castle of lies that can be seen for miles and miles.

I think he's just trying to keep himself in denial.

He doesn't ask me about my age, about my time alone. He doesn't ask me about what my nightmares entail or the tipping point that drove me back into my bad habit. He stays silent about those things.

And it really starts to bother me.

Not that it should, but it does. We joke and eat and do all the normal things people would do, but that's the thing. They're normal things, normal events. Normal doesn't fit into the equation here. What does fit is adventures and banter, but that's ceased to exist. All that's left is something bordering on everyday life, if you take out the time machine.

I hate it, but I don't change it. I'm too preoccupied keeping my own secrets behind closed doors to stop it.

He hates it, yet it seems that he's the one enforcing it. Like adventure is a poison to me. So he keeps me inside while he goes out, uses the whole piloting incident as an excuse. I'm not strong enough yet, I still need another day or two. Just give it a couple days, you'll be ready. Just be patient.

I hate being patient, and I hate being protected like a child.

Still, I don't leave. And he doesn't ask anything. Everything is…neutral.

I hate neutral.

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I'm sorry for the short(er) chapter. I'm having a bit of trouble with writer's block at this section. Hopefully, I'll come out of it at some point.

Reviews are highly appreciated, as always.

Until next time!

-JustStandingHere