Three more days.
"This is getting ridiculous, Parthenope!" He shouted on the afternoon of that third day.
As usual, he received no answer. He sighed and stomped around a bit for emphasis of his mood, then gave it up and flopped down.
She had changed things again, added to the extent of his world. He now had a long wicker chaise lounge that rested near a pool of pale blue water, with a large umbrella to shade him from the suns if he so chose. He had food and drink in abundance: he had only to voice his desire for a certain item and it appeared. This had happened after he'd unthinkingly muttered out loud about kippers and marmalade and toast points. He had music, he had books, he had his yo-yo and his ever-ceaseless attempts to master a double loop. The only thing he didn't have was the thing he wanted the most: his freedom. The freedom to assist her, and the freedom to leave.
He honestly appreciated her efforts. In a perverse way, it was as if he was on holiday. Lots of sand, water, good food and drink, plenty of relaxation under warm suns by day and deep restful sleep by night. But a cage was still a cage, no matter how large or gilded it was. He wanted out of his cage. And he wanted to help her, to get her somewhere so she'd not be alone anymore, help to treat the disordered state of her mind.
Unfortunately, it was hard to do any of those things, or even attempt them, when she wouldn't talk to him. He'd tried everything he could think of, and when none of those ideas had worked he'd tried a few more. But shouting at her, coaxing her, and ignoring her had all failed in equal measure. Perhaps, he mused, it was time for a new approach.
"Book, please, from the TARDIS reading room!" He called. "Shelf eleven, row four, third from the left!"
He waited. There was a soft thump as the book fell seemingly from nowhere into his lap.
"Thank you!" he called brightly. He grinned as he lifted the black leather-bound volume up to his face. There was no writing or illustrations on the outside. He'd chosen it deliberately, knowing she'd be curious. Assuming, of course, that she hadn't opened it and tried to read it. Even so, the book was written in ancient low Gallifreyan, and it would, no pun intended, be Greek to her.
His grin widened as he opened the slim volume to a random page. If this didn't get her attention, nothing would.
He cleared his throat, adopted an appropriate voice for the subject matter, and began.
"And so it was that Lady Huxley found herself pressed into the arms of Lord Battlon, his strong embrace holding her close as he bent his head to kiss her. She gasped as liquid fire burned through her veins, and her hearts beat faster as he skillfully possessed her lips with his."
He paused and glanced up. He didn't see anything, but had there been the slightest shifting in the timing of the breeze? He thought there was. Encouraged, he continued.
"There was an inferno surrounding her, rolling in a bright frenzy of longing as it carried her away towards heights previously undiscovered. Here, at last, she would know the true meaning of completion, of passion. Her body felt this heat, was drenched in it, achingly drenched, supple breasts heaving as her breaths came faster and faster, building into a concerto of all consuming need. When she thought she could endure no more, he-"
He stopped again. "What ARE you reading?" She asked, appearing beside him. He looked at her dress. Pink today, soft pink. A good sign, or so he hoped.
"Oh, this? It's just an old Time Lord romance novel. Romana loved these things, insisted on bringing some on board with her while she was with me. She must've forgotten about this one, though. Perhaps it wasn't one of her favorites."
"I didn't think Time Lords understood anything about love, or desire, or romance," Parthenope said archly.
"And what, pray tell, are you basing that assumption on? Surely not MY behavior: keeping me captive isn't the best way for me to set a good example, you know."
"I doubt you'd EVER set a good example."
"Oh, please. And speaking of setting an example, it's very rude to hold me prisoner and not even talk to me, you know." He wagged a finger at her.
"I would not have thought you would want to. And I did not know if I was ready."
"Yes, well, perhaps you shouldn't think so much, hmm?"
"And why did you ask for this particular book, out of the thousands in your reading room?"
He shrugged. "Seemed like a good way to get your attention."
"By reading to me about sex?" Her smile was amused, but her eyes were not. "Now who is making an unfounded assumption?"
"I don't believe that's the case at all," he shot back, "Judging by the way you could hardly wait to get my clothes off, oh, about seventeen days ago!"
To his surprise, she flushed. "I was... unstable," she murmured.
"And now you're not?"
She ignored the jab. "I had missed you terribly. I was overwhelmed by my passions. And you were quite willing as I recall."
"Yes, but that's because-never mind," he said impatiently. "My point is, Parthenope, that this simply can't continue."
"Why not?"
"Because!" he shouted.
"That isn't an answer, Doctor."
He sighed. "Parthenope... what will it take? What can I do to get you to let me help you?"
"You don't want to help me," she accused.
He nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes I do!"
"No. You only want to be able to leave again. If you could, you'd never give me another thought. I'd sit here for another fifty years, a hundred, a thousand, until someone else came."
"You're wrong! I want to take you away from here and help you," he snapped. "Why can't you believe that?"
"Because I do not trust you, Doctor!" she cried. "I had faith in you once and look what happened!"
"It always comes back to that, doesn't it?" he asked wearily. "Even though you know it wasn't intentional, you're always going to hold that over my head."
She turned away. "I do not mean to," she whispered. "But I do not know how to make it stop."
He nodded slowly. "I am asking a lot of you, aren't I?" he asked quietly. "Almost as much as you're asking of me."
Her shoulders slumped. "I see no way to resolve this."
He glanced at her. "Neither do I at the moment. But I'll figure something out soon. In the meantime, would you please stay here and talk with me? I promise to read the rest of the chapter," he added.
She laughed. "That isn't necessary. But yes, I will stay with you. As you said, it is rude to keep you here and not keep you company."
"Well, that's a start," he smiled. "Now, do an abracadabra or two and make another chair. And how about some lunch? I could do with a nice ginger beer and a pastrami sandwich!"
"This is getting ridiculous, Parthenope!" He shouted on the afternoon of that third day.
As usual, he received no answer. He sighed and stomped around a bit for emphasis of his mood, then gave it up and flopped down.
She had changed things again, added to the extent of his world. He now had a long wicker chaise lounge that rested near a pool of pale blue water, with a large umbrella to shade him from the suns if he so chose. He had food and drink in abundance: he had only to voice his desire for a certain item and it appeared. This had happened after he'd unthinkingly muttered out loud about kippers and marmalade and toast points. He had music, he had books, he had his yo-yo and his ever-ceaseless attempts to master a double loop. The only thing he didn't have was the thing he wanted the most: his freedom. The freedom to assist her, and the freedom to leave.
He honestly appreciated her efforts. In a perverse way, it was as if he was on holiday. Lots of sand, water, good food and drink, plenty of relaxation under warm suns by day and deep restful sleep by night. But a cage was still a cage, no matter how large or gilded it was. He wanted out of his cage. And he wanted to help her, to get her somewhere so she'd not be alone anymore, help to treat the disordered state of her mind.
Unfortunately, it was hard to do any of those things, or even attempt them, when she wouldn't talk to him. He'd tried everything he could think of, and when none of those ideas had worked he'd tried a few more. But shouting at her, coaxing her, and ignoring her had all failed in equal measure. Perhaps, he mused, it was time for a new approach.
"Book, please, from the TARDIS reading room!" He called. "Shelf eleven, row four, third from the left!"
He waited. There was a soft thump as the book fell seemingly from nowhere into his lap.
"Thank you!" he called brightly. He grinned as he lifted the black leather-bound volume up to his face. There was no writing or illustrations on the outside. He'd chosen it deliberately, knowing she'd be curious. Assuming, of course, that she hadn't opened it and tried to read it. Even so, the book was written in ancient low Gallifreyan, and it would, no pun intended, be Greek to her.
His grin widened as he opened the slim volume to a random page. If this didn't get her attention, nothing would.
He cleared his throat, adopted an appropriate voice for the subject matter, and began.
"And so it was that Lady Huxley found herself pressed into the arms of Lord Battlon, his strong embrace holding her close as he bent his head to kiss her. She gasped as liquid fire burned through her veins, and her hearts beat faster as he skillfully possessed her lips with his."
He paused and glanced up. He didn't see anything, but had there been the slightest shifting in the timing of the breeze? He thought there was. Encouraged, he continued.
"There was an inferno surrounding her, rolling in a bright frenzy of longing as it carried her away towards heights previously undiscovered. Here, at last, she would know the true meaning of completion, of passion. Her body felt this heat, was drenched in it, achingly drenched, supple breasts heaving as her breaths came faster and faster, building into a concerto of all consuming need. When she thought she could endure no more, he-"
He stopped again. "What ARE you reading?" She asked, appearing beside him. He looked at her dress. Pink today, soft pink. A good sign, or so he hoped.
"Oh, this? It's just an old Time Lord romance novel. Romana loved these things, insisted on bringing some on board with her while she was with me. She must've forgotten about this one, though. Perhaps it wasn't one of her favorites."
"I didn't think Time Lords understood anything about love, or desire, or romance," Parthenope said archly.
"And what, pray tell, are you basing that assumption on? Surely not MY behavior: keeping me captive isn't the best way for me to set a good example, you know."
"I doubt you'd EVER set a good example."
"Oh, please. And speaking of setting an example, it's very rude to hold me prisoner and not even talk to me, you know." He wagged a finger at her.
"I would not have thought you would want to. And I did not know if I was ready."
"Yes, well, perhaps you shouldn't think so much, hmm?"
"And why did you ask for this particular book, out of the thousands in your reading room?"
He shrugged. "Seemed like a good way to get your attention."
"By reading to me about sex?" Her smile was amused, but her eyes were not. "Now who is making an unfounded assumption?"
"I don't believe that's the case at all," he shot back, "Judging by the way you could hardly wait to get my clothes off, oh, about seventeen days ago!"
To his surprise, she flushed. "I was... unstable," she murmured.
"And now you're not?"
She ignored the jab. "I had missed you terribly. I was overwhelmed by my passions. And you were quite willing as I recall."
"Yes, but that's because-never mind," he said impatiently. "My point is, Parthenope, that this simply can't continue."
"Why not?"
"Because!" he shouted.
"That isn't an answer, Doctor."
He sighed. "Parthenope... what will it take? What can I do to get you to let me help you?"
"You don't want to help me," she accused.
He nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes I do!"
"No. You only want to be able to leave again. If you could, you'd never give me another thought. I'd sit here for another fifty years, a hundred, a thousand, until someone else came."
"You're wrong! I want to take you away from here and help you," he snapped. "Why can't you believe that?"
"Because I do not trust you, Doctor!" she cried. "I had faith in you once and look what happened!"
"It always comes back to that, doesn't it?" he asked wearily. "Even though you know it wasn't intentional, you're always going to hold that over my head."
She turned away. "I do not mean to," she whispered. "But I do not know how to make it stop."
He nodded slowly. "I am asking a lot of you, aren't I?" he asked quietly. "Almost as much as you're asking of me."
Her shoulders slumped. "I see no way to resolve this."
He glanced at her. "Neither do I at the moment. But I'll figure something out soon. In the meantime, would you please stay here and talk with me? I promise to read the rest of the chapter," he added.
She laughed. "That isn't necessary. But yes, I will stay with you. As you said, it is rude to keep you here and not keep you company."
"Well, that's a start," he smiled. "Now, do an abracadabra or two and make another chair. And how about some lunch? I could do with a nice ginger beer and a pastrami sandwich!"