Episode: The Doctor and the Nurse
Chapter: The War and the Opera [1/4]
Summary: Rory wanted the Doctor to take a break before he inevitably snapped. A Matron wanted for her children to grow old and strong, at any cost. And a Doctor wanted to save his patients, even if that meant trusting some weird Englishmen. The Master wanted to find enough information about the cracks to bring back Amy and the Doctor. Or the one where some people work, others take a break, and tempers end up snapping all the same.
Rating: T
Warning: Mentions of corpses and war (nothing explicit).
When Rory exits the corridor into the control room, he finds himself strangely not surprised. He should be, by all means, he should. But he isn't. Because, for as long as he's been traveling in the TARDIS, the Doctor has always been working on the controls in the morning, the same he was when he left him the night before.
Except one time, when he'd been on the lower level, performing some kind of maintenance on the engines. But he'd still been wearing the same clothes he'd had the night before, so it doesn't count.
So, Rory is not surprised to see him at the controls, serious and focused on the undecipherable glyphs floating and popping in and out of the screen, typing and adjusting levers and dials in answer to whatever they tell him.
He doesn't acknowledge Rory, but he doesn't need to. Rory knows the Doctor is aware of his presence.
No, Rory is not surprised. What he is, though, is concerned. And curious. He has a lot of questions in his mind, half of them – scratch that, about ninety percent of them are of a medical nature.
So, Rory gets down the stairs to join the Doctor at the console, careful not to touch anything. He puts the plate of pancakes he made for breakfast close enough to the Doctor that he can grab them without moving that much, but far enough to be out of range of whatever controls he needs.
"How much do Time Lords need to sleep?" he asks in place of a 'good morning', knowing the Doctor doesn't care about such platitudes when he's busy with his work.
Which is, quite frankly, all the time.
He used to be more cheerful, a part of Rory whispers, sounding almost concerned, remembering the alien as he'd been back on Sicily, serious while investigating and dealing with the Laestrygonian, but calm and mischievous in-between. At the very least, he used to not be a workaholic. Not to this extent.
Not even in Cardiff, with the Neverwere and Captain Harkness around, was the Doctor this detached and… focused, of sorts. He was focused then, but he still managed to insult people with a grin, mock and rebuff the humans for not paying attention. But he doesn't do that anymore.
True, he isn't being aggressive or combative, least so with Rory, but he's just so… serious.
Like Rory and his fellow nurses, the day of the bus crash, when they'd had to deal with about forty injured people and crying children and distraught parents, after two days of long shifts in the midst of what had to have been the worst flu epidemic in Leadworth of the last ten years.
They had been so focused on what they were doing because they would collapse the moment they stopped, and they couldn't afford that.
His dad had joked he looked like he'd just come from war rather than the hospital, and his mom had seriously asked him if Rory needed to go to the hospital for a checkup, he looked that bad.
He had slept for fourteen hours straight after that and recovered in a couple more days, but…
"About eight hours every three weeks is enough," the Doctor answers, unbothered by the question or Rory's rudeness, and not even grimacing at the pancake he bites into, despite it being half burnt.
No one said Rory was a good cook, but he can manage.
And yet, he waits, watching as the Doctor takes a second bite while his free hand carefully rotates a dial, pale green-gold eyes never leaving the screen.
But no biting comment, no question about why Rory would ask this now, no mocking retort about the quality of the pancakes. The Doctor will keep working until he gets what he's looking for, or until he drops.
Rory swallows a lump in his throat that can either be worry or annoyance, and puts his hands in his pockets instead, fingering his kit absentmindedly and letting its presence calm his nerves.
"That's useful. When was the last time you slept then? Cardiff?"
"Being unconscious is not the same as being asleep," the Doctor chastises, his voice rumbling with a hint of annoyance that makes Rory perk up. "Though it serves the same purpose when it comes to physical processes."
And Rory waits for the inevitable insult towards the human race and their biological weaknesses, but it never comes.
"So as long as I knock you out once every three weeks, I don't need you to fall asleep. That's good to know," he retorts sarcastically, and while the Doctor scoffs, he doesn't answer.
That won't do.
"What do you do when I'm asleep then? Do you stay here all night doing maintenance, or whatever that is?" he asks, hoping a change of topic will help get the Doctor out of his focused state, get a reaction, something.
Whatever the crack in the Silurian tunnels and what the Doctor found in it meant, it has affected him deeply, forced him into this hyper-focused state, this relentless pursuit of something Rory can't help with.
And now he finds out that it doesn't matter how much he tries to distract him and help him during their adventures in fixing temporal anomalies. As soon as Rory goes to bed, the Doctor goes off again. On his own.
He shouldn't be alone. The Doctor should never be alone. That's, like, the most important rule of traveling with the Doctor.
Well, actually, there are different sets of rules when it comes to traveling with the Doctor. The Doctor Rules are for the Doctor himself, about not killing or hurting people and giving everyone a chance and all that. Then, there are the Companion Rules, how the Doctor expects his companions to act, which include not wandering off and listening to his instructions, among others. But then, there are the Taking Care of the Doctor Rules. Never call the Doctor 'Doctor', remind him to be the Doctor without calling him thus, use Rule 6 in case of emergencies, and, last but most definitely not least, never leave the Doctor alone.
Turns out it doesn't matter if Rory doesn't leave him alone while they're out of the TARDIS. Sooner or later, he'll have to sleep, and the Doctor will be alone anyway.
"Mostly, but I also take care of some anomalies in dangerous areas," the Doctor answers, nonplussed, before scowling at the latest glyph and erasing the whole screen with a flick of a switch, new glyphs filling it with some more fiddling.
"Wait, dangerous? I should've been with you, watching your back!" Rory protests, far more worried than before at the knowledge that not only does the Doctor go places alone, but that they are dangerous.
Knowing the Doctor, and the kind of dangers they have encountered during the day, what does 'dangerous' exactly mean?
"For humans," the Doctor supplies with a huff, still focused on the screen, and so he doesn't see Rory slump in relief. "I'm pretty sure there's a hazmat suit in the wardrobe, but it's easier for me to just go alone without having to worry about you ripping the suit and—"
The Doctor cuts himself with a quickly stifled shudder, breath hitching and eyes closing tightly for an instant before, with a deep breath, he turns his attention back to the screen and shoves another pancake into his mouth to keep himself from saying more.
Rory is a nurse; he doesn't need more than some seconds to put his words together and gawk at the alien in disbelief.
"You can survive radiation poisoning," he deadpans before he can stop himself, surprised despite knowing better nowadays.
Aliens are aliens, and he can most definitely expect the unexpected from them, but the Doctor's human appearance still leads to some shocks every now and then. And well, who could fault him? The weirdest thing he has ever seen him do is burst into golden energy and melt someone with what appeared to be just some words.
… Right, that's actually really weird. But still. Radiation. It's freaky to think Rory would have to be clad in a bulky yellow hazmat suit while the Doctor simply skips around, unbothered and no worse for wear. All his training is telling him that it's impossible, that there should be at least some aftereffects, but apparently, he's wrong again.
Aliens.
The Doctor's lips press into a very thin and pale line, holding himself stiffly for a moment as he glares down at his hands with an oddly grief-tainted rage. The expression vanishes in the next blink, though, so Rory doesn't ask. As much as he wants to poke at the Doctor to get some kind of reaction out of him, the last thing he wants is to remind him of his pain.
"Some types. Some amounts," he answers simply, stoic, before refocusing on the screen and forcing his shoulders to relax.
"Which types? Which amounts?" Rory asks, and when the Doctor doesn't answer, scowls. "Hey, I'm your nurse. I need to know these things," he protests, and finally, the Doctor lets his shoulders drop with a sigh and an eyeroll. "Right. So, which types of radiation? Nuclear?"
"No," the Doctor answers deadly serious, glaring at the screen.
"Roentgen?" Rory asks without skipping a beat, though a small part of him is double-thinking his topic of interrogation.
"Essentially harmless for a Time Lord, as long as not much of it is absorbed, and it can be expelled swiftly enough if so."
"It can what? How do you 'expel' radiation? Which machine do I need to use?" Rory asks, frowning as he thinks back to the infirmary, which seems to have permanently moved to the first door on the left of the central corridor.
He has been poking around in his free time, sometimes with the Doctor around to help him identify and learn how to operate the machines, but lately with a book about the different kinds of medical equipment of the 63rd century, which seems to be where the TARDIS took most of the infirmary from.
Still, he can't remember seeing anything to deal with radiation…
"No machines, we do it. The Time Lords. We learnt in the Academy."
"They teach you how to deal with radiation in school?" Rory asks, stunned, before reminding himself that whatever the Doctor calls an 'Academy' might not be what Rory knows as a 'school'.
Either that or the Academy is more about how to be a Time Lord, kind of university for Time Lords. Which, actually, makes far more sense.
"No, they teach metabolic control. Roentgen radiation just doesn't happen to be that harmful. We used to play with Roentgen bricks in the nursery, until they took them away," he adds, shrugging dismissively, but Rory finds himself with even more questions now.
"Why would they take them away if it isn't dangerous for you?" Rory asks with a frown, shaking his head to try and make sense of what he's just been told.
"They were too easy to track. They realized the bricks were compromising our location after the first attack, so they took them away. They were lucky the bastards hadn't managed to share our location, or we would all have ended up like Neskathdavorflorquith, rotting under the suns. They didn't make that mistake again," the Doctor scowls, glaring at the screen as he flips a couple of switches, and Rory is fairly sure he's not entirely aware of what he's just said.
"Attack?" Rory repeats, wide-eyed and fighting against the knot of dread threatening to drown his voice, and the Doctor finally looks away from the screen to meet his eyes. "Rotting under the—what are you talking about? What kind of childhood did you have?" he adds in a higher-pitched voice than he'd intended, looking between the Doctor's eyes in search for an answer.
The Doctor scoffs, almost disgusted before taking half a step to the side so he can face Rory properly.
"I grew up in a war," he answers dismissively, waving a hand as if it was nothing, but his expression smooths into indifference when Rory's mouth falls open in an undignified gawk. "Don't be so surprised, it isn't that different from someone who grew up during World War II. The children were evacuated to the countryside and returned to their families after, if they had them. We got sent to the Drylands and recruited into the Academy when the Cloister Wars were over, so we could get back to our wondrous lives of duty. Not much of a mystery there, really," he explains callously, shrugging before turning his attention to the screen.
Well. That… kind of explains things. Still…
"The whole 'rotting under the sun' thing is an expression, isn't it?" he asks almost softly, unsure if he wants an answer to that question, but knowing it is the kind of thing that would explain a lot about the Doctor himself.
"No, it isn't," the Time Lord answers simply, shrugging almost dismissively as he turns back to the screen, but the iciness of his eyes is more answer than his actual words.
If Rory was prone to cursing… actually, he isn't sure if he would have cursed, as shocked as he is now.
That is most definitely not the kind of thing a child should see. Or anyone, for that matter.
"But there were good moments too, weren't there? Some wardrobe to get you to a magic world?" he asks, both as an attempt to distract the Doctor—and himself—from that particular memory, and to try and get a rise out of him again.
After all, if he hadn't known about Tolkien, what are the odds he knows about C.S. Lewis and the world of Narnia?
"Of course not!" the Doctor answers with a scoff, turning to Rory with a deadpan look. "Do you really think they would've let a TARDIS anywhere near a bunch of brats? Near us? Then again, maybe it would have been preferable to blowing up the shed," he muses, distracted once the TARDIS pings once more and he goes back to scowling and deleting glyphs from the screen.
… Okay, so he doesn't know about C.S. Lewis, though he might have inspired Narnia. That mention of the TARDIS instead of the wardrobe? Definitely suspicious. However, Rory's brain decides to focus on a different part of his answer.
"You blew up the shed," Rory repeats dully, not sure if he's stunned, resigned or amused, before settling for a grin and a shake of his head. "And here I thought you were bad now."
The Doctor's answering grin is so sharp that Rory takes a step back before he can stop himself.
"Oh, you haven't seen bad yet."
Well done, Rory. That took his mind off the job. Now let's see if you can survive it.
"Yeah, right, sure, whatever you say. Uhm. So…" Rory stutters, trying to find something to distract the Doctor with before he can continue down that tangent—and straightens in realization, earning himself a wary look. "We've been fixing temporal anomalies all week and I get it's important, it's your job, but well, you have a time machine. How about we take a day off? It isn't like you can't just pop in and out of time whenever you want, right?"
"A day off?" the Doctor repeats, scowling as if insulted, but at least he's no longer lost in his mind or planning how to make Rory squirm. "Oh, how very human. Rory, this is important. The cracks are not something that can be left alone, I need to find out how they came to be and how to reverse it if I am to fix everything! I can't just ignore temporal anomalies or take days off. That's not how this works."
"But you have a time machine," Rory protests again, gesturing around at the TARDIS, which seems to hum louder as if in answer to his words. "Surely you can take at least an evening off for, huh… A match?"
"Of what, cricket?" he scoffs, nose scrunched as if he smelt something foul.
"How about a day at the beach?"
"We just came from Lyle beach."
"Yes, but we only went there to stop that crazy revolt from messing with the development of the automatic sand."
"Still, we spent all day at the beach."
"Then what about a… a… oh, a movie! Theatre? Opera?" he proposes, slowly running out of options and starting to panic.
He needs the Doctor to take a day off, to find himself again – or as much 'himself' as he can be without being 'the Doctor'. One way or another, alien or not, Rory knows he needs him to take a break before he loses himself in his 'job' of fixing the cracks. Before he loses himself completely.
"Opera?" the Doctor repeats, more than a little startled and, Rory hopes, a bit interested. "Since when do you watch opera?"
"I… I've never seen one. And there's a first time for everything, right? Especially when you have a time machine and can go back to see the classics in person," he answers sincerely and more than enthusiastic, though it's more due to the Doctor's interest than Rory's own. "What do you say? A night at the opera, while the TARDIS keeps running her calculations. It's not like you need to be here while she does that, isn't it?"
The Doctor scrunches his nose again and to Rory's defeat, focuses back on the screen.
"I have a time machine. I can go watch an opera whenever."
But thankfully, the TARDIS doesn't seem to think the same, as the screen goes black in the next second. The Doctor curses and fiddles with the controls, but nothing he does manages to make the glyphs come back.
"Well, I guess that's settled then. Any preferences?" Rory asks cheekily, unable to keep his grin off his face, when the Doctor groans and drops his head, sighing.
"… Actually, yes. Ein Feldlager in Schlesien, or as you would know it, A Camp in Silesia. I saw that one in Berlin, but they made a bloodier and more twisted version for its debut in Vienna in 1847, Vielka. They had Jenny Lind from the fourth performance on, and I did enjoy her in Ein Feldlager in Schlesien," the Doctor answers in a hum, giving the TARDIS the stink eye until she turns the screen back on with the usual circular glyphs instead of the screen the Doctor had been working on. "You won't let me get out of this one, will you? Ugh, alright. Vienna, February 1847," he huffs, already reaching for the controls, and Rory hurriedly grabs the empty plate of pancakes and drops into the jump seat for the bumpy ride.
They peek out the door when they land, to make sure they truly are in mid-eighteenth-century Vienna, which the Doctor confirms with a sniff, before they go down to change.
Rory is a bit wary, after some of the weird clothes he has had to put on before, but it turns out it actually isn't that bad. Straight pale gray pants, black ankle boots, white shirt with upturned collar, black vest, brown tailcoat, and, to finish it off, a yellow neck cloth. The Doctor, as usual, has decided to go for something a bit fancier, with plain brown pants, patterned yellow and green vest, red cravat and navy-blue tailcoat, but even he is quite inconspicuous. As he explains, the society of the time was mostly going for dull colors rather than flashy ones, but that doesn't mean they don't grab a top hat each before they leave the wardrobe.
"Oh, and this one should be your size. It's February in Vienna, it might get chilly," the Doctor adds, stopping by a coat rack and handing Rory a black greatcoat not unlike Captain Jack's before rummaging some more along the shelves. "Now, for me… Nope, too big. Too long. Oh, come on, there has to be something…" he grumbles under his breath, and Rory doesn't bother hiding his grin once he's put his own coat on, after a quick but hesitant glance at the rack of untouched mismatched clothing that includes the horrid multicolored disaster, Cardiff's leather jacket, and, funnily enough, a frock coat. "Aha! This one should do!"
Rory turns around, confused by the Doctor's complete disregard for that rack, before stifling a laugh at the coat he's now putting over his shoulders.
"Where did you get that? From Sherlock Holmes?" he asks, snickering, as the Doctor rearranges the flaps falling from the shoulders of his dark brown coat.
"Don't be ridiculous, it'll be over fifty years before those books are written. This is a Carrick coat, and technically it's a travel coat, not something you would wear to an opera. But we're travelers and we have our passes, so who cares?" he answers pulling out his psychic paper before pocketing it again and adjusting his top hat. "So! Ready for the opera?"
"Ready as I can be," Rory answers with a grin, happy to see the Doctor in higher spirits even if their time off has been 'forced' on him.
It'll do him good. It'll do both of them good. And even if Rory's not too sure about the opera, at least he knows this time there's no trouble to worry about, merely some boredom ahead if he doesn't take to the play itself. But if that's the worst that awaits them, Rory will gladly take it.
… Of course, it is never that easy.
AN: Fair warning: The first half of this (chapters 1 and 2) was written Before The Pandemic, while the second (chapters 3 and 4) was written After The Pandemic. This means the story is probably going to be unfitting or twist in a way it shouldn't, given the time between both of them, not to say anything about the way everything else changed.