The Doctor and Tegan have a deep philosophical discussion. Not sex.
Tegan sent a message to the Doctor's private contact code, and then took a book out to the garden to wait for a reply. There was no telling when the Doctor would be able to make time to talk to her. She had to learn patience. Since everyone on this planet had a longer lifespan, they could always outplay her at the waiting game.
The book was a gift from Senfadrell. It was the size of a typical coffee table book, but when she opened it, the images projected above the surface: a gallery of visual art lost to time. She sat in a shady spot and studied masterpieces no human eye had ever seen. The artists used color in alien ways. Gallifreyans looked so human on the outside, that cool skin and a double pulse did not seem that odd. Here before her was laid bare the soul of Gallifrey, beauty through the eyes of an alien race. Some of it was familiar from her trip to the Outside. She had seen a silver leafed forest shining in amber sunlight. She had seen the real Tower of Rassilon and thought this image of it was from the artist's imagination. It was like the work of Hieronymus Bosch, layering shapes of fear and death over the bleak landscape and lonely tower.
"Where did you get that book?" Standing behind her, the Doctor added his shadow to the page.
"Senfadrell sent it to me, 'in appreciation for my artistic input.'" Tegan smiled proudly at him.
"I always said you were a quite a good artist, really." The Doctor exuded innocence, assisted by the sunshine haloing his head from behind.
"Oh, don't remind me of that lunch. No, I know you meant well. I'm still not sure about Lady Flavia."
"I'm sure she meant well. I don't think she meant it nicely." He sat down beside her. "What did you want to see me about, Tegan? Your note made it sound rather important."
"Two things. Professor Omicron suggested you could teach me some mental self-defense. Isn't it high time I learned some, if there's such a thing?"
Was it her imagination or did the Doctor's gaze drift to her neck, securely cowled in the high sweater neck?
"I can teach you some techniques. You'll find it very hard work, though. It's a drain on the body. You'll need to get plenty of rest and be sure to eat properly." He frowned a little and ran his fingers over the book, leafing through the projected images. "Why did you go to Professor Omicron instead of me?"
"It came up as part of another conversation. I'm not sure I'd trust anyone else but you to teach me. Scratch that, I know I wouldn't." Tegan shuddered. "I've had too many problems like that, and knowing that most of the people on this planet have some sort of mental powers, I feel uneasy."
"On Gallifrey, it's considered a serious crime to violate a person's mental integrity. Unfortunately, Gallifrey has not quite evolved beyond crime. I will make time for this, Tegan. An hour a day should be all you can stand at first. What else did you talk about with Professor Omicron?"
"I like talking with him. He tells me a lot of interesting things, like about the Pythia and Lady Thalia's necklace. She thinks you're a dangerous idealist, you know."
"Yes, I know, and that wasn't really an answer, Tegan. I thought you trusted me now. You must, if I am to teach you mental defense. You will have to make yourself completely vulnerable to me." The Doctor laid his hand over hers.
"I do trust you, Doctor. Do you trust me? I'll tell you this much. I quarreled with Keludar, and I had a question for the Professor about the Academy, since he spends a lot of time down there. Turlough knows. I'd tell you, but then I'd be telling the President, too." Tegan tried to look like a person who knew what she was doing.
The Doctor sighed. "Very well. Since you're calm and rested, and I have time, we may as well begin your lessons. Come inside," he said, standing up and offering his hand. Tegan tucked the art book under one arm, then accepted his hand and stood. He led her not to her apartment, but to his.
In a sitting room that was just on the other side of the garden door, were two semi-circular sofas placed around a beam of golden light. It shone down on a domed garden of tiny plants and insects, a vivarium. While she admired this living jewel, the Doctor took her wrap and the book and put them aside. Then he sat down with her on one of the sofas. He reached out and cupped her cheek, his fingers barely touching her skin.
"I should have done this before," he said regretfully. "You have been much too often abused in this way."
"I wouldn't let you, before." Tegan shrugged. "Too damn stubborn for my own good. How does this work?" She raised a hand, fingertips brushing her collar, and then put it down in her lap.
"Your mind is like a TARDIS, with many rooms. I want you to imagine a door for me, a door that you think of as one you can open and close, that you can lock and bolt if need be. Hold the image in your mind, and then open the door for me. I will not enter until you let me in."
"And what's behind the door? That matters, doesn't it?"
"Your immediate thoughts, the ones you turn into words. The Tegan you show the world. Nothing truly private. Anything private goes behind inner doors that you close against me. Do you trust me not to go where I am not invited?"
"I should say you spend most of your time ending up in places you shouldn't be, Doc. But I'll trust you for this."
"Don't talk now. Think of the door, your front door. When you open this door, you are inviting me into your home. I am your guest, and I will only go where you give me leave."
Tegan's eyes closed. She had a sense of him, waiting patiently while she struggled to hang onto images and ideas.
"What kind of door would it take to make you feel safe, Tegan?"
The image flashed into her mind: thick planks bound with iron, a bar and a huge padlock. The view spread before her mind's eye of a battle scarred fortress. Its stones looked barely more worked than the stone of the hill it stood on. Primitive, a place of violence and bloodshed, as much a prison as a refuge. She cried out and opened her eyes. The Doctor stroked her hair and she leaned a little into the soothing touch.
"Ah, Tegan. You've been besieged. My rescue arrives a little late, it seems. Will you open the gates for me? I come in peace." Her eyes stared into his unseeingly, but his voice reached past her walls and the fortress yielded. Cool clean wind and bright sunlight entered the keep without judgment. The defenders lowered their weapons. The battle was done, and they could rest.
- o - O - o -
When Tegan awoke, she was in the stadium like Presidential bed. She was still tired, but her stomach was growling. The Doctor was nowhere to be seen, but he'd left a tray with food pills and a flask of juice on a bedside table. Food pills were handy, there was no doubt about that; Tegan had never felt more healthy. Right now, though, she craved something she could sink her teeth into. She didn't have a headache, but her head felt uncomfortably light like her skull had been scoured from the inside. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and washed the pills down with juice.
Now that she was at least three quarters alive, she headed towards the nearest lit room, tugging at her sweater dress. She didn't like sleeping in her clothes; they never fit quite the same when she woke up in them.
"Doctor?" she asked, putting up her hand against the light. Like an angel in his white and gold robe, the Doctor walked out of the light into the range of her bleary vision.
"Did you eat and drink, Tegan?" He leaned close and looked into her face, a welcome shadow.
"Yes, Doctor." She arched her back and rolled her shoulders, trying to work out the stiffness. There were other people in the room. Tegan blinked her eyes a few times and recognized the impressive silhouette of Commandant Maxil. There was something innately memorable about his combination of blond curls and supercilious expression. She shivered.
"Go to your room and have a long hot soak. That will make you feel better. Do you need me to walk you back?"
Tegan's gaze crossed Maxil's. His eyes took her in with clinical efficiency. For some reason she felt shocked into alertness. "I'm fine, Doctor."
"Very well. Take care of yourself, you're more depleted than you realize. We'll talk tomorrow, when you're fully rested."
"I'll be sleeping in," Tegan said, with a touch of her usual humor. She walked back into the darkness of the apartment. The light beam led her to her book and jacket, and out to the garden she went. She barely waited to get in her own door before she started stripping off her clothes on her way to the hygiene chamber.
- o - O - o -
After a couple more days of waking up dog tired, Tegan had to ask at the start of the lesson, "Is it always going to be so exhausting? And why do we have to do it in your apartment?"
They were in the sitting room again. The Doctor sat not quite opposite her, so that the light beam didn't block their view of each other. "Mental aptitude not easily quantified, Tegan. The higher expressions of psychic ability may seem superhuman to you, but they are all sourced in the sentient mind. Gallifreyans have the advantage of evolution, of genetic modification, and of training regimens developed over millennia of study. Even so, some Gallifreyans are more talented in this area than others. It is more an art than a science, and you are a talented artist."
Tegan looked at him for a moment. "Is it always going to be so exhausting? And why do we have to do it in your apartment?"
The Doctor chuckled. "Sorry, I did get off the point. Consider it foundation for my explanation. You created an image of your mind for us both to work with, a personal metaphor. That visualization was strengthened by your artistic ability." His smile faded. "You started building that fortress long ago, Tegan. It is not merely something that came about because of the Mara or the Master or the Eternals. Gallifrey rigidly nurtures her young. We are all given the same building material with which to construct our psyches. Yours is made from the random influences of your life, and apparently, you feel embattled. It fits with my experience of you that you are quick to defend yourself, and willing to attack those who threaten you. You are finally letting yourself rest from a long battle. Your body reflected the weariness of your mind. While you are in such states, I wish to be close by to protect you."
"Why wouldn't I be safe in my room?"
"This state of psychological vulnerability is similar to that which you were in when you encountered the Mara. Even the subconscious knowledge that I am nearby will create a simple barrier. Your mind will not need to create random thoughtforms for protection."
"All right, but cover me up with something when I pass out. Your apartment is colder than mine."
"I'll raise the temperature. The added comfort will be psychologically beneficial."
"Doctor? I hate asking you to do this for me when I don't do anything for you. If it's taking away from your work–"
"We're not stopping now, Tegan. But since you mention it, there is something you can do for me."
- o - O - o -
They had Lady Flavia to lunch again.
Lunch seemed to be her preferred meal to take in company. This time,
Tegan faced the Doctor and Turlough faced Flavia. The Lady Tegan was
now the Lord President's official hostess. On being informed,
Turlough had felt called upon to greet the news with unnecessary
questions (or so Tegan felt.)
"Weren't you always?"
(glare at Turlough)
"At last you can put all that rigorous training to use." (threaten to thump Turlough)
"Is there a Presidential drinks trolley?" (chase Turlough around the garden and fling snowballs at him)
At last, when she'd sat on Turlough and told him she'd stuff snow down the back of his trousers if he didn't give in, the Doctor walked over and tipped a tree branch laden with snow on the both of them. It's good to be the President.
Lady Flavia was staring at Turlough, her eyebrows delicately arched in concern. "You look fevered, young man. How do you feel?"
"Just a little exercise in the snow," Turlough said, putting a hand up to his red nose.
"The… the snow? You've been Outside just now?" She sounded taken aback.
"The Presidential Garden, Lady Flavia. There's a beautiful view of the mountains," Tegan said, smiling across the table at the Doctor. He'd added lessons in Gallifreyan etiquette to the ones in mental defense, so lunch with Flavia was like a quiz after a week's instruction.
"Oh, yes, the Gardens. There's one off the Chancellery wing as well. Were you planning on including trips to the Outside in this new social schedule, Doctor?"
"It hasn't been raised, Flavia. I think as we encourage a more active community spirit that we'll have need for a wider variety of activities, which could include going Outside."
"The Gardens are force screened, after all. It's not like really going Outside," Turlough pointed out.
"Back home we call doing new things broadening your horizons. It's a mental journey as well as a physical one. I understand that better all the time."
The Doctor smiled across the table at Tegan.
"I know there are hydroponics farms somewhere in the Citadel. Who's in charge of running them?" Turlough asked Flavia. "Food pills are admirably efficient, but are aesthetically unsatisfying."
"You've been talking to Senfadrell. Total habitat design is his mania, as if we were all zoological specimens." Flavia sipped her juice. "All nutritional delivery is handled out of the Castellan's office, under Lord Martusan."
Oh, him. The Cerub nut. "I danced with him at Otherstide. He seemed very, ummm," Tegan faltered as she noticed the Doctor was raising an eyebrow at her, "comfortable talking to an alien."
Turlough looked from Tegan to the Doctor and inquired, "Was he a good dancer?"
"He said it was his first time, but if so he had a talent for dancing."
"Perhaps it was due to his partner," Turlough suggested, unaware of his upcoming rendezvous with a face full of snow.
It was Lady Flavia's turn to raise an eyebrow.
tbc