The Doctor never grows tired of this.
He watches carefully as she takes her first steps into the TARDIS, one stilettoed heel after another. Though her shoes are impossibly high, she walks lightly, and with petite elegance.
A half-gape, half-grin painted onto her face, Belle walks around herself, taking in every impossible inch surrounding her. She's seen magic stop wars and erect palaces out of dust, but never has she seen something quite like this. She studies carefully the seemingly infinite surface space, admiring the tall coral-like pillars. Her eyes fall last of all on the console, and she's immediately captivated by the pale blue glow at its core, mesmerised by its sheer power and capacity for adventure.
"Go on," he encourages, his wide smile spread over his face.
"It's . . . amazing, Doctor," she says, and for a moment, all caught up in the wonder, she looks almost like a child. He smiles at her. It's not quite the exclamation of, "it's bigger on the inside!" that he's so very used to, but it's good. It's really good.
"So," he exclaims rather suddenly, making her jump. He deftly leaps over the railing and starts pushing buttons. "Belle. Where to? When to? Any time, any place, any planet. Say the word, and it's yours."
If watching people observe the miracle of the TARDIS is his favourite part, then this has to be his second; the realisation that his companions are not simply confined to one life, one place, one planet in one linear succession of time. It's liberation from a prison they don't even realise they are in.
"Mine?" she asks, and he's sure her eyes are a little wet. Her heart speeds up at the thought – all of time and space at her disposal. Any moment from the dawn of creation to the obliteration of reality (which, frankly, she considers an inevitability). And, all of a sudden, she's overwhelmed. For the first time in her life, she could really be the hero. She could see things no one else had seen, and that no sane person would even believe, and the confinement of neither cement nor dark magic would be able to stop her this time.
He just shrugs, and his grin grows even wider. His long fingers hover expectantly over an important-looking lever, and they wiggle with anticipation.
Eventually, Belle settles on an answer. "Surprise me."
The Doctor seems to think it's the right answer, because his smile grows even wider. He waits a few seconds for the proverbial light bulb above his head but it doesn't come. He's so used to knowing just the cure for a restless soul like hers, but now, he finds himself without a clue. Not letting that stop him, he throws himself across the console and smacks his palm against the randomizer, irresistible in all its big red button-y glory.
The ship springs to life with a lurch and, caught unaware, Belle is suddenly thrown ungracefully against the console, catching herself on her hands in an attempt to avoid serious injury. She tries to get her bearings, adjusting her posture and brushing away the strands of hair that have fallen over her eyes with a huff. Turning to find the Doctor's eyes sparkling with mirth at her apparent inelegance as the ship continues its flight, Belle opens her mouth to defend herself, only for one of the heels of her outrageously high stilettos to slip between a gap in the metal flooring and knock her completely off balance yet again. The Doctor rushes to help her, abandoning the frantic routine of lever-pulling and button-pushing for only a moment to try and pull her out. In the struggle that ensues, her heel snaps. She hears it clatter to the ground below, and winces as if every bounce is a blow to her own body.
He's still holding her up when he reaches across and taps a few more buttons with his free hand, and he does it so speedily that she wonders whether it actually has any effect or whether he's just showing off.
"New shoes, then?" he asks, looking back at her, and though she is mournful in the loss of her heels, she knows that they were not entirely practical, and nods. "Wardrobe's that way. Just keep walking 'til you find it," the Doctor continues. "Should have something about your size in there somewhere."
She goes to turn away from him, then pauses. "You have women's shoes in your wardrobe, Doctor?" she asks, half teasing and half actually wanting to know. When he doesn't answer, she begins to amble toward the direction he'd indicated, her gait made drastically uneven due to about 7 inches of difference in height between her legs. The corners of the Doctor's mouth twitch upward a little; she does not take off the other heel, but walks with such vigour and determination that any doubt he could've had as to whether she'd survive a real alien battle is immediately dismissed. Not that he intends to drag her into a real alien battle, but they do seem to have a habit of finding him before he can do anything about it.
He thinks that maybe, just maybe, the aliens ought to be afraid of Belle French.
The hallway is long and masked in shadow, and when the first obstacle Belle comes to is a crossroads of sorts, she thinks that the Doctor's advice of, "just keep walking 'till you find it" had not been entirely useful. She takes the first left and passes a number of marked and unmarked doorways, most of which are locked and none of which are marked with "wardrobe" or any resemblance thereof.
After reaching yet another dead end, Belle turns around to call out to the Doctor before realizing that she's probably wandered much too far into the ship that defies the laws of physics for him to hear her. She turns back around and nearly jumps a mile in the air when upon seeing that she's now faced with a door, blank and brown and ordinary in every conceivable way except in the fact that it had most certainly not been there five seconds ago. Half curious and half on guard, Belle tries the handle to find that it swings open willingly for her, and steps inside the enigmatic room.
It looks almost like an extension of the console room, with the coral pillars ascending skyward, a snaking spiral staircase following their path. The walls are covered almost entirely in clothing, with multiple racks stacked up against each other. Moving closer to the centre of the room, Belle allows her fingers to brush idly over a leather jacket and an absurdly long knitted woollen scarf of many colours. She spots a row of shoes underneath the lowest rack of clothes. Almost all of them are men's, in varying sizes, styles and shades, but on the very end of the row there are a few pairs smaller than all the others, two of which are pink. The third pair and final pair are trainers, mostly white and streaked with a stripe of blue. They are a little worn and the laces are frayed at the ends and they are a little too big, but Belle believes they will suffice. She laces them as tightly as she can and finds that they fit her feet quite snugly, despite the fact that they don't exactly match her dress. Smiling at her reflection in the full-length mirror in satisfaction, she turns to further explore the extraordinary room and see what other strange and wonderful things she can find.
What perplexes Belle the most, she thinks, is the sheer amount of women's clothing she finds hidden in the TARDIS' depths. She passes everything from skirts and jeans to elaborate imperial dresses woven in fabrics of scarlet and gold, to even a ridiculous 50's style poodle skirt in a horrifying shade of pink. She pulls the thing off its hanger and holds it against herself, laughing as she twirls in the mirror. Starting to feel slightly lightheaded, she stops, only to find the Doctor now leaning casually in the doorway and staring at her with a solemn expression. Belle quickly regains her composure.
"Sorry if I..." she says quickly, placing the skirt back on its hanger at once. "I was just playing around a bit. I didn't mean to-"
"No, it's fine! Really," the Doctor assures her, entering the room with his hands in his pockets. "That just, erm, it belonged to a... friend of mine." He's suddenly not making eye contact with her anymore, and Belle wonders if she's encroached upon a sensitive topic. "She spun like that in it too," he murmurs quickly, almost as if he didn't mean to say it aloud. Then all of a sudden he sniffs and then he's his cheerful self once more, leaving Belle confused and full of questions. "Come on! We've got a whole planet out there waiting for us!" he exclaims.
"We do?" she asks, her eyes lighting up. "Which one? Mars? Uranus?"
"Bit further than that."
"How much further?" There's almost hesitance in her voice as she speaks.
He shoves one hand into his pocket and scratches at his jaw with the other. "Oh, about two thousand light years."
Belle is silent for a moment, overwhelmed with the sheer distance. "It takes light two thousand years to travel here from Earth and you can just materialise in a matter of seconds? What kind of man are you, Doctor?"
"Ah," he exclaims, waggling a finger at her. "Not man. Alien."
The correction doesn't throw her as much as he expects; her stance remains firm. "Right. Well, what kind of alien?"
He reaches out to her, wanting her to take his hand. "One of the good ones," he says, and he says it like a promise.
The Doctor presses his fingertips against the wooden door, gently easing it open, and taking his first steps with Belle on this new planet. Belle raises a hand to cover her eyes, squinting at the glaring light that has invaded her vision. Her other hand remains intertwined with the Doctor's, and she follows blindly where he goes as he guides her across a wide room and through a sea of people (among other things). The ceiling is high, and one curved wall is entirely transparent, a window into space. The crowds are pressed up against it, searching in the emptiness with keen eyes.
A figure approaches them, though it's out of focus in her blurred line of sight. She almost starts to panic, but the Doctor keeps a tight hold of her hand, which assuages any worries that they've stumbled into forbidden territory. She turns her head to look at him, seeing mostly the silhouette of his wild hair. The figure hands something to the Doctor, before nodding politely and seeing itself out. It is only when the creature disappears into the crowd that she notices the constant hum of sound that surrounds them – a million sounds in a million different languages.
The Doctor leans in, and carefully delivers an instruction: "Put these on," he says, pressing an object into her palm. She turns it over and sees that it's something resembling a pair of glasses. Loosening her other hand from the Doctor's, she slips them over her eyes. There's a beep, and she feels them automatically adjust to perfectly fit her skull. She is no longer blinded by the light. She looks first to the Doctor, whose glasses match hers.
"Where are we?" she asks, raising her voice above the thrum.
"Cosima 5," he answers. "Earth time, the year 2934. This particular planet has the fortunate perk of being within perfect, safe viewing distance of the orbit of Cosima's comet. She herself is a goddess worshipped for her power over light, like Apollo and the sun. The race that used to inhabit this planet believed Cosima's comet was the goddess herself, blanketing the whole world under her protection and blessing its residents. She only shoots by every . . ." he tugs on his ear, "four hundred years or so. Some see it as infants, some wait their whole lives to see it. Some die waiting."
"How many times have you seen it, Doctor?" she asks. Age is something she is good at sensing, and though his skin remains taut and his manner spritely, those are old eyes, eyes that have seen worlds burn and new lives rise from the ashes. She knows Rumple had watched centuries pass before even meeting her. She wonders how many times the goddess of light had passed him by.
He does not answer with a number. He switches topics his arm doing a wide sweeping gesture to the crowd. "All this, and you're asking about boring old me."
Before she can argue that he is anything but boring, a voice sounds over a speaker device: "Thirty minutes until the passing of Cosima. Thank you for your time."
Belle whips around, her hair flying with the motion. "Was that in English? Are humans that influential in 2934?"
"God, no," he scoffs, holding back laughter. "That's the TARDIS, that. It can translate any language inside your head. Well, almost any language."
"Almost?" questions Belle. The Doctor appears lost in thought for a few moments and when he responds it's in a disjointed mumble, almost more to himself than her.
"Oh there was this one time… planet next to a black hole... ancient writing, really ancient, mind you…" His rambling is interrupted as a sudden tremor runs through the ground and the crowd begins to chatter in excited trepidation. The crowd, Belle realizes, is made up of a lot more of an exotic bunch than she had first assumed. She can see a man whose entire form is covered in blunt spikes that flex as he moves, a woman with skin that gleams an iridescent silver, with the texture of roughly-hewn diamonds. Near her, a family of blue-hued beings with long tendrils of twisted white hair tend to a baby that fusses in its mother's arms. The sight is both magical and terrifying, and Belle isn't quite sure which instinct to act on first.
"Twenty-seven minutes until the passing of Cosima. Thank you for your time," the cool robotic voice sounds across the room once again. Belle shivers a little at its immediacy; the voice simultaneously feels as if it's all around her as well as inside her mind. The Doctor nudges her.
"Fancy a drink?" he asks, waggling his eyebrows as he looks down at her. Belle laughs, and takes his arm when he so gallantly offers it to her.
"Lead the way," she smiles widely.
As they cross the absurdly vast room, Belle catches sight of herself and the Doctor in the reflection of a nearby window and has to stop because the sight that greets her eyes is so comical. Next to the pinstripe-clad man, she appears almost childlike in height; the Doctor's lean frame stretching at least six feet to her five. One of the things she'd always found endearing about her Rumplestiltskin was his frame, and the way it was almost as if they had been perfectly engineered for each other in size. She and the Doctor, on the other hand, look like a circus act.
"You look like a giant next to me!" Belle giggles. The Doctor sniffs indignantly.
"Well, you look like a child!" he scoffs, straightening his tie. Belle rolls her eyes at him and latches onto his forearm, dragging him the remaining distance to the long glowing bar stretching the length of one side of the room.
The bartender is something of a marvel, several of his eight or so arms pouring and mixing drinks and carefully pushing them towards their respective patrons without ever spilling a drop. The Doctor saunters up to the bar and gives a lightning-fast wave of his fingers, which apparently indicates his order. Within a matter of moments, two luminous beverages are slid towards them across the top of the bar – one for each of them.
The drinks glow a fluorescent blue that seems to pulse and dance under the stark white light of the observation room. Belle eyes the drinks warily, and the Doctor notices her hesitance.
"Drink up," he advises. "They're safe, I promise!" He makes a show of crossing his heart solemnly and she resists the urge to roll her eyes at him again.
Nevertheless, she raises her glass, and he raises his, clinking them together. A few heads turn at the seemingly strange, Old Earth tradition, but neither of them notice. Belle, for one, is far too mesmerised by the foreign flavours dancing across her tongue.
"This is delicious!" she says enthusiastically. "It's like cream and berries and... some kind of melon..."
The Doctor acknowledges her statement with a high-pitched, "Mmm!" He too relishes the feeling of fruity flavours in his mouth, and the fizz of bubbles in his nose. So as not to guzzle the whole thing in one go, he pulls the glass slightly away from his lips. "That's right. That type of melon is native to the Cosima region of the galaxy. The whole cluster, from Cosima 1 through 5, is the right distance from the nearest sun to grow them. On they're own, they're bitter, but - " He's interrupted by Belle's giggling, though she tries to muffle it with her hand.
"What're you-" the Doctor begins with a confused expression before catching sight of his reflection in the side of his glass, and more prominently, the rather dashing liquid moustache running the length of his upper lip. Belle's suppressed giggles turn into a fully-fledged laughing fit at just how ridiculous he looks before it's suddenly gone with a quick indignant swipe of his lip. She swiftly regains control of her laughter.
"I thought it suited me," he sniffs, and she just grins.
"Fifteen minutes until the passing of Cosima. Thank you for your time," the cool voice sounds once more. Belle tugs at the Doctor's sleeve.
"Come on, I want to get a good view!" she says, nudging him towards the crowd. He follows obediently along, wondering idly just when it was that he'd allowed his travelling companions to start leading him around, like a puppy by its leash. Probably right about-
Don't go there, his mind warns, shaking off images of blonde hair and bright, curious eyes.
Belle finds them an excellent position in the crowd, close to the front but not quite in the first row. Her small hands grip at his forearm expectantly and he chances a look downward to find the petite brunette's gaze wide and eager, her teeth worrying her bottom lip in excited anticipation. His hearts twinge a little at the expression of wonder on her features; this is why he does what he does, he thinks. This is why he chooses humans to bring with him on his adventures, because there is only so much of the universe he can explore before it begins to become tiresome and old. That way he is able to see it through their gaze, the fantastic and beautiful things out there, new all over again through a fresh pair of eyes.
It makes him feel old sometimes.
Belle blinks a little. "That drink went to my head pretty fast," she says, bringing her fingers to her temple. The Doctor notices that he too is feeling slightly lightheaded.
"They're just a little stronger here, nothing to worry about," he responds, brushing her off, even though a voice in the back of his mind tells him that there may indeed be. Fortunately, that voice is easily ignored.
The Doctor returns to watching Belle watch the night skies with that lovely awestruck expression. He's not surprised, to be quite honest; it is a magnificent view. They're right in the centre of the Cosima cluster, two of the five planets visible to the naked eye just outside of the absurdly large observation pane. His gaze shifts between the dewy pink cloud of Cosima II to the raging volcanic storms of IV, noting how they seem almost close enough to touch, like marbles floating in a sea of glowing stars. He watches Belle's fingers twitch idly at her side, knowing that she too shares his same impulse to reach out and touch them herself.
Rather than staining the glassy wall with her fingertips - the only thing standing between her and the endless stretch of starlight - Belle reaches for the Doctor, her tiny hand dwarfed by his long, thin, but gentle fingers. He takes her hand gratefully and weaves her fingers with his, something akin to wistfulness present on his features.
"Ten minutes until the passing of Cosima. Thank you for your time," rattles in the background.
"So is this something you do often, Doctor?"
The alien in question blinks at the sudden inquiry.
"Is what?" he responds, puzzled. Belle nudges his side with a sly smile.
"Oh you know... kidnapping women and whisking them away in your magic box to show them all the wonders of the universe," she says, eyes sparkling as they look up to meet his.
The Doctor adjusts his tie and swallows. "Nope, nothing of the sort," he answers without making eye contact. After a few seconds he notices that Belle is still staring defiantly at him, a challenging smile gracing her features. He decides to resign, accepting defeat. "I... may have gotten in the habit of... weeelll, once or twice but..."
Belle beams her victory. "Ah ha! So I'm not the first," she determines proudly. "Now I have to hear about these other girls, you know. All of... the little... d-details..." Belle suddenly trails off vaguely, blinking rapidly as if attempting to will her eyes to stay in focus. His concern grows stronger when he notices she's also swaying slightly on the spot.
"D-Doctor," Belle stammers weakly, hand resting on her stomach. "I'm really not feeling good."
He reaches out to touch her, but his clumsy hand only grasps air and he stumbles, and that's when the Doctor figures out that he's in fact also feeling a lot worse than he'd previously thought. He too begins to blink, slowly, shapes blurring in and out like watercolour paints on the outskirts of his vision.
"Oh blimey this isn't... good..." he tries to say, but it's like trying to speak underwater, the pressure flooding his lungs. He attempts once again to reach out to Belle but only just manages to brush his hand through her curls. Part of him hopes she at least finds the gesture a little bit reassuring.
"Doc...tor..." he hears her murmur faintly in the background before he watches her knees hit the floor through swirling vision.
And that's the last thing he sees before he too collapses into strong arms, and the world begins to fade to black.
"Five minutes until the passing of Cosima," he barely hears, the voice now a discordant, demonic laughter inside his head. "Thank you for your time, Doctor."