At first, his dreams were chaotic, alternating between visions of shocking violence and the tranquillity of a cricket pitch on a late summer afternoon, the scenes shifting too quickly for him to do anything more than spectate. Then, abruptly, he found himself walking in a beautiful garden; it was raining - misting, really - and Nyssa was with him, holding his arm. She was dressed much as she had been when he'd first met her, except this was his companion as he knew her now, older and with the wisdom of experience well beyond her years shining in her grey eyes. He was trying to explain something to her and she was arguing an opposite point politely, her expression fond.
The scene would have been pleasant had it not been overshadowed by a sinister, lurking presence in the background. He could feel it creeping closer to them with every step, but whenever he tried to warn her, he couldn't find the words, so he simply walked faster. Something flickered in his peripheral vision and when he turned to see what it was, nothing but darkness met his gaze. He looked back to discover Nyssa had disappeared without making a sound. Frantic, he ran calling her name as the garden dissolved into nothingness around him.
He woke with a start to find Nyssa standing over him, hand on his arm, attempting to gently bring him out of the nightmare. "Just a dream," he gasped between panting breaths. He could feel his new heart pounding in his chest and shirt clinging to his damp skin.
"I heard you call my name from the other room." Her brow wrinkled with concern. "I can leave if you're all right."
"No," he said, perhaps too quickly. "Stay a moment, if you will. Just until I catch my breath." He needed the reminder that she was safe and well.
She sat on the edge of the bed and folded her hands neatly in her lap. The Doctor ran a hand through his hair and tried to expel the dream from his mind. There was no logical reason for him to be as shaken up as he was; he'd been separated from her before, countless times, and on each occasion, they'd eventually managed to find their way back to one another, though in a few unfortunate instances it had taken years. He decided to blame the chameleon arch for his unease since it was a convenient target.
"How long have I been asleep?" he asked, realising that this was the second time today he'd had to ask a similar question.
"A little less than two hours," she estimated. There was a clock in the kitchen area, next to a small food machine, but she hadn't exactly been keeping track.
He nodded as though this were supremely helpful information and tugged at his collar to allow cool air underneath it. The room felt stiflingly warm; if he'd been alone he might have removed his shirt altogether. Perhaps he ought to have checked the wardrobe for something suitable to sleep in before lying down.
"I believe the Council have elected to leave us here for the night; I should have expected a summons by now if they intended to resolve the matter before morning," she said logically, anticipating his train of thought.
"Dragging their feet to avoid dealing with me," he sighed and rubbed his face. "That sounds like them. Let us do all the heavy lifting and lose all urgency to act once the immediate danger is passed. And they wonder why I left." He shook his head. "Of course, one of them knows a whole lot more about this creature than they're letting on."
"They seem determined to deny that fact."
"Curious, isn't it? But hardly surprising, given the amount of political manoeuvring that goes on here. Whomever the traitor is, we've just tossed a sizable boulder in their path; I'm hoping to inspire them to take more direct action out of desperation. That's how we'll catch them out."
"Will we be safe remaining here?"
"Safe enough for tonight at least, I should think," he answered with more confidence than he truly felt. "I ought to let you take the bed," he added when he noticed her sinking a little into the mattress.
She protested that he was still the one who needed it more, but he used her own argument about Trakenites requiring more rest than Time Lords against her; Nyssa's obvious weariness practically made his case for him. Eventually they arrived at a compromise and agreed to share, with her sleeping underneath the blanket and him atop it.
It was hardly the first time they'd slept near one another, but the accommodations on those prior occasions were usually much less hospitable. Gallifrey was not known for its openness towards other civilisations, but they at least recognised the necessity of maintaining civil diplomatic relations with their neighbors and, to that end, provided adequate facilities to receive foreign emissaries when required. The small suite was well appointed where it counted; the bedding very soft and inviting. If he'd been his normal self, he likely would have insisted on retreating to the sofa to appease his own sense of propriety, but under the circumstances it seemed churlish to continue arguing if sharing was fine with her.
Despite their mutual exhaustion and the relative comfort of the bed, relaxation did not come easily at first; they were too keyed into one another's presence, which amplified the ambient anxiety in the room. Drawing on the mental discipline exercises he'd learned in the Academy to try to lessen his awareness of her, he was nearly successfully asleep again when a whispered question brought him back from the edge.
"Doctor?"
"Yes?" He couldn't see more than the pale shape of her face in the dim light, but he could tell she was upset about something. He'd lost what tenuous control the exercises had given him and snapped back into close feedback with her almost instantly.
"How long has it been since you were last on Gallifrey?" she asked.
That wasn't the question he'd been expecting from her, not that he was at all sure what it was he had thought she'd been about to say. "Some time," he murmured, because in truth he did not know how many years it had been. Not so long as a human lifetime, he thought, since Leela was still alive and well, but he was terrible at keeping track. His last visit was rather disastrous, even if things had turned out all right in the end, and he'd been loathe to face the High Council since leaving Romana behind in E-Space.
"Do you ever miss it? Not the politics and Capitol guards," she added hastily. "There must be more that your homeworld has to offer than this; I've seen some of the plants in the TARDIS arboretum. Your friends, like Damon and Councillor Hedin. Family?" she suggested gently.
He was beginning to see where this conversation was leading. Even if he hadn't just become a living, breathing reminder of all that she had lost, visiting his home planet was bound to make her think of her own.
"Yes," he admitted. "There are some things that I miss, old friends I've left behind." His voice grew thoughtful. "But those I miss the most, anything that might've held me here, were gone long before I left and, however much I might wish to, I can't go back." He let out a slow breath. "I don't allow myself to think of it too often. Dwelling on what we can't change rarely ends well. When I need to, I remember them." His reply carried the weight of several lifetimes worth of regret.
"I find myself forgetting sometimes," she said quietly, her voice sad. "Little things. Like which flowers we'd planted that spring, the name of a book my father had leant me, faces of acquaintances. Details that shouldn't matter, yet they do because they're all I have left." She paused and the Doctor thought he felt her suppress a shudder; he rolled onto his side and reached out to put a hand on her shoulder.
"It happened when my mother died; every day that passed without her, it got harder and harder to hold onto it all. Memories can never stay perfectly preserved over time; I know that. And yet, I wish they could," she admitted.
The Doctor nodded and let her continue, patting her arm gently. He understood, all too well.
"I'd forgotten what it felt like, to share that natural connection with one of my own people, how much I missed it. I'm very sorry, Doctor, because I realise it's been terribly disconcerting for you."
Ah. That explained the guilt he was sensing from her. She needn't have worried, if their positions were reversed and he'd been the last of his kind, he couldn't say that he would react any differently. He too had experienced the unexpected bond that seemed to exist between them now. To have lived without it for so many years and then suddenly have it back, with the knowledge that it couldn't last had to make it all the worse for her.
"It's merely a change from what I'm used to, but not an unpleasant one," he said softly, pulling her in close to his chest to reassure her. She came willingly and curled up against him with a small sigh. "There's no need to apologise; I know what it's like to be confronted with a reminder of the past you weren't expecting." He sighed. "I only wish that there was more that I could do for you."
They lay like that for a few minutes, with the Doctor absently stroking her back until the wave of melancholy passed. Though he'd meant it primarily for her benefit, the contact made him feel better as well; whether that was because he was still mirroring her emotional state or simply his own need for a hug, he didn't care to speculate.
The Doctor dropped his chin, intending to press a chaste kiss to the crown of her head, but she shifted slightly to look up at him at the same time. Without thinking, he reacted by dipping his mouth a little lower to find hers. Nyssa returned his gentle pressure with her own for a few blissful seconds until they both realised what they were doing.
Pulling back a few bare centimetres, they lay wide-eyed in what was undeniably an embrace, breathing unsteadily as they tried to process what had happened. The mood had shifted dramatically; the scant space between them seemed to crackle with an invisible charge, drawing them back together.
"Nyssa, I..." he said, faltering in his attempt to explain himself. He made to release her, worried that he might simply be reacting to confusing signals from his alien physiology, but she stopped him by leaning in to initiate another kiss. This time it was deliberate, unmistakably so, making it an altogether different experience. An infinitely better experience, in fact.
Suddenly feeling hyperaware of every nerve ending in his new body, the Doctor was finding it incredibly difficult to concentrate on the reasons why this behaviour was wholly inappropriate and he ought to stop it immediately. Excuses and rationalisations flooded the Doctor's mind as he reacted in exactly the manner he'd just been telling himself he shouldn't, wrapping his arms around her tighter and giving himself over to the sensation of his mouth on hers.
It would have been a lie to say that this was something that had never entered his thoughts before, in the form of fleeting notions that he had no business entertaining and were always swiftly dismissed to the dark corners of his subconscious. Nyssa was an incredibly capable, caring, and beautiful young woman. He might be nearly nine hundred years old, but he wasn't blind. Acting on that repressed attraction now, of all times, was probably a tremendously poor decision, but he couldn't find it in himself to care, and evidently, neither could she.
For her part, Nyssa was experiencing similar trouble focusing on anything beyond how it felt. The first kiss had been unexpected, but hardly unwelcome; she'd hesitated only for a fraction of a second before responding favourably. The second was an irresistable impulse which overrode her natural composure. She didn't imagine this opportunity would come again, so she'd seized upon the idea that they hadn't really done a proper job of it yet and they'd need more data to evaluate the situation. Or at least, that's the justification she gave herself.
Years of life on the TARDIS together had formed an unbreakable bond between them; her home was by his side and it would remain so until she decided that she was badly needed elsewhere. She found him attractive, certainly - she was still young and not entirely immune to that charming smile of his - but he always acted oblivious to such considerations himself, and Nyssa was perfectly content to share his friendship, so it made little sense to wish for anything else. There'd been moments when she'd wondered if perhaps he felt more than he let on, but she'd never seriously entertained the thought that they might be on the verge of something not strictly platonic. Until now.
Now, Nyssa found herself pleasantly overwhelmed by the Doctor's sudden enthusiasm and more than a little inspired to reciprocate.
If they'd been tuned into one another's emotional states beforehand, that link was magnified even further by what they were doing. And just as anxiety and worry were multiplied by the empathic connection, so too was desire. It was heady feeling and dangerous because it made it much more difficult for either of them to want to disengage now that they'd begun.
The Doctor tried to pull Nyssa on top of him, only to get tangled in the blanket between them. He made a low, frustrated sound that had her giggling as she helped him push the bedclothes out of their way. Freed of their restraint, he flipped over, taking her with so that she lay underneath him while he supported most of his weight on his elbows. She made an undignified squeak of surprise and he grinned before leaning down to kiss her again with a renewed sense of urgency.
Tongues got involved and buttons were undone as curious hands went exploring. What had begun with purely innocent intentions was rapidly heading toward a rather different sort of adventure.
"Doctor?" she finally asked when he dropped his mouth to her bared throat; having his hips pressed up against her had brought home to Nyssa how swiftly things were escalating. She didn't particularly want to be the voice of reason right now, but one of them ought to say something before they got completely carried away.
"Mmm?" he replied, thoroughly distracted by other activities.
"Not that I'm objecting to any of this, because it feels amazing, but..." She paused to gasp when he located a particularly sensitive spot along her collarbone. "Are you sure this is what you want?"
He came up for air and looked at her, even though it was still too dark in the room to see very well. The intoxicating fog of pleasure dropped to a manageable level, allowing him to think clearly again. He was breathing hard and his trousers had become rather uncomfortably snug. Oh dear.
"I'm very sorry, Nyssa, I don't know what came over me," he apologised automatically and tried to slide off of her, but she clung to him, preventing his escape.
"Stay," she instructed and he quit trying to squirm away. "Or at least don't go on my account. I'm enjoying this; I just need to know if you're all right. You aren't normally this...affectionate."
"No, I'm not," he agreed. "This situation is affecting my judgment, reducing my control," he admitted, hanging his head, "it would be extremely irresponsible of me to continue." That was the rational answer and Nyssa had wisely brought him back to his senses before they'd gone too far. And yet... he wasn't moving.
She reached up to stroke his cheek and card her fingers through his dishevelled hair. The gesture was more intimate than either of them might have ordinarily permitted, but under the circumstances, it felt perfectly natural. "You're not in danger of corrupting me or ruining our friendship, if that's what you're worried about, Doctor. I'm neither fragile nor in need of protection; I have done this sort of thing before. But conversely, I don't wish to take advantage of your condition; if you'd prefer to stop, we can."
The Doctor inhaled sharply at her admission of prior experience, barely resisting the urge to ask when and with whom she'd been... involved. It wasn't any of his business, and besides, he had a pretty good idea who it had been. That incident wasn't one of his prouder moments; he'd behaved poorly when he discovered her relationship with that boy and forced her to choose between them. Though he regretted his harsh words, he still childishly refused feel guilty for the satisfaction it gave him when she'd picked him and the TARDIS. Nyssa deserved a far better life than she'd have gotten if he'd left her behind in Stockbridge.
"What do you want to do?" she prompted him again.
What did he want? He wanted to forget the years between them and his responsibilities, and succumb to temptation. Damn it all, he wanted her. This Trakenite form wasn't so unlike his regular Time Lord body that he could claim its influence was overpowering him. Sympathetic neuropathy might be adding fuel to the blaze, but he'd supplied the original kindling himself.
"We really shouldn't," he began, but his resolve was wavering noticeably. "I don't have the best record when it comes to letting other people get close to me. Feelings get hurt, expectations mishandled; it ends badly and it's usually all my fault. It wouldn't be fair of me to risk doing that to you." And I don't think I'd be able to forgive myself if I did, he didn't add.
Sensing he was looking for an excuse to act, she tried to give him one. "You can't blame yourself for everything that goes wrong, Doctor, especially when other people are involved. And keeping everyone at arm's length to shield yourself and others from heartache is a terribly lonely way to live." She pressed an open palm against his chest where his missing heart should have been.
"We've both lost people who were dear to us. Are close friends really that different from lovers in that respect? Pain is just another part of life; what's important is trying not to cause it unnecessarily, not avoiding it altogether. I've been travelling with you long enough to know that you'd do your best. That's enough for me."
As arguments went, the Doctor had to admit hers was fairly reasonable. Her faith in him was daunting, but nevertheless something he earnestly hoped to live up to. He pressed his lips to her forehead as he weighed the options that lay before him. The tiny, contented sound this elicited from her sealed his fate; he knew in that instant that no matter how grave an error in judgment this turned out to be, he'd forever wonder about the path not taken if he didn't sprint down this particular fork in the road.
Consciously suppressing his remaining doubts, the Doctor decided to let himself live a little and found her mouth again in the darkness.
It didn't take them long to rebuild the momentum they'd lost to the conversation and soon additional buttons, fasteners, and zippers fell prey to eager hands seeking new territory. Clothing was shoved aside hastily and eventually removed altogether in a mutual effort to strip away the last few layers separating them.
Every millimetre of newly exposed skin had to be explored carefully and committed to memory. With the lights off, very little of this investigation was visual; they were heavily reliant on their other senses to guide them. The empathic link was especially helpful when it came to figuring out where to touch and how much pressure was just right. When she felt good, he did, and vice versa. It was strange and wonderful at the same time.
They quickly discovered a slight flaw in this arrangement though, when some deft handiwork by the Doctor nearly sent them both over the edge prematurely. He rolled over on his back and lay gasping for air for a moment to recover.
"You've better control with this than I do," he said, panting, "it feels incredible, but I doubt I'll last much longer with you reflecting everything back at full strength."
She was breathless herself and took a second to gather her reply. "I'll try to contain myself then," she said with a laugh, running her fingers up a bare thigh suggestively. He hissed appreciatively and shifted his hips, pulling her against him again. As they repositioned themselves, a complication occurred to her. "Doctor, I've only just realised - we haven't thought to take any precautions. How does the chameleon arch deal with gametes, are they converted into Trakenite analogues as well?"
The Doctor swore under his breath. He should've thought of this earlier. "I'm not sure. I believe so. There's a good chance I'm no different than any other Trakenite male in that department right now; we'd better come up with something."
"I believe a barrier method is traditional for most humanoid species when biochemical inhibitors are not readily available. I don't suppose such implements are used on Gallifrey?"
He groaned. "Not for millenia."
The concept wasn't unfamiliar to him; he had spent a great deal of time on Earth or otherwise in the company of humans after all. He rubbed his hands over his face, thinking. They certainly had other options if an appropriate solution failed to present itself, but now that he'd gone this far, he couldn't deny the primitive desire to finish this the old fashioned way had grown more compelling. If they'd been on the TARDIS, he was certain he could've managed to solve this easily; as it was, their resources were rather limited to the contents of their quarters. As unofficial prison cells went, it was a solid choice; alien visitors weren't exactly trusted with anything more complex than a food machine.
Then again, a food machine might be just the ticket... "Hang on, I think I've had an idea. Back in a tick!" He kissed her swiftly and clambered out of the bed, not bothering to try to locate any of his clothes as he made for the kitchen in a hurry.
The Doctor grinned as he examined the programmable device installed unobtrusively on the wall in the spartan nook that served as a dining space for the apartment. It was an older unit, nearly identical to the machines they'd had at the Academy which in his misspent youth had been frequent targets of mischief. Given the probable non-standard dietary requirements of diplomatic guests, this one had a broader range of 'edible' materials it would replicate on demand. It would be a simple matter to hack it; then he need only to input the specifications for what he wanted. He got to work.
As he waited impatiently for it to process his request, the Doctor spared a thought for the sheer absurdity of the situation in which he currently found himself in; standing naked in a Gallifreyan kitchenette, trying to get a prophylactic from a food machine. He sincerely hoped neither of the guards standing outside the suite elected to check on them right now. This was not something he wanted to explain.
When he finally had three (hopefully functional) prototypes in-hand, he hurried back to Nyssa. She'd switched on a bedside lamp, suffusing the room with a warm glow. The sight of her sitting there, waiting for him, grey eyes bright and searching, utterly composed despite the rosy flush that coloured her cheeks and spread lower, caused him to stop short. It was an image which would no doubt live in his memory for a very long time.
He swallowed nervously under her gaze and held up the fruits of his brief mission with uncharacteristically bashful pride. "I made extras, just in case," he said.
"Where did you get them?" she asked as he climbed back into the bed with her.
"Food machines have a few more exotic functions than you'd expect," he replied with a mischievous grin, setting aside two of them to attempt to put the third on himself. Fortunately, it was still warm from the replication process. Rather than watch him fumble with it, she leaned forward to help.
"Hold on, I think you need to be... yes, that's better." She didn't stop stroking him once it was in place. He bent to kiss her and return the favour.
After so many false starts, the Doctor was rapidly losing the ability to form coherent thoughts when she touched him. Seizing her hips, he lifted her toward him with a possessive growl; she cooperated gladly, wrapping her legs around him, guiding him into position. He caught her eyes and hesitated one last time.
"Not too late to change your mind," he whispered, breathing ragged, not sure if he was checking with her or himself.
"Doctor. Please get on with it."
She sounded so exasperated with him that he had to laugh and did as he was told. They found a shared rhythm sooner than one might expect, considering they'd never done this together before. The difference in their heights meant that the Doctor couldn't keep kissing her throughout, but the exertion of thrusting while supporting most of his body weight so that he wouldn't crush her had him breathing too hard to have done much else anyway.
It felt as though tremendous pressure was building up between them. The empathic link was wide open; every spike of pleasure was instantly met by an answering echo from their partner. It was almost impossible to tell which one was which, their sensations had merged so completely. The Doctor's arms were shaking and Nyssa began trembling and squeezing him tighter as the wave neared its crescendo. Finally, when it had gotten so intense that they felt near to bursting, release came for them both like a coiled spring stretched to its limit and abruptly set free.
The Doctor collapsed on the bed, remembering at the last second to land to one side so that he wouldn't squash her, and they lay there, dazed, for a while. The experience had wrung them both out, leaving behind extreme exhaustion and a pleasant feeling of warmth and contentment. Words failed him, so when he'd largely caught his breath, he rolled over to press his lips gently to hers before rising unsteadily to visit the adjoining hygiene closet to clean himself up. Nyssa followed him to do the same.
Afterward, they shut off the lamp and flopped wearily back onto the bed. Nyssa took his hand and settled in with her back pressed against the Doctor's chest and he pulled the blanket over them both. They were sound asleep in each other's arms in less than a minute.