Chapter 2
The Doctor strode purposefully through the door of the TARDIS towards the console, not sparing either of his companions a glance. Flipping switches and turning dials with haste, he sent the ship into the Vortex, all the while drowning his discomfort in a torrent of words.
"Not much to worry 'bout. Obviously some problem with the navigation control. We'll just sit in the Vortex a bit while I perform some jiggery pokery, and we'll be on our way in no time."
Once the Doctor was satisfied with their position within the Vortex, he practically dove under the console, welcoming the concealment. He immediately pulled the sonic screwdriver from his pocket and set about tinkering with the many wires, bolts, and circuitry above him.
"Will she be alright?" Rose asked with concern.
The Doctor's hands paused. "'Course she will. Genius, me. I can fix anything."
"Need a hand, Doc?" Jack offered.
"First," replied the Doctor, "I am not a rabbit with large ears…" A pregnant silence filled the TARDIS, only broken by the sound of someone having a coughing fit. The Doctor ignored it and continued, "Do not call me Doc!" The last word was filled with derision.
"OK," said Jack breathily, as if he were trying to contain a laugh. "Need a hand, Doctor?"
"Second," continued the Doctor, "You will not touch my TARDIS. Rassilon knows where those hands have been."
"Want me to show you?" offered Jack.
The Doctor snorted. "Not a cheap date, me. Now, leave so I can get this done."
"OK, OK," surrendered Jack. "We're leaving. No need to get your panties in a twist. Come on, Rose."
When the sound of their footsteps faded from the control room, the Doctor ceased tinkering, his hands coming to rest lightly on his chest. Slowly, the signs of tension eased; his ears stopped burning, and the muscles in his shoulders released. He stared at the underside of the console, brow furrowed.
The problem was not with the navigational computer, the time circuits or the dimensional stabilizers. In fact, for the first time he could easily remember, his ship was working exactly as she should. All her parts, even those that had been jury rigged, were humming along efficiently.
No, the problem was not with the mechanics of the ship. Instead, it was with the psychology of the ship. The soul of his TARDIS had her mind fixated on something, and she would continue to thwart him until he paid attention.
Typical woman. The Doctor gave a longsuffering sigh and closed his eyes, focusing on his ship.
"What are you doing to me??" he blasted, his frustration and embarrassment at the forefront of his mind. When the TARDIS responded with the psychic equivalent of a slap, he realized he had taken the wrong approach. He was going to have a headache later.
Backpedaling, he tried again. "Sorry. Tell me what's on your mind."
The gentler tone received a more favorable response. Images of the Doctor and Rose filled his mind – laughing, holding hands, hugging, dancing – and he could feel the affection the ship had for his female companion.
It was a sentiment he shared, but he well knew the dangers of getting too attached. "I like having Rose aboard as well," he projected, "but what does that have to do with you taking us to Albhom?"
A wave of exasperation washed over him, followed by an empty chasm of aching loneliness. The Doctor could not stop the gasp of anguish that escaped him. He knew this type of loneliness; it haunted his dreams, and for that reason alone he avoided sleep as much as possible. It was a wild beast with sharp talons and razor-like teeth that threatened to consume him whole the moment he stopped running.
It had never occurred to him that his beloved ship felt the loss of Galifrey as much as he did, and the knowledge made him tremble. But before he lost himself to grief, the TARDIS again sent him images of himself and Rose together bathed in the golden feeling of love, tinged with the yawning expanse of time.
The Doctor felt he understood, and reached up to pat the TARDIS affectionately. Both he and his ship bore deep emotional scars from the Time War, and both recognized in Rose a chance for redemption. His ship wanted them to keep Rose forever, and while it was a nice sentiment, he knew it could never happen.
"Rose is human. She won't stay with us for forever. She can't. But it'll be alright. We've got each other, yeah?"
Another wave of frustration washed over him, and then the TARDIS sent him images of himself and Rose together in ways they most certainly had never been, in a wide variety of creative poses no less. The shift in mental communication startled him, and he jerked upward, banging his head on the underside of the console.
"Ow!" he said, raising a hand to his head. His eyes popped open and he rubbed his injury while glaring at his ship, forgetting to project his thoughts and instead uttering them aloud. "Stop that! It can't happen and you know it. She hasn't got forever, and I can't… Well, I just can't." He paused for a moment before adding, "But if you work with me, we can show her some fantastic things before she goes. Alright?"
The TARDIS did not reply, and the Doctor took her silence as assent. Shoving himself out from under the console, he hopped to his feet certain that he once again controlled his ship. One hand rose to rub his aching head. And once he got rid of this headache, he was positive he would think of the perfect place to take Rose next.
