Okay, only triggers for this chapter are minor violence and allusion to triggers from past chapter. I made this chapter super fluffy, so hopefully it'll make up for the last few.
Chapter 15- Escape and Celebration
So, to recap: we'd made a mad dash for the TARDIS and were about to escape, but then we found that Briggs moved the TARDIS and we'd done all that running for nothing, and we were about to be thrown in the brig. And to top it all off, Dr. Whittaker, a man who was desperate to get some (no matter what the cost) was going to be our guardian. Looks pretty bleak, right? Back in Chicago, I had an English teacher who would've dubbed this as our "all is lost moment" (she was a bit melodramatic). But you'll be amazed by just how losing every hope can produce the best results. I know I was. Put pressure on coal, and you'll get diamonds.
The prisoner army marched the Doctor and I back through the Star Ariel, walking through the very corridors we'd been sprinting down just seconds ago. The prisoners taunted us and poked us with the barrels of their guns, their cruel laughter echoing off the walls. After a long, taunt-filled march, we made it to the brig, where—
"The TARDIS!" the Doctor exclaimed, completely awed; he wasn't the only one. There she sat, in her royal-blue glory, light shining out of her windows. When the Doctor spoke, a deep sort of clang echoed within her. As crazy as it sounds, we knew the TARDIS was happy.
I knew then what I had to do.
I quickly turned on my heel and kicked the guard behind me between the legs, spinning around and kicking another in the stomach and sending him to the floor. The Doctor, thinking quickly, lunged at his two guards with his back to me, occupying their combined attention. I glanced at him and found the claw of the sonic screwdriver peeking out of the Doctor's sleeve. With another wrist flick, the Doctor had the screwdriver in his hand and searched frantically for the button with his thumb. I spun around, baring my handcuffs, and with a few more shrill buzzes of the screwdriver, they fell away, freeing my hands.
One of the Doctor's opponents noticed and abandoned his struggle to restrain me. He rushed toward me, arms open. I took one of his wrists, quickly spun around, and pulled hard, sending him to the floor. I punched him for good measure. I glanced up to the Doctor, who suddenly slammed his forehead into his adversary's. The guard's head was knocked against the wall, and he fell unconscious, his brain unable to take the double-ended assault.
The Doctor shook his head in an effort to shake off his own pain. "Nothing like a good head-butt," he said, rolling back his shoulders. "Quickly, now," he said, turning the sonic screwdriver in his hand so he offered it up to me, handle-first. "Just hit the big black button. It's still at the right frequency. Hurry!"
I quickly took the proffered handle and undid his handcuffs; the metal bracelets slid to the ground and he brought his freed wrists up, wiggling his fingers in excitement.
"Good to have you back, fellas," he said to them. He swiveled around to me, his coat tails swinging behind him. "Thank you, Erica. Your skills truly are admirable."
"Thanks, Doc—" was as far as I got before we heard the sound of a gun's trigger getting pulled back. We turned and saw the second guard I'd taken down, holding his gun and pointing it at us. He pulled the trigger, but he was thankfully still disoriented by his fall, and the bullet hit the wall behind us.
"Less talk, more run," I said, pulling the Doctor's arm and leading him toward the TARDIS. More shots rang out, but by the time I'd shoved the Doctor in and hurried through the doors myself, we were safe.
The Doctor lunged up to the console, and I followed right on his heels, once I made sure the TARDIS doors had sealed shut. I watched anxiously as he twiddled dials and pulled levers, only breathing a sigh of relief (and a huge one at that) when crystal pump began moving and the signature vwoorp began.
I sank into the chair. My legs had suddenly become jelly, and I needed a seat. "We're out of there," I sighed, breathing heavily and adding an occasional giggle here and there.
"You got us out of there," the Doctor corrected, shooting me a happy glance. His proud, close-lipped smile made my heart soar; if a man like the Doctor was proud of me, I must've been pretty remarkable indeed.
The Doctor switched on a black box and picked up a sort of radio. "Come in, Star Ariel, come in, Star Ariel!" he said into it, in a sort of victorious, sing-song way that only hecould get away with. They must've gotten the message, because Briggs' voice quickly crackled in response in the TARDIS.
"Doctor!" he snarled. Before he could get any further, the Doctor cut in.
"Now, I'm just calling you to let you know that I'm summoning the authorities," he said. "Just out of common courtesy." He swung around to the typewriter embedded in the console and began typing frantically with one hand. "Sending them your coordinates and telling them to bring reinforcements. Oh, and just so you know," he snuck a mischievous glance my way, "I've completely disabled every system on board except the autopilot. Good luck getting away, mates."
Briggs began screaming incoherently, but the Doctor hung up before he could start swearing. He keyed in a few more commands, and the TARDIS began shuddering. I held fast onto the chair and the Doctor to the console, the latter gazing up at his ship lovingly. I laughed loudly, over the noise, and the sound of my happiness rose to the infinite ceiling.
We had actually done the impossible and escaped.
The Doctor and I looked at each other for just a moment before we were embracing; he picked me up and twirled me around, waltzing around the console.
"We did it!" he exclaimed as I laughed along.
Suddenly, mid-spin, he set me down hurriedly and backed a few paces away from me, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender.
"Sorry 'bout that," he apologized, without me knowing what for. "I realized you might not want to be touched after...after what that crooked doctor tried to do."
With a jolt, I remembered Whittaker, straddling me and holding a gun to my head, threatening to do the unthinkable. "Oh," I said, the sound getting stuck in my throat. "No, Doctor, I...I'm fine." It was true—Whittaker had frightened me, but the Doctor had saved me, and I knew I was safe with him. I would always be safe with him.
"D'you want to go to bed?" the Doctor fretted. "You need some food? A nice, hot bath, maybe? What about—"
"I really am fine, Doctor," I said, cutting him off. I could tell he didn't believe me. "But I think we could both use a break. I mean, running for our lives so much is probably murder on our joints."
The Doctor smiled. "What do you propose we do, then?" he asked, casually leaning against the console.
I thought for a long moment: if the TARDIS was capable of anything, then the sky was the limit, I supposed. I thought about what fantastic things he might show me, what sort of relaxing spas were hidden in the ship's depths, what museums or libraries he might have hidden here. But in the end, I decided…
"Let's watch a movie," I said. "I assume there's a theater somewhere in here?" The Doctor nodded. "Good. We'll get into our pajamas, make the biggest bowl of popcorn the TARDIS has ever seen, and have ourselves a good old-fashioned movie night."
The Doctor smiled. "Sounds perfect," he said, holding his arm out for me. I looped my own through his and together we walked bouncily up the stairs and through the TARDIS's corridor, stopping at my room.
"I'll wait for you out here," the Doctor said, unthreading his arm from the tangle.
"Well, the wardrobe room is right through mine," I said. "It's a shortcut."
"You mean I have to wear pajamas, too?" he whined.
"Obviously," I said, drenching the word in joking condescension. I grabbed his wrist and pulled him into my room, kicking off my shoes halfway through (the hiking boots from Delta Delta had mysteriously disappeared from the floor). I dragged the Doctor right across my room and into the wardrobe.
"Get ready," I warned. "This might take a while."
And it did. Lord, it did. We split up and hunted around for a room containing pajamas for at least twenty minutes, during which the Doctor tried to escape six times and I tackled him to the ground to stop several of the attempts. We did eventually find the pajama room, where there were pajama tops, bottoms, and nightgowns in every comfy material known to the universe: fleece, silk, satin, flannel, and quite a lot that I didn't know, touched, and wished I did. About a hundred yards back, we found a raised platform with a 180-degree mirror standing on it, a small pedestal in front of the mirror, and a set of changing rooms. A few chairs were scattered in front of the platform. The whole setup screamed bridal fitting.
"Doctor," I said, for I'd forsaken splitting up (he'd just try to run away again) and had taken to dragging him by the arm, "it's time for a fashion show."
I practically threw him into the dressing room before I pulled up a chair, directly in front of the pedestal. After a few minutes, the Doctor came out of the dressing room and stepped onto the pedestal, showing off a fleece onesie with a very peculiar pattern.
"Bananas?" I asked as the Doctor looked himself all over in the mirror. "Why is it covered in bananas?"
"Bananas are good!" the Doctor said indignantly. "One of Earth's finest potassium sources!"
"Whatever," I said dismissively. "Go see what else there is."
After the Doctor stopped admiring himself, he dove back into the dressing room, where he came out in a baggy gray nightshirt, and then in multicolored long underwear, and then in nothing but a pair of polka dot boxers.
"Dear lord!" I exclaimed as he leaped onto the pedestal and began striking the typical show-off macho moves, making ridiculous faces with each pose. I hate to admit it, but I was slightly impressed: he was mostly just a lanky thing of skin and bones, but he had a few hard lines he could show off. But he was so pale!
"Put some clothes on before I go blind," I said through my snickers. "Seriously, do you ever even go outside?"
The Doctor stopped his obnoxious flexing. "Okay, you know what?" he said, marching towards me. The manic grin he was doing a bad job of hiding told me that he was planning something, so as soon as he came off that platform, I was bolting in the other direction, but the Doctor caught on and began sprinting after me. Soon, he'd grabbed my arm and dragged me back, despite my efforts to lose him (they were half-hearted efforts—I was having too much fun with the Doctor to put up a good fight).
"If I have to parade around in monkey suits for your entertainment," he said, marching me back to the change rooms, "then you have to do the same for me!"
"Fine!" I exclaimed. "Just please: put some clothes on!"
He playfully shoved me into another dressing room, but I kept my head out to make sure he went in his, too. When he had, I ducked inside, ready to see more of the TARDIS's magic.
"Okay, girl," I said, rubbing my hands together, "what have you got for me?"
The furniture in the dressing room consisted of a bench, a mirror, and a floor-length cabinet toward the back. Curious, I slid open the door to the cabinet and found a long wool nightgown waiting for me on a hanger, dangling from a bar at the top. Below it sat a pair of furry brown moccasins.
"So that's how this part works," I said.
Quickly, I stripped down and pulled the nightgown and moccasins on; it was rather heavy and way too big on me, but I'd show the Doctor anyway, just for laughs. I pushed open the doors and found him waiting for me, this time wearing…
"Doctor, what is that?" I asked
The Doctor briefly looked me up and down and promptly burst into laughter.
"Hey!" I said, taking off one of the moccasins and throwing it at him. He ducked from the shoe's path and made an effort to contain his laughter.
"It's—it's—," he began, his voice a few octaves higher from breathlessness. "It's nightwear on New Earth, actually—about a thousand years before your time."
He was wearing a strange sort of nightwear, kind of like if he took baggy long underwear, cut the sleeves to the elbows and legs to the knees, and threw it on. Kind of like a brown pajama jumpsuit.
"It's awfully plain," I said. "It seems very odd on you, Mr. Bowtie."
The Doctor looked at me, pure glee in his eyes. "I could say the same for you!"
"Oh, shut up!" I exclaimed, throwing my other moccasin at him and ducking back into the changing room before he could see my giggles. After a few more tries that were all equally disastrous (the TARDIS seemed very keen on putting me in fleece onesies), I finally found a winner.
I threw the doors open and strode up to the platform, hopping on with the lightness of a cat. I showed off my baggy, silk, TARDIS-blue top and bottom set, accessorized with a matching pair of fuzzy socks and a fluffy robe of the same shade, which twirled around me as I spun, showing my selection off.
"What do you think?" I asked when I completed a revolution.
"Perfect," the Doctor said sincerely. That was when I noticed…
"You put the bowtie back on!" I exclaimed.
"I thought I looked too plain," the Doctor countered sarcastically.
"You look perfect," I said honestly. A slumber party with an alien in a weird onesie of the future and a bowtie. Let the fun begin.
Once we finished dressing for the occasion, the Doctor and I left the wardrobe and headed for the movie theater. That took another twenty minutes to find (considering the TARDIS's potential, I think she might've taken mercy on us). When we walked in, I was floored. The seats were velvet and huge and comfy—I know, because I took a dive straight into one as soon as we walked in. They were massively reclined, so we could comfortably watch the screen, which was set where the far wall and the ceiling met.
"I love you, TARDIS," I said, rolling around in the seat like a cat in a laundry basket.
The Doctor laughed at my antics, but quickly got his focus back. "Okay!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms out, his index fingers extended. "So, that way's the snack bar, and that way's movie storage," he said. He suddenly looked puzzled at his own arms, then he threw them across his chest, still pointing. It reminded me of the Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz. "No, no, it's the other way 'round…"
"I've got it," I said. "We'll each pick a way and see what we get."
"Sounds like a plan. I'll go left, then?"
"Got it!" We parted ways and marched in our chosen directions, wondering what we'd discover. As it turns out, I got the movie room (which meant the Doctor was right in the first place). It was massive! Shelves upon shelves upon shelves of movies were stacked up to the vaulted ceiling. Ladders on wheels, like in libraries, populated the aisles. I couldn't see the far wall of the room—or the aisles, even.
How in the world am I supposed to choose?
"Okay, TARDIS," I said bracingly. "There's no way I can pick out a movie on my own. Can you show me the way to—"
Suddenly, a bright string of lights lit up on the ceiling, going straight through the aisles until turning right in fifty yards. I followed their direction without question—if the TARDIS wanted to help me, I couldn't go wrong.
At first, I walked; and then anticipation got the better of me and I began jogging; and then I thought that it felt good to be running and not be chased for once, so I began sprinting, my robe fanning out behind me like a cape. I followed the lights for what seemed like ages, until they lowered from the ceiling and looped around a group of two or three shelves near the top of a bookcase. I pulled a ladder over and began climbing it, breathing heavily from my run (I was a bit sweaty—maybe it wasn't a good idea after all). I climbed laboriously up the ladder until I found the shelves, which contained all my favorites.
"TARDIS, you're wonderful," I said, scanning the movie cases. How had she known? I guess tapping into my head to translate alien languages came with some bonus knowledge. Skimming the shelf, I quickly selected my favorite of favorites: The Hunger Games (he had every movie in the saga, even the ones that hadn't been made yet—oh, wait until you see Mockingjay, Part 2!). And just in case the Doctor and I burned through it quickly, I picked out a few others: Thor; all the Narnia movies; and Clue. (They're all fabulous movies by the way, and come highly recommended.) I climbed back down and made the arduous journey back to the theater, my armful of movies slowing me down just a little bit. When I finally made it back, I found the Doctor had beaten me there. He was smack dab in the center of the room, arranging several quilts and comforters he'd found into a beautiful blanket nest. The world's biggest bowl sat next to him, filled to double its height with popcorn. It was as big as a kitchen sink! He'd also brought several types of candy with him, some of the boxes already open. There were two-liter bottles of soda as well, and a few plastic cups to drink out of.
"Well, you certainly know how to do movie nights," I said, beginning my trek down to him.
He glanced up at me, now that he knew I was here. "You took ages!" he exclaimed, continuing his nest-building. He eyed my bouquet of movies and asked, "Which one do you want to watch first?"
I skimmed the titles of the movies, deciding which would be a good starter. "Clue, definitely," I said, fishing the movie out of the pile and giving it to the Doctor. "You go get it set up," I said. I was hopeless at operating the DVD player at home—we sort of hated each other. "I'll finish this lovely blanket nest you've got here."
The Doctor took the movie and jogged toward the movie screen. Soon, I lost him from view because of the size of the room, and I set to work on the nest. The Doctor had done a really good job: he'd only made one or two easily-fixable errors. I soon corrected them and settled down into it, arranging the candy and popcorn so it was easily reachable. I cast off my robe—all this exertion was making me warm. I began munching on the popcorn (honestly some of the best in the universe) while I waited for the Doctor. The screen suddenly flared to life as the previews began, and the Doctor was soon hurrying back to me, looking over his shoulder to check the progress of the movie.
He finally dove into the nest next to me, but I'd preemptively moved the popcorn far out of the way so it didn't spill. He began pouring our soda as the overture began, and we settled in to our nest, content. We played movie after movie after movie, but I'm sorry to say we didn't do much watching. We constantly laughed and joked with one another, occasionally starting up that game where you toss popcorn into the air and your partner has to catch it in their mouth. Sometimes we even got up and began chasing each other around the room for silly reasons: because he stole candy from me, or because I draped my hands around his neck to warm them up. It was around the midpoint of Thor when I started falling asleep, and I tried to stick it out, but despite chugging cup after cup of soda, I kept getting sleepier and sleepier, even though the Doctor seemed as energetic as when we began. I was exhausted by the time the end credits began to roll.
"I'm so tired," I said, shifting around. "I might just fall asleep here."
The Doctor looked at me, but I could barely see him through my heavy eyelids—I could only tell that his bowtie had come undone, the strip of fabric hanging loosely around his neck. "Well, we can't have that," he said. "I'll not have you falling asleep amongst garbage!" It was true: snack boxes and soda bottles littered the place.
"No, I'm fine," I said. "Keep watching, I'll be fine."
"No. You deserve the best rest possible." Suddenly, I felt one arm around my shoulders and the other under my knees, and the Doctor grunted (very close to me) as he lifted me from the blankets.
"Oh, my God!" I exclaimed in surprise. "Aren't I too heavy?" He was practically a stick, and I certainly wasn't. No one had carried me like this since I was eight.
"I'm stronger than I look," he said, his effort weighing on his voice. He carried me all the way out of the theater, through the TARDIS, and back to my room, keeping up a running stream of talking that I was too tired to properly remember. He kicked open the door and waltzed inside, where we found the blankets on my bed magically pulled away, open for me to snuggle into. The Doctor set me on the bed and tucked me in, as tenderly as I would tuck in Naomi. He pulled the blankets up to my chin, made sure my pillow was smooth and fluffed up, and kissed my forehead, the fringe of hair on his forehead tickling me just a little.
"Sweet dreams, Erica," he whispered, reaching up and turning down the lights.
"Good night, Doctor," I replied, truly content for once. He got up and left me alone, closing the door behind him.
Something about our past few hours together told me that the Doctor enjoyed this more than I had. He loved doing the little things that didn't happen often when jumping from one exciting moment in time to another. No, he didn't just love them—he missed them. Sure, he could talk about exploring the universe all he wants, but I've never seen him happier than what we just did together. I was happy, too—this is the happiest I've been since hitting the TARDIS. And all of a sudden, I was thinking of the Doctor not just as a way to find Naomi again: I was thinking of him as a friend. A powerful, gentle, and sometimes terrifying friend, but a friend all the same.
As I drifted off to sleep, I thought that he was the best friend I could ever have.