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doctor who (dk) the ninth doctor

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[The Doctor is in a relatively good mood, and it may have something to do with the fact that he's got one of his companions with him. This companion is a fluffy black cat named Mortimer, who is currently lapping up a saucer of milk. The Doctor shakes his head as he watches him.]

Dunno how you can stand the stuff. All the species in all the universe and it has to come out of a cow.

Suppose it's a good thing we restocked the kitchen, though. 'Course, it's gonna have to be restocked every couple of weeks now that we've got so many mouths to feed. [He doesn't sound overly frustrated by this, however. Quite the opposite, in fact.] Remember when it was just you and me? Blimey, seems like forever ago... [he trails off, brooding for a moment. Then he turns his attention to Mortimer again, since the cat is demanding it by plopping down onto Nine's lap.]

Speaking of new companions, d'you think we ought to get another cat? Seems like you could use a feline friend, and maybe one who's mum won't try to claw me to death. No more domestics for me, thanks!

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[the Doctor is laughing now, and it's rather manic] He wouldn't believe me. I told him, and he wouldn't listen...

[stern] Doctor. [He puts his hands on the Doctor's shoulders, meeting his expression, his voice firm, his eyes calm and unmoved.] Calm down.

[Because if he is honest, he has to admit that these flashes of manic behaviour have scared him, and this is all he can think to do to bring his brother back down to the ground.]

[he's startled out of it by the touch, and manages to take a deep breath] Sorry, I just...I broke, during the argument, and told him things. Things I don't want to remember...[he's very blatantly not meeting Brax's gaze, despite how close he is]

[And Braxiatel, still concerned, does not let go.] The things we do and see done in wars make us all want to forget.

[shakes his head] Imagine the worst possible thing you could see in a war and multiply it by infinity. That's what I can't forget, no matter how much I try. No matter how much I want to remember it differently...

If I may point out, you can't actually multiple anything by infinity. Unless you've been getting into esoteric branches of mathematics again. [His flippant pedantry done, Braxiatel lets go of the Doctor, but stays close.] You needn't tell me anything. But I'll listen to what the future may hold.

[the Doctor rolls his eyes at the technicality, but then he reaches out for Brax again -- almost like a kid would reach for a teddy bear] It wasn't Gallifrey or the universe, Brax. It was Gallifrey or all of creation. All of Time.

[Braxiatel allows this, because above all else, the Doctor is family. In dark hours, Braxiatel has been comforted to know that the Doctor will always be out there, somewhere, alive and living freely no matter what happens to Brax. The least Brax can do in turn is to be here right now for the Doctor.]

[Quietly,] That... is a very significant thing for the Time Lords to deem unnecessary.

[The Doctor is grateful for it, and holds onto him tightly, as though Brax is the only thing holding him together -- which isn't far from the truth] Everything's unnecessary when you're a being of pure consciousness. Why worry about a thing like Time when you could rise above it? Least, that was the popular theory. [he's laughing again, and it's no less manic than it was before] ...The Theory of Rassilon!

[Braxiatel starts to worry that he is going to have to hypnotise the Doctor into calming down. The Time War, for whatever reason, does not scare him.] It's been considered before. As I recall, we always rejected it, save for the Celestis during that particular knot of continuity we call the Second War in Heaven. I also seem to recall that such an existence is reliant on physical beings thinking of them, which makes the destruction of time and space rather idiotic, in my opinion.

[As always, Braxiatel can't approach the problem directly. But this is all he can think to say.]

[The Doctor's not really paying attention again, but Brax's voice is soothing. Not soothing enough to stop the laughter completely, though.] Yep, I think "rather idiotic" sums the whole thing up. But no, Lord President Rassilon insisted that was the only way to come out of the War alive -- it wasn't just Daleks, Brax. They were just the beginning.

But out of all the horrors...the Deathsmiths of Goth, the Skaro Degradations, the Hordes of Travesty, the Could've Been King and his Army of Meanwhiles and Neverweres, and the Nightmare Child...Rassilon was the worst. The Time Lords were the worst. So I stopped them. And now it's just me.

What Gallifreyan naming schemes. [He allows himself that moment of dryness before he tries to find a reply for the Doctor. His voice is just beneath hypnotism; he doesn't dare try it, lest it fail and make things work. But it's the most calming voice he has to work with against what he has to say.]

We have always been the worst. The most despotic, the most corrupt, the most arrogant, the most powerful. Because there was never anyone to stop us, and we would never let go of what we had come to own. That was Rassilon's gift to us. Power, and lives long enough that we can almost forget the guilt of misusing it. Is it so surprising that his plan would drag down the rest of history for the sake of our survival?

As I said, Doctor. You are my choice for Gallifrey's future.

[there's silence for several moments from the Doctor, before a noise escapes that sounds suspiciously like a sob. Because he's finally allowing himself to cry -- because it's Brax. Family. And his family believes in him. Eventually, after a concerned mew from Mortimer, he speaks.]

You'd be mine, you know. You and Romana.

[It hurts him, to see the Doctor in so much pain. Something in the back of his head says that he can save the Doctor from all this, if he'll just take the necessary measures.]

[We all have to survive. Haven't we.]

[Braxiatel pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, offering it to the Doctor. Silk, of course. Braxiatel's eyes are dry. He hasn't cried in years, except in his bad dreams.] What a tempting prospect, Thete. Are you completely certain you're willing to give her up to me?

[He wants to reach his mind out to the Doctor's, but they're both sealed in one way or another. He settles for a reassuring hand.] I said it before, Doctor. I don't blame you. I never will.

[He takes the handkerchief, and attempts to dry his own eyes, looking rather embarrassed for breaking down. He shrugs at the question, though.] Haven't I given her up to you already?

[the reassuring hand helps -- any contact helps, whether physical or mental. And the Doctor realises he hasn't told Brax the latter can work...at least on his end, anyway. But he frowns at the statement.] I know. Just don't know if I can stop blaming myself.

[With a bit of a smile] I doubt it. Dwelling unnecessarily seems rather a speciality for you.

Bit difficult not to dwell on it with so many Time Lords on the Plane, even if I can't sense you all properly. Not that I'd trade having you lot here for anything, mind you.

Indeed. Who else would let you ruin their nice handkerchiefs?

[Taking pity on the Doctor,] This is about the time when I'd subtly let Benny know my drinks cabinet is open to her.

[the Doctor barely resists the urge to chuck said handkerchief at Brax's face. but he is distracted by the offer of drinks.] Could use a very strong one right about now, if you wouldn't mind.

[Braxiatel puts a hand on the Doctor's back, as one might with an old friend visiting one's asteroid when one wishes to drag said old friend over to see a rare and fascinating artefact (which may or may not be cursed, as this is just one's luck), but in this situation, Braxiatel is helpfully guiding/dragging the Doctor over to the bar, possibly using the gesture as a front for comforting the Doctor with contact.] It's usually a helpful distraction at that. Always less likely to yell at me if I give her a brandy or a glass of champagne.

[And the Doctor is leaning against him, carrying Mortimer in his arms] Maybe I ought to drop him back in the TARDIS -- don't think the bar is a good place for a cat.

Clearly you've forgotten with whom, exactly, you decided to leave Wolsey.

...Fair point. [the kitty stays! And makes himself comfy on a table, once they reach the bar. Nine makes a beeline for the strongest stuff he can find.] You want anything?

[Braxiatel is somewhat exasperated by his own apparent inability to avoid alcoholics.] Whatever you want. [Braxiatel would rather pet the kitty.]

[Mortimer purrs happily, and the Doctor hands Brax a ginger beer, then downs his own] Don't get all annoyed, you dragged me here.

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that icon makes it seem like they're married. oh wait. :|

What terribly complicated rituals Gallifreyans must have for this sort of thing

Which is obvs. why they should screw the rituals. pun intended.

Shame on you, shame!

You know you love it.