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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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[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.

Did I? How stupid of me. [scratching under the kitty's neck]

[rolls his eyes, focusing on the beer for awhile. eventually, and quietly;] Thanks, Brax.

[gently] Nothing to thank me for, Thete.

[shakes his head] You listened.

And you spoke. How well-matched we are.

[Braxiatel contents himself with giving the cat attention, rather than risking inebriation or excessive sincerity.]

Besides, I've spent centuries learning how to ignore everything you say. This is your compensation.

[The Doctor laughs softly, and this time there is a bit of humour in it] Ever heard of overcompensating?

I have, actually. Is your sonic screwdriver working now?

[:|] Oi, that's not overcompensating.

Did I say it was? What a suspicious mind you have.

[sulks] You implied it.

If implications were grounds for allegations, the face of Gallifrey would be a very different one.

[eloquently] Shut up, Brax.

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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.

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