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Leela, outcast, strange, unwanted and unfitting, finds places where this planet will accept her. They are few and far between, and she with her hands that will only ever have one shape, can only mold so much.
But Romana. But Narvin. But Braxiatel. Eventually, with practice, their hands learn to hold her shape.
Romana holds best her waist, and the ribs that house her single-beating heart. Braxiatel learns to hold her hands, and is so delightfully yielding in their shape, so gentle around her cunning, firm grasp. Narvin holds her face the best, palms upon her cheeks, forehead desperate in its press against hers.
Her Time Lords learn well enough. Leela finds, in time, the nooks that suit her in this strange and foreign world—and in there, she settles, satisfied, and strong.
—
They call her powerful, they call her hungry, they call her the later craving the former. They call her stubborn and unyielding. They call her the demise of her world, or the savior of it, and which is the worse and more oppressive title, she cannot possibly say.
But Braxiatel, when he does not call her blazing, calls her lovely, and that is such a soft, simple term that she cannot help but admire it. She loves the rare occasion when she is simple in his eyes.
And Leela—Leela calls her brave. Romana can believe that, most days, but the days when she believes it down to her hearts, when Leela looks her in the eyes and says it with the earnesty that only Leela can... those days, Romana's hearts beat a little differently. She hopes she can live up to something so plain and so moving.
And Narvin—ha, Narvin. Narvin calls her impossible, calls her immoveable, calls her a demise. And later, he calls her an unlikely boon, a rock, a promise. The change is subtle—the words all there but the connotations opposite. It's funny how people can change their minds.
Romana, Lady President of her Planet, has the most amazing secret: if she reaches, she has someone who will reach back.
—
Braxiatel is a man of focus. He has agendas, lists of things to do. He has futures to contend with and visions to seek out. He has options, and options, and options again. He has... responsibility. He has the delightful burden of foresight and all the possibilities and string-pulling that go along with it.
But...
If there are kinder moments, they are the ones with his own.
Romana, who snaps at him. She reigns him in, really—he, who exposits, who elaborates, who elucidates—she cuts him down to the plainest parts of him, which is far from easy, but perhaps then she sees him a bit better, and a bit less in reflections.
Leela, similarly, refuses the erudite and roundabout conversations, and when he speaks to her, he must phrase himself just so. He cannot conceal much from Leela. Apart from speaking so that she will understand, she, herself, understands more than she lets on. She sees more than she lets on, and cuts to the core of a matter like a knife through skin. He does not physically bleed before her. He does not have to.
And Narvin, plain little Coordinator, is nearly as good at lies as Brax himself—and so, Braxiatel cannot lie to him in the same way. They catch each other time and time again—in lies, and in truths, too. Catching each other in truths, perhaps, is among the strangest and most revealing of exposures. Odd, when two marvelous liars are at a loss for lying. Stranger, still, when they start unburying truths, and know each other far better than either would like.
Truth and plainness are odd things. They are luxuries. Braxiatel would know. He's made a planet of art and finery. He knows a good thing when it taps him on the shoulder.
—
The general laws of mathematics dictate that triangles are among the most stable shapes in existence. Three fixed angles locked in by three fixed lines. No shifting may occur within the shape. One can expect stillness, dependability. Something to build upon.
Romana, radical, knows too well her way forward, and follows it well. She lights a path, whether Narvin wholly agrees or no.
Braxiatel, too arrogant, smiles with ease and settles himself back. He is no paragon to follow but the best intentions have a way of shining through.
And Leela—lovely Leela—Leela whose hands speak for her words, whose phrases mean nothing more than what she says, whose intensity and humor must necessarily coexist.
All things must have their grounding or else they cannot persist. Narvin is a diligent student of mathematics--he knows he is not at all different from the rest of the universe.
Between the hands of his own, chosen people, Narvin finds stability. Between their hands, his world balances—and he, the actor on behalf of his planet, can rest his weary bones.