Work Text:
"Look... Doctor?" Bill's brows are raised just slightly as she waits for a response, sitting on one of the seats circling the TARDIS console. Her friends had been seen into cabs, arrangements made quickly between them to have those who could crash together, no one especially eager to be alone. She had waved them off, exchanged in the brief hugs goodbye and assured them she'd be fine with her grandfather.
The Doctor had already offered even odds in an offhand remark that it would be written off as a gas explosion. Never mind that no one heard a boom. He'd promised her that he would do a few scans, make sure that there was no sign of the alien wood lice, and true to his word he was doing that now.
There were a dozen things going around in her head, some she wouldn't let herself touch on as ridiculous as they were, like the picture of her mother that had been in the house, or her old bear. Everything. The fear in the pit of her stomach that now that she had let the wonders of the universe in, she'd never be rid of the horrors of it either.
For now though, she was in the TARDIS, the Doctor's words still echoing over her. You're safe in here. You're safe in here and you always will be. It was a comforting echo, even as she held onto the edge of the seat, even as she wondered if the Doctor had felt that same ounce of anticipatory dread touching the wood of the doors.
"Doctor," she tries again, a little bit louder this time in order to try to break through his concentration. There's a noise that he makes that leads her to believe that he'd heard her, the briefest glance in her direction. She looked down, worrying the toe of her shoe against the TARDIS floor but taking that as a sign to go on. "Thank you."
This time the Doctor pauses in his tracks, still for a moment before he turns to look at her with his face painted into an expression somewhere between confusion and curiosity and hesitance. "What for?" he asks, almost softly, one hand idle at his side and the other rested gently on a bare patch of the TARDIS console.
Bill laughs a single, quiet, disbelieving laugh. "Saving our lives? Sticking about when I was doing my level best to kick you to the curb so my friends wouldn't get any kind of wrong ideas, and I thought you'd make me look bad?"
"Ah," the Doctor responds, with a little wave of his hand and a brief glance down and away. "Why would you have to thank me for that? D'you think I'd really leave you to possibly die because you think I'm not cool?" There is disbelief in his face, in a gentle sort of way, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Anyway!" his smile turns a little wider, a little more sure as he raises his free hand to point at her. "You figured a lot of it out yourself. If you hadn't made it up to her room yourself, kept out of the walls and pointed out what I'd missed... I might have been in a little bit of trouble. Just a little."
"So does that make us like, an actual team now?" she asks, smile small and hesitant but there, for all she's still holding onto the edge of the chair.
He tilts his head, almost disbelieving. "Just now? No, we've been a team. Didn't you notice? You've really got to be a little more perceptive. Well, alright-" the Doctor holds up his hands in an offering meant as peaceful, "In this part of your life at least." It's meant to be a reassurance, a giving back of space, for all there's something almost sad hidden in his eyes. Instead, it makes Bill frown. She doesn't say anything immediately, but after a long silent moment and a last glance at the console the Doctor moves to sit next to her.
She glances over at him when he does, and eventually nods as she gathers her thoughts. "Is there another part of my life anymore, actually? Or is this like... I don't know. Learning about sexism in media and suddenly it's everywhere you look? Am I going to go home and find out my foster mum's secretly an alien plotting to take over the world?"
"I could check her out," The Doctor offers, and the sincerity of it makes Bill's mouth crack into the faintest of smiles.
"You're only saying that cos you haven't met her yet. Believe me the Earth's pretty safe even if she is." She bumps her shoulder against his gently. "That wasn't actually an answer though."
"Bill." There's something about his tone that makes her meet his eyes, and something there that keeps her from looking away. "The things that you notice... They've always been here. The only difference is that now you know how to look for them. As far as normal goes, I'm a horrible person to ask. I've never been able to manage that. I sit in my office, minding my own business, grading papers, and students run into my office with sentient rocket fuel hot on their heels." He's oddly still as he talks, a hint of humor and no blame in his voice. "Lots of people live their lives without any of this touching them. Loads even. You could, probably. The thing is... It isn't the ordinary days that stick out, that pile up inside your head. It's the extraordinary ones. Good or bad. I was going to wipe your memory and you asked me not to, for the sake of good dreams. Do you regret that now?"
"No," Bill responds without a need for thought, somewhere between disbelieving and offended. "I mean, if you'd done that, I'dve been eaten by that house. I'd be in it right now, and so would my friends. We'd be dead. Almost guaranteed." There's a creeping horror in her expression, as if she hadn't bothered to really think in that direction before. She shakes her head slowly in an attempt to clear it.
"Maybe not," is all that the Doctor offers at first, "that's not giving yourself a lot of credit. You're smart, and you've got good instincts."
"You really think that?" she asks, the tone of even the question gently pleased. He gives her a non-committal shrug, but a smile that says that he absolutely does. "I just...need a break sometime, in between. To process. To not start jumping at every little thing. Does that make sense?"
"In theory. I sort of gave up on processing a while back," the Doctor tells her in a joke that isn't actually a joke, and the way that she looks at him makes him keep talking lest she can get a question in. "It makes sense. Just remember that wariness isn't always a bad thing. It could save your life sometime."
"Still prefer to not have it be all the time. Though... speaking of. Are we clear?" She nods her head in the direction of the console, of the readings the Doctor had been taking. "Are those things gone, or is whoever the city sends out to check that out going to be in big trouble?"
"So far so good." Even that amount of reassurance lets a little of the tension out of Bill's shoulders, takes off a little of the weight. "Of course there were a few more scans I was intending to run..."
There's a soft wince from Bill, and a smile that's almost apologetic, "Sorry."
"Don't be. No one is going in the front gate for now, I've extended the TARDIS's shields a bit. I've also gotten a text off to UNIT, who can at least probably be trusted to handle clean-up. Probably." There's a pause as if he's questioning just how certain he is of that. "I can drop you off at home as soon as I hear them coming."
"Actually... I feel really stupid asking, but would it be alright if I stayed here? Just for tonight! I can just, curl up on a chair or in a corner or something, not that I think I'll be doing a lot of sleeping anyway. Or... any." She fiddles idly with the hem of her shirt, unsure of when, exactly, her death grip had ended, when her hands had found their way to her lap instead.
"Not ready to face space mum yet?" It's teasing, but of the gentlest sort, and the Doctor continues before she can answer. "Of course you can stay here, but whwy would you want to sleep on this thing?" He bounces slightly on the seat for illustration's sake. "We can find you a room. Maybe a movie?"
"Really?" Bill asks, and the Doctor doesn't answer so much as he flourishes to his feet and offers her a hand, a solitary raised eyebrow, and a smile that needs no further description.
"Come on," he tells her, and she takes his hand and lets him help pull her to her feet, and down into the TARDIS halls, the both holding on just a touch more tightly than was needed.