Subfic: The Powers of Two, Part II
The TARDIS doesn’t assert herself like she used to do (as he recalled) but she is a sneaky thing and she lulls the console until he slips into a light doze. For once he doesn’t fight it. Sleep would be a gentle thing, and he has had so little of it of late...so little in this body.
And then he and the TARDIS are both shocked by the explosion of biosonic Dimensions 12, 7, 2, and 21 in that order.
The attack against the 2nd dimension is just a hiccup--thank Rassilon! Even he couldn’t survive more than one aptosecond of life without height--but 12 is the dimension of Consciousness (thank goodness that one hit first; it made the others hurt a lot less), and 7 was the Starting Plane, and 21...
The Doctor crawls to the console, clutching the floor with all available fingers. There is, he is just beginning to realize, an art to leveraging with one’s toes whilst they are still inside one’s shoes.
“What...was that?” He panted, and he grimly thinks that all that tossing about in his Fifth Form had come in handy--hadn’t forgotten how to take a spill even if his height was different--oh, best not think about ‘height’ right now...save that one for later if there is a later...
Clap. His hand smashes the diagnostic from VISUAL to SOUND as audial energies are least likely to be affected by any hiccups. The TARDIS sighs like a hot-air balloon and after a few seconds, he follows suit.
Well! No harm done, and Ace wasn’t even in the rooms affected. If he’s to understand the readings, this only affected the parts of the TARDIS that simultaneously existed in his Second Incarnation.
Then the Doctor’s relieved smile goes...stiff. A thought is congealing its way into his brain.
Time Lords are learned to take orders from birth--it is the only way they can take them. But they still don’t like to be told what to do.
He could theoretically poke his head down and see what in Time and Space is going on...just in case the sanctity of the Timeline is being threatened again, but he carried on a lot of his Second Life’s traits into this one.
He jumps and looks down at the Console. “I’m sorry, old girl!” He apologises with all his hearts. “Sorry, sorry! Bit of a rough shake!”
The TARDIS is not impressed, and says so with the complete absence of sound.
“Fine.” He sulks. And pouts. And mentally plays the spoons and pretends he isn’t really logging a search-worm into the computers. But he is, and as soon as answers are forthcoming, he’ll find out about it.
The fact that answers could come anywhere from three minutes to four lifetimes has nothing to do with his capitulation. It is, in effect, out of his hands.
And he returns to his chair, eats a Jelly Baby, and listens to the console settle down into something approximating a calmer frame of mind.
