Fight or Flight ( Doctor Who Fanfiction )

Excerpt from Tokyo

I was fully aware that on the TARDIS, I lived my life outside of my normal timestream. As long as I was with him, I wasn't beholden to any commitments I'd made in the Tokyo Ring until I wanted to be. But I wanted to be. I missed my work.

So, I let them all get wrapped up in the glamor and the lights, and then peeled off on my own pathway to a nearby skyscraper. I was only partly aware that I was jeopardizing all the progress I'd made with Amy.

*

No one was in the control room when I returned, clutching my right forearm in my left hand, so I assumed they were still out, or maybe asleep.

I carefully unwrapped my arm, and winced at the inflammation around the gash. Nothing too troublesome. I used a flask from inside my shoe to disinfect it, and settled down with a sterilized length of thread and needle from a little first aid pouch in my pocket to patch myself up.

The cut was reasonably shallow, but wrapped around the side of my forearm at a strange angle, and I would have to stitch it with my left even though I was right handed. I'd handled stitches before, but this was a challenge.

At the sound of footsteps, I stood up, ready to dart away from Amy's horrified stare. It was just the Doctor standing there, very much not asleep.

I sat back down with a sigh. He posed less of a problem.

"Christ," he said, "what happened to you? Hey, hey - " he stepped forward and held out his palms out like he was approaching a wounded animal who might lash out or run. "Give that to me."

I shifted away.

"I've treated you before," he said. "You know I can do it."

"That was very different. Are your hands clean?"

"Yes, they are."

I frowned, but carefully handed the needle to him. He got down on one knee and continued the sewing carefully. His stitches were straighter and more even than mine. Of course they were; he's a doctor. There was no reason for that to piss me off the way it did.

I fiddled with the fingernails on my free hand and looked at the soft blue-green glow in the center console. Exhausted, my head fell towards the shoulder that the Doctor wasn't tending. My eyes closed for a moment.

There was a gentle touch, behind my ear, right at the scar underneath the place where my skull gave way to my neck.

I breathed in sharply and sat up straight, looking down at the Doctor with fire rising through my chest and neck to my face and considering breaking his nose.

He pulled his hand back, realizing his touch had put something dangerous in my eyes.

I took a deep breath, looking away so I could get a handle on my anger. I closed the nails of my free hand into its palm.

"You're not a clerk," he said softly, and didn't look me in the eye. It wasn't a question. He already knew.

My voice shook with restraint. "No."

He was quiet for a moment, letting me cool off, and I felt him pull another stitch through. "What do you really do?"

"If I tell you, will you promise not to tell Amy about this?"

He recognized that this was as good a deal as he would get, so he nodded. "She'll ask questions if you let her see this, but my lips are sealed."

I conceded. "I fight."