Lost In Time: A Doctor Who Fanfiction

Chapter 99 - The Tea is Spilled (Sort of)

The Doctor jerked hard enough that some of his tea splashed over the edge of his cup and landed on his saucer and hand. "What?" he sputtered, hastily placing the saucer and cup on the nearby end table.

Lyssa blinked up at him sleepily, wondering what he was on about. "You said I was dying," she reminded him. "Why?"

He was staring at her like she'd lost her mind, which was quite frankly rather rude of him. "When did I say that?" he demanded, looking upset. 

"When the TARDIS nearly blew up?" she tried. When there were still no signs of recognition she sighed impatiently. "It was before I'd found any of you guys. I ran into Nine and he said I was dying. Also, apparently if you - well, he - touched me it would kill me faster?" She frowned "But that doesn't really make sense though. I hugged you like twenty minutes later and it didn't kill me." She paused, eyes widening in shocked realization. "Or did it, and this is just my brain trying to realize it? Is this a kindness? A nice memory before I depart from this mortal coil forever?" Her hands lifted up to clutch at her temples as she tried to process her impending doom.

The Doctor, who had been staring at her the whole while, closed his mouth abruptly. He shut his eyes and took a long, deliberate breath before letting it out again slowly, lowering his head to rest on his closed fists. "Fairy-girl," he started plaintively. "Why? Why?"

"Why... what?" she said uncertainly, dropping the drama and shifting so she could look at him easier, less sleepy now that she had something to focus on.

He lifted his head and turned to face her, looking like he was struggling with his words. "Lyssa..." he said, speaking slowly and clearly with an effort. "How did you think I would react to your... question?"

She squinted at him, not understanding the issue. "With an answer? You were the one who told me I was dying, I figured you'd at least know why." If he didn't, she might just file a complaint, or something. Honestly, the nerve of him.

He pursed his lips and nodded once. "Okay. Well, I appreciate the vote of confidence, but typically I need at least a little bit of context first. Otherwise, certain questions can... sometimes cause alarm."

She frowned. "But you were the one who said it. Why would you need context?"

He sighed, leaning his face back down onto his hands again. "Give me strength," he pleaded, voice muffled by his hands. He sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face and sitting back up again. "Lyssa, if I came up to you and asked for help learning why I was dying, being completely serious, what would your reaction be?"

She tilted her head to the side thoughtfully. "Well... if I could tell that you meant it, I'd obviously be pretty concerned. Why?" He just stared at her, which was also rather rude of him. Hadn't he ever learned not to stare at people? "Why are you star... oh. Ohhh. Yeah, okay, that's fair." She sagged as the dots finally connected. "Whoops."

"Yeah," he affirmed with raised eyebrows. "'Oh.'"

"Sorry," she muttered, not looking him in the eyes. "Probably should've thought that one through a little more."

"I mean, maybe," he snorted, nudging her with his knee. 

She peeked up at him with a penitent expression. "Sorry," she offered again sheepishly. "I didn't mean for that to come across quite the way it probably did."

He let out a sigh, then shook his head with a small smile. "Well, at least I never have to be worried about if you're dying or not. You'll just come up and ask me why you're dying," he needled her. "And don't worry about fair play, I'll be sure to come up and ask you why any time I think I may dying."