FIC: Childish Things [Four/Romana, PG]

[lizbee]

Title: Childish Things
Summary: Romana is sulking.  The Doctor is saying all the wrong things.  Go fish.
Notes: Set between "State of Decay" and "Warrior's Gate".

Childish Things
by LizBee



"Romana," said the Doctor, without looking at her, "might I trouble you for a Cardinal of Spades?"

"You might not," she said.

Now he put down his cards – he'd been pulling a series of alarming faces at them – and said, "You have to answer the question properly."

"Fine," she said, and sighed. "'Go ... fish'."

"See? That wasn't so hard."

"This is a child's game." Even as the words left her mouth, she realised they sounded petulant. Well, fine. She could be just as petulant as him, just watch her. "What happened to Monte Carlo, and New Las Vegas? I thought you were going to teach me proper Earth games."

"I am," said the Doctor, "and we're going to start with the basics. You won't find New Las Vegas in E-space, Romana. Well, not unless some pretty severe dimensional shifts have taken place. Also," he dropped his voice, "don't tell K9, but I've quite forgotten how to play poker. I used to be quite good at it, you know."

"I expect you were taught by a legendary Earth poker player."

He blinked. "How did you know?"

"Lucky guess."

Romana rested her chin in her hand and watched him crawl about on the floor, gathering cards. How had an entire deck ended up scattered over the console? Not even human children, which she understood were a particularly undisciplined subgroup, could compete with the Doctor for immaturity. The bag of jellybabies had fallen out of his pocket.

"You might help, you know," he called over his shoulder, "instead of sitting there sighing like a disapproving cardinal. I don't know why you're so determined not to go back to Gallifrey, you'll be right at home there..." He must have realised he was going too far, because his face looked horrified even as he kept speaking, "a couple of centuries and you'll have forgotten all about K9 and me..."

Romana was already on her feet, reaching behind her for the door.

"Now, come on, Romana," the Doctor was saying, but she was already making her escape. Not to her room; she'd spent too much time there lately, and she was sick of the sight of it. She went in the opposite direction, to the Cloister Room.

"What's wrong with Romana?" she heard Adric asking, but then she closed the doors and the rest of the conversation was drowned out.

The Cloister Room was silent except for the rustle of leaves, moving in response to some unnatural breeze. Romana wondered if the TARDIS was reacting to her mood. She sat on a bench, drew her knees up to her chest and brooded.

Would she be more or less upset if she could convince herself that he hadn't meant it? Thoughtless remarks revealed a great deal, but she thought the Doctor had more care for his words. An endless stream of babble, but he always knew what he was saying.

On the other hand – it was his own fear that he'd revealed. As if she could ever forget him. As if she could simply go home and carry on as if she had never known him. Did he picture himself coming home, many years in the future, and finding her changed. Oh, the Doctor, I knew him once. Curious chap. Not quite the thing, you know. Impossible. He underestimated himself, he underestimated her.

As if she would ever go home.

The doors opened, but she didn't look up at his entrance. The Doctor sat beside her, adjusted his scarf and said, "K-9 is rather worried."

"Mm," she said.

"Adric, too."

"But not you?"

"I don't need to wonder why you're upset."

Romana looked at him. It was, she understood, the closest he would come to offering an apology. She took his hand and squeezed it.

"When I leave," she said, "you mustn't make a fuss."

"Make a fuss? I never—"

"Stop," she said, although she couldn't keep from smiling. "Just for once, Doctor, please be serious."

He obeyed, and once again, she saw that flash of fear in his eyes.

"I think," she said, slowly, "that I would like to stay in E-space."

"We may not have a choice about it."

"But if the choice comes," she said, "I'll stay. Alone. And I'll be perfectly all right, you mustn't worry, or try to get me to change my mind—"

"If it's Gallifrey that worries you," he said, leaning in very close, his voice low and urgent, "we can certainly evade the Time Lords if we're careful. I could make a new randomiser." He smiled. "I've spent far too long playing at being the prodigal son. I shall earn my fatted calf."

She didn't understand the metaphor, but she recognised what he was offering. This truce, between the Doctor and the Time Lords, it was comfortable. He could carry on traveling, interfering, being his curious self, but there was always Gallifrey in the background, need him as much as he needed them, and with as much reluctance to admit it. And he was willing to throw that away, for her.

"No," she said, although part of her wanted to accept. She suppressed the cowardly urge. "It's not just Gallifrey."

"Ah," he said.

"I could leave Gallifrey quite happily, but – I find it's not as easy leaving you."

Her voice cracked, a little, and she looked away.

"Am I ... as bad as they were?"

Was he thinking of a time when he, too, had left his home, setting out for new horizons in a purloined time capsule? She had never asked how he felt back in those days. She didn't suppose she ever would.

"No," she said at last, but it wasn't a matter for comparison. "No, of course not. Just different, that's all." She leaned back. "I think I need my own space, that's all. Otherwise I'll simply—"

"Stagnate," the Doctor said.

"Yes. Stagnate." Like E-space, and Gallifrey, too small to generate the social factors that kept societies in a state of healthy flux. She could shake up E-space nicely, she thought, and maybe then she might consider returning to Gallifrey.

"K-9 will miss you, of course," the Doctor said.

"And Adric."

"Still," he added, with a wide, sad smile, "it's not as though you're leaving today." He reached into his pocket and withdrew the deck of cards. "Another game?"

"Of Go Fish?"

He began to shuffle. "There's another Earth game," he said. "They call it 'Happy Families'. Not very glamorous, of course, they don't play it at Monte Carlo, but—"

"Teach me," said Romana. "Monte Carlo can wait."

While he dealt the cards, she reached into his pocket and found a bag of jellybabies. It was childish, but she was awfully fond of the red ones.



end