[He scoops his hand mid-air to gesture at his younger self to come in.
The walk-in closet is as cozy as ever. There is enough science-y odds and ends to keep the Doctor stimulated for about two to three hours before he feels like sticking his head out to see what the other scientists are doing. But sitting at the middle of the table (among more equipment) is a bowl custard with about half a dozen fish fingers sticking out like tiny, fishy skyscrapers.
He’s practically beaming at the Doctor like a child on Christmas morning.]
An entire box of fish fingers stuck inside the back of the icebox. And I thought I hadn’t had these in years! So I thought, why the hell not. Might as well give it a go, just like old times.
[ The closet is a whole lot bigger than he's expecting for a station with too many little utility closets scattered along its corridors between rooms, but the size of the space is hardly the first thing on his mind. Oh, no, not when he spots the table and the equipment and the —
— and the bowl of custard and fish fingers just sitting there, beautiful as ever. Absolutely — ] — exquisite.
[ The Doctor's bright enthusiasm is echoed within his younger counterpart, grinning just as brilliantly. Oh, he could hug himself. In fact — in fact, he does just that, launching himself at the older man for a brief moment. Forget existentialism, forget all the rules of time and space, sometimes he can be a very thoughtful bloke, eh? And sometimes it's nice to do something nice for ... well, yourself. ]
It's been some time for me, too. Oh, this is brilliant.
[A swell of mixed emotions swirls around the Doctor’s head. On the one hand, his younger self is doing the hugging thing with him. On the other hand, there is a warmth that he always felt at the bottom of his two hearts. A distinct solace only his previous regeneration can captivate so well. They have had their fits of banter, but they were also the same man who enjoys the simple things in this universe.
The hug may feel foreign, but the Doctor manages to wrap his arms around the other and pats his shoulder.
At least he hasn’t gone all smoochy.
He pulls away and gestures to the younger lad.]
Well, go on! Help yourself before they get all icy.
[ He hasn't gone all smoochy yet. There will come a day, Doctor, mark his words, when a smoochy may just happen.
But for now, when the older Doctor pulls back, this one doesn't waste any time to move for the unoccupied seat by the bowl of fish fingers as though this were his birthday and he's just received the best gift. ]
Oh, this really is brilliant. [ He plucks the one nearest to him with his fingers, making sure to get the tip good and custardy. And then he takes a bite, closing his eyes to savour the experience, locking all of this into his memory. This will be the day he remembers when two regenerations of himself shared fish-custard in a utility closet with fantastic static-carpets. ]
Mm. Tastes just like they ought to — the perfect sweet and savoury.
Same Doctor. Different face. Different personalities. Oftentimes arguing with each other about who best knows how to jumpstart a thermonuclear plant. But deep down, they are both a silly, daft old man. They both wear the weight of all of time and space on their shoulders.
Nevertheless, as soon as the other plops in one chair, he makes his way around the other side. Still donning a pair of woolly socks to rub his feet against the patch of carpet.]
Didn’t think this body would be receptive to sweets. [Now grabbing for one of the sticks, full of delectable cream at its edge.] Turns out this mouth detests pears.
[ That they do. And it's moments like these, brief stints of levity, even between two of the same person, that somehow make the weight of what they bear feel just a little more manageable. It's the understanding that it's moments just like this one that make up a whole long lifetimes worth of good memories, a reminder of why they do the things they do, why they continue to help, why they call themselves 'the Doctor'.
And sometimes it's just nice to be a little bit childish. ]
Pears! Oh, now what did a pear ever do to you, eh? [ Jokingly said, of course, because the Doctor (fondly) remembers his first night with this face. Mouth half-full of fish-custard, he waves his bitten stick about. ] It's beans for me. And bacon. And there was that yogurt too — with the bits in. Tasted ghastly.
Ah— [The nostalgia hits him like a sack of potatoes, ever the pickiest eater.] I forgot about the beans. It wasn’t the same texture. They were always so gritty. I don’t know why they were so gritty?! It was fine when I had them in my sandshoes.
[He says all the while twirling his fish finger around as a pointer.]
Don’t even get me started with the yoghurt with the little bits in them. Such an unpleasant feeling to have something so creamy. Only to have your mouth bombarded with these unwanted guests.
[ There's a flap of his — thankfully uncustard-y — fish finger as he, too, waves it about in enthusiastic agreement.
He groans. ]
Beans. [ Said like he's definitely earned a vendetta against them for wronging him. Wronging them. ] The texture was all wrong, all wrong. So, then. What happened with the pears?
[ The Doctor hums, taking a bite out of his own fish-stick. He chews thoughtfully, considering the pear.
And he believes his older self; has no real reason not to. They're sort of ... squishy sometimes, aren't they? And sweet and a bit apple-y, but sometimes absolutely not. Deceptive is right. ]
I wonder if this mouth likes them. You know, in all my time with this face, I don't think a pear's crossed my path. I've been rather pearless, and not by choice.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ He looks cheerful about it.
Tried it, didn't like it though. Next time: no knocking. ]
I think I was going for polite. All right, me, what've you got then, eh?
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[He scoops his hand mid-air to gesture at his younger self to come in.
The walk-in closet is as cozy as ever. There is enough science-y odds and ends to keep the Doctor stimulated for about two to three hours before he feels like sticking his head out to see what the other scientists are doing. But sitting at the middle of the table (among more equipment) is a bowl custard with about half a dozen fish fingers sticking out like tiny, fishy skyscrapers.
He’s practically beaming at the Doctor like a child on Christmas morning.]
An entire box of fish fingers stuck inside the back of the icebox. And I thought I hadn’t had these in years! So I thought, why the hell not. Might as well give it a go, just like old times.
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— and the bowl of custard and fish fingers just sitting there, beautiful as ever. Absolutely — ] — exquisite.
[ The Doctor's bright enthusiasm is echoed within his younger counterpart, grinning just as brilliantly. Oh, he could hug himself. In fact — in fact, he does just that, launching himself at the older man for a brief moment. Forget existentialism, forget all the rules of time and space, sometimes he can be a very thoughtful bloke, eh? And sometimes it's nice to do something nice for ... well, yourself. ]
It's been some time for me, too. Oh, this is brilliant.
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The hug may feel foreign, but the Doctor manages to wrap his arms around the other and pats his shoulder.
At least he hasn’t gone all smoochy.
He pulls away and gestures to the younger lad.]
Well, go on! Help yourself before they get all icy.
no subject
But for now, when the older Doctor pulls back, this one doesn't waste any time to move for the unoccupied seat by the bowl of fish fingers as though this were his birthday and he's just received the best gift. ]
Oh, this really is brilliant. [ He plucks the one nearest to him with his fingers, making sure to get the tip good and custardy. And then he takes a bite, closing his eyes to savour the experience, locking all of this into his memory. This will be the day he remembers when two regenerations of himself shared fish-custard in a utility closet with fantastic static-carpets. ]
Mm. Tastes just like they ought to — the perfect sweet and savoury.
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Don’t you dare come in with that smooch.Same Doctor. Different face. Different personalities. Oftentimes arguing with each other about who best knows how to jumpstart a thermonuclear plant. But deep down, they are both a silly, daft old man. They both wear the weight of all of time and space on their shoulders.
Nevertheless, as soon as the other plops in one chair, he makes his way around the other side. Still donning a pair of woolly socks to rub his feet against the patch of carpet.]
Didn’t think this body would be receptive to sweets. [Now grabbing for one of the sticks, full of delectable cream at its edge.] Turns out this mouth detests pears.
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And sometimes it's just nice to be a little bit childish. ]
Pears! Oh, now what did a pear ever do to you, eh? [ Jokingly said, of course, because the Doctor (fondly) remembers his first night with this face. Mouth half-full of fish-custard, he waves his bitten stick about. ] It's beans for me. And bacon. And there was that yogurt too — with the bits in. Tasted ghastly.
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[He says all the while twirling his fish finger around as a pointer.]
Don’t even get me started with the yoghurt with the little bits in them. Such an unpleasant feeling to have something so creamy. Only to have your mouth bombarded with these unwanted guests.
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[ There's a flap of his — thankfully uncustard-y — fish finger as he, too, waves it about in enthusiastic agreement.
He groans. ]
Beans. [ Said like he's definitely earned a vendetta against them for wronging him. Wronging them. ] The texture was all wrong, all wrong. So, then. What happened with the pears?
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[The Doctor doesn’t remember when exactly he came to such a conclusion, but within his heart of hearts; it seemed right.]
Pears are eerily deceptive.
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And he believes his older self; has no real reason not to. They're sort of ... squishy sometimes, aren't they? And sweet and a bit apple-y, but sometimes absolutely not. Deceptive is right. ]
I wonder if this mouth likes them. You know, in all my time with this face, I don't think a pear's crossed my path. I've been rather pearless, and not by choice.