Anger Management

By Holdur

doctorwho100 fic

Prompt: Children

When he is angry at his companions, he likes to watch them sleep. He knows that otherwise he would take his trusty hammer and bash things into proper order, so he keeps away from the working parts of the TARDIS as much as possible.

Tonight his ship is unusually quiet. It's as if she knows that he is in a massive fury and doesn't want to be kicked, like a dog with its tail between its legs. He throws her into flight with the hammer at the ready (she takes off as easily as he ever wanted her to, the traitor) and stalks down the corridors.

He ends up in the wardrobe room and steps into his old clothes one at a time. Why not take a little trip back and remember companions who weren't so bloody arrogant, weren't so flipping flexible, so willing to shag any creature, regardless of time, place or shape and nearly get them all killed in the process.

He looks into the mirror (a cricket uniform that makes him look ridiculous, though he thinks it would be alright with a fresh bit of celery) until he is convinced that he is the sorriest swot that ever tramped through the universe.

He never quite gets out of his old clothes. By the time he ends up in the hallway where Jack and Rose sleep, he's wearing a blue velvet coat over his usual dark jumper and checked trousers with a multicoloured umbrella twirling over one shoulder.

Though he is not angry at Rose (it wasn't her fault this time, and when she does cause trouble, it's usually for the right reasons) he leans in her doorway first. He wants to make sure that she is safe, that she is asleep. She is in a tangle, as always, with her head turned into the pillow. When she sleeps, she is nineteen years old and he wonders what right he has to keep her with him.

When he wanders over to watch Jack, he takes a moment to consider the idea of throwing the man out of the TARDIS into prehistoric Earth to see if he is flexible enough to flirt with cavemen. Call it scientific curiosity; he would honestly like to know.

Rose would be furious though, so perhaps not.

He has been watching Jack sleep more often than Rose these days. Rose is getting the hang of time and space travel and, while that should be easy enough for a former time agent, Jack has been on his own too long.

"Not that that's any excuse," he grumbles. The tight ball in the middle of the bed stirs and uncoils and he belatedly remembers that Jack is a light sleeper. Jack blinks, tries to focus his eyes and then rubs at them, as if he can't quite believe what he is seeing.

"Doctor?"

"You are so—"

He wants to say stupid. So stupid, couldn't you see that he was not interested? Did you have to open your big, stupid mouth? Stupid ape, don't you ever learn? He can't bring himself to say it because if anyone is stupid, it's him. He didn't give proper warning; he didn't take proper care. He is the one who needs to be responsible. Rose is nineteen and Jack is from the fifty first century and neither of them are grown.

"You are so young." He pushes himself off of the doorway, twirls his umbrella and feels better.

"Now go back to sleep. Big day tomorrow."