A/N: I am supposed to be writing other things. But Ace would not get out of my head. I like this one. Our patient and perceptive Doctor gets to provide some unconventional therapy.

He hadn't said anything to prompt this. He was sure he hadn't. Still her fists were raging. Oh, not at him really, and they were easily managed.

He lifted his eyes up to the ceiling and replayed it in his mind...

Glitz. He had mentioned that idiot criminal, Sabalom Glitz.

Ace had been angry for days. Smoldering. Difficult to be with. The Doctor thought it would pass. He thought maybe it had something to do with Mike and their recent fight with the Daleks. But maybe the disappointment that was Mike had only reminded her of someone else.

"The bastard," she groaned.

"Glitz," he said again. Ace had wanted more from Mike than he'd realized. In Mike, Ace must have seen the prospect for putting some distance between herself and the memory of Glitz.

And just how bad was her memory of Glitz, the Time Lord wondered.

"If I asked you, would you take me to bed?" Her words were half-dare, half-pleading.

He guessed his question was answered. "Ace," he said quietly, a sad shake to his head.

"Don't you ever need something? Need it bad, Professor? I'd been wanting to be with someone. I still want to. More now."

"More now? Why?"

But he knew what she would say.

"Glitz. We did it."

He cringed inside.

"It was awful," she admitted. "And the things he said after."

"Was that your only time?" he whispered.

She nodded. "Right there on the floor of his ship," she spat.

"Oh, Ace," he said, and he let his arms wrap her up. She looked up then, and he knew it was coming. She gripped him tightly and launched herself at him, kissing him hard.

He wouldn't push her away. He couldn't do it, couldn't add rejection to what she was already feeling.

Finally, she pulled away. He could see she had visibly steeled herself, expecting his reproach. She was nearly wincing, as she waited for stinging words. But they didn't come.

Instead she heard that voice she loved. The only one she trusted. "Gently, Ace. Slow down."

"He said it wouldn't feel good for someone like me."

"Don't believe him. You were not the problem," he assured her. He kept his arms around her, and with his measured precision, he neither pulled her closer, nor pushed her away.

He watched her rise on her toes, turn her head just so. It was all done so slowly now. Her eyes drifted shut, he knew, because she trusted him to be there. And he was. He leaned in, met her kiss. Moved in quiet answer to what she did. Keeping the tempo of it unrushed.

"Like that?" she asked. And she was Ace again. A little breathless, but more confident.

"You tell me. How did it feel?"

"Good, but you could kiss me back," she complained, lightly.

He laughed. "I was."

"Barely," she accused.

"I'm not the answer," came his usual vagueness.

"Then why do I feel better?"

"You know what I..."

"Yes," she interrupted, playfully. "I know what you mean. Still..."

She pulled his head in gently again and placed her lips against his and moved softly. She reached out with her tongue and felt a thrill of ego when it was met. He responded languidly until, finally, with a sigh, she let it end.

"You are a wonderful woman. Don't believe anything different," he told her firmly.

She smiled. The better part of the compliment, she felt, was that he had called her a woman.

She had calmed down. She was rocking herself in his arms. Most likely the urge to ask him to take her to bed had been the anger and the hurt. A desire to be wanted and well treated, he thought.

"Can I kiss you like that again tomorrow?" she asked.

"You know where I live."