Chapter Text
The Doctor was a little tired of reading. Now they loved reading, a lot, books cover the corners of their room, and if they were ever pulled away, anything within reach would be used to save their spot, to make sure they can return to the page once they were back. But right now? Their eyes kept skipping words, kept trying to skim over entire sentences and couldn’t connect the meanings of what was being read, they could barely process the book.
So, Doctor reaches for a bookmark, and tucked it neatly into the page, shutting the book closed and setting it down on their desk. They needed to do something else, their body cries for action, movement, and their brain begs for stimulation.
Nothing has happened today, and usually that’s a good thing, but when they say nothing, it wasn’t exaggeration. No one needed to be mindhacked, no practice with FORMAT, no visitors coming to their office, not even a flower shipment. It’s been quiet, too quiet according to their body, too quiet for reading as well, somehow.
They get up from their chair, and take a stretch, bones cracking at the change, legs being woken back up with a fuzzy static. They couldn’t help but yawn, shaking the tired out of their limbs. Before they leave, they make sure to look over their flowers, touching the petals of one delicately, feeling it between their thumb and index finger. It looked a bit droopy today, maybe this one needs more sun?
Doctor goes to the windowsill, carefully taking one of the flowers basking in the direct sunlight off, and placing it on their desk, they heft up the one that was becoming droopy, and place it in the now free spot. They watered them this morning, so no need to do it again, hopefully it’ll perk right up either way.
They dust their gloves off, making sure nothing dirtied them, and they turn to the door with a satisfied huff. The door slides open at their approach, and they step into the doorway warily, looking up and down the hall in front of their office. No one, like usual.
People were fine, but interacting with them right now? They didn’t feel like it, especially any acquaintances. There were no strangers here yet, someone they barely knew meant they’d have nothing to talk about, and small talk is something the Doctor doesn’t do, outright refuses, especially now, it’d be a bore, or better yet, a drag. Simply put, no small talk.
Maybe they can make a tea, in the break room— yes they’d be given a tea by FORMAT if they just asked, but Doctor desperately needed something to do with their hands, and tea seems like quite the easy task, just put a bag in water, how hard is that?
They get surprised as their coattails gets caught in the door as they step forward, only for it to open again when they move back. They look over the fabric, undamaged, and glare at the door like it did it on purpose.
The Doctor begins to walk down the hall, the clack of their shoes reverberates off the walls, they don’t mind it, they just hope it’s not too loud. They hear people talking down the hall, and they straighten their back in an attempt at looking more professional than they feel. It’s two voices, one is giving quite animated responses, and the other is talking flatly, despite providing longer answers. The Doctor isn’t one to eavesdrop… in front of people at least, but still they get pieces of the conversation, something about coffee?
“I’m just saying, I don’t need to spend an extra hour making coffee when I can just get it instantly!” The more animated voice explains, exasperated. “It’s here to wake me up, not dull me to sleep faster!” A scoff, “Plus it tastes just as good as your fancy stuff.” The voice huffs.
“It doesn’t.” Short and curt. “It also doesn’t take an hour to make, a few extra minutes max, and those minutes make a world of difference.” There’s a moment, a sigh fills the space. “If you tried something that isn’t burnt to a crisp, properly ground with care, and actually well made, we wouldn’t even be having this discussion.”
The Doctor had come in view, and in return the people did too, two guards slipping out of the break room. The Doctor has seen them before, but knowing them is a completely different question, they might have talked about a report or two with one of them, maybe one even delivered their flowers before, but that’s about the extent of their interactions with these guards, excluding any emergency situations.
So when they both stop their conversation to look at Doctor, everything inside them tensed up at the possibility of small talk, or worse, they get brought into their coffee discussion. They don’t even like coffee, it’s bitter, and leaves a weird film on their tongue. If they say that, the two may give them usual pities coffee addicts usually do. They didn’t feel like being given half hearted condolences on coffee of all things, but many folk seem to treat it like a lifeline, especially guards. Plus, they wouldn’t be able to provide anything of worth to the conversation! That’d make it awkward, standing there in a conversation where they have no knowledge on the subject? Terrible!
The Doctor was getting tense on made up scenarios now, preparing for the worst, and that is being made fun of for preferring tea over coffee. Oh they can hear the insults on their preferences now.
Instead, both guards nod their head at Doctor. The one without a mask, showing off their mouth, smiling at them, and they speak.
“Doctor.” The previously animated voice was quiet now, soft, almost like they were trying to keep from scaring a small animal. The second guard doesn’t say a word, and they pass by each other without any further conversation, an utter blessing for Doctor. The two continue their discussion a bit further down the hall, but Doctor was already approaching the break room door, relieved.
Though, Doctor quickly realized that they were unprepared for people also being in the break room, as their eyes fall onto another guard sitting down at the table. A cold spike of panic shoots through the Doctor for a second, a heat immediately flushing to their cheeks as they stand in the doorway, flustered with embarrassment even without having done anything yet. But it all simmers down the longer Doctor stared as they recognized this guard as more than an acquaintance, but instead a friend. Albeit, a friend they don’t know the name of, but a friend nonetheless.
Newbie guard, or ‘Rookie’ as Doctor hears Rebecca call him from time to time. Either way, he responded to both. The guard was sat at the table, a small pile of papers next to him, he also had one right in front of him, writing on it with a blue pen.
Doctor stepped in fully, deciding to make the first move by waving, though Rookie didn’t seem to notice, at all actually, too engrossed in whatever he was doing to realize someone was even in the room with him. The Doctor stepped a little closer and waved again, tilting their head ever so slightly to be more in Rookie’s view.
The guard snapped upwards, hands flailing about as he shot backwards and away from Doctor, nearly falling his chair. Doctor was also quite spooked, stepping away, pressing their hands and arms to their chest not wanting to get hit by Rookie’s flailing limbs. There’s a moment of silence, as they both stare at each other, before Rookie smiles.
“Oh! Doctor!” His grin is toothy, showing off his sharp teeth. “You scared me…” He rubbed the back of his head— well, helmet —and sat back up in his chair, straightening out. “Sorry.” He says finally, placing his pen onto the table.
The Doctor points at the paper, and Rookie’s head follows.
“Ah! This is a nonogram!” He held it up, it was a grid with numbers on the top and side, some squares were filled in with blue ink, random ones. “I heard puzzles keep your mind sharp! So I printed some out to do on break… I just… didn’t think they’d be so hard…” He drops the paper back on the table, sighing, “I probably should’ve picked easier ones.” He shakes his head, a newfound vigor in his voice. “But I will not give up!”
Doctor smiles, amused by the idea. Maybe they should get some puzzles, that’d certainly keep their mind busy. Though they’re uncertain if FORMAT would approve, after all she tries to keep their mind sharp with hacking practice, doing some silly puzzles like ‘fill in a square’ doesn’t do a thing for that skill.
“What are you doing in the break room though?” Rookie breaks the silence, and Doctor’s thinking. “Are you looking for the Captain?” He’s suddenly on his feet, a frown now quite prominent on his face. “Are you alright? Nothing’s wrong is it??”
They shake their head, hands up to wave them in a ‘no’ motion to soothe his worry. They gesture for Rookie to sit down again, and explain that they just wanted to make tea, even pretending to sip it to make a point.
“Tea? I never took you as such, but it makes sense.” There’s his smile, canines poking out his top lip ever so slightly. He tries to get up again “I can make it for you—“
Another shake of the head, the Doctor stepping closer to get Rookie to sit down. They quickly correct that they want to make it themself, and that he should continue his puzzle. No need to bother him with this, especially since they wanted to work their hands, and they doubt sitting around watching him make tea would satisfy their need, they’d probably just get twitchy.
Rookie sighs, reluctant to let Doctor do it by themself, not out of distrust in their abilities or anything, but out of the need to be good to his boss… and out of the want to help his friend. “Alright…” he nods, picking up his pen. “Well, I’m right here if you need anything, Doctor.” Rookie returns to his puzzle, leaving Doctor to do their thing. He puts the pen against his mouth in thought.
Doctor moves around the kitchen of the break room, lost. Now this is something they weren’t willing to admit, but they don’t actually know how to make tea. They know there’s bags, and the water needs to be hot, but everything else? Lost to the Doctor. They had a good excuse! They never made their own tea, it was often given to them, wether they asked or simply just as something nice, they never made it themself, or saw the process on how it was done. Doctor obviously didn’t want to turn around and ask Rookie for help after they just dismissed him, that’s embarrassing. So they stand there, at the counter, trying to piece it together in their mind.
The moment their hand reached to one of the cabinets to begin this about to be utter mess, Rookie exclaims in shock. Doctor spins around quickly, a thought passing that maybe they did something wrong, but it was immediately forgotten as they laid their eyes on the guard.
His shirt, some of his vest, but mostly his face was absolutely drenched in blue ink. His mouth hung open, showing off his newly painted tongue, liquid dribbled from his lips as his nose scrunched up in disgust. The pen was still in his hands, bite marks around it, the thick plastic having burst open at the pressure, releasing all the pretty blue ink. There was no hiding what had been done, yet Rookie only looked as though he ate something bad, not even in shock as he sat there spitting out ink. He gets up to casually walk to the sink next to the Doctor and begins to rinse his mouth out, his movements repeat in a very specific way, like he’s done this before, like he was familiar with this process that it didn’t even phase him.
The Doctor wasn’t one to leave their friend to suffer alone, so they grab the paper towels, unrolling some to dab against Rookie’s face, much to his surprise, a quiet little, “thank you,” slipping from his blue lips, gently taking the towels from their grip to do it himself, though he discards it shortly as it turns soggy and blue.
Rookie will admit, this has happened more than once, he hasn’t kept count but it is definitely in double digits, if not triple, the amount of times he’s had to spit ink out of his mouth. Now it could be an easy fix, he just needed to stop chewing on pens, but he can’t seem to really control it. He stops focusing on it for a second, and suddenly the taste of azure colored ink was in his mouth, though any color happened just as often, they taste the same anyways, like ink. Burning, acidic, metallic tasting ink.
It wasn’t just pens, anything that could became a new chew toy without his input, would. He’s had to spit out erasers and the wood of a pencil, he once chewed through a plastic ruler in the middle of class. He can’t wear bracelets unless they were metal, as with bed frames. Hell, his mom told him when he was a baby, getting his sharp little baby teeth in, he ate through his wooden crib and escaped. Although that one might’ve been slightly exaggerated, he was just a baby after all.
Either way it was all the same, and Rookie was used to it, the taste, the texture, the smell. He knew how ink tasted like the back of his hand. He was a biter, a chewer, and he gnawed on anything and even anyone that let him. Sometimes he wonders if this messes with his taste buds, that idea bothers him as he’s quite the foodie, he has a whole whole blog for his food adventures, he doesn’t want it to be ruined by continual pen bursting. So far, he hasn’t noticed anything wrong, so for now, he washes another burst of ink out of his mouth.
Though, the shame of doing this in front of the Doctor isn’t fun at all, he doesn’t want them to think he was dumb, chewing a pen until it bursts? Something an idiot would do. But it seems the Doctor didn’t even mind, as they dabbed more paper towel into Rookie’s chin and neck, wiping clean the ink. Their hands so gentle, laying touches along his skin. Despite being separated by a glove and paper towel, it felt as if he could feel right through the layers. Feel their skin on his, their heartbeat through their finger tips. It was getting overwhelming.
Rookie couldn’t help but feel a burn in his cheeks and ears, embarrassment swimming in his face, and he moves his ink covered hand to quickly take the towel from Doctor again, humiliated that he needed to be cleaned up by them. A few silent seconds pass, the water runs of course, and his gaze can only find the edge of the counter, too ashamed to look at the Doctor. He’s about to speak, another thank you, maybe he’ll even admit that this hasn’t been the first time this has happened.
Though he doesn’t get to make a sound as a scream spills from the Doctor, panicked. Rookie doesn’t even register it came from the person standing next to him for a good few seconds, simply because he’s never ever heard the Doctor make a noise like that, the only sounds he’s heard from them is heavy breathing, maybe a hum of confirmation, but a shout? Never.
Rookie looked at the Doctor, trying to figure out why they screamed, his eyes wide and searching. They were holding their hand, tight, whimpering and clawing at their glove, it’s pure white exterior having a small blotch of blue right on the back, not even that big.
No no no! It’s ruined, beyond ruined! They can’t have ink on their gloves! Their perfectly pristine glove! They need it off now, they need the blemish gone, ripped off if nothing else worked! It needed to be gone. The skin under their glove was started to flare up in pain as they endlessly scratched at the ink like it’d do something, like it’d change. Rookie didn’t even think Doctor would make these sounds, whining and gasping for air, struggling to breathe as they dig their nails into their hand.
When Rookie went to grab at Doctor’s hand, they pulled away so violently they nearly tripped over themself. Right, he still has an ink covered hand, so he quickly washes his hands, despite his own glove had already soaked it up, and how his fingertips were tinted blue. Clean now, so whatever.
“It’s okay!” Rookie told the Doctor, showing them his clean hands, “I know how to handle this, Doctor, trust me, please—“ he tried again and the Doctor literally slammed their hands into the counter while trying to get away, letting out a yelp of pain. He needed to grab them before they hurt themself any more, it was like watching a bird slam itself into the window in an attempt to escape.
Rookie snags onto the Doctor’s wrists, pulling their hands apart to stop their clawing, and guiding them closer to him. “Stop!” He tells them, as they try to pull away. “I can get it out!” He goes to unbutton the glove, it’d be easier to remove the stain this way, but the moment he releases the Doctor’s wrist to gain a free hand, and reaches over to the button there’s a voice, shrill and scared.
“NO!”
Rookie stops immediately, looking at the Doctor in disbelief, he didn’t even know they could speak. He remembered being told that they were nonverbal, to keep up with his sign language knowledge if he wanted to work with the famous Mindhacker. He took it all at face value he supposes, that they couldn’t talk no matter what, but that wasn’t fact, obviously.
It became clear now, they were stressed, fraying at the edges, and what Rookie was doing was making it worse. So he takes a breath, gaze flicking about in search of something to stop freaking them out. He looks back at them, staring, hoping to find an answer in their expression.
The Doctor stares back, tears welling up in their eyes, barely able to catch their own breath, looking about to collapse in utter panic. He didn’t want them to keep clawing at themself, but he knows holding their hand is probably making this worse, so he slid his grip to to rest on their arm. His Captain spoke of the Doctor’s aversion of anything touching their gloves, or dirtying them, he just didn’t think it was this strong.
“I’m sorry.” He said finally, after a few seconds of words failing him. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He feels the Doctor try to pull out of his grip again, and Rookie wants to let go, especially since they were his damn superior, but seeing them scratch at their glove so ferociously, he can’t let them dig into their own skin. “Doctor.” Rookie speaks carefully, holding his free hand up to try and settle them down. “I can get the ink out.”
The Doctor stops fighting, breathing out. They would like that, the stain makes it feel as though hot ice shoots through their hand, like they clasped onto a cactus and squeezed, like they jammed glass into their bones and put it in the blender. It was painful to feel, to look at, they needed it gone no matter what. So despite everything inside of them screaming, begging to be released, they pull themself together just enough to nod. They trust Rookie, they trust him enough that even as everything inside them tenses up, wants to run away and hide, they stay still as he pulls their hand to the sink.
His voice fills their head. “This happens to me a lot, in all honesty.” He explains, bringing their hand under the running water, to which they flinch and try to snatch it away again. Ah, probably too sudden for their taste, it needed to be hot anyways, so Rookie lets the Doctor pull away, but keep his hand on their arm. “It’s happened since I was a kid.” He continues, “my mom started getting real mad because I kept coming home with ruined clothes, so I had to come up with a trick.”
Rookie stuck his free hand under the running water, it was warmer now. He gives Doctor a smile, showing off his still dyed teeth, ever so slightly tinted blue. It was quite the funny look. “Watch, it’ll work.” He guides the Doctor’s gloved hand back in the sink, slower this time. He brought the stain directly under the running water, keeping it from drying. He quickly grabs the hand soap, and applies a generous amount onto the ink blot. “I’m going touch your hand.” Rookie warns, gaze flicking to the Doctor’s face for a moment.
They nod with a nervous whine, acknowledging the warning and preparing themself for the touch. It wasn’t as abhorrent if it was a stranger touching them, that’d really make Doctor react, but it also wasn’t as nice as holding Rebecca’s hands, her grip was soothing. Rookie though, his grip on their palm was trying to be gentle as possible, scrubbing the soap into the cloth. It didn’t make them panic anymore, as they watch him work at the material, barely even squeezing to keep them in place. So although it wasn’t soothing, Doctor still let it happen without disagreement.
“It takes a minute is all.” Rookie continued. “But this is small, it’ll come right off!” He hopes it doesn’t stain, but in his experience, ink to white clothes often does, no matter how small, especially when it dries. He’s stopped wearing white, because he’s just run out of white clothes that weren’t dyed with a nice splash of ink. Though he wasn’t lying, he did have a trick, it didn’t work every time, and at most it’d make the splash of ink be faded into the cloth, never fully gone. Hot water and soap, it wasn’t revolutionary, but he remembers sitting in the school bathroom, scrubbing his shirts clean before he had to go home. It was the best he had and it worked enough that his mom wouldn’t get mad anymore.
Rookie holds Doctor’s hand under the hot water, their digits tremble at the sensation but they don’t rip their hand away like before. The ink was still wet enough that it got washed away, Rookie hoped at least. As suds spill from the material, and slip into the drain, he can only hope that once it clears up, there’s no spot in sight, for Doctor’s sake.
When the soap is all washed out of the glove, Rookie lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the little spot was gone.
“It’s gone!” He held up Doctor’s hand to show them, the cloth still wet and dripping, yet no ink in sight. “I told you it’d work.” He lets them go and they pull their hand closer to their face, looking it up and down, almost in awe of their clean glove. He flicks off the faucet, despite his own clothes still soaked in ink. Dry ink now, so not much to be done, his chest was probably going to be dyed blue for the next few days, lucky no one was to see that part of him anyways. “Sorry I got it on you.”
The Doctor quickly shook their head, grabbing quite the load of paper towels to try and dry their hand before they respond. It wasn’t his fault, they were the one who decided to towel off his blue face, they knew the risks. They couldn’t even finish explaining when Rookie interrupted.
“You wouldn’t have needed to do that if I just-!” Rookie groaned, throwing his hands out in exasperation, “stopped chewing pens!!” His hands fall to his sides in balled up fist, as he bit his bottom lip for a moment, chewing at the dead skin. “I should’ve learned to stop as a kid, the first time this happened I should’ve just… grew up and stopped chewing on things all together.” He looks away, dragging his hand down his face. “So I am sorry, Doctor.”
The Doctor can only look at Rookie. There’s a second of hesitation, and then a second more, before they reach out and place their hands on his cheeks. It’s weird, his cheeks are soft and squishy, it’s like holding a loaf of bread in their palms. It’s not a bad feeling, just different. They trail their hands down and rest them on his shoulders. It seemed to work, Rookie no longer looked sad, his face tinging red, as he’s taken aback, flustering for moment under their grip.
“Doc…tor…?” He mutters, eyes probably wide under his visor. He chews on his cheek, trying to ignore the flips his stomach was doing.
The Doctor removes their hands so they can speak. Rookie doesn’t need to ‘grow up’, he needs an outlet for his chewing. They’ve read it somewhere, not sure where, but if he needs to chew, there’s not much he can do to stop it, working around it is much easier than putting oneself down for it. And he especially doesn’t need to apologize. The ink is gone, there’s no reason to be sorry.
Rookie can only frown, a swell of emotion in his chest. Happiness? Sadness? Relief? He can’t pin it, but it’s swirling around under his ribcage, settling into his heart. He puts his hand out, but stops before touching the Doctor, pulling away again. “Thank you.” He manages to say, swallowing the lump in his throat.
Doctor watches his hesitation of contact, and returns it despite him not following through. They touch his hand, light and careful, after all his hold wasn’t awful, it didn’t make them feel as panicked as anyone else’s grip would, they didn’t mind holding his hand again. In fact, they welcome it. Rookie was their friend, they trusted him.
The Doctor’s digits ever so slightly curl around Rookie’s fingers, and bring his hand back up, before it’s clasped in both of their palms. It feels like quite the high honor for him to receive, he didn’t think he’d gotten so close with the Doctor, especially since he hasn’t been here for that long yet. The moments before, he thought maybe Doctor just tolerated his touch so he can help, but choosing to hold his hand? Actively? A giddy feeling clouded his brain and he couldn’t help but smile, trying to hide himself into his shirt’s collar.
“You…” he tries, but words were quite difficult to find, as he stammers about for a moment. “You’re—… hehe…” He moves his free hand to his cheek, the heat pooling in his face is something he can feel through his glove. “I’ll try.” He decides on. “I’ll find a way to work around it… thank you.” The Doctor releases his hand, leaving a weird fuzzy sensation in the empty space, he wanted to be held longer, missing the warmth of their gloved hands on his.
The Doctor nodded, and then pointed to the cabinets. They’ll take Rookie up on his offer to help earlier, they knew they weren’t going to get very far making tea by themself, they barely know how to work a stove. They press their finger tips together bashfully, a little shy about asking him for this specifically.
“Teach you?” Rookie blinks, before nodding, immediately going to the cabinets. “Of course! I think loose leaves are better honestly, but teabags will be quicker— where’s that damned kettle.” He would be happy to help. Just like Doctor was happy to help him.
The Doctor watched, satisfied, no longer twitching for action. Cleaning up ink was enough.