Right, yes, exactly, it's like a terminal, a hub, shortcut between universes, breaks all the rules of time and space, I love it.
[And the science talk, the technobabble, he loves that, too. Hasn't had much opportunity, really, not until recently. No audience, and it needs an audience.]
Ready, then? Allons-y! [And he brings his hands back to the other Time Lord's temples, a mirror to earlier, but he's pleased this time, not angry or distant, and the drums will be less—or not so much less as different, more a part of him than an infection, an invasion. More complex and less militant, almost as though there might be music behind them, but it's too far away to hear.]
[This connection isn't about letting his other into his mind—only in so much as his mind can serve as the connection between his TARDIS and his other. That's where he places his own mental focus—on that point at the back of his thoughts where everything that he is merges out into something greater, the ship around him, her reassuring, total presence, the constant adjustments of systems, the gold and spark of almost-thoughts, almost-memories, almost-emotions, sensations from a sentience that's beyond even his total comprehension but that is also part of him. There are flecks of that gold in him, where there shouldn't be, and out there, in the flow of her, the occasional flash of the wrong kind of memory, of being limited and small and quick and bright and easily hurt.]
[The harder he focuses on that connection, the less-threatening the drums become, until they almost fall away into the pulse of him and her, and of the greater Time Vortex beyond, that alien place apart from everything that he can touch, just barely, through her.]
[The TARDIS is curious. She's been helping him, but there's someone else here now, like her Doctor but not, someone else who might be able to help, and she curls forward through her Doctor's mind, like an anemone unfurling, twists of light along shared nerve endings, looking for the other. Wary, afraid the new one might hurt hers, but willing to make him welcome. For now.]
no subject
[And the science talk, the technobabble, he loves that, too. Hasn't had much opportunity, really, not until recently. No audience, and it needs an audience.]
Ready, then? Allons-y! [And he brings his hands back to the other Time Lord's temples, a mirror to earlier, but he's pleased this time, not angry or distant, and the drums will be less—or not so much less as different, more a part of him than an infection, an invasion. More complex and less militant, almost as though there might be music behind them, but it's too far away to hear.]
[This connection isn't about letting his other into his mind—only in so much as his mind can serve as the connection between his TARDIS and his other. That's where he places his own mental focus—on that point at the back of his thoughts where everything that he is merges out into something greater, the ship around him, her reassuring, total presence, the constant adjustments of systems, the gold and spark of almost-thoughts, almost-memories, almost-emotions, sensations from a sentience that's beyond even his total comprehension but that is also part of him. There are flecks of that gold in him, where there shouldn't be, and out there, in the flow of her, the occasional flash of the wrong kind of memory, of being limited and small and quick and bright and easily hurt.]
[The harder he focuses on that connection, the less-threatening the drums become, until they almost fall away into the pulse of him and her, and of the greater Time Vortex beyond, that alien place apart from everything that he can touch, just barely, through her.]
[The TARDIS is curious. She's been helping him, but there's someone else here now, like her Doctor but not, someone else who might be able to help, and she curls forward through her Doctor's mind, like an anemone unfurling, twists of light along shared nerve endings, looking for the other. Wary, afraid the new one might hurt hers, but willing to make him welcome. For now.]