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After the Time War, or possibly during it― the TARDIS had trouble with concepts like ‘before’ and ‘after’― the Doctor was troubled. He was still breathing and eating and moving around, but darkness and doubt clouded his thoughts, weighing him down. Try as she might, the TARDIS couldn’t seem to clear it out. It cropped up like cobwebs, filling a new space before she’d even finished clearing the first batch.
Sometimes he leaned into her coral columns like he was looking for something. She tried different temperatures and resonant frequencies, but nothing seemed to quite work. He always ended up sighing and moving away, darkness clouding his thoughts even more thickly than before.
Time Lords weren’t particularly tactile as a species, but the Doctor seemed to miss physical contact more than the TARDIS could make up for.
So she got him a pet― a pink and yellow little human that he called Rose.
The little human was all sunshine and rainbows― barely grown and brimming with potential. Like all primates, she tended to hang on to whatever she could get her arms around, including the Doctor. He seemed to enjoy it. Every touch seemed to make the darkness recede just a little more (even if it crept back eventually).
The TARDIS observed and catalogued it all in vaults that could hold entire universes.
She set about making a tactile experience that would keep their pet engaged.
Enrichment was important, after all.
Rose ventured into an oddly dark room one day and nearly jumped out of her skin when the shadows seemed to press in around her.
She booked it right back out into the hallway, nearly running into the Doctor.
“Easy there!” He caught her with one hand. “Transdimensional doesn’t mean you can run through the walls.”
“Something moved in that room!” Rose said, pointing.
The TARDIS quickly shut the door.
The Doctor barely glanced at it. “It’s a big ship,” he said, unconcerned. “Bound to be a few moving bits.”
Rose shuddered. “What was in there? It was freezing!”
He held out an arm and she ducked in for a hug. “Most of the ship is set for me by default. Lower body temperature, you might’ve noticed.”
Rose cuddled in without hesitation. “It was colder than you, though! By a lot!”
The TARDIS chittered and puffed some warm air out of an unseen vent.
The Doctor chuckled and added a little squeeze. “She’s sorry she startled you,” he translated. “Now how about a nice trip if you’re so keen on exploring.”
The Doctor lost his little human, a bit carelessly in the TARDIS’ opinion, but she tried to get him a sturdier one this time. The first human she picked was a bit too early on her own timeline and very indignant about it (as though the TARDIS could keep track of all the minutiae).
The second one came right in and the Doctor called this one Martha. Like the previous pet, this one seemed interested in the Doctor’s current mouth. The TARDIS couldn’t imagine the appeal, but two data points couldn’t just be ignored.
Martha poked her head inside a random room and immediately jumped right back out. “Doctor?!”
The Doctor came running around a blind corner, nearly crashing into her. “What??”
“What’s in that room?” Martha pointed at the space that seemed to lead right into an open mouth.
The Doctor followed her finger. “How should I know?”
“It’s your ship!” She ducked into his side, wrapping her arms around.
He shrugged and patted her shoulder. “Martha, she’s quite alive and thoroughly sentient. I can hardly keep track of―“
“Is that her mouth?” Martha interrupted. “Some sort of giant mouth with a giant tongue?”
“Oh,” he blew out his cheeks. “No, the TARDIS doesn’t eat― well, not with a mouth― hang on, did you say a tongue?”
“Sure looked like it!” she said.
“Huh,” the Doctor eyed the door, which suddenly disappeared back into the coral. “Aw, you’ve embarrassed her!”
“She tried to eat me and you’re having a go at me?!”
The Doctor was patting at the coral, cooing. “Poor thing. She tries so hard to make you humans feel welcome.”
“Right,” Martha said. “I can’t speak for all humans, but could you tell her I don’t particularly like the insides of mouths? Or anything wet and slimy…”
The Doctor gave her a wide-eyed look. “Aren’t you a doctor?”
“Just tell her,” Martha said, and tried not to stray into any more random rooms.
That companion was too clever, it turned out. She scarpered off before the Doctor could lose her too (not that he didn’t try). The TARDIS went looking for one with just a bit less self-preservation instinct and found the one that had gotten away before.
The brassy one was actually looking for them by then. All it took was a little nudge in the right direction and she was right back inside. The TARDIS immediately set about making a nice human-friendly habitat, not looking forward to starting over every few years if the Doctor continued running them off at this pace.
Donna listened to the Doctor’s rambling explanation of a sentient time and space blah, blah, blah, and translated all that to ‘built in voice commands.’ Which she had no problem with.
“Do you have a nice place to relax?” Donna asked the ship, nice and clearly.
The TARDIS buzzed and guided her to a new door, but it was far too dark. “No, I don’t want somewhere dark. I want somewhere nice to sit.”
The TARDIS twittered, shut the door, and popped it back open, now cast in soft yellow light.
Donna took another look. “Is something moving?! Absolutely not! Nothing wet or grabby!” She shut the door herself. “Think soft, fuzzy things.”
The TARDIS creaked, burbled, and cracked the door again, this time noticeably less damp. Donna took a tentative step in and patted the wall, which was now covered in something that reminded her of rabbit fur. “…I’m not inside some giant rabbit now, am I?”
The TARDIS grumbled. “Yes, all right. Suppose you’ve gone through the trouble.” She took off her shoes and stepped in properly. “Oh, it’s soft!” She scrunched her toes in and the ship started a low grinding purr.
“Is there somewhere to sit?”
A lump appeared in the middle. If she ignored how it got there, Donna could just pretend it was some retro bean bag setup. “Lovely,” she said, and took a seat.
It immediately folded in around her like a fuzzy blanket… that happened to be purring. “Just like a giant cat,” Donna told herself, and gave it an experimental pat. The purring picked up encouragingly.
“I can work with this.” She settled in, stroking the ridiculously plush fur.
She woke up eight hours later feeling more rested than she’d ever been in her entire life and immediately found the Doctor in the galley. “I love this ship,” she declared, and gave him a big hug. Just because.
“Brilliant!” The Doctor laughed and hugged her right back. “…Was that up for debate?”
“Not anymore,” Donna said, and gave him another solid squeeze that he was all too happy to return. “C’mon, let’s see if she’ll find us a nice alien planet!”
The Dalek Crucible made the TARDIS terribly ill― being tethered in time and space was a bit like what she imagined the humans called sea sickness. There seemed to be more humans than usual― and all in the same planes for once― but then they were all gone and the Doctor felt the loss so strongly it echoed through her as well.
The TARDIS wondered whether the Doctor might not be cut out for pet ownership. Humans were so fragile and fleeting― even the best of them didn’t make it to two hundred. She tried to nudge him toward the room that the red one had enjoyed, thinking she might have enough data to provide a tactile substitute for a living pet. Inconveniently, the Doctor flinched away from even the concept of his lost companion, hiding in his room instead. The TARDIS tried to at least make the bed a bit softer, but that just chased him out entirely. So she went to work looking for a new little human for him. Perhaps a kitten this go-around― give him as much time as possible. There was a rift in Inverness that seemed promising.
Amy opened a random door, took one look at the soft fuzzy space, and said, “Oh, sure. Definitely not a bachelor pad.” She rolled her eyes and shut the door, calling for the Doctor. “Seventies style isn’t really my thing― try something more modern!”
The Doctor appeared with Rory in tow. “Seventies what? What are you on about?”
“I found your Seventies shag pad,” Amy said. “Are you telling me that in all nine hundred years you’re supposed to have been travelling the Universe, you’re going with the Seventies for decor?”
“I like the color,” Rory said helpfully.
The Doctor tugged indignantly at his jacket. “What’s wrong with the Seventies?”
“Nothing, if you’re trying to come off like a creepy old man.”
“Creepy?!” the Doctor squawked, nearly covering the sound of the TARDIS reabsorbing the door. “Aw, now you’ve offended her!”
“Amy,” Rory called gently, “what did we say about offending the sentient time and space machine?”
“Oh, sure, it’s the ship trying to seduce me. No one else has anything to do with it,” Amy said sarcastically. “Like I haven’t heard that one before.”
“She doesn’t mean it,” Rory said and awkwardly patted the wall. “Any, um, ship would be lucky to be courted by you.”
“Don’t you start too now!” Amy complained, but slung her arms around both of them. “Come on, boys! I suddenly want to see how we all look in bell bottoms.”
After losing both ―both!― Ponds, the Doctor became hopelessly depressed again (or still), wandering the corridors and refusing to go outside for what seemed like a very long time even to the TARDIS. He flinched away from any attempt at comfort, not even sitting until his legs gave out sometimes.
He kept them in one place for so long that it drew the attention of a spatial anomaly, which he then let in through the front door. And then the TARDIS had to deal with something called Clara gumming up her works. She was apparently human enough for the Doctor’s purposes. He practically carried this one with him like a stuffed bear.
No matter how hard she tried, Clara could not get the TARDIS to give her a proper chair in her room. “It’s not hard,” she argued for the millionth time. “There are chairs in other rooms! I know you can make them!” She headed out into the hall. “I could just grab one― wouldn’t even be a bother!”
The TARDIS chittered and sent a staticky chill underfoot, like hackles going up.
“Oh, relax, would you? I’ll just borrow one for a bit. Do you have a sitting room or something?” She opened a door she hadn’t noticed before and found an odd, modern room, gathering dust. It looked a bit like someone had 3D printed a lounge using only the vague impression of where shapes should go. “Right, sure. Show me the one room with absolutely no furniture in it! Really funny!”
There was one part that was slightly more defined in the middle, but Clara couldn’t tell whether it was designed for non-humans or just some abstract alien art. She stepped in to get a better look at it, but the TARDIS lurched and tossed her right back out.
“Clara,” the Doctor called down the corridor. “Is there a reason my trans-dimensional ship suddenly decided to try out a new 45-degree angle?”
“Spite?” Clara guessed, rubbing at a new bruise. “Pure malice?”
The Doctor appeared, navigating the tilted hall like an awkward long-legged spider. “What have I said about antagonizing her?”
“She started it!”
He huffed and patted the paneling he was braced against. “Oh, that’s just how Clara apologizes.” A doubtful warble sounded. “Right, well, she’ll be more apologetic when she gets her little legs back under her. You know how defensive she is about bigger things moving her around.”
“I’m not a dachshund!”
“You see?” he said, not even pausing. The ship grumbled but righted herself, letting them slide back to center. “Thanks, old girl.” He held a hand out to Clara. “Come on then.”
“Don’t beckon me!” Clara objected, but latched onto his arm. “I just want a lounger for my room.”
After what seemed like a long time even by the TARDIS’ standards, the spatial anomaly called Clara suddenly just stopped. She stopped jumping timelines, stopped cluttering up the TARDIS with anomalous debris… and stopped existing, even in the Doctor’s memory. The impression of her seemed to remain and make him quite sad though. Ever contrary, this version of him shied away from any physical contact, rebuffing all attempts at comfort.
The TARDIS began looking for a different, better human. Hopefully one that would make everyone less sick.
Bill liked looking around the TARDIS. It was like having a house that was haunted by an overly attentive grandmother. She was always putting out biscuits or showing off whatever new shiny thing she thought Bill might like.
“Is your ship trying to pull me?” she asked the Doctor. “She keeps showing me bedrooms.”
“Ah. No,” the Doctor said, and patted the chrome interface. “Bill’s not staying over. She doesn’t need a room.” The TARDIS console beeped and flashed. “It’s not the quality of the room― she just wants to live with her friends!” More flashing and louder beeping. “Her human friends!” An electric pop and some static. “Oh, for―“ He turned back to Bill, “Could you not just pick a room to make her happy?”
Bill rolled her eyes at him. “You weren’t kidding about negotiating with her.”
The Doctor scoffed, but went right back to petting the console. “She likes you! It’s a good thing!”
“She keeps trying to turn my room into a storage closet,” Nardole added from the sidelines. “More shelves in there every time I look! And the mops!”
The Doctor waved a hand dismissively. “She doesn’t register you as a lifeform. I’ve told you, you should wear a hat or something.”
“The last time I wore a hat she dropped me in the gelatinous fish tank!”
“Well, that was clearly the wrong kind of hat,” the Doctor said.
“Right,” Bill said. “I’ll just…” She headed back out for another look around.
The TARDIS led her to a new room this time, set in lots of modern lines.
“Bit sterile,” Bill said.
The room darkened a bit and softened somehow. The bit in the center squished into something that looked like her stuffed bear. “Aw, you remembered!” She came right over to give it a squeeze and nearly died when it squeezed her back. “Oh, my God!”
It released her immediately and the room tinted orange, twittering.
Bill suddenly felt a bit ridiculous, jumping away from a hug. “Sorry,” she said. “Just startled me.” She came back over and gave it another tentative squeeze.
The massive not-quite-bear hugged her back, matching the pressure. Honestly, it might’ve been the best hug of Bill’s life. “OK,” she mumbled into the rabbit-like fur. “Yeah, make me a room. Just in case.”
She came back out to find the Doctor still puttering around the console. “She didn’t drop you in any fish tanks, did she?”
“Nah,” Bill said. “Is this what all of space is like? A bunch of big old softies flying around trying to make life nicer for humans?”
“Even I haven’t seen all of space,” the Doctor said gruffly. “It’d be impossible to make a generalization like that.”
“Sure,” Bill said, and snuck a bit closer. “Listen… Can I hug you?”
He frowned even harder than usual. “What? Why?”
“I just… get the feeling you might not get enough hugs,” Bill said, feeling awkward already. The TARDIS twittered though and it sounded like encouragement.
The Doctor glared even harder, but said, “Fine. If you― oof!― must.”
Bill gave him a big squeeze, held for just a moment and then backed right off. “Where to next?”
The Doctor’s habitual frown melted seamlessly into a smile. “We’ll let the TARDIS pick!”
The Doctor somehow managed to lose both his companions ―including the one that was just an interchangeable head!― and even the TARDIS was starting to seriously wonder whether they were fit to have pets.
She shook the Doctor out over Sheffield to find her own way for once and the brilliant little sneak came back with three this time. She pawed at the door to be let in, crooning pitifully, and the TARDIS let her right back in with a groan. If nothing else, the odds seemed better with three.
The Doctor seemed more committed this time, keeping her pets in a group and trying to keep better track of them. She stopped petting them though, which defeated the whole point of them. The TARDIS wondered whether she’d gotten too old to remember why she had pets in the first place.
The Doctor wandered the halls, looking for something to occupy her time. The Fam was off visiting their families. They seemed to do that more than any of her previous companions― or maybe it was just that she noticed it more, now that she was getting on in years. Her ship warbled comfortingly, trying to help make up for the lack of company.
“They’ll be back,” the Doctor told the TARDIS as much as herself. “They’re just visiting. They’ll be back.”
A door clicked quietly open, offering, and the Doctor took a look inside. It was unfurnished, like most of the TARDIS’ default spaces, but it was oddly soft and furred.
“When did you make this?” she asked, and started forward. The ship twittered, vibrating, and she toed off her boots and socks before stepping right into the plush space. Silky synthetic fur rubbed pleasantly against her toes. “That’s a bit nice, isn’t it?”
The TARDIS rumbled approbation and nudged her toward the center, where she’d added a large form, vaguely reminiscent of a bear. “What’s this then?”
Fuzzy concepts of physical comfort made it through their mental link.
// The gentle pressure of puppy love, wrapped around so tightly.
// A careful arm around the shoulders, comforting.
// The tiniest light, stretched impossibly thin, but still so warm against the chest.
“…You want a hug??” the Doctor asked.
The TARDIS thrummed, urging her closer.
// A soft but sturdy grip― like her brassy best mate in physical touch.
“I don’t really like hugging this time around,” the Doctor admitted.
// A simple embrace, offered with no agenda.
The Doctor swallowed at the sense memory of Bill. Another bright star, lost too soon. Something occurred to her. “…Did you make yourself look like her bear?”
Her beloved ship rumbled again, encouraging.
“Oh, all right,” the Doctor caved, like she always did. “If you want a hug that badly.” She stepped in and carefully embraced the fuzzy centerpiece.
It wasn’t like hugging a human. It wasn’t like hugging a bear either― stuffed or living. The TARDIS took care to focus herself down, applying just enough pressure, just enough resistance. She was soft and warm and smelled like lilacs and roses and starlight and synthetic apples.
“This is silly,” the Doctor mumbled, but the TARDIS just held her closer, purring. “You’re gettin’ sentimental in your old age,” she said, but let the TARDIS guide her down so she was basically sitting cradled in her ship’s synthetic lap.
“How long have you been working on this?” she asked, muffled by the soft fur and gentle vibrations.
So many smiling faces flickered behind her closed eyes. Rose, Martha, Donna, Amy, Rory, Clara, Bill. She could almost feel them, like they were there as well, piling in. She could hear their voices too, stored away in the TARDIS’ memory more securely than any vault. The TARDIS whispered remembered phrases, more sentiment than words, and wrapped the Doctor in the layered love of all of her old companions.
“Doctor?” The Doctor startled awake to the sound of Ryan calling down the corridor. “You down here?”
“She wouldn’t have left the TARDIS, would she?” Yaz asked, followed by the sound of doors opening and closing.
“Nah, she’d have left us before this box,” Graham said good-naturedly. “Doc?” he called. “Having a kip?”
The Doctor scrambled out of her new favorite room, none too eager to explain it to her curious companions. “Right here,” she answered, closing the door behind herself. “Must’ve dozed off.”
They appeared as a group, trooping around the corner.
“Is that your room?” Yaz asked. “The door looks different.”
“Most of these rooms are mah room,” the Doctor said as the TARDIS reabsorbed that one. “This is mah ship.”
“Oh, sure,” Ryan said. “You say that now, but when I can’t find the basketball courts it’s all ‘the ship has a mind of her own.’”
“Both can be true,” the Doctor said. “Now that you’re all back― up for a new trip?”
“Sure, Doc.” Graham threw an arm around Ryan’s shoulders, having to reach up to manage it. “We’re ready to go, ain’t we?”
Ryan stooped a bit, and nudged Yaz with his other elbow. “Not like we have to unpack or anything, yeah?”
Yaz turned her bright eyes to the Doctor. “Where to?”
“Anywhere in the Universe,” the Doctor answered. “But one thing first― could I…?” She raised her arms a bit, not quite sure how to ask. It had been awhile since she’d needed to.
“You want a hug?” “You want a hug?” “You want a hug??” the Fam all asked in unison.
“Er,” the Doctor said. “Only if you― oof!” She was nearly bowled over with three fully-grown humans doing their best to hug the life out of her. “Have I been neglecting you?”
Ryan laughed, or maybe it was Yaz. Three sets of arms hugged her just a little tighter.
The TARDIS quietly collected all the details, storing them away in her endless memory.