Author: Anne Ellis
Pairing: Fifth Doctor/Tegan
Rated: NC-17
The Doctor helps Tegan with a psychic splinter.
Legal Stuff: the Doctor, Tegan, Turlough, the Mara, and everyone else in this story are property of the British Broadcasting Company. All characters are being used without permission and without intention to profit.

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What was worse; Turlough or a headache? Tegan had asked herself that question several times in the past few hours, sometimes arriving at one answer, sometimes another. Since, at the moment, she had both to oppress her, there really wasn't much point in choosing the worst evil of the two.

She closed her eyes, pressing her fingers against her lids, the dull violent colors which floated before her darkened sight dancing in a vaguely sickening way. She could still hear Turlough, his sharp, thin voice insistent as he followed the Doctor around the control room. What was he on about this time?

Setting coordinates. He wants the Doctor to teach him how. One day, she thought grimly, the Doctor and I will find ourselves on some particularly horrible world, staring stupefied at the place where the TARDIS used to be, and this carroty-headed git will be long gone, laughing his annoying horse-laugh, marooning us forever. She shifted slightly in her chair, the stark white light of the control room leaking around her sheltering fingers, lancing into her brain. Think about something pleasant, she ordered herself. Perhaps it will be a nice planet Turlough maroons us on?

She felt the touch of cool fingers on her brow, and opened her eyes. The Doctor knelt before her, his dark blue eyes searching her face with a look of mild concern.

"Are you all right, Tegan?" he asked, his fingers still lightly resting on her temples.

"Yes," she said, her tone more surly than she intended. "Just one of my heads, Doctor. I'll be fine if I'm left alone."

"I wonder," he said softly. "These headaches, they've gotten worse since we encountered the Eternals, haven't they?"

She frowned. "A little. Maybe." She remembered, suddenly, the terrible feeling of nakedness on the Eternals' ship, the feeling that her mind had been an open book, there for anyone to look at, to drag out and expose her most cherished secrets. The Eternal called Marriner had amused himself by sorting through her thoughts, holding them up before her; when he had asked about the Doctor, she had been powerless to stop him, burning with anger and shame as he rummaged and found what he sought, a complicated tangle of feelings she barely understood herself. Marriner had only said, indifferently, "I see a most interesting image of him in your mind," and nothing more. She had felt violated.

Without thinking, Tegan struck the Doctor's hand away, her voice harsh as she said, "Leave me alone. None of you will ever leave me alone! I wish you'd just let me be..."

Over the Doctor's shoulder, she saw Turlough, paused in his explorations of the mysteries of the TARDIS console, staring at her with his mouth half-open; a stupid, rabbity expression she particularly disliked. The Doctor was still close before her; she tried to focus on his face, but her vision swam, first bright, then dark.

"I thought this might be the case," the Doctor said, his voice low enough that only she could hear him. "You've been through a great deal, Tegan. The Mara left injuries in your mind that have been very slow to heal, and the psychic invasions of the Eternals have reopened those wounds, causing your headaches."

"Got it all figured out, then? Bully for you," she snarled, helpless through the pain. "Putting a name to it doesn't make it feel any better."

"No," he said, standing again, and then putting a hand beneath her arm, raising her to her feet. "But I think I know what might."

As she leaned against him, swaying, her head throbbing, the Doctor turned to Turlough. "Look, why don't you get out the TARDIS manual, see how much trouble you can get yourself into, while I sort out what can be done about Tegan's headaches? Give us about an hour or so, undisturbed."

Even through the red haze of the pain, Tegan could see the look that brightened Turlough's thin face. "All right, Doctor," he agreed, happily. He grinned at Tegan. "Sorry about the migraine, Tegan. Hope you feel better."

They left the control room, and she felt slightly less ill as they moved through the dimmer lights of the corridor. "Why is it always so bloody bright in the control room?" she asked irritably. "Like an operating theatre. All that white."

The Doctor ignored her question, and wound his arm around her waist, steadying her. "Somewhere quiet," he said thoughtfully, "and somewhere you'll feel safe. That's what we need. Your room, then."

"My room?" They were there, and he was opening the door, before she had managed to fully sort it out. Inside, among her familiar things, she did have to admit that the headache lessened. Tegan straightened and looked at the Doctor as he pushed the door shut with a foot. "What are you going to do, Doctor?" she asked.

"Try to fix some of the damage that has been caused." A look that was almost sorrow replaced the calm aloofness she was accustomed to on his face. "A great deal of it has been my fault."

Her anger rose, and she said bitterly, "Nice of you to care. You never did before. I can manage on my own, thank you."

The Doctor waved a hand in exasperation and said, "Do be quiet a moment, Tegan, and listen to me. I believe there is a psychic fragment left by the Mara in your mind; it is sharp and jagged, like a splinter, and it is working its way into your anima, your life-force, causing you pain, causing these headaches. I can help you, if you'll let me. I can find it, take it out."

Tegan stared at him. "You mean... you want to go into my mind?"

"Yes."

She pushed him away from her and stepped back. "Oh, no you don't, Doctor! I'm tired of that game. My mind has been everyone's playground lately; I hardly feel I can call it my own any more. The last thing I want is someone else in there again, trampling around like a bull in a china shop."

Turning away, she pressed her hands to her head. She felt the Doctor behind her; he put his arms around her gently, and said, his lips nearly brushing her ear, "I understand, Tegan. If there were another way, I'd suggest it. But there's not. Can you trust me?" His hands moved on her arms, caressing them. "I promise I'll be very careful of the china."

She leaned back against him, feeling his warmth, his breath against the back of her neck raising the fine hairs there slightly. His embrace was reassuring; in his arms, she felt safe, protected.

"I do trust you, Doctor," she said, finally. "More fool me. Go ahead with your plan, and let's see if it helps."

He turned her to face him, and she felt instantly as though she were drowning in the depths of his dark blue eyes. They were only inches apart; dizzily, she leaned back, raising her face to him as though for a kiss.

"Relax," he said, his eyes holding hers, as the floor dropped from beneath her feet and the room melted away. "Relax. Think only of me. Listen only to my voice."

The pain stopped, causing a relief so profound that her knees buckled. She felt herself, light, set free like a balloon, drifting near the ceiling of the room; with an odd sense of calm, she realized that she could see herself below, limp in the Doctor's arms, her face pale. His golden head was bent over hers, his expression intent and distant simultaneously. As she watched, he caught her sagging body, guiding it to her bed, and then lay down beside her. Then the image was gone, and it was dark.

"Doctor?" she said, a cold fear suddenly moving over her. Surely he hadn't left her alone?

"Tegan." His voice seemed to be inside of her, everywhere. "You must help me. Think of somewhere safe, a place where you feel happy, secure, and then take us there."

"Take us there?" she said. "How can I? Where are you?"

"Here," he said, and his voice vibrated through her body, making her shiver. "Just picture that place, and then imagine us there. Concentrate. I can do the rest."

She focused her thoughts, mentally drawing a deep breath, and sorted through the images in her mind until she came to one that she immediately recognized as fitting what the Doctor had said. Tegan had expected to make a terrific mental effort, to have to try to build the memory in her mind; instead, in the space of hardly a breath, they were there, and she gasped in delight. "Why, Doctor!" she said, "this can't only be a trick. It's all so real, so solid!" She touched his arm. "And you! You're real as well. Or at least you don't feel like any mental projection."

The Doctor looked around him. "That's rather the point, Tegan." He chuckled. "You've brought us to your grandmother's house in Melbourne?"

She gazed at the dim room, the soft thick carpeting, the heavy blinds barring the daylight. "I inherited it, after she died," Tegan said quietly. "Gran owned a sheep station for years and years. She ran it herself, made it out of nothing but some dry land into one of the biggest outfits in Canberra. She only moved here to Melbourne when she said she got tired of dust, and drovers, and sheep..... she wanted to be able to enjoy the good things she'd worked for. I kept the house just as she left it, after she died, and I came here whenever I could. It made me feel better to be here; it made me feel brave, like her. It was as though her strength and her spirit were still here, in all of her beautiful things."

Tegan moved around the room, touching the dull silk of the curtains, the cool surface of porcelain ginger jars, the polished wood of the furnishings. She sat on the huge canopied bed that occupied the middle of the room, then looked up at the creamy brocade of its hangings. "Gran was born in this bed," she said, "and so were her children. She had her wedding night with Grandad in it, too. She left this bed to me, along with the rest of her things, and in her will she told me that one day I would have a home and a man of my own, and I'd need it." Tegan laughed, rather sadly. "Gran was a wise old woman, Doctor, but there was no way she could have known how things would work out, I suppose."

Tegan turned to look at the Doctor. He stood in the middle of the room, his hands in his pockets, so solid, so familiar that she found it impossible to persuade herself that he was not really there, that they were not in Melbourne, that this was all happening in some corner of her mind. He came to her, smiling, and she reached out without thinking, touched the weave of his cricketing sweater, the long coat with that omnipresent, ludicrous piece of celery stuck in the lapel. Then she looked down at herself.

Tegan let out a shriek. "Doctor! Why didn't you say something, for pity's sake!!"

"What? What is it?" He seemed genuinely puzzled. As she covered herself with her hands, glaring at him, he said cheerfully, "Oh, that. It often happens. Haven't you had dreams where you were walking down the street, or shopping, or giving a lecture, naked?"

"Maybe," she growled. "But you weren't there to laugh at me, were you? And this is no dream." She grabbed a pillow and held it in front of her.

"Well," the Doctor said reasonably, "you must feel happy and calm, or none of this will do any good. Picture yourself with some clothes on, if being naked disturbs you."

Tegan shut her eyes, concentrating fiercely, and opened them again after a moment. "No good," she said. "I've tried everything I own, including my air hostess uniform, two evening gowns and a wetsuit, and nothing seems to have happened."

"Then your subconscious mind wants you to be naked at the moment." He moved closer, sat next to her on the huge four-poster bed. She blushed, holding the pillow against herself more tightly. "Perhaps it's a metaphor," he said absently. "Like dream symbolism."

Her eyes narrowed. "It's nice to see that me running around starkers doesn't affect you a bit, Doctor," she said snidely. "You could hardly care less, eh? I've always suspected as much."

The Doctor shrugged. "If it's going to bother you so, Tegan, we can always level the playing field. I certainly don't mind."

She blinked, startled, and then in spite of herself, she let out another little shriek. The Doctor smiled at her, unperturbed. "Feel better now?" he asked.

She gulped, unable to manage a word. Look at the ceiling, she told herself frantically, look at the floor, look anywhere but....

There. Oh, there, indeed. She let her breath out in a long, delighted sigh. He's beautiful, she thought. I always knew he would be. Lean and strong with a body like a runner's, ivory and golden and smooth. Just as I imagined, but better. She was staring, she knew she was staring, just as she knew there was no way she was going to stop.

He didn't seem to notice; his eyes held hers, and he reached out, his hands brushing her bare shoulders, then curving lightly around her neck, rising to massage her temples. A hot surge of arousal moved through her, and she felt her grip on the pillow loosen.

There was a strange tickling sensation, and then she felt the Doctor's mind against the barriers of her consciousness, pushing for entrance. Instantly, she clenched inside, closing herself to him, forcing him away, almost before she knew she had done it.

He sighed and leaned against her, his forehead touching hers, as she huddled miserably under the protection of the pillow. "It's not working," he said. "I was afraid of that. Tegan, you must relax your defenses, you must permit me to go deeper into your mind. I can't help you if you don't."

"And I can't help it either!" she said, almost angry. "I can't control it. It's a reflex. When you... do that, it's just like the Mara, or like one of the Eternals. I can't help shutting you out."

"Then," he said, his face determined, "we must find some happier associations for you. Some closeness you will welcome, instead."

His dark blue eyes searched hers, and his expression was softer than she had ever seen it before, filled with something that made her breath catch. The pillow slipped from between them, fell to the floor, and then she gasped as she felt him against her, felt the silky warmth of his bare skin as he moved, pressing her shoulders until she lay back into the softness of the enormous bed. Without conscious thought, her fingers curled around his neck, twined in the fine softness of his hair, and she pulled him to her.

The kiss was tentative at first, seeking, but then she felt his tongue move into her mouth, teasing and delicate, and she moaned.

This can't be happening, she thought. This is another one of those dreams, and I'm going to wake up at any minute, unhappy and sweaty and disappointed. I have dreamed about this so often...

"But this is no dream," he murmured against her neck, kissing the tender skin there with gentle brushes of his lips, tiny nippings with his teeth that made her shiver.

"Doctor, what are you doing?" she gasped, her voice trembling, as he moved lower, kissing one breast, his tongue swirling slowly around the nipple, bringing sensations that made her jump. Her fingers were still tangled in his golden hair, and she pressed his head closer to her, her own head thrown back against the pillows. She felt his hand glide across her belly, caress her thighs, and then slowly move lower, between her legs.

At his first touch, her back arched, her legs opening wider of their own accord and her hips rising to his caresses. His mouth moved to her other breast, sucking and nipping gently, as his finger found and stroked the little nub of flesh hidden within her soft mound, making her squirm with delight as swift liquid fire spread through her veins, knocked at her heart.

His circling finger massaged, teased, rubbed, with delicate, tiny touches, soft and firm at the same time, until Tegan was drenched in heat, barely conscious of the little, wordless noises she made as he brought her closer and closer to orgasm, her hips moving against the maddeningly skillful rhythm of his hand. He raised his head and looked calmly and intently into her eyes as she writhed beneath his touch, nearly mindless with pleasure.

He pushed her knees apart gently, and she wrapped her arms around him, embracing him as he moved over her, his lean body poised above her for a moment before he lowered himself between her thighs. She gasped as she felt the first touch of him, sliding smoothly in the hot well of dampness between her legs. As he slowly entered her she felt him penetrate into her mind as well, his consciousness invading hers at the same moment.

She cried out, her legs wrapped around his waist, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he drove into her, her heart leaping with each measured entrance and withdrawal. "Doctor," she murmured against his shoulder, raising her face to kiss his throat and then his cheek, his fine, silky hair tumbling into her eyes as the rhythm of their bodies became faster, more fierce, more demanding. As she felt him push deeper and deeper inside of her, she also sensed his mind begin to move further into hers, exploring her thoughts as he moved within her body, creating a dual intimacy which was nearly unbearable, incredibly blissful.

Mine, she thought incoherently, her arms tightening around him. My own dear stubborn distant cool Doctor. You who I fear and adore and love and hate all at once, all together. Mine.

She tilted her hips to him, her hand slipping between their bodies to feel him buried deep inside of her, sealing them together. They rocked, entranced, in a primeval rhythm, the dark sweetness of it building within her until she moaned aloud.

And then there was a twitch, a swift moment of pain as though pulling a bandage off a half-healed wound, and Tegan yelped, her hand flying to her forehead. The pain was gone in an instant, leaving behind, in its place, a sensation of wholeness, of integrity, she had not felt since before they had gone to Deva Loka.

"Well!" the Doctor said pleasantly. "There, that's done it." Pushing himself away, he sat up. "The splinter is taken care of. Rather unorthodox, I suppose, but extreme problems call for extreme measures."

Panting, she rolled over onto her side to stare at him as he stretched languidly like a cat, his face unconcerned. "What?" she said, savagely. "What? Rather unorthodox, did you say?"

"Well," he said lightly, "it was quite interesting, certainly, and not unpleasant. For both of us, I think. And you must admit that you did relax, Tegan. It was the most direct means to the end, though a crude one."

Rage welled up in her, and she threw herself onto her knees, forcing him back and then straddling him, seizing his wrists in her hands. She pushed his arms above his head, held them flat against the white brocade of the coverlet. "Crude, eh?" she hissed. "I'll show you crude. Your work's not nearly done here, my lad."

His dark blue eyes filled with surprise and uncertainty as Tegan said, "You're as bad as any of them, aren't you? Worse, even, because I trust you. I'm not a toy, Doctor, and you'll know that before I'm through with you."

"Tegan," he said, but his voice was less self-confident, less arrogantly sure than she was used to. "Surely you understand that I only wanted to help you. There was no other way for me to reach you...."

"And there's no other way for me to reach you, either." She bent, kissing him fiercely, without tenderness, remembering all of the times she had longed for him helplessly, wishing now that she could bruise him with the force of her passion. "All of this time," she said between her teeth, and then nipped his neck, hard. She felt him start at the sudden pinch. "All of this time you've held me at arm's length, Doctor. Never again. I don't care how cold your Time Lord blood is; I can make it burn in your veins."

She released his wrists, moving lower, her hands exploring the flat planes and tense lines of his body. She reached down and took him in her hand, stroking expertly, using every bit of finesse she knew, feeling him stir, warm, thicken in her grasp. Against her side she felt the beating of his hearts, always oddly rapid, increase their fluttering speed.

So you're not immune, you're not superior, she thought exultantly. You're no different than I am, Doctor; you too can feel desire, pleasure, need.

She bent, kissing the tender flesh of his inner thighs, his skin smooth over the tensed hardness of muscle, teasing along and up his legs with her lips and her teeth. As she moved closer to his center, she licked, kissed, nibbled; closer and closer, until finally her tongue snaked out to run up and down the rigid shaft.

He made a small sound, hardly audible, and she turned her head to smile at him. "Do you like that?" she said. "I thought you would."

She took him into her mouth, her teeth lightly scraping up and down the hot length of him, her tongue swirling warmly and wetly around his increasing hardness, and was rewarded by feeling the rise and fall of his breath beneath her become shorter, faster, more shallow. She let her lips close around him, sucking as she moved until only the very tip remained in her mouth. She teased it with her tongue, slowly, lingeringly, tasting him, salty and sweet.

She looked up at the Doctor and saw that he was flushed, a fine dew of perspiration on his forehead, his eyes closed and his lips slightly parted; his fingers flexed and then dug deep into the smooth surface of the coverlet, and he whispered her name.

It was a sight too arousing to resist. She rose to her knees and then moved her body over him again, guiding him against her. Abruptly she lowered herself onto him, impaling herself with a low cry of delight. Her body bent back like a bow as she felt him slide into her to the root, stretching her until she whimpered aloud from the unbearable pleasure of it.

Tegan looked down at the Doctor sprawled beneath her, his blue eyes now vague and half-closed, his baby-fine golden hair damp against his forehead. She began to move, deliberately and without haste, raising her hands to her breasts, lifting them, caressing them as he watched, her hips moving in a slow-paced, sinuous motion. He put his hands around her waist, moaning, and held her tighter to him. She increased the speed of her movements slightly, and he threw his head back, gasping, the muscles of his lean arms tensed, his fingers tightening on the soft flesh of her sides. She felt him swelling within her, growing longer and thicker and harder, and despite the keen urging of the fires building within her, she forced herself to pause.

She held herself above him, perfectly still, feeling him buried within her, throbbing insistently. The Doctor opened his eyes, looking into hers, and pulled her hips to him, his face sharp with a hunger she recognized.

"No," he said softly, "don't stop. Please don't stop." She felt him trembling, and he reached for her, drawing her down to kiss her mouth greedily, over and over, his voice urgent as he whispered, "Please, Tegan... please..."

With a sharp cry, she threw herself back onto him, raising herself on her hands, the smooth rhythm of her movements becoming irregular and losing control as they became locked in one savage motion of need. As he cried out, his back arching, she held him against her, feeling him pulsing deep and firm within her. She took his face in her hands, kissing him as he came, his face contorted with ecstasy, his hot fluids drenching through her.

The sensation drove her wild, past her own critical point, and she tensed around him, spasming uncontrollably. She fell against him, her nails digging into his shoulders and her thighs clenching his sides, her body convulsing as waves of pleasure exploded within her like sticks of dynamite soaked in honey.

Afterwards, she rolled to the bed beside him, every muscle limp and vibrating with aftershocks, and gasped for breath, feeling her sweaty body begin to cool in the still air. She reached for the Doctor, drawing him close to her, and stroked the softness of his hair as he nuzzled his face into her neck, murmuring wordlessly.

She ran her hands over his shoulders, caressing his sides, the straight line of his backbone, the taut muscles of his stomach and thighs. After a moment he turned over and sprawled flat on his back, his golden hair ruffled and his pale skin still flushed and damp with heat, and sighed contentedly.

Tegan kissed him. "You look like an angel," she whispered. "An angel who's been on a spree." As he laughed, her lips moved to his forehead, his eyelids, tracing the line of his jaw and the smooth skin of his throat with tiny butterfly kisses.

She cuddled closer to him, expecting the silky heat of bare skin, and instead felt linen against her face, and the knit weave of a sweater. Startled, she sat up and looked at him, then around her.

Back in her room, in the TARDIS. Back to reality. And both dressed, she noted sadly, looking down first at herself, then at the Doctor. So much for her anima. So much for Gran's wonderful huge bed. So much for all of it.

The Doctor opened his eyes, his gaze meeting hers, and she held his stare fearlessly.

"Don't pretend it didn't happen, Doctor," she said. "I'll bung a shoe at you if you try to put that on, so help me."

His hand reached out, curving around the small of her back, and he said wistfully, "Tegan, why are there wars?"

"What?"

His face was thoughtful. "Every human instinct that I begin to understand just seems to make all of the others that much more mysterious, and contradictory."

"Well," she said tartly, "that's why we're so interesting, I suppose. Never a dull moment."

"Mmm." He snuggled against her thigh. "As a species, you have your points."

She was just removing her shoe when a jolt sent them both tumbling from the bed onto the floor. Before Tegan could react, the Doctor was on his feet. "My TARDIS!" he yelped. "Turlough!" He was off like a shot, leaving the door swinging wide behind him.

Tegan stood, the floor swaying slowly beneath her, and held the doorframe as she looked into the corridor. After a moment, the shaking stopped, but she heard the sound of running feet.

Turlough slid around the corner, fetching up against the opposite wall, and peered anxiously back toward the control room as though he expected pursuit.

"Hello, Turlough. Minged it up, have you, mate?" Tegan said, her tone almost affectionate. "Try the conservatory; he never looks there."

Turlough nodded gratefully. "Can't stop. Hope your head's better," he panted.

As he veered away down the corridor, she shut her bedroom door behind her and walked down the corridor to the control room, whistling. She stretched her arms above her head, an extra switch of her hips thrown into her stride. Thanks, Gran, she thought with a mental grin; one day I'll get him in that bed for real, just see if I don't. And in the meantime, I wonder if that swimming pool is still around here? I've always had a yen to see what he looks like wet....

"You're going to become quite a student of human nature, Doctor," she said to the air, with languid good humor. "Or of all the nice bits, anyway. After all, odds are that I'll never have a headache again...."