Listening

Bill was dreaming of flying through the stars when she awakened on the chair. Bill could hear the sounds of nature outside the TARDIS door, which had been left open by a slight fraction. It were those sounds that had awakened her from her nap in the TARDIS console room. She uncurled from her position, and looked for the Doctor in the dark.

Actually, that was a surprise. The console room was rarely dark. Had something gone wrong? The hum of the TARDIS reassured her that the engine (did the TARDIS have an engine?) was perfectly in order. She petted the console, and felt a slight (oddly pleasant) static charge in response.

“Have you decided to be lazy today?” asked Bill aloud. To her surprise, the ship made a noise that sounded indignant. That unnerved Bill, but not by much.

The door opened some more. Was that the wind? Bill didn't know, but she walked outside. Grass covered the outdoors, and a brisk wind made the trees in the distance sway. Tonight was a calm night.

The shadow, shaped like a goblin king, was above her. She looked up, to see the Doctor sitting on the TARDIS. His sticklike legs crossed over the blue police box, and his eyes, dimmed by shadows, were closed. His hands were at his side, and his chest rose impercetibly, like he was barely breathing.

“Doctor?” asked Bill.  There was no response.

“Doctor?” asked Bill again, more softly. She felt like she was intruding on something important.

The Doctor opened his eyes. He angled his head down, without moving the rest of his body.

“Hello, Bill. Did you enjoy your nap?” asked the Doctor. His tone was utterly calm.

“Why are you on the top of the TARDIS? That looks uncomfortable, with the light on top,” asked Bill.

“The ship moves the light for my convienence. And I'm meditating. All of time and space moves around us. Sometimes it's good to just listen to it all. As a member of a temporally linear species, you might not understand,” said the Doctor.

“Sounds like plain old meditation,” said Bill.

The Doctor looked like he wanted to argue, but then he smiled.

“Perhaps you're right,” said the Doctor. Then he said “Try it.”

“Try what?” asked Bill.

“Close your eyes. Cross your legs. And listen,” said the Doctor.

Bill sat down on the green grass. She closed her eyes, and crossed her legs. And listened.

Then something touched her foot, and she jumped. It had been a curious rabbit. The Doctor looked down at her, looking disappointed.

“Maybe I'm too linear,” said Bill.

The Doctor stared down at her. Then he reached down, and dragged her up. She was then on top of the TARDIS, right in front of him. She was positive there wasn't enough space for them both to sit on there, but they were both sitting cross-legged on the TARDIS. The TARDIS hum vibrated through her body, and the Doctor's eyes were hypnotizing.

“Listen,” said the Doctor.

She closed her eyes, the hum reverberated through her mind. The wind wafted over her, drawing goosebumps from her skin. The double heartbeats of the Doctor was barely perceptible, and her own sounded like a drum in her mind. The slight memory of her dream seeped into her mind, and she felt weightless, seeing the stars.

Every second, spreading out like a tapestry in front of Bill. A constant ticking clock, counting out to her end. The same tapestry that had ended in Heather's death (or was it ascendance?). One day, her tapestry would run out. That was a long way away, but right now, from one heartbeat to another, it felt neither heRE nor there. She felt timeless.

“Bill, how is it?” asked the Doctor.

Bill didn't open her eyes.

“Bill?” repeated the Doctor, more softly.

She opened her eyes, slowly. The Doctor was grinning widely.

“Listen,” said Bill.