AN: I don't know why. I just sort of like them together. I obviously don't own these characters. Enjoy!


The Doctor rather liked his clothes. The beige jacket, the striped pants, the cricket jumper: they all made him feel rather dashing. Sure, they were hardly the typical dress of any civilization he could think of, but he was hardly typical of any civilization he could think of.

He really rather liked Nyssa's clothes, too. They reminded him a bit of a fairy princess, more the sort of thing to be prancing around on a flower than on a spaceship, but that hardly mattered. He was glad to have her with him, even if he knew she'd probably be better off elsewhere.

Oh, and her hair! He rather liked the brown curls, the large waves that sort of bounced as she ran. It smelled like roses and strawberries –naturally, the Doctor presumed. She didn't seem to need to shower much, and her bedside table was not covered with perfume bottles as Tegan's had been before she parted ways with Nyssa and the Doctor.

Not to mention her face. It was delicate, fragile, precise; rather like a porcelain doll. If she had been a doll, the Doctor thought, she would have been the pride of any collection, and the craftsman who had designed her had might as well stop because there was no possible way he could surpass that sort of beauty.

The Doctor shook his head, dispelling the thought. Nyssa was not even from the same planet as him. He couldn't possibly think of her that way.

Nonsense, he argued with himself. She was lovely, and it would be unfair to fail to recognize it. Seeing her beauty did not mean that he wanted to start any sort of relationship above purely companionate, any more than complimenting a painting meant that he wanted to hang it above his bed.

But how many paintings had hung above his bed? He had lost track. If it was pretty, it had most likely graced the TARDIS walls at least once.

Nyssa was different, he told himself. Nyssa was a person. To reduce her beauty to that of a pretty painting would be an insult to her, true, but that didn't change the fact that he had no interest in her like that.

Poppycock, the other side of his mind said. He knew full well that he would much rather have her in his bed than hanging in a portrait above it.

The Doctor made a quick decision to shut down his mind for a while and not think about it any longer.

He scanned the console room, looking for something to distract his attention. Nothing was helping. The scanner screen was boring, as they were just sort of drifting at the moment. Similarly, as they were drifting, nothing needed punching, pulling, or plugging. Surely something needed to be tuned.

Something did need tuning, or, at the very least, looked like it might possibly need tuning to prevent any potential problems in the next few centuries. It was a stretch, but it cleared his mind, if only for a minute.

Soon, the something was fixed, and the Doctor was left to his own devices once again. His mind wandered. It wandered to how her favorite jacket clung to her body, to how her eyes could simply make his hearts melt with a single glance, to how her curls were not the only things that bounced when she ran.

Stop it, the Doctor told himself. He was several centuries older than her at least; to think of her that way would make him a pervert.

Eh, he'd been called worse.

He forced himself back to reality, looking for another distraction. The library seemed like an obvious place. He found that books were a sure way to sooth the mind and replace whatever he was thinking. He popped out his spectacles and charged off.

As he sat in the library, looking for something to read, he found that nothing interested him. Nothing on science, nothing on history, nothing on mathematics. Fine literature was suddenly boring. The Doctor slumped down in his chair, pushing his glasses up his forehead and rubbing his eyes.

In an odd sort of way, he was almost relieved when Nyssa walked in right then. It was far better to confront this sort of thing than to loll about and think on it.

His relief was soon gone, however, when he saw what she was wearing. She had evidently been in the wardrobe room, as this was far from her usual attire. It was a deep, forest green gown that clung to the top half of her body perfectly, flaring out halfway down her thighs and settling on the floor in a light mist of tulle. The shoulders were capped with earthen brown lace, which streamed down her arms and flared, much like the skirt, a little bit above her wrist. The same earthen brown flowed in spirals around her bodice. The Doctor recognized it: it had been a gift of sorts from some planet, which he could not remember the name of for the life of him.

"Do you like it?" Nyssa spun around, making the skirt rise and fall again in a neat circle. "It was sitting in the wardrobe, and I thought it looked beautiful so I decided to give it a go."

Beautiful was an understatement. "Yes, yes, it's very nice." His voice was getting squeaky. Damn it.

"Thank you." She took in a deep breath, making the dress tighter around her. "I feel like I ought to go dancing. Do you dance, Doctor?"

Jahoo, that was the name of the planet. "Dance? Why, of course I dance. Here or in a ballroom?" He immediately regretted asking that question.

Nyssa was very excited by the proposition. "Oh, a ballroom sounds wonderful!" She stared him up and down temporarily. "You know though, if we are going to a ballroom, you ought to change into something more formal."

The Doctor scoffed. "I rather like the way I dress, thank you."

Nyssa laughed. "Well, of course, so do I, but you could hardly go to a ballroom with celery on your lapel."

It wasn't long before he was changed. He had found a slim-fitted dark blue tuxedo which he thought was a suitable substitute for his beloved jacket and pants combination.

When he emerged from the wardrobe room, Nyssa giggled. "I should have known that if you had it your way, you'd dress like your TARDIS."

The Doctor smiled as he went to the console. He plotted some coordinates and chose a time period.

"Which planet are we going to, Doctor?" Nyssa ask. Oh, goodness, even her voice made him tremble.

"I was thinking Bellaphores," he replied, his voice squeaking. Oh, no. Not again. "They throw wonderful balls under the canopy of these enormous trees which actually play music on their own. And, if I might add," he said, turning to face his companion, "they would absolutely adore your dress."

"That sounds wonderful." Nyssa sighed, leaning against the console.

The two soon arrived at the ball uninvited, but were able to get in anyways ("There's the lovely invention called 'psychic paper.' I think I'll have to keep it around for the future," the Doctor explained). Once underneath the canopy, they could hear the beautiful music flowing softly through the trees. It was extraordinary by every possible meaning of the word.

Nyssa twirled as she walked on to the dance floor. "I feel so unusual. I feel…" She laughed. "I feel like a princess!"

The Doctor smiled. "You look like a princess."

It was true. Her dress was easily among the finest in the vicinity. Or, the Doctor thought, maybe it wasn't just the dress. Nyssa, who normally stayed so modest, so bookish, had blossomed. She exuded poise and elegance, leaving the Doctor breathless. He offered her his hand for a dance, his hearts pounding.

She eagerly accepted. A quick glance around showed that the dance at the moment was much like a traditional Earth waltz. The Doctor lifted Nyssa's left hand to his shoulder, placed his right on her waist, and clasped each of their remaining hands together. The two danced the night away, turning and leaping until they had had their fill.

As they returned to the TARDIS, Nyssa was still in a dream-like state from the ball, and the Doctor was still in a dream-like state from Nyssa. His hearts had been racing since they had started dancing. He couldn't help himself, really. It was almost unfair how beautiful she looked.

She stopped before exiting the console room. "Oh, Doctor," she said, turning to him, "that was absolutely amazing! We really ought to go dancing again sometime." The smile gracing her face was simply radiant.

"Yes, yes, we must." He smiled as she walked out, going to get changed, he presumed. He, too, decided to change back into his beloved cricket jumper and striped pants. His hearts were beating far too fast, making him far too warm to wear the beige jacket again.

He returned to the console room. "What do you think, old girl?" he asked, stroking a bit of the central control panel. He quickly punched in a sequence and pulled a lever, but nothing happened. "What?" His face flushed in anger. "Why aren't you dematerializing?" An idea struck him suddenly, and he gave the console a good whack. It began to work its wonders, and the TARDIS was drifting off into space once again.

The Doctor leaned against the console, his head down, his back towards the hallway connecting the room to the rest of the ship. "Sorry about that, old girl. But, did she look beautiful tonight to you, too?" He laughed. "I can hardly believe it. I wouldn't have thought so when I first met her, perhaps, but, to be fair, I was an entirely different man back then. Literally. But she just seems so, so lovely… I don't know if leaving me on my own with her was the universe's best-planned decision. I mustn't do anything, I know, but… But I want to, so badly. Would you believe how she makes my hearts melt?"

Suddenly, he heard a noise from behind him. He quickly turned around, and, of course, there stood Nyssa, back in her usual sort of clothes. He swallowed a lump in his throat. "When did you get there?"

"Oh, I heard a noise and I thought it might be a good idea to see if anything was wrong." She smiled, tears in her eyes. "I got here around the words 'old girl.'"

"Oh, no." The Doctor could only imagine what she thought of him now. She probably wanted to leave the TARDIS because of this. She'd never be able to look at him the same way again. Oh, goodness, how could she do this to him?

Much to his surprise, Nyssa had no intention of leaving. She walked up to him, tears still hiding in her eyes. As she raised herself onto her toes, she pulled his head down towards her, meeting him halfway and gently kissing him. He reciprocated with enthusiasm.

As she finally pulled away, she smiled. "You know, you looked rather lovely tonight, as well."

"Not so much as you did. But, I should explain, you had no need of that dress."

"Didn't I?" Before he could actually respond, she kissed him again with fervor. As she broke it off again, she said, "You know, they say the clothes make the man, or, as the case may be, the woman."

"Take that away, and what have you?"

"I don't know." She grinned. "Care to find out?"