He stood outside her cell bars. He looked woebegone. His face long, his eyes sad. Even his bowtie drooped.

"Sweetie?"

"I need a hug."

She bit back a smile. He sounded like such a little boy. But she knew that laughing at him wouldn't help. For all that he seemed so invulnerable in his great age sometimes, she knew that he was only a man.

She walked over to the bars and opened the cell door. His eyebrow tipped up, curious, but not enough to comment. That alone told her there was more wrong than a childish pout.

She stepped out and slipped her arms around him. He immediately folded over her. Wrapping those long arms around her, she felt his nose against the top of her head.

She smiled, with a little wring of her heart. Her sweetie had obviously had a bad day.

She tightened her arms around him. Picked him up and walked into her cell. He squeaked in surprise, like a mouse.

She carried him over to her cot, turned around, sat down, and pulled him into her lap. She arranged his long, gangly legs up on the cot on one side of her, and wrapped her arms around his waist.

She looked up, his head was higher than hers. His mouth gaped open, staring at her.

"Now, tell Auntie River all about it."


Congratulate me! This is my 200th Doctor Who story!

For more stories by this author click on "betawho" at the top of the page.

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