#ngl i am not australian i think nz slang differs a bit but really she should be calling him a good c- but that's a bit too rude for dw

[i-am-become-a-name]

December 6.  Prompt: Proposition.

Tegan had started shaking beside him, jostling his elbow in a way most unlike the usual distance they kept from each other, and it was quite frustrating the interesting conversation the Doctor was attempting to have with one of the diplomats in the celebration they had stumbled into. It wasn’t cold, even for one of her impractical outfits, and for once, (he dreaded to think it for fear of the universe laughing at him) they didn’t seem to be in any active danger. The diplomat, rare for one of his breed, was fascinating, more interested in talking about what they had learned from the shared histories of the planets to move forward in earnest, rather than picking at and exaggerating the minor differences between their cultures. He turned his most foreboding look upon Tegan, who met his eyes and had to cover her mouth to conceal the grin that still peeked out from between her fingers. 

“What?” he hissed, annoyed already by the fact she had insisted on sticking around for the conversation, unlike Adric and Nyssa who had wandered off, in respective order, to the buffet table and to examine the art hanging about the hall. 

“Nothing wrong at all, Doc,” he made out from behind her fingers, and rare it was for her to not have a complaint of some kind, however trivial, but genuine amusement was creasing the corners of her eyes, and he did a brief pat down of his hair and coat, finding nothing amiss in his appearance. So where was this coming from? He frowned at her, and turned back to the diplomat who was watching them with an indulgent smile. 

“Now, what were you saying about the treaty of Lindor before my friend rudely interrupted you?” His emphasis on ‘my friend’ did not go unnoticed by Tegan, who struggled to stifle a snort behind her hands, but the diplomat was looking pleased. 

“Perhaps we could continue this conversation in my rooms, without the, ah, interruption.” He’d leant forward to put a hand on the Doctor’s arm, voice welcoming, but Tegan was positively quaking at his side now, and he opened his mouth to suggest perhaps she could find Nyssa to keep her company while he continued the conversation, but suddenly lost the ability to speak as a warm hand tucked itself into his, and a small frame leant itself against his free arm. He looked down in confusion at his companion, but her face was hidden by the frizz of curls tucked against his shoulder, so turned back as the diplomat took a step back, apologetically.

The diplomat looked disappointed, but suggested some titles where he could find further information on what they had been talking about in case he changed his mind and Tegan wobbled against his side. They parted with smiles, Tegan still tottering at his side as they walked away, and hidden by the crowd, pulled away from each other.

“Sorry for the ear-bashing he’s given you,” and the Doctor saw the diplomat mouth the words in puzzlement, but Tegan was bowling past any possible interruption, “but this galah has promised to muster the ankle-biters for tea.”

“Ah, quite,” the Doctor agreed, not understanding a single word beyond tea, but Tegan’s voice was assured, and the hand in his was clenching it quite speakingly, and he put his free hand over hers, patting it firmly, because he hoped to be able to use that hand in the future thank you. 

‘“May I ask what that was?” and Tegan was bent over, hands on her knees and positively cackling. He gently pulled her away from the crowd against the wall and let her calm down. 

“I, uhm, don’t think he was your type, Doc,” and- ah. She stood back up, still letting out the occasional snicker, but wiping the tears away from her gleeful eyes, her fingers coming away colourful with smudged makeup. “You’d still have missed it if he’d written it on a brick and thrown it through your window, wouldn’t you?”

“We were simply having an interesting conversation,” he protested, but that set her off again, pointing at him and giggling, and they were starting to draw attention. 

“Cripes, Doc, you can be a drongo.” And why were they all speaking a different language all of a sudden? She patted his arm, but her face was still twisted in mirth. “Haven’t had anyone be that obvious since a friend’s hen, right smooth-talker there.” 

She stepped away from him then, craning her head over the crowds to seek out Adric and Nyssa, and Australians. He would never understand them.