eponymous_rose

Title: Higher Education (4/5)
Author:

eponymous_rose
Word Count: 658
Rating: G
Characters: Seventh Doctor, Ace (this chapter)

Summary: The spaces between, the things the Doctor can do that nobody ever questions - the easier lessons learned amid the adventures and the danger.

It took the Doctor a moment to notice that Ace's complaints had long since faded away; she was leaning forward, pillowing her chin on her crossed arms on the table, watching his hands, either intent or hopelessly bored.

He adjusted the branch, just slightly, tilted a few leaves and the balance of the whole shifted, breaking the symmetry. "Look at that," he said.

It seemed to him that ikebana, the traditional Japanese art of flower arranging, encompassed a good deal of reverent, thoughtful, and entirely unnecessary silences. If the whole point was to connect more firmly with nature, to depict with leaf and blossom one's own frailties and strengths, surely the exercise would be more fulfilling if one were to introduce these facets to somebody else, to perpetuate the cycle of honesty.

Sometimes he got rather tired of living in his own head.

"Right, Professor," Ace sighed, and the Doctor quickly reassessed his initial impression - she was bored outright.

"No, look here," he said, and pointed to the budding blossoms on one of the branches. "This doesn't match with the rest, Ace, it's asymmetrical. The book says that's desirable."

"Mm," said Ace, burying her face in her arms, looking very much as though she expected the table to swallow her up.

He leaned down so his own chin was resting on the table, at her eye-level. "Come on, Ace," he said. "It's really quite interesting once you think about it."

She glanced up. "No," she said, "it really isn't. You've been puttering with that plant for hours, now!"

"But look at it!" the Doctor protested, then realised he was starting to sound as petulant as she was acting and softened his tone. "It would be easy just to make something pleasing to the eye, something straightforward and geometrical, but the whole idea is to find the hidden depths, the ways to emphasise the- the natural way things-" He floundered for a moment and waved a hand expressively.

"Right," said Ace, and imitated his hand-wave. "I always forget about the way things do that. Come on, Professor, can't we just move on?" She straightened, then leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms. "I mean, it's all just about what it looks like - judging by appearances and that sort of thing. Didn't think you'd be much interested."

The Doctor opened his mouth to protest, stared down at the sparse arrangement of twigs and flowers, and sighed. "Maybe you're right, Ace," he said. "It's nothing special, really - just our sense of aesthetics convincing us the whole pathetic mess could be better, could be more perfect, if we only had time enough-"

Ace's eyes were darker now, worried, and he realised he'd been ranting. "Nobody's perfect, Professor," she said in a soft voice.

"No," he said, and stood with a sigh. "Nobody is."

He was halfway out the door before he realised that Ace hadn't followed him; he turned to see her leaning over the little container and its meagre offering of vegetation. "Ace?"

"Just a mo," she said, and plucked one leaf off the branch that formed the backbone of the arrangement. "There," she said. "Perfect."

The Doctor smiled wearily. "It's very nice, Ace, but I'm not sure the book would-"

Ace rolled her eyes, strode up to him. "Not that. This." She held up the leaf, waved it in his face. "That's perfection, right there, that's nature and frailty and strength and all the rest of it. One leaf. Everything else is just noise, anyway."

And with that, she stepped past him and out into the labyrinthine corridors of the inner reaches of the TARDIS. "Coming, Professor?" she called.

He stared back into the room at the half-finished arrangement, the detail and the quiet artistry, and found himself smiling. Perfection, then, and honesty as simple as all that.

"Coming, Ace," he said, and followed.