Archive of Our Own ^beta

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When Ian gets up one morning, he is puzzled to find the Doctor in a good mood. He has been travelling with the Doctor for a fair while now, and he has yet to see them like this. To be totally honest, it is just bizarre.

“Good morning, Chatterton,” the Doctor says as Ian joins the others for breakfast.

“Morning,” he says through a yawn.

As the Doctor goes to get more food from the machine, Ian glances at Barbara. He raises his eyebrows as though to say, why are they so cheerful today?

But Barbara simply shrugs. He would ask Susan, but she has her radio by her ear and seems totally focused in the music.

Ian tries to forget about it, but the Doctor’s behaviour is difficult to ignore.

The Doctor is wearing red, and lots of it. When Barbara asks them about it, the Doctor smiles and goes into infodump monologue mode.

“It is the colour of autism acceptance. Today is the start of Autism Acceptance Month on Earth, and I thought I would wear red in solidarity with all the autistic humans.”

Ian nods in understanding and smiles, and decides to wear a red shirt today.

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The Doctor struggles to stim. They spent most of their childhood on Gallifrey being bullied into hiding their stims (and their autism in general, to the point they now have PTSD), and even now they have run away and they and Susan are travelling in the TARDIS, stimming is still difficult.

But they have been trying to change, to embrace their autism. Learning about the Neurodiversity movement on Earth in the twenty first century helped a lot, as the Doctor saw thousands and thousands of humans trying to unlearn the abusive rhetoric people used on them and to love themselves. And they tried to copy, to accept themself (and their stims).

It is difficult (some days, even flapping their hands in private can bring back memories of the ‘behavioural therapy’), but the Doctor tries. Susan helps too, complimenting them on their stims and helping the Doctor make stim toys. Ian and Barbara are good as well, learning lots about autism and never mocking their stims.

The Doctor appreciates their support most of all. Because to finally be around people who accept them for who they are, and don’t want to change them, makes the Doctor finally feel like they belong.

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The Doctor has always adored astronomy, the study of space and the worlds beyond their own planet. They were never allowed to express this interest as a child (they had to have an approved interest as part of their ‘therapy’, which meant no space), but they are fully focused on it now. In fact, that was part of the reason they and Susan stole the TARDIS and ran off in the first place. Aside from wanting to escape a place that had treated them so badly for most of their youth, Gallifrey was boring.

Because there is so much to do in the universe. Places to go, people to see, whole galaxies to explore and map and chart. Susan shares their love of space, although not to the point the Doctor does. But they both spend much time together making star charts, or stargazing on safe planets and just taking in the beauty of the universe.

As they lay side by side on a blanket, staring up at the mesmerising galaxy, the Doctor tells Susan the names of every planet they can see. And she listens to their words, which means more to the Doctor than they can possibly explain.

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Speech doesn’t come naturally to the Doctor. They were nonverbal as a child, only speaking after years of ‘therapy’, in the words of the doctors “finally worked”. Except the Doctor just felt broken, because they knew they were supposed to be nonverbal. So, yes, they were forced into speech as a child, but speaking isn’t how they naturally communicate. If it were up to the Doctor, they would use sign language all of the time, but they often have no choice but to speak.

And this means they have a great deal of problem with speaking. There are many times when their brain scrambles the message to their mouth, causing the Doctor to stumble on their words and accidentally speak a stream of gibberish. Or the wrong word comes out, or they stutter until they have to start again.

A good example of this is their problem with pronouncing Ian’s surname. It was originally a genuine mistake, their tongue fumbling over the string of syllables, and they still slip up when particularly tired or stressed. But mostly the Doctor does it to annoy Ian.

So, technically they can speak, but everything would be simpler if the Doctor communicated without speech.

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Wrapped in a thick fur coat, the Doctor walks out of the TARDIS. Snow crunches beneath their boots, the clear blue sky a great contrast to the crisp white snow. The sun glares off of the snow, and they are glad they are wearing sunglasses. They take a deep breath, inhaling the clear, cold air.

This was such a good idea of Barbara’s. It is so peaceful here...

And then the Doctor almost falls over as a snowball smacks them in the face.

“Got you, Grandfather!” Susan cries, giggling delightedly.

Wiping snow from their face, the Doctor notices Ian emerge from behind the TARDIS, holding a large snowball. And they watch Ian throw it and hit Susan in the face.

“Hey!”

“You started it,” Ian says, gesturing towards the Doctor. But he is smiling.

It takes the Doctor a few seconds to realise that they are in the middle of a snowball fight. They have two options: get annoyed and go back into the TARDIS, or join in. Picking the latter, the Doctor forms a snowball in their gloved hands. They throw it at Susan, who squeals and dodges it.

And they have to admit that this is very fun.

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Barbara has been travelling in the TARDIS for a few weeks when something occurs to her: she never sees the Doctor eat very much. She wonders if Time Lords don’t need to eat as frequently as humans, but Susan seems to eat normally. But the Doctor... she has to admit she’s worried about them.

So, one afternoon, Barbara decides to ask them about their eating habits.

“Doctor?” she says.

The Doctor looks up with obvious reluctance. “Yes?”

“When was the last time you ate?”

They frown, thinking hard. Eventually, they say, “What time was breakfast?”

“Eight o’clock,” she says.

“Well, then it was eight o’clock.”

Barbara sighs. So does the Doctor.

“I don’t feel hungry,” they say defensively, and they sound truthful.

“But do you ever feel hungry?” Barbara asks. “I mean, do you actually feel hungry when you need to eat, or do you only eat when you remember?”

The Doctor nods thoughtfully. “I’ve never thought about it like that. I think the latter is true for me.”

Barbara wonders if the Doctor struggles to recognise signals like hunger. So she sits down beside them and they proceed to talk about how to help the Doctor cope with this.

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The Doctor never seems to have much energy. They suppose it could be something to do with their age (after all, they are over four hundred years old), but they always lacked energy even in their youth.

Well, it isn’t that they lack energy, as such. The Doctor just seems to get through their energy quicker than everyone else. They often crash after a long day of battling genocidal aliens, having to sit somewhere quiet and stim until they don’t feel on the verge of a meltdown any more. Yet no one else has to do this.

One day, the Doctor tries to explain this phenomenon to Susan. Luckily, she understands.

“So if we imagined you’re a battery, like one for an automobile,” Susan says, sitting beside the Doctor as they stim subtly by tapping their thumbs against the lapels of their jacket. “We could describe you as a battery that runs down quicker than most batteries, and needs to be recharged more often. Does that make sense?”

It takes the Doctor a while to process their Granddaughter’s analogy. But when they understand what she means, they smile.

“Yes, Susan, exactly!” they say, giving her a rare hug. “You understand.”

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The Doctor has never liked crowds. Ever since they were a child, the overwhelming rush of so many noises and colours and smells leaves them terrified, stressed and battling a sensory overload.

They remember a time in their youth, when they were dragged to a large social gathering. And it was so loud, so large, so busy... everything overwhelmed them and they started crying and stimming—

Except not stimming, because they weren’t allowed to stim. Instead, they stood there with tears running down their face as they kept their hands still, fearing a terrifying snap of “quiet hands!” if they let themself stim.

They still hate them now, although it has become easier to cope with as they grew up. It especially helps that they are allowed to stim now, because stimming is so wonderfully soothing in a horrible crowded situation.

It also helps that their companions are so understanding. Ian and Barbara know to avoid crowds if at all possible, and Susan will help to ground the Doctor if a situation is causing them distress. And they all bought them their incredibly useful earplugs.

And it still amazes the Doctor that people they care about care about them too.

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The Doctor cannot use a telephone. Luckily for them, there was never much call for phones on Gallifrey, with everyone preferring to contact each other over screens (in a similar, if far more sophisticated, way to the human technology known as Skype), so they never had to struggle with telephones. Using screens is still difficult, as is any social interaction, but it is much easier to talk to someone when they can look at the person.

Which is the problem with telephones. The Doctor cannot rely on the person’s voice alone to understand them. They need to see the person, to watch their facial expressions and body language, if for no other reason than to know when it is their turn to speak (because it is very awkward on the telephone when they don’t know when to talk). But they also need to see their reactions, because how else would the Doctor know if the person is being sarcastic? They cannot pick that up just from hearing their voice.

So, yes, they detest telephones because they just cannot use them without something going wrong. So the Doctor always hands the phone to Susan and lets her deal with the call.

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Gender has always been confusing for the Doctor.

When they were young, they never felt like the boy everyone told them they were, yet they didn’t feel like a girl either. They just felt... neutral. Almost as though they didn’t have a gender. But there was no support for transgender people on Gallifrey, and, anyway, the Doctor didn’t feel like they were trans. They didn’t know what they were.

It was much later (after they had stolen the TARDIS and left with Susan), when they were reading about the history of LGBT+ rights on Earth, that they stumbled across nonbinary genders, for people who were neither male nor female. And the Doctor almost cried when they read about being agender. Because agender people don’t have genders, and that was exactly how they felt. It was amazing. They read about they/them pronouns, suddenly understanding why being called a boy was so upsetting: they were constantly being misgendered.

So the Doctor told Susan about their discovery and started using their new pronouns, finally feeling like part of them now made sense. And now Ian and Barbara support them and use the correct pronouns too. It is so wonderful to feel valid.

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Things Barbara Wright has found whilst tidying the TARDIS (because she is the only one who bothers to keep it tidy; the Doctor says clutter adds character, and both Ian and Susan don’t seem to notice the obvious mess):

• 3 huge computers from the 1960s.
• 2 tiny computers from the 2010s called laptops.
• 25 rooms she never knew existed until she walked into them.
• 2 broken radios that must have belonged to Susan.
• The tie that Ian lost last month.
• 20 hats of varying shapes and sizes.
• A complete set of camping equipment.
• 3 skis.
• A colour television.
• 7 combs.
• A black and white television (broken).
• 58 fidget toys, both homemade and shop bought.
• A collection of LGBT+ pride flags: aromantic, asexual and angender (the Doctor’s), pansexual (Susan’s) and a bisexual one she can borrow if she needs to.

But, despite finding all of these things, the Doctor won’t let her throw anything away. They say that things will always come in handy, and they enjoy collecting things. And Barbara supposes it doesn’t really matter, because the TARDIS is so huge the Doctor could collect whatever they want for the rest of time and still have more than enough space.

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Everything they can hear hurts the Doctor’s ears. Normal sounds, ones they hear all the time and never seem to annoy them are now far too loud. They hear all of them—

Ian’s echoing footsteps as he paces back and forth

Barbara’s voice as she talks to Ian about something trivial

Susan’s radio playing horrible tinny music through its poor quality speakers

Various parts of the TARDIS throbbing and humming and whirring as it moves through time and space

—And each noise feels like pains shooting though their head. They are obviously going into sensory overload.

Stimming helps ease the pain of a sensory overload (and therefore steer the Doctor away from a potential meltdown), yet they have to remind themself that stimming is allowed. Even centuries since their childhood, the Doctor still remembers the abuse they received for letting themself stim.

They know that stimming is safe now, that no one can hurt them anymore for expressing themself, but the Doctor still excuses themself to stim in private. Once in the privacy of their own room, the Doctor lets themself stim, covering their ears and rocking back and forth until the pain subside and their sensory overload is over.

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“Have you ever read the Sherlock Holmes books?”

Ian glances up from his book and looks at Susan. She gives him an inquisitive stare, smiling.

“Yes, I’ve read a few,” he says. “We had to study The Sign of Four at school, but I’ve also read some for fun. They’re quite good reads. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Susan says. “I was just thinking about the character of Holmes. How he reminds me of someone I know. After all, Holmes is very, very bright, but his social skills leave a lot to be desired. I mean, I wonder how many cases he would’ve got in the first place if Watson wasn’t there to interact with their clients. It might just be me, but Holmes really does struggle socially.”

“Yes, I see what you mean,” Ian says, thinking. “Who were you comparing to Holmes?”

Susan says nothing, but she nods her head towards the next room. Ian smiles, and his eyes focus on the Doctor, who is in the control room, fixing another broken part of the TARDIS controls.

“I know what you mean,” he says. “They certainly have a lot in common with Holmes, don’t they?”

And Susan grins.

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Being nonverbal is the Doctor’s natural state. If it wasn’t for that ‘therapy’ in their childhood, they would be nonverbal to this day, communicating with their hands and not their mouth. They often go nonverbal when they are tired, scared or stressed, but they can talk most of the time. Although they wish they couldn’t; because the only reason they can speak is because of the abuse packaged as ‘therapy’ to make them ‘normal’.

Sometimes they wonder how their life would be if no one had abused them. They would be nonverbal (like they should be), healthy and happy and living their life as it should have been, without waking up from horrible nightmares and being constantly anxious and basically living with trauma because of what they did to them. Surely that would be a better life. Still autistic, still themself... but not damaged by people who would rather abuse them than accept them for who they really are.

Susan knows all of this, almost crying when the Doctor first told her when she asked about their nightmares. Which is probably why she signs instead of speaks when it is just the two of them, letting the Doctor communicate naturally.

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Despite their desperate attempts to unlearn the abusive rhetoric packaged as therapy, the Doctor still struggles to stim. Well, at least in ways that are easily identifiable as stimming. Hand flapping, while natural for them, is difficult to do without thinking about the punishments inflicted on them, along with their other childhood stims: bouncing, rocking and spinning. But they can stim more subtly, which is why the Doctor’s hands are never off the lapels of their blazer, their thumbs tap-tap-tapping against the lapels. They only do the noticeable stims in private, and, even then, they still struggle not to remember.

One day, Barbara hands them a piece of plastic. Looking closer, they see it’s actually several small pieces fitted together, and they slide as they manipulate the shape, moving in an almost snake-like way between their fingers. Oddly mesmerised by the plastic object, the Doctor realises that they haven’t heard any of what Barbara just said. She smiles and repeats herself.

“I picked it up last week,” she says. “It’s a stim toy called a Tangle Jr. They’re designed for Neurodivergent people. I thought you’d like it. Do you?”

The Doctor smiles. “Yes I do. Very much so. Thank you.”

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Although they rarely stim openly in front of others (although they are slowly getting better at it with Susan), the Doctor often stims when they are alone. When they are alone in their bedroom or in a secluded part of the TARDIS that their companions don’t even know exists, the Doctor will stim the ways they always did as a child... at least until the punishments started.

But they don’t get punished now, despite what their PTSD tries to do to their brain. They are free to express themself in those private moments, letting their hands flap and their fingers flail, running them through their hair, twisting stim toys and tapping their fingertips against the wall in a regular beat. They spin around until it makes them dizzy, or rock back and forth, wishing they owned a rocking chair.

In those moments, the Doctor feels a brief but strong sense of identity. When they don’t try to hide who they are (and before the memories of ‘therapy’ ruin it, giving them flashbacks to the many times when stimming got them punished), they feel like the person they were meant to be. And that means more than they can ever explain.

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“Ever since I was young, I’ve been fascinated by astronomy,” the Doctor says, tapping their thumbs against the lapels of their blazer. “I read about the universe and everything it contained, and stargazed and wished I could visit these fascinating places. I wanted to be what you might call an astronaut. However...” they sigh, smiling weakly.

“...I lived on Gallifrey. Despite being the only race in the universe capable of time travel, Time Lords have no desire to explore. Which meant that I was stuck on a planet full of people who hated me, knowing I just had to look out into space instead of actually explore it. Astronomy was my special interest as a child, and they tried to stamp it out of me, along with my other autistic traits. But despite the dreadful treatment, I always told myself that I would go and travel one day.”

The Doctor looks a bit upset, but Barbara knows they won’t cry in front of her.

“It took a few centuries longer than I had planned, but, eventually, Susan and I sto- took this TARDIS and left that planet behind. And, ever since, we have been doing what I always wished: exploring.”

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The Doctor hates the month of April. There are many reasons to dislike April on Earth (such as the irritatingly pointless tradition of April Fool’s day), but their reason is far more important than a petty complaint about the weather or traditions that don’t make sense.

April is the month known as Autism Awareness Month. But as the Doctor (and the thousands of autistic humans who hate this as much as they do) knows, awareness isn’t needed. Everyone knows what autism is, because these disgusting ‘charities’ do nothing but point out how autism rates are rising (and linking this to vaccinations, even though correlation clearly doesn’t equal causation) and how much of a ‘burden’ autistic people are. Awareness isn’t needed, especially the way these people do it.

So whenever the TARDIS materialises on Earth in the 21^st century, the Doctor always hopes it isn’t April. Because they cannot cope with walking around with everything covered in puzzle pieces and people ‘lighting it up blue’ and all of this anti-autism propaganda trying to make a disability into something terrifying. It fills them with fear and anger and they just want to escape before these hateful people give them a meltdown.

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The Doctor lives their life by a routine. It helps them keep everything managed, to know when and where everything needs to be done. The regularity keeps then calm, because spontaneous changes can stress them out, and the Doctor doesn’t want that to turn into a meltdown. Having a routine gives them control over their life, and control makes them feel safe.

When Barbara wanders into the Doctor’s room for the first time (they usually keep the door locked, so she knows it’s all right for her to be in here), something stands out to her. Amongst the Doctor’s numerous possessions, she notices a chart pinned to the wall.

“What’s the chart for, Doctor?” she asks.

“Hmm?” the Doctor stops fidgeting with their Tangle and looks up. “The chart? It’s my morning routine. Susan designed it for me. She’s much better at making things look neat than I am.”

Barbara smiles, looking around the Doctor’s messy room. “So does it remind you when to do things?”

“Yes, I have a habit of forgetting to do things such as get dressed or eat without my chart to remind me. It really was a good idea of Susan’s,” they say, smiling fondly.

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“What’s your favourite animal, Susan?” Barbara asks, sticking a bookmark into the book about animals she found in the TARDIS library to mark her place.

Susan frowns, confused. “On Earth?”

“Well, yes,” Barbara says, and Ian chuckles. “We only know Earth ones, don’t we?”

“Yes, I see your point,” Susan says. “But it’s hard to choose...”

“I like tigers,” Ian says. “All big cats, really. But tigers are my favourites.”

“Hmm...” Susan glances at the cover of Barbara’s book. “Well, elephants are very intelligent... and I like parrots because they can speak... and...”

As Susan trails off, Ian grins at Barbara. “What about you? What’s your favourite animal?”

“I think I like wolves,” she says. “Especially because it’s funny to look at domestic dogs and think how they evolved from wolves.”

“You know, I think I like wolves best too...” Susan says. “But then there’s rhinos and...”

“Indecisive Girl strikes again!” Ian says, and Susan giggles.

“What are you talking about?” the Doctor says, entering the room.

“We’re trying to think of our favourite species of animals, Doctor,” Barbara says. “But Susan’s struggling.”

“I know!” Susan cries. “Snakes!”

“Snakes?” Barbara says, and her horrified tone makes Ian burst out laughing.

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To say that the Doctor is bad at lying would be both a huge understatement and a complete misunderstanding. Because the only reason the Doctor struggles to lie is because the whole idea was completely stamped out of them as a child. During their endless ‘behaviour therapy’ that did nothing but completely mess the Doctor’s head up, they were taught to comply, even when they didn’t want to do their pointless and painful exercises like making forced eye contact. And being taught to do what people say in fear of punishment means the Doctor still struggles to say what they really mean.

Because they never seem to be able to do it right. If they lie, their words come out forced and everyone knows they aren’t telling the truth (and the Doctor still panics, remembering being punished in ‘therapy’ for lying), but being truthful is difficult too. Because they then get snapped at for being too bluntly honest, because they should have picked up on a social cue they totally missed (but no one ever taught them how to do that, instead just telling them off when they got it wrong).

Sometimes, the Doctor thinks that they just can’t win.

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“I miss home,” Barbara says. She rests her head against Ian’s shoulder, and sighs.

Ian sighs too, giving her hand a squeeze. “So do I.”

Barbara glances at Susan, who has a book open on her lap but isn’t actually reading it. “Do you ever miss home, Susan?”

She nods, closing her book. “I do. I haven’t been there for years but I miss Gallifrey. It’s such a beautiful planet. And... well, it’s home. That might sound silly, but I just... identify with the place I was born. I just feel like I belong there.”

“That’s not silly, Susan,” Ian says, smiling sadly. “It makes perfect sense.”

“Does the Doctor want to go back to Gallifrey too?” Barbara asks.

Susan hesitates, not sure how to explain it. “Well, they want to return because they know I miss it there, but they don’t want to go back and live there. They didn’t... they didn’t like growing up there. In fact, they hated it. They love the planet, but... but they don’t like the people.” She smiles weakly. “I don’t like them either. They were horrible to Grandfather. But I’d like to see the sunset again.”

Barbara pats her arm. “Me too.”

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“Do you like living in the TARDIS?” Susan asks.

Barbara glances at Ian, and then she smiles. “Yes, we do. I mean, we’d rather be on Earth, but it’s very nice here.”

“Yes, and it’s much better now we know the Doctor doesn’t hate us,” Ian adds.

“What are you saying about me?” the Doctor says, frowning but clearly not serious.

Ian smiles. “Nothing, Doctor.”

One night, Ian and Barbara are clearly feeling homesick. So the Doctor ushers them into a room commonly used as a cinema and gets the pair to sit on a large, squishy sofa.

“What are you doing, Doctor?” Ian says.

But the Doctor doesn’t answer (they are nonverbal at the moment and can’t be bothered to sign), instead gesturing at the screen and pressing PLAY on the TARDIS console. And Ian and Barbara find themselves watching an assortment of films and television programmes that they would have watched back in 1963. The Doctor looks at them, and smiles when they see the pair of humans grinning. Barbara looks a bit tearful, but Ian puts his arm around her.

“Do you like it?” Susan asks, voicing the Doctor’s thoughts.

Barbara smiles. “We love it. Thank you.”

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As much as Ian and Barbara can annoy them (it isn’t anything personal; it just happens that the pair have an inquisitive streak that can wear the Doctor’s already short patience down), the Doctor cares deeply about their human companions. And they aren’t just friends: the Doctor needs them.

They need Ian and Barbara in their life, for their friendship, their support and their constant companionship, just sticking with the Doctor no matter what. Ian and Barbara are always there, by their side... and the Doctor doesn’t know what is going to happen when Ian and Barbara eventually leave them.

And, of course, the Doctor needs Susan. Their granddaughter has travelled with them ever since they both left Gallifrey years and years ago. She is a constant part of the Doctor’s life, always there to help when things go wrong (she is very bright; the Doctor often thinks Susan might be cleverer than them). She knows how the Doctor’s brain works, how to support them through meltdowns and panic attacks.

They can’t even imagine life in the TARDIS without Susan. But the day will come when she departs, and the Doctor knows it will be their turn to support her.

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“I’ve always found it amazing how this game can be so simple... and yet so bloody difficult,” Ian says, resting his chin on his hand.

“That’s the allure of Earth board games, my boy,” Susan says, and her impression of her Grandfather is so impressive that Ian actually thinks it was the Doctor who spoke for a few seconds. But then he sees Susan’s smile and the mock-outrage on the Doctor’s face, and he knows exactly who spoke.

“I don’t sound like that, Susan,” the Doctor says in an indignant tone, but they are smiling.

Barbara bursts out laughing. “I think you do a bit, Doctor.”

The Doctor raises their eyebrows as if to say, I’m going to choose to ignore that.

“But anyway,” Ian says, grinning. “How can Scrabble be so simple but yet so difficult?”

Susan shrugs, still trying not to laugh. “I don’t know. But it’s surprisingly difficult, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Barbara says. “Have you ever played Scrabble before, Susan?”

“No, it’s my first time,” she says, which explains why Susan, a very bright girl, is currently in last place.

The Doctor is still pretending to look offended. When it’s their go, they put idiots.

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Out of breath and terrified, Barbara clings to Ian and Susan’s hands as they race back into the TARDIS. Ian trips over his feet and they all go sprawling to the floor. Barbara hauls herself upright and looks over her shoulder... and she sees the aliens racing towards them and screams.

“Close the doors!” she cries.

A dazed looking Susan stumbles to her feet, and presses the button to shut the doors. They swing shut, seconds before the aliens begin pounding on the door. Everyone sighs shakily.

“That was close,” the Doctor mumbles, and Barbara pulls Ian into a hug.

Much later, the stress of their near death experience has really got to the Doctor. Currently, they are sat on the floor, rocking backwards and forwards. When Barbara walks past them, the Doctor reaches out and grabs her arm. They look scared, and she wonders if they might be close to a meltdown.

“Close the doors,” they say, their voice very flat.

“What?”

“Close the doors. The doors.”

Barbara crouches down in front of them. “The doors are shut, Doctor. But I can double check if you want.”

The Doctor smiles weakly. “Doors.”

Understanding now, Barbara smiles too. “All right.”

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“What’s your favourite colour, Doctor?” Barbara asks.

The Doctor frowns. “Why are you asking?”

She shrugs. “Just interested.”

“Well, I used to like the colour blue, but it has been ruined for me now,” the Doctor says, tapping their thumbs against the lapels of their jacket. “So I suppose red is my favourite colour nowadays.”

“Is it because of the Autism Speaks thing?” Barbara says, referring to the 21^st century ‘charity’ on Earth that, to put it extremely lightly, doesn’t actually like autistic people.

The Doctor nods, and starts tapping their thumbs faster. “Exactly that. When something is used by a group that hates everyone like you, well... You do not want to be associated with it anymore.”

“Like with puzzle pieces?”

They nod again. “Yes, just like puzzle pieces. So, anyway, now I dislike the colour blue, and I cannot consider it to be my favourite colour any more. But I most definitely like red.”

“Because of the Red Instead movement?”

The Doctor taps the red Neurodiversity symbol pinned to their jacket. “Partly, yes. It is a wonderful thing to be associated with, and it feels like a colour I can trust.”

Barbara pats their arm. “I understand.”

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The Doctor’s relationship with empathy is complicated, to say the least. They suppose they have low empathy, yet at the same time it can be rather high. Reading emotions in others is a nightmare that further complicates matters, leaving the Doctor confused in a situation that others would probably find simple.

Such as the time when Barbara, homesick and generally upset, starts crying. Ian and Susan spring into action, hugging her and offering her tissues and telling her that they are always there to talk if she needs to. But the Doctor just stands there, unsure of what to do. They recognise that Barbara is upset (because she’s crying; but it’s far more difficult to recognise sadness when the person isn’t crying), and they do sort of feel a bit upset to see their friend in tears, but they just don’t know what to do.

In the end, the Doctor walks off and prints photographs of 1960s England off of the databank. Silently, the Doctor hands the photographs to Barbara.

She looks through them and starts crying again. The Doctor worries that they have made the problem worse, but then Barbara smiles through the tears and says, “Thank you, Doctor.”

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The Doctor has a bit of a problem with worst-case scenarios. Try as they might, they can’t stop their brain imagining everything that could possibly go wrong during a situation, leaving them very anxious when there is probably no valid reason to be.

But other times, there is a valid reason. Like the time they and Ian and Barbara get separated from Susan on a planet filled with somewhat hostile aliens, because there are many realistic scenarios in which Susan could get badly hurt (or worse). And the Doctor can’t stop voicing their fears.

“You’re over thinking it, Doctor,” Ian says.

“I know that, Chatterton,” they snap. “I just don’t know how to stop.”

Barbara sighs. “I know how scared you are, Doctor. We are too, though not as much as you,” she adds, obviously remember the last time Ian said something like that. “Why not try thinking about the good things that might have happened to Susan, like she might have found someone friendly and they’re looking after her.”

The Doctor’s brain starts thinking about how that probably isn’t true, but the Doctor forces themself to smile. “Thank you, Barbara. That ‘s a very good idea.”

Barbara smiles too.

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“Doctor?” Ian says, sitting down beside the Doctor and passing them a mug of coffee.

The Doctor wraps their hands around the mug, savouring the warmth in their fingers and the wonderful strong smell of the coffee. “Yes, my boy?”

“Well, you know how you were telling us about you being Neurodivergent? Because I was wondering if there’s a word for people w-ho aren’t Neurodivergent.”

“Thank you for not saying ‘normal’,” the Doctor says, sick of people who refer to being neurotypical as ‘normal’, thereby making Neurodivergent people ‘abnormal’. They know most people do it accidentally, but that doesn’t change how they feel when people imply that they are abnormal and weird. “But, yes, there is a term for non-Neurodivergent. If you are not developmentally disabled or mentally ill, you are considered to be neurotypical.”

Ian nods, smiling. “I see. So me and Barbara would be considered neurotypical?”

“As long as you both aren’t otherwise Neurodivergent, then yes. So please refer to yourself as that, and not… normal. I hate it when people say that.”

“Of course I will, Doctor,” Ian says. “I’ll never call myself normal. You’re Neurodivergent and I’m neurotypical, and that’s how we’re both supposed to be.”