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Disclaimer: BBC owns all rights to Doctor Who, but Kitty is entirely my own



We were materializing into orbit when the Doctor decided it was time to open his present.

"It's curious, Duovs aren't known for being sentimental. They prefer revenge when insulted, even if they agree that they deserve it. Still, I got a present and that's all that counts. Let's have a look-see." He said.

He sat on the floor like a child, first shaking the box, listening and guessing at what the contents might be; then his eyes shone with gleeful greed as he ripped off paper, letting it fly like confetti and fall on the floor. The Doctor was puzzled by the contents--a new set of clothes. Light brown pleated trousers, a Navy and grey Herringbone jacket, a vest of cornflower blue and a white long-sleeved shirt. His expression fell; he looked like a child who's received clothes for Christmas.

"I'm not sending a Thank You note." He pouted and pushed the box away.

"The way the negotiations went you're lucky the Duovs didn't send you home in that box. Still," I said, looking over the contents, "it's a nice outfit. Maybe they wanted to make up and figured an addition to your extensive wardrobe was the way to do it."

"I don't trust this. Maybe I should soak the clothes in water before wearing them." He mused.

"Or you could throw them out." I suggested.

The Doctor scooped up his odd present and held it close to his chest.

"Even if I don't play with the toy, it's still mine." He huffed and went to his room, presumably to sulk.



It was late afternoon the following day when he emerged from his room. I was about to pour a cup of coffee for myself; he plopped down in a chair and stared at me from across the table. I noticed he was wearing one of the new items: the shirt was cream rather than a stark white, opened to his collarbone and paired with one of his favorite suits--chocolate milk brown and white pinstripe. He also wore an expression I've seen before: a dog on a hunt.

I filled a cup and sat it in front of him. No sooner had my fingers left the cup handle, he wrapped his fingers--which I thought were perfect for playing piano--around my wrist and turned it over. The sensation of being touched caught me by surprise.

"What's this scar from?" He inquired. The Doctor then reached into his coat for his glasses and examined my wrist closer. His finger traveled the length of the scar, then pressed lightly; like seeing how far you can depress a key without making a noise. He pulled my wrist close to his nose and sniffed; I stopped him before he tested like a toddler.

"I cut myself a long time ago. Let go, I can't get the cookies with you holding onto me." He chose his sweet tooth over my hand; I made a dash for the cabinet.

"Biscuits," Said the Doctor, smiling broadly.

I returned to the table with a small plate piled high with cookies--biscuits--and set them on the table between us. The Doctor had finished one cup and was pouring a second for himself. Without setting the pot down, he reached forward; and I, as nervous as a dog in a thunderstorm; jumped in my chair and hit the underside of the table with my knees. My cup and the teapot spilled, the cup smashing onto the floor, the teapot was still in the Doctors' hand; the contents however had landed down the front of his new, now Coffee-stained shirt. His eyes widened and welled with tears; I knew he was truly in pain because he opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Panicked, I looked around for something to stop the steam burn and poured a quart-sized bottle of milk down his front.

For a moment the only sound was the drip,drip,dripping of milk and coffee on the floor. The Doctor slowly stood, he was soaked from collar to knees. He stared at the tabletop and spoke to hurt me.

"Do Americans have any table manners? Would it be easier to eat off the floor out of a bowl? Do you not know how to eat like civilized people?"

"What the hell...you're the one who grabbed me!"

He huffed and puffed and professed ignorance.

"You...rubbing my hand; staring at me like I was one of those cookies."

"Biscuits!" The Doctor corrected as he stomped, slipped and squished his way back to his room, stopping every few feet to shake one leg or the other.

I spent the next hour mopping up warm milk and cold coffee; collecting bits of broken china and rational thought.

What just happened? I was spooked, frightened and aroused. That was the first time since before this trip that a man has touched me. Not that I haven't had offers, it's just...I don't want to mess up. But he did feel good, didn't he?

No. Keep telling yourself that. And if I ever get that close again, I'll pour more coffee.



The Doctor kissed me, his mouth a long, slow pressure against mine. His kiss was soft, sweet and lonely; reaching not only for lips, but for connection. No more hesitating, I returned his kiss, opening my mouth wide to welcome him. Playfully we explored each other: a flick of my tongue behind the ear made his teeth chatter; my back arched as he moved his mouth down the front of my neck, wanting him to move farther down still. The Doctor cupped his hands on my breasts, paused and looked up at me as if to be certain. I kissed him deeply and approvingly; he untied my blouse, kissed my breasts and with his teeth, teased the nipples until they were stiff. The burning pain--the need to be filled--spread across my pelvis; reaching desperately I undid the Doctors' fly, spread my legs for him--and woke up alone.

Aching, aggravated and alone, I placed a pillow over my face and screamed. The dream and its possibilities were gone, but the hollow feeling remained. The Doctor was down the hall; I wouldn't stoop to my old ways, this "problem" I'd have to take care of myself. After a session of self-love that bordered on abuse I laid still in the dark let the orgasm take my thoughts away.

Afterward I went to the bathroom to clean up, not bothering to get dressed. I fell into bed and slept in late the next day.

I awoke to the smell of fresh coffee, the Doctor was up and had made breakfast. I put on my housecoat, brushed and wrapped my hair into a bun and entered the dining area. I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down. At first he didn't look at me, his head was bowed over folded hands and he was breathing deeply. I assumed he was either deep in thought--he usually is, which is why he's three steps ahead of everyone else--or disappointed in me--take a number and get in line--or holding a grudge about the bath he got yesterday. Any which way I was grateful for the silence, I could enjoy my coffee in peace. I was stirring in cream and sugar when he looked up at me, or rather at me up and down.

"Nice robe," The Doctor mentioned. "Is it new?"

Instinctively I drew the housecoat tighter, I didn't like where his eyes were gazing and I didn't care for his smile either. The Doctor I know has smiles that range from warm and welcoming to mischievous and knowing to pinched and concentrated. I've gotten this look from men before; I'm not naive enough to believe he's simply in a "good mood."

"No." I replied and brought the pot closer. "Need a refill?"

"No thank you." The Doctor gestured to his clothes with one hand. "Don't want to ruin my new suit."

He was wearing the rest of the outfit with the shirt (was that a stain?) he'd had on yesterday. I'd have to look under the table to check if he was wearing Converse high tops...no, I don't want to find out what else he'd have under there.

"You look good in that, flatters your, um..." I waved a hand in front of my face in a circle, "skin tone."

With one hand the Doctor straightened the shirt collar then caressed the jacket sleeve.

"Really, I was afraid it would make me look too pale."

"Well, you are British."

The Doctor sniggered at this playful jab, his expression changed and I thought I saw the man who invited on board the TARDIS.

"Half-human on my mothers' side."

"For real? I'm half and half; Dad was Cherokee, Mom's Italian."

"How does travel agree with you?" He stroked the jacket lapel then leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and chin on his hands. "Do you find yourself," He sniffed "needing anything?"

The serious man was gone.

"Mabel, Mabel." I said, my voice breaking a little.

"Who?" He glanced around the room.

I smiled nervously and explained the rhyme that teaches table manners.

"That wouldn't apply to the natives of some systems I've visited."

I laughed a little and felt my shoulders relax, "this sounds like my Doctor," I thought. Maybe I read him wrong. Like the man said: he's not exactly human.

"I can't wait to see..." I began.

"You can now." He said with a growing grin. "Just peek under the table."

I placed the cup firmly on the table and stood.

"Take me back." I said in a hissing whisper. "Do you hear?" I punctuated my demands by jabbing the tabletop. "Turn this police box around and take me home."

He looked up; his grin had faded to a frightened frown. Standing with great effort, as if being pulled up by strings, he approached me with a wide berth, trying not to startle me. Right after I got the scar I had surgery on my hand; the ER doctor injected a hot medicine that made my arm go numb from forearm to fingertip. I remember trying to move my hand, frightened that it no longer followed my brains' commands. The Doctors' behavior was affecting me the same way now.

"Don't go Kitty." The Doctor pleaded. "I need you."

"You said I was ONLY to be your traveling companion. To keep you company. You said you didn't want anything else from me."

"Well...I...LIED!" The Doctor yelled. "Why should I shun this particular feeling? For that matter why should you, especially when you're burning as hot as me?"

I grabbed the coffee pot and held it out like a gun. "Back off." I ordered and thought "it's a Mexican standoff in outer space." "If you're horny Doc, fine, we'll pull over to some planet where you can get a girl for a couple of hours. As for me, I don't need anything, from you or any other man."

"Liar, liar, pants on fire."

The Doctor approached slowly like a creature out of a nightmare, stretched out his arm and dangled my panties from last night from the end of his finger.

Oh Jesus, he's been inhaling me!

My leg muscles regained their memory; I stumbled backwards and felt the sharp pain of my right hip hitting against the buffets' corner and again when my butt hit the wall by the door.

"Besides," He growled, pressing me to the wall, "What's one more for the mountain of men you've climbed?" He sounded angry, disappointed and territorial.

What I confided, I sure as hell didn't expect to have thrown back at me. I glared at the Doctor; his eyes were so dilated it seemed as if the pupils were trying to cover all of the color. His hearts were beating like a Buddy Rich solo. I tried to think of an insult that would leave calluses, but suddenly knew no words at all.

He grabbed the back of my neck with one hand and unfastened my bun with the other, pins making a tinny sound as they hit the floor. Coal black hair cascaded past my elbows. The Doctor wrapped it around his hands like reins, pulled me close and kissed me. It was forceful, clumsy and emotionless. I tried hitting his balls with my knee, but he forced my legs apart with his own and I couldn't connect. The more I struggled to push him off, the harder and closer he'd press me against the wall. My breaths were shallow and labored, was he trying to suffocate me?

Maybe that's the way, I hoped and pushed on the hollow of his throat until I felt his body rise urgently from mine. He made a struggling, gasping sound and his face turned crimson as if he were trying to breathe through a sponge. Now it was his turn to back away as I advanced, finger still applied to his throat. I didn't stop until he fell backward onto the table, looking like a helpless turtle on his back. Now that he was (for the most part) no longer a threat, I turned and ran like a scared jackrabbit, hurdling over cables and dodging chains back to my room and locked myself in. Trembling, I prayed he didn't have a key to my door.

I was afraid to sleep that night. I sat upright on the bed, staring and blinking at the door, expecting it to open any second and see him in the doorway.

It's strange what you think when you're trying to keep yourself awake. I remember the hours before I left home to join the Doctor; me packing essentials into a duffle bag--t-shirts, panties, jeans, as many clean bras as I could find (don't know why I should bother, they're not that big,) all my meds, guitar, sax, (he wouldn't let me take the piano, so I settled for my keyboard,) my favorite boots and a shoe box of hair doodads. Oh, and don't forget deodorant. Mom followed me around; screeching out warnings of danger like a Blue jay.

"Not that it's stopped you before, but don't you think you should know something about this man?"

"I know what I need to, Mother."

"You don't even know his first name!"

I had to laugh, she had me there.

"He won't be any different." Moms' warnings continued. "He'll be just like the rest of the losers you shack up with."

"I've known him for three days and the Doctor hasn't even tried to flirt with me." Nor had he forced himself on me, passed me around to his friends like a joint or treated me like a Live Doll. "He's charming, intelligent and I don't think he's after sex."

"It's what they're all after."

"You should know." Her response stung my face across the cheek.

"Maybe he's gay." She didn't want the slap to be her final word.

"Or maybe he sees something the others didn't or wouldn't. You don't know what a shock it is to be wanted just for myself, and I'm going to try it."

I didn't trust her with my fears: what if I got up there and maybe I don't have anything else to offer but sex?

"Kitty, I know you're hoping for better; but a man from another galaxy is still a man under his clothes."

"Don't worry," I said, and tossed in a belonging of my late Dads'. "I'll be careful."



I don't know when I fell asleep or for how long. Sitting up, I grabbed the clock from the side-table;the numbers on the face blinked twelve. I stumbled into the bathroom and showered, determined to get rid of a sleep hang-over. After dressing I gathered my hair and braided it loosely, scalp on the sides still tender from where the Doctor pulled my hair. As I entered the bedroom, I heard it: Someone calling my name.

"Kiiitty." The Doctor was on the other side of the door.

I approached as quietly as possible, afraid to let the rubber soles of my slippers squeak as I approached the door. The video screen by the door showed the Doctor in the hallway, stroking the door; shivers climbed up my back upon hearing his sweaty palms squeak down the metal door.

"Kiiitty come out to me."

Not on your life, Jack. My Doctor wouldn't have attacked me; he would have treated sex like a theory that needing proving or a mathematical exercise. I wouldn't go near this one except in a Suit of armor.

Suits...I hate it when my Mother's right. I put my hopes on a man from another galaxy because I thought he had faith in me, but he's proved that underneath he's like the other---no, not exactly.

Think Kitty...He didn't act like this in Oklahoma. He didn't try anything when you visited Duov and had to share a room. It's only since we got back aboard the Doctor has been acting strangely. Maybe, maybe his race comes into season like dogs, once every six months. So, what, I'd have to wait him out? No. Keep thinking: diet? No, we both eat the same foods out of the TARDIS' pantry, so what he ate should have affected me too.

Try again: has anything happened lately that would affect his behavior? An illness, a fever, a head injury? I closed my eyes and replayed the past few days in my mind. Yesterdays' attack, the milk bath, tea and hand-holding, opening his present, came back to the TARDIS, left Duov. I searched for answers, without much hope of finding one.

"I'd give the shirt off my back to get you back to normal." I thought aloud.

Shirt. Shirt? Shirt! I grabbed the monitor and looked closer. Herringbone jacket, cornflower blue vest, cream colored shirt with a faded tea-stain, light brown trousers, trademark tennis shoes. He's been wearing the same clothes for two days, more or less. And that's when it hit me: the Doctors' behavior changed about two days ago; when he opened his present.

It's the clothes. I don't know how, but that's it! That's why the Doctor's been acting like a randy buck; he even looks like one, spreading his scent across the door. So the solution is simple: remove the clothes and he'll return to normal, hopefully. But how do I get him to take off his clothes? I was suddenly embarrassed. Oh, Kitty, it has been a long time.

On tiptoe I backed away from the monitor, went to the closet and exchanged my slippers and housecoat for jeans, t-shirt and boots. It was the boots I wanted the most; their two-inch heels are good for running in and they're specially modified. From a dresser drawer I retrieved Dads' memento and tucked it into a sheath on the side of one boot. Untying the braid, I allowed my hair to fall down my back.

"You look familiar." I whispered to my reflection. "It got you into trouble, didn't think you'd use this to stop it, did you?"

No; I'd hoped I'd never see the old me again. Hair down and kinky, ready for a night of men. Any man would do and it didn't matter to them either. I was just a lay to them and they told me so, some outright and some in so many words; like not volunteering a phone number or meeting me at a hotel, their office or in an alley behind a bar. But never seen in public with me. The stream of men who I'd fucked could fill a riverbed.

But not one of them knew me, who could describe me; that my favorite artists were Theolonious Monk, Chet Baker, Dinah Washington and Scott Joplin. Who knew what I was allergic to and what pushed my anger buttons. Who looked at me and didn't see a past, but a talented woman with a future. As long as I was doling out anger, I divided it evenly between them and myself. After all, I'd consented to most of it; I had numbed myself with the lie that any man--even a bad one--is worse than none. Well, I'd had my share of "any" and decided that until I met someone who wanted all of me, "none" was better.

Then I met the Doctor. And it started all over again.

My face was wet. I blew my nose into a tissue and returned to the monitor. The hall way was empty.The camera doesn't pan, so that left me with one choice. With trembling fingers, I unlocked the door and let it rise. Cautiously I stepped into the corridor, looking one way then the other. Is there a Doctor in the house?

"'Ellow, love." He chuckled, and lunged at me.

We landed on the floor; the Doctor on top, pinning my arms over my head.

"Enough cat and mouse," He moaned and ground his erection into me. "I need release, now."

"I agree." I lied and prayed I sounded convincing. "But let me be on top."

"No." He sounded final.

"You'll go deeper." I promised.

The Doctor lifted his head off my shoulder and considered my proposal. Still grasping my wrists he rolled onto his back, pulling me onto him. His smile said that I'd better make good; I put on like I couldn't resist, smiled and mounted him. I sat up and he let go; with one hand he fumbled with his zipper, the other was groping my breast.

"Geaaargh!" He couldn't undo himself one handed. "I'll return soon lovelies." He let go, undid his zipper and pulled his erect penis through the fly without removing his pants.

"Hey!" I shook his shoulders and made him look at me. His irises were completely black. "Take off your clothes. I'm not fucking you half-dressed."

The Doctors' mouth twisted into a frown, his brows came together.

"Uh, um, ah."

Experience has taught me that most men with a hard-on can't think, but most men aren't the Doctor. Even now he was formulating an argument for keeping the suit on.

"It's, uh, oh, essential to remain...Oh!"

He stared stupidly at me as I removed my shirt, imitated a porn star and painted my nipples with his salty pre-cum. Licking off the excess, I made all manner of "Yummy" noises, leaned forward and placed into his awaiting, open mouth. The Doctor--partly himself--moaned compliments in his native language and English as he kissed and suckled. I had to deny the arousal he was causing. I also knew I'd have to give him more incentive to get undressed. Slowly I slid down his long body until my head was over his crotch, lowered my mouth onto the base of his penis and nipped at him up the shaft through the trousers. The Doctor rocked his hips forward, put his hands on my head and tried moving me to take him in. As I pulled away and returned to the base he let out a whining moan of frustration.

"You want this to go on?"

"Yes, oh, yes. Good, good."

Almost there, he's speaking in incomplete sentences.

"Then the clothes come off."

"No!" He pushed my hands away, preventing me from unbuttoning the trousers.

"No?" I tempted him with a flick of tongue where shaft meets head. "Are you sure?"

"Need off...need on...need you...need..."

Was that the suit making him say that?

Suddenly I sat up, The Doctor stretched out a hand to me, but I made sure I was out of reach. He sat up and tried to kiss me but looked confused when I shoved him away.

"Want this?" I asked matter-of-fact; stroking my mouth with an index finger. The Doctor nodded enthusiastically, his pre-cum making a pool on the floor. "If you want this and everything that goes with it," I ran my hands over my breasts and cunt, "You'll get undressed right now. If not, you can go fuck yourself. If you can reach that far."

I'd never seen a man get naked so fast. Shielding my face from flying buttons, I saw the Doctor tear off his coat, vest and filthy shirt; the first and third items landed in the over head cables, looking like favors at a bachelor party. Stumbling around like a drunkard, the Doctor removed his boxer shorts and trousers over his shoes. When he was done the Doctor stood before me wearing only footwear, his pride and a determined smile.

"Your turn." He said, pointing an index finger at me.

The Doctor pulled down my jeans and panties so hard it knocked me onto my back. When the jeans were around my knees he mounted me, pressed down with all his weight and tried unsuccessfully to wrap my legs around his waist. He poked this way or that, trying to find what I'd promised.

"I can't breathe!" I gasped.

He lifted himself onto his elbows and I saw brown. His pupils had shrunk to reveal irises the color of whiskey, but only for a moment; his eyes rolled in their sockets and were closing fast. He lowered himself off his elbows, lay on top of me and passed out cold. I'd never been so happy to be under an unconscious man.

Sliding out from under him, I backed into my bathroom with my pants around my knees and pulled myself together, locking each door as I went. After brushing my hair I put my boot on the toilet seat and removed from the sheath an insurance policy from Dads' traveling musician days: a knife, two inches wide with a five inch long blade. Holding the blade parallel to my chin, I sliced small sections of hair and watched a souvenir of my past fall to the floor.



The following day the Doctor ran tests on the suit. When he entered my room I was playing a tune on the sax that suggested train stations, one-way tickets and sad, early morning goodbyes. He stared at the bags by the door and told me the results while I played.

"Testosterone and a native aphrodisiac were woven into every fiber. Direct contact with skin caused uncontrollable sexual desires. Crafty buggers."

He was impressed at the science behind the suit, even though it came close to killing him. I continued playing.

"I don't like that song, it sounds like the instrument is crying."

When the song was done I locked the sax away.

"I hate the new style too," he pouted, "even though it shows off your neck."

I laid the sax case with the other bags.

"One bad experience and you want to run away." He sounded like his best friend was moving away.

"Yes, I did. From being a stupid slut, and I thought I'd go with you because you're not much of a threat...no offense." He looked only a little hurt. "I mean you wanted just me, and I liked that. That's what I want. I'm strong enough to go back and do this."

He beamed with pride, except around the eyes.

"Where can I drop you?"


The End