Castiel looked down at the dusty, bedraggled Doctor with an impassive expression. “My people find you to be an interfering nuisance.”
The Doctor sat forward, bent over his gangling knees. A puff of fine chalky dust rose from his hair as he ruffled it. “Well,” he gasped, “given that you’re here and I’m still not… whatever your people like to do to things like me…” he shaded his eyes and peered up over his glasses at the angel, “you must feel differently.”
“Jack likes you,” Castiel replied, cool.
“Reckon you’re not Jack.”
“No.”
“Well, that’s a bit noncommittal for the fellow who just bent time to keep me from squishing like a grape.”
Castiel squinted at the Doctor in disapproval. “If you’re so insistent—”
The Doctor bobbed his head. “Usually, yeah.” His humor was lost on the angel, who seemed in an even fouler mood for the interruption.
“—I tolerate you. With a significant level of personal control.”
“Ah.” They regarded one another in silence for a moment, before the Doctor’s eyes widened in recognition.
“Ohhhh. You’re *sweet* on our Jack!”
Being found out clearly sat no better with Castiel than interruptions. “And now that you have your answers, I expect you’ll be in a hurry to leave. As usual,” he snapped. The Doctor had time to make an appropriately puzzled face, before a dismissive wave of Castiel’s hand saw him back to the controls of the TARDIS. Leftover force from the trip nearly took him to the floor all over again, but he snatched the edge of the console in time to steady himself.
“Well, that was abrupt.”
The TARDIS fizzed. The Doctor’s rolled his eyes.
“Oh, he was *not* right, don’t you start in!”
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