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Bill was poking at books and pulling them out at random, trying to see what method there was to the book madness. "Why do you keep so many bookshelves here in the console room? Not that I'm complaining about having something to read if we get stuck. But several shelves? When you've got a huge showy library that's the size of a small town. "
The Doctor lifted his eyes from the large book he was currently reading. "Don't you want to have some books close at hand?"
"But… The complete works of Shakespeare? Come on, you're just showing off. You don't need to have them 'close at hand' all the time."
"I like Shakespeare," the Doctor said, huffing and making a show of his eyebrows.
"'Course you do," Bill said, waving her hand dismissively. "But I bet you know all of his stuff by heart anyway. It just sounds like you're trying to be posh. Just ooh, see, here I've got Shakespeare and there is La Recherche de la Temps Perdu…" She thought she mostly got the pronunciation right. The Doctor had coached her before he'd introduced her to Proust. And that meant really introduced. Proust had been a bit startled by her. "And over there you've probably got, I don't know, Encyclopedia Britannica."
"I do not," the Doctor protested. "It's far too inaccurate."
She ignored him. "Putting all the really fancy stuff in the front room, while you've actually got shelves and shelves of murder mysteries in the library."
"Excuse me, I've got several Dorothy Sayers books right here," he said, poking at the shelf behind him. "And it's not my fault if other people happen to like Shakespeare, too. Old Will would've been surprised to hear you think his plays are posh and fancy."
He gave her a free lesson on the subject of "Shakespeare as popular entertainment in his day" and "the bawdy language of Shakespeare". She had to admit it was fascinating.
"Still, it's very clichéd," Bill said at the end. "Not Shakespeare, but who you're putting up in the front room. Literary canon is all straight white dudes — no, scratch that, he wasn't straight. Neither was Proust. But a white dude anyway. Probably. If he existed."
"He did," the Doctor put in.
"But all I'm saying, for Earth lit, you could put some more women and minorities on display."
The next time she came to the TARDIS, there was a brand new shelf of colourful paperbacks and hardcovers. As far as she could tell, it consisted of science fiction books from the 2010s and 2020s written by women about sentient AIs and spaceships, and books about people of colour in space.
She had an awesome time reading the ones that hadn't come out yet in her time.
*****
Bill carefully put the three-corner hat on her head, where it perched on top of her voluminous hair. She cocked her head this way and that, observing herself in the mirror. She turned around so she could look back at her reflection over her shoulder. "D'you think I look dapper with this?"
"I'm really not the best person to judge that," the Doctor remarked, leaning against the wall of the walk-in wardrobe.
"Come on, you wear a velvet jacket," Bill said. "You must know a thing or two about vanity." She rummaged through the rows of suits and jackets on coat hangers. "What's this? Another velvet jacket." Only this one was green. "Not your size, though."
"Oh, that." The Doctor looked up. "My eighth self used to wear that."
"Your what?"
"Hmm, I haven't explained that to you, have I? My people have this thing called regeneration…"
When he was done explaining, she understood better why he needed such an enormous wardrobe. Talk about expanding your mind. She wasn't really sure if she understood all this business about different selves who were different people but also the same.
She repurposed the velvet jacket and the associated ruffle, thinking it looked rather splendid on her. She could take it in a little, and she'd look dapper, no question. Very dapper. Maybe they ought to go back to the Edwardian era to test it.
She'd need a different hat for that, though.
*****
Bill stared at the black and white stones on the game board and contemplated the lengths people would go to occupy their time or their wits. She placed a new black stone on board to create an 'eye' for one of her groups. "I almost know what I'm doing," she said. "I might be getting the hang of this."
"Mmm-hmm," the Doctor replied. He was doing a good job of not looking smug, after she'd yelled at him about it a couple of times.
"You know, there's a computer that can beat a real human Go master now," she said.
"Right, we're at that point in time already," the Doctor said absent-mindedly as he contemplated the board. Having finally reached a decision, he made another movement. Bill noticed one of her stones was in danger. "Humans in this age rely far too much on computers," the Doctor added.
"I thought you're barmy about fancy tech," she said. "I mean, look at everything you've got here."
The Doctor let out a sound halfway between a chortle and a sputter. "My TARDIS is quite a bit fancier than early 21st century Earth computers and phones and whatever they have," he said indignantly.
"I know, primitives, whatever," Bill said. She contemplated her next move.
After a moment, the Doctor spoke. "It's just that computers are only as smart as the people who program them. And the people who decide what they're used for. Your species doesn't have a good track record with that."
"You can say that again," Bill murmured, and placed a new black stone on the board to expand her territory.
Only to have the Doctor capture a whole group of her stones. She groaned and put her head in her hands. She totally should have seen that one coming. Maybe.
"I suppose this game is all well and good if you've got 12 lifetimes," she said. "D'you think we could put it away for today? Have a turn at Scrabble instead?"
The Doctor grinned. "I love Scrabble."
"Somehow, I knew you would," Bill said with a mock eye-roll.
He got up. "Come, I've got a few different versions stashed away somewhere."
Soon Bill stood by a cupboard while the Doctor rummaged through it. She was holding several boxes of games already. One looked like a futuristic version of space age Ticket to Ride. There was Chinese Chess, and a couple of things that made no sense to her whatsoever.
"Mind if I put these down?" she asked, because her arms were starting to ache.
The Doctor barely heard her. He deposited another box on top of the pile. "That one's Scrabble, right?"
Bill put her pile on a nearby table, looked at the newest addition, and opened the box. "No, it isn't."
He frowned, looking at it. "It is."
"No way. Scrabble's supposed to have letters. This is just full of weird circular pieces."
The Doctor paused and turned. "Oh," he said after a moment. "It's Gallifreyan Scrabble. Well, we don't call it Scrabble. Same difference."
"What do you call it?"
"It'd take too long to say. We don't have all day. Ha!" He pulled out another box. "This must be it."
The newest box did turn out to be Scrabble. It had a few letters Bill had never seen, but she figured she'd take it. Otherwise they wouldn't even get started before it was time for dinner.
*****
"You know, you don't actually have to make pancakes," the Doctor pointed out. "With the TARDIS, we could just pop into the best Swiss crêperie any time you like. Or your grandma's kitchen when she wasn't looking. Someone's grandma's, at any rate."
"Shame on you, planning to steal pancakes from grannies," Bill said, brandishing her spatula at him. "Anyway, that's not the point."
"I've got a food machine in the back, somewhere," the Doctor said. "I'm sure I could get it fixed."
Bill set her hands on her hips. "Doctor. I know I don't have to make pancakes. But I want to make them. Don't spoil my fun."
"I was only thinking that you work as a dinner lady."
"Ooh, tell me something else I don't know."
The Doctor furrowed his considerable eyebrows. It seemed like one of his 'human beings are so complicated' expressions. "I simply thought that in your free time, you'd want to do something other than stand in the kitchen."
"Oh," she said. It hadn't occurred to her that he might be thinking of her comfort. "Yeah, well, there's a difference. 'Course I don't want to spend my evenings making fries for people I don't know, since I do that all day. But you know, when I needed a boring entry-level job so I could pay for my living, I didn't choose working in a canteen because I totally hated kitchens and cooking."
The Doctor frowned a moment longer, then suddenly his brow smoothed and he smiled. "I see."
"And you know what's the best cooking of all?" Bill asked, leaning on the counter.
"Pancakes?"
"Not quite." She stood up straight again and took the bowl of pancake batter, judging it had rested for long enough. She grinned at the Doctor. "Cooking for your friends. For people you care about."
"Oh." The Doctor stared at her like she'd said something incomprehensible. Then he repeated: "Oh." A smile spread on his face. "I see."
"So be quiet and let me make crêpes. If you want to help, show me where the TARDIS keeps the jam." She put the stove on, and went to get butter from the fridge. "And next week, you can take me to the best Swiss crêperie."
When she turned back to him, he grinned at her, eyes bright. "It's a deal."