Do I have any right posting another AU when I have more than enough to work on? Will it stop me anyhow? Does any of this surprise anyone? I thought so.
This comes directly from when I was randomizing my writing blog recently and I came upon this prompt fill. That being said: I have no self control. XD
The Coal Hill Catchment Community Musical is having open auditions, and for one man’s niece and daughter, it’s a perfect opportunity to get him out of the house and doing something non-doctor-y for once. [2209 words; Whouffaldi-endgame community theater AU]
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
“Can you? Please? Uncle Basil, I think this would be very good for us as a family!”
The grey-haired, middle aged man accepted the paper flier from across the table and furrowed his brows at it. It was an open call for auditions for a community-preformed musical based out of the secondary school, his niece grinning at him from over the casserole.
“Why?”
“We can spend time together,” his niece pouted. “You seem to have had less and less time for us since I got into secondary…”
“…and what is that supposed to mean, Dorothy?”
“Oooh, Dad got out the full name.” Basil glared at his daughter, who was sitting down with her own plate of food, and she recoiled with a laugh. “Just saying.”
“Alright then, Bill,Ace: please tell me why it is so important that I do this, despite the fact I am only ever not here because of my job.”
“Like I said: we’d get to spend more time together,” Ace shrugged. “I already signed up to do stage crew, and Bill and Heather are helping with costumes…”
“Heather is doing costumes—I don’t know if I’ll be co-opted into hair and makeup or as part of the cast.”
“…and anyone extra I bring is extra credit for my Humanities class, and you know how much I hate Humanities and it hates me.”
“You know that this will cut into time at work,” Basil stated.
“You’ve held down enough for two-and-half full-time jobs between us and the hospital for two decades,” Bill replied. “I think the staff will understand if you want to not be on-call for a bit. Spend some quality time with the family. Take a semi-vacation. Do something silly for once.”
“Billie, I am not in the mood for silly… at least that much of it.”
Bill and Ace both grinned at that—ha, so he thought.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
It was late Saturday morning in the auditorium, with Basil being all but dragged into the fray by his niece and daughter. The large room was a roaringly raucous environment, where there were plenty of people running around, from some adults all the way to some kids in lower secondary. Bill and Ace placed a thin practice script in Basil’s hands and gave him large grins accompanied by enthusiastic thumbs-ups. He scowled at the paper, completely unamused.
“‘The Music Man’?” He glared at his girls over the rims of his glasses, which he was glad he remembered to pocket before leaving the house. “You didn’t tell me that there’d be singing.”
“Just a little bit, and your voice is amazing!” Ace insisted.
“Whythis, of all things?” he replied. “Who was put in charge of figuring out the playbill?”
“That would be me,” answered another adult, this one closer to his age. She was short and squat, with a sour face, clutching a clipboard in her hand. After giving Basil a look-over—he was dressed in blue jeans and a t-shirt, as well as having refused to take off his hoodie—she pointed over towards a group huddled in the corner. “Go there first, and let me see how you fare.”
“Are you the director?”
“I am the everything,” she insisted. She looked at Ace and raised an eyebrow. “This is your uncle?”
“Yeah—I told you I was serious about that extra credit,” the teen replied, trying to play it cool. “Can you please sign that form now…?”
“Not until after casting,” the Everything said firmly. At that, Bill and Ace brought their adult over to his designated waiting area and had him stand there, reading over his sample lines. Most of the other men standing there—and it did seem like men, or that they were at least in the process of casting all the traditionally masculine roles—were teenagers and uni kids, with the occasional washed-up and pathetic-looking middle-aged man that only made things worse. It made him feel like a tit standing there, surrounded by kids the same ages as his niece and daughter, but hey, it could have been loads worse, right…?
Right…?
After being called on to read some lines for a few different characters, none of whom he felt entirely interested in portraying, Basil was allowed to roam freely as the Everything worked on casting the extras. He found his daughter in the back of the stage with her girlfriend, fitting one of the other actors for her costume. She looked to be in her early thirties, and definitely not the sort who was still clutching onto the glory days for as long as she possibly could. Did she have a young cousin or neighbor, perhaps? Certainly she was not here because she had a child old enough to be in the chorus…
“So you’re here for someone’s extra credit too, aren’t you?” he asked, hands jammed in his pockets. The woman glanced over at him and shook her head.
“No—I’m one of the teachers over at Coal Hill. They asked if I could help out and drum up some interest in the student population. I also help verify said extra credit.”
“You don’t remember Miss Oswald, because she first came in teaching levels younger than me and Ace didn’t have her for Lit,” Bill explained. She then looked from the teacher to her father and back. “Oh, yeah, Miss Oswald, this is my dad, Basil Potts. His brother is Ace’s dad—that’s how we’re cousins.”
“…and you’re not a McShane yourself?”
“What can I say? I was having a tiff with the folks around when I got hitched, but then again, so was my brother when he married,” he shrugged. “Most people call me the Doctor, though. Surgeon. St. William’s.”
“Then call me Clara.” She flinched and glanced over at Heather. “Be more careful, please.”
“Oh, sorry Miss Oswald,” Heather cringed. “I’m still not used to doing this on a live person yet. The pins can be tricky.”
“That’s alright… just… I want to have all of my blood in my body and not on the dress.” Clara then turned back towards Basil, who seemed to be watching Heather. “So, did the Almighty Director give you a role yet?”
“No—she’s being too cagey,” he frowned. “I don’t even remember the characters I read for—it’s been so long since I last saw this thing…”
“Not a musical fan?”
“I don’t have a lot of time, not with all my patients and raising the two most insane hellions to pass through Coal Hill,” he shrugged.
“Hey, I’m right here,” Bill frowned.
“…but do you deny it?” His daughter paused and then shrugged at that. “I thought so.”
“That does explain a lot,” Clara quipped. “It must mean that the man who raised them must have plenty of energy to keep up.”
“Some days, I don’t even know how I manage,” he admitted. He raised an eyebrow as he saw Bill and Heather attempting to hide their faces and laughter. “What…?”
“Dad, you’re a terrible flirt,” Bill claimed. Basil scowled at that.
“I wasn’t flirting!”
“Then explain what you were doing just now during that conversation.”
“You live in my house; I can still ground you.”
At that reminder, Bill immediately quieted, which only caused Clara to chuckle instead.
“I’m taken, for the record,” she claimed. “Mister Pink—I believe Ace had him for maths a couple years ago.”
“Yes, I remember; looked nearly ready to die of exhaustion on Parents Night.”
“That’s likely the one,” she confirmed. Heather tapped on her shoulder and helped her off the stool she was standing on. It was jarring, seeing her so short compared to him—must have been nearly a foot’s difference. “I need to get out of this thing. See you at the casting announcement.”
“Likewise,” Basil nodded. Once Clara and Heather had turned the corner, the older man glared at his grinning daughter. “Stop it, you.”
“Stop what…?”
“She’s seeing someone, and I plan on not seeing anyone,” he clarified. “If you and Ace think that me participating in this play means that something at home is going to change, then you’ve got another think coming.”
“Well, she does have a lot of chemistry with everyone, so I guess it’s not too much a stretch that she was just being friendly,” Bill noted, “but that still doesn’t change the fact that you suck at flirting and need to up your game.”
“I need to up nothing,” he insisted. “Now let’s see if we can sneak out to the bakery across the street for a couple sausage rolls before the cast is announced.”
“…and leave Ace here?”
“We can bring some back for her too, now come on, before the Everything decides she wants me to audition for Eulalie Mackechnie Shinn.”
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
As it turned out, late that afternoon when all the day had been sucked up, there was plenty of casting decisions that made the group of people scratch their heads as the Everything announced the results after their break. The Mayor and his wife turned into the Mayor and her wife, the sidekick character ended up being a disturbingly egg-shaped man whom no one else seemed to want there, while the leads…
“Now, for the moment you’ve all been waiting for: the two main characters in this production,” the Everything nearly giggled. Basil glanced over at his niece and raised an eyebrow.
“She always like this?”
“Only when she thinks she found something spectacular… which admittedly is a lot,” Ace snarked. They watched as the Everything nearly exploded in excitement.
“This year’s two leads are: Miss Clara Oswald as Marian Paroo and Doctor Basil Potts as Harold Hill!”
A weight dropped in Basil’s stomach as the room began politely clapping for the two awarded the leads. He had read lines for the male lead…? And he actually got it…? How…? Was this a trick? He could feel himself growing paler as he was urged to step towards the Everything, who made a show of handing him a thick, heavy script.
“Congratulations, Doctor Potts,” the Everything grinned. “Raw talent like yours only comes around once in a blue moon, and I do believe we are due for another wonderful performance!”
“Yeah,” a teenaged boy scoffed, “you just like looking at his bum and danglers.”
Most of the school-aged participants—and a few of the adults—snickered at the claim. The Everything’s face grew deep red in anger, as she was now beyondcross.
“Alright! Who said that?! You are going to be booted to ushering so quickly your head will spin!” She stormed off in the direction of the voice, while it seemed as though Basil was almost instantly forgotten, standing there in the middle of everything.
“Looks like we’ll be seeing a lot of one another for the next few months, aren’t we?” He glanced to the side and saw Clara giving him a nudge with her elbow. “Could be worse—you and The Egg could have swapped roles.”
“That’s true,” he admitted absentmindedly. He looked at the script in his hands and frowned. “If we were going to do one of these things, the least she could have done was gotten something from this side of the Atlantic…”
“Now listen up, everyone!” the Everything said, clapping her hands together to grab attention from those whom she lost. “We are going to start practicing in one week! In that time, I need you to read over your lines, begin to learn your songs, and get ready to learn come choreography! Most of you should be able to gather some clips off of the internet, however, the principals should have sheet music in the back of their scripts…”
“So that’s why it’s so heavy,” Clara mused. Basil flipped towards the back of the stack of papers to find that there was a lot of music… even for something that was called The Music Man. As he browsed, memory of watching the film version of the musical came flooding back to him; he had literally been conned by his children into being cast as a con artist.
He had been conned into playing a con.
Now, the only trick was to not let his coworkers realize what was going on.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Later that night, as Bill and Ace sat on the couch and watched a movie version of the musical together, Basil sat up in his room with the script and sheet music. He read over his lines doused in highlighting pen, examined the meter of the music, and, once he became engrossed enough, pulled out his old guitar to hum along to as he figured out the score. It was taxing to go over something that he hadn’t seen in a long time, using the guitar to help guide him where it could. He figured it would all be worth it, though, as it meant doing something with his kids that wasn’t just making dinner and leaving halfway through a film because his pager went off.
Downstairs, his daughter and niece looked at each other and grinned mischievously—Doctor Basil Potts was actually getting into their family project, and with any luck, there would be someone else frequenting the house by the production’s final curtain call.
Doctor Basil Brown’s time machine worked–it really worked–and now he and Bill need to get going before the clock runs out… even if they pick up someone else along the way… [a Doctor Who/Back to the Future AU]
The TARDIS rattled and shook as it wheezed to a stop. Eventually, everything stilled, causing the two occupants to take pause.
“You think it worked?” Bill wondered.
“There’s only one way to find out,” the Doctor said. He opened the TARDIS door and stepped out into the dark workshop. There were a few things tossed here and there, but to Bill, it was completely unrecognizable. To the Doctor, on the other hand… “We did it!”
“We did…?”
“This was how the workshop looked when River and I bought the house!” he gasped. He turned back towards Bill, expression manic with glee. “We went back in time! This is proof!”
“Okay, I believe you, just…” Bill peeked outside the window and saw that it was already dark. “Do you know what day it is?”
“We’ll figure that out later—let’s compare watches.” They did, and both were the same: 18:07. “We should make sure to head back here by half past eight, just to make sure.”
“…and if we don’t make it in time?”
“We’ll be stuck here as the TARDIS jettisons itself back to our home time period,” he said gravely. “Now let’s go and see if the library’s still open. We might run into your mum on the way.”
It was difficult to get the plywood off the door from the inside, but the Doctor and Bill both were able to push their way out of the workshop and into the darkening streets of St. Luke’s. There were shops that had changed, ones that had stayed the same, and—despite the buildings almost all being intact from what it was in the future—there were plenty of visual markers that said they were in the 1980s. Women were walking by with some of the biggest hair styles Bill’d seen in a long time and it felt as though she was looking at several film sets all at once. She glanced around, marveling at their surroundings.
“Cor… I knew not a lot changes here far as the buildings and whatnot, but I didn’t think it was that bad…”
“Welcome to the Dark Ages, when Thatcherism somehow reigned supreme and many couldn’t get through the decade without hard drugs,” the Doctor shrugged. He glanced over at her, who was giving him a weird look. “Hey—it’s a miracle any of us got out of this decade alive, let alone with all our wits about us.”
“It makes me wonder what I’ll be saying about my youth,” she deadpanned. They continued walking down the pavement to see that their first different building: a dance club that was pumping out some music that Bill didn’t quite recognize, but knew she heard on the classic rock radio station. “I don’t remember this place—this should be the Tesco, yeah? I thought the outside was just brand-related retrofitting.”
“It was demolished before you were born, after a fire had gutted the place,” he explained. “Some young hot-shot was playing around with pyrotechnics for a show and it exploded, catching the stage and the rest of the building on fire. She went down with the ship, so to speak, and they never even found her.”
Bill curled her lip and shuddered. One of the last things she wanted to do is think about ghosts and burning buildings and how the tragedy was so thoroughly forgotten by the time she was a child that the information had been completely new to her as an adult. The Doctor noticed her discomfort and simply shrugged.
“Let’s just get to the library and maybe we can actually accomplish what we need to before the time limit. It was in a few different spots before it settled on the building you know it as being in, so we have to get moving if we’re to check all the locations in time.”
Just as the Doctor and Bill were about to walk by the club, a young woman burst out of the building absolutely furious. She was positively drenched, her hair, dress, and the military-looking coat resting on her shoulders looking rather ruined.
“I’m going to kill him,” she seethed, fists balled tightly. Her accent was slightly jarring, with Blackpool being all over her words to the point the travelers nearly thought they had missed the St. Luke’s mark physically and landed in an eerie lookalike. Bill cleared her throat and her head snapped in the time travelers’ direction. “What?!”
“You wouldn’t know where the library is, would you?” Bill asked cautiously. The other woman looked at the two and raised an eyebrow.
“You look more like you’re going to go clubbing than to the library,” she noted, her brow furrowing as she continued to look at the strangers. Her eyes lingered on the Doctor, taking in his appearance before she brought her attention back to Bill. “Besides, it is probably closed for the night.”
“It’s a long story,” the Doctor said. He looked at the woman’s soaked form and took off his jacket, trading it for the one on her shoulders, which he then tied around her waist. “Can you please show us? After that we can walk you home, show up the pudding-brain that ditched you.”
The woman looked at him, clearly considering the offer. “Alright—follow me. The name’s Clara Oswald.”
“I’m Bill Potts.”
“…and people call me the Doctor.”
“The Doctor, hmm?” Clara smirked. She began to walk, figuring they would keep up with her quick steps; it was clear she was used to keeping stride with long-legged people. “What, are you the sort of person who simply crooks his finger and people follow?” She glanced over at Bill and tilted her head, tone turning serious. “Are you alright?”
“Uh… yeah…?”
“He’s not… forcing you to be here, is he?”
Bill burst into laughter at that, unable to stop herself. “The Doctor’s more like my dad, and a decent one at that.” That caused Clara to glance back at the Doctor to see that his face was turning a bright pink color. “We’re just here to meet up with a couple of people, then catch our ride to leave. No worries.”
“…and one of them works at the library, then?”
“Precisely,” the Doctor said. “You wouldn’t happen to know Melody Pond, would you?”
“Can’t say that I do, but I’m pretty new around here myself.” Her pace began to quicken as he expression darkened. “I’m thinking this is going to be more temporary than I had originally intended. Had been here with a bloke in a rented flat, but considering the fact he just up and disappeared on me… it’s probably time I head back home and figure out where to go from here.”
“So, your boyfriend ditched you after you were subject to some sort of—I assume—water-based prank and now you’re ready for an immediate change?” Bill surmised with a grin. “It’s a shame, really, ‘cause it’s almost like I know a guy.”
“How so?”
“I think that’s enough of that,” the Doctor said, his ears a nice, bright red now. “Let’s just get to the library, please.”
“Sorry, Glasgow—this Melody Pond of your must be some lady for you to follow her all the way here. I can respect that.”
“It’s a bit difficult to explain,” he shrugged. “All I want is a bit of closure, is that so bad?”
“I guess that depends on the closure,” Clara replied. The trio crossed the street and soon the library was in sight. “Are you sure about this? Why not wait until it’s open tomorrow?”
“There’s not exactly time,” the Doctor said. He maneuvered himself so that he was ahead of Bill and Clara and took the lead, heading straight for the building in question.
“Is he actually your dad?” Clara asked Bill in a hushed tone.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Just a friend… one I help out a lot.”
“You sound like you’ve lived here your entire life, though, and he does not.”
“I have, but…” They were now on the library, the three able to walk in without a problem. “Why is the library open this late?”
“I must have misjudged the time,” Clara said. “It looks like it’s only just before seven—library closes at nine.”
“That’s… impressive…”
“You’re telling me—I never lose track of time like that,” Clara noted. “I must have spent only half an hour or so in that club. It was so torturous that it felt like ages.”
“Speaking of, how did you get all—”
“Sshhh, I think the Doctor’s found his gal.” Clara pointed towards the Doctor; he was standing in the middle of the main entryway, staring in both terror and yearning. There, on the other side of the room from the entrance, was the woman who Bill remembered from her childhood, whom she most often saw in photos. Melody Pond, before she changed her name to River Song for publishing purposes and had gotten her doctorate in library sciences, was shelving books. Her hair was not the same blonde that Bill remembered, but her curls were instead a light brown, pulled back into a ponytail that just barely contained them, despite the fact that they would have been the envy of all those out on the pavement in their volume alone. It was without a doubt, unequivocally, Doctor River Song roughly fifteen years before she passed away.
She was there, and Doctor Basil Brown was frozen.
“Get over here,” Bill hissed, pulling the Doctor off towards some tall shelving units. “Stop standing there with your mouth gaping like a schoolboy who saw his first pair of tits.”
“I can’t help it,” he growled back. “That’s my wife.”
“Wait… you’re married to her?” Clara wondered. Oh yeah, that’s right, she was there as well. “That’s… erm… unexpected.”
“Not married yet, so calm yourself,” he replied firmly. “I need to get just ten minutes alone with her. That’s all I want.”
“You can do a lot in ten minutes.”
“Yeah, and everything I want to do is talk.” He looked at Clara and Bill and exhaled heavily, knowing that this was going to be the culmination of everything that he had been working towards for the past ten, fifteen years. “Just let me have this, alright?”
“…Basil…?!”
Bill and the Doctor both froze at the sound of his name, fearful that they were already discovered. They poked their heads around the shelving unit to see that Melody was looking at him… a younger version of him, who was approaching her with flowers in one hand and a devilish grin on his face.
“What the bloody hell is that?!” Bill whispered. “You never said anything about visiting her while she was here?!”
“I don’t remember this!” he fired back. They watched as his past self kissed Melody, her hands going into his wavy brown hair while he held her with his free arm. Bill felt somewhat nauseous at the amorous display. “Okay, this might complicate things.”
“Oh… that’s… you…” Clara marveled. She looked from the Doctor, to his younger self, and back. “That does complicate things.”
“Like I said: it’s a bit difficult to explain.”
“How difficult do you think it is?” Clara scoffed. “You time-traveled, probably to right a wrong with her, and now you’re here with grey in your hair and a grad student helping you along because you’re no good alone but don’t have a kid of your own to have inherit her curls and your arse.”
“…and how did you…?”
“I teach literature in my spare time—this seems like a pretty solid conclusion to a melodrama.” Clara then glanced over at Bill and pursed her lips in thought. “Then why are youhere…?”
“I wanted to meet my mum,” Bill admitted. Clara nodded at that.
“I’d meet my mum again if I could; I get it.” She kept her eye on the younger version of the Doctor as he took Melody by the arm and led her out of the building. “Shit—they’ve gone.”
“This complicates a lot,” the Doctor said, sounding like a broken record. “I can’t meet myself—the implications could be catastrophic.” His face glazed over for a moment before a grimace overtook him. “Oh… actually, I do remember tonight.”
“Did you at least get a leg up?” Clara asked. The Doctor shrugged wordlessly—of course he did. “Let’s go and figure out if we can get a hold of Bill’s mum, then see if we can get between yourself and your future wife long enough for you to say your goodbyes.”
“I don’t think I appreciate the tone you’re taking with preemptiving this mission,” he interjected.
“Well, you’re obviously going to be busy, so let’s at least see if we can find a phone book in the meantime,” Clara said. The Doctor looked at Bill in an attempt to find an ally, only to get the opposite response he wanted: Bill looking at Clara with hope in her eyes.
He really was off his game, wasn’t he?
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
“Are you sure your mum never went by another name?” Clara asked. The three were huddled around an open phone booth, with Clara quickly thumbing through the directory. Bill was holding her mobile over the book so she could use it as a torch, which impressed the other woman.
“Nope—never changed her name,” Bill said, shaking her head. “I know I live in the house my foster mother grew up in, but she never had much contact with my mum outside of school. Her parents would still be there, most likely, and that does us no good.”
“…and what about you?” Clara asked the Doctor. “Do you remember where your liaison took place?”
“I remember, and it wasn’t merely a liaison,” he blushed. “This was the night I first proposed.”
Bill looked at her mentor, not entirely certain she was processing everything properly. “You brought us back to the night you proposed?! As in proposed marriage?!How did you forget that?!”
“I tried to aim for a certain date, but it didn’t seem to work out,” he shrugged. “Come on… how was I supposed to know that tonight was when we’d go back?”
“It just sounds like you’re a horrible driver,” Clara cut in. The Doctor scowled at her.
“You don’t drive a time machine.”
“You certainly did try if you were able to come back this far.”
Unable to counter that, the Doctor simply folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t see you being able to drive a time machine any better.”
“Mmmhmm, yeah, just be glad I’m not reporting the two of you to the police for being utter weirdos.” She glanced at Bill’s mobile and raised an eyebrow. “If that’s supposed to be a phone, why don’t you just call on it?”
“The technology used to connect this to other phones won’t come into the area for another twenty years, and that would be in the infant stages,” she explained. “It’s not all super tech and flying cars in the future.”
“It’s the future, not Thunderbirds,” Clara shrugged. She closed the phone book and shook her head. “Do you have any idea as to where she would be hanging about?”
“No,” Bill replied quietly, turning off the light on her mobile. “She might not be here.”
“Alright, then, we should probably go and at least take care of tracking down the Doctor’s younger self and Miss Melody, get something done tonight, and maybe get lucky and run into your mum on the way” Clara decided. “Do you remember where she lived? Was it a flat or a house?”
“She rented a house, not too far from where we need to be,” he said. “After we were married and here permanently, we bought the bicycle garage on Grynden Lane and the attached house.”
“You live there in the future…?” Clara cringed. “Well, I guess you’d need a lot of space to build a time machine…”
“Not as much as you’d think,” Bill said. She followed the Doctor and Clara as they began to walk in the direction of some residential streets. Falling back a few paces, she kept looking around at their surroundings, taking in the disturbingly-stubborn similarities between the St. Luke’s she knew and the one she currently was in. It was a bit surreal… okay, it was more than just a bit surreal, but it was still interesting all the same.
Then, just as they were getting ready to turn a corner, she saw something out the corner of her eye. Down the street was a group of people all crowded around something. She tried to get a better look and saw that it was a group of teenagers crowding around a particularly short one, a backpack being held high over her head.
Shit.
“Basil, hold on,” Bill said before changing course. She stormed up to the group with her best cross-face on. “Oi, you, what do you think you’re doing?!”
“Wouldja look at that?” the lad holding the backpack chuckled. “The little freak has a friend.”
“Look at that: your manners are appalling,” Bill fired back. “Now give her the backpack. It is hers, right?”
“It’s ours now,” another lad scoffed. “Maybe she shouldn’t carry dangerous shite on her if she doesn’t want it liberated.”
“Give it back!” the teenaged girl snarled, jumping up in an attempt to get her stuff back. She just barely hooked her finger on the zipper pull, getting a couple things to fall out of the opening. “I worked hard on this stuff! You’re just jealous!”
“Billie! What are you doing?!” the Doctor shouted as he approached the group. The offending teens all caught sight of the older man rushing towards them and bolted, not wanting to incur the wrath of what they thought could have been a legitimate grown-up. As they ran away, Bill knelt down and helped the teen girl pick up the things that had dropped—they were small and round, only about the size of a golf ball, and looked like prop bombs.
“Thanks,” the teen said. She started stuffing the items in her jacket, which was covered in patches and pins. “Those arseholes made off with most of it—damn it.”
“What was that?” Bill asked.
“I’m headed towards my job—I do stagework at the club,” she explained. “The special effects were in there.” The teen saw the Doctor and stood up straight, raising an eyebrow. “What, are you her dad or something?”
“I might as well be, considering how much she listens to me,” he grumbled. “Come on, Bill, we don’t have that much time left before we have to go.”
“Alright—sorry about that… uh…”
“Ace,” the teen grinned. She shook Bill’s hand and ran off, headed towards the center of town.
“What did I tell you?!” the Doctor whispered angrily. “No changing the past.”
“You would have done the same thing if you noticed first.” He frowned at that, with her smiling smugly in response. “Come on now, we’ve got to go, right?” They then went and joined their somewhat-native guide, who seemed very amused at the entire situation.
A few more turns in the street and finally the Doctor, Bill, and Clara found the house that was currently being rented by one Melody Williams. It was at the edge of town, with some more trees and shrubbery around it to cocoon it from the rest of the neighborhood. That made the trio breathe a sigh of relief—there would be that many fewer chances that they’d be caught. With no lights on from the front of the house, they went around to the back garden and saw nothing was on back there either.
“We have to be upstairs,” the Doctor figured. He kept his voice low; attention was the last thing he wanted at that moment. “I’ll have to check.”
“By what, breaking into the house?” Bill hissed. He shook his head and took a chair from the patio, placing it underneath where a second-story window sat. “You’re not going to reach with that.”
“Not by myself, no,” he said, gesturing to the chair. “Come on so I can stand on your shoulders.”
“Why me?!”
“I know you can handle my weight because you’ve carried me out of things before,” he said. “Besides, she doesn’t even scrape my chin in heels.”
“Then hold her up—she looks light.”
“…and have you forgotten what she’s wearing?” They glanced over at Clara—she seemed mostly dry now, if her dress was still a bit on the ruined side—and she shrugged. “I’m not here to invoke that.”
“Wise move, Glasgow,” Clara smirked. She gave him a wink and he went red in the face, turning around so he faced the house. Why did she suddenly look really good in his old jacket?
“Let’s get going Bill; I don’t need you two seeing me and River together, alright?”
“Fine…” Bill sighed. She stood on the chair with the Doctor and helped him attempt to scale the stone wall, finding handholds until he was able to set his boots on her shoulders. Holding him in place by his ankles, she struggled to stay steady, hoping that he would be quick. “Any luck up there?”
“…I didn’t realize my body could bend that way back then…”
“Okay, you’re confirmed to be in the middle of a shag, now get off me!”
The Doctor lingered in the window for a moment before complying, easing himself down until he could jump without injuring himself. He looked over at Clara, still blushing, and tried to play it cool.
“It looks like we’ve got a clear shot.”
“Funny, so do I,” she noted. He saw she was looking down, so he followed her line of vision—watching his younger self in the middle of a premarital tumble with his future wife accidentally made him a bit tight in the trousers. Clearing his throat, he maneuvered the jacket around his waist so that it rested in front of his fly.
“We need to distract my past self so that I can talk to my wife,” he said, attempting to sound nonchalant.
“Well, we better hurry up, because we only have ten minutes before we have to head back,” Bill mentioned, looking at her watch. “What do you propose we do?”
“How about throwing some pebbles up at the window?” Clara offered. She pointed at the small rocks sitting along the wall of the house, barely bigger than pea gravel. “That can get your attention, while not going and damaging anything—”
“Hey! Who are you?!” The trio looked towards the back of the garden to see the neighbor behind the house looking over the wall at them. “Miss Williams! Miss Williams! There’s someone in your garden!”
“Shit! Run!” the Doctor panicked. The three of them rushed out of the garden and back down the street, hoping that they could keep from being caught again by the neighbor. “That bloody Mrs. Bleaker—always was too much of a busybody for our own good.”
“I guess this is a wash then,” Bill frowned. “We couldn’t see my mum, couldn’t get to talk to your wife… the only good thing that happened is that we ran into Clara.”
A heavy silence fell on them as everything sunk in. The Doctor had achieved a miraculous feat by being able to travel back in time, and yet the reasons he went were completely out of his control. He sighed heavily and scratched the back of his scalp.
“I’m sorry; let’s head back, Bill,” he said. He then turned to Clara. “I guess this is goodbye.”
“I’ll walk you back,” she said. She took his arm and they continued on, heading back to the workshop. By the time they were able to work their way into the building, the TARDIS was beginning to wheeze.
“Shit! It’s started!” The Doctor gasped. “Hurry, Bill! Before it’s too late!”
“…but Doctor…!”
“We’ll try again in the morning! There’s no time!” He shoved her towards the police box and they jammed themselves in. The machine was just about to disappear when Clara opened the door and squeezed in herself, shocking the other two.
“What are you doing?!” Bill asked.
“You don’t get to just leave like that,” Clara answered. She then looked at the Doctor as the box began to rumble. “You didn’t give a proper goodbye. Who gives a proper goodbye by running off without a word?”
“Do you realize what you’ve just done?!” he asked. “We’re going forward in time! Skipping over thirty years!” Clara instead grinned at him.
“Sounds like a better adventure than anything that idiot can give me.”
As it’s #InternationalWomensDay, here’s an early design I submitted for what eventually became Penguin’s The Day She Saved The Doctor book. I liked the coathangers…
Peter Capaldi’s 12th Doctor regeneration was everything he deserved. Twelve was the most tormented Doctor, the most haunted by his past, so full of secret pains we would never know about. He really felt like he was hiding back so much, and was putting on a mask so much of the time. Seeing the Doctor find peace in himself, and the optimism in himself (herself!!!) for the future, was absolutely incredible. I honestly can’t think of a more suiting end for Twelve. It was bittersweet, but I feel like I can comfortably and peacefully say goodbye.
I love how their post says “A better, more positive Tumblr” as if female nipples are what’s ruining the experience on this website and not bullies, racists, homophobes and actual nazis
I love how their post says “A better, more positive Tumblr” as if female nipples are what’s ruining the experience on this website and not bullies, racists, homophobes and actual nazis
The next entry in the Short Fic Challenge uses these prompts: someone having the worst luck, the meet part of a meet-cute, and the situation and setting, a coffee shop human AU was suggested by @sunniebelle. Tagging @doctorroseprompts.
John Smith found himself looking at his phone calendar to confirm the date wasn’t actually Friday the thirteenth. Not that he was a triskaidekaphobe. Not at all. He wasn’t superstitious in the least, because he was a scientist with a doctorate and that was not how he rolled.
But, mornings like this certainly tested his resolve. He had awakened to discover that his car had been towed in the night, most likely due to a parking complaint from his annoying neighbor in the next building. John had known he was tempting fate by taking the space right in front of her building, but it had been the only one open. He’d spent a good hour tracking the vehicle down, making him miss his first class. He’d had to call in his TA to teach his first lab of the day, and he wasn’t sure he’d make it to the second.
The second debacle of the day had occurred shortly after he’d burst out of his flat door. He’d tripped over the errant black cat that had taken up residence in the stairwell. John had nearly gone head first down a flight of steps, but had managed to grab the rail just in time. The swearing and clatter had been loud enough for Craig and Sophie, the ground floor neighbors, to poke their heads out their door. Sophie once again disavowed the cat. John had no idea who owned it. He sensed a tone of derision in its meowing at him.
So, no, it’s not Friday the thirteenth, but yes, the cat was black. Managed to avoid walking under that ladder, though. John thought as he walked, shoulders slumped, down the sidewalk towards the newspaper stand and the small cafe next to it. Noticing the white splatter of paint on his black chucks, he groaned. Missed the ladder but not the paint, he mused as he looked back at the workers painting the trim on the building next to his. His neighbor’s building. He told himself it was ridiculous to imagine she paid the painters to mess up his shoes.
Wilfred Mott, who ran the newsstand, greeted him with his usual cheeriness. “Well, hello, Doctor! Everything okay? You look a bit deflated.”
“That’s a good word for it. It’s not been a great morning,” John confirmed.
“Was that your little blue car I saw…”
“Yep,” he said, popping the p.
“Blimey,” Wilfred said, shaking his head. “Wish I’d said something.”
“It wasn’t your problem, Wilf,” John assured him. “Nothing you could do about it. Then to make matters even better, I tripped over the cat in my building. Nearly cracked my head open.”
Wilfred winced. “Ah, I see. Gonna get your car now, I suppose?”
John rolled his eyes. “Soon. Impound yard doesn’t open for another half-hour. I guess I’m going to work after lunch. Hopefully.”
“I’d give you a free newspaper for your troubles…” Wilfred began.
John raised his hand and interjected, “No, I’ll pay for it. I have to keep my favorite newsstand in business, and besides, Donna would kill me.”
Wilfred continued, “…But I’m all out.”
“Ah,” John said. No leisurely crossword puzzle today.
“I think things will look better after coffee and a muffin,” Wilfred suggested.
John nodded. “Excellent idea. Particularly if it’s one of Donna’s banana nut muffins.” He stepped towards the cafe door.
“Have a better day, Doctor. I’m rootin’ for ya.”
With a salute and a smile in Wilfred’s direction, John entered Noble Pastimes, his favorite cafe. He noted that it was rather crowded, even for the end of the morning rush. His friend Donna was behind the counter, as was the barista, Bill Potts, and there were four customers ahead of him.
John realized there was something familiar about the woman approaching the counter. She was blonde, wearing a bright pink hoodie with Punky Fish scrawled on the back like graffiti. Suddenly, it occurred to him why she was familiar, and his heart sped up a bit with the revelation. Oh! The shopgirl from Henrik’s! The one who sold me Aunt Sarah’s scarf. Yes, that’s definitely her. She was lovely. Picked out the perfect gift. Gorgeous eyes, too. Honey… no, whiskey colored. That was the best way to describe them. Why don’t I go to Henrik’s more often? Well, other than hating shopping. She made it a pleasant experience, though. That’s it, all shopping is to be done at Henrik’s from this point forward. I will come up with a list of things I have to buy. Oh, but what if she doesn’t work there any…
“Gonna order, Spaceman?” The dulcet tones of Donna Noble jolted him from his recollections. They’d been friends for years, more like brother and sister, so he often got the unfiltered version of Donna’s customer service charm. Apparently the line, and he, had been moving while he’d been dreaming of blond shopgirls. Well, of a specific blonde shopgirl. He didn’t just wake up with a craving. “You’re late.”
“Been a bit of a morning. Don’t wanna get into it,” John told her. Donna nodded. He assumed she knew she’d get the full story later. “Banana nut muffin, please, and a coffee.” He quickly scanned the display case. Then he looked at it again, and finally on the third pass, he stammered, “There’s none? None at all? You’re out?”
“Yes, yes, and yes,” Donna stated flatly. He assumed the “Dumbo” went unsaid, but understood, because she was in her place of business and not their Wednesday night Uno game.
“There’s no banana nut muffin,” he repeated stupidly.
“Then would you take a blueberry? Because there’s customers behind you,” Donna sing-songed.
“Fine,” John sighed, his shoulders sagging. There was no point in being angry. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the shopgirl giving them both the side-eye as she collected her coffee from Bill. Donna bagged up a blueberry muffin and thrust it at him, then he stepped over to where Bill was handing out another coffee. He noticed the shopgirl was stuffing her change in her purse.
Bill gave him a sympathetic smile.“Sorry about the muffin.”
“I’m not surprised, honestly. It’s been the morning from hell. My car got towed. Made the fatal error of parking it in front of the building next door.”
“The crazy neighbor called the towing company on you?” Donna interrupted. He nodded, not wanting to get into it.
“M’ sorry to hear that,” Bill said sympathetically, seeming to understand his need to refrain from elaborating.
“Had to call Martha in to teach for me, and she’ll probably have to do the afternoon lab too. Then some random cat tried to murder me, I got paint on my trainers… then no newspaper, and no banana nut muffin. I don’t mean to be a knob. I know it’s ridiculous to be so disappointed over something so small…”
“Small things have a way of pilin’ up, though. Sounds like your morning has been rubbish. S’cuse me for interruptin’,” a woman spoke behind him. He startled, then turned to see the shopgirl, holding a bag and a travel mug. “Not my business, I know, but… M’name’s Rose Tyler, by the way. You came into Henrik’s a couple of weeks ago. I remember you.”
Faced with the object of his musings actually speaking to him, John stammered eloquently, “Oh.” Then his brain relayed the information that not only did she remember him, she’d just introduced herself and he was standing there like a lump. “I’m John Smith. Yes, that was me. Aunt Sarah loved her scarf.”
Rose grinned broadly. “That’s great. Erm… sorry about the banana nut muffin. I must’ve bought the last one.”
He found that in the presence of a Rose Tyler smile, he could forgive quite a bit. “If it had to go with someone, I’m glad it went with you.” Internally, he winced. He was no Casanova, but that was awkward even for him.
Then Rose did something with her tongue, poking it out of the corner of her mouth as she smiled, and it made him forget the whole morning’s ordeal. It even made him stop thinking of banana nut muffins.
“I have an idea, if you have some time. Wanna share?”
“Share what?”
Rose chuckled, holding up the bag. “I bought two. Want one?”
“I wouldn’t want to take away your breakfast,” he demurred.
“S’okay. I’ll survive until lunch.”
John blurted, “I’ll buy you lunch, Rose Tyler.”
With that tip of the tongue smile, Rose told him, “Let’s see how breakfast goes.” She turned and headed towards an empty table by the window. John started to follow.
“Your coffee, Dr. Smith,” Bill grinned. Was that a knowing smirk she was giving him? John imagined it was. As he grinned and stuffed some cash in the tip jar, he noticed Bill elbowing Donna. Not caring that they’d probably contributed to the neighborhood gossip today, John joined Rose at the table.
He did bring her lunch later at Henrik’s, after picking the car up at the impound yard.
Eventually, they shared many more breakfasts, lunches, and dinners (and midnight snacks.) John Smith always called Rose Tyler his fair Fortuna, because meeting her was the moment his luck changed for the better.
