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Doctor Who: The Internet Adventures #27
"The Apan Way"
Interlude
"Sunrise"
by Jon Andersen
-----
"Oh bugger! What the blue blazes are you doing here?"
"Oh no, not again!"
The two men regard each other across the spacious old kitchen, neither
looking particularly pleased at the other's presence. The first - poised
halfway through the patio door - is seemingly the eldest with a narrow face
just the healthy side of gaunt, the beginning of a receding hair line,
mousy brown hair pulled back in a highwayman's ponytail and shrewd blue
eyes.
Holding a cast iron lid in one hand, the other man is of a far more
Byronic aspect, with free flowing hair, sternly sensual features and blue
eyes that brim with passionate intensity. Both he and the older seeming man
dress with a certain distinct flair, hinting of the decadent splendour of
earlier times.
"I could have sworn I had this week booked!" the first protests in
high dudgeon.
"It was free," the second shrugs, replacing the lid. "And I needed to
get away from the others for a while."
"Ah," the first replies knowingly, then rubs the back of his neck a
tad sheepishly. "Truth is, old chap, I'm in much the same way."
"Well, I guess you'd better come in if you're going to. I just hope
you like Italian."
"As it happens, I have the perfect red to go with that."
* * *
Dinner is a largely silent affair, dialogue more or less limited to
requests for condiments. It's only afterwards, wine glasses in hand as they
wander onto the patio, that they start to talk properly.
"So old chap. What are you doing letting strange incarnations into the
house?"
"It seemed like a good idea at the time," the Doctor answers himself.
"You've been pleasant company so far."
"But how do you know I don't have nefarious intentions?" his future
presses. "I might be retreading the little fellow's territory and pre-
emptively inveigling myself in something."
"At this point, I'm not really sure I care," the Doctor shrugs. "I'm
co-raising a newborn TARDIS with another one who's found a girlfriend and a
permanent out-of-body experience. Between memories we share and ones we
can't, different techniques for raising a sentient pocket-universes, senile
old bats in dilapidated buses, being the Godfather to Wil's child, avoiding
New Years in San Francisco, the re-destruction of Skaro, the admittedly
rather good karaoke stylings of the Master and a guest stint as presenter
of Animal Hospital, what my future is planning for me is something I can't
garner the effort to be concerned about right now. Which is why I'm here
and the others are in Sydney with Sam and Jacqueline."
"Ah, of course," his future nods sagely, looking away. "To happier
times." He raises his glass.
"Happier times. But it's not that I'm unhappy. Actually, I'm far from
it. Just feeling a little run down. I need to get away from myself."
"And here I am."
"And here you are.
"I am, you know.
"You're what?"
"Unhappy," his future answers, turning to face him. "Crushingly,
wearingly unhappy. I need to get--"
"Away from your self."
"And here we are."
"And here we are." The Doctor studies his glass, avoiding eye contact.
"As it happens, I think we have the perfect red to go with that."
* * *
The cellar is lit now, as always, by a number of tungsten-filament globes
burning a cheery yellow-white in violation of several future laws. At some
point, the couch that had made a memorable appearance at Lords had been
installed in one corner and chained in place to stop it wandering.
"More wine?" the Doctor asks.
"Wine not," his past answers, draining his glass so it can be
refilled.
The now empty bottle joins its five fellows discarded to one side.
"And then, the damned fluff ball has the hide to complain about static
cling!" he finishes the story with a flourish of his free hand, prompting
his past to laugh quietly before looking at him with sudden sobriety.
"I'm not going to remember any of this, am I?" his past asks. "Motoko
Kusanagi, how that Greh fellow saved us and Verdant, the karaoke, this,
even Independence."
"I forget," he replies evasively before those long sensual fingers
grab his chin and he finds himself face to face with those impossibly
prescient eyes.
"I... Yes." He maintains the gaze as his past pulls back. "I'm finding
it so damnably hard to keep doing what we do. It tears at me, right between
the hearts, to be keeping up this soul destroying fight in the tradition of
a legacy that so often now seems like someone else's dream. I've lost count
of the old friends I've met whom I know nothing of and have lied to in
order to spare their feelings or my own. But the worse thing is not knowing
why I've forgotten it all, only that I have. Eight lives little more than
echoes that surface and sink of their own accord."
"I know what that's like."
"You mean that fiasco with your TARDIS?"
"Blue. She and the TARDIS haven't been the same for a year now. It
makes her feel as uneasy as it does me relieved."
"That's exactly what I mean!" the Doctor explodes, rising to his feat
only to sink back down again. "Until tonight, I didn't know I had a son.
Well, I suppose he's at least as much my child as Miranda if not more so."
"You remember Miranda?"
"Cute little thing, so high, Queen of the Universe. Surprisingly
strong memory."
"So, you planned on running into me and taking a scenic tour down
memory lane?"
The Doctor shakes his head. "I had genuinely wanted to get away and
decide if I wanted to go on, if I was going to pick up my companion again.
I did mention her, right?"
His past nods. "Yes. She sounds a wonderful person. I think I'll enjoy
meeting her.
"You will."
His past reaches over again, those amazing fingers brushing the side
of his face, gently moving aside a loose strand of hair.
"I have an idea."
* * *
The Doctor watches the sun rise through the bedroom window, on the bed
someone else's children will be playing on in a hundred years time. Crisp
white cotton sheets slip to his lap as he sits up, arms wrapping around his
shoulders as he luxuriates in the sense-memory his fingers give him and the
taste of rose-water mingling with the merlot.
"A new day. A new beginning," he decides, then scoots over to other
side of the bed. It's still warm.
---
The story resumes next week...
-----
Author's commentary:
Yeah, it's not technically part of the events unfolding in the previous
chapters but frankly I didn't fancy following on from last week's effort
and the story itself isn't really grabbing my attention. So I went the IA
way and did an interlude instead. Which is better I guess than an arbitrary
reboot, and still let me write the 9th Doctor - closer in time to the
events of "Scream of the Shalka" than "The Apan Way" seems to be.
Yeah, I'm writing the 9th a bit like the Pimpernel. Hardly surprising given
it's on a repeat screening over here at the moment.
References to events of previous IAs (and their resolution?), the movie
version of "Flight of Dragons", Transit, the telemovie, Rolf Harris and
messing about with whether or not the BBC books are contiguous with the
IAs.
Party on.
--
Jon
-----
Cats are the embodiment of angels here on Earth.
"The Apan Way"
Interlude
"Sunrise"
by Jon Andersen
-----
"Oh bugger! What the blue blazes are you doing here?"
"Oh no, not again!"
The two men regard each other across the spacious old kitchen, neither
looking particularly pleased at the other's presence. The first - poised
halfway through the patio door - is seemingly the eldest with a narrow face
just the healthy side of gaunt, the beginning of a receding hair line,
mousy brown hair pulled back in a highwayman's ponytail and shrewd blue
eyes.
Holding a cast iron lid in one hand, the other man is of a far more
Byronic aspect, with free flowing hair, sternly sensual features and blue
eyes that brim with passionate intensity. Both he and the older seeming man
dress with a certain distinct flair, hinting of the decadent splendour of
earlier times.
"I could have sworn I had this week booked!" the first protests in
high dudgeon.
"It was free," the second shrugs, replacing the lid. "And I needed to
get away from the others for a while."
"Ah," the first replies knowingly, then rubs the back of his neck a
tad sheepishly. "Truth is, old chap, I'm in much the same way."
"Well, I guess you'd better come in if you're going to. I just hope
you like Italian."
"As it happens, I have the perfect red to go with that."
* * *
Dinner is a largely silent affair, dialogue more or less limited to
requests for condiments. It's only afterwards, wine glasses in hand as they
wander onto the patio, that they start to talk properly.
"So old chap. What are you doing letting strange incarnations into the
house?"
"It seemed like a good idea at the time," the Doctor answers himself.
"You've been pleasant company so far."
"But how do you know I don't have nefarious intentions?" his future
presses. "I might be retreading the little fellow's territory and pre-
emptively inveigling myself in something."
"At this point, I'm not really sure I care," the Doctor shrugs. "I'm
co-raising a newborn TARDIS with another one who's found a girlfriend and a
permanent out-of-body experience. Between memories we share and ones we
can't, different techniques for raising a sentient pocket-universes, senile
old bats in dilapidated buses, being the Godfather to Wil's child, avoiding
New Years in San Francisco, the re-destruction of Skaro, the admittedly
rather good karaoke stylings of the Master and a guest stint as presenter
of Animal Hospital, what my future is planning for me is something I can't
garner the effort to be concerned about right now. Which is why I'm here
and the others are in Sydney with Sam and Jacqueline."
"Ah, of course," his future nods sagely, looking away. "To happier
times." He raises his glass.
"Happier times. But it's not that I'm unhappy. Actually, I'm far from
it. Just feeling a little run down. I need to get away from myself."
"And here I am."
"And here you are.
"I am, you know.
"You're what?"
"Unhappy," his future answers, turning to face him. "Crushingly,
wearingly unhappy. I need to get--"
"Away from your self."
"And here we are."
"And here we are." The Doctor studies his glass, avoiding eye contact.
"As it happens, I think we have the perfect red to go with that."
* * *
The cellar is lit now, as always, by a number of tungsten-filament globes
burning a cheery yellow-white in violation of several future laws. At some
point, the couch that had made a memorable appearance at Lords had been
installed in one corner and chained in place to stop it wandering.
"More wine?" the Doctor asks.
"Wine not," his past answers, draining his glass so it can be
refilled.
The now empty bottle joins its five fellows discarded to one side.
"And then, the damned fluff ball has the hide to complain about static
cling!" he finishes the story with a flourish of his free hand, prompting
his past to laugh quietly before looking at him with sudden sobriety.
"I'm not going to remember any of this, am I?" his past asks. "Motoko
Kusanagi, how that Greh fellow saved us and Verdant, the karaoke, this,
even Independence."
"I forget," he replies evasively before those long sensual fingers
grab his chin and he finds himself face to face with those impossibly
prescient eyes.
"I... Yes." He maintains the gaze as his past pulls back. "I'm finding
it so damnably hard to keep doing what we do. It tears at me, right between
the hearts, to be keeping up this soul destroying fight in the tradition of
a legacy that so often now seems like someone else's dream. I've lost count
of the old friends I've met whom I know nothing of and have lied to in
order to spare their feelings or my own. But the worse thing is not knowing
why I've forgotten it all, only that I have. Eight lives little more than
echoes that surface and sink of their own accord."
"I know what that's like."
"You mean that fiasco with your TARDIS?"
"Blue. She and the TARDIS haven't been the same for a year now. It
makes her feel as uneasy as it does me relieved."
"That's exactly what I mean!" the Doctor explodes, rising to his feat
only to sink back down again. "Until tonight, I didn't know I had a son.
Well, I suppose he's at least as much my child as Miranda if not more so."
"You remember Miranda?"
"Cute little thing, so high, Queen of the Universe. Surprisingly
strong memory."
"So, you planned on running into me and taking a scenic tour down
memory lane?"
The Doctor shakes his head. "I had genuinely wanted to get away and
decide if I wanted to go on, if I was going to pick up my companion again.
I did mention her, right?"
His past nods. "Yes. She sounds a wonderful person. I think I'll enjoy
meeting her.
"You will."
His past reaches over again, those amazing fingers brushing the side
of his face, gently moving aside a loose strand of hair.
"I have an idea."
* * *
The Doctor watches the sun rise through the bedroom window, on the bed
someone else's children will be playing on in a hundred years time. Crisp
white cotton sheets slip to his lap as he sits up, arms wrapping around his
shoulders as he luxuriates in the sense-memory his fingers give him and the
taste of rose-water mingling with the merlot.
"A new day. A new beginning," he decides, then scoots over to other
side of the bed. It's still warm.
---
The story resumes next week...
-----
Author's commentary:
Yeah, it's not technically part of the events unfolding in the previous
chapters but frankly I didn't fancy following on from last week's effort
and the story itself isn't really grabbing my attention. So I went the IA
way and did an interlude instead. Which is better I guess than an arbitrary
reboot, and still let me write the 9th Doctor - closer in time to the
events of "Scream of the Shalka" than "The Apan Way" seems to be.
Yeah, I'm writing the 9th a bit like the Pimpernel. Hardly surprising given
it's on a repeat screening over here at the moment.
References to events of previous IAs (and their resolution?), the movie
version of "Flight of Dragons", Transit, the telemovie, Rolf Harris and
messing about with whether or not the BBC books are contiguous with the
IAs.
Party on.
--
Jon
-----
Cats are the embodiment of angels here on Earth.