The Blossom
A Fanfic by Jennifer
I wrote this little story back in 1996, almost immediately after viewing the
TVM. It is inspired by that and Pertwee's "daisiest daisy" speech in "The Time
Monster." Since I did write it in 1996, I swear that I didn't crib off Adrian
Tullberg's quite excellent "A Night Under The Stars." See my intro to "Dante's
Prayer" to see why I haven't followed the Loom idea, and try to imagine a
younger version of Jamie Bell, of Billy Elliot, as the little Doc. (I can see
him scampering with agility around the mountains.) Also starring Paul McGann as
the Doctor's father in his first incarnation, Sir Derek Jacobi as Shandal, the
servant, and Sir Richard Attenborough as K'Anpo. Tune in after the story for a
brief explanation of Why I Don't Mind the Half-Human Business. Hope you like
it!
"Are you all right, sir?"
The man looked up at the head servant of his household, who stood over his chair with a look of concern. "Y-yes, Shandal, I am…" he answered. His gaze turned back to the portrait, as he tried to gain strength from her beloved face…strength for the task he could no longer hold off.
He took a deep breath. "Shandal…tell my son to come in here. I need to speak with him."
Shandal's eyes flicked from the portrait back to his master's face. "Of course, sir." He paused, then added in a less formal tone, "Sir…you're doing the right thing by telling him now. The longer you put it off, the harder it will be when you finally do tell him. Or worse, if he ever learned it from anyone else."
"I know, Shandal," the man answered. "That's why I'm telling him now. Of course, if his mother had—had lived, we'd tell him together. But that…that isn't possible now." He felt his eyes blur suddenly. No, no, none of that now. He'd already shed too many tears, would shed them again, but now he needed to be dry-eyed and clear-minded.
"I'll send the young master in, sir," Shandal soothed. The younger man smiled inadvertently as he watched his faithful servant turn smartly on his heel. Shandal would probably refer to the boy as "the young master" if the boy lived ten times a Time Lord's normal span.
Sighing, the bereaved husband turned his eyes back to the portrait. Her blonde hair, her blue eyes, her delicate features which had belied the strength of her spirit. Oh, my only beloved, he thought, I still don't know if I can go on without you. I think perhaps I can, if only I have our boy to love and take comfort from. But I cannot truly feel close to the boy unless we have no secrets between us—and I know you wanted us to clear the air about this as soon as possible. Why, it was one of the last things you asked of me… "Make sure he knows."
He smiled slightly as he thought of his own youth, the circumstances of their meeting. He himself was still a handsome man, with his long, tawny brown hair and clear blue eyes…one of the handsomest on Gallifrey, in the opinion of the unmarried ladies of the planet. When he was a lad in the Prydonian Academy, all the cardinal's daughters had thrown themselves at him…no doubt encouraged by their parents, who saw no harm in a match with the scion of one of the planet's wealthiest families. But his destiny had not been with them…no, not with a Gallifreyan woman.
He braced himself as he heard the light footstep of his son. He'd smiled often as he heard it scamper about the halls of the mansion. These past two months, since the sorrow that had befallen them, the lad hadn't been much inclined to scamper. He cast a last glance at the portrait. My beloved, my Moonlight, he thought, wherever you are now, give me strength to carry out your wish.
The small boy entered. My Creator, the father thought, he grows handsomer by the day. So little, yet so wise. And he loves me as I have loved him since the moment I first cradled him in my arms. Please, let him love me still after I have told him all.
"You sent for me, Dad?" the boy asked, perching on the hassock at his father's feet. He often perched just that way when his father read to him—many stories from Gallifrey, and just as many from Earth.
"Yes, little one, I did," the father replied, leaning forward to brush back an unruly lock of hair from the small forehead and kiss the spot. "I…I've been sitting here thinking."
"About Mamma," the boy faltered, looking up at the painting. His eyes grew full. "I…I miss her so much, Dad."
"Oh, I do, too, son," the father answered. His grief rose to sting his throat, a grief he and his son had shared and had comforted each other in. "But…but it's because of her that I am going to tell you this…because she wanted me to tell you."
"Tell me what, Dad?" the boy asked. "More about that stuff you explained before? The facts of life?"
"No, son…I've covered all that," the father answered with a blush. He'd been more or less forced to do so, since the boy had heard him and his wife together one night. He'd gladly have put that off for a while, too, but then again children had to learn about it sometime. "But it is about your mother. And my love for her."
He took a very deep breath. "Son…after your mother died, you asked why she didn't regenerate, and I told you the doctors didn't know. But that was wrong of me. We have always been chums, you and I, and there have never been any secrets between us. Except one."
He gripped both his son's hands, and the boy looked up at him, filled with an undefined dread.
"There are, as you know, many diseases that can kill Time Lords, by attacking the brain and central nervous system and inhibiting regeneration. Some of these are incurable. Others give the victim at least some chance of survival with the proper treatment, so that even after the disease has made its inroads, the regenerative process can be saved. It was one of these that your mother fell victim to…her medical work exposed her to it."
"But if she had the chance to regenerate, why didn't it happen?" the baffled child asked. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew the answer was going to hit him hard.
The father was surprised by how calmly it came out.
"Because, my little one, your mother was not Gallifreyan."
The boy's lips went white. He managed, "What…what was she, then?"
"She was Terran, son. An Earthwoman." The man paused. "Your mother was human, my boy."
The son looked as though he'd been slapped across the face. Finally, one word got out… "How?"
It could have meant many things. How did she end up on Gallifrey if she were human? How did you end up falling in love with an Earthwoman? Or…and this the father dreaded most of all…how could you have done this to me? To avoid that question, the father rapidly began to explain the other two.
"You know the Celestial Intervention Agency. Well, they asked me to undertake some missions for them. They knew I'd always loved field research and been the kind to jump into things with both feet. I agreed…there was much I wanted to see. Besides, I'd recently lost my parents in a transport accident, and I felt alone…I needed something, and I hoped to find it out there. All the lassies in three Academies had always fallen at my feet, but I found no interest in any of them, either. But on one of those missions, I met your mother…and knew I'd found what I'd been looking for."
The father got off his chair, crouched before his son, almost kneeling in supplication. "I was willing to stay on Earth with her.
There were some things I'd been discontented about here, but
I'd learned to live with them. However, I would never have lived with their
rejection of the woman I loved, nor let them part us. Not that they would have
objected to the marriage, just on the offworlder being brought to Gallifrey.
It's something that has been changing in recent years, but they were more
stringent about it then. But…well, I'll tell you all the details of that mission
one day, but suffice it to say," and a slightly ironic smile played upon his
face a moment,
"The Time Lords, being very grateful indeed, granted me this. I let your mother know that in some parts it would not be easy. I told her that there were many who would accept and grow to love her, and there were. Others…the majority…may not have been thrilled about it, but would accept it for my sake and out of gratitude. But there were a handful of bigots…and still are…who would look down their noses at her and our children. I gave her the choice of staying on Earth or perhaps traveling with me, if she felt she would not be comfortable. But she wanted to set down roots somewhere, and she felt there was nothing left for her on Earth. So I brought her here, and we had a second wedding ceremony in the temple, like any Gallifreyan couple. They were able to pull off the psych-bonding that Gallifreyan spouses undergo as well. We both turned our skills to work for this world, and were happy here. Oh, there were times that I grew a little curious once more to see what was out there…but as long as those I loved were here, my home was here.
"And soon…soon there was you, my dear lad, and neither of us could possibly have been any prouder of you. Still, we knew that the time would come when we would have to tell you the truth about your heritage. We planned to tell you together, she and I…but the Creator had other plans, I suppose. But I felt that it was important to let you know, and soon…for soon, you will be dealing with others outside of the circle of people you are used to. Your uncle and aunt, my closest friends and their families, and your playfellows like that scamp Drax and their families, they all know the truth and have accepted it. But…there are the bigots I mentioned. And their children. Very soon, you will have to face them…and know how to deal with them. And I couldn't stand the thought of you having to hear it first from some nasty schoolchild taunting you about being a 'half-breed'." The father paused, smiling absently. "Your mum handled their kind well. Once, she overheard one of them—a former superior of mine—commenting on what a pity it was that 'a fine man like that married an inferior'. She cut him off with, 'Even more so that a fine man had to answer to an inferior.' That shut the old bugger up. Oh, she could have a sharp tongue, your mother."
"Yes, son, you will regenerate," the father reassured. "You were born in the maternity service ward, like any other Gallifreyan child, with your mother hooked up to dozens of computerized labor-inducers and pain-deadeners to make the birth easy, like any other Gallifreyan mother. Not like the old days before that technology…when they shot the mother up with so many drugs she didn't wake up till the kid started at the Academy. Those same computers scanned you at birth, checked your genetic structure…and you inherited the Gallifreyan physiology, the respiratory backup, the second heart on regeneration, all that. And you will be able to regenerate. The word is, your regenerations may be somewhat more difficult, you may even need some assistance in regenerating, but there is no reason that, should you become a Time Lord, you should not have your full thirteen lives."
He paused to let it all sink in.
The stunned look on the boy's face had begun to disappear…replaced by anger. He looked up at his father and demanded,
"Dad…how could you? You must have known, all along, that one day we would have to lose her!"
The man closed his eyes. This was the reaction he'd dreaded. "Yes….yes, I did know, son…I knew it from the day I fell in love with her…and it caused me agonies…"
"Then why…"
"Why did I marry her?" The father was looking up at the painting once more. "You will understand when you fall in love yourself, lad…I knew that I simply could not conceive of a future without her."
"And what of my future?" The boy's voice was rising in anger. "Maybe there aren't as many bigots on Gallifrey as there once were, but they are there…you must have known I'd have to face them! Didn't you care that they would have treated your son like dirt?"
"Son," the father answered, a tone of desperation in his voice, "they treated me like that long before I even met your mother, because I didn't parrot their way of thinking, and they might have treated you the same even if you were fully Gallifreyan…their kind will always find something to disapprove of. They say and do many things in the name of righteousness and none in the name of love…and I believe that love is the most important element of living…before which Time, and Space, and Evil, and Death, all go down in defeat. And trying to shape it to others' expectations only causes misery….and I am not made to shape it. Even if it did mean having to face the disapproval of a handful of self-righteous snobs."
"But…" the boy was on the verge of tears, "but…you knew you would outlive her…"
"Wouldn't that have been a possibility, even if she were fully Gallifreyan? Son, we may be long-lived, but we are not immortal. And it certainly wouldn't be much of a life for any of us—Gallifreyan or human—if we closed ourselves off to love because we feared loss."
"And where is my home?" the boy wailed.
"Your home, my dear, dear lad, is wherever you are happy and are surrounded by those who love you. As long as that remains true, what does it matter where you are—here, or on Earth, or even somewhere wandering the galaxies? Why, even though there are still some things I'm discontent about here, I still consider Gallifrey my home because my brother and sister-in-law, and my closest friends, and you…especially you are here. And I hope you will feel the same way, always, no matter where you go in the future…that home is wherever you are happy and where those who care for you are."
He stood. "Son…I know you're feeling angry at your old man right now, feeling that I'm to blame for our loss…perhaps, in some ways, I am. But remember this…your old man loves you, unquestioningly, unconditionally, and always."
He pressed his hand against his son's unresponding cheek. The boy's only response was a curt, "Please…I need to be alone."
"Of course…" the father answered, a catch in his throat. He quietly withdrew. Perhaps time alone was what the lad needed.
The boy sat thinking, trying to assimilate all that he had learned. His childhood had been happy, loving, his world well-ordered and safe. The foundations of that world had shaken the day his mother had died…now, in a space of ten minutes, the rest of it seemed to lay in ruin, everything he had ever known and believed turned upside-down. He felt panic rise within him, choking him, and realized that he needed to go to the one person he always went to when even his father could not soothe him.
Dashing into the hall, he almost collided with the old head servant of the house. "Sorry, Shandal…" he muttered, then, "Shandal…tell my father I've gone out."
"Of course, child," the old man answered, ruffling the boy's hair. Then he added, "Your father does love you, child. You must believe that."
"Right now, Shandal," the boy replied with a despair far beyond his young years, "I have no idea what I should believe."
The weather was cloudy, windy, a strong chill in the air. Nevertheless, the winter would soon take flight and spring would bring glory to the moors and mountains, bringing even the Time Lords who lived in the cities out for strolls to take in the natural beauty of the planet. Despite the chill, many of the outsider tribes were abroad that day, and they recognized the boy. They were well acquainted with the house on the mountain, with its master, who often offered that house's food and shelter when they needed it, with its deceased mistress, who, with her husband, had used her medical skills to aid their ill and injured, with their son, who they often saw scampering nimbly through the heath and mountains. A few of them, upon seeing the boy, called out, "Little one! Where's your shadow?", accustomed to seeing the boy's father trailing along, joining in the games of his son and his chums and making sure the boy got into no danger.
Their jesting words fell on deaf ears. The child had only one thought…to reach the tree by the cave and the old man who dwelt there. As he ascended, he glumly noted the mountain snow had only half-melted, leaving grayish slush.
He finally reached his goal. From the cave, he heard the old, quavery voice at prayer: "Creator of Space, Originator of Time, guide Thy servant in Thy paths…"
"K'Anpo?" called the boy.
The old man's prayers ceased, and his voice rang out, stronger and heartier. "Is that my lad? One moment, child, let an old man drag his bones out." The gray-bearded monk appeared at the mouth of the cave. "Well, my boy, it's good to see you," he declared warmly, drawing the boy into a one-armed hug. "And where is your father? Not trailing along behind you?"
"He…couldn't come today, K'Anpo," the child answered. "This is something I have to talk to you alone about."
"So…he told you," K'Anpo said quietly. The boy nodded, and the old man continued, "Many a time, your father has been up alone to see me, to ask what could be done to make your understanding easier. I told him that his love should be all that was needed…but I would still do whatever I could to help."
"You have to help me," the boy pleaded. "My father's just told me that I'm not who I believed myself to be, all my life!"
"And what more did you believe yourself to be," K'Anpo replied sagely, "than the son of two admirable people who loved you? Has that changed, since you found your mother was Terran?" The old man tightened his grip on the boy's shoulder. "Think, lad…think about why you are angry…and at whom."
"I…I'm angry at Dad," the boy said slowly. "For the first time in my life, I'm angry at Dad. He's done this to us…marrying an Earthwoman…making sure we'd both have to live without her. He says that he might have outlived her even if she'd been fully Gallifreyan…but…" His voice trailed off.
K'Anpo nodded sagely. "Your father has a gift for words," he told the child, "as I've known since he was a boy…but right now, his grief is too great for him to put that gift to its best use. And by the time he has found the words that will help you understand, the rift may be too wide already. Perhaps I, who am outside of the situation, may be able to help you see things clearer."
"Understand?" the boy cried. "All I understand is that he somehow thought that it was all worth it to marry someone he knew would die before him. He said he loved her…well, what good is it to love anyone or anything that will die so quickly? What's the good of love, then?" He paused. "Even if she'd been Gallifreyan, she might have died before him…that's what he said…but then, what's the good of it if everything must die?"
The old man pondered a moment. Then he pointed toward a ragged weed on the mountainside.
"That?" the boy asked. "That's just an old weed. What does that…"
"No, look harder, my boy," K'Anpo urged.
The lad complied, with a half-laugh, wondering at first what this nonsense had to do with his trouble. Then he began to notice something as he moved in for a closer look.
Atop the "old weed", there was a daisy…bright and fresh and clear, the first of the coming spring. Its yellow and white were fresh, untouched by dirt or blight, and its scent strong. It waved slightly in the evening breeze. The plants around it were barren, but the blossom seemed to defy them with its very beauty and vitality.
"It's…it's the daisiest daisy I think I've ever seen…it's beautiful," the boy murmured. He wondered why he hadn't noticed it before. How strange, to see such a beautiful and fresh blossom in such a forlorn spot.
"Yet…" K'Anpo mused, seemingly to himself, "the winter will come again, and this blossom will die. But is not this mountainside better for it having lived?"
The boy thought this over. "That…that's what Dad was trying
to make me see, wasn't it?"
"Yes, child," K'Anpo answered. "And love is closely allied to beauty. It is love that gives life its beauty and its meaning. Had your father not reached for these things, he would have had nothing more but the ragged weed and cold mountainside. But that was not enough for your father…nor do I think it will be enough for you. Now, when you go back home, try to notice all that is beautiful about your surroundings…and imagine what the land would be like without them. And when you imagine such a barren land, remember…such is a life lived in the fear of love."
"…I will," the boy answered. "K'Anpo…thank you."
"You are welcome, my child," K'Anpo replied. "Remember me to your father, and come back to see an old man."
The boy turned and ran, calling back a final thanks to K'Anpo. As he raced down the mountainside, he noticed that the setting sun was breaking through the clouds, flashing on the half-melted snow in flashes of light and jewelled color. The clouds were rapidly darkening in shade as the sun sank, and the trees and tall plants rose dark against the sky. So many things that he never thought to notice…the sort of things that his father doted on, and that so many other Time Lords never seemed to notice. They had often laughed at his father for never missing a summer meteor storm, and truth be told, so had his son.
But now the boy knew why…a life lived without beauty, and without love, was no more than a bleak mountainside to which spring would never come. That determination to have these things in his life had driven his father to marry the woman he loved without minding that he would outlive her…without minding that he would possibly face censure and prejudice, and would eventually suffer bereavement. For his father, enjoying the blossom during its bloom had been worth mourning its death. And, if what he believed in was true, his love would one day continue in another world, one in which beauty and love had nothing to hold them back…a world of which he saw the reflections, in the beauty of the evening and the moor.
His heart was suddenly soaring. He reached the door of his home and rushed in. Pausing outside the parlor door, he heard the voices of his father and Shandal deep in conversation.
"Now, my lord," Shandal was saying, "you mustn't fear for the young master…he knows his way around the heath."
"I know, Shandal," the father replied, "but it is growing dark, and you know that after dark the worst class of the outsiders, the cutthroats, come out. They'll be no less a danger to him than they are to the other outsiders…do you think they'll hesitate to hold the son of a wealthy Time Lord for ransom?"
"The boy has got sense, sir. He'd stay with K'Anpo if he felt there was a danger."
"K'Anpo…" the father mused. "You're right, he most likely went there. He goes to him with the problems that even I, the all-knowing, can't solve."
"I'm here, Dad," the boy called out, stepping into the parlor.
"And so you are," the man answered, relief flooding his features as he knelt to give the boy a tentative hug. The servant, sensing a need for privacy, withdrew unobtrusively.
"So…" the father began, "you went to see K'Anpo?"
"Yes…and he made me see a few things…" the child answered. He'd tell his father about it some other time, but now there was only one question he needed answered. "Dad…" he faltered, "…if…if you knew how it was going to turn out and you had it to do over again…would you still marry Mamma?"
The father did not even hesitate a moment.
"Oh, yes, son…I would indeed." And here he drew his son into a fierce hug, which the boy returned. "The rewards, you see, are great."
And so ended the day that, centuries later, the boy, now a man in his third incarnation, would describe to his friend as, "the blackest day of my life, and the best."
So…you like? Now, as I said, I not only didn't mind the half-human revelation, I'm actually pleased by it! In fact, believe it or not, and this may be attributable to my being a child of Trek, but I'd considered the possibility long before the TVM! You see, I really don't think it necessarily contradicts the series that went before. Yes, the Doctor's always referred to himself as "alien" and "not human", but to all intents and purposes, at least to his human companions, he is…he's got an alien physiology, he can regenerate, he grew up on a distant planet. It also explains his affinity for Earth…someone once pointed out that at the end of "Planet of the Spiders," the dying Doctor claims that "the Tardis brought me *home*". Nor do I think it's necessarily a Trek cliché…since the Doctor obviously came to terms with it a long time ago, unlike Spock/B'Elanna/Deanna/etc. And I don't think it undermines his status as a renegade, since, as Adrian Tullberg pointed out in the aforementioned "Night Under The Stars," the Doc's dad had to have been quite a maverick himself…so it can't just be attributed to his human blood. And I think it ties in quite nicely indeed with other details…the fact that the Doctor had so much trouble regenerating when it's so easy for other TLs (like Romana), and the fact that two of his selves wear spectacles when we've never seen any other TL wear them. Like I said…who's to say it wasn't a possibility kicked around by other producers? After all, the early Segal treatments that had the Doctor and the Master as brothers had precedent in some ideas kicked around in the Pertwee era. Actually, I find this easier to reconcile with the series than the Looms! Of course, as Dennis Miller says, that's just my opinion…I could be wrong…
Hope you enjoyed the story, and have a look at Adrian's too!