Characters: The Ninth Doctor and Lieutenant William Bush
Word count: 1374
Rating: G
Author's Notes: This takes place in some unspecified time during Nine's run. I'm thinking during those 18 seconds he is gone in Rose, but that's not the only option. I also didn't mean for it to acquire slashy undertones, but it happened nonetheless. The fic also became more serious that I wanted, but I really couldn't avoid it. That doesn't mean that it doesn't annoy me, though… The title is from a French folk song performed by the group Tri Yann, because I like their music and couldn't think of a title myself.
So here he is – once again in prison. The Doctor sighs impatiently, dragging his hand across his short hair. And of course they've found and taken his sonic screwdriver, which makes getting out of here too much trouble right now. Scowling, he tugs at his jacket. The Napoleonic War was not where he wanted to go at all; in fact he's been trying to stay away from Earth completely. The TARDIS, on the other hand, has been conspiring to land him there as often as possible.
His train of thought is momentarily derailed as the cell is opened and another prisoner is thrown in, but he can't be bothered to look up.
"Damn frogs," the man curses, and something in his voice catches the Doctor's attention. He raises his head, cursing when he sees the other's face.
"Not you! This day just keeps getting better."
The other man turns quickly, ready to defend himself. Even though his hair is pulled back in a tidy cue and he's exchanged his velvet coat and cravat for a naval uniform, he's easily recognisable. However, he doesn't seem to know the Doctor, which comes as a surprise.
"Who are you?" the man asks suspiciously, and the Doctor rolls his eyes.
"Lost your memory again, have you? I'm you."
"I beg your pardon?"
His voice sounds different from the outside, thinks the Doctor, but it's still oh so familiar, the way he'd linger over the words and speak each sentence with intensity and precision. He can't remember now if it was deliberate, but it must have been – at least some of the time. Now it just annoys him, and he focuses on that to avoid the other and more frightening emotions the sight of his previous regeneration is stirring up.
"I'm you and you're me. The Doctor. From–" he cuts himself off when he feels the anger rise inside him, certain that the other can sense it.
He doesn't, just looks at the Doctor as if he's the one who's lost his mind.
"I'm no doctor. I'm First Lieutenant William Bush of the Hotspur. And who might you be? You're certainly no officer, although you are English, I'll grant you that. Are you a sailor?"
"I'm the Doctor, you idiot!"
The outburst is meant to offend and he can see that it works, although the other makes an effort to ignore it.
"I thought I was the doctor?" he asks instead, both amused and annoyed.
"You are!"
"Who are you, then?"
"I'm also the – oh, never mind! Here, I'll show you."
Before the other has time to react the Doctor is by his side, touching his temples.
"What the hell do you think you're doing!" he asks, attempting to move away.
"Making contact… whatever made you lose your memory certainly did a number on your telepathy."
"You are crazy!"
The self-proclaimed lieutenant backs into the wall and swings his fist at the Doctor, who catches it effortlessly.
"I could see that one coming a mile away. How you managed to survive I'll never–"
He stops, focusing on the wrist held tight in his hand. The wrist with only one pulse.
Slowly he places his other hand on the lieutenant's chest, feeling for an extra heart that he's half dreading, half hoping won't be there.
"One heart," he confirms woodenly. "You're human."
Seizing the chance his former self's doppelganger reclaims his wrist and pushes him violently aside.
"What the bloody hell are you talking about? Human? What kind of–" He pauses abruptly, shaking his head. "Never mind, I don't think I want to know."
"You look exactly like him," the Doctor murmurs.
"Like whom?"
"My… predecessor. I meet them sometimes. But you're not him after all." In a sudden change of mood he grins and thrusts his hand forward. "Sorry about that, lieutenant… Bush, wasn't it?"
Cautiously, Bush shakes his hand.
"I can't exactly say I'm pleased to meet you, doctor..?"
"Just the Doctor."
"Of course," Bush sighs.
Later – after a failed escape attempt, French aliens, a successful escape attempt, and at least one explosion – the two men find themselves standing side by side at the water's edge, waiting for the Hotspur to arrive.
"So," Bush says contemplatively. "There are ships that sail between worlds as well as between countries."
"Amazing, isn't it?" the Doctor agrees easily. "There's so much out there, lieutenant – wonders you couldn't imagine in a thousand years." He pauses for a moment, before continuing in an almost offhand manner. "I could show you, you know."
For a moment an unspoken "yes" hangs in the air between them, but then Bush shakes his head reluctantly.
"I can't. I have a duty here, and I can't leave. Even if you bring me back the moment we leave, like you say you can, I would know that I'd abandoned him – ah, it."
The Doctor gives him a long and searching look, before conceding defeat.
"He must be a very special man, this captain of yours. One day I'd like to meet him."
"What do you mean?" Bush asks, cursing himself for the slip of his tongue and not quite managing to hide the guilt in his voice. But the Doctor just smiles sadly.
"The way you talk about him, the things you say… even the tone of your voice when you say them. It's easy to see if you know how to look – and have about 900 years of experience, like me."
"I… haven't told him. Not anyone. It's sinful, illegal, and could get us both killed."
"I know what your culture says." The Doctor's eyes seem to burn right through him, pain and anger and something completely alien only adding weight to his words. "But you don't have to be so limited! The ancient Spartans didn't care, and in about 200 years' time it'll be quite normal to see two men holding hands on the street – well, in England, anyway. And your life is so short, even shorter now that you're at war. If you can have this happiness, then take it! The only thing that really matters is if you believe that it's worth the chance, worth the sacrifice."
"It's no sacrifice." Bush wonders for a moment what the Doctor has lived through, to make him so passionate about another's happiness. Then the moment passes as the Doctor pats him on the back in another one of his sudden changes of mood.
"Don't worry lieutenant! Such things have a way of working themselves out." He pauses and cocks his head, thinking hard. "Tell you what, I'll give you a gift for him."
"A gift?"
"And you have to pass it on."
Bush looks wary, but eventually nods his head.
"All right."
"Fantastic!" The Doctor grins hugely, before he captures the lieutenant's face between his hands and kisses him thoroughly.
After a while, when they pause for air, Bush seizes the chance to ask:
"Why did you… do that?"
"Kiss you?" the Doctor laughs. "Well, mostly because I wanted to. The alternative would have been to beat you senseless, and I don't think you would have liked that half as much."
Dazed, Bush shakes his head.
"No, and neither would my captain. But – dear God, you can't mean that…" he trails off, partly horrified and partly intrigued.
"Well, it should certainly speed things along, don't you think?"
"But I…"
"You promised to pass it on, remember?"
"Yes, but–"
"There you are, then!" the Doctor concludes, still grinning. Once again Bush shakes his head and sighs, thinking that if he spends enough time with the Doctor he'll be making himself permanently dizzy.
"I'll just have to wait and see," he concludes, feeling somehow optimistic about the whole affair even despite the death penalty. "I appreciate the effort, though."
"Good kisser, am I?" The Doctor looks smug.
"Fantastic," he agrees dryly.
When the Hotspur's small boat reaches the shore the Doctor is long gone, although the tortured groans of his departing ship still rings through Bush's ears.
"What happened, Sir?" Matthew asks him, and he laughs at the thought of explaining it all.
"Trust me, Matthews," he tells the surprised bosun as he leaps aboard the boat. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."