If you haven't seen the show "Copper" I suggest you do, just to get a little more clarity as to who Corcoran is and what happened. This takes place between episodes 2&3 of "Copper" and before Season 7 of "Doctor Who." I wrote with the 11th Doctor in mind, but there are some definite 10th Doctor moments. Or you can read with your favorite Doctor.


Copper

"Always a pleasure doing business with you, Corky," Eva said, grinning. "We missed you while you were 'out of commission' shall we say?"

"I suppose we should catch up some time, then," Detective Kevin Corcoran suggested. "As for me, I have another engagement this evening."

"Oh?"

"Aye. It's a sort of celebration with my mates that I'm back to work. I hope you understand."

"Of course. And do be careful on your way out, hm?"

It was cruel humor and they both knew it. Corcoran grabbed his cane and stood, albeit tentatively. Blasted leg. No. Blasted thugs. Blasted Winfred. Ah, hell. He had time to worry later; he had a time to keep.

Even for being a detective, he did not get to ride in a carriage to the tavern where his friends waited. Those were reserved for the upper class; as it was, he still lived in Five Points. He didn't mind walking everywhere, except when his leg was busted up – which it was – and when it was raining like the Flood – which it was.

I'll need to get good and drunk before I walk home in this, Corcoran thought grudgingly, gritting his teeth against the pain in his leg.

Doctor Who

The Doctor frowned. He did that a lot these days. Frowning, thinking, wondering why no one was singing along to the Kapteynian glorish music, wondering why the dart board was collecting dust and the swimming pool was growing moldy. Of course; he had no companions, not for a long time. Well, it had only been eight months since Christmas, but considering the number of things he'd done and the amount of damage he'd caused (alone) since then made it seem like much longer.

He let out the breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. As if sensing his sadness, the TARDIS' wheezing softened to a whispering.

"Oh, would you stop that?!" he said loudly. "I need…something. Something familiar. Can't you do that?!"

The TARDIS was a touchy girl; he learned that the hard way. Apparently offended by his comment, the whispering grew to a wheezing and then to an outright roaring. He grabbed hold of the railing as it tossed and turned, heading to who knew where? The TARDIS rocked and rolled like a ship on stormy waves, harder and faster; the Doctor thought he was going to be sick.

"Where are we going?!" he shouted to no one in particular, almost unable even to hear his own voice.

And then, everything was still. Absolutely still.

Gathering his stomach, the Doctor cautiously released his hold on the railing and stood. Certain now that the TARDIS was quite settled, he dared approach the monitor.

"Well now, where did you bring me this time?" he murmured. "New York, 1864." He grinned. "All right, that sounds like…fun…" Then, for the first time in a long time, he laughed out loud. "Haha! That sounds like fun! All right then, let's see what awaits us!"

Copper

"There 'e is!" Francis Maguire cried, proudly raising a mug of beer. "Come on, Corky, what kept you?!"

"Just catching up," Corcoran said and shrugged, relieved to be able to sit down and rest his leg. "Now then, give me that beer."

"Aw, no, mate, this is mine," Maguire informed him, indicating his mug. "But this!" He motioned for an entire keg to be rolled out to his friend. "This is for you, Corky!"

Andrew O'Brien, the third Musketeer so to speak, raised his mug in toast and everyone in the immediate vicinity did the same. Despite his bad mood, Corcoran found himself laughing and hardly questioning this sudden turn of events.

"So then, what brought this on?" Corcoran inquired drunkenly of Maguire. "I thought we were just here for a couple drinks and then maybe head back to Eva's place."

"Oh, Corky, we'll get to them later. Right now, we're just celebrating you coming back to the precinct."

"At the rate we're going through this keg, that may not happen for another couple weeks."

Unfortunately, his prediction did not ring true as Sargeant Byrnes entered the tavern and approached the detectives. He eyed their mirth disapprovingly, but controlled his tongue as he said, "I hate to interrupt, but we got a body."

O'Brien bestially bared his teeth and slammed his mug on the table. "Damn the Fates!"

"Forget the Fates," Corcoran said, though his tone suggested he secretly agreed. He grabbed his cane and struggled to his feet, a mixture of drunken unsteadiness and pain flashing through him. "This seems to be a good place as any to get going."

They grabbed Maguire, busily pursuing a woman through the tavern, and headed out into the night.

Doctor Who

Eager to be off on some grand adventure, it never quite occurred to the Doctor to first check the weather, and he rushed right into a thunderstorm in full strength and was momentarily blinded as lightning flashed in the sky.

"All right then," the Doctor said levelly. "So then, stuck in New York, 1864, in the middle of a rainstorm. What a wonderful idea."

Holding himself in sort of awkward embrace, he thought about going back to retrieve a better coat or at least a hat, but eventually decided against it. He was in an alley and figured there might be a fire he could sit beside out on the main street.

Indeed there was. The fire was small and the gathered people a bit grubby, but they did not appear unfriendly. In fact, they moved aside for him to sit down on a log bench.

"A bit wet, wouldn't you say?" he asked, trying to make conversation.

"Aye," the people murmured, not even glancing at him.

"So then, where am I?"

One man gave him the courtesy of a momentary, curious look. "You're in Five Points. You get lost on your way back to Fifth Avenue, did ya?"

From the accent, the Doctor surmised the man was Irish. The Doctor pursed his lips and shrugged. "Well, no. I mean, I'm not exactly from around here."

"I'll say you aren't," another man scoffed, studying him. "Your clothes…and your hair. Where are you from? We haven't done anything wrong."

"Where am I from? Well, far away. Far…far away."

The first man tried to say something, but a crash of thunder drowned out his words. And yet, while the Doctor couldn't hear the man, the wind carried another sound to him. One he knew well. But that was impossible, wasn't it? This was New York in the 19th century for crying out loud! What were they doing here? Ignoring the probing glances of the men around the fire, the Doctor stood and started in the direction of the impossible voice, blinded again by a bolt of lightning.

Down a different alley, and a left, straight, a right. Blazes, these alleys – this Five Points was complicated. By the time he got to what he was certain of as the source, all that remained was a man face-down in the mud.

"Oh, no…"

He rushed toward the man, whipping out his sonic screwdriver as he did. All indications, dead.

Copper

"So, you heard a voice and just happened upon his body?" Corcoran inquired of the oddly-dressed stranger. "He's out of earshot of the main road, never mind the next alley. Hell, you're almost of earshot of me and we're not ten feet apart."

"Perhaps, but what was he doing in this alley?" the stranger wondered, kneeling by the body and frowning.

O'Brien shrugged. "Maybe 'e was out for a stroll."

"Maybe 'e was out with a woman," Maguire suggested.

"Or maybe he was out with you," Corcoran said coldly, poking the stranger with his cane.

The stranger sighed and stood. "Or maybe he was struck by lightning."

Corcoran poked the body once or twice with his cane and turned to his friends. It had that sort of burnt hair smell and crackled look unique to those affected by lightning or other electricity. "All right, load him up; I'll take him to Freeman in the morning."

"Can I come with you?" the stranger inquired, prancing after them. Idiot didn't even have a hat to protect him from the rain.

"No," Corcoran told him harshly.

"But I can help."

"No."

"But I'm the Doctor."

"No."

"But-"

Corcoran whirled on him, surprised to find he was only inches away. "I don't care who you are or what you can do or where you're from. Right now, I have a body. Not a case, but a body. And it deserves a proper burial, not an invasion by some gallivanting stranger in ridiculous, outlandish clothing!" Corcoran huffed. "Now then, I suggest you find yourself a good hat and a warm fire and have a nice night."

"But-"

"Have a nice night."

The pain of rejection was spelled out clearly on the Doctor's face, but Corcoran didn't give an inch until he was well out of sight. Corcoran glanced back at the body; even from the back, he knew this man. George Wilson, a friend of Robert Morehouse – friend or cousin, he couldn't actually remember. And the odds of Wilson being out in the rain were unlikely enough. The odds of him being out in the rain, in Five Points, in an alley, and struck by lightning…about as likely as the Devil finally conquering the heavens.