A/N: I got this concept from a meme somewhere, a long time ago, and I can't remember where. Five drabbles, semi-connected, their titles and subject matter decided on by setting my mp3 player on "Shuffle." I thought about posting them as separate chapters, but the early ones lose something if not immediately followed by the rest.

Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC, not me. The songs are, respectively, from "Legally Blonde," The Tolkien Ensemble, a CD of Irish music, David Wilcox, and "Wicked." I own none of these. Well, I own the CDs, but I don't own the songs.

Whipped Into Shape

"Help me get ready for Prydon," Ace said after another day of explosions. The Doctor looked at her in surprise.

"You said you didn't want to go."

"I changed my mind." She stepped a little closer to him. So young, he thought. She doesn't know what she's doing. "I want to be like you. There's only so much a human can do."

He wanted to say, 'No,' but something wouldn't let him. Instead he said, "All right. It won't be easy, but I'll whip you into shape for the entrance exams. If you're sure."

"I'm sure, Professor."

A Drinking Song

They were celebrating, and therefore there had to be alcohol—an Earth tradition, or so Ace claimed. Time Lords didn't get drunk, of course, but that didn't matter.

By the time the Doctor thought that he should make a toast, Ace and some of her friends from the Academy had started singing an old Gallifreyan song, the lyrics altered to be vaguely obscene. (Only vaguely, though—they were Time Lords, after all.) The Doctor tapped his glass to get their attention.

"I offer my congratulations to Prydon Academy's newest graduating class, particularly to my dear friend Ace."

Come By the Hills

It was the Doctor's favorite place, a miniature valley between two hills just outside the protective dome of the Citadel. He'd brought friends there before—usually Koschei, prior to their falling-out—but never a human. She's not a human, he reminded himself. Not anymore.

"I don't think I like your new regeneration," Ace commented as she lay back on the red grass. "The hair's weird."

The Doctor put a hand to his hair: wavy, brown, and long. "I like my hair."

"Oh, it's nice hair, it's just not…"

"Not what?"

"Not you. You're not you anymore."

Eye of the Hurricane

All around the TARDIS, the universe screamed in protest to what the Doctor was doing, but at the eye of the storm, it was deadly calm. He stared at Gallifrey, barely visible beyond the Dalek fleet. Could he do it?

Ace appeared on a screen, her image blurry from interference. "You ready, Doctor? We can't hold them off for long."

"I'm ready." His voice shook as he looked at his protégé. She was beautiful—when had that happened?

"Then do it. Now." Was that a tear, or just static? "Er, good-bye, Doc—good-bye, Professor."

"Good-bye, Ace."

What is this Feeling?

Dorothy "Ace" Gale McShane, the stone read. 1960-1995. He'd guessed on the dates, since she'd actually died about a million years from 1960.

The stone wasn't in Perivale. He'd two reasons for this: he didn't want her family to find it, and he couldn't bear going back there. Instead it was where he'd once buried the Hand. It was as good a place as any.

The Doctor's newest eyes had never seen her, but they wept. Mixed with the remorse, sorrow, guilt, and everything was something he couldn't name.

It wasn't love. That would be silly.