The Doctor sat in the window of the café, watching life go by, and waiting for Ace to return. He was content. Everything was peaceful, now that Fenric had been defeated, Ace seemed happier and calmer than she had in a long time, and there seemed to be no immediate danger in this particular time and place. Well, at least not until Ace returned with whatever her latest toy was. Really, he'd had to have a talk to her about her proclivities for explosives..another talk.
He let his gaze wander. In front of the café was a village green, and on the other side, some little houses, not rustic, just neat and simple, with front gardens blooming. The hot summer sun made everything still and languid...a rare feeling in this corner of London. People sat in their front gardens, sprawled on deckchairs, sun-worshipping, reading or watching or knitting or listening. One by one, he looked at them, marking down every fine detail, every little difference that distinguished them. The tightly curled grey hair of a woman, the fine worry lines round the eyes of a dark young man. It was an exercise, merely, testing his eyes. Once he'd needed glasses, but lately his vision had improved, and he could see those people on the other side of the green quite clearly. And one...one he even recognised.
"Tegan?" he said, incredulously. There she sat, at a little table in the garden, writing something, listening to the blue radio beside her. She looked no different then when she had left him. In fact...he reached out and grabbed the paper of the man behind him, ignoring his outraged cries.
"Yes, I thought so," he murmured, looking at the date. "Just a few months." He said, handing the paper back to the outraged man and raising his hat in thanks. For Tegan, it had only been a few months since she had left. Just a few months since she had finally grown tired of the man he had become. She'd been disgusted, he'd guessed, by his intention to murder Davros. Funny that. He'd agonised over it at the time, and yet, only a few months ago in his own lifetime, he had sent Davros, and the entire planet Skaro to their deaths without a qualm.
She looked happy enough now. She was smiling as she scribbled her letter, singing quietly along with the radio. He watched her, wondering if he should go over, say hello, say..he wasn't sure what. It hadn't been a happy separation. She'd been angry and distraught, he'd been shocked, pole-axed. He could still remember the tide of feelings that had swept him. That particular regeneration...his emotions had been so turbulent. He'd become so involved in his companions, in their lives and emotion, especially in Tegan's. Especially in her happiness, her beliefs, her strength. Her shock. Her horror. Her condemnation.
The Doctor shifted uncomfortably. He shouldn't live in the past like this. She was happy, he could see. He could go over, and maybe she would welcome him, shake his hand, be happy to see him, but she was just as likely to slap him round the face and demand to know what he thought he was doing there? He smiled at the thought, and sipped his tea, deciding to leave her alone.
But he glanced over at her, one last time, in memory of the man he'd been. And he saw her face crumple, her hand grasp her pen tightly, so tight it must have dug deep into her hand, see her sob, once, a dry, racking sob, see her mouth a name.
His name.
Doctor.
He stood up quickly, ready to go over, then sat down again, hurriedly. She sat there, her head in her hands, her pain and distress radiating over the green towards him, but he held back. He desperately wanted to go over to her, but he wasn't the man she wanted to see. She would look up and see the short, odd, Scottish man, when what she wanted was the golden boy, strong and lean, smiling broadly, his grin so innocent, his eyes so searching, a hand reaching out to her. And once she knew he was the Doctor, she'd realise that the intense, energetic, glowing man she'd known, so full of life and joy and emotion was dead, and even though he still stood before her, she'd mourn the man she'd once known, and then the pain scarred across her face would be twenty, thirty times worse. No, better to leave her alone. Leave her in peace.
"Oi, Professor!" Ace called from across the room. He sat down, and forced himself to smile at her, though his heart ached in sympathy with the woman across the street. Lately, he'd noticed Ace had grown up. She was as tall as he was now, and had become a striking young woman, though as yet she seemed unaware of it. Earlier, the waiter had referred to him as her father, and he'd felt a ridiculous surge of pride, and a slight sense of uneasiness. Now as she walked towards him , heads turned, in admiration, and the previously missing waiter made a beeline for the table.
"Did you get your 'things'"? he enquired.
"Oh yeah, I got..."
He held up a hand. "Don't tell me, I don't want to know." He glanced up the waiter hovering around the table. "Any thing for you, Ace?"
"Nah, I'm fine. Lets go." She stood, and whispered to him, "What was that guy staring at?"
"A very beautiful young woman." The Doctor whispered back, teasingly, brushing her nose.
"Professor!" she protested, laughing, but she blushed, and he could see the child in her was almost gone. He took her by the elbow as he led her out of the café, and glanced back at the woman in the garden, still hunched over, still lost in painful memories.
They were so alike, Ace and her. Both so strong. Both so argumentative. And both, underneath it all, so fragile.
"Wait here a moment." The Doctor told Ace, and he wandered off across the green. She watched him stop and talk to a woman over a garden fence, then he raised his hat to her, and came back to Ace.
"What was all that about?" Ace asked.
"Something I owed one of my old selves."
"What?"
"The truth." He whispered.
He let his gaze wander. In front of the café was a village green, and on the other side, some little houses, not rustic, just neat and simple, with front gardens blooming. The hot summer sun made everything still and languid...a rare feeling in this corner of London. People sat in their front gardens, sprawled on deckchairs, sun-worshipping, reading or watching or knitting or listening. One by one, he looked at them, marking down every fine detail, every little difference that distinguished them. The tightly curled grey hair of a woman, the fine worry lines round the eyes of a dark young man. It was an exercise, merely, testing his eyes. Once he'd needed glasses, but lately his vision had improved, and he could see those people on the other side of the green quite clearly. And one...one he even recognised.
"Tegan?" he said, incredulously. There she sat, at a little table in the garden, writing something, listening to the blue radio beside her. She looked no different then when she had left him. In fact...he reached out and grabbed the paper of the man behind him, ignoring his outraged cries.
"Yes, I thought so," he murmured, looking at the date. "Just a few months." He said, handing the paper back to the outraged man and raising his hat in thanks. For Tegan, it had only been a few months since she had left. Just a few months since she had finally grown tired of the man he had become. She'd been disgusted, he'd guessed, by his intention to murder Davros. Funny that. He'd agonised over it at the time, and yet, only a few months ago in his own lifetime, he had sent Davros, and the entire planet Skaro to their deaths without a qualm.
She looked happy enough now. She was smiling as she scribbled her letter, singing quietly along with the radio. He watched her, wondering if he should go over, say hello, say..he wasn't sure what. It hadn't been a happy separation. She'd been angry and distraught, he'd been shocked, pole-axed. He could still remember the tide of feelings that had swept him. That particular regeneration...his emotions had been so turbulent. He'd become so involved in his companions, in their lives and emotion, especially in Tegan's. Especially in her happiness, her beliefs, her strength. Her shock. Her horror. Her condemnation.
The Doctor shifted uncomfortably. He shouldn't live in the past like this. She was happy, he could see. He could go over, and maybe she would welcome him, shake his hand, be happy to see him, but she was just as likely to slap him round the face and demand to know what he thought he was doing there? He smiled at the thought, and sipped his tea, deciding to leave her alone.
But he glanced over at her, one last time, in memory of the man he'd been. And he saw her face crumple, her hand grasp her pen tightly, so tight it must have dug deep into her hand, see her sob, once, a dry, racking sob, see her mouth a name.
His name.
Doctor.
He stood up quickly, ready to go over, then sat down again, hurriedly. She sat there, her head in her hands, her pain and distress radiating over the green towards him, but he held back. He desperately wanted to go over to her, but he wasn't the man she wanted to see. She would look up and see the short, odd, Scottish man, when what she wanted was the golden boy, strong and lean, smiling broadly, his grin so innocent, his eyes so searching, a hand reaching out to her. And once she knew he was the Doctor, she'd realise that the intense, energetic, glowing man she'd known, so full of life and joy and emotion was dead, and even though he still stood before her, she'd mourn the man she'd once known, and then the pain scarred across her face would be twenty, thirty times worse. No, better to leave her alone. Leave her in peace.
"Oi, Professor!" Ace called from across the room. He sat down, and forced himself to smile at her, though his heart ached in sympathy with the woman across the street. Lately, he'd noticed Ace had grown up. She was as tall as he was now, and had become a striking young woman, though as yet she seemed unaware of it. Earlier, the waiter had referred to him as her father, and he'd felt a ridiculous surge of pride, and a slight sense of uneasiness. Now as she walked towards him , heads turned, in admiration, and the previously missing waiter made a beeline for the table.
"Did you get your 'things'"? he enquired.
"Oh yeah, I got..."
He held up a hand. "Don't tell me, I don't want to know." He glanced up the waiter hovering around the table. "Any thing for you, Ace?"
"Nah, I'm fine. Lets go." She stood, and whispered to him, "What was that guy staring at?"
"A very beautiful young woman." The Doctor whispered back, teasingly, brushing her nose.
"Professor!" she protested, laughing, but she blushed, and he could see the child in her was almost gone. He took her by the elbow as he led her out of the café, and glanced back at the woman in the garden, still hunched over, still lost in painful memories.
They were so alike, Ace and her. Both so strong. Both so argumentative. And both, underneath it all, so fragile.
"Wait here a moment." The Doctor told Ace, and he wandered off across the green. She watched him stop and talk to a woman over a garden fence, then he raised his hat to her, and came back to Ace.
"What was all that about?" Ace asked.
"Something I owed one of my old selves."
"What?"
"The truth." He whispered.