Disclaimer: The beeb owns them, not me.
Rating: PG
Summary: Short piece with Rose, the Tenth Doctor and the echoes of the Seventh…
Notes: Set between "The Rise of the Cybermen" / "Age of Steel" and "The Idiot's Lantern." Not my usual whimsy, more melancholy.
Someone
By NorthernStar
December 1976
Since meeting Sarah Jane, she had been curious. And he'd answered her questions. But then he'd brought her to London in the 70's and that might have been fun, but instead of exploring they'd come here, to a primary school.
To watch a nativity play.
They stood at the back, since all the orange plastic chairs Rose remembered so vividly from her own school days, were already taken, right at the back of the crowd of proud parents with their large chunky cameras.
The Doctor had focused on one of the angels as soon as she walked onto the platform stage. She was a small child, probably no more than 6, with the kind of pallid blonde hair that would darken as she grew up.
Rose leaned in, almost touching the Doctor. "What her name?" She whispered.
He didn't take his eyes from the child. "Dorothy." He paused.
Rose frowned, "who is she?"
"Ace."
"Ace?" She couldn't stop the small chuckle. "That's a bit 80's, innit?"
The Doctor's face darkened. "It will be."
She wanted to ask more, but she saw the dirty looks the parents were given them for whispering and kept quiet.
The play was terrible, badly costumed with words spoken without emotion or inflection, songs sung out of tune, but she supposed it had a kind of charm, if you were looking for it, and tried not to be bored.
But the Doctor didn't seem to notice the gaudy clothes and wooden performances. He watched, and Rose watched him.
---000---
The parents all got up, talking and laughing, scrapping their chairs back as they stood and the noise echoed around the school hall. The Doctor remained where he was, leaning against the school wall, hands in pockets, watching the little girl who was looking about, searching the crowds of mothers and fathers.
After a while, her lip trembled.
Rose looked around at the other children, all of whom were now being kissed or cuddled or surrounded by one or two of the adults from the audience, basking in their parent's adoration. Only little Dorothy remained alone.
The Doctor finally began to pick his way through the masses.
Rose watched as he went up to the little girl.
Dorothy looked up at him and he knelt down.
With all the chatter and noise, Rose couldn't hear what he was saying. But whatever it was, he made her smile.
The Doctor's hand came up, stopped and hovered between them. He looked as if he were remembering something from so long ago.
Then he smiled and snubbed the child's nose.
A grin broke across the little girl's face, revealing missing front teeth.
Rose found herself smiling too.
---000---
Halfway out of the school grounds, Rose halted, unable to hold on to the question any longer. "Who was she?"
The Doctor continued walking.
"She was one of us, wasn't she?" Rose pressed. "Like me and Sarah-Jane?"
He stopped, but didn't turn. "Yes."
"What happened to her?" She asked his back.
He turned slowly around, and she was startled to see grief on his face. "I don't know." He told her.
A flash of anger surprised her. "How can you not know?"
"Ace…continued travelling…travelling across Time and Space…"
Rose frowned, glancing back at the school and that very ordinary human-looking girl. "You mean she…she was a Time Lord?"
"No, she was human, like you." He paused. "But Space and Time were part of her future, part of her past, part of who she was, long before we ever met."
"What do you mean?"
"She was…brought to me, I suppose. In a time storm."
Rose didn't understand. "But how did she-?"
"She changed… You all change." And he began walking again.
She watched him then looked back at the school. She wondered what the little girl was doing now. Did she know the man who'd made her smile was her future? That she was his past?
She shook off the thoughts and hurried to catch him up.
"So she could still be out there?"
He stopped again, his back to her. "Once. But then the Time War came..." He drew himself upright and began walking. "My people didn't survive. I doubt she did."
"So…what was that about?" She asked. "Back there?"
He turned. "It was about being…someone."
---000---
"Looks like tinsel." She sniffed unimpressed.
"It's a highly advanced form of sensor."
"Still looks like tinsel, Professor."
He watched her wrap a bit around her head.
"Contact with human tissue causes irreparable damage." He snatched it back testily. But the twinkle in his eye gave him away.
"Could still use it to decorate a Christmas tree." She picked a tinsel strand from her hair, "gets in your hair like tinsel. Reminds me of when I was an angel in the school play. I was picking bits of halo out my hair for days." And then the grin faded. "My Mum never came." She admitted softly. "All my mates, they had someone there, but mum…" But she trailed away. Then she hopped off the TARDIS consol and flashed him a grin, grabbing the tinsel to begin decorating his shoulders.
---000---
December 1976
The woman looked up as a man entered the little shop. He doffed his crumpled white hat at her and gave her a bright smile. He spent a while looking at the shelves, with his strange umbrella hooked over his arm. Occasionally, he'd pick something up and examine it, before putting it back down.
When she'd satisfied herself that the man didn't look like he was going to steal (or buy, for that matter) she went back to the newspaper she had spread out on the counter. She'd all but forgotten him by the time he spoke.
"Curious, isn't it?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Curious. Taxation."
She snorted. "I know what I'd call it."
He waved a tin of beans in one hand. "This isn't taxed," then nodded at the female hygiene products, "but that is." He frowned. "Both essentials, in there own way."
The woman turned back to the newspaper. "I suppose."
"And working…" He said. "That's essential too. Is it fair to tax earnings?"
The woman shifted uncomfortably. "Of course." But the words were just lip service.
"But is it?" He dug into his pocket and took out a 50p. He handed both it and the tin of beans over. "When people have so little?"
She gave him the change. "It's the way it's always been."
"Even if the money is for Christmas?"
She looked at him, caught between anger and fear. He knew. She could see it in his eyes. He knew that she'd taken this job, cash in hand, that she was working when she wasn't supposed to be.
"Toys are expensive." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Money's very precious."
"So are memories." He murmured as he left.
The door clattered shut behind him and a tear trickled down her cheek.
Memories…
Dorothy's big day… and she'd missed it.
But at least she'd get a good Christmas this year.
And that was what was important, wasn't it?
--Fin--