This is my first attempt at writing a fic for (holy crap!) the ELEVENTH Doctor! My goodness, have I gone off the rails? My tendency, as most of you know, is to write for the Tenth Doctor, so please be kind when you consider characterization! I did try.

This story needed to be about the Eleventh Doctor because it is in response to some stuff that's happened in the news as of April, 2011. The news anchor's words are taken from the Huffington Post, though I modified them slightly, so as not to point directlyto certain television shows… I don't like stories that are too aware of themselves. Oh, and I have all the stuff about America in there as a contrast to Wu's world.

FYI: Cai Wu is a real person, who did grow up in Gansu, who was transferred to Gaotai in 1966, who was partly responsible in 2011 for some rather bizarre (to our way of thinking) decisions made for Chinese pop culture. However, given his background in international relations and extensive education, I'd like to assume that he's a well-rounded person, and could be convinced, under the right circumstances, to think outside the box, as it were.

And while we're on the subject, all the info about the insurgents on the border of Mongolia, including the details of Wu's family, are made up to suit my story!

It's a simple, simple story, not profound at all, and didn't go the way I thought it would. These things rarely do. But, as art imitates life, things don't exactly go the way the Doctor had planned either… Anyway, I hope my western readers will find it satisfying, if perhaps a bit predictable. Although, if you're a communist, perhaps you should turn back now!

PITCHING TO WU

The only thing worse than waiting for a woman to finish getting ready is waiting for a couple to finish getting ready. With women you know roughly what they're doing. Lipstick, hair… okay, maybe you don't know the rest, but that's okay. With couples, you never know. You can speculate, but… yeah, best not.

The Doctor shuddered.

So that's why he'd left Amy and Rory off, after their honeymoon (which was so not over yet) at home to get their ya-ya's out, then he'd go back for them once they had got the novelty of being married out of their system.

But! On the bright side, he couldn't think of a better time and place to kill a few weeks than New York City in the twenty-first century. Sure, you should probably avoid the first couple of years of the millennium turn unless you enjoy watching the National Guard march in formation in lower Manhattan (shudder again), but 2011 was a brilliant time.

In fact, he reckoned he should spend more time in America. Britain was, of course, his favourite, but one needs a change every now and then, doesn't one? America had inherited much from the Brits (language, a fondness for queuing-up, reluctance to get naked on the beach and a thinly-veiled contempt for most things French), but had gone their own way in so many ways as well (General Motors, Hollywood, evangelical fundamentalism and a tendency to try and make all things huge), which was something the Doctor could appreciate.

He glanced round Starbucks where he sat, enjoying the chaos. He was getting some strange looks, and he reckoned it was for more than just the incredibly dapper bowtie that he always wore, which humans did not seem to understand. He recognised that he was the only bloke sitting down in this place, which had a few gratuitous café tables for the brave, but that this coffee shop was not meant for sitting and enjoying the view. Starbucks in Times Square was a kind of Mecca to the carefully-cultivated American psyche, practically the Temple of Capitalism and Decadance. People in unseasonably short shorts, carrying twenty-four ounces of coffee, made with more sugar than coffee, covered in whipped cream and caramel, nestled in a bed of bright lights, blaring horns and people shouting at their cell phones. True, this particular Starbucks contained more tourists than New Yorkers, but wasn't that the point? This might be the most American three-hundred-square-feet in existence, and it attracted a line out the door.

The Doctor sipped his espresso and laughed at an Asian couple who were looking disgustedly at a pair of western teens (he'd heard them speaking Spanish), snogging furiously in line, waiting for their Frappuccinos. Given his current Amy-and-Rory-less situation, he could most definitely relate to that sentiment. He glanced up into the corner, and on the 32-inch flat-screen television mounted in the corner, he saw one of the key American anchors, and a headline next to her head that said, "China Bans Time Travel."

"Whaaaat?" he asked the air.

He pulled the sonic screwdriver from his inside breast pocket, and not-so-discreetly aimed it at the television, pumping up the volume enough that he, and everyone else, could hear the news report over the din. A few people noticed, most people didn't.

The blonde anchorwoman was saying, "When it comes to time travel, the only obstacle greater than harnessing 1.21 jigawatts could be getting past the Chinese government. China's State Administration for Radio, Film & Television has issued new protocol that essentially puts the brakes on all depiction of time travel in the media. According to The New York Times, a statement from Cai Wu, the Chinese Minister of Culture, explains that any portrayal of time travel can casually promote myth, have monstrous and weird occurrences, use absurd tactics, and even encourage feudalism, superstition, fatalism and reincarnation. Several media outlets suggest that the concept of time travel has become increasingly popular with the Chinese populace, in particular the idea of transporting back to ancient history…"

The Doctor turned the volume back down, and stared at the television. "Well, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," he said aloud.

"I know," said a girl standing nearby, perhaps twenty years old, her blue and white outfit painted on. "Like anyone cares about time travel. It's not real anyway. Pfff."

And with that she turned away. The Doctor swigged his espresso and left the Starbucks. He swung round to the back of the Majestic Theater where he'd parked the TARDIS, and prepared for departure.

It was a terrible decision on the part of Cai Wu, and offended the Doctor personally. Not that he was a particular fan of the Back to the Future trilogy or of Star Trek or what-have-you, but it was something that showed a great close-mindedness on the part of the Minister, to a gigantic part of what makes the universe tick. And, the Doctor reckoned, banning something in the media would not stop it, it would just force it underground, which would only serve to expand the black market in China, which makes navigating the cities and commerce that much more dangerous for the average folks who just want to watch western movies. Sure, the black market for pop culture in China was already huge, but why add to it?

But, he couldn't lie to himself. It was mostly a personal agenda he was pushing. Cai Wu's decision would not change the course of human history in any dramatic way, nor would reversing that decision. And the Doctor had a bee in his bonnet now, and a cheap little trick in mind.

He stared up at the screen hanging from the ceiling and said, "Cai Wu, Minister of Culture to the People's Republic of China, born October, 1949 in the Gansu Province." He watched a brief clip of the Minister addressing the press about how it's detrimental to dwell on the past, therefore all references to time travel were heretofore forbidden in the People's Republic of China. In his eyes, his carriage, his speech, the Doctor saw a damaged man, perhaps screwed by the system, but more likely, he was a man with personal daemons. And the Doctor was a man who recognised personal daemons when he saw them.

"Hm, okay… what about… yes," he muttered, closing the video and bringing up more info. "The Cultural Revolution forced him out of his home in rural regions and into Gaotai, where he became Communications Officer to the Gansu Daily Newspaper, and remained until 1976."

The TARDIS' display gear gave a little ping of satisfaction, in agreement with the Doctor. He asked it, "Now, why is he so keen not to dwell in the past?" He typed in a few commands, and the TARDIS did its best. "What about insurgencies? Any disturbances… ah, perfect! Oh, my dear Wu, you'll never know what hit you!"

He bit his lower lip wickedly, and exclaimed, "All right, then. Look out, Mao, the Doctor is in!"

He triangulated a few other times and locales, and came up with a perfect place to park. He dematerialised the bright blue box, and when it stopped, it was on a reasonably busy street in the city of Gaotai, the People's Republic of China, spring, 1970. The Doctor was aware that as far as these folks were concerned, he had a "western" face and flamboyant personality. He knew that at this point in Chinese history, he'd need to lay low.

But stepping out onto the street, he realised it would be exceedingly difficult to remain anonymous. An inordinate number of people around him were wearing grey tunics and trousers with polished black shoes and matching caps. It was like he'd walked into a stereotype. He, himself, was dressed in a tan tweed blazer with a pink shirt and red bowtie, black trousers with dirty combat boots, and he was about six inches taller than the tallest man who walked past. This would be delicate indeed.

Well, he was good at delicate. And given that he was about to walk into a newspaper office, he'd just play along.

Across the street, there loomed a large building which housed the Gansu Daily. He crossed the street carefully, pointedly avoiding the stares, and marched into the newspaper building.

"Good morning, or… afternoon, is it? I'm John Smith from the London Times, here are my credentials." He flashed the psychic paper at the young woman at the front desk. "I need to see Mr. Cai Wu. It's important."

She looked at him, dumbfounded, unable to speak. He wondered if she'd never seen a westerner in person before. Especially one who could speak perfect Mandarin.

"I can see that I've confounded you," he said. He leaned in close to her, and said softly, "I'm investigating some rather funny goings-on in my own country's upper echelons, and between you and me, I think the Chinese government is at risk of a flagrantly loud and exceedingly colourful cultural attack from the inside at any moment. Blues and greens and scandalous, scandalous yellows all over the television. Children singing German nursery rhymes in the streets. People reading Shakespeare. It will be bloody anarchy, pardon my French. Now, someone has to put a stop to such communications, and make the People of China aware of such an onslaught. Cai Wu is our man. Is he in?"

Without taking her eyes off him, the girl reached for her phone. "Cai Wu, there is a man from the British press here to see you."

The Doctor stood up straight and smiled. "Thank you, good woman. And your country thanks you."

A young man, twenty years old, emerged through a door on the right. Like most people around, he was wearing the uniform of Communist China, except his tunic had been discarded, revealing the white tee-shirt underneath. The Doctor reckoned that the news room must not have any ventilation.

He was about five-foot-five, his mouth had a prematurely down-turned shape, and he stood up ridiculously straight. His features, though, were soft and spongy, like a child.

"Hello, I am Cai Wu," the young man said with clipped, clean syllables. "What is the meaning of this?"

The Doctor softened. He was little more than a boy, and his demeanour suggested a forced, militaristic education, a disposition indicative of someone forced to be tough, grow up too fast.

"Hello, John Smith, London Times." The Doctor moved forward to shake the Chinese man's hand, to which Wu acquiesced uncomfortably. "Is there somewhere we can talk in private?"

"Why?"

"Away from prying ears," the Doctor replied, touching the side of his nose, and indicating the innocent young woman at the desk. He could see that she was trying desperately not to look up at him, which would give away that she'd been listening.

Wu indicated the door behind him, which led into the news room. They stepped through it, and the Chinese reporter shut it behind him. "Sorry, this is the best I can do."

Of course a prominent Chinese institution would not have "private" offices where people could make plans, away from "prying ears." However, the room was exceedingly loud with typewriters and shouting, so the Doctor supposed it would do.

He sat down at a desk and invited Wu to sit across from him. "I'm investigating some, shall we say, violent occurrences out in the rural areas of this very province."

Wu perked up straight away. "Oh yes?"

"Yes. Specifically, right on the border between the Gansu province and southern Mongolia. It's a small area, I'll grant you, but… it doesn't mean there aren't people living out there, who are in danger."

There was a pause. "Yes, indeed. What have you learned?"

"Some underground insurgents, who actually claim to be working for the government, have been ransacking the homes, taking the valuables, killing or maiming anyone who gets in the way, and… well, let's just say that the women aren't exactly safe, once their husbands and brothers have been neutralised. You get the idea. It's ugly business, sir. We're not sure yet of their motivations, but we're looking into it. I am, anyway."

"I see," Wu replied, clearly disturbed.

"And if they even claim to be government officials, and this gets out, well you know the kind of rebellion you could have on your hands," the Doctor went on. "And as an upstanding representative of a respectable Chinese institution, I'm sure you would not want to see that happen."

"That is true. Thank you for bringing this to my attention," the reporter said. He looked at the Doctor with surprise and alarm, then his expression melted into something much more neutral. "I find that my instinct, for some reason, is to trust you, in spite of the fact that you are a westerner."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Wu's eyes now expressed worry. He leaned forward and said the Doctor, "My family lives in that region, in Gansu, along the border of Mongolia. It is, as you say, a very small area, and if it's a widespread problem…"

"…then your family is in danger. Enough said, Wu. As reporters, it is our job to report and protect. But I'm new here; how do we go about filtering the story through the government so that they can stop it?" The question was phrased carefully, and Wu reacted exactly in the way the Doctor had hoped.

"Well…" he said, uncomfortably, shifting in his chair. "It will take a couple of weeks."

"That seems a bit impractical."

"No, it's… our law. This is a delicate story. We cannot simply print it. The government must approve it."

"It seems a shame. In a couple of weeks, all of the residents of that region could be dead, and the insurgents could be spilling out further, letting others believe that they're working for the government…"

"Yes," Wu interrupted. "I understand all that."

"Then we have to think."

Wu made eye-contact with the Doctor. "You say the women are not safe."

"They're being violated and taken from their homes as trophies."

Wu bit his lip. "Well, perhaps we should not report the story to the government until we have all the facts. Perhaps we should go out to the region to investigate, before alarming the Republic."

"Good idea, Wu," the Doctor said, standing up with flourish. "Just what I was hoping you would say! Come with me!"

"Wait, but… stop… wait," the young man sputtered, following the Doctor out the door into the lobby, then back out into the spring air. Wu chased him, still protesting mildly, all the way across the street to where the TARDIS was parked.

The Doctor stopped in front of the blue box, and turned to Wu, took him by the shoulders, bent forward slightly, and said, "Now Wu, there's something I need for you to know. I'm not from the British press… shhh! And I'm not John Smith. I'm called the Doctor."

"I knew something was amiss! I'm calling my superiors!" Wu cried out as he tried to walk away. The Doctor grabbed him by the back of his t-shirt collar, and forced him to stay put.

"No, you're not, and I'll tell you why: because your parents and sister are in serious danger right now, and I'm the only one who can help you save them," the Doctor told him forcefully. "Now are you going to listen to me?"

"How do you know this?" asked Wu. "How do you know I have a sister?"

"Because I'm a time traveller," answered the Doctor. "I know what happens at the end of every story. My life is one big spoiler. And… I know how to fix things. Including time. Especially time."

Wu's jaw dropped and he looked at the Doctor with total disbelief. At last, he planted a fist on each hip, and said, "I don't believe you."

"I knew you'd say that. Fortunately, I've brought this," the Doctor replied cheerfully. He snapped his fingers, and the door of the TARDIS flung itself open in welcome. The Time Lord took Wu by the arm and threw him in through the blue wooden door, then followed him in, relying on the vessel to close itself behind them.

"Whaaaa…" mused Wu, looking about. He had stopped two feet from the door, dumbfounded like pretty much everyone else who walked inside the TARDIS.

The Doctor had passed him and already gone bounding up the stairs to the fibreglass console platform. He flipped the handbrake to the off position and said, "Yes, yes, it's bigger on the inside, whole world of time energy nestled in its heart. It's called the TARDIS, and it's going to help us save your mum and dad and sister. Now do you believe I can travel in time?"

Wu shook his head absently, but did not lose his look of wonder. He began to walk forward, still looking about. He made to follow the Doctor up the stairs, but tripped on the bottom step.

"Watch where you're going, would you?" asked the Doctor, annoyed. "I don't mean to change history so much that you die of stupidity before you get the chance to become Minister of Culture."

Wu righted himself and said, "What?"

"Never mind. Get up here."

The young man obeyed, and made his way shakily up to the console, standing at the Doctor's side.

"Let's check on your family, shall we?" asked the Doctor. He flipped a few switches, then said, "Hang on to something."

The TARDIS jostled about, and Wu, not having listened, fell to the floor, startled by the movement. He cried out, "What's happening?"

"We're moving," the Doctor told him. "Though not in time, just across Gansu, that's all."

The Doctor was still aware that what he was about to do constituted rather a cheap trick, but he preferred to think of it as a very easy fix. It would, in the end, improve life for Cai Wu, even if no other good came of it. People were going to die, and he was going to use time travel to implant an idea that would save them. And as a by-product, he hoped to promote his own agenda. If, that is, Cai Wu was the man that the Doctor thought he was.

When the TARDIS stopped, Wu got to his feet, and asked, "What happened?"

"We've stopped. Look outside."

Wu hesitated, then moved slowly toward the door. He reached out his hand, practically in slow motion, for the doorknob. He opened the door and gasped.

"It's my home," he said. "My family's home." He stepped outside, staring at the little house that sat on the side of a gentle slope.

The Doctor followed him out. "Yeah. Kind of quiet, wouldn't you say?"

The young man nodded. "Yes. Where are the livestock? We have sheep… and it's before noon. My father should be out tending the lambs."

He began to walk toward the house with purpose.

"Wu, be careful," the Doctor said gratuitously, knowing there was no immediate threat, and knowing that the determined youngster wouldn't listen to him anyway.

Wu burst through the front gate of the family farm, and began calling out, "Mother? Father? Xioa?" The Doctor stayed still.

And when the young man walked through the front door of the manor, he cried out in agony at what he was seeing. The horrible sound made the Doctor momentarily regret bringing him here – so young, so impressionable, still so attached to home. But the Doctor knew that attachment was good, and that it was the element that would ultimately make all the difference in this scenario.

The Doctor followed him into the house, and saw what he saw. A man and a woman lying dead on the floor, their clothes soaked in old, dried-up blood. Both were dressed in winter garb for the high mountains where they lived, not particularly appropriate for this time of year. They had been lying there for a couple of months at least, and they had died violently. They had partially decomposed, protected somewhat by the shelter, and by the arid, dry cold. A quick glance around showed the Doctor a home that had been ransacked and robbed of anything of even remote value.

"Your mum and dad," the Doctor said softly. "I'm sorry."

Wu could not control himself. He fell over the bodies sobbing, speaking words of sorrow, and of guilt. He'd been forced to leave them, but in the heat of grief, it didn't matter. He apologised for "abandoning" his family, and "failing" in his duties as a son.

All at once, Wu seemed to stop, and look round. "Where is Xioa? My sister?"

The Doctor didn't answer, he just bore holes into Wu's eyes with his own. He could see the wheels begin to turn. He could see Wu remembering what the Doctor had said about the women of the region – violated and carted off as trophies, and then God Knew What happened to them. The young man got to his feet and cursed, balling his hands up into fists.

"How do we find her, Doctor?" he asked, clenching his teeth. "Point me at those bastards, then get out of my way."

"We can't do that," the Doctor told him. "There are hundreds of them, and only two of us. My guess is that your parents got killed trying to do just what you're setting out to do now – save Xioa. If we're killed, then she doesn't stand a chance. There is another way, and that's why I'm here. That's why you need me, and not anyone else."

"You can travel in time?"

"Yes."

"We can go back and stop the insurgents," said Wu. "Keep them from coming to this area."

"Again, we'd be several hundred to two. I don't like our odds." Besides, the Doctor thought to himself, that really would change the course of history – all I'm trying to do is change you.

"Okay. Then tell me what to do."

"Good man," the Doctor whispered. "Let's get out of this house, so you can think."

The Doctor stood at the console with the psychic paper lying across a small tray, a piece of empty card beside it, wires attached to both of them, and the sonic screwdriver in his hand. He recalled once being able to channel the otherworldly concealment powers of the TARDIS into keys; he was now attempting the same method in order to give the ordinary card some of the same features as the psychic paper.

Cai Wu sat in the recliner on the console platform for a long while, sipping water, before he was ready to talk. The Doctor simply let him get his bearings, dowse his anger a little, and get his rational mind around what was happening.

At last, Wu set the glass of water down on the floor and looked up at the man at the controls.

"You okay?" asked the Doctor.

"Fine."

"Ready to talk strategy?"

"Yes." The young man stood up straight like soldier, and said, "I await orders."

"I don't give orders," the Doctor said. "But I do give suggestion. You'd be surprised at how effective it is."

The young man blinked at him confusedly, but did not speak.

"You're going to save your family with the power of suggestion," the Doctor continued.

"Suggestion?"

"Yes. It's my secret weapon."

"So, we go back to before I was born, and suggest that they not move to these mountains from the Tibet Autonomous Region?"

"No…"

"No, wait! We could go back and teach them to defend themselves. Some moves to fight off their attackers! Teach my sister to bruise their balls!"

"Wu, no…"

"Oh, even better, we go back and give them guns! Weapons to kill those bastards dead! Yes, Doctor. That's what we do."

"No, Wu, it's not what we do. I don't do weapons, and no-one is going to kill on my watch. We're going back to the autumn of 1969, and you're going to give them this," the Doctor said calmly, handing him the piece of card.

Wu looked at it and scoffed. "How can they defend themselves with this? You're going to kill them anyway, Doctor."

"Oh, it's very simple."

The Doctor always gained a great amount of satisfaction from fixing someone's life. But it was a different kind of satisfaction, a more complete kind, that he received from giving them the tools to fix their own lives. In this case, it was a little piece of card, and a few words of suggestion.

Wu wandered back into the TARDIS after speaking with his family in the fall of 1969, and he smiled.

"How did they receive your suggestion?" the Doctor asked.

"Very well," said Wu. "And it was nice to see them."

"It will be even nicer when we get back to spring in Gaotai."

"Let's go," said the calm young man, now savvy enough to hold on as the TARDIS departed.

They stepped off together in Gaotai, an hour after having left. "It's lunch time," the Doctor said. "Why don't you go home and have a sandwich?"

"A sandwich?" asked Wu. "That's insane."

"Well, then some noodles. Moo-shoo pork. Whatever. Just go."

"Won't you come, Doctor? Meet them?"

The Doctor groaned. He hated family meals, even when it wasn't his own family.

"Come now," Wu pressed. "You saved their lives. Saved me."

The Time Lord groaned again and said, "Oh, all right. Five minutes, all right? Just five."

"Fine! Come on!"

The young man took off running, and the Doctor followed. They reached a nondescript black door in the middle of a city block, and Wu opened it with a key, then led the Doctor up a narrow flight of stairs. He turned left, and opened the first door on the right, using another key.

"Mother? Father? Xioa?" he called. "Are you in?"

"Of course we're in, son," his father answered, coming from the bedroom. "You're just in time, your mother has made lunch. Who is your friend?"

"This is the Doctor," Wu answered. "He's… here on business."

"I see. Well, come have some rice and tea with us, Doctor. Be our guest."

"No, thank you. I just came to say hello," the Doctor said cordially. "So… hello!"

"Perhaps you can come back some other time?" asked Wu, hopefully.

"Well, it had better be before tomorrow," a voice said, coming from the kitchen. A middle-aged woman emerged, and smiled at the Doctor. "We're leaving in the morning."

Wu's face fell. "Why?"

His mother smiled. "You know why, silly thing."

A younger woman then emerged from the bedroom. "It's on that ticket you gave us, when you came to visit in the fall," she said, brandishing a railway pass.

"It was such a nice surprise," his mother said, taking his cheeks in her hands and kissing him. "To be invited to the city to stay with you… you're a sweet boy."

Wu took the ticket from Xioa and looked more closely at it. It was a train ticket for three, round-trip from outer Gansu to Gaotai, the return trip being tomorrow morning.

Of course, in reality, there was nothing written on the card. It had been "programmed" to look like railway pass.

"Besides," his sister added. "We've been here three months. It's time to get out of your hair, so you can get back to your life. You won't miss us at all."

"I guess I won't have to," Wu said, smiling.

The Doctor found a slightly quieter coffee shop in New York this time, and sat in the spring of 2011, watching the people pass. Less snogging, less decadence, but New York-esque all the same. There was, for instance, still a flat-screen television hanging in the corner, and when Cai Wu's sixty-year-old face appeared on the screen, he turned up the volume.

CNN was showing a video of Wu, discussing why the government had chosen to ban time travel in the media. The Doctor's hearts sank, seeing that ultimately, the decision had been made around Cai Wu, and in spite of his experiences.

But he stood up and moved closer to the screen. It was the same video the TARDIS had shown him earlier, only now, the Doctor saw no personal daemons in his eyes, none of the damaged man he'd detected before. Cai Wu was now not discussing the harm of dwelling on the past, but rather, was choosing to address the capitalist agenda and outlandish ideals contained within science fiction storylines.

Well, perhaps time travel had not succeeded in preserving time travel in Chinese media, but the Doctor had succeeded in preserving someone's soul.