It was just past suppertime. The weather seemed to have hit a warm stretch, the sun was beginning to set, and Wilfred was preparing to go up the hill when he heard whispering outside the front door.
Curious, he tip-toed to the door and pressed his ear right up against it. There were two voices—at least, he thought it was two—and they were arguing back and forth in low tones. They were going so fast he couldn't quite tell who was saying what, or who was winning, though that became clear when one of them told the other to "Shh!" and the other fell silent.
Any concerns he might've had about burglars or solicitors were thrown out the window when the first person hissed, "We're already here, Doctor, and it's only for a bit, so you can–"
Whatever she was about to say was cut off, because Wilf flung open the door. On the front porch, as expected, stood Donna and the Doctor, nearly nose-to-nose as she gave him a talking-to. They straightened up when they saw him, and both broke into identical grins.
"Donna! Doctor!" Wilf laughed, drawing his granddaughter into an enormous hug.
"Gramps!" Donna hugged him back as if she hadn't seen him in weeks. (Which was strange, Wilf thought, because they'd only just visited.) Then she frowned. "Were you listening to that?"
"Oh, only for a moment, dear," he assured, guessing that the Doctor was not as keen on the whole family thing as she was. "Now, not that I'm not glad to see you, but what's brought you back now?"
"Well it's Easter!" exclaimed the Doctor. "Happy Easter!"
Wilf gave him a long look, and his expression fell.
"It's not Easter, is it?" he sighed.
"No," said Wilf. "It's the day before New Year's Eve. And you only just visited for Christmas."
Donna, meanwhile, was glaring at the alien man. "Did you land us on the wrong date?" she demanded. "Again?"
"I can't be expected to remember every date, Donna," he protested, crossing his arms over his chest. "December thirtieth, March twenty-third, what's the difference?"
"How hard is it to land us on the right date?"
"Very! There are billions of dates! I've got other stuff to worry about, you know! Life-or-death, world-saving stuff, I can't–"
Wilf cleared his throat to stop them getting in another scuffle. "Well, it's still good to have you back. But perhaps you might like to try again another time, because you did just tell your mother you were going skiing in the Rockies."
"Ah, see, I was right," said the Doctor. "Very good idea, Wilfred Mott, we'll just be going now–"
"Dad? Is that Donna?"
Wilf winced. He'd spoken a bit too late. "Yes, Sylv," he called back into the house.
"Well, too bad, Spaceman," said Donna, and dragged the Doctor into the house. He gave Wilf a pleading look as he passed, and Wilf tried not to laugh at the poor man.
Greetings were a bit awkward. The Doctor made up a story about plane ticket prices and poor weather to sate Sylvia, and though she seemed happy to see Donna (or perhaps just pleased that she hadn't gone off to Canada with her peculiar friend) she was not quite as pleased to see the Doctor. As usual. She announced early on that she was going out, and invited Donna to come along, provided she used her own money, since she obviously had access to so much of it if she was cavorting around the world. Donna agreed, but made sure to roll her eyes first.
That left Wilf and the Doctor. They idled around for a few minutes, both unsure of how to pass the time; the Doctor seemed rather out of place in a house, with a family, where there were no aliens to defeat. Wilf found it a bit amusing, truth be told, especially when he began wandering around the kitchen, poking and prodding at various appliances.
"So," he said, after watching the Doctor examine the toaster for several moments. "How long's it been for you two, then?"
"Oh, a few weeks," he said absently. "Busy weeks, too, remind me to tell you about Calibris, that was…" He trailed off and shook the toaster upside-down, causing crumbs to fall out onto the counter. "This is incredibly inefficient, Wilf, it must lose nearly all of its energy as heat with all these wires exposed."
Wilf was unsure whether he was joking or not, and briefly questioned whether he understood the function of a toaster. "I think it's supposed to do that, Doctor."
"Oh."
Setting the toaster back where he'd got it, the Doctor shoved his hands in his pockets and began pacing in circles in the middle of the kitchen. Wilf was just about to suggest an activity to keep the fidgety alien busy when his eye was caught by something in the next room. He grinned and hurried off.
When Wilf followed, curious about what might have grabbed his attention, he found the Doctor sitting on the living room floor, rapidly unpacking a chess set.
"Do you play?" he asked, glancing up.
"That might be up for interpretation," Wilf joked, but settled down opposite him anyways. "Do you?"
He shrugged. "Oh, a bit. You go first."
Wilf wondered about his chances of winning, but the Doctor looked eager to give it a shot, so he took a moment to remind himself of the rules—it must have been longer than he'd thought, if he was struggling to remember whether the rook or the bishop moved diagonally—then picked a pawn at random and moved it forwards two spaces.
The Doctor clearly had a better understanding of the game than he did ("A bit," my arse, thought Wilf) because it didn't even take a dozen moves for him to get Wilf into a checkmate.
"Sorry, Wilf," said the Doctor, smiling kindly.
"It's alright. Would you like to go again?"
"Oh yes! Sounds brilliant!" He started resetting the board.
Wilf used the time to recall the Doctor's moves, hoping to replicate his strategy, and he resolved not to let his mind wander this time. Perhaps he could draw this out longer than a couple minutes. If he was lucky. He pondered where the Doctor had learned to play.
"You know," said the Doctor, setting the final pieces, "I once played chess against a mechanical dog. Good old K9."
"Did you win?" asked Wilf.
He huffed despondently. "No. Go ahead, Wilf."
Wilf made his first move. "Oh, you haven't yet told me about… what was it?"
"Calibris? Ah yes, quite right!" The Doctor told him the story, and then another, as they played.
That game didn't last long either, but Wilf enjoyed it all the same. Besides, watching the Doctor's pieces more carefully had paid off, and he lasted quite a bit longer than before. The Doctor congratulated him on it, and began a new round, offering to show Wilf a few tricks.
That plan didn't hold up much longer than the last two games.
The Doctor was just explaining how one should take control of the centre of the board as soon as possible when there came a strange fizzing noise from just outside, followed by a number of loud, cracking explosions. He and Wilf both jumped, the Doctor's hand knocking over several chess pieces as he glanced around the room.
"Oh!" laughed Wilf, reaching over to right the pieces. "Looks like the fireworks are starting early this year. Must be kids messing about in the park."
"Ah." The Doctor shot him a quick smile and returned his attention to the game, only to startle again a moment later as another volley of fireworks cracked and fizzled outside. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, a shiver visibly running through his body, but then he relaxed and made his move.
"Your turn," he said cheerily.
Wilf, who had been studying the alien man closer than his plays, had to look hard to make sure he hadn't been boxed in. Again.
Satisfied that his important pieces weren't in imminent danger, he moved a knight out from behind a pawn and gestured for the Doctor to go. Once again, he took Wilf's knight with an unseen bishop, and gave a cheeky grin.
"I can see why Donna refuses to play with you," Wilfred remarked, teasing, as he moved another pawn from its starting position to threaten the Doctor's rook.
He moved the rook back to his side of the board. "Ah, well, I can't help if sh–"
The Doctor's quip was interrupted by a massive bang! followed a moment later by a cacophony of smaller explosions; the little flashes of light from outside the windows seemed to go on forever, before the street finally quieted again. When Wilf turned back to the game, just about to prompt the Doctor to finish his sentence, the words died on his lips. The alien's gaze was fixed on the window to his right, his expression one of veiled horror. He didn't move an inch as Wilf regarded him curiously, even though the bangs and flashes had passed. He barely even seemed to be in the room.
Then, with a sharp inhale, he shook himself out of his trance and refocused. He didn't look up from the chessboard as he waited for Wilf to make his move, then made his, worrying his lip between his teeth. Wilf frowned; he hadn't missed the ever-so-slight tremble of his hand as he set down his piece.
"When is she back?" the Doctor asked suddenly.
"What?"
"Donna, and– and Sylvia, when are they getting back?"
Wilf considered for a moment, glancing at the little clock on the bookshelf. "Perhaps an hour," he guessed. They hadn't been gone all that long, and he knew all about their tendency to get distracted by the shopfronts.
The Doctor let out a quiet groan, briefly leaning his head into his hands.
"Are you alright, Doctor?" asked Wilf, concerned.
"Fine," he said, a bit too quickly, as he twined his fingers together and rested his chin on his fists to study the board. "Brilliant, in fact."
"Well, it's just you seem a bit–"
The crack of a larger shell echoed down the street, lighting the room in gold, and the Doctor's head whipped around to look outside.
"–jumpy," he finished.
The Doctor nodded stiffly, relaxing once more. "Right. Well, as I said, I'm fine. Not jumpy."
Wilf never would have guessed that the Doctor would be scared of fireworks. Maybe it was an alien thing; maybe his hearing was just better than a human's, and he didn't like the loud noise. Wilf realized how little he actually knew about the man. He considered offering to move their game to the basement, where it was quieter, or to let the Doctor wander off back to his ship before the girls got home, but he didn't think it was his place to press the issue. If the Time Lord said he was fine, then surely he knew best.
But the fireworks continued, and his agitation only got more evident. He started tapping his fingers on his leg, then jiggling his foot, wincing away from the explosions each time they started up again. Every once in a while he would rub the back of his neck or tug at his collar; his tie was more than loose enough, and at this point there was no way it could possibly be interfering with his breathing, but he persisted. His jaw was clenched so hard it must have been getting painful, and his brow seemed to have developed a permanent furrow. He looked as if he were playing to save the Earth or something, rather than a sociable game with his best friend's grandfather.
Suddenly, with a particularly sharp crack! from down the street, the Doctor jumped to his feet and started pacing across the living room, startling Wilf into dropping the piece he'd been in the process of placing.
"Sorry," he muttered, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.
"Is something the matter, Doctor?" asked Wilf, watching his slightly frantic movements with worry. It was beginning to occur to him that this couldn't simply be an issue of too much noise.
The Doctor made no attempt to answer, his gaze fixed resolutely on the floor. The next explosion brought his pacing to an abrupt halt; he swayed on the spot for a moment, his eyes squeezing shut as if in pain. His breathing was laboured enough now that Wilf could see the rise and fall of his chest from his spot on the ground. He decided that perhaps the Doctor wasn't the best judge of his fineness after all.
Swiftly, he packed up their chess game and stood with the box under his arm. He cautiously approached the alien man, hoping not to startle him.
"…Doctor?"
The Doctor glanced briefly to him, then to the chess set, then back to the floor with a shuddering inhale. "You didn't have to pack up," he said tightly. "Just… need a mo'."
"Do you want to go back to your ship?" he asked.
After a moment's hesitation he nodded, swallowing hard.
"Where did you park it then?"
"I… erm…" He blinked, shook his head as if trying to clear it. "I don't– I can't…"
The question seemed only to have distressed him further; he looked around the room like he didn't quite recognize the place, fear flickering in his dark eyes, his lips parted slightly as he struggled for air. Wilf tried not to be startled by his sudden change in demeanour. This was unlike anything he'd seen from the alien man, who gave the impression of being perpetually in control, and he was starting to feel a bit out of his depth.
He took a chance and placed a gentle hand on the Doctor's arm; he stared at it for a moment, but didn't flinch away.
"Right," he said decisively. "Come on, Doctor. Let's go downstairs."
"Why?" the Doctor managed, his eyes focusing on Wilf. "Honest, I'm fine. No need for– for…"
No wonder Donna was always complaining about this one, he thought wryly. He nodded and turned away, letting the Doctor follow him to the staircase. Stealing glances back to make sure he was still coming, Wilf led him down into the basement and to the sparse living area. He sat down on the carpet in front of the couch and began setting up the chessboard again while the Doctor walked a lap around the room; he watched out of the corner of his eye as the alien examined the dark corners, peered behind the doors, ran his hand along the wall with an unusual level of focus. It was sheltered enough down in the basement that the next firework was barely more than background noise, but the resulting flash of light through the tiny window near the ceiling still made him turn. He glanced away quickly, his gaze darting around the room, searching for a distraction; his lower lip trembled for a second before he rubbed a badly shaking hand over his mouth. He looked terribly overwhelmed, almost on the verge of tears. Wilf got up without comment and drew the curtains.
"You can have white," he offered, settling back down in front of the board.
The Doctor regarded him and the chessboard for a moment, trying valiantly to make his expression unreadable once more, before he took a deep breath and nodded. He sat somewhat unsteadily, crossing his long legs and drumming his fingers on his knees. With some effort—which he hid well, Wilf noticed, and which he might have assumed was simply him surveying the board, but for the fact that they hadn't started yet—he managed to focus his attention on the game.
"Right, erm–" He cleared his throat, awkwardly hiding the fact that his voice sounded hoarse and breathless. He reached for a piece before abruptly looking up and glancing around the room. "Do you– uh, would you mind, I mean, if…"
Wilf caught onto what he was trying to say when he gestured vaguely towards the remote control. "Ah. Course." He switched on the telly, hoping the Doctor wouldn't really care what came on because he wasn't entirely sure how to change it.
Something to do with cooking came on, and the Doctor relaxed visibly. The fireworks had more or less finished by now, and the telly was enough to drown out any straggling explosions. Shaking out his hand, which was still trembling, he moved his fourth pawn from the right forwards two spaces and waited quietly for Wilf to finish his turn.
Wilf was about to mirror what the Doctor had done, but he changed his mind and moved a knight instead. After all, how was the poor man supposed to distract himself if he never did anything interesting?
The Doctor looked mildly surprised at his decision—for the last several games, and indeed for just about every game he could remember playing, Wilf had started off with a pawn—but he took it in stride and moved the knight on the opposite side of the board, placing it in such a way that Wilf could no longer move to any of the centre squares. A few more turns and he knew that he definitely wouldn't win, for his knowledge of chess strategy had just been exhausted, but the Doctor had stopped casting wary glances towards the window and Wilf could tell he was making an effort to slow and deepen his breathing, so he didn't mind at all.
Fireworks had never bothered him much, beyond the fact that he found the noise a bit annoying when he couldn't watch the display. He was lucky: he'd been young and adaptable during his time with the parachute regiment, and the admittedly little real action he'd seen had usually felt more like an adventure than a life-or-death matter. He still loved to recount his stories to Sylv and Donna, though they'd surely heard them all a dozen times over by now, bless. But he knew plenty of others who hadn't been so lucky, some of them close friends. It had been a long time, mind you, but he could still recall a few trying days when he'd given them a hand, much like this.
Now, Wilf couldn't imagine the Doctor as a soldier, of any sort. But he supposed, alien though he may be, he probably wasn't all that different from them, in this particular matter. Ah, see: that made it a bit easier to reconcile the cheery, self-assured, spiky-haired Doctor with the man in front of him now.
Without a word, Wilf reached around the chessboard and took his hand. The Doctor looked up in surprise; Wilf met his gaze and, perhaps for the first time, saw him without his guard up. He recognized the last lingering traces of panic, and the uncertainty that had come to replace it. He realized that the Doctor was unsure of where he stood right now, and then that the daft alien was trying to judge the odds of them never speaking about this again. Wilf gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile, squeezed his hand briefly and let go so he could return to planning his next move.
As it turned out, his next move was to put Wilf in checkmate.
"Aw, better luck next time, Wilf," he grinned. He sounded a bit unsteady, but mostly calm.
"Oh, now that is rubbish," Wilf complained, laughing. "I didn't even see you there."
"Well, don't feel too bad. I can't remember the last time I've lost to a human, anyways."
Wilf harrumphed, feigning indignation. "Up for another round?" he asked lightly.
Recognizing the unspoken question, the Doctor's smile faded and his gaze turned inwards. Suddenly he looked rather exhausted. He cocked his head, listening, and glanced around the room. "You know," he said after a moment, "I think I've had quite enough of chess for one evening."
Wilf nodded, pleased. "Good. Fancy a cuppa?"
His smile returned, a bit wearier than before but no less genuine. "Sounds brilliant."
By the time the girls got back, Wilf and the Doctor had situated themselves at the dining table with their tea and the Doctor was entertaining him with stories about his travels with Donna. It was to one of these that the two were laughing uproariously when Donna herself came into the kitchen with her bags of assorted items.
She narrowed her eyes at them, and they tried very hard to put on straight faces. "Oi, Spaceman, what're you laughing at?"
"Just like that!" the Doctor exclaimed joyously, grinning, and dissolved into giggles once again.
"Hello sweetheart," said Wilf, clearing his throat in an effort to keep from doing the same. "Did you have a good trip?"
"Fine, thanks," she said. "But if you've been telling stories about me again, I'll–"
Her threat was interrupted by a new bout of stifled laughter, and she gave a long-suffering sigh. "I should've known better than to leave the two of you alone."
"Oh, I don't know," said Wilf, casting a meaningful glance at the Doctor. "I think it worked out quite well."
"Oh yes," he agreed. "Must do it again sometime."
Donna, by now, had clearly picked up on the fact that she had missed something, and arched an eyebrow at the Doctor in hopes of getting an explanation.
"Later," he mouthed.
Having divested herself of her own bags, Sylvia came marching into the kitchen, looking distinctly cross. "Well," she said, setting to work making a cup of tea for herself, "maybe if you two had come, you'd have managed to convince this one–" she nodded at Donna– "not to buy a new pair of trainers. I mean, what d'you need trainers for, anyway? Not like you ever go running."
The Doctor pressed his lips together to keep from smiling, throwing a discreet look at Donna.
Donna rolled her eyes. "If you're gonna start that again, then that'll be our cue. C'mon." She grabbed the Doctor by the arm and started tugging him out of the kitchen, towards the door.
"Oh. Alright," he said, surprised but not bothered.
Sylvia frowned over her shoulder at Donna and the Doctor.
"I'll see them out," said Wilf, reminding himself to give her some space until she got over whatever disagreement she and Donna had got into.
At the front door, Donna was gathering her things and the Doctor was waiting, rocking back and forth on his heels. She was in a bit of a mood herself, and Wilf thought it probably was a good time for them to depart, before she and her mother butted heads any more. He really would have liked to spend more time with the Doctor, but he figured the alien man was bound to be tired and impatient to get back to his ship. Which reminded him:
"Do you know where you're going?" he asked quietly, when Donna made a detour to the living room to grab her jacket.
The Doctor took a moment to realize what he meant. "Oh. Yep. All good now."
Wilf nodded. "Good."
"Right," said Donna, sweeping back to the front door, jacket in hand, and pulling it open. "See ya, Gramps. I'll try to visit soon, long as this one–" she jabbed a thumb at the Doctor– "gets the century right."
"See you, sweetheart," Wilf laughed, pulling her in for a hug before letting her escape outside.
The Doctor made to follow her, but he paused, half in and half out of the doorway, and turned back. "I'm, erm, I'm sorry about earlier, Wilf," he said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't really expect… that is to say, I– I don't usually…" He let himself trail off, abandoning whatever excuse he'd been trying to make, and gave a small sigh instead. "Thank you. I appreciated that."
Wilf shook his head. "Oh, it's not a problem. But you'd better be back soon with my Donna. We can swap war stories," he suggested, intending it as a lighthearted quip. "Though I'm sure I couldn't tell you anything you haven't heard before."
When the Doctor got that distant look in his eyes, he worried he'd spoken too soon.
He smiled sadly. "You wouldn't much like my stories, Wilf," he murmured. Then the strange, ancient quality about him was gone, and he was the cheerful young man once more. "But I would absolutely love to hear yours," he added.
Wilf smiled back, relieved. "You've got a deal, then."
With one of his daft grins, the Doctor slipped out the door and went jogging to the end of the drive to meet Donna, waving over his shoulder.
"You bring her back safe!" Wilf called.
"Wouldn't dream otherwise!" he replied.
Donna then proceeded to smack his arm and tell him something that Wilf guessed was "I can take care of myself!" even though he couldn't hear it, and the two of them went strolling off down the street, arm in arm, as always. And as always, Wilf found himself missing her already. The Doctor, too, of course; he hadn't had someone new to bother with his paratrooper tales in a long time. All the more reason to eagerly anticipate their next visit, he supposed.
Perhaps, next time, they could try not to do it near a major holiday.