A/N: This came from some dimly-lit recess of my mind. As usual, I don't own anything you recognise, but there is a word about five lines down, sixteen words in, that I have claimed as my own.
Also! Special thanks to user Tellytubby101 for lending her eyes and betaing this. She is a Rockgod, no doubt.
Dedicated to John Mayer and the controversy surrounding him the last couple of weeks that I only know about because of Twitter. Also dedicated to one Mick Jagger because I love his legs and I want them.
The American woman turned towards the camera, a look of mild disinterest on her features. "In pop culture news, everyone's favorite Extraterrestrial Playboy made a public statement denouncing allegations of racist remarks. We take you to London where the news conference was held earlier this afternoon."
The figure watching the television nursed a drink as the station cut to footage of a podium surrounded by reporters and bathed in camera flashes. The accused stood behind it, his black-rimmed thinky specs sitting on his nose as he looked over some note cards someone had written for him. His long brown coat was thrown over a chair nearby, and a reporter could be seen eying it enviously. The man finally cleared his throat and looked up, flashing a disarming smile that quieted the crowd.
"Uh, hello, I'm the Doctor. Before I begin," he swept his glasses off and waved at a camera to his right, "I just wanted to say hello to the Prime Minister." He grinned again, nodding his head slightly. "Good evening Marm, I hope you're feeling okay."
Someone from the audience cleared their voice in annoyance, bringing his attention back to the matter at hand. "Oh, right. Sorry, I tend to forget, you know, about these things." He tapped a finger against his forehead as he put his glasses back on. "I am only 900 years old, after all. Bear with me." He shuffled the note cards and began to read from them, his voice filling the room.
"Last week one of my detractors, who has chosen to remain nameless, published a story in The Star which attempted to put a blemish on my good name. Claiming that I am racist. This person cited a time that I supposedly used slurs and claimed I would never be seen in public with companions of non-Anglo-Saxon descent. I want to make it clear that I have no such views and would never say something along those lines, finding such language deplorable and generally... bad." He frowned at his note cards, wondering who had written this speech for him.
He pulled his glasses off again and stared straight forward into the bank of cameras. "As you, citizens of Earth well know, I am the last living person of my race, a long-lived species called the Timelords from the planet Gallifrey, in the region of Kasterborous at galactic co-ordinates 10-0-11-0-0 by 0-2 from Galactic Zero Centre-"
"We know that already Doctor, get on with it!"
He glared at a person in the front row before regaining his composure. "As I was saying, I am the last living child of Gallifrey-" a slight man with close-cropped hair smirked at that claim- "-and have come to live with you, Humans, in the 21st century. You are my favorite out of all the species in the universe; I have visited you repeatedly in my 900 years. When I suddenly had no home and I wanted to lead a quiet life, I naturally picked Earth.
"I however did not want to be subversive. Instead I decided to be open about who I am and my history. With the aid of UNIT and... Torchwood…" he could barely conceal his contempt for the second organisation, "I had approached the world leaders and told them of my intent. I shared with all of you some of the technology of the Timelords, and helped to eliminate many problems you had here on Earth, including water pollution, over-crowding of cities, and most importantly, how to make your indoor spaces look larger through the clever use of mirrors."
He leaned forward on the podium, in his element. "However, many dissenters were against me from the beginning, worried about alliances with aliens. When I proved my worth in the Christmas invasion of 2005, I became a world icon over-night. Now I am as beloved as the Queen herself." He turned to a camera to the left, giving it an apologetic smile. "Well...sorry, Marm, but it's true. You still look better in a tiara, though." Turning back to the audience, he continued, "My popularity was not expected or sought after, but I eventually earned your genuine love and affection. And for that I am thankful."
His tone turned serious. "However, it seems there are always people who would disagree with me, even if I said that Dalek Poetry is deplorable and repetitive. I mean, come on," he said, warming to the subject quickly, "it's only a list of things they hate, with every entry followed by "EXTERMINATE!" A five year old Sontaran could produce much better; it doesn't even rhyme!" A tall man wearing a RAF coat, seeing a rant coming on, stepped forward and tapped the Timelord on his shoulder, calming him down immediately. He cleared his throat, realising he had gotten off-topic again.
"Oh, pur-lease," a heckler called out again.
"Shush, Harold!" The blond woman beside him berated quietly as she elbowed him in the side. He frowned at her and mumbled to himself as he started tapping his fingers against his thigh. His wife sighed and rolled her eyes, returning her attention to the Doctor, who had found his place in his notes again.
"I wish it to be known that I do not think that because I am from another planet, one with a society that is far more advanced socially and technologically to yours, that I somehow think I am superior to humans, let alone minorities within your own population. My repeated regenerations as a white male are purely by coincidence. I have had many companions over the years, several of whom were humans from your own planet. I even traveled with a journalist for a short time." He winked at a middle-aged brunette who sat middle right; she blushed and buried her face in her notebook.
Continuing, wrapping up his speech with an emotional climax, his voice rose in pitch, his face became sadder. "I am so sorry, so very sorry, for some of the events that happened in my past. I have lost companions that I felt very close to, and I live with the regret every day. But I did not lose them on purpose because they were human. I repeat," he beat his hand on the podium for emphasis, "I love humans, all of you. I ask that the person who spread these rumors to publicly retract their statements. You have had your moment in the limelight, now please leave me alone. That's all I have to say. Allons-y."
He turned on his heel and walked off quickly, catching the gathered reporters off-guard. As a mass they started yelling questions at his retreating back, but were held in check by a pair of men, the man in the RAF coat and a Welshman in a waistcoat, both armed and looking formidable. 'Ianto, grab that coat," the tall man said, betraying his American accent. Outside the door, the Doctor held his arm out to a young black medical student waiting for him. They walked past the cameras, working hard at acting unaware of the world's eyes.
"That was the conference that the Doctor held earlier today," the news reporter said, her image superimposed on the screen again. "Immediately following his statement, his lawyers announced that they knew who wrote the article, and threatened to sue for libel. A public statement by representatives of one Davros have announced he will make an official apology next week." She picked up another piece of paper in front of her, tone changing. "Next, we cover the torrential flooding in Egypt. Is God to blame? Stay-"
The Doctor changed the channel to a rerun of Friends and chuckled into his drink. "Ah, Joey, you silly man. Who puts a turkey on their head?"
Martha stirred beside him, stretching. "Is the news over already?" she inquired as she tried to put her arm around his neck.
He sighed and leaned forward under the pretense of refilling his glass, letting her arm slide off his shoulders. "No, but the important news items are. Would you like a drink?"
She nodded vigorously. "Yes; no ice though." she fixed him with her gaze, noticing the sudden faraway look in his eyes. "Doctor, what's wrong?"
He stared at the empty glass in front of him. "Rose drank her whiskey without ice as well."
Martha frowned at him before grabbing the bottle and drinking straight from it. There was little wonder as to what drove her to drink so much.
Additional Author's Notes: Dalek poetry inspired by "The Dalek Book of Poetry" by LJ user 10_Rose. .