Warnings: the mildest swearing in anything I ever wrote
COMPENSATION
by wuemsel
The sun was shining, not too hot, but pleasantly warm with a slight breeze ruffling the thick green leaves of the trees. Apart from the birds' cheeping, no sounds could be heard. It was calm. Utterly calm with the air smelling fresh and summer sweet and clean.
John turned around. The door he'd just walked through was gone. Looking down, he found he was still holding Mr Peterson's chart. Glancing up slowly, willing the green meadow and the hilly landscape to vanish, he let his eyes wander from side to side, not moving.
"Oh. Hello."
Flinching at the unexpected voice, John turned his head to see a thin, tall man in a blue suit walk up to him from across the green field.
"I seem to've got... lost," the man said with a smile, scratching the side of his head. "Could you tell me where I am?"
John stared at him, glanced at the picture perfect landscape and back at the stranger.
Before he could say anything, and he didn't know what, really, the man lifted his chin in an understanding gesture. "Oh. You don't know, either."
John watched him study their surroundings for a moment, then cleared his throat and asked, "Who are you?"
"I'm the Doctor," the man said with a grin.
John nodded. "Right. Okay."
"And you?"
"John Watson."
"Well, John," the Doctor said, still grinning as if he was truly enjoying himself, "nice to meet you. I take it you just sorta stumbled into the scene as well."
John wondered if Sherlock had put something in his cereal again that morning and he was in fact standing in the hallway, talking to a hallucination with all of his colleagues watching.
"You could say that," he said.
"Did you walk through a door? What's that you're holding?"
"A patient's chart."
The Doctor beamed at him. "Oh, you're a doctor. Brilliant! I like doctors."
John sucked in his lips a little and raised his brows.
"You don't say much, do you?" the Doctor asked.
"You asked if I'd walked through a door," John said. "Why?"
"Because I did," the Doctor said, "and here I am."
"And... where were you before that?"
"In the Tardis," the Doctor said. "Which could mean this is a room I've never noticed before, but why would you be here then?"
John looked at him questioningly.
"The Tardis is my spaceship," the Doctor said.
At that, John smiled.
"What?" the Doctor asked, frowning, then nodded. "Oh. You don't have spaceships where you come from?"
John looked around. "This is better than most dreams I've had recently. 'Cept for you," he added, returning his gaze to the Doctor
"Hey! What's wrong with me?"
John ignored him. "I guess there could be spaceships," he muttered to himself.
"I don't think this is a dream," the Doctor said.
"Yeah, but you would say that, wouldn't you? Because you're... in my dream. Which is weird," John said and jumped when his mobile emitted its chirpy text message sound. Startled, he checked his jeans pocket.
"Well, you have those already," the Doctor observed, while John stared at the display. "Bad news?"
John frowned uncertainly. "Just my flatmate telling me to bring milk and sardines."
"And does that usually happen in your dreams?" the Doctor asked.
"Oh yeah."
"Fine. Where were you before you walked through the door?"
"At work," John said, still holding his mobile.
"And did that feel like a dream?"
John thought about it. "No, but you don't always know in a drea... Why am I discussing this with you?"
"Oh look, there's a pub."
John followed the Doctor's outstretched arm until he spotted a small brick house with a sign out front behind a few trees.
"Maybe there's others there," the Doctor said and started walking towards the house. After a moment of hesitation, John followed him, not sure why.
"So where are you from?" the Doctor asked, sounding genuinely interested. He seemed to be a nice bloke, if a bit overenthusiastic.
John watched him, remembering the spaceship. "What exactly do you mean?"
"Just... when and where, generally. I assume you're still from Earth, because you don't believe in spaceships, and judging from your mobile... 2009?"
"Eleven."
The Doctor grimaced and waved his hand dismissively. "Oh well. I didn't get a very good look at it."
"I'm from London," John said. "2011. Earth," he added after a moment's thought.
"Well, yes, I figured you weren't from London, Pluto. I mean, you could be, but you'd be a bit short, wouldn't you?"
John decided to let that pass. Before he could ask where the Doctor came from, he was informed that, "I like London. Been there quite a few times. Nice little city."
"Yeah, I like it."
The Doctor smiled at him and nodded.
"So... where're you from?" John asked at last.
"Like I told you, I was in my Tardis and then I walked through a door and now I'm here."
"And what year is it in your Tardis?"
"Oh. Well. That's not that easy."
"Of course," John said and nodded slowly. He scratched his head, briefly closing his eyes.
"I mean," the Doctor said, sounding as if he was trying to be helpful, "I have a timeline, too, but it wouldn't mean much to you."
"No, course not. It doesn't matter, I was just making conversation," John said tiredly.
They had reached the top of the little hill and were now walking downhill, the grass soft and soundless under their feet. "You're also an alien, right?" John asked after a while, sounding a little resigned.
The Doctor lifted his brows. "How can you tell?"
"Oh, just... good guess."
The Doctor grinned. "I like you, you're good."
John waved his hand dismissively. "I just know dreams."
"You dream of aliens a lot?"
John thought about that, pursing his lips. "Sometimes. But they're usually like the things from V. You're more of a Mork alien."
The Doctor looked at him.
"You look human," John explained.
"You'll find you look Time Lord," The Doctor said with a patronising smile.
John blinked up at him. "Is that what you call yourself?"
"Yup."
"Time Lord," John repeated.
"Yup."
"Not being overly dramatic there or anything."
The Doctor frowned, but didn't comment on that.
"So what's your planet called, Time Palace?"
The Doctor cast him a quick, disapproving glance and replied, "Gallifrey."
"Wouldn't you be a Gallifreyan, then?"
"No."
"Okay."
They walked in silence for a short while, until the Doctor asked, "Were you chased by anything?"
"Hm? When?"
"When you walked through the door."
"Oh. No. Not that I was aware of, anyway."
"What exactly were you doing before?" the Doctor asked, looking at John.
John frowned slightly, searching his memory for details. "I told Mr Peterson he needs to cut back on the cigarettes, then I wrote down the prescription for his medication, turned around and... left the room."
"And ended up here."
"Yeah." John nodded.
"Odd."
"You think?"
The Doctor ignored John's tone, furrowing his brows, deep in thought. He tugged at his earlobe and cast John a skeptical look. "Are you somehow special?"
"My mum used to tell me so, yeah."
"Well, I certainly haven't met you before," the Doctor said. "Have you ever encountered strange people or... I don't know. There must be something... Have you met other aliens? Or did you ever fall through a time loop? What I mean is, has anything like this happened to you before?"
"Not when I was sober."
The Doctor's eyes widened suddenly as if he'd thought of something. He whirled around to face John, pointing his index finger at him. "Have you had dreams like this before?"
"No."
The Doctor's face fell. He lowered his finger. "Are you sure?"
"Pretty sure."
"Wait." The Doctor stopped, reaching out to stop John in his tracks as well. "Hold still a minute." He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a longish silvery something that he pointed at John. It emitted a low humming sound and its tip glowed green.
"What's that?" John asked, watching it uncertainly.
"My sonic screwdriver."
"It doesn't look like a screwdriver."
"Yes it does," the Doctor said, stopped pointing it at John and turned it as if to read something on the side of it. "Well, you're just an ordinary human."
"Coulda told you that."
The Doctor huffed a frustrated breath and put the thing away again. "Then why are you here? Why am I here? What is this?"
"It's easier if you just accept it's a dream," John advised. "Or do Time Lords not dream?"
The Doctor flashed him a quick frown. "This isn't a dream. But," he added, grinning suddenly, "it's a mystery. I love mysteries."
John nodded a 'good for you, mate'-nod, but didn't say anything.
"Once I ended up on Medusa Five," the Doctor said, "where they have this crime mystery murder thingsy game - and I won first prize." He smiled proudly at John, who smiled back. "It was pretty difficult, too. Well, when I say difficult... But you had to swim two thousand miles."
John nodded again, still smiling politely.
They had reached the little brick house by then. The Doctor put his hand on the doorknob.
"Shouldn't you... sonic that? For dangerous... things?" John asked. "Anything could be in there."
The Doctor scrunched up his face, shaking his head. "Nah, there's nothing dangerous here."
John had the feeling the Doctor said that a lot, but kept his silence and watched him open the door.
"Hello?" the Doctor exclaimed, sticking his head inside. "Anybody here?"
When no answer came, he looked back at John, shrugged and walked inside. John followed him.
Inside, a warm fire was burning in the fire place, and the whole place felt cozy and inviting. It was empty but didn't feel deserted.
John stepped past the Doctor, looking around. "Looks like someone just left." He walked over to a table near a window, where a steaming kettle stood on a tea warmer. Two cups stood next to it, as well as an enormous plate filled with jammie dodgers and bourbon biscuits. "Kettle's still warm."
The Doctor had followed him to the table after checking behind the wooden bar and looked at the plate, frowning. "No," he said. "No one left. This has been waiting... for us."
"What do you mean?" John asked, absently grabbing a bourbon biscuit and starting to nibble on it.
"Well, for one, those biscuits," the Doctor said and poured tea into the cups, then sat down, gesturing for John to do the same. John sat, putting Mr Peterson's chart on the table next to his cup.
"They're your favourite, right?"
John stopped in his munching to look down at the bourbon biscuit in his hand. He nodded.
"And these are mine," the Doctor said, popping a jammie dodger into his mouth.
"And that tells you that this has been laid out for us? Biscuits," John said, feeling strangely reminded of his conversations with Sherlock.
"No fingerprints on the kettle," the Doctor said through a mouthful of jammie dodger. "Though they might not have fingerprints. But, no," he swallowed, "it's because of something you said earlier." He started pouring sugar into his cup by the spoonful.
John watched him in quiet amazement and reached for the milk. "What did I say?" he asked and held out the milk, but the Doctor shook his head and stirred the heap of sugar in his cup.
"You said this was better than most dreams you've been having," the Doctor said and grabbed another jammie dodger. John wrinkled his nose a bit, when he watched him dunk it into the tea.
"Did I?"
"Yes."
"I suppose it's true. I mean, the tea is," John took a sip and frowned at the cup, "really good." It was the most perfect tea he'd ever drunk. He took another biscuit.
"So you've been having not so good dreams, too," the Doctor said and bit into his soaked jammie dodger.
"Maybe. Yes. I get bad dreams all the time, it doesn't mean anything."
"But maybe those new dreams are a bit... worse," the Doctor said and tilted his head slightly as he watched John stop in mid-bite.
"You can't read my mind or something, can you?" John asked.
"If I touched you."
John moved his chair away a little.
The Doctor rolled his eyes, but smiled reassuringly and took a sip of his tea. "I'm just asking," he said and reached for the sugar bowl again, "because I've been having strange dreams, too." He added another spoonful of sugar, then sprinkled a little over the rest of his jammie dodger and popped it into his mouth.
"Really?" John asked after a moment's pause.
"Hm mm. Dreams of things that never happened."
"What sort of things?"
"Bad things."
John looked up to meet the Doctor's eyes and swallowed, as a lump of dread formed in his throat. "All right, yes, I've been having... bad dreams, too. Really... really bad dreams. Horrible dreams." He picked up his cup, afraid his hands would start shaking if he didn't.
"Yes," the Doctor said and grabbed another jammie dodger. He started dunking it into his tea, then suddenly lost his grip. With a little splash it fell into the cup. Dumbnfounded, the Doctor looked after it.
John hadn't noticed. "What do the dreams have to do with this?" he asked.
"Uhm... huh?" The Doctor looked up at him, then nodded as if the words had just reached him, and took his spoon to rescue the soaked biscuit. "Yes, the dreams. I think this," he gestured for the room and the outside with his spoonless hand, "is to make up for them."
"Make up for them?" John repeated. When he'd first met Sherlock, he'd done that a lot, repeat things. It had got better over time, but sometimes he still couldn't help it. "But they're just dreams. And how do you know that? You sound like you know."
The Doctor had untea-ed his jammie dodger and shoved the spoon with it into his mouth, chewing. He shrugged. "I'm a Time Lord. I sense things."
"How?"
The Doctor thought about that, chewing. "I can see all possible timelines." He took a sip of his tea.
John looked at him and suddenly widened his eyes. "Wait... wait, does that mean... it will happen? The dreams?"
"No." The Doctor lifted his hand calmingly. "No. I wasn't finished, yet. I can also sense bumps in the... time and space..." He gestured vaguely with his hands as if forming a ball, then squeezing it. John watched in growing confusion. "... thing."
"The time and space thing."
"Yes."
"That explains it all."
The Doctor sighed. "Basically," he said in a slow voice as if talking to a child, "the dreams don't belong here. They're from a different time and space thing."
John frowned. "Like a different universe."
"Yeeeaaaahhhh... sort of."
"And you sense that, when you have them."
The Doctor nodded. "I can taste it."
"Yes, of course. And you know this has to do with the dreams because..."
"The tea tastes the same."
John looked into his tea.
"But it also tastes a bit sympathetic, too."
John looked up again. "The tea feels sorry for us," he said in a flat voice.
"Whoever made the tea does," the Doctor said and sipped from his cup.
"So," John said after a moment and frowned, "what you're saying is that... what's in the dreams is actually happening in a different time and space thing."
The Doctor nodded.
"To a different me and a different you."
"Well, they might be very different, but... yeah."
John shuddered and V'ed his brows. "Poor me."
"Very different," the Doctor repeated. "He might be really extremely different."
"Why doesn't he get tea and biscuits?"
"I guess they can't reach him," the Doctor said sadly.
"Who?"
"Whoever's doing this," the Doctor said matter-of-factly and bit into a jammie dodger. It might have been his tenth, he was eating them so fast.
"You don't know who that is?"
"No. Haven't the foggiest. But they make great tea."
John looked at him, looked at the plate, into his tea and back. "You know, those dreams are really bloody horrible."
"Yeah, no kidding." The Doctor grimaced.
"And they think they can make up for that with bourbons and sympathetic tea?"
The Doctor's features softened. "I don't think it's their fault, John. They're doing their best."
"Why can't they rescue them? The... others."
The Doctor shrugged. "Maybe they just can't. Stop complaining, you'll make it rain."
John quickly looked outside, but the sun was still shining warmly onto the green fields. He picked up his cup again. The tea was really good, he had to give them that.
"Maybe they feel guilty for some reason," the Doctor said. "And that's why they're apologising to us, because we're the closest they can get to the others."
"Will they make the dreams go away?" John asked.
"I don't know. We might just meet like this every few weeks from now on."
"Great. When God decides I need a break, I get tea and biscuits and a smug alien for company."
"Same here," the Doctor said.
"I'm not smug."
The Doctor watched John for a moment, then took a jammie dodger and held it out for him.
Surprised, John met his smiling eyes and accepted it with a smile of his own.
"So, turns out you're special after all," the Doctor said. "To someone powerful."
"You too."
"I'm always special. I'm the king of special. What?" he asked at John's grin.
"Nothing. You remind me of someone."
"I very much doubt that."
John chuckled and looked over to the bar. He frowned slightly. "Look at that. They have beer, too."
"And probably football." The Doctor pointed at a huge flatscreen TV in a far corner of the room.
John looked back, still frowning. "They must think we're really easily satisfied."
"They mean well," the Doctor said defensively.
John was about to say something, when his mobile chirped.
"I wonder why your flatmate can still reach you here," the Doctor said and produced a less stylish mobile than John's from his pocket. "My phone's dead."
John stared at it, but decided not to ask. "Nothing's so powerful it can keep Sherlock out."
"Wondering where you are?" the Doctor asked.
"Hmmmmno," John said, stretching the word in a worried tone. "I think I should head back."
"Trouble?" the Doctor asked excitedly.
John glanced up, thinking he knew that tone, and shook his head. "Not really, but I think he did something bad to the kitchen." He looked over his shoulder at the door, then back at the Doctor. "You got any idea how we're gonna get back?"
"Walk through a door? Are you sure you want to leave already? We could check out the other side of that hill. Maybe they got a fair, too. Or a little shop." He smiled.
"Would love to. Next time, I promise, but..." John got to his feet, grabbing a last bourbon biscuit for the way. "Last time he said he needed sandpaper and tube cleaner, it was really bad. I'll probably see you soon, anyway."
"Yeah. Maybe I'll look you up, take you for a trip in the TARDIS."
John looked up at that, meeting the Doctor's gaze. For the first time it hit him that this might actually have happened and that the alien might possibly really exist and actually drop by at his flat to pick him up in his spaceship. He swallowed. "Okay."
"If you exist in my space and time thing."
"Have you heard of Sherlock Holmes?" John asked.
"No."
"Then I don't."
The Doctor cast him a confused little smile.
John shook his head dismissively and held out his hand. "Well. It's been... interesting."
The Doctor looked up at him, grinning, then made a sound like "n'aw", grabbed his hand, stood up and engulfed John in a hug.
John stiffened and after the briefest hesitation patted the doctor's back twice, then quickly moved out of the embrace.
"Pleasure meeting you, John Watson." The Doctor sat down again, picking up a jammie dodger. "Till next time." He grinned.
John furrowed his brows a little, trying to think of something to say and in the end settled for, "right", and a curt farewell nod, before grabbing Mr Peterson's chart and heading for the door.
He stopped with his hand on the doorknob and glanced back at the Doctor, who waved a little with his half-eaten biscuit, munching happily. He'd put his feet on the table and seemed content to stay until either the biscuits or the tea were gone.
The sound of another text message urged John on at last and he opened the door with a deep, bracing breath, took a step and heard the door of Examination Room 2 fall shut behind him.
He flinched at the sound, startled without knowing why, and gazed back at the closed door. A weird sense of disorientation rushed through him. He looked about the clinic's hallway with a frown, shaking his head briefly as if to clear it. Probably just low blood sugar, he figured and looked at his watch. He'd stop for a quick cup of tea before checking on the next patient. Maybe have a biscuit.
Decision made, he started walking back to the reception desk, still frowning - now because he couldn't shake the strange feeling that he'd forgot something important - when his phone chirped. He took it out of his pocket and sighed at the last of three text messages he had missed.
It was like a detailed report of a worsening situation written in urgent shopping lists. The usual.
John contemplated replying for a moment (Something along the lines of 'Get it yourbloodyself.') then shoved his mobile back in his pocket and went to get tea. And maybe biscuits.
THE END
Author's Note: Please, everybody, go and be mean to Ten and John some more now. I've got you covered. (I was thinking board games next. They are easily satisfied, after all.)