Author's Notes: Alright, I already know what you're thinking. 'Oh no, not another Mary-Sue fic!' but I'm here to tell you that you have nothing to fear, because, rest assured, the moment this fic becomes a Mary-Sue fic is the moment I stop writing it. That being said, this is a story that was largely spun off the episode "Fear Her" from Doctor Who where he makes a comment in one part of it about being a dad. Additionally, this entire thing is for a 100 fic challenge over at 100situations at Livejournal. Please, read and review!
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who (as much as I'd like to) or anything related to him, though I do own the character April Robins.
- - -
"I was a dad once..."
"What did you just say?"
But the Doctor, the last of the Time Lords, ignored the query of his companion, Rose Tyler, and moved away from the subject altogether by focusing back on what they were originally doing.
However, the topic of which he'd sworn to himself never to speak or think of again had been breached and reopened. The memories flooded back into his intelligent mind, causing his two hearts to beat faster, to ache with a more intense pain. It wasn't physical pain he felt, though, no...it was simply an emotional one. But it burned him all the same, and shook him to the core.
The Doctor did not like thinking about the past. Actually, that wasn't entirely true. He had no qualms with the past in general...it was his own past that bothered him. It was his own personal faults that ate away at his conscience. It was his own failures that haunted him during the dark, silent hours of the night.
Yes, the Doctor was troubled. But rarely did anyone notice it due to his carefully crafted cheerful facade. By first glance, one would barely be able to tell how much this man had seen, how much he'd been through. It was only upon further inspection that one came to find that the Doctor was not all he appeared to be...and considerably a lot more than they could comprehend.
There were deep scars upon the Time Lord's soul, cuts that bled easily and all too frequently, reopened by the slightest word or action. As much as he tried to deny and ignore it...he was a very broken and lonely man.
Thinking back, he found that he could only blame himself for his misery. All the decisions he had made, albeit some seemed inevitable, he had made them out of his own accord. Despite the guilt he felt, he really could not lay the blame on anyone else. He wouldn't lay the blame on anyone else.
Time and time again...it seemed as if it all came down upon the Doctor's shoulders.
In his defense, however, protecting time and space was not the easiest job...but it was his job. It was his cross to bear, it was his burden, and he did it without a single complaint or grumble.
But that did not mean he was any less lonely. In fact, he often preferred traveling with others in his ship, the TARDIS, just to stifle the overwhelming sense of loneliness. After all, he was a Time Lord...and the last of his kind.
Now that his mind was on the subject of the past, his past to be specific, the memories of a woman long since gone began to surface, much to his personal dismay.
It all began back during his transformation into his tenth regeneration. Rose had not anticipated him regenerating--as all Time Lords do once they're mortally wounded--instead of dying. While it saved him, it also changed how he looked physically...which ended up presenting some difficulties for his relationship with Rose.
Mainly, because she didn't believe he was still the Doctor. She left him then, returning to her home on earth, to try and live a relatively normal life. Meanwhile, the Doctor had been left all alone...again.
That is, until he met her.
Taking a slow, measured breath, the Doctor closed his eyes...allowing the memory of her to wash over him.
The memory of the day he had met her, that fateful day, would forever be imprinted upon his mind, soul...and heart.
---
"Open, open, open!" the Doctor murmured incessantly as he continued to bang on the apartment door, nervously glancing down the hallway. With his free hand, he touched the hilt of his sonic screwdriver, though he'd rather not use it lest he be found out as a non-human...he'd use it if he had no other choice.
He glanced down the hallway once more, noticing that there was still no sign of his hunter. He often wondered how he kept getting himself into these situations but--more often than not--he didn't have enough time to dwell on it. Now was on such time.
He heard the tiny skittering of small feet, ad began to bang more loudly.
All he got in return, however, was an angry, "Get away from my door, you loon!"
Sighing, he tried another door as the sound of approaching footsteps increased and gradually became louder. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!" he growled.
"Hello?" a voice from behind him queried, causing the Doctor to spin around on the heels of his feet quickly.
"Uhm...hello!" he greeted cheerfully. "Hate to bother you, but would you mind if I checked your apartment briefly? I'm with the NAA..."
She gave him a blank look. "The what?"
The Doctor warily looked down the hallway, and saw the shadows of his adversaries growing larger on the wall. "No time to explain! In we go!"
Grabbing her arm gently, the Doctor pulled both of them inside the woman's modest apartment, closing and locking the door behind them. Once inside, the woman grabbed a gun out of a small drawer, and pointed it at the Doctor.
"Who are you and what do you want?" she asked him.
It was obvious that she was afraid--he could see it in her eyes--and it was also obvious that she knew how to use the gun in her hands due to the comfortable, steady way with which she held it. The Doctor couldn't blame her, of course, after all, he was a strange man who had basically just burst into her apartment.
"My name's John Smith, or Mr. Smith." He slowly, so as not to startle her, drew his psychic paper out and showed it to her? "See? I'm with the National Apartment Association...here to check for structural damage. Yes? Yes."
She looked suspicious. "I've never heard of the NAA."
The Doctor shrugged. "Not surprising. We're overworked and underpaid."
Glancing once more at his psychic paper, which appeared to her as appropriate NAA credentials, she nodded and put her gun away. "Sorry," she apologized, brushing some brown strands of hair out of her face. "You just scared me a bit. It isn't every day that people burst into my home. I didn't mean to pull a gun on you. It's just, well, L.A. isn't the friendliest city, y'know?"
The Doctor furrowed his brows. "L.A., you say? As in Los Angeles? As in we're in Los Angeles?"
"Yeah..." she said slowly, giving him a look halfway between curiosity and condescension. "You're not from around here, are you?"
"Was it the hair that gave it away? I'm still getting used to it myself..." he said, running a hand through his scruffy brown hair.
"It's the accent," she told him, as if it were obvious. "You're from England, yeah?"
He wasn't really, but she didn't need to know that. "Yes."
She smiled. "I thought so. Anyway, shouldn't you be looking around for--"
"Sssh!" he hushed her, peeking out of the door hole.
"What is--?"
Before she could finish her question, the Doctor had his hand over her mouth, and was drawing her away from the door. "Quiet," he whispered to her.
Surprisingly, she remained quiet, probably sensing the danger, as the scurrying feet rushed past the door. After a few long moments, the footsteps died down, and the Doctor released her, much to her relief.
"What in the world was that?!" she demanded.
Taking one last look down the corridor by peeking his head out of the door, the Doctor replied, "Iordes."
"What?"
"Iordes," he repeated, closing the door again. "Subliminal beings that feed off of information. Books, movies, plays, music...they absorb it, and it sustains them. Most Iordes keep to themselves, but there are some--like those ones that just went past--that are bred to be hunters. They use all the information they possess to allow themselves to track their prey, anticipating their actions, and they're quite good at it too...unfortunately for me."
"They're great at trivia games, though," he added as an afterthought, smiling as if his life wasn't in mortal peril.
It took a few moments for the woman to process everything he had said because he talked so quickly. Finally, she asked, "Who are you?"
"I'm the Doctor?"
"Doctor who?"
He gave her an amused smile. "I get that a lot. It's just the Doctor."
"Just 'the Doctor'?" she looked confused. "People actually call you that?"
"Yep!" he said, popping the p at the end of the word.
"You are a strange man," she told him.
His grin widened. "I get that a lot too."
He headed for the door, speaking the entire time. "Anyway, thank you for your help. Goodbye and--"
"Wait," she stopped him. "Aren't you going to check for structural damage or something?"
"About that..." he began, scratching the back of his head. "You see, I'm not really from the NAA. Not even sure if that exists, actually."
Just as he reached the door, there was a knock on it. The Doctor all but leapt back from it, with his sonic screwdriver in hand. The knocking increased and the woman watched the growing fear in the man's eyes as he stepped away from the door.
He looked to her then, with a look of almost pleading in his eyes. She didn't know why, but for that moment, she believed every word he had said.
She opened the door to three burly men in police uniforms. They all wore dark sunglasses over their eyes and a peculiar-looking watch on their wrists. They all had stoic expressions on their faces as they turned their heads towards her.
"Hello? Can I help you, officers?" she asked innocently, keeping the fear from her voice.
The largest of the three spoke first. "We are looking for a man. Have you seen him?"
"There are lots of men in Los Angeles. Can you be more specific?"
"he has brown hair, brown eyes, and goes by the name of Mr. Smith or the Doctor," the officer replied in a somewhat mechanical voice. "Have you seen him?"
The Doctor held his breath on the other side of the door, waiting for her reply...and then to be apprehended, and ultimately executed.
"Nope," she said after an interval of silence.
"Are you certain?"
"I'm pretty sure I'd notice if a man claiming to be a doctor was walking around here," she told them with feigned confidence. "I have this ache in my neck and--"
"That will be all," the officer said. "If you find him, contact this number." He handed her a small card.
"I'll be sure to do that," and then she added, "Oh, but if you find him first, let him know I have this ache in my--"
"That will be all," the officers repeated, the three departing then, much to the Doctor's relief.
As soon as she closed the door, the Doctor practically jumped her. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
"You owe me," she pointed out, repressing the urge to smile.
"Of course, yes, right!" he exclaimed vigorously. "By the by, what's your name?"
"April," she replied. "April Robins."
"Like the bird?" he asked excitedly, still just thankful to be alive.
"Uhm...sure."
"Fantastic!" he grinned cheekily. "Nice to meet you, April Robins!"
His good countenance was beginning to rub off on her despite her attempt to remain serious. "So, Doctor, care to tell me why the cops are after you?"
"They're not police officers," he assured her. "They're Iordes."
"But--" she began.
"Iordes are adept at changing their appearance; they're actually nothing more than large worms, really," he told her. "They were wearing watches, right?"
She nodded. "Yes..."
"Those watches allow them to imitate any species they encounter, part of their abilities as information gatherers. Quite useful too!" he nodded in thought.
"So let me get this straight: they're worms that can pass off as humans?"
"Yep! Pretty impressive, eh?"
"Not exactly the word I'd use..." she murmured, before a thought hit her. "Wait. Are you talking about aliens?"
The Doctor deadpanned. "Not exactly the word I'd use..." he repeated what she'd said.
"You're one of those crazy people, aren't you?" she asked, suddenly. "Figures!"
She moved towards the phone, card in hand, but he grabbed her arm before she could reach it. "What if I could prove to you that I'm not crazy? What if could prove I'm completely sane?" he paused, adding, "Or relatively sane, anyway."
There was hesitation in her eyes, but finally, she agreed. "Fine. But I'm bringing my gun if you try anything."
Amusement danced in the depths of his eyes as he replied, "Works for me!" and led her off down the hallway, making sure not to run into any Iordes on the way.
- - -
A/N: Please review! Any constructive critiscm would help! I'm always looking to improve! Oh, but please, no flames. Flames are a waste of both your time and mine. Thanks.