Fandom: Doctor Who

Summary: People are dying. An important secret is being kept from the Doctor. A spoiler, it's called. The Doctor wants that spoiler, even if he shouldn't.

Author's Note: Inspired by the Impossible Astronaut. Yes, I thought that I wouldn't write for Who until I saw almost all of it (and Ten's my fave Doctor), but the Impossible Astronaut left me wondering and ideas growing, so I'm gonna be early. XD Constructive criticism is welcome.

Day of the Moon

"So this is your TARDIS?" inquired the Doctor. "Or your SIDRAT? SKARDIS? Alien time machine? Scavenged tech thingy? RETARDIS? No, who'd call their space-time machine that? Way too offensive. At least, in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Yeah…" The last part came out in a mutter, just being a tangent that he went on, not part of the serious question. He doubted that the aliens had enough patience for silly tangents, though he could create them all day. All night too, actually. After all, dreams really were just mental tangents…

And that explained exactly what he meant, the Doctor figured, not meaning to illustrate his point to himself but nevertheless confined by the natural laws of his personality.

The aliens, too alien to convey anything through their expressions, nevertheless appeared to scorn the Doctor. "There are things in this world that even you do not know about. This shall be one of them."

The Doctor recalled the mystery that started this adventure that landed them here: four letters with him as the recipient of the first, the one that the writer of them had trusted the most. He wondered who the writer was and why the letters were sent. His companions refused to tell him, the answer apparently capable of screwing up time.

Whoever the sender was, they trusted him the most, more than anyone else. He had already thought of a few people that it could possibly be. Rose Tyler, the Master, Susan, River Song herself, some version of himself… tons of possibilities and his companions would not tell him which one it was or much at all.

So, he didn't know and that drove him mad. He didn't want people to keep secrets from him; he didn't want his companions to pull one over him. He wanted to know and he couldn't. Curiosity killed the cat, apparently, and his companions seemed to think that satisfying his would kill the universe. They were probably right, but he wanted to know. He was a Time Lord, a Time Lord and how dare anyone block him from knowledge? How dare they keep him in the darkness/light of innocence?

And now the aliens were doing it. Volcano Day, oh that would come. His anger had built, trying to dissipate but not managing to and now, with the aliens, all that built-up anger could explode, lash out against them.

"Yes, there are," stated the Doctor firmly, blunt anger entering his tone. He made swooping motions with his hands, trying to figuratively encompass the entire universe. He fiddled with the TARDIS-machine, showing his expertise by only touching the knobs and buttons that wouldn't do much. He upped the lights, lowering darkness' cover and making it all come into stark relief. It was a show, a show of his power and knowledge, the cores of a Time Lord. "But, you know what? Oh sure, there's stuff that I have no clue about now, but I'm a Time Lord. I traverse space and time. I discover new things everyday. Yes, I don't know about some things, but that is pretty much why I explore the universe. To have fun, to change my mind, to learn new things... you know, all that cool stuff. So, tell me!"

And all the secret keeping, the shielding from spoilers infuriated him as much as ever. Explosions could destroy just about anything else, but curiosity and ideas, the mind, the thoughts would still survive.

The aliens just stared him down coolly, not moving, not shocked. There was no fear, no awe, nothing like that. Just silence, a cold silence, a dark one. They were an incarnation of fear and fear was not able to feel itself. Being terror meant never experiencing terror and they liked it that way (if they could like anything, that is), thank you very much.

He held a piece of one and its golden black blood fell slowly down the said alien's head – and that alien didn't care. None of them did. Their gaze – their stare, maybe glare – just focused on the Doctor, not wavering, just delivering a sense of sheer hatred, of sheer anger. Something like that, but since emotions tended not to show on them, could he really tell?

"No, Doctor," growled out one of the aliens, one whose bulbous head, looking as though it was molded from clay, clearly wasn't missing a piece. "You can not always get what you what. Even if you are a Time Lord."

The Doctor resisted the urge to shiver, to give in to the coldness of the alien's words and just give up. Giving in and giving up: those were the two things he didn't do. Ever! "But hey, there's no harm in trying, right? Or is there? Is there? Would knowing who owns this timeship mess up the timestream?"

The aliens refused to answer, their manner just projecting metaphorical coldness and very real terror. Electricity flickered, one of them touched the translucent red button and the TARDIS copy made its own version of the sound that the Doctor was so familiar with. The sound of the universe, as companions tended to think of it; the sound of his universe, of being able to explore the universe, as he tended to think of it.

They were going somewhere or somewhen, perhaps both. Probably both, the Doctor guessed, thinking that the tunnel probably would be no more special in, say, the 51st century than in 1969. But, who knew? Who knew?

Vague memories and thoughts floated through the little girl's head, trying to touch down on solid reality but being too wispy to do so. The Doctor, glorious, amazing, different and… terrifying. He could wreck the world without someone at his side, someone to make him stop. He was different before; he looked different and kinda… acted a bit different.

And the big girl – big girl, now that wording made her recall some commercial-thingy, one for panties made to poo in – had shot her, thinking that she'd hurt the Doctor, apparently. That confounded the little girl, since terrifying as the Doctor could be, she certainly didn't want to hurt him, and her thoughts were muddled up, too much for her to even know who he is. Maybe there was a valid reason to hurt him… maybe she didn't remember it.

A clacking and clattering distracted her. She shifted her head in its direction, causing shadows to fall onto it. The sight she saw triggered a gasp. The big girl, hair flowing behind her like fire, and a boy, staying close to her, were here. The fire-haired girl burned with rage, with fury, directed fairly or unfairly at her, she was sure. The boy, he was a loyal companion of the girl, and she wondered if the boy would oppose the girl if the girl shot again.

A woman stood beside the two, giving an impression of separation from them, of being something else. Her brassy curls trailed down like a banner, bouncing as she moved. She looked familiar, and the little girl wondered if she was some celebrity, since she certainly gave that kind of impression, wonderful and with so much sheer style, pizzazz maybe. Confidence, charisma… she had those or at least qualities similar to those. This woman was quite different from the other two.

The three ran over (well, the third just sauntered over, actually) and the little girl tried to get ready for the end, but being little, she was a bit too innocent in her understanding of ends and deaths. She imagined coming back, or ending up somewhere else, somewhere idyllic, somewhere static, not disappearing from existence entirely.

The girl of flame looked around, touching the spacesuit, hands flicking around and eyes squinting. "She's alive? She's alive! But that's impossible…"

The boy frowned, eyes becoming slits. "Impossible? What do you mean, impossible? She's the girl that's been calling the president, right? Why wouldn't she be alive?"

The girl couldn't hold eye contact with the boy once he said that. Water welled up in her eyes and came out as tears, covering her face with their wetness. Her face contorted, mouth going down and partly opening. The words she said got choked up. "I... shot her, Rory. The Doctor said she was dead, I believed him… but she only looked dead then. She wasn't and she's young, young, innocent, should have plenty of life… but I tried to murder her. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, so sorry…"

Rory held her to his chest, running his hands through her hair, showing that touching her didn't mean getting burnt. His tone was soft. "Yeah, I know. Anything to save our Raggedy Doctor, huh?" He sighed. "Let's try to help her and then all – little girl, too – go back to the TARDIS, alright?"

The fiery girl winced, replying, "Her? In the TARDIS? We all know what the spaceman did, right?"

The impressive woman cut in. "Yes, we do. Are you aware that we cannot interfere with our personal timeline? She needs to be there to shoot the Doctor because that happened. No changing it." A faint thread of sadness could be heard beneath the firm, bossy tone of the words.

"Yes, I'm aware of that, thank you very much, River," the girl of flame replied, her tone blunt. "But, that's cold. Really cold. You said the Doctor was cold. Well, look in a mirror."

River sighed. "Yes, I know." She paused, looking off into the distance as she searched for the right words. "But, that's how the universe works. Subvert it and it collapses. He's wonderful, yes, clever, yes, but who are we to dare destroy the universe for one man?"

None of the people in the room could answer that. Silence fell.