SuperWhoLock

Chapter 2 - Common Sense

"Doctor Who?"

"No, just 'Doctor'. 'The Doctor' if you want to be proper about it."

"It's just a name. That's all I'm asking for."

"That IS my name."

"The word "Doctor" is not a name. It's a title, invented in cerca 1300 A.D., to mean-"

"Oh don't lecture me with the etymology… I was there at the time… In fact, I was the reason the word was introduced to this planet…"

The only sound for a couple of minutes was the sound of the clock ticking away the time on the wall, but the two occupants of the room were rather preoccupied with their own thoughts to notice. The Doctor's mind was far away, across time and space. Ella Thompson was trying to recall the number of the most professional help she could remember, should she need it for this case. 999 (the UK 911) was starting to seem the most qualified to deal with this one.

"Alright. If you won't tell me what your real name is, perhaps you'll tell me why are you here? Generally people make appointments before they show up on my doorstep demanding a session."

"I'm not the appointment making type." The response came with a half-heartedly cheeky smile.

"Clearly. But you're avoiding my question."

"…I'm here because… a woman told me to. Sort of a wife-figure, if you want to get technical. Anyway, this is what humans do, isn't it? They go to…" The Doctor gestured to the therapist, "…professionals. She thought I ought to give it a go. Can't say I'm that impressed."

"Professionals need information before they can do their job. Now, I am a therapist, but I'm mainly just for those who are returning from military service shell-shocked. And while you evidently have some problems-"

"I've been in more wars than I can count, if that's a prerequisite."

"…well that's not exactly what I meant-"

"I suppose I'm shell-shocked too now that I think about it. If you want to get technical. Have been for quite some time too."

"Why?"

"I…" The Doctor paused looking up at the therapist, who met his gaze with a surprisingly hard one of her own. He looked away.

"I lost… quite a bit. Friends. Family. Everything it seems."

"In the war? Or because you went to war yourself and left them behind?"

"A bit of both I suppose."

"And now you're lonely?"

"Lonely? No of course not. Why do you think I'm here? I CAME here to BE alone. I don't know anyone at all in this place, and no one knows me. It's practically why I'm here." The Doctor said, fidgeting.

"So you're running away now?"

"Well… no… not entirely… just sort of… avoiding." He waved a hand in the air, unable to come up with an adequate selection of words.

"Why are you avoiding the people who know you?"

"Because they'll want to talk I suppose. Or they don't want to talk about it and instead try to come up with rather obvious schemes to 'take my mind off it'." The Doctor replied, tiredly.

"And you don't want to talk about it?"

"No. Not at all really."

"…you came to a therapist to not talk about what's bothering you." Only years of being a professional with hard cases kept Thompson from smiling at this oxymoron. The Doctor was silent.

"Well you're not really a patient of mine, so don't feel you have an obligation to talk about anything. But what I do know is that 'avoiding' is not the answer to any problem. You want my advice on how to get over loss? Take it slow, but face it. You can't avoid your friends forever."

"You don't know who you're talking to..." The Doctor said with another half-hearted smile, but it faded quickly. "But I suppose you're right. And I suppose I should be going." He stood and turned to leave.

"Wait!-" Thompson stood hurriedly. The Doctor paused but did not turn.

"Yes?" He inquired. Thompson's inner medical student was shouting at her not to let him go. He was a mental case, as sure as could be, based on what she'd seen. And yet…

She sighed.

"…Good luck."

"Thanks."

The Doctor pulled open the door and moved out into a nearly empty waiting room. He stood there for a moment, lost in thought.

There were plenty of people who knew who he was, and they all seemed to know about what had happened. Every time he saw someone, it was the first thing out of their mouths. It was downright torturous to be faced with it every day. But what was worse were the eyes. The pity, the sadness. The fear that he was not himself anymore.

But the therapist was right… he had to face them all sometime. He could just start slow. Who did he know that would be the best to talk to about it? River? Maybe not… she was too tied up in the issue... So was everyone else. He needed someone who had never even heard of the Ponds.

In an instant it hit him. He knew exactly who he wanted to talk to. The Doctor broke out of his reverie and glanced around for the exit. It was then that he spotted the other guy that had been in the room.

A little bit on the short side, he wore a button down and slacks. Despite the fact he had his head in his hands, he had a certain air of rigidity around him, which the Doctor recognized as belonging only to a soldier. But more than anything, the Doctor recognized the look of the fellow's face. He had seen it in the mirror often enough lately. It was the look of total loss.

There was a story here, and possibly a real adventure to go with it. The Doctor could smell it. All it would take was a few measly words to lead to a conversation. It had happened often enough before.

It would take his mind off things. It would be an excellent escape.

"John?" The therapist poked her head out of the room and looked for her next patient, who raised his head. His eyes were dull with an indescribable pain. Wordlessly, he stood and followed Thompson into the room. The Doctor watched them go and then turned to leave himself.

Perhaps another time.

…

For what seemed like the 256th time, the Doctor checked the slip of paper he had. There could be no doubt about it. This was the place. Winston Elementary.

As the Time Lord climbed the steps of the school, he vaguely wondered how Churchill would feel about all the things that were named after him.

"Nobody ever names anything after me." He mumbled to himself, as he pushed the door open.

After charming/psychic papering his way past the receptionist and several teachers, the Doctor finally found his way to the playground. It wasn't the best or the worst play set he had ever seen, but as soon as he laid eyes on it, his mind began to whir with the possibilities of improving it. Before he knew what he was doing, his sonic was in hand.

For a brief moment he was back to his old self. But then the moment was over. He remembered why he was here. And he quickly turned around, searching for a familiar face.

Of course he didn't find one. After all, the last time he had seen the particular face he was looking for it had been an infant. But after speaking briefly with some delightful other primary schoolers, he found just the chap he was looking for.

"Stormegeddon, Dark Lord of All, I do believe it has been some time!" He said jovially as he approached a small blond kid, who looked simply confused.

"You… don't remember me?" the Doctor asked tentatively. The kid shook his head no.

"You… are Alfie, correct?" he asked again. The kid nodded.

"Ah good. I should have realized you wouldn't recognize me… it's been what, seven-ish years, give or take? Yes I knew you when you were just a pint sized tyrant!"

The kid stared.

"I see you've lost none of your capacity for staring. Very good. Come have a seat." The Doctor patted the spot next to him on the brick wall. Stormegeddon, Dark Lord of All complied, and with the Time Lord's help, was soon seated.

"So. How are the folks?" The Doctor asked casually.

"Fine." The kid replied. His voice was high and adorable, as befit a kid his age.

"Excellent. You uh, don't have any siblings, do you?"

"Nope."

"Any other mates in the neighborhood to play with?"

"Not really."

"Well... I guess that makes you pretty lonely."

"Yeah I guess."

The two sat there for the moment, quite an odd looking pair. Finally the Doctor broke the silence again.

"What do you do when you're lonely, Alfie?"

"I dunno… pretend I guess."

"An excellent strategy…. But… what would you do if you couldn't pretend? What would you do then?"

"Find some real live friends. Or try at least."

"Another stunning plan. Unfortunately all my real live friends are gone." the Doctor said sadly, staring off into space.

"What happened to them?" Alfie tilted his head, looking at the curious man in the tweed and bow tie.

"They're… stranded. And I can't park my car to get them." he said tiredly. Alfie looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Are they stranded on a desert island?"

"What? No of course not! Why-" the Doctor didn't even finish his sentence before Alfie continued.

"Are they in a swamp?"

"No-"

"A maze?"

"No!"

"Where are they?"

"New York City!" The Doctor said exasperatedly. He thought he'd never meet anyone who could preempt his speech pattern. But here was this little kid doing it rather effortlessly.

"Then how are they stranded?" Alfie asked, tilting his head again in a questioning fashion.

"It's… complicated. But like I said, I can't park my car to get them." The Doctor said glumly.

"Well…" Alfie said slowly, thinking it through, "Why don't you just park somewhere else and walk?"

The Doctor froze. It was as if everything about reality that had always run smoothly was suddenly jammed.

Why hadn't he thought of that before?

In a flash the Doctor was off the fence and running for the front of the school where the TARDIS was parked.

"Thank you Stormegeddon!" He shouted over his back.

"Uh… sure?" The kid said uncertainly, watching the supposed adult run off.

Upon reaching it, the Doctor wrenched open the door to the TARDIS and sprang to the control board, twiddling this and that, booting up the spaceship.

Was it possible? Could it really be possible? Would this work?

Of course it would.

It was common sense.

The Doctor was going to go fetch the Ponds.