"Another co-director? Principal Figgins, I-"
"I understand your concerns William. But I'm not giving you another Sue here. Mr. Smith is studying social stratification in America, so he's taken a genuine interest in your glee club. But more than that he has an extensive musical knowledge and he's willing to do the work for free!"
Schuester wavered. "Well..."
"You can't tell me you couldn't use a hand, William. And more importantly an ally."
"Alright, I'll meet him," Will said. "But no promises! The last thing I need is another power play."
"It's not just your choice William. Take him to the next practice with you. Let the kids decide."
"Sometimes things are so different they don't feel llike they go together. But the big difference between them is what makes them great. Like... chocolate and bacon."
"Or glee club and football," Finn chimed in as Quinn wiped high fructose corn syrup from his lashes.
"Time and Space," a voice from the back of the room said, and everyone turned to look at the owner. "Couldn't seem more opposed to each other until Albert Einstein realizes they're inexorably intertwined as spacetime."
"Spacetime's on the sci-fi channel, right?" Brittany asked Santana.
"Guys, allow me to introduce Dr. John Smith," Will said. "He's going to be observing for a while."
"Friends just call me The Doctor," he said.
"Now this song is my personal favorite," Will said, "and your homework this week is to find an unexpected mashup to go with it. Artie, try to follow along on the bass. Finn, take us through it."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Schuester, I got cornsyrup in my eye."
"Ok, uh, Puck. How about it?"
"I don't really groove on young MC."
"Doc?"
"Uh, no. No, I don't... no. I'm more of a... Glenn Miller sort of dancer," the Doctor said, snapping his fingers and swinging his arms like he'd once done with Rose and Jack. The cheerleaders rolled their eyes at him.
"Okay. I guess I'll just have to show these guys how it's done."
As Will took the opportunity to dance with the rest of the club, the Doctor walked around the choir room, examining it for anything out of the ordinary. A visual inspection didn't turn up anything; he'd have to come back with the sonic screwdriver later tonight. There had to be some explanation, some reason why everyone took music so seriously around here. Not that he didn't love a good song as much as the next guy, but everyone in this school had taken it well beyond obsession. Something was happening and he was going to find out what it was.
"Doc?" He turned back around. The song had ended, and from the way everyone was staring at him it seemed likely that they'd been calling for a minute as well.
"Yes, sorry," he said, flashing a grin and sticking his hands in his pockets. "Where were we?"
"I thought you might like to introduce yourself a bit more."
"Right, of course. I'm Dr. John Smith, Chancellor of... uh... at... Y'know what, what do you care? Point is, I'm a sociologist studying class structures in society."
"Forward," Brittany said, and everyone looked at her.
"What? Sorry?" the Doctor said.
"Forward. We always face forward, towards the blackboard. How are classes structured in England?"
The Doctor opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, thought about it a moment, and then just barreled on as if she hadn't spoken.
"'course, I know a thing or two about music as well, and I know you're all due to go to sectionals in, what is it? Four weeks? Five? And I just thought… well, not that Mr. Schuester here isn't doing a fantastic job, but a little outside opinion never hurt anyone."
"And you've had experience with this kind of performance before?" Rachel asked.
Experience? Had he had experience? When the Beatles had appeared on Ed Sullivan, he'd repaired a boom mic with a microfilament of polycarbide wire and a thumb tack. When Janis Joplin performed at the Avalon Ballroom in San Francisco on the 4th of June 1966, he'd taken her photograph. She said it was lovely and gave him a coat in return. He once sang backup with Peter Noonan's Herman's Hermits when the secondary vocalist was eaten by a swarm of carnivorous birds from another world. And once he'd stepped in an conducted the Mormon Tabernacle Choir at Christmas when the director had a bad case of the flu. "Oh, you know, I dabble. This and that," he said.
"Now, guys, I know we had a bit of a rough run with Coach Sylvester last week…" Will said.
"You mean when she tried to destroy us from the inside out," Mercedes said.
"And ruined my life…" Quinn muttered
"…but we're the stronger for it," Will finished. "Now we know we're all in it together, just us against the world, but we can make it if we're willing to lean on each other. And I think, with his training, the Doctor might be able to help. So, what do we think? Is he in?"
"You a therapist?" Puck asked.
"Well, no, not as such…"
"'cause I don't want any shrink messin' around with my head," he said, stroking his Mohawk. "I like it how it is."
"A shrink could hardly make your brainspace any smaller, Puckerman," Santana shot back.
"Alright, enough," Will said. "Let's put it to the vote." And the Doctor couldn't help but smile, because the hands all went up unanimously. Some a bit reluctantly, but they went up nonetheless. They were a good, open-minded group. That was a very, very good thing in his book.
After that period was over, he was at least able to go back to the TARDIS for a few hours before it was time to start cleaning. But of course he had investigations to do... there was hardly going to be time to do everything he needed to and still get the school spic and span. Fortuitously enough, though, he had a solution.
He was just about to unlock the broom closet where he'd moved the TARDIS the night before when he heard a splooshing sound behind him, intermingled with a shriek. He turned to see Rachel Berry trying to wipe cherry slush from her eyes.
"You alright?" he called out, walking over to her with a handkerchief.
"You get used to it," she said, accepting the square of fabric and dabbing at her face with it. "Some people are just jealous of raw talent like mine."
"What, a fellow glee clubber did this?"
"No, a couple knuckle draggers from the hockey and football teams did it. Dave Karofsky and Azimio Adams."
"Azimio Adams? Oh, you're kidding me!" The Doctor had a wan smile. "It's like memory lane."
"You know his family?"
"Something like that," the Doctor replied, all mirth suddenly gone. Six lifetimes ago, with a ridiculous scarf and Sarah Jane Smith by his side, he'd had to stop a man from infecting the water supply of hundreds of small towns to create business for his pharmaceutical company. That was in 2042. He'd have to see him to be sure, but it could very well be the same man. He shook his head - back to reality. "So, you think jealous, hm? But, uh, riddle me this... why would a football player and a hockey player be jealous of a great singer like you?"
Rachel opened her mouth to answer but nothing came out. She seemed genuinely puzzled by the question. After a moment she became flustered and said, "I need to wash this slushie off before it dries on," and excused herself.
Oh yeah, something was definitely wrong.