As Time Goes By – Chapter 9

"So," said the Doctor. He looked into the green eyes of the young woman with soft pink skin and jet black hair as if trying to solve a puzzle. "You don't strike me as a Red."

"I know," answered the woman who called herself Red, "Seems I should be ginger, doesn't it?" She grabbed a portion of her hair and held it in front of her eyes to examine it. "Nope," she said with a shrug, "still black."

The Doctor ran his hand over the short cropped hair on the top of his head. He didn't even know the color of his own hair. He must certainly have walked past something reflective since his regeneration. Why hadn't he thought to stop a moment and take in his new appearance? He frowned at this thought and made a mental note to go straight to the wardrobe once he got back to the Tardis.

"Might be fun to be ginger," she said. "I had a friend who'd wished he was. But dark hair's fine, I guess." She looked up at the top of his head. "Looks good on you, anyway."

That answered one question. But the Doctor was more interested in learning about Red than he was in discovering who he was. He knew he was the Doctor and that he had a past for which he needed to make restitution. That was enough. He would rather learn more about this intriguing human girl, including the reason behind her colourful pseudonym, than dwell on himself.

Maybe Red was a diminutive name. He knew it was fairly common for humans to shorten names, such as using Will for William or Bess for Elizabeth. The Doctor even had companions who did this. He once had a companion named Perpugilliam who preferred to be called Peri. Perhaps Red also had an unusual name and preferred something simpler. Though the Doctor knew that Red was reluctant to share her given name, curiosity got the better of him, therefore he rationalized that discovering the nature of her nickname was entirely different than asking her to tell him her real name. "So is Red short for something longer, like Redell or Vered?" he asked her.

Red furrowed her brow and scrunched up her nose in a show of disgust. (It was actually sort of cute, and was a refreshing change from her earlier attempts to act posh and proper.) "Are you serious?" she asked.

"I was actually," the Doctor answered. He tried to sound offended but he couldn't hide the amusement in his voice.

"No," Red said with a laugh. "Red isn't short for anything. Although," she said with a shake of her head, "if either of those were my name, I would definitely shorten it somehow."

"I hope there are no Redells or Vereds within earshot," the Doctor said. He raised his eyebrows and looked around at the other diners as if he was worried they had overheard. "They would be highly offended at your opinion of their name."

"Do any Redells or Vereds exist at all?" Red asked. "I've never heard either one of those names."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't have" the Doctor said as he frowned in thought. "Those names aren't common in this era—especially in Europe."

"And yet you thought one of them might be my name." She rolled her eyes in amusement, and the right side of her mouth turned up in a smile.

"No," he said with a chuckle. "Those were just the first examples that came to mind."

"Then you need to meet some people with normal names," she said, pointing at him. "What do those names even mean?"

The Doctor didn't know if the question was rhetorical or not, but he found himself answering anyway. "Redell is Germanic in origin and can mean, among other things, 'Wolf Counsel'. Vered is of Hebrew origin and means 'Rose.' "

"You're joking," she said with a look of shock that made no sense to the Doctor within the context of their conversation. .

"Why would I joke about that?" he asked bewildered.

"Never mind," she said. All traces of mirth had vanished from her face. She shook her head slightly as she turned and looked out at the people walking by. "Long story."

The Doctor wondered what he said that had caused her mood to change, and he feared that Red would shut down the conversation. For some reason this made the Doctor feel anxious. He needed the young human woman to keep talking to him.

"Sometimes," the Doctor said, fishing desperately for something else to say, "nicknames are derived from the meaning of the original name. You wouldn't perchance be a Scarlett, or a Ruby, or a Ro—"

"If I had wanted you to know my real name," Red said interrupting him with an authoritative voice, "I would have told you straight away." She didn't seem angry, but it was very clear that he was not to ask any more questions about her name.

The Doctor opened his mouth to apologise, but the coolness in her demeanor had left as quickly as it had come. "But really," she said, picking up the cloth napkin in her lap, and folding it like a simple fan. "Do I seem like a Scarlett?" She picked up her folded napkin and pretended to fan herself. "Fiddle-dee-dee," she said in a terrible Southern Belle accent. Then in a breathy, melodramatic fashion, she declared, "Tomorrow is another day!" After her mock performance, she laughed self consciously and hid her eyes with the hand that held the napkin.

The Doctor smirked. First My Fair Lady, now Scarlett O'Hara from Gone With the Wind. (And he could have been mistaken, but he thought he heard her mention a line from Casablanca when he had first approached her table.) Red seemed to have an affinity for classic films.

Red put down her napkin and looked straight at the Doctor. "It's a nickname the friends I work with started calling me," she told him. "It was kind of a joke at first: something opposite me, like when you call the big tough bloke Tiny. I'm not even certain I like it." She looked down at her watches, which must have been given to her by the same friends who gave her the nickname, and shook her head.

"Names are funny though—aren't they Doctor?" The familiarity with which Red said his own name (or rather, his title) made it seem as if they had known each other for years rather than a few hours. "They're one of the most personal things about us, but we don't even choose them ourselves." Red took a sip of wine then stared at her mostly-empty glass for a moment before continuing. "It's like—" she frowned, still looking at the contents of her glass, then started again. "We're so protective of our names. They have to be pronounced right and spelled right or we get upset. My friend Shir—well, this friend of mine would get so angry when her name was spelled wrong. But it's not like she picked the name and spelling," Red said. "Her mum and dad did that. But she protected it like it was all her doing. And most of us do that, you know?"

Despite the fact that a smile remained on her face, the Doctor could detect sorrow behind her words, and he wished he knew the reason. He couldn't imagine that there was anyone in the universe that carried a grief and a burden as great as his, but for some reason, he suspected that this beautiful stranger came close.

Red drew circles with her finger on the table cloth as she continued talking. "We don't pick our name, but it somehow becomes who we are. It matters to us when someone takes the time to learn and remember our name. But what if—" Red lifted her head, and the Doctor could see that her eyes were full tears. "What if you had to stop using your name? It's just a word, right? You could even choose a new one you like much better." She looked up with a wistful smile. The Doctor searched for something to say, but Red continued before he could. "But by then the name is you. Can you really go forward without it and still be...you?"

The Doctor had no idea why this ordinary young woman would have to hide her identity, but it pained him that it made her feel so lost. The Doctor was at a loss for words, so he decided to borrow from a wordsmith more skilled than himself in an attempt to comfort her. If Red enjoyed classic movies, perhaps she also appreciated classic literature. "Red," said the Doctor. He reached forward with his right hand and took hers. "Are you familiar with Romeo and Juliette?"

Red nodded her head, but directed her eyes toward their joined hands rather than the Doctor's face. "In the balcony scene, Juliette is pondering something similar: Would Romeo be the same person without the name of Montague?" he said. "It's a difficult question. There is no scale to measure how much a name defines a person." The Doctor placed his free had over hers. "Yes, names can be important. I choose to be called Doctor for a reason. I even rejected it for a time when I felt I didn't deserve it." The Doctor felt guilt and pain wash over him once again, but he pushed it aside to focus on the needs of the young woman before him, "I don't know your story, but if there's a reason for setting aside your given name, that doesn't mean you're lost too." He bent his head down to her level and waited until she made eye contact. "Maybe Shakespeare's words through Juliette can bring comfort: 'that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.' "

The Doctor's words had an opposite effect than the one he had hoped for. The tears that the woman who had introduced herself as Red had been holding back now fell freely, and she pulled her hand away from his in an attempt to wipe them away. The Time Lord felt powerless to help. He still didn't deserve the name of Doctor. He couldn't fix things—he just made them worse.

The Doctor kicked the heavy iron leg of the table in frustration and anger, knocking over his glass and spilling wine onto the table, which ran over the edge and onto the leg of his trousers. The commotion jolted Red from her sorrow, and she sprung into action, using her napkin to sop up the rest of the wine before it did any more damage. The Doctor used his own napkin to minimize the damage to his clothes. Then Red waved Julien the waiter over to take away the plates and wine-soaked napkins. When that was done, the waiter returned with a dessert menu. The Doctor shook his head, hoping Julien would understand that Red needed some space to regain her composure, but she surprised him by quickly ordering two items off the menu. She then took a cosmetics case and a disposable cloth out of a bag that had been hanging on her chair. In seconds she had cleaned up the running mascara and had regained the sophisticated look and almost flawless appearance that she had possessed when the evening had begun.

The Doctor stared at the woman in amazement. She'd be good in a crisis. She also seemed to be used to traveling and prepared for anything. For just one moment, he wondered if she would consider traveling with him. But he couldn't ask her. He had a purpose beyond running and exploring now, and it would be dangerous. He could not risk her safety, or anyone else's for that matter.

"There's nothing better than pudding when you're upset," Red said to the Doctor after Julien came back with the desserts she had ordered. The Doctor would have been happy with either of the selections, but was secretly glad when she let him have the chocolate banana crisp and kept the more traditional crème brulee for herself. "I went through a really hard time a few years ago," Red told the Doctor as she tapped the caramelized top of her crème brulee. "For several months, I pretty much lived on Ben and Jerry's Cheesecake Brownie ice cream."

The Doctor noticed the same sad smile he had seen earlier. Even a story about ice cream couldn't mask the fact that she had spent months in a state of depression. There was nothing of value he could say in response to that knowledge, but he could continue to listen.

"I'm sorry for I how reacted when you tried to help," Red said, twirling her spoon around in her ramekin. "I guess I just..." Red's voice trailed off, and she remained silent for while, stirring the crème brulee but not eating it. When she looked up, her eyes were again misty with tears. "I had this friend," she said. "When he'd say my name—just my first name—he could fit a full sentence of meaning into that one little word. And it was when he said my name that I could most easily read his feelings: anger, grief, joy..." she said. She looked at the Doctor and said with a sad laugh, "even a bit of arrogance." She held her spoon upright in her bowl and twirled it. "Time went by and things changed...well, he changed," she said. "He started saying my first name and surname together, and it sounded like a poem every time—like he appreciated every syllable." She stopped talking, and sat motionless, still holding the spoon upright. Though she was looking directly at the Doctor, her faraway expression told him that her thoughts were somewhere far beyond a Paris café. "Then there was this accident," she said in almost a whisper. She let go of the spoon and it clinked as gravity made it fall and hit the edge of the ramekin. "We got separated. The last thing I ever heard him say was my name."

A few tears escaped from the eyes of the woman whose name the Doctor was not privileged enough to know, but she did turn her head away. She just dabbed the corner of her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve. And though she continued to face forward, the Doctor doubted she was really looking at him. She was thinking of a man so much better than the one in front of her. The Doctor was struck with an unexpected twinge of jealousy. Any man that could pour so much meaning into her name must have really loved her, and it was clear that she had felt the same. "You loved him," he said.

"Yes," she said, her focus returning to her present surroundings. She looked directly at him, and the residual tears made her eyes shine like glass. "I still do."


Author's Note: The opinions of the names Redell and Vered expressed by Rose Tyler are hers alone and do not necessarily reflect the view of the Author or other characters.

I'm a bit bothered (bovvered?) that a funny Comic Relief sketch with Catherine Tate and David Tennant will now always come to my mind when "A rose by any other name" is quoted. I used it anyway even though others might also recall the sketch because the quote is still a good one. The sketch is good too, and I recommend it. It is even funnier if you watch a few of Catherine Tate's other skits involving Lauren Cooper first.


Purple Guest: Thanks again for the review. Yes that dinner was nerve wracking and heartbreaking and getting more so. The Doctor is clever about puzzles, I can't imagine him NOT trying to solve a mystery. (As you can see in this chapter, he doesn't stop.) And LOL about the shoes. I am now on a quest to find the DVD and watch My Fair Lady again rather than the snippets I found on YouTube as a refresher.

Linda Who: Thanks for the review. I am glad the emotion is coming through well. And don't worry about what you don't know, by the time you read through this and my other stories, you will be an expert on the Ninth Doctor!