Shadow to My Sorrows
Auld Lang Syne
Bethel, New York, August 16th, 1969
The bass drums boomed. The solo electric guitar trilled. The crowd gyrated. And his younger self (the one with the beyond prominent chin) was milliseconds away from crashing into him – which would be a tragedy for rock music history.
One collision with himself and he would be far more curious about how he has a future self and why he would risk a paradox than he would be about taking the stage, where he would do the most epic tambourine performance of his life (and that's saying something).
And so he ducked and twisted around the nearest group of exceptionally tall persons – and collided with someone else.
"Whoa, dude!" the Doctor cried as he bumped into someone – not all that hard to do at Woodstock, really – and reached out to steady them.
It took him two of his double heartbeats to come to one conclusion: Not a dude.
And not a rock-n-roll-loving hippie either.
Amidst the crowd of beaded moccasins, faded bell-bottom jeans, and tops of the fringed/floral-printed/tie-dyed or some horror combination of all three variety, she wore strappy high-heeled sandals and a fashionable black and mauve wrap dress – which was not to be invented until the next decade.
It took him less than half a heartbeat to put this anachronism and her curly brown locks together to equate: Alys. And he jerked his steadying hands from her shoulders as if they had been burnt.
"You're a bit early. No one's dead, mind-wiped, or sucked into a parallel universe yet," he snarled. If his ghost of Christmas past/present/future/whatever could be sent on her way now, then perhaps whatever doom that was about to befall him could be handled without empty promises of hope and companionship.
"Shove off!" Alys snapped back. "It's not always about you, you know."
The sharp pain behind her bitter tone made him do a double-take.
The last time he had heard such misery in her voice, she had been fifteen and recently orphaned. Now, she was, perhaps, in her forties, with a frosting of silver in her hair, and even more crinkles around her eyes than when he last saw her. But her wide dark brown eyes had that same lost and haunted look.
They narrowed somewhat as they assessed his guitar, before she asked, "New Axe?"
He resisted the urge to retort 'New face too' as apparently it was not new to her and he had become more used to it by now. Instead, he simply nodded and strummed a few notes, earning a few glares from nearby music enthusiasts for 'competing' with the current performing artists.
"I am breaking it in. Despite Chinny being here, I think it's the perfect place to test it out before popping in on Marcus Aurelius and our band." He did a (quieter) riff, and asked, "What do you think?"
She was thinking quite a lot, but not about the appropriateness of the setting or the sweet tones of his newest beauty, judging by her inward gaze and contemplative tapping (which in no way was in sync with the throbbing beat).
Finally, she looked up and fixed him with a steady gaze, declaring, "I know that you and Clara will make up. But in the meantime, I am going to treat this like Ross's version of a break..."
(So apparently, via his newly acquired musical instrument, she bizarrely knew his subjective-When, and she was familiar with 90s pop culture.)
Before he could point out the unfairness of how unequal their relationship was or question the significance of his and Clara's relationship status, she continued:
"... I want to go with you to help you find Gallifrey."
In the space of two-and-a-half double-timed heartbeats, his thought processes and emotions went much like this:
Thump-thump. What-the-fuck? shock. Thump-thump. Who-does-she-think/Where-does-she-get/Unbelievable! anger. Thump- Gallifrey-is-my-Oh-yeah-it-is-her-home-too-Oh-I-can't-believe-I-am-actually-considering-giving-into-this realization –thump.
"Shut up."
~D~
He, of course, gave in.
How could he not while she was using the full force of her sad brown-eyed peeps?
That, and he was an idiot, with a blue box, and screwdriver, so why the hell not?
One reason might be that while being alone sucked, it could be argued that traveling with someone that you had once set your mind to hate while in a grief-stricken drunken stupor was a bloody nightmare.
While logically he understood why she had never forewarned him about Amy and Rory, in his hearts of hearts, he was still exceedingly bitter about it. It didn't help matters that he was on the outs with Clara, due to being blind-sided by Missy, formerly known as the Master.
So he tried to limit their interactions to business-like discussions about the finding and breaching of pocket-universes, the scanning of said universes for Gallifrey, and the fixing of the TARDIS, as she usually experienced some sort of mechanical failure as a result of the universe-hopping. If he didn't, he was afraid he would do and say more than just a snide cutting remark or two.
Thankfully, Alys helped with this by eating, sleeping, and doing what repairs she could in her work shop/room as much as possible.
Who didn't help was his Old Girl, who he suspected was manipulating the corridors to sabotage both of their plans to keep their distance from each other. How else was he to explain why they kept bumping into one another, even though the library hadn't been anywhere near the pool since his first Amelia days?
Thus, at pocket universe #7, he gave in here too.
"So did you ever settle down, get married?"
Alys quit digging through his box of Magpie Electronics spare parts to fix him with a wary look.
He almost felt guilty for his antagonistic attitude being the cause of that look, but when she cautiously questioned "Why?", he could not help but explain with cruel callousness, "Ice breaker. Establish rapport, so that you seem more human, or in your Time-Being mutt case, likable."
There was a flinch, a grinding of her teeth, and a muscle spasm at his hostile resentment, as if over the years, her resolve to be the object of his hate had weakened. However, she was able to quickly shore up her defensive walls and cast him a tight-lipped smile, as she scoffed, "Doctor, that's what they tell people to do in case they find themselves in hostage situations. Do I need to be worried?"
Not in the mood to be immediately reassuring, he cocked his head to the side and took his time considering all the possible answers to her question. Finally, he posited, "No, I don't think so... Although I am Scottish now and I think I hold a mean grudge, I - I don't want to anymore."
That was true. He still held the grudge. Just not as tightly. His real problem was…
"I want to go back to being the idiot Doctor with his Alys. I am just not sure how."
He couldn't quite meet her eyes, while he made this olive twig of a confession, so he resumed fiddling with the scanner, which had snap-crackled-popped upon their entry into 'Verse #7.
Watching out of the corner of his eye, he observed that his vulnerable response had startled her.
Perhaps it was her maturity level, but for once she did not have a ready quip or platitude and took her time to mull over her response, slowly murmuring, almost to herself, "Okay…" as she pushed back the box and settled herself back into her chair.
After a few contemplative moments, she too made her own confession, sharing, "Well, I went and did what you told me to do – or in your case, will tell me to do – I found someone and I am happy."
At her contented tone, he stopped fiddling with the fritzed-out scanner to ask with genuine curiosity, "What is he like?"
At this, Alys's contented smile spread into a droll smirk, as she declared, "She is the epitome of stereotypical French – minus the beret. She hates berets. She'd sooner wear a fez."
His infamous eyebrows went up at this statement, but he didn't say anything. He just listened as she talked of how her wife of nearly ten years loves to laugh ("She's got that throaty chuckle like Vastra") and love ("She gives the best hugs, even better than your Eleventh-self did") and eat ("I took her to Ahkaten once and she nearly gave away her wedding ring just to sample some blue fruit there").
"…She talks with her hands, has this fiery temper, and razor sharp tongue – that's quite talented in other areas too, mind you…"
"…She bakes, and she lives and breathes art and culture…"
Alys shared of first meeting her outside a 'little shop' at a museum, of her new life of helping her wife raise her teenage girl and boy, and of enjoying lazy Sunday afternoons.
Eventually, he asked, with genuine desire, "Will I ever meet her?"
Alys grinned at him, stating fondly, "I asked my wife that once, and she went all sangfroid about it."
Intrigued, he prompted, "Oh?"
"She asked if you were the kind to get jealous of your companions."
The two of them shared a knowing look, recalling his antics with many a companion's boyfriend – in particular, Mickey, and most recently, the late Danny Pink.
"So when I told her as much, she said – and I quote: 'Then likely he will try to compete with me for your affections…He will lose. Perhaps, it is best not then, no?'"
Not sure whether he was grimacing at her atrocious imitation of the French accent or at the truth of her statement, he asked pointedly, "If you are so happily married and this is not about me needing you…then why do you want to hunt for Gallifrey now?"
She opened her mouth a few times, managing to get out "I… I…", before drawing her knees up to her chest and trying again, with a sigh, "My wife's family had a reunion."
It didn't take him very long to connect the dots, and she didn't really need to say anymore for him to. Part of the reason that he hated to stay still was that his companions, be they human, Silurian, or Sontaran, they were communal creatures. Things like Christmas family get-togethers and reunions (be they family or combat units) were bound to happen. He liked weddings because they were beginnings, but all other events just tended to remind him of all of his endings.
"You miss your family."
She nodded her silver-frosted head, "Yeah. My extended family on my Da's side."
"You never talk about him or them," he noted quietly.
She gave him a tremulous smile, "You aren't the only one who can hold a grudge." She tucked her head down into the crook of her arm and looked at the center console, before whispering, "I think I have forgiven them for his death."
"You blamed them?"
When she had first told him her story at La Bella Donna and then at the Kensington Gardens, he had not understood why she had not blamed him for his father's death, when she had to have known that he had used The Moment to stop the war. When he had discovered that he had managed to save Gallifrey after all, he had thought that he had understood, and it was because she blamed the Daleks, who must have killed her father before he had saved them all.
But apparently that was not the case.
Picking up on his confusion, she explained, "He wouldn't leave them. When mother found a way for them to escape the time-lock – or should I say, when she explained her intent to use the same method that the Zygons would, did, whatever, but that she did not have enough paintings to inconspicuously smuggle out and take his family with them – he refused to go. The noble idiot ended up dying to protect them."
For a few moments, she seemed to get lost in her memories. Her eyes became hooded and her gaze distant and her breathing short and pained.
Perhaps, it was a sign of his own maturity, but for once he let silence fall. There was only the steady whirring hum of his Old Girl, as he waited her out.
His patience paid off, and she eventually stirred herself to continue more steadily, "So I hated them."
"And not just them. At the time I first met you, I was filled with such bitter resentment, and I couldn't decide whom I hated more. There was my Grandmum, whom I only knew from stories, who only recently discovered I existed, and who hated my father for 'stealing' her daughter away from her. There were Da's parents, brothers and sisters, cousins, nieces and nephews, all of whom I felt he had chosen over me and my mother. And then there was my mother."
"Why her?" he quietly asked, as he silently wished that he had started this conversation in the kitchen where he could have put the tea kettle on.
"She didn't want to leave him, even after his death, even when she knew that there was no way he could regenerate and come back to her. She loved so fiercely, and she loved me too much, and so because she waited too long to leave, she was left with only one choice in the end - to die to protect me, so I could get away."
She drifted off again, but this time she was able to pull herself back to the present with a little shake of her curly head and shrug of her shoulders, concluding her explanation for her need for their little quest with, "So it will be nice to one day talk with others who share memories of them."
He didn't need Clara's cards to tell him what to do next. He wasn't sure that he could find Gallifrey's pocket universe any time soon and thus her family, but he could be a listening ear and share stories of their home world. After all, hadn't he longed for that very thing when he thought he was the only one? And again when he discovered that the Master was alive? Or when he thought he received the hypercube from the Corsair?
So he squeezed in next to her on the bench seat, nudged her shoulder with his own, and said softly, "Tell me about them."
And so she did, telling of one of her aunts who collected the small yellow flower Sarlain, until she regenerated and her new body was allergic.
"…and so my cousins and even her siblings would stock up on Sarlains and make daisy chain necklaces out of them to ward her off like garlic to a vampire, as she was such a nosy busy-body…"
She told of one of her cousins wanting to be an entrepreneur and of his smuggling in male and female rabbits for the purpose of breeding them and selling off the 'cute round cuddly fuzzies' to his friends' kid-sisters, only to discover how quickly they breed and how much poop they produce.
And he told her of hiding a pet flobble under his bed at the Academy and being nearly caught when she went into heat and started her mating call. And of when he was a 'wee loomling' letting a cobblemouse loose in the House of Lungbarrow, causing his father's plans and notes to scatter about.
And they reminisced together about the green forests, golden fields, red deserts, and orange skies…
About chasing flutterwings at the Perdition Sanctuary as children and kissing sweethearts as randy youths at Wild Endeavor Haven…
About repairing K-9s and the ease of sneaking past technicians at the repair shop to steal aboard a faulty Type 40 TARDIS…
A trip down Memory Lane had never been less bitter and more sweet as then for him, so he kept them talking while they finished their repairs, did their scan for Gallifrey, and recovered from yet another disappointment.
And by the end of it all, he was nearly the idiot Doctor again, and she, nearly his Alys.
~D~
Pocket Universe Bust #13:
A half-dozen futile pocket universe searches later, they were calling it quits.
Well, at least he was for her sake. Her longing for her own family reunion was clearly now being surpassed by her longing for her wife, and even her step-kids.
But before she went, he had to ask, "Just one question…"
Alys stopped her packing to arch an eyebrow at him and tease, "Just one?"
He ignored her jibe and continued, "How did you find me? Did the TARDIS think I needed help finding Gallifrey?"
Instead of pointing out the obvious, that he never would have gotten out of half to most of the pockets without her TARDIS repair-woman skills, she simply stated, "River."
It took every ounce of self-control he had not to roll his eyes – because of course his archeologist wife knew about Alys. Why did he ever think that he could keep her a secret from his research-savvy, borderline stalker Dr. Song?
Zipping up her bag, she declared, "Before I go, I have a question for you."
Mentally bracing himself, because she had the look of someone about to perform invasive surgery on a conscious person, he conceded, "Fair's fair."
"When was the last time you saw River?"
And bam! It was like she had punched a hole in his ribcage and pulled out one of his hearts.
After a few deep breaths, he managed to calmly ask, "In person or as neuro-echo ghost?"
"In person," she clarified.
Up went his scary eyebrows, as he asked suspiciously, "Don't you know?"
"I only know what my sources know, and they only know from what they experienced and you told them," she patiently explained, and then with her head cocked to the side, she guessed, "It was right before I got you drunk wasn't it?"
Doing what he did best, he dodged her query and shared gleefully, "Strax was quite vexed about that. Annual pub crawls for a decade, and you managed to get me far more intoxicated than he ever did."
"Far more experience with Time-Lord biology," she explained with a shrug and an amused twinkle in her brown eyes. A twinkle that continued, even as she accused, "And I thought you were past running."
Annoyed that she was not going to let this go, he mulishly defended, "I did say good-bye. At Trenzalore. The first time."
The twinkle dimmed, as understanding dawned.
"Ah, and you feel that every time you see her, you have to say goodbye again and again. Or is it that you are afraid that the next time you see her will be the last?"
All he could do was just look at her.
To name the fear and pain was to feed it. So why give it any more fuel for thought?
Alys must have seen something in his expression, because more softly and kindly, she pleaded, "Oh my dear Doctor, as painful as either will be, think about all the missed opportunities for kindness, love, and glorious adventures that never now can be by giving into your fear."
He swallowed back down the rising wave of grief that her words invoked and glanced away. After a few more such swallows, he was able to choke out, "I will consider it."
"Even if you half-think it is fortune cookie hogwash?" was her gentle teasing query.
Relieved and grateful that she was not so earnestly pushing the matter, he promised drolly, "Even if I all-think it is fortune cookie hogwash."
This seemed satisfactory to her, since she promptly hoisted her bag over her shoulder, and declared, "Well then, as my wife would say, 'Au revoir, mon cher Docteur'."
And in the Gallifreyan tongue, he promised, "And to the seeing again of you, my dear wee Alys."
~D~
After she left, he did consider her sentimental drivel. He just did not limit it to River.
When his screen lit up with coordinates to London 2015, he vowed aloud to his Old Girl, "Yes, yes, I will go see Clara and make up – no kissing! Maybe hugging. But I want to first stop at a book shop. For let us not say that I will miss an opportunity to be kind. So perhaps, something on soufflés?"
A/N: the author hopes you have enjoyed this program update and thanks you for joining in on this journey so far.
Stay tuned for All That Was Standing in My Way Was: Me
And Questions, Comments, Kudos, Rotten Tomatoes? All are welcome.