Miranda heard the weirdo's shovel drop and she glanced over her shoulder to see him speaking to his hat again: "In fact, I did you a considerable favour, Brigadier. It was only because I'm the president that you were even allowed into the Matrix, so I would be a bit more appreciative…Nothing to do?! You should have thought of that before sacrificing yourself to the Skarasen…No, I didn't! What? Ahh, well, not even I get it right all the time, Brigadier…"
"How long have you been here?" Miranda turned and asked the colourful one.
"That's really the question, isn't it? You must have noticed by now that time moves differently here. I've known minutes to feel like hours and days to pass almost without a moment's notice. Bedevils my culinary efforts."
"I did experience a strange, slow-motion effect when the Doctor and I first arrived, but everything seems normal now."
"Is it? Check your timepiece," Colours suggested with an arched eyebrow.
Miranda looked at her watch and to her surprise saw the hands spinning wildly. She shook her wrist and the hands seemed to freeze for a split second, but then merely began moving backwards. "How come I don't feel that?"
"Because you're human," the Doctor cut in.
Miranda looked up and felt a huge weight slide off her shoulders as he strolled over to join them. She'd been so occupied that she must have missed the sound of the transmat. "You're alive!" she exclaimed stupidly.
"Humans aren't as sensitive to time as—obviously—a Timelord is. It's wired into the very fabric of our being, makes us more aware of everything," the Doctor continued, apparently in high spirits as he clapped Miranda on the back. "I'm fine, by the way."
"Oh! Of course, glad to hear it," Miranda sighed with relief. The Doctor's grin suddenly grew vacant and he unceremoniously began to slump to the ground. "Whoops!" Miranda grabbed him, but he was a lot of dead weight. Colours grabbed one of his arms and helped her pull him back up.
"Careful now, Doctor!" Colours grunted as he and Miranda sat him on the ground.
"Oof! Make that mostly fine," the Doctor winced, coming around.
"What happened?" Miranda asked, crouching next to him and glancing him over. His eyes looked fine and he had no obvious injuries that she could see. The panicky thought that he might end up incapacitated, leaving her alone to handle the situation, faded quickly, but she was surprised at how strong it had been.
The Doctor rubbed his temples and grimaced. "I met Goran."
"What did he—?"
SNAP! CRZZZ!
"Ow!" Miranda yelped as the transmat went off directly behind her, blasting her eardrums. She looked and saw a cloud of dissipating ozone where the weirdo had been standing with his shovel.
SNAP! CRZZZ!
Now blind as well as deaf, Miranda blinked away the spots and saw two black and silver humanoids appear out of the ozone cloud next to the disturbed hedgerow. She scrambled around the Doctor, putting some more space (and him) between her and the humanoids, just in case the transmat decided to go off again. They began poking around, picking up the pieces of turf that had been dug out.
"Right! Inside!" Colours announced.
Miranda couldn't suppress a sudden, amused chuckle. "Who called up the Power Rangers?"
"They're androids," the Doctor said. "So there's more than one?" he asked Colours.
"Substantially more, but it only takes one to put paid any ideas about interfering with them."
"Interfere? You mean something like this?" The Doctor stepped up behind the androids and tapped one on its chrome shoulder. "'Allo, mate—"
As soon as the Doctor's hand touched the android, it turned on him and landed an open palm against his chest with considerable force. The Doctor ended up sprawled at Miranda's feet, looking equally surprised and pained. "Please vacate the area," the android droned dispassionately, turning back to its partner.
"Wow," Miranda couldn't help muttering as she offered the Doctor a hand getting up.
"Superbly demonstrated, Doctor, however needlessly," sighed Colours.
"How is saying hello interfering? Just rude, you ask me," the Doctor grumbled. "Okay, so don't mess with the androids. Got it. How else have you tried escaping, Patches?"
Miranda took a liberal step back when one of the androids moved near her. "What say we move the chat indoors, Doctor?"
"Good thinking!" Colours effused.
"Not a bad idea," the Doctor agreed.
-------------------------------------------------
Once back in the parlour, the door closed behind them, the Doctor felt a slight cosmic twinge and was startled to notice that it now appeared to be completely dark outside. Reflexively he checked his watch, but it was spinning pointlessly. Funny that he hadn't thought to look at it before. Glancing up, he saw the array of clocks on the mantle was doing largely the same thing, but they were all out of sync with each other.
He could sense the tiny rivulets of time drifting through space, wrenching the clocks, tugging at his body, spurring apotheosis and cell division in fits and starts and distorting motion in front of his eyes. He still felt depleted from Goran's ministrations, and the combined effect was fast growing extremely irritating. He looked over at Miranda, who was looking out the curtains, evidently noticing the sudden time change as well. She seemed perfectly acclimated. He felt a little envious of her for that.
"Ha! Check!"
The Doctor recognized the voice of his previous regeneration and noticed that he and his fifth incarnation were seated on opposite sides of a chessboard. A gramophone (not a Victrola) was playing Mi tradi quell'alma ingrata, Elvira's aria, from Mozart's Don Giovanni.
Cavalieri still sang it best, the Doctor opined to himself.
"Check? Impossible!" his fifth protested shrilly, popping on his spectacles and eyeing the chessboard in that nearsighted way the Doctor had hoped would make his preternaturally young face look more authoritative. Considering how aged he now appeared, it actually seemed natural.
"You have to watch for that zwischenzug," his eighth responded smugly.
"…Yes…" his fifth agreed disgustedly, hand suspended over the pieces.
"I'll put the kettle on," the Doctor's sixth self announced, walking on out of the room.
"So, who are these guys again?" Miranda asked him quietly.
The Doctor couldn't help startling just a bit. It was easy to forget how quiet she could be. "In a word, me." He watched her brow furrow thoughtfully.
"From the past?"
"Yup." He had to admit it was fun seeing the cogs grind away between her ears.
"As in, like, reincarnation?"
"Sort of, yeah." He watched her cross her arms and purse her lips thoughtfully. "You don't believe me," he concluded without surprise.
Miranda bit her lip, several emotions passing across her face before she answered. When she did, he could barely hear her: "So that's what John was talking about."
Her hazel eyes met his for just one, self-conscious second, but he found himself unable to match her gaze as the unwelcome memory boiled up from a corner of his mind:
"It's really a shame, Doctor, because I've got nothing against Miranda. Quite like her, in fact, yet now I'm going to have to kill her, all because of you."
"The only one to blame for your situation is you. Let her go."
"That's not how I remember it, although perhaps my memory isn't as complete as it should be, given this less-than-superior shell. A situation I hope to remedy, provided you give me what I need."
The Doctor remembered what it felt like, holding that gun, pointing it at Miranda, but aiming it at the ruthless killer standing behind her, wondering if he really had it in him to fire.
"I can't help you. But if you don't let her go, I swear I will hurt you."
"Are you going to move, or what?" the Doctor's eighth self demanded crossly, snapping the Doctor out of his brief reverie.
"I'm thinking," the fifth snapped, clearly stalling, hand still poised motionless over the board.
"What of? I'll have you checkmated my next move. You're only delaying the inevitable."
"I'm not sure of that!" the fifth squeaked.
"Well I'm your future, and I'm telling you, you've lost this one."
The Doctor's fifth self yanked off his spectacles and eyed the eighth in supreme annoyance.
"I used to play tic-tac-toe with myself," Miranda piped up suddenly. The Doctor looked at her. She appeared to be eyeing the chessboard critically, but then shot him a wry smirk. "It always ended up a tie game, though."
"You had a lonely childhood, didn't you?" the Doctor felt fit to jibe, "The other kids wouldn't play with you at recess?"
"Hot tea, coming through!" the Doctor's sixth persona strolled back into the parlour, bearing a loaded tray.
"Ah! Just the thing!" his fifth exclaimed, hopping up from his seat—without making a play—to get a teacup. His eighth sat back and flung his hands up in vexation.
"So, Miranda, how is it you take your tea?" the sixth asked.
"I don't really drink tea," she answered quickly, sliding into an armchair.
"Sugar, milk?"
"I don't need anything, thanks."
The Doctor glanced at his sixth self, who shot him a meaningful look. The Doctor smiled and shrugged. "She's a bit shy in crowds. Two sugars for me." His sixth self served him a teacup and the Doctor settled himself into an armchair opposite Miranda. He took a deep breath of the steam, feeling the free radicals and oxides permeate the membranes of his nose and begin easing his achiness. "So!" he stated emphatically, "This is it, eh? Tea, chess, and the occasional torture session with Goran? Doesn't it get boring?"