Chapter Twenty—The Titanic dock, Southampton, 10 April, 1912
At the end of the dock, the Doctor took a moment to look at the sea, more grey than blue due to the heavy cloud cover. The weather was cool—no, cold—but not unusually so for April on the south coast of England. The light breeze coming over the water gently blew through his hair, mussing it a bit. He ignored it. With the way he wore his hair these days, no one would notice the difference.
Well, Rose would notice—she noticed everything—but no one else would, particularly since no one but Mickey knew him here.
With a heavy sigh, he turned back to the Titanic. People were still arriving at the already crowded dock. So many people, so many with tickets for the overseas voyage. So many who wouldn't survive.
Knowing that, seeing so many people, so many children who were so vibrantly alive, so incredibly hopeful about the future and yet wouldn't live through the week, made him physically ill.
He hated fixed points, hated even the idea that there were points in time that were impossible to alter without endangering the whole of existence. And he absolutely detested traveling to them. There was so very little he could do except watch events unfold. Usually hearts wrenching, horrific events. In the past, the Time Lords frowned upon his attempts to alter fixed points—occasionally even as they sent him to do so themselves — but it was within their power to smooth over the minor, and in some cases major, paradoxes created.
But the Time Lords were gone. And with them gone, fixed points were even more dangerous than they had been. If he wasn't careful, his mere presence could cause a paradox. Particularly because he was here in triplicate.
Ironically, he hadn't even wanted to come the first time. He wouldn't have, except that Charley had begged to come and he had caved in to her wishes. And Mickey was probably right about why he had come back here in his last form. Immediately after the Time War he'd been desperate to save anyone anywhere. Who better to save than a family he'd tried, and failed, to save before?
And this time he wouldn't have come except it was necessary, absolutely vital, if not for his own survival then for the survival of the TARDIS. She had an enormous capacity for self-healing, yet she was getting worse, not better. He had to find out what had damaged her.
The Doctor doubted whatever it was was here. Nothing human, nothing natural to the Earth had the capability to damage her to this extent. Which meant that whatever it was had to be alien. If there had been something alien here, surely he would have noticed when he had been here with Charley.
But he still had to check. There was a chance—a very, very slight chance—that he had missed something that first time. Not to mention the fact that he didn't know where else to look. He just plain didn't know where else he had been during that gap in time between the first and second times he'd asked Rose to travel with him. Rose had seen pictures of him in three places: Dallas, Krakatoa, and here. If whatever had happened hadn't happened in one of those three places… well, all of time and space was a pretty big place to have to search.
He didn't want to think about the likelihood that the TARDIS wouldn't be up to more searching beyond here.
Frowning, the Doctor scanned the crowd. Neither Charley nor his previous selves were in sight, and everyone around him was preoccupied with either preparing to board the ship or saying goodbye to those who were. He pulled his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket and crossed his arms, blocking it from the view of casual observers while he surreptitiously scanned the area for advanced technology. He needn't have bothered trying to hide it. No one was paying any attention to him at all.
He glanced down at his sonic. Nothing. There was no sign of anything more advanced than the early automobiles and primitive cameras of the period. And a scan for any sign of alien presence only revealed three versions of himself. That was both good and bad, good because he was now certain his leather-wearing self was here somewhere, but bad because he still didn't have an answer for how the TARDIS had been damaged.
With a flip of his thumb and a quiet whir of the sonic, he quickly scanned the area again. As he read the results, he grimaced in frustration. The sonic screwdriver was unable to narrow down the location of his other selves beyond the general area of the dock.
Looking at the crowd again, he scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully, trying to decide on a course of action. He had been planning to look for his previous self, but it occurred to him that since Mickey was already looking for him, that left him the freedom to do something else.
But what?
The real issue wasn't to find out why his previous self was here, he reminded himself. It was to find out what had happened to both his other self and the TARDIS. After all, trying to save Charley's family wouldn't have damaged the TARDIS.
His mind returned to the hologram he, Mickey, and Rose had watched in the console room in the TARDIS. It had showed his previous self, apparently ill, collapsing on the floor and the TARDIS using the Chameleon Arch on him. He'd been working on the assumption that whatever it was that had made him ill and had damaged the TARDIS had happened immediately before his collapse, but what if it hadn't? What if the TARDIS had been damaged earlier and it had just taken time before the results appeared?
That made more sense. The TARDIS had built-in safeguards that would prevent most sudden crises, but they wouldn't necessarily prevent gradual ones. It also fit with the fact that the problems his own TARDIS was experiencing were getting worse. In fact, the mere fact that his TARDIS was developing problems at all supported the idea that whatever the cause was, it had happened slowly and was becoming worse over time.
But he hadn't seen any evidence of anything, sudden or gradual, in the playback that could have resulted in the situation they were in now.
On the other hand, so much of the replay had been damaged…
He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. How could he find out if he was right if he couldn't watch the CCTV footage?
And then his jaw dropped as the answer came to him. He slammed his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Oh, I am so stupid!" he exclaimed. Instead of looking at the damaged CCTV footage in his own TARDIS, he could examine the memory banks of the TARDIS belonging to his younger, leather-wearing self. That would tell him if the TARDIS had already been damaged. If she had, and if the damage was happening gradually over time, he might be able to retrieve enough information from the memory banks to figure out what had caused it.
And if he discovered what the cause was, he'd be able to fix it.
Probably.
After a final scan of the area, which told him nothing more than he already knew, the Doctor shoved his sonic screwdriver back into his pocket and began the long walk back up the dock, keeping an eye out for his two previous selves and Charley.
He hadn't gone very far, only twenty yards or so, when he heard the sound of a woman's laughter ringing over the sounds of the crowd. At the same time, out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of blonde hair. Hearts pounding, he whirled around.
It wasn't Rose.
Of course it wasn't, he chided himself. How could it be? She was back in 2007 with his other self. He knew that. But just for an instant…
The blonde girl, she was almost too young to be called a woman, was only about ten feet away from him. Even from this short distance she looked remarkably like Rose, in height, in age, even in facial features (although the Doctor thought Rose was far prettier). She was dressed similarly to the other women on the dock—a full length pink cotton dress under a warm woolen coat, hair up and tucked neatly under a broad brimmed hat—but unlike the others she was tightly clutching a bundle of blankets to her chest. Next to her stood a slightly older man, probably her husband because he was much too young to be her father and was standing far too close to her to be a brother or a family friend.
The Doctor chuckled. The girl's husband was tall and skinny with dark brown hair, and he was wearing a conservative brown suit.
The girl looked down at the blankets cradled in her arms. She softly smiled, her face practically glowing with happiness.
Oh, she held more than just a bundle of blankets, he realized. She had a baby in her arms.
As she lowered her head to drop a kiss onto her child's forehead, a lock of her hair fell out from underneath the hat. Her husband grinned and swept it out of her face in such a natural move that it was obvious he had done it countless times in the past. She turned her face to him and as their eyes met, they smiled. Risking scandal, they shared a quick kiss before they both looked back down at the babe in her arms.
The Doctor's mouth curved into a smile, but it was no longer the girl he was seeing. Instead he saw Rose in a pink jumper and jeans, her long blonde hair swept up into a knot at the nape of her neck, her—their—baby in her arms.
He shook his head vigorously, forcing his mind to return to the present. That wasn't Rose, and the man wasn't him. Could never be him. That life, a normal, human life one day after another on the slow path, was the one adventure he could never have.
He tried to look away, to return to the task at hand, but he found he couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him. They seemed so happy together.
As the Doctor continued to watch them, he scanned their timelines. His hearts sank at what he saw. Eyes glistening, he turned away, trying to swallow the large lump that had formed in his throat. Although the girl survived the disaster, her husband and their child didn't. He closed his eyes tightly and pinched the bridge of his nose as he shoved down the wave of emotion that threatened to rise to the surface.
It wasn't fair. And what's more, it wasn't necessary. Their deaths weren't a fixed point.
A tiny voice whispered in the back of his head. What would Rose do? What would she want him to do?
The answer was so obvious it didn't require thought, but short of dragging them off the dock and imprisoning them until the ship left, how could he save them? What could he say, what could he do, that would convince them not to get onboard?
Then the Doctor grinned. He patted his pockets. Most of the contents weren't particularly valuable, in fact a lot of it could be classified as junk, but there were a few things…
He closed the distance between himself and the couple.
"Excuse me," he said. "May I talk with you for a moment? A traveling companion and I need to get to New York quickly, very quickly in fact, due to a very, very urgent matter that we must attend to as soon as possible, and I was wondering if I could interest you in a business proposition…"
~oOo~
Mickey made his way back up the dock, looking for the inspection queue and scanning the crowd for the shorn head and dark leather jacket of the first Doctor he had met. After several minutes of searching, he reached the pavement that ran perpendicular to the dock and realized he had gone too far.
Damn, he thought, and began to retrace his steps.
As he walked back down the dock, he looked again through the crowds of people, still not spotting the Doctor's trademark leather jacket.
"Oi!" yelled a loud male voice behind him. "Get out of the way!"
Mickey turned around, and froze. His eyes widened as he found himself nose to nose with a horse.
He swallowed nervously. He knew nothing about horses except that this one was big, brown, and harnessed to an ornate carriage.
Blimey, the horse was big.
Really, really big.
Since when did horses grow so big?
"Oi!" came a voice, the same voice, from somewhere above his head. Startled, Mickey looked up. The coachman was glaring down at him from the driver's seat of the carriage.
"Get out of the way!" the coachman yelled again. As if in agreement, the horse snorted in Mickey's face.
"Eww," Mickey complained. Wiping his face with his hands, he stepped out of the way. The coachman lifted the reins, coaxing the horse forward, and with a toss of his head the horse began to move. As he walked past, he lifted his tail.
Mickey looked down at the steaming mess on the ground in front of him. He pulled a face. "Disgusting."
Wiping his hands on his trousers, and carefully avoiding the fragrant trail of manure, he began to walk back down the dock, again looking for the inspection queue where he hoped the leather clad Doctor would be. He finally found it near the gangplank to the third class entrance, almost exactly where he had left the Doctor he was traveling with.
As he looked further down the dock, he sighed. Hundreds were in the queue. They were gathered in family groups and appeared to be just standing around, which was part of the reason he hadn't recognized it as a queue at all. On the crowded dock, he had walked right past it and not seen it.
He glanced back at the third class gangplank. The Doctor had said that third class ticket holders would board first, but it didn't look like people were getting on the ship yet. That meant Charley's family was probably still waiting for inspection. He knew there were four of them—a father, a mother, and two children—but he had no idea what any of them looked like. Nor did he know the ages of the children. If he had known that, it could have narrowed down the possibilities to a manageable number. On the other hand, he couldn't even remember what Charley's last name was, so it was pointless to go up and down the queue asking people if they were related to her.
And there was still no sign of the Doctor.
This was beginning to look like a fool's errand.
"And I'm the fool," he said under his breath.
Mickey scanned the crowd again, looking for anyone he recognized, namely Charley or any one of the three Doctors that were here somewhere. After several frustrating moments he finally spotted the current Doctor standing about fifty yards down the dock from him. Despite the distance, it was clearly him; he stood out from the crowd due to his height, his lack of a hat, and his long brown coat. He was talking to a couple: a young man possibly Mickey's own age and a young woman maybe a little bit younger—the man's wife Mickey supposed. She looked like she was carrying a baby.
As they spoke, the Doctor reached deep into the pocket of his overcoat, far deeper than he should have been able to do, and pulled something out of it. From this distance, Mickey couldn't tell what it was, and given it had come out of the Doctor's pocket he knew it could be anything.
The Doctor put on his glasses and peered at it, turning it over and over in his hand. Finally he nodded, obviously satisfied with what he saw, and pressed it into the man's hand.
Mickey's brow furrowed in puzzlement. "What the hell's he doin'?" he muttered.
After examining the object closely himself, the man vigorously shook the Doctor's hand. Then he reached into the interior pocket of his jacket and handed something that looked like papers to the Doctor.
Curious, Mickey took a step towards the Doctor and immediately stopped again when he heard a familiar, rough Northern voice ring out behind him.
"Excuse me. I'm lookin' for the Robertson family."
Mickey spun around. There he was, the Doctor he'd been looking for, but he wasn't dressed in his typical leather jacket and dark trousers. Instead, he was wearing an old fashioned black suit with a double breasted, knee length coat. And was that an ascot?
He looked familiar, but not as the Doctor. Mickey realized he'd probably walked past him three times in the last fifteen minutes. Dressed like that, it was even more difficult to recognize him than it had been in the garage, and there he'd had long hair and the beginnings of a scruffy beard. It was only when he'd heard his voice that he'd known who he was.
He looks like a bloody undertaker, Mickey thought.
No one seemed to be paying any attention to the Doctor, so he spoke again, projecting his voice so it carried over both the sounds of the ship and the crowds. "I'm looking for the Edwin Robertson family. Would the Robertson family please step forward?"
As the Doctor turned in his direction, Mickey darted behind a large family. Although he wasn't sure the Doctor would recognize him—after all the Doctor'd barely noticed his existence when they'd met—he didn't want to take the chance of the other man seeing him more than seventy years before he'd been born.
Mickey watched as the Doctor slowly walked down the dock, scanning the queue and continuing to call for the Robertson family.
Moving in the direction of his older but younger looking self.
Meanwhile the older Doctor was still talking to people he seemed to pick at random, but generally continuing to make his way up the dock.
Mickey swore. They were headed right for each other.
He took off down the dock, dodging people and trying to catch the attention of one Doctor while avoiding being noticed by the other.
When Mickey finally reached him, he bent over, hands on knees, trying to catch his breath. "Found him," he said. "Man, I gotta get in shape."
"Where is he?" the Doctor asked.
"Right up the dock a bit," he said, still gasping for air. "And headed this way."
They both turned their heads when they heard the other Doctor.
"Attention please. I'm lookin' for the Robertson family," he called. "The Edwin Robertson family."
"That's us," someone called back.
A short, middle-aged man stepped forward from the crowd. Behind him followed a dowdy woman with two small children, a boy and a girl, clinging to her hands.
The Doctor pulled some papers out of an inside pocket of his coat. He made a show of reading them. "Are you Edwin Robertson? From… Banbury? Husband of…" He rustled through the papers. "Rachel Anne Robertson?"
The couple exchanged nervous glances.
"That's me."
The Doctor turned to the woman. "And are you Rachel Anne Robertson? Father Jacob Pollard and mother…" He looked through the papers again. "Sophia Pollard?"
She bit her lip and nodded. "Yeah, that's me," she said.
"If you would follow me please?" The Doctor said. His tone indicated that they had no choice in the matter. He gestured to the White Star Terminal behind them. When they didn't immediately move, he continued. "Come on. Let's go."
Clearly troubled, Edwin and Rachel Robinson exchanged glances again before they each picked up a child and their luggage and followed him. They quickly disappeared into the crowd.
"Now what?" Mickey asked.
The Doctor in brown pinstripes nodded in the direction the others had gone. "Follow me, well, him. Watch to see if anything unusual happens. I don't think anything will, but just in case…"
Mickey nodded. "While I'm doin' that, what're you gonna do?"
"I am going to go and find his TARDIS," the Doctor answered. "I'm going to see if whatever damaged the TARDIS has happened yet." He pulled his sonic screwdriver out of the depths of one of his pockets. "Since I know where my own is and where the one is that belongs to my youngest self, I should be able to find his. Then it's just a matter of letting myself in, scanning her, and checking her memory banks. Without getting caught, of course. Meet me back at the TARDIS, my TARDIS, in… let's say half an hour." The Doctor shook his finger at Mickey. "Just make sure he doesn't spot you. Got it? It's vitally important he doesn't spot you."
"I know, I know," he snapped. He moved off in the direction the other Doctor had gone.
Behind him, the Doctor called, "Don't forget! Half an hour!"
Mickey rolled his eyes.