happy Independence Day to the Americans (happy... day? to everyone else).
Chapter 20: Resurfacing
Once, the Doctor thought to himself, walking down a snowy street in London, I swore that River Song wouldn't force me into anything. A pity that never had been true. He was here, back on Earth, making the pretence of re-joining the world because she wanted him to. Hallucination or not, when his wife gave him that sidelong glance and made a whispered suggestion… it wasn't as though he could have prevented himself from doing what she asked.
He wasn't sure why everything with River always came down to that. She wasn't fully human, but occasionally she could be so human. Rational and irrational. Full of emotions, ruthlessly practical and not above a little emotional blackmail for him to do what she thought he should.
At least, he'd always called it blackmail. River –laughingly– had used the word encouragement.
Still, he was trying. And he'd come far since that first trip, where the relentless flow of humanity had him in tears, even before he reached Vastra's door. It had been too much; people laughing and crying and living and loving and moving on with their lives, when all he wanted was to stand still and grieve.
But that had been weeks ago, by now. And even though it was painful each and every time, forcing himself outside the TARDIS; it grew easier. He liked the amusements and distractions derived from visiting Vastra and Jenny and Strax; and he'd always loved Victorian Christmases (so much so that he'd visited nearly thirty times in the past)… but it still hurt, like salt in an open wound. He couldn't act as though he was the same Doctor as always, because he wasn't. Deep inside: his mind and hearts felt blank of all emotions and far removed from the living, no matter how he persevered at popping into Paternoster Row for three minutes, then five, eight, ten… Each successive visit grew longer, but he felt the same. Empty. Uncaring of how the world was, if it was in trouble.
"Well," said a little voice. A half-remembered, but very familiar little voice… and the Doctor spun around in surprise.
"Well?" he said nervously, fingers clenching into fists in his pockets.
"Well," said the imp, with a hint of satisfaction. "Look who is out and about!"
It seemed it had been forever since he'd seen it. Years, hundreds of years since Floor 500. He was quite literally a different man now; had been two different men, really. And yet, it looked exactly the same. Sweeping green hair around a small figure, large black eyes in a pointed green face, lips pursed indignantly and eyebrows raised.
"You've been gone a long time?" said the Doctor, his very uncertainty making his statement emerge as a question. "Thought you'd given up and gone away."
"You mean, you hoped I'd gone away," the imp said flatly.
"No. Yes. Maybe?"
"Clear as ever, Doctor." The imp sighed, pushing a lock of hair behind its ear. "I'm rather pleased that after all this time -all that running- that you still remember me. And I've always been around… I think you just chose to ignore me for quite a while."
"You haven't," insisted the Doctor, taking a step closer to it. "I'd have seen you. And of course I remember you! Can't forget anyone so short or green… but still, I haven't seen you since Rose…"
"Mmm." The imp eyed him. "You don't always see what's right in front of you, Doctor. One of your failings… or part of your charm?"
"Charm, definitely." The Doctor puffed out his chest, offering a weak smile; and the imp shook its head.
"If you say so…"
"I do. And what are you doing here now?"
The imp hesitated, looking away shiftily. "Just checking in on you," it finally said. "Seems we keep meeting like this, Doctor. On the streets of London, you in a depressive funk… and how are things going for you?"
"Oh," the Doctor said vaguely, "well. Quite well."
"Really?" The imp crossed its arms. "Could've fooled me."
"Then why did you ask?"
"Because I was curious what you'd say." It licked thin green lips before smirking to show a row of small pointed teeth. "Wanted to see if you'd lie."
"I'm not," protested the Doctor.
"You are," said the imp. "You always do."
He did; so he didn't reply. Just crossed his own arms, leaning back against the rough walls of the alleyway to peer curiously at the imp.
"That's not really why you're here, is it?" he asked accusingly. "Just to check on me. You've got an ulterior motive… you always do."
The imp gave a delighted giggle. "You've finally gotten clever in your old age, Doctor. And you're right. I told you that we always keep meeting like this –whenever you're in such a state that you don't want to do anything or help anyone– and it's true. But do you remember the first time? I asked something of you that you've yet to deliver on."
The Doctor groaned internally. Really; even after all this time, it wasn't as though he could have forgotten.
"Again?" he asked, managing a polite smile. "Another Princess?"
"Same one. She's still waiting, you know."
He hesitated. "But it's been… centuries. Wouldn't she be old by now?"
"Her?" The imp laughed gleefully. "No. Are you old by now?"
"I," the Doctor mumbled to himself, "am ancient."
"Finally! At last we agree on something."
"Oi!" He glared at the imp, who smiled unrepentantly back at him. "Don't mock the Time Lord."
"Yes sir!" The imp gave a cheeky salute. "No mocking of the Time Lord, sir!"
"And don't call me sir."
"Yes, Milord Time."
"That's worse," sighed the Doctor. "Look; all that, it was lifetimes ago but of course I remember! The poem that sent me running around space, a Princess who did something brave but stupid, an annoying green imp as a guide, and a chatty computer-"
He broke off rather abruptly. His last regeneration had chosen to put those memories aside. His current one had been taken up with his Ponds and his wife; too busy thinking 'run run run from the past and maybe it won't catch up' to spare any thoughts for a promise made by a broken man, two regenerations earlier. But seeing the imp before him, even thinking Threnody's name made the man he'd been back in 2004 and this entire situation seem very familiar.
"I do remember," the Doctor muttered. "Brain like mine, room for lots of stuff in there. Unless I forget… but I don't forget things. Unless I have to.
"Though I do think," he added, feeling slightly rebellious, "I'm not the man I was, then. And my help… it's not something that should be given without some understanding of what I'm doing it for. You want me to save some Princess… but where is she? Who is she? And how am I supposed to save her? Have you got another CD for me, with another ridiculous poem?"
The imp's smile faded as it looked up at the Doctor seriously.
"It has been years for you, but the rules haven't changed. I can't answer those sorts of questions; it's not my right. I've told you before, Doctor. My only role here is as your guide."
"My guide." He managed a pained smile, scratching his chin. "Didn't even think to ask, but it's been centuries for you too. How are you still here? How long do annoying green creatures live?"
"Forever if they need to," said the imp glibly. "You, of all people, know the laws of time… if there is something you're meant to do, death is hardly a barrier."
"I wish," the Doctor said plaintively, "that you wouldn't speak in riddles."
"But I thought that you're brilliant at them?" The imp sighed, looking away. "I suppose I can tell you this, at least. Part of why I'm here, Doctor, is that I was given something by a great man; and when he sought me out afterwards and asked something of me in return, I thought I owed him."
"What did he give you?" The imp's words sounded almost like a trick; and the Doctor narrowed his eyes, squinting at the little green creature before him.
"Something more precious than I thought my life was worth." The imp shrugged self-consciously. "Hope for a new tomorrow.
"He said there were two options. Keep trading favours and arguing over who owed who what; or we could call it even if I did one more little thing for him. Pass along a message, act as a guide when you needed it; because," the imp said wryly, "I couldn't imagine the amount of people it would help. Literally the world…
"Have to say though, didn't think it would take so long. Or that you'd be so difficult. You've been a prickly fellow in the past, haven't you?"
"You say that as though I'm a porcupine," complained the Doctor. "I'm not."
"And I'm not annoying," said the imp. "You really shouldn't call me that. Far better words to describe me."
He could think of a few; but each was far less complimentary and not used in polite society.
"The thing is," said the Doctor slowly, playing for time. "The thing is… I don't think I want to do that. What you're asking for? Help someone. Run around the Universe again, for someone I don't even know."
"Doctor," the imp said patiently, "you'd run around the Universe regardless. I do know you."
"Yes, but not to suit someone else! If I choose to run, it should only be for me. Haven't I done enough?" he pleaded. "All those times, all the things I've done and people I've saved in the past… isn't it time that I can just say: 'that's enough. I'm finished.'" The look the imp levelled at him was a mixture of pity and impatience, and the Doctor blustered on.
"Maybe," he said, gesturing his hands wildly, "I don't care anymore about saving people. What's that gotten me, so far?"
"You do get dramatic when you lie," the imp said mildly. "All those words that mean nothing. You made a promise years ago, to help. I've left you alone for long enough; but fair is fair, and you owe me to try. You owe her, even."
"How," asked the Doctor cagily, "can I owe something to someone I don't even know?" Encouraged by the imp's blank stare he continued, confident that he'd scored a point in their little exchange.
"Alright, you won't tell me anything helpful at all like where she is, or what I'm supposed to do. But at least tell me this: do I know her? Have I met her before?"
There was a long silence as the imp eyed him up and down, thoughtfully. "Yes," it admitted. "You've met her before. And failed to save her in the past… oh, a few times. Sometimes, her very appearance concealed from you who she was…often, you didn't admit her importance until it was too late. And then the memory of those days burned themselves into your mind until you could never forget.
"But this time, Doctor, is the most important. This is the time that you actually could save her to wipe the slate clean from the times you've failed." The imp spoke with a quiet fervency and solemnity that was meant to impress. In fact, thought the Doctor, the entire speech might have done if it wasn't being delivered by a creature standing barely up to his chest, watching him with hopeful, bug-like eyes.
"Somehow," the Doctor said, giving a carefully indifferent shrug, "finally getting an answer out of you wasn't as satisfactory as I thought it'd be."
Green lips pursed, delicate eyebrows drew together, and the imp glared. The Doctor shifted from foot to foot nervously. For something so small and green, it was a bit frightening when it looking like that.
"Alright," it snapped, clearly at the end of its patience. "Alright, then! You want to be difficult, but you want me to be helpful? Fine. I'll give you helpful.
"Do you ever think, Doctor, that maybe everything in the Universe has a memory? People and places… even," the imp thoughtfully scuffed a bare green foot against the snow, "things. Maybe everything remembers what it was or what it could be, what it's meant to do. Echoes from the past into the present and the future…
"Or maybe," it added slyly, "the other way around. The future into the past."
"That's impossible."
"Says the Time Lord." The imp smirked. "I hardly think anything is impossible around you. Strange, mad things out in the world, you know. Strange and amazing people, too. If you only keep your eyes and ears open and are willing to take the chance, who knows who could drop back into your life to save you? Or maybe, you could save them."
"And if I'm not?" The Doctor stared into the imp's eyes, a stern frown on his face. "Willing to take the chance?"
"Then," said the imp, "you're not really the Doctor you claim to be. Not yet."