Okay,
depending on where I put this piece of work, you might have no clue about
either show involved. On the other
hand, you might be one of the lucky (and probably very) few who know both
programs. Whatever, in the grand scheme
of things, it doesn't really matter.
If you've ever had an obsession that you couldn't really share with
anyone else and that you had to keep secret or just never bothered telling
anyone about it, read this. Hopefully
it'll ring true somehow (unless I really am the most unique person in the entire Universe…and somehow I don't
think even I could be that arrogant).
The usual stuff: I don't own the
characters involved and I make no money off this story. I'm just writing this to see what
happens. ;-)
What's a Sci-Fi Fan to Do?
Eberts ducked his head around the
corner, checking in both directions that no one was in the hallway. Empty.
He slipped quickly down the corridor on silent feet and slammed the
archives door shut behind him--if you can slam a door quietly, that is.
He paused with his back against the
door, tensed and listening. He breathed
a silent sigh of relief. Nothing.
He maneuvered through the dusty and
chaotic rows of archives, heading directly for a particularly dark corner that
no one ever bothered about (not that they bothered much with the rest of the
archives anyway) in the back of the room.
It was one of his secret places scattered throughout the Agency
building.
Unable to stop taking one more
quick, instinctive look around the room to check he was alone, Eberts dropped
into a decrepit swivel chair, a relic from who-knew-when that he'd salvaged
from a dumpster behind the Agency a few months ago. It stood before a small, rickety card table that held only a TV
and VCR.
He shoved the videotape he'd been carrying
into the VCR and turned on the telly.
He kept the volume as low as he
could while still loud enough to hear what was being said (both the tape and
the television set were from before closed captioning had become widely
available). And he sat back to relax
and enjoy his show.
When the opening credits started, an
irresistible grin settled itself onto his usually stolid face. He couldn't help but keep time with the
driving beat by tapping his foot silently against the floor; the eerie notes of
the theme song were so dear, so familiar he couldn't help humming softly
along. He was a little kid again,
sitting on the floor in front of the couch at home, ready to pounce on the set
controls to turn the TV off instantly if his parents came into the room-- then
he'd only get yelled at for being up so late, not also for having the TV
on. Or he was a teen again, still ready
with the remote because he had to hide away his guilty pleasure from the
ridicule he would receive otherwise.
He'd always had to keep the volume low those times, too.
Ahh, one of his favorite
stories. It didn't matter if he had
most of the dialogue memorized; Eberts was so engrossed in the tiny screen in
front of him and the nostalgia it evoked that he didn't hear the archives door
open, or a bored, curious Darien Fawkes come poking in.
But Darien heard the TV as soon as
he was in the room. It wasn't loud
enough to make out voices, individual words, but he could definitely hear
something and decided to investigate.
It wasn't like he had anything better to do this afternoon. When there wasn't a case for him to work on,
the Agency building could be a really dull place.
When he stumbled across Eberts
sprawled in front of an old television, he at first thought the Official's
sidekick was just watching another soap opera (CNN my ass Darien thought
to himself). And then he got a good
look at the screen.
"Oh hey!" he yelped in
surprise. "I know that
episode!"
Eberts almost fell out of his swivel
chair. He jerked around to stare up at
the lanky agent, his eyes wide in--fear?
"Mr Fawkes?" Eberts asked slowly, trying not to shake. He tensed, waiting for the derogatory
remarks to start. He really should be
used to being made fun of by now, but this was something new. Something else for the others to hold over
him.
"Yeah, yeah," Darien said,
coming closer, not noticing Eberts' discomfiture. "They're in Paris, right?
There's seven Mona Lisas, and they're all the real ones, yeah?"
Darien grinned rather goofily at the
TV screen in fond remembrance until he finally felt Eberts' gaze still resting
on him. He looked down. "You okay, Eberts?" he asked in
concern.
"You--you? You..." He was staring at the agent in awe. "You like Doctor Who?!"
Darien shrugged, still puzzled by
Eberts' amazed reaction. "Well,
yeah," he said. "I used to
watch it as a kid all the time. Don't
get to see it much lately, but I've got a few stories on tape. But this," he added with a grin and a
gesture to the screen, on which a tall curly-haired man and a woman with long
blonde hair were sitting inside a French café, "this is classic stuff,
man. His best!"
Eberts was grinning from ear to ear
in ecstatic joy. "It's one of my
favorites, too," he answered.
"There's a chair back there--just drop the files on the floor,
they'll be fine..."
Darien grabbed the chair and pulled
it over next to the renegade IRS accountant's, sitting down to watch the
story. Eberts kept shooting little
side-glances at the other man. "So
who's your favorite Doctor?" he asked at last, trying not to smirk in
happiness.
"Oh, I don't know. I think I like the next guy--Peter?"
"Davison," Eberts
confirmed with a gleeful little smile.
"I think I like
his--subtlety--more than Tom here's flamboyance." Darien laughed. "But my Aunt Celia did make my brother and me his
scarf. We kept fighting over who got to
keep it in their room--I think I eventually got it, after Kevin kinda gave up
sci-fi and got more into sci-fact."
The two continued their conversation
sporadically, most of their concentration on the show itself. At some point, the Keeper entered the
archives, clutching a bunch of folders and papers.
"Albert?" she called. "Eberts, are you down here? I was hoping you could help me out..."
she trailed off when she found Darien Fawkes and Albert Eberts sitting together
in front of a TV. She stared at the
backs of their heads in bemusement.
"What are you two
do--oh! It's the Doctor!" She paused in surprise, staring at the
screen now.
Darien and Eberts simultaneously
swung around to face her and ask, "You know Doctor Who?"
She shrugged, hugging her papers to
her chest and taking a step closer.
"Of course I do. I am from
England after all. I was rather sad
when I heard they cancelled the show."
She smiled reminiscently.
"I always did like the Doctor.
He helped me get interested in science, a bit, I think. I didn't realize someone is showing it here
in reruns, though," she added in curiosity.
"It's a tape," Darien and
Eberts again spoke in unison. They
glanced at each other sheepishly.
Claire was studying the screen
again, a look of dawning recognition crossing her face. "Oh, I remember this one! Didn't Douglas Adams write it?"
"Yep," Eberts beamed,
making room for Claire to sit down with them.
He felt like he'd died and gone to a lonely sci-fi fan's version of
heaven.
For a while there was a happy
almost-silence as the trio watched the episode, only occasionally commenting
amongst themselves about something or laughing at a particular line or part of
a scene. Eberts was positively ecstatic
to actually have people with which to talk about and with whom to watch one of
his favorite TV shows--he'd always had to hide this hobby of his, as he'd had
to hide so many others. It was wonderful
to be able to share it, at last, with like-minded people who could understand
his appreciation for these characters.
The archives door burst open. "Fawkes!" Hobbes hollered.
"Shhh!" he heard more than
one voice hiss from the back of the room.
Hobbes raised his eyebrows. He hadn't really expected to find Fawkes in
the archives, let alone anyone else.
This was curious indeed. He
followed the direction from which the voices had come, wondering what the hell
was going on.
"What the hell is going
on?" he asked when he found the Keeper, Eberts and his partner sitting in front of a television set. "Fawkes, the 'Fish is looking for
us--"
"Shh, this is a good bit,"
Darien waved a hand behind him, not even bothering to turn and look at his
partner.
Hobbes stepped closer to the others,
a frown on his face, his own attention caught by the screen. Something decidedly from the seventies,
judging by clothes, music, and picture quality. Everyone had funny accents, like the Keep's. The blonde chick was kinda cute, but her
friend in the scarf and coat definitely needed to take his meds (Hobbes would
know). Still, this was
interesting. Soon, Hobbes had found
another chair and was as involved as the others in the story.
As the credits began rolling on the
final episode of the four-part story, all four members of the Agency sat back,
laughing and talking (and asking questions in the case of Hobbes), not caring
that they'd been cramped together in a dark, dusty corner of the archives for
the past hour at least. "What
other stuff do you have on this tape?" Darien asked Eberts.
"Oh, it's a miscellaneous
tape--there's 'Castrovalva' and 'Happiness Patrol' as well."
"I remember seeing
'Castrovalva' for the first time," the Keeper said dreamily. "I always did like the fifth
Doctor. He was such a sweet young
man."
"So this guy travels through
time and space in that box?" Hobbes was trying to straighten the details
out in his mind. He usually didn't go
for science fiction--all that gobbledygook went right over his head and bored
him to tears--but this was kinda interesting.
Didn't even need expensive special effects that only looked cool,
either.
Alex Monroe paused by the archives
when she heard the babble of voices inside and, rolling her eyes, she entered
the room. "So there you all
are," she said when she found them, placing her hands on her hips. The others turned around to blink at
her. "I've been looking everywhere
for you, Hobbes, Fawkes. We're..."
she trailed off, looking at the television behind them in confusion, which was
still playing the tape and had moved onto the next story. "What's going on?"
"You've never seen Doctor Who?" Eberts asked,
surprised.
"Doctor who--what are you
talking about?"
"Oh come on, Agent
Monroe," Hobbes scoffed. "You
must've heard of the Doctor."
"You know, the Time Lord who
travels through time and space," the Keeper added, grinning half in
affection for the show, half in encouragement to the five-star agent.
"Yeah," Darien put in his
own contribution, "with the police box, and the sonic screwdriver--you
know...the police box...?" he trailed off when Alex gave him a long,
expressionless look.
Alex stared at each of them for a
moment. "You're all crazy, you
know that? When you're done down here,
the Official wants us in his office.
Okay?" She swept out of the archives without waiting for an answer.
There was a pause.
"Sad," Claire commented
with a look of vague pity on her face.
"How could she not know the
Doctor?" Eberts asked blankly.
"I feel sorry for her,"
Hobbes sighed.
"Let's rewind and watch another
ep," Darien suggested with a grin.
They settled back into their seats
again happily.
Okay,
so yeah, having three people in America who all work together actually knowing
the Doctor is about as likely as...I dunno, pigs flying, but who cares? That's the beauty of fiction. Allow me a little indulgence, all
right? The whole story is an
indulgence...but a shameless one. *evil
grin*
