"..sor. Doctor! Can you hear me? Professor?"
Slowly, the Doctor opened his eyes. The sight of Ace's concerned face staring down at him made him smile. "Hello Ace."
She smiled. "All right, Professor?" He nodded in reply, and her smiled widened. He pushed himself to his elbows- then sank back down again. His back ached all over. "I wouldn't try it, Professor," he heard Ace say somewhere to his right. "You landed pretty hard. You must have been out for about an hour. Me and Arthur had to carry you back between us."
For the first time, he noticed that he was back in the TARDIS. By the look of it, he was in Ace's room- the telltale piles of discarded junk confirmed his suspicions. He noticed his straw hat atop one of the piles and sighed. "You're a perfect example of the stereotypical human teenager. No respect for your own belongings. How can you find anything in this mess?"
Ace looked hurt. "It's not mess- it's organised clutter! I can pinpoint anything I own by which pile it's in. Which is more than I can say for all of your junk."
"Junk?" he replied in amazement. "I am not one taken to collecting 'junk'. Everything I own has a specific purpose."
"So has mine!" Ace retorted. "Besides, all of your stuff makes as much sense to me as this thing." She waved a hand in gesture to the TARDIS itself. Suddenly, her face spilt into the huge grin that usually meant trouble for the Doctor. "Professor..." she started, her voice soft and persuasive. He could almost guess what was coming next. "Since you're going to need some rest time, maybe now would be a good time to explain some of this... sciencey stuff to me." He opened his mouth in opposition at the thought that space/time travel could be referred to as 'sciencey stuff'. But the pleading look on his companion's face changed his mind. He sighed again. Oh well. He'd have to explain it to her some day- better to get it over with now.
"The TARDIS is an extremely complex piece of Gallifreyan technology. It's interior is actually part of a fifth dimension, which is why it is much larger on the inside than its exterior. In theory, we should-"
"So why does it look like a police box?"
The Doctor rolled his eyes. "If you would let me finish, I can tell you."
"Sorry Professor." She grinned again.
"In theory, we should be able to alter the exterior appearance of the TARDIS to fit in with the area around it. There is a circuit called the Chameleon circuit which deals with all that. Unfortunately, it hasn't been working properly for ages. I gave up trying to repair it in my last form. Trying to find a door in an antique dresser with a young American girl laughing at you isn't as easy as it sounds." He smiled at Ace's puzzlement. "One of my earlier companions. She took every occasion to make fun of me when my attempts at fixing things went wrong. It was the faulty chameleon circuit that made the TARDIS stay as a police box. In my earliest form, I visited a scrap yard in Totters Lane in London. The chameleon circuit altered the outward appearance of the TARDIS to blend in, then overloaded. I should have guessed that something like that would happen- these old type 40's are very unreliable."
"Yeah, I'd noticed." No matter how hard she tried, Ace couldn't keep this sentence beyond the Doctor's hearing. He frowned, then continued.
"I think it would have been a bit conspicuous if one of the newer models had disappeared from under the very noses of the Time Lords. That's why I borrowed an older one, one they were less likely to miss."
"Hang on," Ace interjected. The Doctor smiled to himself. He though that that would get her attention. "Borrowed? You mean you nicked the TARDIS?"
"I did no such thing! It is merely out on an overdue loan."
"You make it sound like a dusty old library book!"
"Dusty, no- old, yes. But it serves. Just." They shared a mischievous smirk.
"I wouldn't have thought you would have nicked anything, Professor. You just don't seem the type."
He looked at her questioningly. "Oh? And what does seem the type to you?"
She shrugged. "I dunno. Someone younger. Not that you're old or anything!" she added hastily as the Doctor's face darkened. "Just someone more reckless. More thrill seeking. More. more."
"More like you?"
She gaped at him. "Professor!"
"Well, I don't know. I hardly know anything about you. While we're on lengthy discussions, maybe you could explain to me a little about yourself."
"This isn't a job interview, Professor."
"So don't turn it into one! Now. Ace- that can't possibly be your real name."
She stared at the floor, looking slightly embarrassed. "No," she agreed.
The Doctor leant forward, and managed to successfully prop himself up. "So what is it then?"
Her eyes darted up to meet his. "Promise you won't tell anyone?"
He laughed. "Who is there to tell! It can't be so bad that you have to hide behind an alias for the rest of your life!" She still didn't look convinced. "Look, Ace," he said in a comforting tone. "If you don't want me to know, then tell me so. You are under my protection- even if the Daleks come back with more ultimate power-seeking schemes, they can't force me to tell them!" She laughed at the thought of the Doctor strapped to a torture device screaming 'Okay, okay, I'll tell you her name!'. It was so ridiculous. But it worked.
"Okay. I'll tell you. But don't laugh."
"Ace, trust me."
"My real name's Dorothy."
There was silence- until..
"You? Dorothy!"
Ace glared. "You said you wouldn't laugh!" But he couldn't hear her over his own guffaws. "Fine," she spat viciously. "See you later, Professor."
Slowly, the Doctor opened his eyes. The sight of Ace's concerned face staring down at him made him smile. "Hello Ace."
She smiled. "All right, Professor?" He nodded in reply, and her smiled widened. He pushed himself to his elbows- then sank back down again. His back ached all over. "I wouldn't try it, Professor," he heard Ace say somewhere to his right. "You landed pretty hard. You must have been out for about an hour. Me and Arthur had to carry you back between us."
For the first time, he noticed that he was back in the TARDIS. By the look of it, he was in Ace's room- the telltale piles of discarded junk confirmed his suspicions. He noticed his straw hat atop one of the piles and sighed. "You're a perfect example of the stereotypical human teenager. No respect for your own belongings. How can you find anything in this mess?"
Ace looked hurt. "It's not mess- it's organised clutter! I can pinpoint anything I own by which pile it's in. Which is more than I can say for all of your junk."
"Junk?" he replied in amazement. "I am not one taken to collecting 'junk'. Everything I own has a specific purpose."
"So has mine!" Ace retorted. "Besides, all of your stuff makes as much sense to me as this thing." She waved a hand in gesture to the TARDIS itself. Suddenly, her face spilt into the huge grin that usually meant trouble for the Doctor. "Professor..." she started, her voice soft and persuasive. He could almost guess what was coming next. "Since you're going to need some rest time, maybe now would be a good time to explain some of this... sciencey stuff to me." He opened his mouth in opposition at the thought that space/time travel could be referred to as 'sciencey stuff'. But the pleading look on his companion's face changed his mind. He sighed again. Oh well. He'd have to explain it to her some day- better to get it over with now.
"The TARDIS is an extremely complex piece of Gallifreyan technology. It's interior is actually part of a fifth dimension, which is why it is much larger on the inside than its exterior. In theory, we should-"
"So why does it look like a police box?"
The Doctor rolled his eyes. "If you would let me finish, I can tell you."
"Sorry Professor." She grinned again.
"In theory, we should be able to alter the exterior appearance of the TARDIS to fit in with the area around it. There is a circuit called the Chameleon circuit which deals with all that. Unfortunately, it hasn't been working properly for ages. I gave up trying to repair it in my last form. Trying to find a door in an antique dresser with a young American girl laughing at you isn't as easy as it sounds." He smiled at Ace's puzzlement. "One of my earlier companions. She took every occasion to make fun of me when my attempts at fixing things went wrong. It was the faulty chameleon circuit that made the TARDIS stay as a police box. In my earliest form, I visited a scrap yard in Totters Lane in London. The chameleon circuit altered the outward appearance of the TARDIS to blend in, then overloaded. I should have guessed that something like that would happen- these old type 40's are very unreliable."
"Yeah, I'd noticed." No matter how hard she tried, Ace couldn't keep this sentence beyond the Doctor's hearing. He frowned, then continued.
"I think it would have been a bit conspicuous if one of the newer models had disappeared from under the very noses of the Time Lords. That's why I borrowed an older one, one they were less likely to miss."
"Hang on," Ace interjected. The Doctor smiled to himself. He though that that would get her attention. "Borrowed? You mean you nicked the TARDIS?"
"I did no such thing! It is merely out on an overdue loan."
"You make it sound like a dusty old library book!"
"Dusty, no- old, yes. But it serves. Just." They shared a mischievous smirk.
"I wouldn't have thought you would have nicked anything, Professor. You just don't seem the type."
He looked at her questioningly. "Oh? And what does seem the type to you?"
She shrugged. "I dunno. Someone younger. Not that you're old or anything!" she added hastily as the Doctor's face darkened. "Just someone more reckless. More thrill seeking. More. more."
"More like you?"
She gaped at him. "Professor!"
"Well, I don't know. I hardly know anything about you. While we're on lengthy discussions, maybe you could explain to me a little about yourself."
"This isn't a job interview, Professor."
"So don't turn it into one! Now. Ace- that can't possibly be your real name."
She stared at the floor, looking slightly embarrassed. "No," she agreed.
The Doctor leant forward, and managed to successfully prop himself up. "So what is it then?"
Her eyes darted up to meet his. "Promise you won't tell anyone?"
He laughed. "Who is there to tell! It can't be so bad that you have to hide behind an alias for the rest of your life!" She still didn't look convinced. "Look, Ace," he said in a comforting tone. "If you don't want me to know, then tell me so. You are under my protection- even if the Daleks come back with more ultimate power-seeking schemes, they can't force me to tell them!" She laughed at the thought of the Doctor strapped to a torture device screaming 'Okay, okay, I'll tell you her name!'. It was so ridiculous. But it worked.
"Okay. I'll tell you. But don't laugh."
"Ace, trust me."
"My real name's Dorothy."
There was silence- until..
"You? Dorothy!"
Ace glared. "You said you wouldn't laugh!" But he couldn't hear her over his own guffaws. "Fine," she spat viciously. "See you later, Professor."