Episode: Paradigm of the Daleks
Chapter: Return of the... [1/4]
Summary: Winston Churchill wanted to protect his people. Edwin Bracewell wanted to help win the war. Amy Pond wanted to see her Raggedy Doctor happy. The Master wanted blood. Or the one where they answer Churchill's call and realize nothing matters anymore.
Rating: T
Amy adjusts the suit jacket one last time and finally smiles at her reflection, satisfied. The A-line navy skirt is extremely comfortable, the white wide-cuffed blouse is a perfect fit, the velvet short-heeled shoes are surprisingly in her size, and the shoulder-padded navy jacket is as snug as if it was literally made for her.
"I've got to say, the forties definitely look good on you," she tells her reflection, twirling around one more time to make sure her bun stays in place, before finally leaving the mirror. "Where do you get all this stuff?" she asks aloud, sifting through the clothes hung chaotically everywhere.
"Oh, you know, around," the Doctor answers from wherever he's changing, and Amy follows his voice. "Centuries of travel do that; you end up collecting souvenirs and the odd stray human here and there."
"Hey, I resemble that remark," Amy protests with a smirk, finally turning around a coat rack to see the Doctor in front of his own mirror. "What do you think?" she asks, twirling once more, and sees him look at her on the mirror before finally turning with a smirk on his face.
He's dressed in a nice silk-like shirt, a silver-lined navy waistcoat over it, square white handkerchief in its pocket, with maroon pants and shiny dark shoes. He has a dark velvet coat draped over an arm, and has just finished adjusting a bright sapphire cravat.
"Dashing," the Doctor answers with a smirk, puffing up regally, and Amy has to blink, surprised.
"Thank you," she finally tells him with a pompous smile and a curtsy.
"I was talking about me," he snorts as he walks past, putting on his jacket, and Amy grabs the closest item – a long and colorful stripped scarf – and throws it at his head.
"Your head's going to float off one of these days," she laughs, walking past him with her nose in the air as he chuckles and carefully folds the scarf. "And I'm pretty sure those aren't 1940s clothes, by the way. Now, come on, Raggedy Man! We'll be late!"
"We're in a time machine, we literally can't be late," the Doctor huffs as he finally joins her in the control room. "And call me Professor. I have the feeling I'm going to need to be the Professor this time."
"The Professor?" Amy repeats, confused and more than a bit curious.
After all, this is the first time, other than when chasing the Atraxi off, that he has actually introduced himself with a title instead of a made-up name. Just how many identities does he have anyway? Harold Saxon was his politician persona, so who is this Professor supposed to be?
"Mellow guy, really clever. I was a great professor, built a rocket control panel out of noodles," he answers simply, grinning widely but with true pride as he fiddles with the TARDIS' controls.
That is more than he ever showed for the name 'Harold', back at Starship UK. This amount of feeling is only reserved for the name Doctor, which makes Amy think this Professor name is actually, truly, his, in a way 'Harold' never was.
… She would love to hear the story of his life, someday. But as long as he keeps refusing to take back his name, as long as he keeps trying on new identities, she can't ask.
Amy knows, in some way, what he's going through – after all, she ditched her own name to separate from that little girl who believed in time-travelling aliens, made herself Amy Pond. So, she's aware that he is running away from something, trying to split from whatever happened to hurt the Doctor to such an extent. And so, she accepts all the name switching and waits patiently for the day he'll get his footing back, the day he'll find himself again and be able to look at his past instead of run from it.
So, until that day comes, Amy will smile and wait and bite her tongue every time she feels like asking about past adventures more in-depth than he's comfortable talking about.
"That isn't that great an achievement. Kids build rockets out of pasta all the time," she mocks, sitting in the comfy jump seat as he finishes inputting the coordinates.
"Ah, but human children can't make them fly, can they?" he retorts, sending her a sharp grin over his shoulder, and Amy does a doubletake.
"Wait, you mean you were actually serious about that?"
"It was actually gluten extract, but it looked like boiled gray noodles. Perfect to bind the neutralino map," he answers nonchalantly with a shrug, piloting the moaning and shuddering TARDIS while Amy holds onto the seat and gapes.
"No way! You actually built a rocket out of food? On your own?"
"Not the whole rocket, just the launch systems, when we ran out of parts. And of course I had help. A little blue bug, always buzzing around, driving me mad."
"Everyone drives you mad," Amy snorts, hopping off the seat when the TARDIS finally lands, and the Professor blinks, startled.
"Huh. Well, what do you know? You're actually right," he laughs with a large sharp grin, joining her by the door and offering her his arm. "Shall we, Miss Pond?"
"Yes, we shall, Professor," she answers with a chuckle, twining their arms, and, without more delay, they step outside and let the door lock behind their backs.
Amy's smile falls as soon as she sees all the guns pointed at them, her grip on his arm tightening. The Professor, on the other hand, hums in surprise, lifting his eyebrows.
"I know these are wartimes and all, but really? Can you be any more cliché?" he asks calmly, unbothered, as he turns to the, ah, round gentleman standing behind the row of soldiers, cigar between his lips and hat and glasses on.
"Is that Winston Churchill?" Amy whispers, leaning closer to the Professor, who answers with a 'yup', popped 'p' and all.
"Ah, Doctor. We meet again," Winston Churchill says out loud, rolling the words like a classic Bond villain, and Amy feels her eyebrows climb to her hairline.
"I go by Professor now, if you don't mind. 'Doctor' doesn't really suit me," the Professor answers amiably, still ignoring the guns. "Now, you called?"
"The TARDIS key. Think, Professor, of all the lives that could be saved. Won't you give it to me?" Churchill asks, gesturing a bit with his cigar, and Amy looks between the Prime Minister and the alien, not sure what to think.
Churchill called for the Doctor's help, but the way he's acting now kind of destroys any idea of peaceful relationships she could have imagined before. Then again, the Professor isn't exactly worried…
"Think of all the worlds that could be lost. No, I don't think I will. The TARDIS stays with me," the Professor answers, but this time, there's a note of finality, a warning, in his careless words and calm tone.
Churchill chuckles and waves a hand, and the soldiers put down their guns.
"One day, I'll convince you otherwise. But now, come on. I did call for you, after all," he tells them, cheerful, as he leads the way down the corridor.
Still stunned, Amy doesn't release the Professor's arm, following in silence, as she tries to piece things together. Is this some kind of inside joke? Or are the two of them serious, yet know each other well enough to just shrug off threats of bodily harm?
"You changed your face again."
"Yeah, well, not exactly my first choice," the Professor huffs, pouting like a child, and Amy finally lets his arm go, smothering a laugh.
Boys.
Oh, well. She's here with Winston Churchill and no one is trying to kill each other. It could be worse.
And that's when the whole building rocks with an explosion.
Everyone else seems unbothered by it, though, so, after a couple seconds of surprise, Amy catches up to the two men with a wide smile.
"Oh, we're in the Cabinet Rooms, aren't we?" she exclaims, and, after a puff of his cigar, Churchill nods.
"The top-secret heart of the War Office, right under London," the Professor answers cheerfully, hands in his pockets and as composed as if he was in a palace.
"Indeed," Churchill agrees, pulling his cigar out of his mouth before turning to the Professor with a serious look. "You're late, by the way. I rang you a month ago."
"She did it again!" the Professor groans, dropping his head back, while Amy laughs.
"We're in a time machine, we literally can't be late?" she quotes, earning herself a scoff and a glare that only make her laugh again.
"It's the TARDIS, not me! We had a, uh, disagreement a bit back, and she hasn't forgiven me yet."
"You must have done something," Amy pokes, waiting patiently while Churchill talks with a young uniformed woman who brought him some forms for him to sign. "You do have this bad habit of pissing people off, after all."
"Hey! It is not a bad habit, thank you very much. I put a lot of effort into it," he protests, puffing up indignantly, and, suppressing a new bout of laughter, Amy nods solemnly.
"Yes, of course you do," she answers, keeping her calm for all of two seconds before a smile splits her face. "Your spoiled brat imitation is the best."
"Why, thank you!" he chirps back with a huge grin, and the two of them share a laugh before Churchill gestures for them to follow.
"Come on, Professor. I have something to show you," he tells them, guiding them to a lift after a brief exchange with a soldier.
All cheer dies as soon as the doors close behind them and they start their ascent. The tension fills the lift much like the cigar's smoke, which the Professor waves away from his face with his nose scrunched in distaste.
"We stand at a crossroads, Professor, quite alone, with our backs to the wall. Invasion is expected daily. So, I will grasp with both hands anything that will give us an advantage over the Nazi menace," Churchill tells them, seriously, and Amy turns to the Professor, who is analyzing the Prime Minister almost expectantly.
Amy rolls her eyes.
Like a child with a new toy, she thinks, and doesn't bother hiding her smile. At least this time, unlike with the Starship, he's relaxed, even with the war all around them. No cries unheard by human ears, no extra or missing pieces, no blatant secrets. Just a human war, and a man desperate enough to keep his people safe to call for the help of an alien time traveler.
It's sad that she should think this way, but Amy is glad.
They set off as soon as they were done showering, after receiving the call, once Amy convinced the Professor she was feeling up to another adventure, no need for a nap. They took a bite back at the Starship, as they made their way to the TARDIS through the market, and she really hadn't felt tired.
She isn't tired now either, though she'll definitely need a good night's sleep once this is over.
Amy wonders for a moment if there exists such a thing as time-lag, before the smoke and the barrage balloons covering London steal her breath away.
The rooftop they're on is covered in sandbags, soldiers standing at the edges. There's a higher roof level with even more sandbags, accessible up a ladder on the wall, with a man wearing a lab coat and a helmet standing on it, looking at the sky through a pair of large binoculars.
"Professor, this is Professor Edwin Bracewell. Head of our Ironsides Project," Churchill shouts over the roar of the wind, approaching planes and falling bombs, gesturing at the scientist.
The man turns at the sound of his name, putting the binoculars off his glasses, and gives them a wave.
"How do you do?" he calls amicably before returning to his observation, after both Amy and the Professor give him a couple waves of their own.
"What is this Ironsides Project?" the Professor asks, but Churchill is pulled away by one of the sentries before he can answer.
Unbothered, he merely shrugs and returns to Amy's side, who's rubbing her upper arms to try and chase away the cold of realization. This is London. In the Second World War. 1941, constant bombings, so much death and destruction… And here they are, an alien and a time traveler, and there's nothing they can do.
"Oh, Professor. How can you do this? How can you go to all these magnificent places knowing there will be all these horrible wars and – and do nothing?" she asks, curling a bit more into herself but turning when she sees him shrug.
"It's history. Everything, future or past, is history. You can't fix everything and you can't save everyone. The sooner you accept that, the better. Bad things happen all the time," he answers nonchalantly, looking out at the balloons and ignoring the explosion of a bomb fallen close by.
"Still…" Amy whispers, also looking out at the city and feeling very small and very helpless.
"Hey now, no need for that. Like I said, bad things happen all the time. That doesn't mean you have to just stop everything and wait for death. In fact, it's more the reason to go out and do things! Bad things will happen. So, don't you just sit down and wait for them, go. Explore, live, do the things you want to, so that, when those bad things do happen, you have no regrets left," he huffs, standing taller, and Amy can't do more than stare at him with wide eyes for a moment, absorbing the words.
Finally, with a smile on her lips, she straightens and bumps her shoulder into his.
"Alright, wise guy. But don't spoil my future, you hear me? I want to be surprised still."
"Now, why would I do that?"
"Ready, Bracewell?" Churchill calls, interrupting their smile exchange, and, curious, both of them turn to see the scientist who, without looking away from the sky, answers with a thumbs up.
"On my order… Fire!"
Bolts of green laser fly from behind the sandbags on the higher rooftop with a laser-y twang, and the line of barely distinguishable planes approaching the city explodes upon impact.
The Professor gasps and takes a step back, bowing his head to press the heels of his hands against his temples while closing his eyes tightly.
"Professor?" Amy asks, worried, and he answers with a deep breath and slightly chocked chuckling.
"Oh, wow, I really need to get some sleep. That almost sounded like—nope. Definitely not. I'm sleep deprived, must be starting to hallucinate," he rambles, mostly to himself, before taking in another deep breath and straightening with a too wide grin. "Fine, fine, just had a bit of auditory deja vu. Still, that didn't sound human, definitely not the technology of the time, wouldn't you agree?"
"Yeah… Whatever that was just blew up the planes with one shot too. What do you think it might be?" Amy asks, shaking her worry off in favor of the issue at hand.
After this is over, she's definitely sitting him down again for another intervention. They met after something that managed to almost destroy the TARDIS. Then, while Amy spent twelve years before their next meeting, it was just five minutes for him, and, according to his own words, almost no time passed during the two years after the Atraxi. And neither the Professor nor Amy have slept since she boarded the TARDIS. So, that begs the question, how long has it been since he last had one full night of sleep?
If Amy doesn't like the answer to that, he'll be sorry.
"That's our new secret weapon. The Ironsides," Churchill tells them, puffing up proudly, before gesturing towards the ladder in invitation.
So, without any more delay, the Professor climbs up with Amy right on his heels, joining the widely smiling Bracewell, who has just put his binoculars down, satisfied with the destruction of the German bombers.
"Ah, Professor… What was it again?"
"Just the Professor," the alien answers with an amicable smile, shaking the man's hand. "And this is Amy Pond. Say, Professor Bracewell, what are these Ironsides of yours? Quite the destructive power!"
"Thank you, Professor, Miss Pond. The Ironsides are an invention of mine, created to help the Allied cause in any way they can. Advance!" Bracewell tells them, shouting the last word over his shoulder at the sandbags. "They will smash the German forces and win the war. That is the ultimate aim I programmed them with," he adds proudly as, with some whirring, one of his Ironsides appears from behind the sandbags.
Amy's first thought is that it's big, almost as tall as herself. The second is that it looks like a peppershaker that someone painted khaki green, wrapped a toolbelt around it, and stuck some spheres at the bottom and some sticks on the top and middle. The third is that the Professor has stopped breathing.
As soon as she registers that last one, Amy whirls around, worried.
The Professor is standing stock still, pale as death and with his eyes blown wide and a really pale amber. He doesn't look like he's breathing, but that must be because of him being literally frozen in terror.
Amy thinks she should reach for him, try to shake him and demand he breathes again and tells her what is wrong, when the Ironside turns to them. One of its 'arms' looks like a whisk, while the other reminds her of a plunger. Its two 'ears' seem to be made of glass, and Amy has to wonder if they light up. Its 'nose' is actually an eyestalk, judging by the blue light at the end.
All in all, it would be a ridiculous invention, if it wasn't for the fact that, as soon as it 'looks' at them, the Professor takes in a sharp breath, jerks back – and falls off the rooftop.
"Doctor!" Amy shouts, reaching for him, but she's too late.
He falls on his back with a loud thud and breathless oomph, quickly scrambling to his feet in the couple seconds it takes Amy to start her descent. So, she's face to face with his terrified expression when she finally hops to the ground, pale amber eyes locked on the higher rooftop, where a worried Bracewell is looking down at them with the Ironside rolling smoothly to his side.
"Are you alright?" he calls, clearly concerned, but the Doctor shakily moves further away from them, shaking his head softly in denial as he whispers broken sentences under his breath.
"It can't be… It can't be, they were destroyed… It can't be…" he whimpers, completely unaware of Amy's presence at his side, hovering and torn between hugging him or trying to make herself heard through whatever's going on in his head.
She's not sure whether to even touch him, for God's sake. As he is right now, he can either not notice her touch or attack her.
So, in the end, Amy decides talking will be better for both of them.
"Doctor?" she calls softly, barely above a whisper – and jumps when he turns to her with a full flinch, panicked eyes meeting hers as he starts hyperventilating.
"They were supposed to be gone," he whimpers, almost as if begging her to tell him that 'they' are, and that whatever he's so afraid of is nothing more than his imagination and the lack of sleep, but before she can put herself together, he turns back to Bracewell and the Ironside and all his panic morphs into hate. "What are you doing here," he snarls, and Amy is the one to jerk away in fear this time.
True, honest to God fear. For the first time in fourteen years, Amy is actually afraid of what her Raggedy Doctor might do. This is not the coolly calm Raggedy Man who made the Atraxi run, or the crazed Harold Saxon who threatened to kill the whole of Starship UK for what they did to the last Star Whale, or even the serious Professor who would not surrender the TARDIS key, not even when kind of joking with Winston Churchill.
Whoever this man is, Amy is not even sure if he is the Doctor, with such hatred and deadliness in his every line, and that only terrifies her even more. The Doctor is crazy, grumpy, quirky, serious, eccentric, cool, childish, composed, resentful, inspiring, cheeky, reliable… Amy's Raggedy Doctor is a lot of things, but hateful is not one of them.
Or, at least, she didn't know it was until now.
Judging by how he shuffles back, eyes wide, Bracewell is as unsettled and fearful as Amy. The Ironside, on the other hand, stays completely still.
And then, with a robotic voice that Amy definitely wasn't expecting but that fits it perfectly, the Ironside speaks.
"I am your soldier."
For a moment, the Doctor looks about to throw up.
Then, he runs.
AN: Beware of the rating, this one turned out way darker than I thought…
The Master falling off the roof in surprise? Based on the way the Doctor bolted in Dalek, when he realized just what the Metaltron was. The Eleventh Doctor knew not all Daleks had been destroyed, as he'd had different encounters with them before, so he just stood up to the Ironside. The Master? Well, let's say he had more important things to worry about in those eighteen months playing Harold Saxon than check if Daleks kept coming back from the dead, like preparing the Toclafane, the Paradox Machine, his election and Plan B (aka the Books of Saxon); checking the background of the Doctor's companions in case of trouble (which is why he mentions the Bad Wolf when he finally catches Martha, at the end of the Year That Never Was, but doesn't bother learning why because Rose is not a problem anymore); and trying to find out what happened to Gallifrey.