Notes: Stuff about Betelgeuse is taken straight from an Astronomy textbook. I hope I'm there for that... (Heh, ask me about my pet theory relating the Doctor and O-type stars.)
Anyway, thank you to anyone who's read through this whole thing. (These notes have been typed before I posted it, so I can't thank anyone by name or respond to anything-- sorry.) Hopefully it's been at least as fun for you as it was for me.
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Epilogue
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"Y'know, for some reason, when I signed up for this? I never expected to get a cold." Rose sniffled and held her sleeve up to her nose. "Seemed too... normal, I guess."
"Technically, it was an alien retrovirus."
"Now that I should've expected." She sneezed. "I just hope it's cleared up by the next time I have to run for my life."
"Don't worry. We've got plenty of time. I know some places that are really harmless. Wait'll you see it; a sea, flash-frozen in the middle of a storm... Your galaxy, rising... Places with pink oceans and blue trees... Betelgeuse's going nova within a millenium of your time; might be interesting to see your species flap around like chickens with their heads cut off... they really do do that, you know."
"What, my species, or chickens?"
"Both. Betelgeuse'll be interesting, though. Ten times brighter than the full moon. Freak the hell out of everybody. Bloody hilarious. Watch the poor astronomers try to explain it's not an alien weapon, it's perfectly natural... half the population won't believe 'em... Come damn close to a nuclear response... Sad, really."
"Seriously?"
"Oh, yeah. Makes quite a splash. Like I said, ten times brighter than the full moon. Drives you people nuts."
"You just want to go there so you can make fun of my species, don't you?"
"Why can't we go somewhere that's fun for both of us?" He grinned. "Besides... someone's got to make sure you people don't blow yourselves up. Damned hard work, I'll have you know." He beamed at her.
She grinned back fondly, catching the tip of her tongue between her teeth, the way she usually did when he smiled like that. "Then we'd better get started, right?"
"Yep! Off we go!"
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In Apartment 42J on Aker Street, there was a man watching the news as he got ready to go to work.
There was a newspaper on his table, the classifieds section open and neatly folded, job offers circled in mauve. All paid less than his last job, but it was probably worth it not to be involved in a massive evil government conspiracy.
Especially as said conspiracies tended eventually to wind up on the news. This one had.
It had started, as it always did, with a group of nutters claiming they'd been kidnapped by magicians and subjected to genetic experimentation. At first it had only made the tabloids-- but then strange details kept coming up, like the L31 virus being present in their systems, and the mysterious bomb that went off in a classified government facility, and strange accounting irregularities in the BNS. People had begun showing up from out of the woodwork to testify. A guard here, a security person there, a former receptionist there. And it had slowly begun to be taken seriously. The mysterious, saintly skeletal woman with the ugly growths of featherless wings, subjecting herself to every objective scientific examination they could come up with... the "official" results hadn't been released yet, due to scientists' eternal need to cover their asses, but several members of the team had already leaked that the scientific evidence was strongly in support of their story.
Lyssa, Loren, Andy, Sibylla, and Ellis were being followed by a growing crowd of press, as the country slowly began to realize that their story was true.
Morry wasn't being followed by anybody. He sometimes felt a little resentful about that, but tried to remember that being followed by nobody was a hell of a lot better than being followed by an assassin.
Still, he did sort of want his virtue to be noticed. But he had been a coward for all but the last day of his employment, so he was probably lucky he had passed under the radar... virtue really was its own reward. He knew that whenever he caught his reflection in the mirror and could stare at it for a moment uneasily, instead of turning away at the slightest excuse like he had before.
He still wanted to know who that lunatic with the scarf was, though. And how the hell he'd pulled this off.
Because Morry knew damn well he had.
Morry pulled open his door; it was time for the next round of interviews. All of them thus far had been marred by his glaring lack of references from his former employer, not to mention his vagueness as to where his job had actually been.
But he'd find a job eventually. And it had been worth it. That, at least, he didn't doubt for a second.
He tripped over something and nearly fell, catching himself against his neighbor's door just in time. He yelled an apology before the bitter old lady could start haranguing him, and looked down to figure out what he could've tripped over.
It was a largish brown package, with two letters attached neatly to the top.
Morry blinked, picked up the package, and took it inside. Could be a bomb... but no one really cares that much about me, do they?
He took the first letter, which was typewritten, and opened it curiously.
Dear Mr. Morry,
You may not remember us, but you provided some services to us a few weeks ago that were greatly appreciated. As it happens, we are currently in need of an assistant to schedule our interviews with the press, our lawyers, our offices, and so forth. You have been reccommended to us by a source we consider unimpeachable, and thus we would like to offer you the first chance at this position.
Morry blinked rapidly. The next paragraph was a description of hours and salary; the hours were long, and the salary a trifle short, but it was... workable. But who on earth could have--?
Besides, all of us who know the real circumstances under which you lost your last position should stick together. To whom else can we talk about some lunatic in a magic blue box?
Please answer soon; we're getting drowned in calls.
And if you aren't as good a person as he thinks you are, I will pull your guts out through your nose. I'm pregnant and my father worked in the post office; I would reccommend against trifling with me.
Thank you.
Warmest regards,
Lyssa Loren'na
Morry blinked again. Them. Him.
She's clearly a lunatic. I'd have to be crazy.
Morry looked at the return address. Good, should be easy to get to if I take Central Circle.
The issue of his sanity settled, he looked at the other envelope. This one was handwritten, on a paper that was an unusual shade of white.
Morry,
Don't ask how I learned your name. I reccommended you to Lyssa and Loren because I can tell you'll be trustworthy, and we all do owe you. You did the right thing when it mattered most. Be proud of that.
You're probably still wondering who I am and what I am. Unfortunately, I'm a little hazy about that myself, most days. I can tell you (because you do deserve to know) that I am called the Doctor, and I am the same person you saw that day when you were young. It was a few hundred years ago for me, though, so I hope you don't try to eat that jelly baby. But jelly babies never go bad, what's wrong with me? That'd be impossible.
It was a few hundred years and five or so lives ago, and I really can't explain it to you.
Thank you, Morry, for helping us. You may not become famous for it, but I can promise you I'll remember. I always do. I know how hard it was to do the right thing instead of the safe thing, and I am always in awe of the people who are brave enough to do it. Silly, noble people like you are the reason the universe is still here.
Remember that, Morry. And thank you.
The Doctor
Morry opened the bundle with trembling hands, knowing what it was.
Jelly babies. An entire bag of them.
A quiet link to the miraculous.
He let out a breath in wonder, suddenly just grateful that he'd done the right thing, and the right thing had come out of it. That didn't happen every day.
He took a steadying breath, popped the candy into his mouth, and walked out to apply for his new job.
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