A/n: FanFiction: A place where people who shouldn't be writers but need to be writers can post some of their writing to be accessed by a real audience in the hopes of getting feedback that could provide some insight on how to improve.
A/n: Irony: Incongruity between what might be expected and what actually occurs.
IMPOSSIBLE THINGS
'What? ... What!'
All the events of today caused the Doctor to break into a run back to town. He hadn't thought much of any of the events back at Farringham village. Not even the big white van that had passed him coming down the lane had seemed suspicious to him at the time. But now his TARDIS was gone and that made everything suddenly quite serious.
Retracing the series of events it was the van that had been the last thing to happen. The Doctor remembered it had passed him on its way back to town. And thinking on the town: break-ins ... in a measly population of six hundred people? Surely it wouldn't be hard to find the burglar and what had they in fact stolen? A 'trinket'? What sort of 'trinket'? Perhaps it was a really old, unbranded trinket? And what about the woman from whom it was stolen? Who was she to be sitting there in a small town cafe with a name like 'Martha'? And then there was Verity Newman's book sitting in triplicate in the pile of books and magazines for sale. Verity, of course, had been named after John Smith's mother.
Weighing up the likelihood of more than one thief in a population of six hundred and six the Doctor decided whoever had taken the trinket had also taken the TARDIS. But what would an illicit collector of trinkets want with an old blue police box they couldn't open? They couldn't open it without the key ... In another jolt of nerves the Doctor felt into his breast pocket and found his sonic screwdriver. Then he felt into his right hand trouser pocket and discovered what he'd dreaded.
The TARDIS' key was gone.
Clearly it was the boy on the skateboard who had snuck it off him while the Doctor had been busy keeping them both from falling over.
The Doctor pelted back up the main street noticing that Ralph and his Ute were gone.
Hurrying into the cafe the Doctor discovered the two women had also left so that source of information had dried up. "Oh, no-no-no-no-no!" He dragged his fingers desperately through his hair and turned to the sales counter.
The fellow who had served him the cake earlier returned from the back of the shop and casually greeted him with a nod of his head and a calm look on his face.
"Uh, excuse me. Hi. Fred, wasn't it?" The Doctor gave a nervous clenched-teeth smile.
"You look like you lost something mighty important, sir." The middle-aged man had a mild voice to match his mild facial expression.
"Uh ... what an excellent choice of words ... I was just wondering. The lady that was over there; Martha, her name was. The one who'd had her house broken into last night. Can you tell me perhaps, because you were obviously listening as well ... what was it that ... got stolen?"
The man frowned with a slight blush; obviously embarrassed at being caught eavesdropping. "Well, it was a watch." Fred set to work behind the barista machine.
"It was her granddad's fob watch." The Doctor felt like he'd been caught in a web. "And it had intricate circle engravings on the case." He rubbed his face. "But it's just a watch now; it doesn't do anything but keep the time." He murmured to himself.
But it still would work with the TARDIS' Chameleon Arch mechanism.
But it wouldn't work without a Time Lord's consciousness.
"Yeah, it did. How'd you know it had circles on the case? You're not from around here I would've thought."
"Actually I had one just like it once." The Doctor countered picking up a brisk pace with his words, "tell me, coz' this town isn't exactly overrun with motorized transport and there can't be too many of the sort being driven around and all that ... who owns the big white van?"
"Oh, you'll be after 'Captain' Graham." The shop manager answered with a slight sneer. "That's the man you'll want to take any business up with if it has to do with the van."
"You don't hear many country people called 'Captain'."
"He used to be a captain. Dishonourably discharged so I've heard and he landed a job working for so-and-so up on the hill." The man shook his head and handed the Doctor a cup of tea. "On the house, I reckon you need it, sir. It'll clear your head for you."
"Thanks-." The Doctor gratefully took the drink in pleasant surprise. He was about to ask about Captain Graham's employer but Fred carried on.
"There are plenty of terrible things that happen in the world." Fred started on, "And the funny thing is it doesn't matter where you are. Trouble always manages to find you."
"Me?" The Doctor gritted at the truth in that statement. "Or is it me that finds the trouble?"
"I reckon that's the snarky thing about trouble, sir. There's the trouble you ask for and the trouble you don't." Fred nodded knowingly. "You, me; anyone. Everyone."
The Doctor took a sip and felt the antioxidants helping his synapses immediately.
"I'll give you an example. There's Aaron Freeman who got his truck bogged for nearly a week six winters ago. He didn't see it coming. Last winter he found himself sitting atop of the truck in the same boggy spot; stuck as anything. He didn't see it coming. There was trouble he asked for."
"He didn't learn his lesson then?"
"I'd never think too badly on a soul. One man's common sense is another man's unfathomable mystery of the universe."
"Oh, now that is very true."
"For Aaron it's the great hurrying rush he's always in that undoes him. He can think clearly but not when he gets like that."
The Doctor could see that too; The TARDIS had a knack for getting him into trouble. She joined in with him with that spirit for helping people but today was one of those times when her shenanigans had given her the shorter stick.
"And then there were the floods nine years ago that nobody asked for. The Christophers lost over ten head of cattle and across town a tree came down in the winds and landed on Mary Stace's garage. The garage roof collapsed and pulled half the guttering off her house to boot." Fred shook his head and regarded the Doctor with a steady knowing look. "The point is that trouble is meted out to everyone like a tax. No one's exempt. You can try to prove me wrong. Show me an untroubled person and I'll show you a person who has a positive attitude and who knows how to ask for a helping hand. That's because that's all that there is." Fred explained. "It doesn't make you weak to need help, and it doesn't matter how big the problem is. There's a helping hand out there for you and you're a better person for asking." He advised the Doctor.
"Not for me." The Doctor said sadly, thinking on Donna. "I had a friend. And she was brilliant. But I think ... my kind of trouble isn't ... well, I don't want to bring anyone else into it. I made my trouble hers, and that's ... I didn't mean to."
"The reason I brought up Mary Stace is because her garage may have been flattened but her car was fine." Fred kindly interrupted, "and the reason for that is at the time the tree came down she was over at the Christophers helping to get their cattle up to the highlands." Fred smiled. "Now just supposing what would've happened if Mary Stace hadn't been helping the Christophers that day? If she hadn't been over there at their place they'd have easily lost another fifty odd cattle and Mary would have had no car. Just fancy the fate that friend of yours would've had were she not helping you. Just fancy it because it's not just your fate that's affected. It's also your friend's."
"I don't think it works in this particular case." The Doctor replied grimly. "She was better off without me."
"That'd make it easy if it were true wouldn't it?" Fred countered wisely. "But if she had enough sense in her head to make the decision and she wasn't the one doing the walking then would she believe she was better off without you? You should ask her."
The Doctor swallowed a bitter lump in his throat. Tears stung his eyes as he took another sip of tea. It might be true that Donna Noble was a sensible person but it wasn't a choice for either of them.
Fred shook his head. "So you walk away from helping hands often?"
The Doctor stared at him. "What? It's not as though I had a choice!"
"I can't tell you how many times I've heard that old line and it's never more than complete stuff and nonsense." Fred stared pointedly back. "That's exactly what Aaron Freeman was thinking as he drove into the bog. He couldn't think of any other way to do it. He couldn't think of waiting a few days till the ground had dried a bit; he couldn't think of sparing just half an hour to fetch some spare planks to put down; he couldn't even think to spare fifteen minutes to go the long way around. Not having a choice is only a fellow's bad habit of closing his mind."
"If I could've thought of a way to do it I would've." The Doctor said bitterly.
"Yes." Fred turned away from him and attended to wiping down the bench. "Such a pity you stopped thinking on it."
Fred locked eyes with the Doctor. "I do well to remind you how Beethoven got to be immortal. A man of intelligence should be spoilt for choice. There are many ways to go about getting a thing done if a man could just let himself see them."
The Doctor stared at the man agape. "Latimer isn't it?" He asked, unable to get anything else off his tongue.
"Frederick Timothy Latimer," he answered in affirmative. "I'm also known around these parts as a friendly ear, a good source of sensible advice and the husband of the best cook in an attested seventy mile radius." Fred finished proudly. "And you know why she's my wife?"
"At a guess: because you can't cook?"
"Because she fancies herself as my helping hand, bless her, and I do right by her as her helping hand. We've been together for thirty-two years and we've been best friends since we where in third grade."
The Doctor smiled with Fred's steady contentedness showing through on his face. He finished the tea.
"So anyway, who is Captain Graham's employer?"
"Captain Graham is Ms Angela Galloway-Wormleighton's employee." Fred sniffed disdainfully as he took back the cup. "I suppose she'd need a person like that out on the digs."
The Doctor mouthed her name. "So is she into archaeology then?"
"Oh, yes, that's the official term." Fred leaned closer to him. "But you know what an archaeologist is, don't you? It's just a fancy way of saying 'land pirate'. Digging up tombs and searching for buried treasure all comes under the same heading if you ask me. Aunt Martha's too polite for her own good or she'd go charging right up the hill and have it out with that lot." There was an expectant gleam in Fred's eye.
"You think I should?" The Doctor guessed.
"I figure a person like you doesn't sit around doing nothing about it when they get ticked off. I also reckon that Angela could do with a good straightening out."
The Doctor mused. This Angela Galloway-Wormleighton would be the one in possession of his TARDIS right now. "Does sound like a job for me."
"Frankly she's got to realise that decent country folk don't carry on like that. There's a very good reason that we all behave ourselves. We've got to stick together. Sooner or later she'll be for it. That woman hasn't got a yardstick to gauge when to stop. One day she'll take her lot out too far into the bog and there'll be nobody around to help."
The Doctor was feeling stronger within himself. "So, where does this Ms Angela Galloway-Wormleighton live then?"
"Farringham School for Boys. You know where that is? You just head-."
"-West for about twenty two minutes." The Doctor finished with a momentary stunned feeling. "I've been there before." He straightened from the counter and turned to leave. His eyes caught on the titles of the row of books behind the newspapers. There were three copies of A Journal of Impossible Things. "Oh, Fred, you wouldn't happen to know ... if Angela would have read Verity Newman's book?"
"A Journal of Impossible Things." Fred recited the title from memory. "Most likely. Everyone in the village has since it's what's made us famous. It's like we suddenly exist to the rest of the world. That book has brought a lot of tourist business to this town."
"It has?" The Doctor smiled, genuinely cheering up with this shard of information. "That's good news then."
"Now that you mentioned it Ms Angela moved out here not two months after that book got published."
"I must warn you, though, Doctor. Angela's the ambitious sort. She's got no yardstick and no brakes and that's the trouble she asks for. The only question is how long it'll take before she puts herself right in it and gets more than she bargained for." He picked up the empty cup. "I hope you have a better afternoon, sir, and find what you've lost." Fred told him and carried the cup off to the back of the store.
The Doctor left the shop and headed for the old school thinking over in his mind on how he might possibly cure Donna of the meta-crisis as well as Angela's folly that Fred could See looming in her future if the Doctor didn't intervene.