Doctor Who

Because You're Special

Little Gnome or a Penguin


Donna Noble straightened a row of encyclopedias, scanning the titles to be sure they were all in the proper place. This library thing was a snap. She'd had one day of training and could find anything from the biography of Winston Churchhill to Goodnight Moon within two minutes. Donna knew she'd tire of it soon, find another temp job, but for now, it was good.

"Oh dear, oh… Have I missed it?"

Donna turned to see a strange man, grandfatherly—if your grandfather liked fur and bowlcuts—wringing his hands in the main aisle.

"I really would hate to have… Oh my word! My soul!" The strange figure grasped a poster for one of those library entertainer specials. It was a tacky poster for a tacky performance. Billy Byson, Recorderist extraordinaire. "It's at one-thirty. Have you the time, my dear?"

"It's only one. Nice coat."

"You like it? Most people think it's a terrible ratted thing." He stroked his hands downward, smoothing the thick fur at his sides. He replaced the poster, and smiled at her. "And you are, my dear?"

"Donna."

"Lovely to meet you." He extended his pudgy wrinkled fingers for a shake. "I'm the Doctor."

"Doctor…" She prompted for a name.

"Just Doctor my dear." The Doctor, as he'd determined himself to be, twiddled his fingers together and then disentangled a recorder from his clothing. "I don't suppose they'll let me play for a bit."

"Nah. It's a library, can't play unless you're the entertainment. Won't even let me drum my fingers on the desktop. The head Librarian is like drill-sergeant of silence."

"I put on a clean bowtie, this morning. Straight is it?" He fiddled with the aforementioned item around his neck. "Oh dear. I hope I'm presentable."

"It's just a library concert, Doctor. It's not like he's Mozart." She found herself reaching over and straightening his tie, like she would her own grandfather's. He looked confused at the moment and such a kid, like a lonely little boy. Funny. How he could look so old and so young in that moment. "You all right?"

"My granddaughter…" He looked away. "She always used to make sure…"

"'s allright." Donna fought the urge to hug the old man. Perhaps he was one of those seniors you always heard about on the telly, alone in nursing homes with a rotten staff, forgotten human beings cast aside. He obviously didn't get out much if a clean bow-tie and a library concert was a major event. "Someone looking after you now?"

"Yes." He brightened, his dark eyes glowing warmly. "I've got traveling companions, friends. They're just not into my style of music."

"That's good, Doctor. Good that you've got someone. Seems like you need looking after."

He found that funny, chuckling and giggling like a little gnome. Shaking his head, he moved away. "You're quite mistaken, my dear. I am quite capable of…"

Tripping dramatically over a cart of books, he rolled gymnastically to his feet and grinned sheepishly. "…pulling myself up again. By the bootstraps, if necessary."

"…Well, can I help you find a book, Doctor, something to read, while you wait?" Donna offered, hoping to change the topic, since he seemed a bit embarrassed by his rather comical fall. He seemed all right though and she wasn't going to fuss over him and shame him.

"Oh… I've read everything… Except for one Agatha Christie mystery. But you wouldn't have it."

"I can check. She good?"

"Agatha Christie? She's brilliant! The best! Almost as legendary as Billy Byson! Oh my giddy aunt, have you never read her?"

"I haven't actually. Not much of a reader really." Her reading was pretty limited to entertainment mags in the Doctor's office and cheap drug-store romance novels. At one time, when she'd been young and stupid, dreaming of a real university degree, she'd read reams of literature, poems, epic novels, classic tales. But as her Mum said, they weren't going to land her a job or a man and she couldn't make heads or tails of the stories half-the-time anyway.

The little man grabbed her hand, dragging her into the bookcases. "Oh… perhaps you'd better lead the way. You do have a library card, don't you?"

"You coming in next week…? We've got a violinist on the schedule. Or a fiddler. What on earth is blue-grass anyway?" Donna asked conversationally to her little friend. He was still in a rapturous bliss after getting his recorder signed by Mr. Byson—or the Recorder Revolutionist, as the old man had termed him—and the content smile hadn't left the Doctor's face. Frankly, to Donna the whole poorly attended concert had been random toots and shrieks with a few bars of "O Danny Boy" tossed in.

"Bluegrass…to which planet's term are we referring?" The Doctor said absently, staring at the signature on his recorder. "On Microphi it's a form of wheat, on Rigumn it's a type of sapphire snake who is camaflouged as grass…"

Poor dear. He must have Alzeheimers. She'd suspected all along but it seemed incredibly sad. Her own gramps had a mind sharper than her mother's tongue and for her to watch him lose his mind would be devastating. She hoped, whatever happened to the Doctor's granddaughter, she had missed out on watching the Doctor's mind go.

"Never mind. You coming?"

"Next week?" He looked up, finally. "Oh, I shall have to check my day-planner. I think I lost it in Antarctica last month… But it was a lovely time, Donna," and he lifted her hand to kiss it, like some Victorian gentleman, "and have I mentioned you smell like destiny, my dear?"

"Uh…no, sweetheart…thanks."

"You're quite welcome. Well, off to the box!"

Yeah. Donna could think of several nursing homes that fit that brief description.

"Bye, Doctor. Be careful."

"As long as I don't run into Daleks, I'll be fine!" He moved toward the door, in his strange shambling walk and then turned. He bent and unbent his chubby fingers in farewell, reminding Donna, somehow of a quite adorable penguin. Then he was out the door, greeting some weird people on the library steps outside. Was one of them wearing a kilt? Blimey, she hoped his friends didn't encourage the madness, someone needed to be responsible for the old man.

"Donna!" The librarian sergeant whispered harshly, "What are all these mysteries doing on the checkout?"

"Oi, button it up bossy. They're mine." Donna reached for the stack of Agatha Christie's writings and smiled. "They were suggested to me by a friend."

Note: I am not a Second Doctor expert so... any suggestions to put this more into his character would be appreciated.