Chapter Ten: Fragile Questions

Many hours passed. Probably days, but Wilf had lost track again so he couldn't be sure how many. Not wanting to leave his son's side, he tended to nap when the Doctor slept in order to be available any time he might be needed.

With the exception of the conversation about the Master—and the story of the chameleon arch, the paradox machine and the Year That Never Was that had followed—very little had been said by way of serious conversation. The Doctor seemed to be trying to keep the atmosphere light, which Wilf understood, but he was worried that bottling up every emotion wasn't good for him.

"Can I ask something?" Wilf finally said.

"Go on."

"What did you mean when you said … you couldn't tell the time anymore?"

There. Wilf had raised the subject. Sort of. He figured that this, slightly roundabout question, was a better way to get the Doctor to open up than by directly probing his current emotional state. He had a feeling the direct approach would just push him further into recluse.

The Doctor paused. "I think it might be coming back," he eventually said. "Every now and then I get seconds ticking in my head, but it goes again between 5.67 and 9.82 seconds later."

For a moment Wilf was stunned. "I didn't know you could do that at all."

"Time Lord. The clue is in the name. The brain's like a living clock." The Doctor ran his hand through his hair. "Unless it's been subjected to Noxon energy; scrambles the sense, which renders it as time redundant as a human's. Er, no offence, Wilf."

"None taken. Must be a useful skill." Wilf paused. "Was that what was … in the … whip?"

The Doctor shook his head. "The prison force field."

"Oh."

Wilf waited, but the Doctor didn't volunteer any more information. He was laying back staring at the ceiling, on which stars rotated.

That approach hadn't worked. And there was so much else Wilf desperately wanted to discuss, but didn't dare try. Among them, something that had been eating at him ever since Pennine had dropped her bombshell.

Of course, there were more important things to think about than how they addressed each other, but every time the Doctor said 'Wilf' it cut deeply. Deep down, Wilf was begging the Doctor to call him 'Dad', but he was afraid it might never happen. He was afraid to push it, as afraid as he was to address the question of what he called him in return. He knew 'the Doctor' was not his name, and Wilf couldn't help but feel hurt that his son had yet to volunteer his real name. Even Pennine had never said it; she had only called him 'Sweetheart'. 'Doctor', while more than fitting, felt too impersonal, now.

"What happened?"

Wilf jerked out of his contemplation to find the Doctor staring at him again. "Sorry?"

"When you and …" He swallowed. "… and Mum got me out of there. You never gave me the details."

Wilf hadn't been sure the Doctor wanted to hear them—but since he was asking …

"Well, she—"

He was cut off by his phone ringing. "Er, I'd better get that."

The Doctor just nodded, and Wilf dug his phone out and looked at the screen. Sylvia calling.

Apprehensive, he answered. "Hello?"

"It's me," came his daughter's voice.

"Syl, what is it?"

"When are you coming back, Dad?"

"I told you," Wilf said, now slightly annoyed. "I don't know. How's Donna?"

"She's fine. She swallowed the story all right, but she's been mumbling about visiting you."

"Well, she can't."

"I know that! But if you don't come home soon …"

"Look, sweetheart, you'll just have to handle it on your own," Wilf said. "I'm sure you'll think of something. But I can't come back yet and I don't know when I will. You'll be fine. Love you."

"Dad—" Sylvia spluttered, but was cut off as Wilf hung up.

Truthfully, he did feel slightly guilty at leaving it there, but he knew there was nothing further he could do. He wasn't about to spend three hours arguing with Sylvia over it—she could be as stubborn as he could. He wasn't going to change his mind, so what was the point?

"Was that Sylvia?" the Doctor asked.

"Yeah," Wilf admitted, wondering how much of the conversation he'd heard.

"I thought you said she was fine with you staying here."

"Er … she is. She just wanted to know if I was going to be much longer."

"What was that about Donna?"

"Oh … apparently she said something about visiting me. Sylvia's handling it."

"So I hear. Wilf …"

Ignoring the pang, Wilf said, "Yeah?"

"Look, if there's a problem—with Donna—you really shouldn't be—"

"Doctor, Donna is absolutely fine. Sylvia's good at excuses, she can hold her off. They'll both be fine without me. Please don't start all that again."

"But—"

"No. I'm staying, end of story. Now," Wilf said quickly, desperate to change the subject, "where did I get up to?"

For a moment the Doctor looked annoyed, but it passed and he said, "You were just starting."

Wilf began talking, explaining how Pennine had first appeared to him when he was still looking for the Doctor, and continued until he got to the part with the key.

"Key?" the Doctor said blankly.

Wilf pulled it out from under his clothes, where he was still wearing it. "She gave it to me when we parted. Just said I'd know when to use it." He took it off and handed it to the Doctor to see.

"I've never seen anything like this before," the Doctor said, sounding surprised.

"What, never?"

"No. I think Mum might have made it herself. She was … very clever, even by Time Lord standards."

Wilf continued his story, right until the end, where they had got him to the TARDIS and then Pennine had disappeared.

"And then?"

"Well, you know the rest."

"Not quite," the Doctor said. "If my mother disappeared, how did you know what to do?"

"Oh," Wilf said, remembering. "The box."

"Box?"

In the medbay, Wilf retrieved a box from a cupboard. The Doctor recognised it at once—his mother had given it to him the last day of the Time War, with nothing but a cryptic message that it would be useful one day. He had never been able to open it, not even with the sonic.

Wilf slotted the key into the lock, and it opened. The contents seemed to be medication bottles and a sheaf of paper, which the Doctor picked up, his hands trembling slightly.

It was a list of medical instructions, written in English, but he recognised Pennine's hand even so. Scanning the list, he realised they were exactly the directions needed to treat a partially-completed Triple Execution.

She'd known. Even then. Maybe even from long before then, that this would happen.

Pennine did have a highly telepathic mind, even for a Time Lady; and he'd known since that last day, that she had always known how it would end. But now … the proof was right there in his hands. Her calculated preparations to save his life, many years in advance, in black and white.

The Doctor's hands shook. If she'd seen that much detail, how much else had she seen? Had she seen the horrors of their dying planet? Children screaming; every place they had ever known burning; men and women cowering silently in huddles, waiting for it to end? Centuries before it happened, and known it was all at her son's hand?

"Doctor?"

It took him a moment to realise he'd sunk to the floor, shaking. Wilf had put his arm around his shoulders, but the Doctor shook it off, suddenly scared. His hand clenched tightly on the last communication from his mother and he forced himself not to look at the man he wanted, so badly, to call 'Dad'.

"I need a moment … please," the Doctor whispered hoarsely.

Wilf hesitated, but slowly withdrew. "I'll be in the kitchen, when you need me," he said gently, and left.

The Doctor waited until he was sure he was gone, before letting his walls crumble. He slumped sideways and let the tears come.

TBC …