PERILS
Chapter Three
The Doctor dashed away from the bluff above the Hudson and went the long way, through the Institute grounds, which he might have found interesting had escape not been his primary focus. He spared but a glance at the Manhattan skyline; he just needed to get down, and away. His TARDIS awaited him by some railroad tracks, more than an hour's walk away, maybe much more, and in which direction? He didn't remember being hauled past the river. He thought if he could make it to Hoboken Station he could follow the tracks, no matter how long it took, and find the spot – but he knew the Master would foresee this tactic and, further, already know exactly where the TARDIS was. The Doctor had only the barest head start; the Master's bonds were loose – more symbolic than obstructive. Perhaps, thought the Doctor, he should head instead for New York, leave some false tracks to keep the Master busy, and double back. Of course, if the Master anticipated this as well, he could just settle in by the tracks and wait for the Doctor to show up.
Worse, the Master could fetch his own TARDIS and materialize it around the Doctor's.
He decided to take his escape in stages. Stage one would be getting down to the Hudson and washing the bat guano off of his hands and clothing. (The few people he met on his way down kept their distance; one young woman laughed. He smiled politely.) Accomplishing stage one left him a bit damp, somewhat weary and decidedly hungry. He walked along the river and found a little park with picnic tables, all empty. He hadn't even thought about the time of day; it was late morning now. Knowing he should keep moving, he sat at one of the tables and put his head in his hands and listened to the soothing sounds of the river, distant voices, even more distant traffic… he was almost asleep when some of the distant voices were suddenly not so distant.
"Is that guy okay?"
"I think he fell into the river. Look how wet his clothes are!"
"Hey mister, are you okay?"
The Doctor looked up and found a family of five staring at him. At first he just stared back and then he smiled. "Hello," he said, extending his hand. "I'm the Doctor."
The smallest child took his hand and said, "Hello. I'm Katie. I'm six." Everyone, including the Doctor, laughed at that. The Doctor stood up to shake hands, then, with Nicky, aged nine, Theresa, aged 11, and their parents, Colie and Nick, neither of whom felt it necessary to announce an age. Colie did explain, "My name is Nicole, and if I didn't go by Colie, there'd be three Nicks in the family, not counting Nick's father. Nick here is Junior, but I just call him Nick. Nicky is Nicholas the Third."
"That's more than Russia got," mused the Doctor, to blank stares, then blushed as he remembered that the Romanovs were still alive, and would be for four more years.
"We're having a picnic," said Katie. "Are you having a picnic?"
The Doctor, wishing he was having a picnic, had to say, "No," but Nick quickly invited him to join his family in their last holiday outing before returning home to the upper West Side.
"We're the Royces." He waited for the Doctor to share his surname but the Doctor had none to share.
"Just 'The Doctor,'" he shrugged.
"Okay, Doctor."
The Doctor tried not to eat more than his share of the extravagant meal the Royces laid out, but he really was hungry and could not help himself. The conversation was hard to follow, as everyone was talking at once, across one another, but Nicky suddenly asked, quite loudly, "Doctor, are you a hobo?" Everyone stopped talking at once and looked at the Doctor, who was about to bite into a deviled egg. He froze, feeling all eyes on him, then took a deliberate bite of the egg, shaking his head slightly.
"No," he said, his mouth full. Then he wondered whether he should have said "yes." Nicky looked disappointed but Theresa looked doubtful and followed up with,
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I am quite sure," said the Doctor, having swallowed, and putting the egg down instead of biting into it once more. "I am not a hobo. I am in… reduced circumstances at the moment, I will admit."
"You could always enlist," suggested Nick. "Uncle Sam will take care of you."
"Oh, I don't know." The Doctor knew quite definitively that he was not going to enlist, but he didn't want to sound definite; some people were touchy about perceiving their concepts of patriotism to be challenged, and he wanted to be able to count on the continued good will of this family.
"He can't enlist," said Nicky. "He's a foreigner."
"Nicky! That's rude!" Colie shot the Doctor an apologetic grimace.
"But he is! He has an accent!"
"I'm from Maine," offered the Doctor, hopefully.
"Even if he was a foreigner," explained Colie, "it would be rude to point it out."
"Why?" asked Nicky. "He already knows he's a foreigner." He looked at the Doctor. "Or from Maine."
"We say 'forgotten man,'" remembered Nick.
"Instead of 'foreigner'?"
"No, instead of 'hobo.' We say 'forgotten man.' Grandpa said that."
"I suppose," said the Doctor, slowly, picking up the egg again and taking a small nibble, "that I am a forgotten man." He wished it were so: he wished the Master would just forget this new fancy, finding new ways to imperil the Doctor. Saving the universe was one thing; saving himself was tedious. Then he realized that he was almost certainly not forgotten by someone who had briefly slipped his mind: Nyssa and Tegan, probably bored to tears on Zymrovna. No, they wouldn't be bored; they'd be worried about him - no, not only worried about him but in desperate need of him. He needed to get back to the TARDIS.