Chapter Text
The Doctor strolled into the entryway of the TARDIS and smiled. The rustic bronze, lit up with the bright blue of the TARDIS’ heart, filled once again with the banter between him and his--
“Excuse me,” Eliza said gently behind him, and The Doctor turned around to face her. Right , he thought, we have a job to do.
“Oh, my apologies,” he exclaimed, grandly stepping back to let Eliza deeper into the TARDIS. She shuffled along, looking around in awe. He was watching her careful scrutinization of the TARDIS when Mickey cleared his throat. The Doctor whipped his head around and was met with his stern gaze.
“Doctor, I think we should procure a chair for Mrs. Hamilton,” he stated, smiling slightly. “If your TARDIS driving is anything like I remember it being, we might also want to wrap her up in bubble wrap.”
Martha stifled a snort behind Mickey and the Doctor rolled his eyes.
“Alright, I’ll go grab one, I’ll be right back.” He made to stroll off, but a firm hand clapped onto his shoulder.
“I’ll come with,” Mickey gruffly said.
“But you don’t know the TARDIS as well as--”
“I’ve heard enough from Rose and Martha to infer,” Mickey said, smiling slightly. “And besides, I think Martha and Eliza are bonding, and I don’t want to interrupt that.” Mickey looked back at Martha, who was holding Eliza’s hand and talking gently with her. The Doctor looked on the scene and half-smiled. Martha was doing so well as a med student. I wonder how many lives she could have saved without me interfering.
“Ay,” Mickey said, snapping his fingers in front of the Doctor’s face. The Doctor blinked, and looked back at Mickey. “Let’s go get that chair, yeah?”
“Right,” the Doctor replied, inhaling deeply. “Allons-y!” He strode off quickly, going up onto the ledge that lined the central chamber’s walls and then down a staircase, feeling Mickey’s tense stare boring into his back.
***
“It seems impossible, doesn’t it,” Martha gently asked, and Eliza smiled.
“I’ve seen many an impossible thing happen in my life, my dear Martha, but I do have to admit this is a bit startling.” Eliza looked up at Martha, smiling.
“I can imagine,” Martha mused. She didn’t remember a whole lot from her history courses, and since she had never been to the United States she had very little frame of reference for what Americans were actually like, or their history. She shrugged, it couldn’t hurt to ask a few questions, would it?
“So, tell me more about your husband. He sounds important.”
“Oh, my Hamilton,” Eliza began, her eyes casting off into the distance, a small smile creeping upon her face. “I remember the night I met him. It was a lovely winter ball we were at, and I was captivated by his charm, his kindness, his words.” She looked up at Martha. “We married a month later.”
“Well, that seems awful quick,” Martha responded, blinking.
“Perhaps, but we were so in love,” Eliza replied. “And we certainly… We certainly were quite the couple.” She cast her eyes down. “He was loving and caring to me and our children, don’t get me wrong, but building a nation in a society that refused to listen to him took a toll.”
“What do you mean?”
Eliza waved her hand. “It’s unimportant. What matters is that, in the end, he is remembered. And I’m glad to hear that his legacy lives on in some form.” She smiled faintly, and looked back at Martha. “Now, tell me about your year, the time you are from.”
Martha shrugged and smiled. “What do you want to know?”
“Well, while slavery is abolished, what are the rights of… people of your...” Eliza glanced about, seeming to be searching for the right word.
Martha chuckled. “You mean black people?”
Eliza’s jaw dropped. “But… that’s so--”
“Trust me, it’s better than most possible words you could have said,” Martha quickly replied. Eliza briefly nodded, then looked at Martha, seeming to expect more talking. Martha thought for a moment. I don’t know how to respond to that question, I’m not an American.
Although, Obama did just get elected.
“Well, I can’t exactly answer all the possible questions you may have since I’m not an American, but would it comfort you to hear that the current President of the United States is a black man?”
Martha didn’t know what she was expecting, but she wasn’t expecting the contemplative face on Eliza’s face that followed that declaration.
“So they-- you-- have full rights?” Eliza quietly asked. Martha bit her lip, wondering how to proceed.
“Well, in theory,” she finally stated. “I mean, there’s still issues, but things have come a long way.”
“I can imagine,” Eliza said. “I have seen so much in my life, and I assumed that at some point there would be something I wouldn’t be able to see. But I see, right before me, the abolition of slavery and increased rights for… black… people.” Eliza gently smiled, and Martha smiled back.
“I know ‘black’ seems harsh, but you’ll adjust to it,” Martha replied.
“I guess I will have to, since it seems I’m being taken on an unknown journey.” Eliza rested her cane against one of the railings, leaning against it gently, looking back at Martha. “Do you think you could enlighten me as to where exactly where we’re going?”
Martha paused for a moment, then shook her head. “I sadly don’t know much more outside of what you possibly know. Although supposedly we’re going to go see a show?”
“Oh, what kind of show?”
Martha scrunched up her face. She had no idea, the Doctor hadn’t talked to them too much about what exactly the plan was. All she knew was that there was a show, and that it involved this old woman from the past, and American history. She had no idea if there were aliens, or government agencies, or the other mischief the Doctor happens upon. And while she had tucked the Doctor’s mentions of ‘Moffat’ and ‘Davies’ aside, she was itching to know what those names meant.
“I’m not entirely sure, to be honest,” Martha replied, shrugging, hiding the trepidation she began to feel. “But knowing the Doctor, it will probably be good.”
“Well, this should be enjoyable, then,” Eliza said chipperly, sitting down on the ledge below the railing. Martha watched her look around the TARDIS with wonder and awe.
I certainly hope the Doctor knows what’s going on, because I don’t think this woman would survive any of the ‘adventures’ that we could go on.
***
“What do you mean we are merely characters in some writer’s mind,” Mickey exclaimed, nearly dropping the end of the lounge chair he was helping the Doctor carry up the stairs. It was a surprisingly long staircase that wound down a cylindrical shaft, with shelves of miscellany lining the walls. Mickey refused to look down at the seemingly endless shaft. For all I know, I could fall in and keep falling forever. It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that’s happened to me .
“I mean, we are merely characters in some writer’s mind, what is unclear about that statement?” The Doctor’s eyebrows furrowed. “And don’t drop this chair! It’s a gift from the Face of Boe.”
“Oh, another grand alien that you probably helped,” muttered Mickey, hefting his end of the chair higher. His irritation with the Doctor was starting to reach a peak, and he felt the familiar bubblings of frustration at everything that the Doctor brought into his life and took away from him. He had lost an amazing relationship with Rose because of the Doctor, he had lost his grandmother not once, but twice. He had lost any potential of a normal life. And now here the Doctor was, claiming that he had little control over it.
“Well, you could say that,” the Doctor replied. “Martha can fill in the details later. Honestly, I’m surprised that she hasn’t mentioned him at all to you. How could she have not brought up that the Face of Boe is actually--”
“Okay, I get it,” Mickey interrupted, rolling his eyes. “But can we get back to the part where Davies is essentially a tinkering god in our lives?”
“I mean, I guess--”
“And why us specifically? Why would this Davies figure choose me and Rose, who were just fine before we met you, thank you very much? Why would this Davies figure intentionally write up Daleks and Cybermen and heartbreak?” Mickey’s voice rose in volume, the bubbling coming to a boil.
“It’s a form of entertainment for Davies--”
“Enter tain ment?!” Mickey set his end of the chair down and looked up at the Doctor. “You’re saying that this Davies person sees making pain and suffering as entertainment?!”
The Doctor, exasperatedly, set his end down as well and started running his hands over his hair.
“Mickey, it’s not like that, it’s--”
“What is it, Doctor? What, exactly, is it then?” Mickey felt the boiling spreading, engulfing his mind. “What, exactly, is someone intentionally writing up a story and making us suffer? What, exactly, is playing a hyper-controlling god that has essentially taken away the personhood of you, me, Martha, Rose, and everyone else that has probably walked into this damn ship?”
“Mickey--”
“NO, YOU’RE GOING TO LISTEN TO ME, FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE YOU’RE GOING TO LISTEN TO ME. IF THIS IS HOW YOU’RE EXCUSING TAKING RANDOM PEOPLE AWAY FROM THEIR NORMAL LIVES IN ORDER TO GIVE YOU PEACE OF MIND, KNOW THAT IT’S NOT GOING TO WORK WITH ME.” Mickey was panting, and he felt the drops of sweat drip down the side of his face. He watched the Doctor’s face, which was just staring back at him. Mickey swallowed. Might as well continue now that I’ve started .
“Rose and I, we were good. We were fine, before you came along, swept her away, and left me in the dust. I had no idea what was going on. There were months with no contact, there were things that Rose couldn’t talk to me about because I ‘wouldn’t understand’. She fell in love with you, you bastard. You took the love of my life right out of my hands, with no explanation.”
“Mickey, I…” the Doctor began, but Mickey huffed.
“I wasn’t done yet,” Mickey stabbed into the conversation, venom permeating each syllable. The Doctor closed his mouth, and Mickey took a breath.
“And then, you regenerated, and Jackie and I were powerless. You swept Rose away from us in your new body, again and again and again, and we were losing her. You had no clue at all, whatsoever, what you were doing to us. How could we cope with this person, who was no longer tangible to us, coming in and out of our lives? How could we cope with the idea that, one day, Rose might not come back?
“And this is without even bringing up the parallel universe, my God. I chose to go over, because there was no way in hell that I was going to get anything done in my worthless life in my original universe when my only motivation for living wasn’t even there. I lived Rickey’s life, his stressful, conspiratorial, paranoid life, because there was nothing left. And that just led me back into the world I tried so hard to escape and fight against. I fell back into you and Rose’s life. And maybe I saved your asses a few times, but I sure as hell thought about leaving you two to die while we figured out another way to patch the universe up.
“And when Rose was locked out from seeing you, she tore the universe apart again to find you. Hell, she probably made it easier for the Daleks to come back. And I followed, because we were coworkers. And I couldn’t stand seeing her holding not-you close to her. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t put my heart through another wringer like that.
“Martha helped a lot. I mean, I’m sure that I could yell for her, but I’ll leave her anger at you for her to dump on you, if she does.” Mickey took a breath and chuckled. “That’s the thing about Martha, she’s much kinder than me.” He shook his head, then looked back at the Doctor, who was still staring at him. And, to Mickey’s surprise, the Doctor actually seemed to look guilty, like Mickey was actually getting through to him.
“But you ruined my life,” Mickey continued. “And you’re not going to escape that by placing your actions on some mystical writer in the sky that somehow has enough care to make sure you and your female companions are built enough to feel joy amongst the suffering but not enough to prevent living hells for the rest of us.”
Mickey huffed, and stared back at the Doctor. The silence was deafening, and Mickey wanted to break it. But he had nothing left to say to the Doctor, and he knew that there was nothing that the Doctor could say that would fix any of what had happened in the past four years. He looked down the chasm, seeing the bronze spiral reach down into the darkness of infinity. And, just as quickly as the thought of falling in entered his mind, he pushed it away and moved to pick up the chair.
“Come on, let’s get this chair for Eliza,” Mickey muttered. “How many more rotations do we have?”
“Five,” the Doctor faintly replied, picking up his end. His voice seemed to falter on the ‘v’, and Mickey blinked slowly. The boiling was back in his chest, and he felt like he could lift the chair again.
“Well, let’s get going, then.” Mickey succeeded in lifting his end without faltering, without tossing himself over the railing.
***
It was a calm afternoon in Ron’s office, and he smiled as the #Ham4Ham show closed. It was remarkable seeing how the female cast took on the roles in My Shot so easily, and he found that Lin’s lyrics bounced about in his head more and more as the show continued to grow.
The hip-hop was interrupted by an unmistakable whoosh, whoosh sound, and Ron clenched a fist.
He better not be trying to bring me back to the Revolutionary War .