Work Text:
It was a beautiful morning in June. The occupants of Skeldale House had just finished breakfast and were starting their daily tasks. Siegfried and James had gone out on calls and Tristan was taking surgery. The Doctor was in the paddock, working in the sunshine with several TARDIS components laid out on a tartan picnic-rug in front of him, it being far too fine a day to spend indoors.
On many occasions during the past few weeks, he had thought that the repairs were close to completion and that he was almost ready to take off back into the space-time vortex, but every time he found himself discovering other components that needed attention. It was almost as if the TARDIS was demanding a full overhaul and a period of rest and relaxation after her recent rough treatment by Tristan. Possibly, with the Doctor’s interests at heart, she was finding reasons for him to stay here and recuperate, not just from the space flu, but from all that exhausting, non-stop dashing around and adventuring. He did miss Turlough a little, but he knew that he could return to the Eye of Orion only a few hours after he had left, by Turlough’s reckoning, so he did not need to worry unduly about leaving him on his own. There was a limited amount of trouble Turlough could get into in a few hours (he hoped).
He realised that he was not at all perturbed by the TARDIS’s seeming determination to keep him here. The company was pleasant and the scenery was delightful. Now that he had recovered, he had been on several walks in the surrounding countryside, mostly with Siegfried, with whom he had struck up a firm friendship, but also occasionally with James and Tristan. He had been enjoying all the hearty Yorkshire fare: a full English breakfast every morning, a copious lunch, a groaning table for high tea and as much of Mrs Hall’s delicious cake as he could eat. In fact, now he came to think of it, his trousers were starting to feel just a little tighter than they used to. Clearly TARDIS repairs did not burn off the calories quite as effectively as veterinary work. More exercise, less cake, that was what was called for. What was it that he had told his companions? “A trim time-ship and a ship-shape team!” It wouldn’t do at all to be anything less than trim. And of course, he must get the repairs finished so that he could get on his way. Mrs Hall’s cakes were really rather delicious, though; the TARDIS food machine would never be able to produce anything comparable. And the bed in the Skeldale spare-room (to which he had now graduated) was so very comfortable with all the feather-filled quilts and pillows… He was somewhat horrified at the discovery of a previously well-suppressed sybaritic side to his personality. Perhaps it was the influence of Tristan, who did luxuriate so when he lounged on the sofa or smoked his cigarettes.
Talking of Tristan, here was the man himself, coming across the paddock.
“Tristan? Aren’t you supposed to be in the surgery?”
“Yes, but this is important! I have Mr. Blenkinsopp in the house. He wants me – Siegfried – James – anyone – to join the Rainby eleven for the annual match against Hedwick. They always seem to have a job finding enough men to play. I thought, seeing as you enjoy cricket so much, you might like to take part. You’re a decent player, aren’t you?”
“Indeed, I’d like to play. Very much. And yes, not wishing to be immodest or anything, but I have helped my team snatch victory from the jaws of defeat, so to speak, on a number of occasions.”
“Excellent. I’ll go and tell Mr. Blenkinsopp that he has another man for his team,” said Tristan, already heading back to the house.
“I wonder what was so urgent about all that that he had to rush out and ask me,” mused the Doctor to himself. “In any case, I have my exercise now, the perfect exercise for body and mind. Leather on willow – what could be better?” He adjusted his hat a little, feeling his nose begin to burn slightly in the hot sunshine, and returned to his repairs.
***
“Ah, Mrs. Hall. I fear your cake will be my undoing,” said Tristan, sprawled indolently on the sofa.
“Get on with you, Master Tristan, you’re as skinny as a rake,” said Mrs. Hall. “Have another slice.”
Indeed, it’s not Tristan who is at risk of needing to undo anything, thought the Doctor. Anything like buttons on waistbands. He waved the cake aside. “None for me, thank you.”
Mrs. Hall looked crestfallen. “Oh, come now, Doctor, I know you like this sort and I made it especially.”
“I’m in strict training, I’m afraid. Important cricket match coming up. I need to be in good shape.”
“If you’re going to be playing cricket, you need to keep your strength up,” said Mrs. Hall. “Have some cake.”
“Very well, then,” said the Doctor. It wouldn’t do to upset her, and she did have a point about keeping his strength up. Also, the cake really was delicious. All the more incentive to work hard at his cricket training sessions.
***
“What do you mean, you’re not taking part?” stormed Siegfried. “You’ve got the poor unsuspecting Doctor going up against Tagger Hird, thinking it’s just going to be some gentle little village cricket match with a few old codgers and farm lads, and you’ve let Mr. Blenkinsopp – a man of the cloth! – think that the Doctor is you. You really are the limit, little brother!”
“Siegfried! You know what happened last year! Tagger Hird gave me a bruise the size of an orange under the heart! It hurt like blazes for weeks. And the Doctor does seem to be pretty competent when it comes to wielding a bat and ball. I watched their practice session from behind a tree. Seemed to be doing marvellously. Very energetic.”
“Deceiving a clergyman…”
“I didn’t actually tell old Blenkinsopp that I was going to be on his team. I just didn’t tell him that the chap he was getting wasn’t me. They seem to be getting on famously.”
“He’s probably rejoicing that the age of miracles is not over and that Tristan Farnon seems suddenly to have developed a sweet and pleasant nature,” said Siegfried.
Tristan pouted and looked hurt. “You palmed this whole cricket match business off on me, last year, remember? I’m afraid I’ve been bitten by a horse on my bowling arm, but little brother used to be in the First Eleven at school. Dropped me right in it, you did. And that Tagger Hird gives me the heebie-jeebies. I’m not normally one to get the wind up in cricket matches, but when he comes thundering up with that murderous look on his face…”
“And so you’ve palmed it off in your turn onto our extraterrestrial visitor who has only just recovered from influenza. I hope you’re proud of yourself, little brother. Anyway, there’s not a great deal we can do about it now. Shall we go and support him and check that he is not already laid out with concussion or being carted off on a stretcher? You, of course, will have to wear some kind of disguise or something to perpetuate your little deception.”
“Of course. Let’s go and cheer him on, although perhaps we can call in at the Drover’s for a quick one on the way.”
***
“Well caught, young man!”
Siegfried and the dark-spectacled, flat-capped, false-bearded Tristan arrived at the field that was serving as a cricket pitch just at the right moment to see the Doctor catch one of the Hedwick batsmen out. They looked across to the scoreboard. The Rainby team were 215 all out and Hedwick were 179-8, but wouldn’t remain so for long. The Doctor ran in to bowl and immediately took a wicket. Siegfried got out of the car and strolled over to take a closer look, leaving Tristan hunched in the back seat attempting to look inconspicuous. Mr. Duggleby accosted Siegfried as he looked for a seat.
“Mr. Farnon, I’ve never seen anything like it! Your brother, you should have seen him! Worthy of Bradman! Took 154, and was cool as a cucumber when he as faced with Tagger Hird. Just kept batting them back. It’s a pity you weren’t here to see it, because he did you proud. I don’t remember him playing anywhere near as well last year, even before Tagger bowled that one that hit him in the chest. He must have been having an off-day last year.”
Siegfried pondered a number of phrases to examine whether they would do justice to his feelings for his little brother at this moment. Duggleby was clearly expecting some expression of fraternal pride, but pride was the last thing he was feeling towards Tristan. He realised, however, that most of Duggleby’s attention was focused on the Doctor, so he calmed his anger and stood with him in silence to watch the display. The tall, athletic figure took the run-up and released the ball into a lovely, looping arc. The batsman was clearly caught unawares by the ball’s angle; he attempted to meet it with his bat but the ball hit the wicket… and it was all over.
Siegfried eventually managed to separate himself from Duggleby, who had begun to expound upon his supposed brother’s cricketing prowess and was clearly intending to continue at length. The Doctor was surrounded by a gaggle of congratulatory team-mates. It appeared, from the way that the others were referring to the Doctor as “Tristan” and he was replying, that he had at some point discovered Tristan’s ruse but had decided to go along with it. Even Tagger came along and offered him a his hand. “Well done, Mr. Farnon. I underestimated you after last year. Size of an orange, they were saying.”
“Yes, well done, old man!” said Siegfried to the Doctor, after rescuing him from Tagger and the others. “You, ah, did our family proud, I suppose. Of course, you’re no relation at all, but when you look so much like little brother… Let’s go over to the refreshment tent and get you a cup of tea. And some cake.”
“Mmm, yes, a piece of cake would be splendid,” said the Doctor. “I think I’ve earned it, don’t you?”