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Travelling on board the TARDIS, the Doctor told them, would change them. It would open their minds to the world as it was, and nothing would ever be the same again.
Change was good, Graham had said.
He knew he had changed. Felt it in his bones, like the ache of a good stretch, so different to the pain of cancer or the linger of grief. He’d seen wonders the like no one would ever believe, out there. Sometimes he barely believed it himself. And then there were the days that were so beyond belief, that he couldn’t help but to believe, because the alternative was madness.
That there was probably what had brought Graham to this moment, in this time, on this Earth, on a cool, crisp Easter morning. Stood on his porch in slippers and robe, where all was right with the world, and staring at an alien rummaging around Grace’s azaleas.
Steam wafted from the rim of his mug, the spices of an alien world hinting the tea inside with something tasting like vanilla and gingerbread, forgotten in favour of trying to comprehend the situation before him. His thought process went something like this:
Non-human, obviously.
Probably alien.
….Giant rabbit, definitely alien.
Giant, sentient rabbit in the garden.
On Easter Sunday.
….Seems Legit.
Ryan would be proud, Graham decided, he was getting the handle on memes. He slurped his tea, loudly. The 6-foot tall rabbit’s ears twitched and his pointed nose turned briefly to Graham, eyes flicking over the human’s attire, before giving an amused snort and turning back to his work. “Nice outfit there, mate.”
Graham raised an eyebrow as he looked down at his fuzzy, fluffy, rabbit-eared novelty slippers, and refused to rise to the bait. “Thanks,” he said, drily. “They were a gift from my wife.”
The rabbit froze.
Graham slurped, a bit more pointedly, and then cleared his throat. “If you’re gonna be hiding eggs around here, can you avoid the azaleas? The neighbour kids ain’t too considerate about people’s garden beds. Had to run off a couple who were stealing the daffodils for a laugh.”
His visitor spun around, ears upright and quivering in what was definitely shock. “You can see me?”
“You’re kinda hard to miss, mate.”
“No, but - you’re an adult!” the rabbit exclaimed in a strong, agitated Australian accent, paws ruffling his head-fur in disbelief. “You shouldn’t be able to see me.”
“Am I not supposed to?” Graham wondered. “If so I think your perception filter or whatever’s on the blink.”
“It’s not a perception filter, it’s a plain and simple fact,” the rabbit insisted. “Adults shouldn’t have enough Belief to see me. It just isn’t possible.”
“Dunno what to tell you,” Graham apologised, because he hadn’t meant to stir the fellow into a tizzy. “Maybe it’s just me. Not a lot that can phase a bloke after some of the things I’ve seen, travelling with the Doc.”
That got an ear-twitch, as the rabbit paused in recognition. “Doc? Not the Doctor? Blue box, time-space traveller, sticks his nose in where it really doesn’t belong?”
“Sounds like her - ‘cept the gender thing.” the human confirmed. “You know the Doc?”
“Know him!” The rabbit let out a guffaw of disbelief. “More like had a right bloody time trying to clean up after he and that wife of his wound up on Easter Island back in 1003. Interfered with my production facilities and accidentally started a damned religion among the golems.”
“...Yeah, sounds like the Doc,” Graham nodded sympathetically. “She means well, though; got a good heart. Hearts, I suppose.”
“I suppose you’re right. Mind,” the rabbit said, pausing to consider Graham with interest, “That does explain why you could see me. The Doctor has a way of opening one’s sense of childhood wonder.”
Graham could believe that. He shifted his tea and wiped his hand off on his hip, before holding it out. “By the way, name’s Graham. Graham O’Brien.”
The rabbit looked almost bemused as he shook Graham’s hand, his large paw all but dwarfing the human’s cold-nipped fingers. “E. Aster Bunnymund. Call me Aster. Y’know, I think you might be the first adult I’ve shaken hands with, since the fall of the Golden Age, Mr. O’Brien. Remarkable.”
“Well, not sure what that means, but I’m glad to meet you, uh, Aster. And it’s Graham, please. Don’t often meet aliens who ain’t chasin’ me down corridors for one reason or another.”
Aster chuckled at that, and then checked his wrist; there was a timepiece there that looked almost steampunk and not like a watch at all, but it meant something to the rabbit, for he clicked his teeth and straightened. “I’ve tallied too long, I’m afraid. Time waits for no man, nor Pooka, especially this one on Easter morning.”
“Sure you don’t want to stick around a bit? I’ve got the kettle fresh on,” Graham offered, “and the Doc’ll be by later this morning, you could talk to her about your island. She’s good at fixing things. Bet if you asked, she’d clear all that right up for you.”
“Nah, I’ve got a schedule to keep,” the rabbit said, with only a moment’s consideration. “Right nice of you to offer tea, though. Tell you what,” He reached one paw into the sack attached to his bandoleer, and handed Graham the object pulled from within. “You tell him - her, Aster said cheers, and to have her drop you by sometime in the off-season. We’ll have that tea then.”
“Sure thing.” Graham examined the egg-shaped, flattened device, delicate carvings of loops and whorls against a silvery opal face. It was beautiful, and far more than just decorative, if the way it warmed and hummed in his palm was any indication. Some sort of communications device, maybe?
He slipped it into the pocket of his dressing gown and watched as the rabbit - Pooka, he’d called his species - tapped one massive paw on the ground. A large, perfectly circular sinkhole opened up on the lawn, seeming so deep as to not have a bottom from where Graham stood.
With a wink, Aster leapt nimbly into the hole, which closed behind him with a shuff of compacting soil, leaving the lawn pristine and untouched - save for a single, rose-pink daffodil. Grace’s favourite.
Graham shook his head, breath steaming in the cold air as he sighed and gazed towards the sky, where the sun was painting the pastel colours of dawn on the morning clouds.
“Can you believe it, Grace luv,” he murmured, and began to chortle. “I think I just met the Easter Bunny.”
Ryan was never going to believe it.