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eponymous_roseTitle: Higher Education (1/5)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eponymous_rose
Word Count: 877
Rating: PG
Characters: First Doctor, Third Doctor, Fifth Doctor, Seventh Doctor, Ninth Doctor
Spoilers: This section includes a nod to the Big Finish UNIT audios, as well as spoilers for The Dalek Invasion of Earth.
Author's Note: This was supposed to be a one-shot sort of fic, but for the sake of my sanity over the next week (and because I'd hate to lose the post-a-fic-every-day game a mere two months down the road) I've split it into five segments.
Summary: The spaces between, the things the Doctor can do that nobody ever questions - the easier lessons learned amid the adventures and the danger.
He knows rather a lot about many things, does the Doctor - picking up new hobbies is something of a hobby in and of itself. Each time I meet him, I get the distinct impression he's mastered some new and obscure little pastime; but then, I suppose when you've got nothing but time on your hands, you may as well make good use of it.
- General Sir Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart (Scientific Advisor, UNIT)
~*~*~
The Doctor peered at the door before him; it looked ordinary enough, heavy wood of some sort, coated with a thick layer of paint, applied with an evenness that suggested a strong, practised hand. The surface was only slightly stained by the weather, shiny here and there from wind or rain or snow.
He straightened, cleared his throat, and rang the doorbell.
After a few moments, the rhythmic thump-thump of heavy footsteps approached, and the door swung open to reveal a human woman with greying hair and fingers starting to gnarl with arthritis; he felt an unexpected pang of sympathy for her - after all, his own fingers were scarcely as deft as they once had been - and brushed it aside just as quickly.
"Er," said the woman, and ran a hand through her hair. "Why is there a blue box in my begonias?"
"Ah, yes, hrm," the Doctor said. "Police business, I'm afraid, madam. You never know where one might need to- to store one's criminals."
"Mm," said the woman, and closed the door in his face.
With a long-suffering sigh, the Doctor pressed the bell again.
"I'm not opening the door to you," she called through the door. "Either show me a badge or clear off."
The Doctor leaned on the doorbell. "You misunderstand me - I've come because of the advertisement, my dear," he called over the chimes. "You teach music, yes?"
The door opened a crack, and he stopped the ringing. "Oh," said the woman. "Why, yes I do. Only to beginners, though - I'm not exactly an expert myself. Is it for a grandson or granddaughter-"
He hadn't been expecting the jolt he felt at the word, and he knew he must have gone rather pale. The door opened still further. "If you don't mind my asking," the woman said. "Are you quite well?"
For a ridiculous instant he wanted to tell her that he'd been using himself up, wearing himself thin, that he was holding off the first death with hopes and promises and fear. It passed, and he waved a hand irritably. "I'm quite all right," he said. "And the lessons are for me."
"For you?" She opened the door fully, waved him inside. "Well, why didn't you say so, instead of wittering on about police boxes and criminals like that?"
"I," he said, as she divested him rather forcefully of his coat, "do not witter."
She ushered him to a seat, and he sank down gratefully - trying to keep up with Ian and Barbara while being chased by giant bog-monsters was beginning to take its toll.
"Can I get you a cuppa?" she called, and he realised she'd already moved to the kitchen.
"Ah," he said, "thank you."
He tapped his fingers on his knees, stared around the room at the stacks of music books and instruments, most covered with a significant layer of dust, and found himself rather hoping that Ian and Barbara didn't decide to venture outside the TARDIS in his absence. The excuse he'd made about an important diplomatic liaison had sounded rather more impressive than a music lesson, certainly, and he was still wondering what exactly had tempted him to come here in the first place.
"What sort of lessons were you thinking of taking?" the woman called from the kitchen. "Piano's always been quite popular."
The Doctor realised, with a start, that he hadn't formed any real notion on the subject. "Whatever you think best," he called back.
She appeared in the doorway with a tea tray, frowning at him. "That's odd," she said. "Most people have a very firm idea as to which sort of instrument they'd like to learn, at least."
The Doctor accepted the cup with a smile and took a sip - hot and sweet. "There's a hole," he said, and though he wanted to leave it at that, he kept speaking. "Something of a hole in my life where- where I suppose music used to be."
"Mm," said the woman, and sat on a hard-backed chair with perfect posture. "I think I know the feeling."
Her eyes darted to the mantle, and the Doctor followed her gaze to see a series of photographs, all featuring the same dark-haired, dark-eyed young man. He looked away.
"All right," the woman said with a sigh, "I should warn you that you're a late beginner - your progress will be frustratingly slow."
"Oh," said the Doctor, "I shouldn't worry about that. I've always been something of a quick study."
"Hm," she said, and peered past him. "That case there," she said. "No, the one above it. Try that one for size."
He opened the long, thin case. "Hm, yes," he said, and picked up the recorder. "This will do rather nicely."
Author:
eponymous_roseWord Count: 877
Rating: PG
Characters: First Doctor, Third Doctor, Fifth Doctor, Seventh Doctor, Ninth Doctor
Spoilers: This section includes a nod to the Big Finish UNIT audios, as well as spoilers for The Dalek Invasion of Earth.
Author's Note: This was supposed to be a one-shot sort of fic, but for the sake of my sanity over the next week (and because I'd hate to lose the post-a-fic-every-day game a mere two months down the road) I've split it into five segments.
Summary: The spaces between, the things the Doctor can do that nobody ever questions - the easier lessons learned amid the adventures and the danger.
He knows rather a lot about many things, does the Doctor - picking up new hobbies is something of a hobby in and of itself. Each time I meet him, I get the distinct impression he's mastered some new and obscure little pastime; but then, I suppose when you've got nothing but time on your hands, you may as well make good use of it.
- General Sir Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart (Scientific Advisor, UNIT)
~*~*~
The Doctor peered at the door before him; it looked ordinary enough, heavy wood of some sort, coated with a thick layer of paint, applied with an evenness that suggested a strong, practised hand. The surface was only slightly stained by the weather, shiny here and there from wind or rain or snow.
He straightened, cleared his throat, and rang the doorbell.
After a few moments, the rhythmic thump-thump of heavy footsteps approached, and the door swung open to reveal a human woman with greying hair and fingers starting to gnarl with arthritis; he felt an unexpected pang of sympathy for her - after all, his own fingers were scarcely as deft as they once had been - and brushed it aside just as quickly.
"Er," said the woman, and ran a hand through her hair. "Why is there a blue box in my begonias?"
"Ah, yes, hrm," the Doctor said. "Police business, I'm afraid, madam. You never know where one might need to- to store one's criminals."
"Mm," said the woman, and closed the door in his face.
With a long-suffering sigh, the Doctor pressed the bell again.
"I'm not opening the door to you," she called through the door. "Either show me a badge or clear off."
The Doctor leaned on the doorbell. "You misunderstand me - I've come because of the advertisement, my dear," he called over the chimes. "You teach music, yes?"
The door opened a crack, and he stopped the ringing. "Oh," said the woman. "Why, yes I do. Only to beginners, though - I'm not exactly an expert myself. Is it for a grandson or granddaughter-"
He hadn't been expecting the jolt he felt at the word, and he knew he must have gone rather pale. The door opened still further. "If you don't mind my asking," the woman said. "Are you quite well?"
For a ridiculous instant he wanted to tell her that he'd been using himself up, wearing himself thin, that he was holding off the first death with hopes and promises and fear. It passed, and he waved a hand irritably. "I'm quite all right," he said. "And the lessons are for me."
"For you?" She opened the door fully, waved him inside. "Well, why didn't you say so, instead of wittering on about police boxes and criminals like that?"
"I," he said, as she divested him rather forcefully of his coat, "do not witter."
She ushered him to a seat, and he sank down gratefully - trying to keep up with Ian and Barbara while being chased by giant bog-monsters was beginning to take its toll.
"Can I get you a cuppa?" she called, and he realised she'd already moved to the kitchen.
"Ah," he said, "thank you."
He tapped his fingers on his knees, stared around the room at the stacks of music books and instruments, most covered with a significant layer of dust, and found himself rather hoping that Ian and Barbara didn't decide to venture outside the TARDIS in his absence. The excuse he'd made about an important diplomatic liaison had sounded rather more impressive than a music lesson, certainly, and he was still wondering what exactly had tempted him to come here in the first place.
"What sort of lessons were you thinking of taking?" the woman called from the kitchen. "Piano's always been quite popular."
The Doctor realised, with a start, that he hadn't formed any real notion on the subject. "Whatever you think best," he called back.
She appeared in the doorway with a tea tray, frowning at him. "That's odd," she said. "Most people have a very firm idea as to which sort of instrument they'd like to learn, at least."
The Doctor accepted the cup with a smile and took a sip - hot and sweet. "There's a hole," he said, and though he wanted to leave it at that, he kept speaking. "Something of a hole in my life where- where I suppose music used to be."
"Mm," said the woman, and sat on a hard-backed chair with perfect posture. "I think I know the feeling."
Her eyes darted to the mantle, and the Doctor followed her gaze to see a series of photographs, all featuring the same dark-haired, dark-eyed young man. He looked away.
"All right," the woman said with a sigh, "I should warn you that you're a late beginner - your progress will be frustratingly slow."
"Oh," said the Doctor, "I shouldn't worry about that. I've always been something of a quick study."
"Hm," she said, and peered past him. "That case there," she said. "No, the one above it. Try that one for size."
He opened the long, thin case. "Hm, yes," he said, and picked up the recorder. "This will do rather nicely."
