Thus, my little experiment with fan fiction. I give you The Four Doctors. At least until I come up with a better title.
The story begins with the current Doctor, the eleventh. For those keeping track, the time is somewhere after the Christmas special, well before the start of season 6 -- after Amy and Rory have had their honeymoon, well before the events of "Impossible Astronaut", in that vaguely defined period where they are newlyweds traveling with the Doctor.
Chapter one.
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“Doctor, how long have these eggs been here?” Rory’s voice emerged from somewhere around the back of the icebox.
Amy sat at the table in the TARDIS kitchen, nibbling a biscuit. The Doctor sat across from her, by all appearances engrossed in combining a tabletop particle accelerator with a pop-up toaster. And Rory, determined to have a proper breakfast for once, searched for something he could recognize as edible.
The Doctor finished splicing some wires and looked up.
“What?" he demanded. "Can't you see I'm tinkering here?”
“These eggs, Doctor?”
“Yes, by all means, help yourself,” the Doctor snapped as he turned his attention back to his work.
“These eggs that say ‘use by June 27, 1976’…?”
“Yes, as I said, help yourself.”
"Doctor, how long have these been in here?" Rory asked.
The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Rory, Rory, Rory. I know you've only just joined on but do try to understand the concept. Time and Relative Dimensions in Space. We are traveling outside of space-time as you understand it, ergo, your question has no meaning in this context."
"I'm simply asking, Doctor, how long has it been since you were in 1976 buying eggs?"
"Doctor, how long have these been in here?" Rory asked.
The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Rory, Rory, Rory. I know you've only just joined on but do try to understand the concept. Time and Relative Dimensions in Space. We are traveling outside of space-time as you understand it, ergo, your question has no meaning in this context."
"I'm simply asking, Doctor, how long has it been since you were in 1976 buying eggs?"
“I don't know,” the Doctor said, turning his attention back to his tinkering. "A while, I suppose. Really, nothing about the 1970s worth going back for.”
“So, my question, Doctor …?” Rory began, brandishing the carton of eggs.
“Except the scarf,” the Doctor went on idly, speaking now to nobody in particular. “I did like that scarf.”
“The eggs, Doctor…” Rory let a note of exasperation into his voice as Amy barley suppressed a snicker.
“Wait, what scarf?” she asked.
“My scarf,” the Doctor replied. “I wore a scarf back then.”
“What, like a silk scarf…?”
“No. Wooly. Stripey. Long, very long thing.”
“So you just wore a scarf ... a long wooly scarf … like, as a fashion statement?”
“Why not?” A defensive note crept into the Doctor’s voice. “Scarves are cool.”
“How long, Doctor?” Rory asked.
“Oh fifteen, twenty feet at least, must have been. Always dragging on the floor…”
“How long ago?”
“Several lifetimes ago. Half-dozen or more, I'd suppose. Whatever did become of that scarf…?”
“You're saying these eggs have been here, what, thirty? Seventy-five? Four-hundred years?”
“They should have hatched, grown up, and laid more eggs several times over by now,” Amy said with a laugh.
“I replaced it with a stick of celery,” the Doctor mused to himself. “Celery. Definitely not cool.” Then snapped his attention to his companions. “The eggs? No, they've been in the stasis cabinet all that time. Rory, don't stand there with the door open. You're letting the entropy in.”
Rory bit back whatever response he was considering. He slammed the cabinet door shut, shooting the Doctor the most withering glare he could manage, and headed toward the stove.
I just discovered this, Josh. "You're letting the entropy in" made me chuckle out loud (or at least, out loud enough for me to hear). Nice capturing of the character's voices.
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