The Time Editors (for songofsong)
He hadn't been intending to look for any sort of mystery, he wasn't trying to wait for the next huge adventure to appear at the edge of the horizon. What he was doing was trying to enjoy the scone and nice cup of tea he'd ordered in the tranquil little tea rooms on Salmasqua Metrosis.
He hadn't intended to notice the group of people that sat a few tables over; smart men wearing crisp suits and speaking in hushed tones.
And there was of course no intention on his part to overhear when those same men spoke a name he couldn't help but listen to.
The name was River Song.
Of course, there had been no intention, but by then? It was too late.
He listened as they talked, his ears tuned in to their quiet tones, and voices speaking in a rare language; the sort used when you were trying to hide things. They spoke in ways that hardly made sense, code to cover their plans. They were sharp, clever. But that didn't worry him, he was pretty clever himself.
It was only as their conversation went on that he began to realise who they were, and that made his hearts sink.
They spoke for perhaps half an hour, and though not once was he referred to in name, he knew that they were talking about him, and he knew too what their intentions were. He can't have been noticed, and that was good. It gave him a headstart. He was going to need one.
He knew what they intended to do, and he knew there was little he could do to stop them. But then impossible was his speciality.
Three weeks later the Doctor found himself on a small planet called Arla, an Earth colony in the 48th century. There was an ice storm in the skies that had been raging for months, it was just the sort of thing that would attract the Doctor.
He knew that, and he knew the Time Editors knew it too. So that was where he went.
He hadn't intended to notice the group of people that sat a few tables over; smart men wearing crisp suits and speaking in hushed tones.
And there was of course no intention on his part to overhear when those same men spoke a name he couldn't help but listen to.
The name was River Song.
Of course, there had been no intention, but by then? It was too late.
He listened as they talked, his ears tuned in to their quiet tones, and voices speaking in a rare language; the sort used when you were trying to hide things. They spoke in ways that hardly made sense, code to cover their plans. They were sharp, clever. But that didn't worry him, he was pretty clever himself.
It was only as their conversation went on that he began to realise who they were, and that made his hearts sink.
They spoke for perhaps half an hour, and though not once was he referred to in name, he knew that they were talking about him, and he knew too what their intentions were. He can't have been noticed, and that was good. It gave him a headstart. He was going to need one.
He knew what they intended to do, and he knew there was little he could do to stop them. But then impossible was his speciality.
Three weeks later the Doctor found himself on a small planet called Arla, an Earth colony in the 48th century. There was an ice storm in the skies that had been raging for months, it was just the sort of thing that would attract the Doctor.
He knew that, and he knew the Time Editors knew it too. So that was where he went.