Fanfic - DW/RW: So, a Doctor … - Ch.2 - Into the Tavern
Title: So, a Doctor, a King, and a Knight Walk Into a TARDIS and …
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Two: Into the Tavern
At the inn, they sat at a picnic-meets-old-world-tavern type table and sloshed ale down their throats - well, the Doctor did. Max and Michael opted for root beer instead, their eyes sliding sideways as they requested hot sauce from the waitress and proceeded to spice their drinks with redness like it was whiskey. The table seemed quiet a long time.
"So ... enough about me. What about you?"
Michael's stoicism tipped into a frown. "What about us?"
"Well, I think I've caught your names - the ones for here, at least - but what are you doing here?" The way they both looked away at the same time, unsure how to answer, made a frightening thought churn in his double-lined stomach. "You're not … government-created are you? - Not that I discriminate, but- ..." He sucked in air through his teeth, worrying over what American facilities he'd have to shut down for messing overmuch with alien technology.
"No." Max was already shaking his head, Michael's grumble notwithstanding. "We're- ... We were made on our home planet."
"What for?" This was a puzzle, delightful and lovely to look at, of course - hence the way the Doctor's expression mixed confusion with the glee of anticipated understanding - but it was still a puzzle. "Antarians and humans don't cavort much- Well ..." His memory worked through universal history. "Not yet anyway." He peered at them curiously, seeking more of the story in their eyes. "You're early. Why are you early?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, but I really don't think this is any of your business." Michael swished back the last of his drink and stretched as if aiming to leave.
"Come on! Who'm I gonna tell, really? The glugs chasing you? If I don't know who you are, what makes you think I know them?"
Max had gone very still, possibly several sentences ago. "How did you know that we're Antarian?"
"Oh that! Nothing special. The TARDIS just likes to stay aware of its surroundings and you two nearly ran into her, so she assessed the threat level."
"We look human."
"Of course you do, but so do I - so do most around here these days. Not that humans really pay as much attention as you’d think, what with all the misremembering and whatnot."
Michael’s laugh was bitter. "I wish."
The Doctor's mental trajectory flipped in a whole new direction, concern clouding his features. "Is that why you were running? Were you found out? Are you criminals? You don't look like criminals."
Max shook his head, but his eyes wandered out to take in the remnants of the midweek evening crowd. "Someone's trying to kill us."
"Why?"
Max found his eyes again, still more open than his companion's but more calculating now. "What do you know about Antar?"
"Nothing really- Well- … Capsicumiums. I know about capsicumiums."
"Capsa-what?" Michael was staring across the table like the Doctor had just thrown down a gauntlet.
"Capsicumiums! Or- well, I never stayed around long enough to learn what the locals called them, but- purple water-dwelling flowers? Open in the light of two moons? And really, I only know that bit because there was a dare and- …" His mind kept wandering but his mouth stopped moving because the two men he was speaking to were clearly lost. "So … you weren't gardeners then, I suppose."
Max shook his head slowly. "Is that all you know about Antar?"
"Well, there's contact, eventually, but that's not for eons and it was never grand or anything, so …" The Doctor squinted, rifling through the centuries of gunk in his head, and he opened his mouth twice, closing it twice as he realized he had nothing more to say, really. He scratched the back of his head with a pout in his lips. "Yeah. Probably."
Both young men remained silent for a good while, though they didn't spare looks at each other. Eventually, Max spoke solemnly, his words measured and precise. "There was a war, a civil war. … We lost."
Michael's jaw shifted, but he didn't add anything further.
"So you came here?"
Even Max was unwilling to answer that question fully, tipping his head to one side. "Something like that."
Whatever more there was to their story, it was really no one's business but their own, but bottling his questions wasn't one of the Doctor's strong suits. It didn't help that there was cold twisting in his stomach, part of him feeling a sense of pained camaraderie while another part of him worried over harboring war criminals and being caught up in a justice system better left alone, regardless of the Shadow Proclamation. "Do the others have good reasons for wanting you dead?" He didn't take his eyes off of Max's, watching for a twitch or slick slide of the eyes, neither of which surfaced.
"No. We only want to protect ourselves."
"How many of you are there?" The words were out of his mouth before he could think to spare Max that flicker of sadness, Michael that flicker of rage. "I mean- …"
"Just two now. Just us." Max nodded with conviction to himself as much as to the others at the table.
Michael's attention swiveled to Max, propping him up with strongly stated words that Max could nod along with. "Safer this way. Better."
"Ah." The others defected; the Doctor could see it now. They'd lost friends or more to the other side, which, for some, may have actually felt worse than losing them in a fight, dead but loyal.
Max suddenly seemed very tired, the turn in the conversation draining him quickly as his droopy eyes sluggishly surveyed the shadows nearby. "We should get a room."
Michael seemed hesitant to say anything, but he finally leaned closer to Max, speaking low. "We don't have the cash, Max. Maybe we could- …" He took a slow breath. "We should probably get a car. I'll take first shift, go north."
Max's shoulders slumped at the thought of more running, but he nodded in the end, resigned.
"Or you could stay with me." Wait! Where did that come from?! Both men were already studying him.
Michael's lips became a line, serious though unbothered. "You don't like me."
"Oh now! You've got that backwards! And it's not about liking anyway. You need sleep and safety and all that and I've got room. Only makes sense!"
Max looked him over, once, twice, and again, while Michael seemed to wait, nearly at the end of his held breath. "We'll figure something out tomorrow."
"That should be- …" The Doctor nodded, eating his thought that it wouldn't matter to him if things were figured out tomorrow or next week or next year. "… fine." They both looked at him a long time, half-patience, half-annoyance, until he realized that he was the last one drinking. Then he met the realization with a stream of ale down his throat and a laugh on his tongue as he tossed enough money on the table for all three and strode out of the room, Max and Michael taking their time behind him with their hushed tones almost blown away on the wind.
They only split again to sleep, though Michael didn't quite like it, escorting Max to his room and fighting over standing watch while Max slept. Eventually, Max's raised voice, ringing with authoritarian finality, meant that Michael went three doors down the hallway to what used to be Jack's room. Then the TARDIS was quiet again and the Doctor returned to his work.
One - Two - Three - Four - Five
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Two: Into the Tavern
At the inn, they sat at a picnic-meets-old-world-tavern type table and sloshed ale down their throats - well, the Doctor did. Max and Michael opted for root beer instead, their eyes sliding sideways as they requested hot sauce from the waitress and proceeded to spice their drinks with redness like it was whiskey. The table seemed quiet a long time.
"So ... enough about me. What about you?"
Michael's stoicism tipped into a frown. "What about us?"
"Well, I think I've caught your names - the ones for here, at least - but what are you doing here?" The way they both looked away at the same time, unsure how to answer, made a frightening thought churn in his double-lined stomach. "You're not … government-created are you? - Not that I discriminate, but- ..." He sucked in air through his teeth, worrying over what American facilities he'd have to shut down for messing overmuch with alien technology.
"No." Max was already shaking his head, Michael's grumble notwithstanding. "We're- ... We were made on our home planet."
"What for?" This was a puzzle, delightful and lovely to look at, of course - hence the way the Doctor's expression mixed confusion with the glee of anticipated understanding - but it was still a puzzle. "Antarians and humans don't cavort much- Well ..." His memory worked through universal history. "Not yet anyway." He peered at them curiously, seeking more of the story in their eyes. "You're early. Why are you early?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, but I really don't think this is any of your business." Michael swished back the last of his drink and stretched as if aiming to leave.
"Come on! Who'm I gonna tell, really? The glugs chasing you? If I don't know who you are, what makes you think I know them?"
Max had gone very still, possibly several sentences ago. "How did you know that we're Antarian?"
"Oh that! Nothing special. The TARDIS just likes to stay aware of its surroundings and you two nearly ran into her, so she assessed the threat level."
"We look human."
"Of course you do, but so do I - so do most around here these days. Not that humans really pay as much attention as you’d think, what with all the misremembering and whatnot."
Michael’s laugh was bitter. "I wish."
The Doctor's mental trajectory flipped in a whole new direction, concern clouding his features. "Is that why you were running? Were you found out? Are you criminals? You don't look like criminals."
Max shook his head, but his eyes wandered out to take in the remnants of the midweek evening crowd. "Someone's trying to kill us."
"Why?"
Max found his eyes again, still more open than his companion's but more calculating now. "What do you know about Antar?"
"Nothing really- Well- … Capsicumiums. I know about capsicumiums."
"Capsa-what?" Michael was staring across the table like the Doctor had just thrown down a gauntlet.
"Capsicumiums! Or- well, I never stayed around long enough to learn what the locals called them, but- purple water-dwelling flowers? Open in the light of two moons? And really, I only know that bit because there was a dare and- …" His mind kept wandering but his mouth stopped moving because the two men he was speaking to were clearly lost. "So … you weren't gardeners then, I suppose."
Max shook his head slowly. "Is that all you know about Antar?"
"Well, there's contact, eventually, but that's not for eons and it was never grand or anything, so …" The Doctor squinted, rifling through the centuries of gunk in his head, and he opened his mouth twice, closing it twice as he realized he had nothing more to say, really. He scratched the back of his head with a pout in his lips. "Yeah. Probably."
Both young men remained silent for a good while, though they didn't spare looks at each other. Eventually, Max spoke solemnly, his words measured and precise. "There was a war, a civil war. … We lost."
Michael's jaw shifted, but he didn't add anything further.
"So you came here?"
Even Max was unwilling to answer that question fully, tipping his head to one side. "Something like that."
Whatever more there was to their story, it was really no one's business but their own, but bottling his questions wasn't one of the Doctor's strong suits. It didn't help that there was cold twisting in his stomach, part of him feeling a sense of pained camaraderie while another part of him worried over harboring war criminals and being caught up in a justice system better left alone, regardless of the Shadow Proclamation. "Do the others have good reasons for wanting you dead?" He didn't take his eyes off of Max's, watching for a twitch or slick slide of the eyes, neither of which surfaced.
"No. We only want to protect ourselves."
"How many of you are there?" The words were out of his mouth before he could think to spare Max that flicker of sadness, Michael that flicker of rage. "I mean- …"
"Just two now. Just us." Max nodded with conviction to himself as much as to the others at the table.
Michael's attention swiveled to Max, propping him up with strongly stated words that Max could nod along with. "Safer this way. Better."
"Ah." The others defected; the Doctor could see it now. They'd lost friends or more to the other side, which, for some, may have actually felt worse than losing them in a fight, dead but loyal.
Max suddenly seemed very tired, the turn in the conversation draining him quickly as his droopy eyes sluggishly surveyed the shadows nearby. "We should get a room."
Michael seemed hesitant to say anything, but he finally leaned closer to Max, speaking low. "We don't have the cash, Max. Maybe we could- …" He took a slow breath. "We should probably get a car. I'll take first shift, go north."
Max's shoulders slumped at the thought of more running, but he nodded in the end, resigned.
"Or you could stay with me." Wait! Where did that come from?! Both men were already studying him.
Michael's lips became a line, serious though unbothered. "You don't like me."
"Oh now! You've got that backwards! And it's not about liking anyway. You need sleep and safety and all that and I've got room. Only makes sense!"
Max looked him over, once, twice, and again, while Michael seemed to wait, nearly at the end of his held breath. "We'll figure something out tomorrow."
"That should be- …" The Doctor nodded, eating his thought that it wouldn't matter to him if things were figured out tomorrow or next week or next year. "… fine." They both looked at him a long time, half-patience, half-annoyance, until he realized that he was the last one drinking. Then he met the realization with a stream of ale down his throat and a laugh on his tongue as he tossed enough money on the table for all three and strode out of the room, Max and Michael taking their time behind him with their hushed tones almost blown away on the wind.
They only split again to sleep, though Michael didn't quite like it, escorting Max to his room and fighting over standing watch while Max slept. Eventually, Max's raised voice, ringing with authoritarian finality, meant that Michael went three doors down the hallway to what used to be Jack's room. Then the TARDIS was quiet again and the Doctor returned to his work.
One - Two - Three - Four - Five