"Just like that," the Doctor says, waving his hand through the air, drawing an imaginary arc across the sky. "Coordinates exactly right, wouldn't you say?"
Adric takes a deep breath: the air here is fresh and clean, and the two suns shine brightly against the blue backdrop, making the whole world seem awake and alive. There's an ocean off in the distance, and mountains and fields and a brilliant-looking city dominated by a giant spaceport. It's completely fantastic, he thinks.
"Just like that," he repeats, running his hand absent-mindedly over his badge. "But weren't you taking me to the primitive sun god festival, probably about nineteen hundred years earlier? I think you must have transposed a number or two."
The Doctor blusters and strides off towards the spaceport. Adric follows a step behind. It's always a competition: the give-and-take, the argument. He wonders why he still does this. He thinks that the Doctor understands – really understands – that this is how boys like him communicate, in numbers and awkward deflections, while loving as hard as they can underneath.
There's trouble at the spaceport, of course. Adric gets to fly a hyperspatial jet with cool cloaking capabilities. The Doctor tries not to grin too much when he gets to take it apart and tinker after they've won the war. Adric smiles more than he thinks he ever might again.
He's wrong, of course, and it's the one time he admits to himself that he doesn't mind.
*
There's no one moment; it doesn't work like that for a Time Lord and an Alzarian boy, who sometimes can barely stand each other, who sometimes are the best of friends.
He loves as hard as he can underneath – as much as he can – and the Doctor understands.
*
This time it's night, with three moons and only a handful of stars to be seen through the cloud cover. The Doctor is standing in front of it, tall and magisterial and alien beyond anything else Adric has seen in his jumps around the universe.
Adric shivers; it's cold outside. It's a bit lonely, too, rattling around just the two of them, and he thinks things are about to change. Nothing stays static in the Doctor's life. It wouldn't be right if it did.
The Doctor turns around, settles a friendly eye on Adric's face. Adric flushes, a little, under the knowing gaze, and the respect it imparts.
"Did someone walk over your grave?" the Doctor asks, to Adric's puzzlement. "It's an old Earth saying," he explains. "But don't you worry, young Adric, you have a long life ahead of you yet, and I'm sure it's going to be glorious."
The Doctor turns back to the stars impassively, but reaches out a hand behind him. Adric stretches out his own to meet it.
*
Everyone changes, and everyone dies, and on a freighter so far in the future and past a boy fights like a man for someone lost, and the hope of another chance to fly a really cool jet while his best friend sits beside him and smiles and smiles.
Requests: One/Edith ("The Time Meddler"), Anji/Martha, Fitz/Rose
Four/Adric
"Just like that," the Doctor says, waving his hand through the air, drawing an imaginary arc across the sky. "Coordinates exactly right, wouldn't you say?"
Adric takes a deep breath: the air here is fresh and clean, and the two suns shine brightly against the blue backdrop, making the whole world seem awake and alive. There's an ocean off in the distance, and mountains and fields and a brilliant-looking city dominated by a giant spaceport. It's completely fantastic, he thinks.
"Just like that," he repeats, running his hand absent-mindedly over his badge. "But weren't you taking me to the primitive sun god festival, probably about nineteen hundred years earlier? I think you must have transposed a number or two."
The Doctor blusters and strides off towards the spaceport. Adric follows a step behind. It's always a competition: the give-and-take, the argument. He wonders why he still does this. He thinks that the Doctor understands – really understands – that this is how boys like him communicate, in numbers and awkward deflections, while loving as hard as they can underneath.
There's trouble at the spaceport, of course. Adric gets to fly a hyperspatial jet with cool cloaking capabilities. The Doctor tries not to grin too much when he gets to take it apart and tinker after they've won the war. Adric smiles more than he thinks he ever might again.
He's wrong, of course, and it's the one time he admits to himself that he doesn't mind.
*
There's no one moment; it doesn't work like that for a Time Lord and an Alzarian boy, who sometimes can barely stand each other, who sometimes are the best of friends.
He loves as hard as he can underneath – as much as he can – and the Doctor understands.
*
This time it's night, with three moons and only a handful of stars to be seen through the cloud cover. The Doctor is standing in front of it, tall and magisterial and alien beyond anything else Adric has seen in his jumps around the universe.
Adric shivers; it's cold outside. It's a bit lonely, too, rattling around just the two of them, and he thinks things are about to change. Nothing stays static in the Doctor's life. It wouldn't be right if it did.
The Doctor turns around, settles a friendly eye on Adric's face. Adric flushes, a little, under the knowing gaze, and the respect it imparts.
"Did someone walk over your grave?" the Doctor asks, to Adric's puzzlement. "It's an old Earth saying," he explains. "But don't you worry, young Adric, you have a long life ahead of you yet, and I'm sure it's going to be glorious."
The Doctor turns back to the stars impassively, but reaches out a hand behind him. Adric stretches out his own to meet it.
*
Everyone changes, and everyone dies, and on a freighter so far in the future and past a boy fights like a man for someone lost, and the hope of another chance to fly a really cool jet while his best friend sits beside him and smiles and smiles.
Requests: One/Edith ("The Time Meddler"), Anji/Martha, Fitz/Rose