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I'd totally forgotten that I ever wrote this. But it occurred to me that some of my Whovian readers might enjoy it, so here it is -- an outtake from my Fifth Doctor story Irresistible Force:
The scene derailed the action and the story was already long enough, so I ruthlessly cut this part out. But in retrospect, I rather like it.
* * *
Somehow, some time, we make it back to my place. I don't own a car-- my salary wouldn't cover it-- so my apartment's on the bus route, about three kilometres away. As I struggle with the back door key it occurs to me that I am not in the habit of taking in strange men, however attractive and ingenuous they may seem; but somehow the usual rules don't seem to apply to the Doctor.
I'm not sure whether to hate him, be terrified of him, or kiss him and make it better. He looks so stricken, I could hardly add to his guilt. But I can't help thinking that if he hadn't decided it was time to get a haircut, Janelle would still be alive.
Still... I thought I was chasing him, he had said. He hadn't expected the hunter to become the hunted. He'd been trying to stop the death of innocents, not cause it. And he'd risked his own life trying to save the little girl.
'What are you,' I ask, 'some kind of MI5 profiler?'
The Doctor is sitting on my sofa, hunched over his tea. The china cup and saucer look fragile in his big hands, but he handles them with the unconscious skill of the true Englishman. Milk, no sugar.
'You've been reading too many spy novels,' he says absently. 'No, just a concerned citizen of the universe.'
'Making the cosmos safe for democracy? You needn't be quite so grandiose.' I sink into the chair opposite him, propping my chin on my hand, watching his averted eyes. 'I think you'd better tell me what this is all about, Doctor Whoever-You-Are.'
He gazes into the cup a moment, as though reading the tea leaves for his future-- or mine. When he speaks again his voice is quiet: 'Thank you for the tea, Jessica. I think I ought to be going.'
'You don't think you can trust me.' I snatch the saucer from his hands, slam it down on the table. 'Just some stupid hairdresser who doesn't have the guts to--'
'Jessica.'
'You don't know anything about me. You think you know, but you don't. It isn't fair to judge me like this. You don't know who I am.'
'Yes, I do,' says the Doctor gently. 'You're an intelligent and educated woman who is squandering her potential in a menial job because she's terrified of failure.'
I want to say something very rude to him, but I can't, because I can't seem to find the bottom half of my jaw.
'Every now and then,' he tells me, still in that same mild tone, 'you give yourself away.' With measured precision he pours himself another cup of tea, folds his hands around it and sits back, gazing past me at the dusty row of academic awards on the top shelf of my bookcase. So dusty, in fact, that it's a wonder he can even read them.
'They didn't want me,' I say at last, my voice squeaky with disbelief. 'They said that I wasn't sociable enough. That I wasn't a team player.'
He smiles faintly. 'No. You aren't.'
Coming from anyone else it would be a rebuke, but not from him. If anything, he seems amused.
'I swear to you, I tried,' I continue, almost desperate to be understood. He can't really think that I-- 'Interview after interview. All the jobs I really wanted, and nobody would hire me. I had to live, Doctor. I had school debts to pay. I took what I could get.'
'There's no shame in that,' he says. 'But you stopped trying, Jessica.'
'And what if I did?' I snap at him, my temper flaring up once more. 'Do you have any idea of the humiliation, the disappointment-- it was degrading. It was making me sick.'
He says nothing, just looks at me. I can see myself reflected in the solemn blue depths of his eyes, and I realise that I'm behaving like a fool. Why should I have to explain myself to him? Especially considering that he ought to be explaining himself to me.
'I deserve a chance, Doctor,' I tell him.
His eyebrows lift, very slightly, and I can feel my bravado deflate. 'All right, I need a chance.' My mouth twists ruefully. 'Not all of us find it easy to be brave and humble at the same time.'
His smile returns, wider this time, and quite unfairly bewitching. 'Quite.' Shifting over, he pats the sofa beside him. 'Sit down, Jessica.'
Obediently, no longer knowing what else to do, I sit. He puts his cup down and turns to me, his hand covering mine in a fraternal, comforting gesture. 'It's not that I don't trust you. It's not that I don't think you're capable. It's simply that if I tell you the truth, you won't be able to believe it. And unless you believe, there's nothing you can do to help me.'
'Try me,' I say, a little shakily. 'I might surprise you, Doctor.'
He regards me a moment with a strange, intent look, as though reading my mind. Heaven help me, perhaps he is. At last he begins to speak, but I cut him off:
'No. Wait. Just tell me...' I take a deep breath. 'Tell me what you think I can believe. For now. And then I'll do whatever I can to prove to you that I can handle the rest.'
The smile becomes a grin, dazzling as sunlight on clear water. 'Jessica,' he says, 'you have yourself a job.'* * *
The scene derailed the action and the story was already long enough, so I ruthlessly cut this part out. But in retrospect, I rather like it.
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Date: 2003-09-05 06:23 am (UTC)This is why we have editors ...
Date: 2003-09-06 09:16 am (UTC)