lizbee | FIC: The Think Tank (DW; Eleven, Amy, Rory, Romana

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Title: The Think Tank
Author: LizBee
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Eleven, Amy, Rory, Romana
Pairing(s): Offscreen Eleven/River
Contains: Spoilers for "Death of the Doctor"
Notes: I mentioned recently that I was having a hard time fitting Romana into Eleven's world. This led to a discussion with

violetisblue, which spawned this.
Summary: Amy and Rory aren't thrilled that the Doctor has been taking secret trips without them, but it turns out that's just the beginning of things he hasn't bothered to mention.

The Think Tank
by LizBee

The Doctor was weirdly quiet when he returned to the honeymoon planet. He talked, he always talked, but he said even less than usual. A wistful mention of meeting old friends, quickly concealed by a joke, that was all. Then they were off for the next grand adventure.

And that would have been fine — Amy, of all people, understood the need for privacy — only there were the messages. And following the messages, the disappearances.

One message came just after breakfast, and before lunchtime, Amy and Rory were dropped off on a pleasure planet. Well, that was okay. They were newlyweds. Alone-time was good. And the Doctor came back two days later, muttering about temporal incursions and an anti-matter universe.

Only, the next time it was a phone call right in the middle of some complicated business involving Attila the Hun and Nancy Mitford, and as soon as that was over, Amy and Rory were dropped off in France with Nancy while the Doctor made excuses and vanished.

Then the Cybermen turned up.

“If this is a booty call,” said Rory as he wacked a Cyberman with its own foot, “I’m going to kill him. And River.”

The Doctor didn’t return for another three weeks. When he finally turned up, Amy marched into the TARDIS without looking at him.

“Well,” said the Doctor, “all back together. This is nice. Have a good time? City of love? I love Paris. I remember, there was this time I saw the Mona Lisa—”

“Where were you?” Amy growled.

“It’s not funny,” Rory added, “leaving us to cope with Cybermen and Mitfords all on our own. Where’d you go?”

“You know,” said the Doctor vaguely, “helping out a friend.”

Next time he received a message, Amy was ready.

“So,” she said, before he’d even had a chance to slip the print-out into his pocket, “planning to drop us off somewhere?”

“No need to worry about us,” Rory added. “You can go do your secret Time Lord things. We’ll save the universe while you’re busy.”

The Doctor had a peculiar expression on his face. Like he was annoyed, okay, but also maybe a bit proud. And excited. Or nervous.

Emotions were complicated. Amy was a woman of action. She pounded her fist on the console and said, “Come on, then. Doctor’s secret love nest, here we come.”

It wasn’t a secret love nest. More like an Edwardian house crossed with a Victorian gentleman’s club in space. A Victorian club that had nicked some furniture from the starship Enterprise (1701-D, thank you very much — Rory could pout all he wanted, but Amy had to take a stand: real starship captains didn’t have hair).

Also, it was full of women, and they all knew the Doctor.

“Well it’s about time you turned up,” said an American, passing by with an armful of potted plants. One snapped at her hair with prehensile fronds. “Not that I blame you for staying away.”

“Yeah,” said the Doctor. “Is Ace—”

“Still mad. Well, you did try to shut down her charity.”

“She hit me over the head! With a fire extinguisher!”

“She thought you were the Master.”

“And I thought she was a Slitheen ring-in!” He pouted meditatively. “Maybe if I send flowers?”

“Try explosives. And a new fire extinguisher.” The plant grabbed at her hair. “Garald!” she snapped. “Sorry, Doctor, have to run. You know how it is with Venusian palms.”

“Wow,” said Amy as the American walked away.

“That was Peri,” said the Doctor, sounding as proud as if she were his very own invention.

“She seems very nice,” said Rory. “So where are we?”

“It doesn’t really have a name,” said the Doctor. “I’ve been calling it the Diogenes Club, but only because it annoys — duck!”

They hit the floor, blue flames occupying the space their heads and shoulders had previously occupied.

“Sorry!” someone called. “Experiment got a bit out of hand. Oh, hello, Doctor!”

“Is it a sort of university?” Amy asked as they continued on their way.

“Exactly that,” said the Doctor, “only completely wrong. See, when my people were alive, they did a lot of, well, behind the scenes work, you might call it. Keeping the universe the right way up.”

“Repotting prehensile plants,” said Rory.

“Well, I did have this friend who bred mice — anyway. What with it being just me and all, I tried to do my bit. But I can’t be everywhere at once, though, and one day — just after you were married, actually — I realised that someone was helping. So I did a bit of digging, found my way here, and — well,” he said, coming to a stop outside a pair of heavy wooden doors, “it turned out that it wasn’t just me after all.”

He knocked.

“You mean,” said Amy as the door swung open, “that you’re not the last of the Time Lords?”

“He never was,” said the woman on the other side.

“Amy and Rory,” said the Doctor, “meet Romana. Romana, Amy and Rory.”

"The girl with the crack in her wall and the boy who waited.” Romana was a tall woman with dark hair and blue eyes set in an ageless face. “I’ve been hearing a lot about you two.”

The Doctor smiled sheepishly.

"Romana's sort of like the big sister that I never had,” he said. “Only she's a few hundred years younger than me, and we have sex sometimes."

“Oh wow,” said Rory, “so many questions I don’t actually want to ask.”

“Just how many ex-girlfriends do you have stashed around the universe?” Amy demanded. “Does River know?"

"Hardly any," said the Doctor, at the same time as Romana said, "Oh, heaps."

They both broke off, waiting for the other to speak. Romana's mouth twitched.

"Speaking of River," she said, "she left a message for you a little while back. Seemed rather urgent. It’s the whole reason I called you here,” she checked the calendar on her desk, “four months ago."

"Ooh, ooh, I know this," said Amy. "It says, Hello, Sweetie."

"Precisely," said Romana, now rummaging in her desk. "Then there followed some rather graphic suggestions for your next encounter. I blushed. Really.”

“Really?” asked the Doctor.

“No. Here it is."

She handed the Doctor a flimsy little crystal engraved with what Amy recognised as ancient High Gallifreyan.

"Ah," said the Doctor, throwing himself into an armchair. "She's going to be thrown into a supernova in thirty-five years, and wonders if I'd like to be there to see it."

"Then we should get moving!" Amy said, giving him a shove.

"I have a time machine!"

"You're always turning up late!"

"Yes, run along, Doctor," said Romana, her attention fixed on a swirling, shifting map of the time vortex that hung over her desk. "Lovely to meet you, Amy. If you ever want a longterm career with the think tank, do feel free to apply. You too, Rory. Doctors are as common as dirt around here, but we’re always trying to find a good nurse.”

"Always good to see you, Romana," said the Doctor, appropriating one of her hats from the stand beside the door.

"And you," she said, tearing herself away from the map long enough to give him a smile. "A proper visit would be nice. I know you can make the time."

"Reunions are worse than goodbyes."

Amy mouthed, "Commitmentphobia" at Romana.

"Anyway," she said, "Mel will be back from the Shadow Proclamation soon, and Ace has been doing some very interesting things with time bubbles. Oh, don’t look like that, it’s a misunderstanding that could happen to anyone. Stop by. We'll feed you."

"When I have the time," the Doctor said, swapping the cherry-laden bonnet for a jaunty yachtsman's cap. "Love you."

"Oh, that's nice," said Amy, leading him away. "Anything to avoid saying goodbye?"

"It's true!" said the Doctor. "But ... yes."

end