Realm of the Muse, Prompt 1.52.3
Washington, DC, August 2018.
The entire time she’d lived on Earth, Catherine had never made it to that city to visit. She particularly had never made it to see the Smithsonian museums.
The Doctor had appeared faintly horrified at the admission. “You… you what?” He ran a hand through his hair, frowning at her. “That won’t do. He was a scientist, just like you, that Smithson fellow. Discovered calamine.”
“I bet he was never itchy, then.”
“I… well. I suppose not, no.” And then he smiled that brilliant smile of his and started flipping levers and punching in coordinates.
It took them two entire days to get through all the museums on the National Mall. She’d liked the art museums and the Natural History Museum best.
“Doctor?”
“Mmm?”
“This diamond… it’s not really cursed, is it?”
“What, the Hope?” The Doctor wandered over and peered in the case, then flashed her a grin as he leaned in, pressing his lips to her ear and murmuring, “Nooooooo, no, it’s not cursed. It’s alien. Got a probability manipulation field around it. Don’t stand too close…”
He’d liked the history museums and the Air and Space Museum best. She’d actually lost him for a good hour in the latter, and had been on the verge of asking the museum staff to make one of those embarrassing “please come meet your party” announcements over the public address system when she found him up on the second floor, leaning over a railing, peering at an aeroplane that looked like one that came in a box from the toy store and was glued together, only on a much larger scale.
“What’s this, then?”
“This,” he replied, turning toward her, grinning brightly, “this, Catherine, is the ‘Spirit of St. Louis.’ Charles Lindbergh made the first solo transatlantic flight in this.”
“In this?” Catherine stared at the tiny craft. “Was he mad?”
“Welllllllll… maybe. Just a bit. But every good explorer’s got to be just a bit mad, don’t you think? They’d never take those risks or go out and, you know, explore otherwise. … Right, so why are you looking at me funny now? What are you implying…?”
Then he’d insisted on visiting all the monuments, and parks, and several historical sites. It was late in the afternoon, and they were walking along a busy street, when the Doctor squeezed her hand. “D’you see that big, imposing sort of building there? That one? That’s the headquarters of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“They’re like the federal police, right?”
“Right!”
“Is that where we’re going?”
“No. We’re going…” He squinted at a few street signs, then took out his glasses, put them on, and peered at them again. “That way,” he announced, pointing up a side street.
“And what’s ‘that way’?”
“Ford’s Theatre. And the House Where Lincoln Died.”
“Lincoln. The president, the one who was assassinated? You want to go see where the man died?” Catherine made a face. “That’s a bit morbid, isn’t it?”
“You don’t want to go?”
“Not really. Besides, I’m done in, we’ve been walking for days.” The Doctor was frowning, and Catherine sighed. “Tell you what. See that pub over there? I’ll wait for you there. You go.”
“You sure…?” He eyed both the pub and Catherine warily, as if reluctant to let her go.
She grinned, and adjusted his tie. “Go. I’ll be fine.”
He returned the grin, and leaned in for a quick kiss. “Won’t be long.” He headed up the street; Catherine walked in the other direction and into the pub.
Clearly she’d chosen entirely the wrong time to come. The place was packed. She wasn’t even sure if she’d have room to go stand at the bar and have a drink. She stood there, frowning, weighing her options, when she became aware of someone watching her intently. There was a man, alone at a table by the front window. He looked to be in his late fifties, with gray hair in a conservative, almost military cut, and a pair of piercing blue eyes. When he realised he’d been caught watching her, he smiled, and waved her over.
The man rose to his feet as she approached. “If I’m not bein’ too forward, miss… there’s room for one more at the table here. I promise I’m not gonna make a pass at you or anything.” He smiled, and pulled out the other chair for her.
“All right,” Catherine replied, smiling politely. She took the seat, murmuring her thanks, as the man called the waiter over.
“Another of the same for me, and whatever the lady’s havin’.” He offered her another polite smile as the waiter left. “So, sorry. Didn’t mean to be staring you down when you came in or nothin’. You just look a hell of a lot like somebody I used to know. Took me a minute to realise you couldn’t be her… ‘cause it’s been about twenty years, now, since I last seen her, and you don’t look a day older now than she did then.”
“Ah. I see.” She smiled again, nodding at the waiter as he placed her drink in front of her. “So who was she? This woman? Girlfriend? Ex-wife? Mortal enemy?”
“I used to work with her. She was one hell of a lady.”
“I imagine so,” Catherine replied, “to have left such an impression on you even all these years later. What did you do? Where did you work?”
He tilted his head at the window. “See that big building right there?”
“Yes. That’s the FBI building.”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “Wasn’t sure if you’d know. Pardon me, but you don’t sound like you’re from around here. England?”
Catherine smirked faintly. It always amused her how human ears interpreted Time Lord speech as British English. “Sure,” she replied. “Just in town doing some sightseeing. We’ve been here a few days. My other half is off looking at where one of your presidents died. I rebelled, I needed to get off my feet and have a drink. So here I am.” She had a sip of her drink and then rested her chin on her hand. “Are you still with the FBI, then?”
“Yeah. Yeah, sure am. Been almost twenty-five years now.”
“And what do you do?” Catherine grinned. “I mean, if you can tell me. If it’s hush-hush top-secret and telling me will get me shot, then make something up.”
“I investigate suspected alien contact or use of technology.”
Catherine leaned forward. “Do you really? The FBI has a division for that now? Well, I suppose they must, after the Sycorax and Canary Wharf and all, yes?”
“Oh, yeah, we do.” He put his glass down and watched her closely, as if making his mind up about something. “I mean, we admit it publicly now. Truth of the matter is, though, we were into that stuff since back in the forties. Roswell and all that.”
“Really.” Catherine’s drink was forgotten now, as she sat and listened. “So you’ve actually been investigating alien contact for the better part of a century now. That’s interesting.”
“Not just aliens, either. All kinds of stuff. Ghosts, demons, ESP, monsters, every crazy thing you can imagine, we investigated it.”
Catherine raised an eyebrow. “’We’? So you worked in that division?”
“For a while, yeah.” He laughed mirthlessly. “Didn’t used to believe in half the stuff we got into. I sure got proved wrong.”
“So you believe it now?”
“I got no choice.” He smiled. “Proof’s sittin’ right there in front of my eyes, every day.” He sighed a bit. “Sometimes I feel like maybe I owe her an apology.”
It took Catherine a moment to catch on that “she” was the woman this man had worked with. “I’m sure she understands,” she offered sympathetically.
“I sure hope so.”
They were interrupted by the sound of someone rapping at the window. Catherine turned, and smiled. It was the Doctor. She waved at him, and earned one of those bright, happy grins in response. “That would be my other half,” she explained, as the Doctor made his way to the door.
“I kinda figured.” The man waved the waiter over one more time, to settle the bill. “No, no, put your money away, miss, I got yours.”
“Are you quite sure?”
“Yeah.” He smiled at her. “Thank you for indulging an old man. I don’t even know why I told you all that. Like I said… you really reminded me of someone, that’s all.”
Catherine rose to her feet when he did, offering her hand. “I hope you get the chance to tell her that yourself someday, Mr…” She frowned. “Oh. I didn’t catch your name, I’m so sorry. I’m Catherine Endicott, Mr…?”
“Doggett.” He shook her hand warmly. “John Doggett. It was nice talkin’ to you, Miss Endicott. I’m gonna let you go now, though… ‘cause here comes your boyfriend.” He smiled at her one last time, and then set off through the crowd.
“Who was that?” the Doctor asked, pressing his lips to her neck from behind. “Made a new friend while I was off, did you?”
“He’s with the FBI.”
“FBI? Are we in trouble? What have you done now?” he teased.
“Nothing. How were the theatre, and the house?”
“Did you know, Lincoln was so tall, they had to lay him diagonally across the bed?”
“Really.” Catherine turned, just in time to see Mr Doggett through the window, passing by on the street outside. “Well, then. Now that you’ve seen that… let’s go home.” She took the Doctor’s hand, gave it a squeeze, and then started leading him through the crowd.
Catherine Endicott
Doctor Who/OC
Word Count: 1606