Vignette: Surprises (Doctor Who)
Title: Surprises
Disclaimer: Characters and situations owned by the BBC
Rating: G
Characters: Jo Grant, the Doctor, the Master (briefly)
Summary: Five times Jo surprised the Doctor. (Written on wondygal's prompt.)
I.
“You want me to hypnotize you?” the Doctor repeated, amazed.
“Well,” Jo explained earnestly, “you said he’d be back, didn’t you? The Master. And I’d rather not be hypnotized again. So I should learn how to resist.”
It did make sense. She might not have any aptitude in science, but she had shown herself inventive and resilient when it came to improvising her way out of a desperate situation. Still, he found himself regarding her young, open face and steadied himself for the look of disappointment as he shook his head.
“But Doctor…”
“The mind is a thing of great delicacy, Jo,” he said, and could not stop bitterness from creeping into his voice. “My own is currently at… less than its best, you know. There are memories I lack, and you would not want someone to operate who does not know all of his instruments, would you?”
The details of his exile and quite what the Time Lords had done to him were not common UNIT knowledge, and he doubted the Brigadier would have shared them with this young girl who had only been given this assignment as his assistant because her uncle had influence at the ministry. So he prepared himself for further questions from Jo. Her eyes widened, and she slipped her hand in his. Her fingers were much smaller than his, and warmer; human, with a surprisingly strong grip.
She didn’t ask anything more that day. Instead, she chattered about how daffodils were now ruined for her, and wasn’t that a shame, because they used to be her favourite flowers, and really, couldn’t old Blackbeard have picked some nasty flowers like lilies for his death-by-plastic scheme? Lilies reminded everyone of graves anyway.
The Doctor listened, and soon found that bright smile of hers on his lips, that sense of humiliation the most recent message from the Time Lords had left forgotten.
The next day, he told her how reciting rhymes in her head usually helped against hypnotism, and as she went through nursery verses to practise them out on him, he thought she might have some hidden hypnotic powers of her own.
II.
“Come on, Doctor,” Jo said. “You must have had a favourite Beatle. Everyone did.” Wistfully, she added: “I have the White Album signed by all four. Do you think they’ll ever get together again?”
“I know they won’t,” the Doctor said truthfully, and Jo looked crushed. He felt guilty, and besides, he knew he would not be able to continue his latest experiment until they had finished this conversation, so he rubbed his chin and said: “Which one was the one who sang ‘Ruby Tuesday’ again? That one.”
“Doctor, that’s a Stones song,” Jo cried indignantly before she caught the twinkle in his eyes and laughed. In truth, both Susan and Vicki in their different ways had made sure that the Doctor was familiar with the entire repertoire of the Beatles, the Rolling Stones and a group of Lute Players from Alpha Centauri whose name could only be sung, not spoken.
“Who was your favourite, Jo?” he asked, and she grinned.
“Guess,” she said. “And no more cheating with the Stones. Also, Brian Jones is dead, so I don’t have a favourite there anyway.”
“Paul,” he said, and Jo laughed. “I knew you’d say that, Doctor. No.”
Susan had told him that Paul McCartney was referred to as “the cute one” by the girls in her class, and it did surprise him that this one wasn’t Jo’s choice. Perhaps he had misjudged her natural kindness to certain young officers or the occasional occupant of the English countryside as a symptom of flirtation and attraction, despite the fact the Doctor couldn’t see what was supposed to be interesting about them for the life of him, aside from aesthetics. Not that he begrudged Jo a flirtation. Of course not. It was her right. He was simply getting used to her presence, and maybe, just maybe, he felt a little protective.
“John then?” he asked, going for an amused and avuncular tone. Instead, he sounded almost hopeful.
“No, George!” Jo said triumphantly. “I learned about meditation and India because of him. Now he is really groovy.”
The Doctor considered mentioning his experience in meditation but thought better of it.
III.
They had been imprisoned together in all kind of human cells before the Doctor had both his mind and the TARDIS back whole and complete, so it didn’t surprise him Jo would take alien cells in her stride, or that she would prove herself as apt at escaping from them as she had on Earth. Her inability to tell atoms from neutrons was still lamentable, but if there was ever someone who could have taught Houdini a trick or two, it would have been Jo.
What did surprise him was that instead of waiting for the guard in the Maluri prison to disappear once he had locked them up, so they could start with the escape, she sniffed and told the guard this cell would get a measly two stars in her book.
“Your what?” said the guard in disbelief.
“My tour book,” Jo replied without batting an eyelid. “The Escapologist’s Guide To Cells Throughout The Galaxy”. Haven’t you heard of it? Well, you’re going to get a really bad review, I’m afraid. Only two stars. You’ll never get any interesting prisoners until you improve. Now the Doctor and I have been to Atlantis, and they had an entire labyrinth as a prison, and some wonderful wardrobe. This just doesn’t compare.”
Throughout her rant, the guard listened, mesmerized; so did the Doctor before he realized that Jo was providing the perfect distraction for him to get behind the guard and apply some Venusian Aikido.
Later, once they were inside the TARDIS again, Jo sneezed. “And that’s one less star for them because of the awful cold,” she said.
IV.
“A what?” the Doctor asked, stunned.
“A talent night, Doctor,” Jo said. “For everyone here at UNIT HQ. We’ve been away for so long. Everyone has grown so tense while we were in space, haven’t you noticed? I think it would be fabulous fun. But I know the Brigadier won’t say yes until you do.”
“Say yes to what?”
“To participating, of course,” Jo said with a look of fond exasperation. “You could sing, Doctor. You do that all the time when you’re tinkering with Bessie, I’ve heard you. And did you know Mike can tap dance?”
“Well…” The Doctor started dubiously, feeling tempted and remembering some of the card tricks and sleights of hand he had acquired in his second body. Not that he didn’t enjoy singing when he felt like it, but he didn’t consider this something to do be done for the public benefit.
“Doctor,” Jo said unexpectedly serious, “if you’re not a part of this, everyone will just show off their shooting skills and that would be so boring. But if you show up on stage and sing for us, the Brigadier will have to as well.”
“The Brigadier sings?” the Doctor asked, as this was news to him.
“We’ll never know if you don’t challenge him to,” Jo said with a grin.
Much later, he realized that it hadn’t been anyone at UNIT who had been tense. He had been, after their recent encounter with the Master and the Daleks, after that head shot, after having had the freedom to travel again and the uncertainty as to whether or not he really would have wanted to return if Jo hadn’t. But it all retreated as he let himself be cajoled into the wonderful, silly fun of a talent night, and the company of his human friends, as Jo had known it would.
Maybe he could leave for good now, but it didn’t mean he had to. Not just yet.
V.
Jo leaving him hadn’t been a complete surprise. He had always known their time together would end, someday. That she left to save her own planet, one environmental campaign at a time, made him proud. Clifford Jones seemed like a perfectly nice young man, a bit arrogant perhaps, but otherwise a decent fellow. What did surprise the Doctor was that he couldn’t say goodbye to Jo but left her engagement party by quietly slipping away. He had planned on making a speech. He was good at speeches, especially in this regeneration. But watching her dancing, he found he could not say a thing, or do a thing, other than to leave.
He was in a different body and had lived many different lives by the time he saw her again. He was old then, both in spirit and body, aged enhanced by the Master who had used his own genetic code against him. Time was caught in a paradox, and he lived on a ship in the sky that was a prison in a way his time with UNIT had never been. “Look,” the Master drawled, presenting her with a courtly flourish that parodied the formalities they had both indulged in so many years ago, “look who decided to grace us with her presence. Miss Grant.”
She was in her early 60s now, her hair white with some remaining blonde streaks, body far thinner than it had ever been when she was young. Judging by the old faded jeans and the dirty shirt she was wearing, she lived in the same poverty all the humans who didn’t collaborate with the Master did. But when she saw him, she put on a smile, that same bright smile she always had, and went towards him.
“Never mind the old braggart”, she said, and it could have been Atlantis or a 26th century space ship, where Jo treated the Master like an irritating relative, the only one of his companions to do so. Her thin hands grasped his shoulder, and he didn’t know who was supporting whom. Up close, he could see there were tears in her eyes, but her voice sounded as determinedly cheerful as ever as she said: “Doctor, I am so happy to see you again!”
“Trust you to surprise me, Jo,” the Doctor said, felt her lips on his leathery old face, and for a moment, he was young once more.
Disclaimer: Characters and situations owned by the BBC
Rating: G
Characters: Jo Grant, the Doctor, the Master (briefly)
Summary: Five times Jo surprised the Doctor. (Written on wondygal's prompt.)
I.
“You want me to hypnotize you?” the Doctor repeated, amazed.
“Well,” Jo explained earnestly, “you said he’d be back, didn’t you? The Master. And I’d rather not be hypnotized again. So I should learn how to resist.”
It did make sense. She might not have any aptitude in science, but she had shown herself inventive and resilient when it came to improvising her way out of a desperate situation. Still, he found himself regarding her young, open face and steadied himself for the look of disappointment as he shook his head.
“But Doctor…”
“The mind is a thing of great delicacy, Jo,” he said, and could not stop bitterness from creeping into his voice. “My own is currently at… less than its best, you know. There are memories I lack, and you would not want someone to operate who does not know all of his instruments, would you?”
The details of his exile and quite what the Time Lords had done to him were not common UNIT knowledge, and he doubted the Brigadier would have shared them with this young girl who had only been given this assignment as his assistant because her uncle had influence at the ministry. So he prepared himself for further questions from Jo. Her eyes widened, and she slipped her hand in his. Her fingers were much smaller than his, and warmer; human, with a surprisingly strong grip.
She didn’t ask anything more that day. Instead, she chattered about how daffodils were now ruined for her, and wasn’t that a shame, because they used to be her favourite flowers, and really, couldn’t old Blackbeard have picked some nasty flowers like lilies for his death-by-plastic scheme? Lilies reminded everyone of graves anyway.
The Doctor listened, and soon found that bright smile of hers on his lips, that sense of humiliation the most recent message from the Time Lords had left forgotten.
The next day, he told her how reciting rhymes in her head usually helped against hypnotism, and as she went through nursery verses to practise them out on him, he thought she might have some hidden hypnotic powers of her own.
II.
“Come on, Doctor,” Jo said. “You must have had a favourite Beatle. Everyone did.” Wistfully, she added: “I have the White Album signed by all four. Do you think they’ll ever get together again?”
“I know they won’t,” the Doctor said truthfully, and Jo looked crushed. He felt guilty, and besides, he knew he would not be able to continue his latest experiment until they had finished this conversation, so he rubbed his chin and said: “Which one was the one who sang ‘Ruby Tuesday’ again? That one.”
“Doctor, that’s a Stones song,” Jo cried indignantly before she caught the twinkle in his eyes and laughed. In truth, both Susan and Vicki in their different ways had made sure that the Doctor was familiar with the entire repertoire of the Beatles, the Rolling Stones and a group of Lute Players from Alpha Centauri whose name could only be sung, not spoken.
“Who was your favourite, Jo?” he asked, and she grinned.
“Guess,” she said. “And no more cheating with the Stones. Also, Brian Jones is dead, so I don’t have a favourite there anyway.”
“Paul,” he said, and Jo laughed. “I knew you’d say that, Doctor. No.”
Susan had told him that Paul McCartney was referred to as “the cute one” by the girls in her class, and it did surprise him that this one wasn’t Jo’s choice. Perhaps he had misjudged her natural kindness to certain young officers or the occasional occupant of the English countryside as a symptom of flirtation and attraction, despite the fact the Doctor couldn’t see what was supposed to be interesting about them for the life of him, aside from aesthetics. Not that he begrudged Jo a flirtation. Of course not. It was her right. He was simply getting used to her presence, and maybe, just maybe, he felt a little protective.
“John then?” he asked, going for an amused and avuncular tone. Instead, he sounded almost hopeful.
“No, George!” Jo said triumphantly. “I learned about meditation and India because of him. Now he is really groovy.”
The Doctor considered mentioning his experience in meditation but thought better of it.
III.
They had been imprisoned together in all kind of human cells before the Doctor had both his mind and the TARDIS back whole and complete, so it didn’t surprise him Jo would take alien cells in her stride, or that she would prove herself as apt at escaping from them as she had on Earth. Her inability to tell atoms from neutrons was still lamentable, but if there was ever someone who could have taught Houdini a trick or two, it would have been Jo.
What did surprise him was that instead of waiting for the guard in the Maluri prison to disappear once he had locked them up, so they could start with the escape, she sniffed and told the guard this cell would get a measly two stars in her book.
“Your what?” said the guard in disbelief.
“My tour book,” Jo replied without batting an eyelid. “The Escapologist’s Guide To Cells Throughout The Galaxy”. Haven’t you heard of it? Well, you’re going to get a really bad review, I’m afraid. Only two stars. You’ll never get any interesting prisoners until you improve. Now the Doctor and I have been to Atlantis, and they had an entire labyrinth as a prison, and some wonderful wardrobe. This just doesn’t compare.”
Throughout her rant, the guard listened, mesmerized; so did the Doctor before he realized that Jo was providing the perfect distraction for him to get behind the guard and apply some Venusian Aikido.
Later, once they were inside the TARDIS again, Jo sneezed. “And that’s one less star for them because of the awful cold,” she said.
IV.
“A what?” the Doctor asked, stunned.
“A talent night, Doctor,” Jo said. “For everyone here at UNIT HQ. We’ve been away for so long. Everyone has grown so tense while we were in space, haven’t you noticed? I think it would be fabulous fun. But I know the Brigadier won’t say yes until you do.”
“Say yes to what?”
“To participating, of course,” Jo said with a look of fond exasperation. “You could sing, Doctor. You do that all the time when you’re tinkering with Bessie, I’ve heard you. And did you know Mike can tap dance?”
“Well…” The Doctor started dubiously, feeling tempted and remembering some of the card tricks and sleights of hand he had acquired in his second body. Not that he didn’t enjoy singing when he felt like it, but he didn’t consider this something to do be done for the public benefit.
“Doctor,” Jo said unexpectedly serious, “if you’re not a part of this, everyone will just show off their shooting skills and that would be so boring. But if you show up on stage and sing for us, the Brigadier will have to as well.”
“The Brigadier sings?” the Doctor asked, as this was news to him.
“We’ll never know if you don’t challenge him to,” Jo said with a grin.
Much later, he realized that it hadn’t been anyone at UNIT who had been tense. He had been, after their recent encounter with the Master and the Daleks, after that head shot, after having had the freedom to travel again and the uncertainty as to whether or not he really would have wanted to return if Jo hadn’t. But it all retreated as he let himself be cajoled into the wonderful, silly fun of a talent night, and the company of his human friends, as Jo had known it would.
Maybe he could leave for good now, but it didn’t mean he had to. Not just yet.
V.
Jo leaving him hadn’t been a complete surprise. He had always known their time together would end, someday. That she left to save her own planet, one environmental campaign at a time, made him proud. Clifford Jones seemed like a perfectly nice young man, a bit arrogant perhaps, but otherwise a decent fellow. What did surprise the Doctor was that he couldn’t say goodbye to Jo but left her engagement party by quietly slipping away. He had planned on making a speech. He was good at speeches, especially in this regeneration. But watching her dancing, he found he could not say a thing, or do a thing, other than to leave.
He was in a different body and had lived many different lives by the time he saw her again. He was old then, both in spirit and body, aged enhanced by the Master who had used his own genetic code against him. Time was caught in a paradox, and he lived on a ship in the sky that was a prison in a way his time with UNIT had never been. “Look,” the Master drawled, presenting her with a courtly flourish that parodied the formalities they had both indulged in so many years ago, “look who decided to grace us with her presence. Miss Grant.”
She was in her early 60s now, her hair white with some remaining blonde streaks, body far thinner than it had ever been when she was young. Judging by the old faded jeans and the dirty shirt she was wearing, she lived in the same poverty all the humans who didn’t collaborate with the Master did. But when she saw him, she put on a smile, that same bright smile she always had, and went towards him.
“Never mind the old braggart”, she said, and it could have been Atlantis or a 26th century space ship, where Jo treated the Master like an irritating relative, the only one of his companions to do so. Her thin hands grasped his shoulder, and he didn’t know who was supporting whom. Up close, he could see there were tears in her eyes, but her voice sounded as determinedly cheerful as ever as she said: “Doctor, I am so happy to see you again!”
“Trust you to surprise me, Jo,” the Doctor said, felt her lips on his leathery old face, and for a moment, he was young once more.