Dinky Doo hummed a quiet, half-remembered tune as she walked home from school, her friend Scootaloo riding beside her in companionable silence. Her wings gave Dinky a cooling breeze as they propelled the pegasus and her scooter along. Eventually, the unicorn interrupted herself to comment, “I wonder if I could get a cutie mark in music.”
The pegasus shrugged. “Maybe. What would a cutie mark for humming even look like, though?”
“Not humming,” Dinky clarified. “I’ve been thinking about learning to play the bagpipes.”
Scootaloo snorted. “Seriously? Not the coolest instrument there, Dinks.”
Dinky gave her friend the stink-eye. “My uncle plays the bagpipes.” she said cooly.
The orange filly, sensing that she had stumbled into dangerous territory, quickly backtracked, saying, “Well, y’know, there’s nothing WRONG with them, they’re just—”
Dinky smirked. “It’s alright. The pipes aren’t everypony’s cup of tea."
“Right,” Scootaloo agreed awkwardly. Recovering herself, she added, “You coming to the clubhouse later?”
“Eh, if I get my homework done.”
“Pfft. Like it would even hurt your grades if you didn’t, nerd. Maybe if you missed an assignment, you wouldn't wreck the curve as bad as you do.”
Dinky stuck her tongue out at her friend before turning up the path that led to her house. “See ya, Scoots!”
“Later, Dinks!”
Dinky trudged onwards towards the door, ready to collapse into her bed and get some time to herself after dealing with school all day. It bored her; she already knew most of what Miss Cheerilee was teaching, and the little that she hadn’t already learned was either practically intuitive or completely impossible to grasp.
She glanced askance at the peculiar blue box sitting in the yard. She’d have to ask her mother about that. Walking into the kitchen, she let her saddlebag slip from her sides. She glanced up. Her eyes narrowed. Her mother was sitting down at the table, smiling at her. This was perfectly normal. What was less normal was the strange tan stallion also smiling (admittedly more nervously) at her. “Hi, mom,” she said carefully, her eyes never leaving the stranger. “Who’s this?”
Not that his name really matters, she thought. Just another conpony trying to take advantage of her mother, soon to be dealt with. Either that, or her last science project had been too much for the school board to handle and she was expected to see a psychologist. Again.
“This is the Doctor!” her mother announced. Quite possibly it was the second option. Great.
The stranger just sat there, eating a muffin. He was doing his best to appear nonchalant, but it didn't take a psycologist to see through that facade. He was worried, even frightened. But of what? Of her? He seemed to be watching her carefully, though never meeting her eye, as though she might at any moment explode. “Hi.” she said.
“Hello, Dinky,” he managed to say.
“Take a seat, muffin,” her mother invited.
Dinky shuffled over to sit close to her mother, staring warily at the stranger. There was an exceedingly lengthy and awkward pause. The two adults seemed to be communicating silently that they wanted the other to explain. With a sigh, her mother finally began to speak. “Do you remember,” she said slowly, “all of those stories that I told you about your father?”
“Yyyyeah…” Dinky agreed. “You said that he was some kind of time-travelling alien that died in a war.” She had never believed it of course. It was impossible. But deep down, you had to wonder…
The stallion sighed. “Rumours of my death,” he said, “have been greatly exaggerated.”
Dinky blinked. “You aren’t my dad,” she said flatly. “My dad was a unicorn, and purple.”
“Regeneration,” the Doctor began. “I can change my appearance when I’m about to die.”
Dinky’s eyes narrowed. “Occam’s Razor shows that it’s far more likely that you’re just a dragon-oil salesman trying to seduce my mom.” She felt bad about hurting her mother like this, but it had to be done.
The stallion merely grinned, though he seemed hardly any more at ease. “If Occam ever met me, he’d grow a beard.”
“A pithy saying proves nothing.” the filly replied evenly.
“Alright,” the stallion shrugged. “Proof you want, proof you’ll get. Allons-y.” He rose and trotted out of the room, Dinky and Ditzy close behind.
“What’s this thing supposed to be?” Dinky asked as they approached the blue box.
“My TARDIS,” the Doctor said proudly, fiddling with the lock.
“It means ‘Time And Relative Dimensions In Space’.” her mother clarified. "It's his time machine."
Dinky stared at the box. “You can't be serious. I don't think you could even fit in there, let alone make it travel in time."
The Doctor frowned. “Oi,” he admonished, “No daughter of mine gets to be that cynical. ‘Specially not at the TARDIS. You’ll hurt her feelings.”
Dinky raised an eyebrow. Her mother nudged her. “Say you’re sorry,” she murmured.
The filly blew out her cheeks. “Fine. I’m sorry I insulted your box,” she said flatly.
The light at the top flickered, and the box made a whooshing sort of noise. The stallion beamed. “She forgives you,” he said happily. “Actually, I think she rather likes you.”
Dinky fought a smile. She refused to fall for his trickery. No matter how clownish and friendly he might seem, she had to remain vigilant.
Then the doors swung open and all that she could think was ‘Oh sweet princesses and Discord and Tree of Harmony, it’s bigger on the inside.’
This was quickly followed by a joyous ‘He really is my father!’
Which was, in it’s turn, followed by a more worried ‘He’s my… father?’
She glanced up at the tan stallion. “Proof enough for you?” he chuckled, grinning broadly.
A moment later, a small purple hoof connected with his nose. “DINKY!” her mother gasped.
“No, no,” the Doctor muttered, rubbing at the injured area. “It’s fine. I deserved far worse for what I’ve done. Anyway, you--”
“Even if I thought that was true, I didn't raise my daughter to do anything like that,” Ditzy said, cutting him off quickly. “No dessert tonight, young filly.”
The little unicorn snorted and stared at the Doctor. He drew a breath and met Dinky squarely in the eye. “I don’t expect you to forgive me anytime soon,” he stated. “Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if you never really did.”
Dinky held up a hoof. “Shut up. I have questions for you. Two of them.”
She looked up at the domed ceiling of the console room and took a deep, calming breath. “First," she said, lowering her gaze after a few tense seconds. "Can you promise, really promise, that you won't ever leave us again?”
He paused, glancing around the control room, then to Ditzy, then back to Dinky. Solemnly, he raised his right hoof. “There's no power that could make me leave either of you behind, so long as you want me here.”
She nodded. “Question two, and this is the serious one,” she said, glaring. “What weird alien drugs were you on when you named me? What kind of name is ‘Dinkestra (Θ2)Σ*π/α Akitor Doo’ for a baby?
He dropped his hoof to the ground, looking rather hurt. “Your mother told me that ‘Dinkestra’ was an old family name!” he protested.
She looked at him flatly. “And the rest of it?”
He stiffened his upper lip. “I’ll have you know that (Θ2)Σ*π/α was a very popular name on Gallifrey! And Akitor was for my favorite granddaughter. In your language, it would translate as ‘Rose’.”
“Granddaughter?” Dinky looked ready to pop. “Am I an aunt, then? How many mares have you seduced in this big blue box of yours?”
The Doctor looked at Ditzy imploringly. She giggled impishly and just shook her head lightly. He was on his own. “Right. Begin at the beginning…” he muttered. He stared Dinky straight in the eyes and said, “Hello, I’m the Doctor, but you may as well call me Time Turner. Or, well, dad, I suppose, should you ever want to.”
He glanced and Ditzy. “Time Turner works, right? Good name?”
She nodded, rolling her eyes but smiling nevertheless. “Doctor Turner it is,” she agreed, “but you’ll always be Pocket Watch to me.”
“Right-o.” He turned back to Dinky. “I’m a nine-hundred and seventy-four-year-old Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey, in the constellation of Kasterborous. To answer your question, I've been married three times before I met your mum, plus five failed engagements, eighteen annulments, and one archaeologist who claimed to be my wife from the future. Plus, five kids, nine grandkids. All of them are in another universe, but I think that might just be a conversation for another day. Basically, I save people.”
“Although, since saving planets generally doesn’t pay very well, we’ll have to see about getting you a new job,” Ditzy added, eyes sparkling with mirth.
“Argh! A real job?” ‘Time Turner’ gasped in mock agony. Probably-mock agony. “What’s next, a mortgage? Oh, the trials of domesticity!”
They broke into a fit of giggles, and in the confusion, Dinky very quietly slipped away to deal with these new developments on her own terms.