//------------------------------// // The Gallifrey Blues // Story: Black and Blue and Bloodied // by Sixes_And_Sevens //------------------------------// Oblivious to his companion’s plight, the Doctor sat in a chair across from Gertrude Henn, neither willing to blink first. “The Echo Quarry, you said?” the Doctor asked. “Tell me about it.” She shrugged. “Not much to say. A miner accidentally set off too large an explosion near a weaker part of the cave. Several workers were trapped by the subsequent cave-in. In the end, we managed to save most of them, but thirteen were never accounted for.” The Doctor’s brow furrowed. “Never accounted for?” he repeated. “As in, their bodies…” “Were never found, yes. It’s spawned more than a few ghost stories, let me tell you,” she sighed. “On the anniversary of their demise, they rise up to take revenge sort of thing, you know?” The Doctor nodded. “Yes. Got to deal with all sorts of superstitions in this job, I'm sure. Come to that, it can do more good than you’d think to know the local legends about something. Ah, but I’m gettin’ off topic. You said Lord Rings was a patron even after all that?” Gertrude nodded. “Yes.” “Why?” She shrugged. “Presumably because he thought it would somehow finally win my heart— the loyal friend, there unto the bitter end. As if that would fool me. I knew his history.” He nodded. “Always there for you right up ‘til he got tired of it?” “That’s about it, yes.” The Doctor stretched out into the chair. “Got lots o’ other investors?” he asked. “I mean, you got to, haven’t you? Building this size, ‘specially in Canterlot...” For the briefest of moments, Gertrude’s spine straightened, her face twisting in alarm before settling back into placidity. The Doctor, in true Canterlot fashion, pretended not to have noticed. On the inside, though, he was smiling like it was Christmas dinner. “I have a number of donors, some more generous than others,” she replied calmly. “Their identities are a matter of public record.” “All of them?” If the last question had thrown her, this one slung her down the field like a fastball. “Of— of course,” she stammered, desperately trying to keep her composure. “I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, Inspector, but I know I don’t like it. This interview is closed.” “But a new one opens,” a new voice said from the door. The Doctor turned around in surprise. When he saw who had spoken, he went a few shades paler. “Oh, no,” he groaned. Sergeant Haddock smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. “Tha’s what Oi thought ye’d say,” he nodded. "Doctor Hour, you're under arrest for impersonatin' an officer of th' law, as well as fer connections wi' th' muder of Lord'n'Lady Rings an' the attempted murder of Gertrude Henn." "Attempted— what?" Gertrude was well and truly shaken now, and the Doctor was struggling to keep up as well. "Caught yer friend out by th' elevators. C'mon." The Doctor rose. "Lady Rings isn't dead, we spoke to her not half an hour ago." "Bout th' time she was killed, y'mean? Her butler found her on th' couch. Knife cross th' throat, surrounded by designs fer knockoff 'andbags, ring any bells?" The Doctor stared at him, mouth agape. "What..." Haddock pulled out a pair of hoofcuffs. "C'mon, you. Shift yerself." *** Blueblood’s eyes fluttered open. “Whazz…” he muttered. “Wha’ happened?” “Please do not attempt to escape,” a voice said. Blueblood looked up to see the earth pony receptionist standing over him, a threatening expression on his face. The prince attempted to rise, but found that his hooves had been bound, and his horn covered by… “Is this aluminum foil?” “Please do not attempt to escape,” the receptionist repeated. Blueblood raised an eyebrow. “Do you know who I am?” he demanded. “Yes.” This threw Blueblood. “Alright then, so—” “You,” the receptionist continued, “are the pony I found unconscious at the top of the elevator shaft, alongside some very intriguing little tools. A hacksaw. A wrench. A screwdriver. Several pieces of elevator and a length of cord.” Blueblood had never been entirely quick on the uptake, and he suspected he might have managed to obtain a concussion somehow, but he wasn’t quite as thick as all that. “You’re not saying I was trying to sabotage the elevator,” he sputtered. “No.” “No?” “I am implying it, sir. If I were saying it, I would say “You were trying to sabotage the elevator.” I only refrain from doing so due to a lack of any evidence other than the circumstantial. This, however, proved to be sufficient to have the police come to visit. I believe they are currently in the process of arresting your friend.” Blueblood’s jaw flapped aimlessly. “But— but— you can’t—” he stuttered. “I do not wish to reacquaint you with the realms of unconsciousness, sirrah, but if needs must…” The prince, demonstrating unusual wisdom, shut up. *** The Doctor, sullen of face, was already in the back of the paddywagon. When Blueblood entered, he glanced up for a moment, then returned to staring at the wall of the carriage as the doors slammed shut. “Stupid,” he grumbled. Blueblood froze. “Beg pardon?” “Stupid!” the Doctor shouted. “Stupid, stupid, and once more with feeling, stup—” He was cut off as the prince slammed his hoof on the floor. “Stupid you say? stupid? It’s your fault we’re in this mess. We could have left the police to do their work, but no. We had to gad about town impersonating officers of the law, We had to go talk to the griffon rather than investigating the out-of-place painting. We couldn’t tell the police that we were investigating, oh no. We had to be secret, all cloak and dagger! We had, in short, to do everything you said, because I, of course, have no idea what’s happening!” Blueblood paused to take some deep breaths. The Doctor gave him a long, solemn look. “Despite what you might think, little boy Blue, not everything is about you.” Blueblood took in a deep breath. “And just what,” he snarled, “do you mean by that?” The Doctor looked away. “I was talkin’ about myself,” he replied. “I'm the stupid one. It’s my fault. All tha’ stuff you were sayin’? Bang on.” The prince blinked, nonplussed. “I— well, I—” The Doctor laughed bitterly. “Shows what I know, yeah? All th’ good I am,” he sighed. “Your aunt, she thinks I’m top hole. Maybe I was, once. Not anymore. Can't even get us out of here, they took my screwdriver.” Blueblood frowned. “Well, hold on,” he argued, “You’re not that bad a sort, old chap. I mean, you’ve got a time machine, that’s jolly good.” “What’s the use? I can’t change anything, not anything important.” Blueblood gave the Doctor a long, considering look. “So what’s different now?” he asked. “What changed?” The green stallion chewed his bottom lip. “There was a war,” he said. “Massive thing. The Time Lords— my people— against the Daleks. Spanned all of time, all of space. Whole planets became casualties, galaxies turned to battlefields. Someone had to end it.” He took a steadying breath. “That someone was me.” Blueblood nodded slowly. “What did you do?” “There was a weapon. Last resort sort of thing, the Moment. Destroyed all the Time Lords, Daleks too. Everyone died, ‘cause I couldn’t take it no more.” He looked up at the prince, his eyes hollow. “Everyone died, ‘cause of my selfishness.” “Selfishness?” Blueblood asked, eyebrows cinching. “I took thousands of lives, millions,” the Doctor said. “All to end the war.” “Well, from the sound of it, you saved trillions more,” Blueblood replied. “Tha’s not the point.” “Isn’t it?” “There were children on that planet. Old folk. Innocents.” “And there were untold of innocent bystanders in the war, I'm sure” Blueblood said. The Doctor didn’t reply, so Blueblood pressed on. “And you say you’re selfish? Saving all those ponies— and whatever else there is— that’s hardly what I’d call selfish. And you thought of what I’d want to do for my first trip, even though I’d hardly endeared myself to you. That was really quite good of you as well.” The Doctor looked up warily. “Y’think?” Blueblood snorted. “Doctor. I daresay I am the postercolt for selfish idiocy. I know of what I speak.” “Well,” the Doctor said, rising to his hooves. “I must say, I dunno ‘bout that myself. After all, you’ve had some pretty nice ideas yourself through all this. So tell me, Blue, what’re we gonna do now?” Blueblood stared. “Er. Go to jail, I suppose,” he said. The Doctor shook his head. “Aw, come on, Blue. I know this is your ‘ome turf, an’ I doubt this is your first run-in with the law. You must have some ideas.” Slowly, the prince began to smile. “Tell me, Doctor— how well can you sing?” “Never tried it, not in this body. Probably not all that well.” “Good.”