The Doctor was dimly aware of how dim it was in the room. Mostly he was aware that he didn't care; there wasn't much for him to do. Well, nothing—there was nothing for him to do. Everyone he knew was off spending the day with their families, whereas he—well, he knew exactly how depressing his situation was in this regard.
You're going to have days like this, he reminded himself. Not every day, not even most, but certainly some. Might as well get used to it and get some rest. He sprawled on his couch, closed his eyes, and prepared to snooze.
Knock knock knock.
His eyes snapped open. Nevermind, then. He sprang from the couch, unsure of whether to feel glad or guilty; unless a salesman was at the door, one of his friends had probably given up their day with family for his sake. Well, let's see who to feel bad about.
He opened the door to see Vinyl Scratch—for once without her goggles—standing there with a bottle of whiskey suspended magically next to her. “Hello! Do you have a moment to spare for your lord and protector Celestia?”
The Doctor smiled in spite of himself. “Whose whiskey is that?”
“Mine and Octy's. We're saving it for special occasions, so I figured, what the hay? Happy Family Appreciation Day.” She raised the bottle and shook it. “Got any cups?”
“In the kitchen.” He stepped aside with a frown. “It's still very odd to be pointing people to my kitchen.”
“Isn't the TARDIS gonna have one?” Vinyl pulled two moderately sized cups—hardly shot glasses—from the cupboard and filled them nearly to the brim.
“Well, yeah. Still, I won't be pointing anyone to it so much as I will be giving them a map. Or a GPS.” As Vinyl offered him one of the cups, the Doctor shook his head. “No thanks, I don't really drink.”
Vinyl shrugged. “More for me.” She picked up her glass and took a large gulp, smacking her lips after she swallowed. “That goes down good. So, lazy day?”
“Considering everyone I know's spending the day with their families, a bit, yeah.” They walked out the front door—a front door that goes to the same place every time; imagine that—and onto the porch, where there were a couple of couches waiting for them. “Well, everyone except you,” he amended, glancing at Vinyl as she took a seat and laid both glasses on the table beside her.
“Yeah, I'm nice like that.” She winked, and took another draught. The cup was almost empty by the time she finished.
“Maybe you should slow down a bit?” the Doctor asked as she pouted at her cup. “Your tolerance can't be that high, can it?”
“Baby, you've got no idea how high it goes.” While the Doctor was trying to figure out how to respond to being called 'baby', she cut in with more food for thought. “And don't worry, I know the drill for days like this.”
The Doctor frowned, as what should have been obvious from the beginning dawned on him. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but you didn't exactly choose to spend the day away from your family, did you.”
Vinyl grimaced. “Knew you'd probably get there. Yeah, me and my mom don't talk so much since that thing twenty-three odd years ago.” She downed the remaining contents of her cup. “Actually, pretty close on exactly twenty-three years.”
“What thing twenty-three years ago?” he asked.
“Oh, you know—the one where she chucked my baby butt at an orphanage and ran like hell.”
“She what?”
“I know, right? What a bitch.” The Doctor winced at the unusually harsh word. Vinyl put down her cup and continued, “Actually, for all I know it could have been my dad. No one saw me arrive, they just saw me on the step in a little basket with a little blanket, and nothing else. Not even a note, not even a name—” Her breath caught, and she buried her face in her hoof.
The Doctor swiped the second glass of whiskey from her table and tucked it beneath his own couch. Vinyl didn't seem to notice; she spent a few moments more with her head in her hoof, then looked back up past him. He wasn't surprised to see no tears on her face, though he hadn't expected the wry smile.
“Aw, I'm making it sound worse than it was. Orphanage wasn't that terrible. I mean, sure, no one picked me up—they said I shoulda gotten a decent manecut, so that wasn't ever gonna happen—but besides that... you learn a lot in Manehattan orphanages, you know.”
The Doctor waited for her to continue, but for a few seconds the two sat in silence. Then Vinyl rolled her eyes at him. “Well, you gonna ask or what?”
“All right. What do you learn in Manehattan orphanages?”
“How to fight, for starters. You'd better believe you get in a couple fights before you get out of there. Turns out, though, that if you're smart you can learn how not to fight.”
“And were you smart?”
Vinyl let out a big bark of laughter. “Have you met me?” Some time later, she continued, “But I was pretty darn funny, which ended up being good enough a lot of the time.”
The Doctor frowned. “And no one took you? Really?”
“Stayed there till about five years ago, and then they couldn't keep me any longer.” She smiled. “I still send 'em Hearth's Warming cards.”
“Do you ever wish—” the Doctor began.
“That I'd been adopted? Or that I hadn't been thrown out in the first place? Take a wild guess.” Vinyl reached toward the table, realized there was no more whiskey there, and frowned. “Coulda sworn... nevermind.” The Doctor became even more convinced he'd made the right decision in hiding the second glass.
“Anyway,” she said, “I guess that's why I came here at all, because I don't have anywhere else to go and you... well... you too. Right?”
“Right. Right.” The Doctor sighed and leaned back into his couch. “Thanks, by the way.”
“For being the life of the party?” She snorted. “Sorry for throwing all this at you. I usually save it for empty rooms and pillows.”
“I mean it.” He looked over at her and saw a sad half-smile on her face. He tried to put a full one on his own. “Thanks for coming over.”
“Don't mention it.”
“Okay.”
“Actually, really don't mention it. At all, ever.”
“All right.”
They lay there, looking at the day. The Doctor had to admit it was a good one, with only a few clouds in the sky—safe ones that promised no rain for a while yet. It was the kind of day they could bury themselves in, and for a few minutes they did just that, watching the clouds not drift. Something else I don't plan on getting used to.
“Do you think they realize?”
The Doctor looked over at Vinyl with a frown. She snorted. “Sorry, was kind of thinking my own thing there. But do you think they realize how lucky they are? Having, you know, dads and... everything?”
“Oh yes.” The Doctor sat up, passably imitating a smile. “Not all the time, mind you, but there's always moments. Sometimes a lot longer than moments.”
“You sure? I mean, Octy never brings it up, no one else ever really brings it up... I always figured it was just me obsessing over the whole family thing, because... hell, you know.” She sighed. “Look at me, getting all depressed. Still glad I came over?”
“Actually...” The Doctor tapped his chin. “You said it was nearly twenty-three years ago to the day that you got dropped off at the orphanage?”
“Yeah, the anniversary's in, like, two days from now. So?”
“Which probably means you were born not so very long before then. And since we can't be sure of the day...” The Doctor reached under his couch, pulled out the glass of whiskey, and raised it. “Happy birthday, Vinyl Scratch.”
Vinyl rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I totally want to celebrate my birthday on the day I get reminded of the family I don't have. Real smooth, Doc.”
He smiled a full smile. “Vinyl, as the world's most stupendous hypocrite, let me tell you something to remember: you don't have to be with your relatives to be with your family. You might not have a lot of one, but I think you know you've got plenty of the other.”
He clinked his glass against the empty one on the table—“Cheers.”—then took a sip. His eyes widened, as did the inside of his mouth—expanding away from the whiskey that was much stronger than he'd anticipated. Realizing that Vinyl was smirking at him, he took a moment to steel himself before swallowing the alcohol. “Delicious,” he croaked.
“I told you it was special occasion whiskey. You'd better have two livers to go with those hearts.” She levitated her glass and clinked it against his with a grin. “Cheers, ya big softie.”