The Two(ish) Doctors

by The Minister of Scones

Part Five: "I've Made a Huge Mistake."

“Um, Doctor? Are you still in there?”
The Doctor was standing in Fluttershy's bathroom, staring into the mirror with a look of horror and dejection.
“All I had to do was say 'no,' but I can't even manage that.”
As he sorrowfully gazed at his reflection, the words of one of his best friends and oldest adversaries drifted into his head, and, to the Doctor's mind, it was as though his image in the mirror shifted, taking on new form. The colour of his mane deepened, and his chocolate-brown fur became a vivid blood-red. A horn emerged from his forehead, a pointed black beard sprouted on his chin. The Doctor knew the face well – it was an incarnation of his old enemy the Master. The Master let out a low chuckle. “You're getting old, Doctor – your will is weak! It's time you regenerated.”
“Doctor? C-can you hear me?” Fluttershy sounded very worried.
“I did. Ten days ago.” Still oblivious to Fluttershy, the Doctor continued to address his imagined foe. “Maybe I really am senile. I've lived far too long.”
“May I remind you, my dear Doctor,” said the dream-Master, “that you are not the only one to have received a second regeneration cycle. I have cheated death countless times,” – he chuckled – “despite your best efforts.”
“Have I really made a mistake? Why… why can't he just stay here? Would that be such a problem?”
The Master narrowed his eyes. “You know perfectly well that he would never be happy. Galgonquans love to travel, but they are never truly at peace until they are with their families.”
“He seems happy.”
“Do I ever seem happy to you?”
The Doctor considered this. “Well, yes, you often seem happy. Mostly when you're gloating over something.”
“And am I happy?”
“I… no. I know perfectly well you're not.”
“Well, then.”
“Why are you giving me advice? It's not like you.”
“The question, dear Doctor, is why you have dreamt me up to give you advice.”
“I- I don't know. Perhaps the Master always thinks of me at these times.”
“I don't know, Doctor, but I do know this: Tarrant must be returned home, no matter how it might hurt that filly.”
“But how-”
Fluttershy's voice interrupted from outside the door, more urgent now. “Doctor, I don't want to be rude, but you've been in there for nearly half an hour, now, and I...” – the Doctor could almost hear her blushing – “I kind of… need to… um, 'go'.”
The Doctor looked towards the door, and sighed. “Coming, Miss Fluttershy.” Looking back towards the mirror, he found that the Master had gone. “Ah well.” He opened the door.
“Doctor, are you okay? I heard you talking… I- I'm sorry for listening.”
“It's alright, old girl. I'm just tired of it all. Don't worry. I'll be off your hooves soon, remember?”
“Have you found somewhere to live?”
“Well, for now it looks as though I'll be staying with my fan-club.” This was true. As soon as he had found out that the Doctor was looking for a place to stay, Tarrant had immediately offered the use of his house, and the Doctor had gratefully accepted.
“Okay,” said Fluttershy, a little uncertain, “well, tea's in half an hour -”
“As if I'd forget!”
“- and don't forget that Discord's coming over.”
“Oh, that'll be fun.”
“That's what I'm worried about...”
The Doctor and Discord had met before. Although friends at first, the Doctor had turned against the Lord of Chaos when the latter had seized control. Sadly, he had then been abducted by the Time Lords for a 'mission of the utmost importance', which was Time Lord code meaning 'getting a renegade to do the dirty work', and his plan to defeat Discord had fallen through. By the time he'd got back, the royal sisters had dealt with the problem.
More recently, they had met once or twice when Fluttershy invited her friend over for tea. Although initially mistrustful, the two had quickly rekindled a long-dormant friendship, largely based on pranks. Fluttershy had never seen the Doctor act so foalishly, although she was quite accustomed to such behaviour from Discord. This is why she had mixed feelings about having them reunite. She found it hard not to like the Doctor, for his bizarre mixed personality, which was stern elderly stallion one minute, excitable colt the next, was oddly endearing; and yet she still found him a little difficult to deal with at times.
Coming out of the bathroom, she heard the sound of singing from the kitchen. As she walked down the stairs, she confirmed her suspicions that it was the Doctor's voice. She poked her head round the kitchen door. It was just as she feared. The Doctor had taken it upon himself to perform a few household chores, and had started with the kitchen, and, more specifically, with the washing up.
“I don't want to set the world on fire… oh, hello, my dear!”
“Um… hi, Doctor.”
“Just getting on with a spot of washing-up. Can't hurt.”
Fluttershy would have begged to differ, if differing had been something she wasn't terrified to do.. For somepony who claimed to have a superb grasp of physics, the Doctor's common sense was sometimes a little lacking. Case in point: he had washed a couple-of-dozen small bowls already, and had placed them all in a single stack on the draining board. It was already beginning to teeter worryingly, and the Doctor seemed totally unaware of the fact.
“I was warpin' me way through the 'eavens...” trilled the Doctor in an atrocious Flancastrian accent, adding yet another bowl to the pile.
Fluttershy wanted to cry out, but quickly stuck her hoof in her mouth to stop herself from doing so. After all, if she did the Doctor might be cross with her… or perhaps some other ponies would hear and stare at her… Fluttershy cringed.
“You don't look quite yourself, old girl. Penny for your thoughts?”
“I was just… thinking.”
“Good. That indicates you're a sentient life-form,” said the Doctor, drily.
“Oh, sorry.” Fluttershy retreated behind her curtain of hair.
The Doctor waited expectantly, forehooves immersed in soapy water. Finally he gave in. “About what?”
“It… it doesn't matter,” insisted the pegasus, pointedly eyeing the ever taller pile of her kitchenware and willing the Doctor to follow her gaze – but he kept staring at her.
“Animal, vegetable or mineral?”
“Pardon?”
“You know, twenty questions. I'm really rather good at this.” He allowed himself a smug little smile.
Fluttershy was worried about the bowls, but then… she did love games. “Okay,” she said, with a sweet little smile, “mineral.”
“Is it a made thing?”
“Oh, definitely.”
“Is it for work or for pleasure?”
“Yes,” tittered Fluttershy. “Yes or no answers only!” she reminded him.
“Blast. Wasted question. Is it useful?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Right then...” the Doctor narrowed his eyes. “Do you keep it inside the house?”
“Yes.”
There was a long pause. “Is it brightly coloured?”
“No.” The bowls were plain white.
“Do you use it on your own?”
“Sometimes.” Fluttershy was doing her best to keep a straight face and give nothing away, but it wasn't easy.
“Can it move by itself?”
“No.”
“Is it hard?”
“Yes.”
“Does it cost money?”
Now this is where Fluttershy had the upper hoof. Although one might normally expect to pay for bowls, these particular ones were given to her by a craftspony as a thank you for looking after his cat while he was on holiday. “No,” she said, perfectly truthfully.
“Drat it! How many have I got left?”
“Exactly ten.”
“Not too bad. Do you use it in the bathroom?”
“No.”
“The bedroom?”
“No.”
“Living room?”
“Not normally,” she teased.
“Hang it all! What other rooms are there?”
Fluttershy cleared her throat.
“What?”
She glanced around her, then looked back at the Doctor.
“Oh… kitchen?”
“Yes… eventually.” She tittered again. This was why she liked having the Doctor around. Sometimes it was like being a little filly again.
“Thanks for that. Is it furniture?”
“No.”
The Doctor was beginning to worry. He was so absorbed by the game that he had been washing the same bowl for nearly five minutes. “Is it portable?”
“Yes.”
“Is it smaller than… a duck?”
Fluttershy laughed. “A duck? Yes, it is.”
“Do you eat with it?”
“Kind of.”
“Do you eat off it?”
“...Yes,” she said reluctantly.
“Aha!”
“Only one left,” she reminded him.
“Right. It must be a plate.”
Fluttershy gave an adorable little yip of delight, and jumped into the air, wings fluttering. She'd won!
“Fluttershy, don't be a bad winner.”
Fluttershy blushed. “Sorry, it's just… I don't normally win things.”
“Well, what was it?” asked the Doctor, impatiently.
“A bowl.” She frowned. “Um… sorry if it was too hard, or anything.”
“No, no, fair enough,” the Doctor grumbled. “Wait a moment… the bowls! They'll fall over! My goodness, Miss Fluttershy, why didn't you warn me? It's a good thing one of us has some sense.” So saying, he leaned forward and picked of the top half of the stack, evidently hoping to split the large pile into two smaller ones. He had forgotten, however, that his forehooves were still coated with soap-suds. Inevitably, the bowls slipped from his grasp, and as he lurched forward to try and catch them, he managed to knock over the other pile, too.
Fluttershy gave a small shriek as broken crockery scattered across the floor.
The Doctor surveyed the carnage from the sink, into which he had leapt to protect himself from the falling bowls. It was a decision that had had to be made, but he felt that on reflection he wished he'd stayed outside the sink… dry… and risked a few minor bruises. “Whoops!” he said.
Fluttershy looked sadly at the remains of her best bowls. She looked very sorry for herself, the Doctor thought, and it seemed that something else was required.
“Sorry...” he ventured.
“That's okay, I'm sure Discord will patch them up later.”
“All the same...”
“But next time… I don't want to be strict, but… do you think you could ask before you do the washing-up?”
“I was only trying to...”
“I kind of did all the washing-up an hour ago.”
“Ah. So those were all… um…” The Doctor searched for the right word. “Clean?” he offered finally.”
“Yeah...”
“It's just, you mostly use them for salad, and I thought 'well, maybe they look clean, but...'”
“Doctor, why don't you go for a walk?”
“No, no. I'll stay and help clear up,” he said, beaming.
Fluttershy wasn't beaming. She looked horrified. “I insist,” she said, firmly.
The Doctor was not about to argue with Fluttershy using her Firm Voice. “Right-o!” he said quickly, dashing for the door. He had left the house before Fluttershy could blink.

The Doctor trotted cheerfully out into Ponyville, stopping occasionally to admire the scenery. Now and then, a pony would pass by and give him a smile and a cheery wave, for it was now common knowledge that it was he who had saved the town from the Autons not three days ago. He waved back, but never stopped to chat. Chatting, he had found, was not really his forte.
Gradually, he made his way to the town square, which was where he had left the TARDIS to recharge herself. He gazed sadly at the battered old 'phone box, whose disguise would remain useless for another fifty years or so, whose paint was peeling off, and whose light was flickering rather weakly, indicating that at least something was going on in there.
He pulled out a key and fitted it into the lock. The door swung open, and the Doctor stepped inside. It seemed the recharge had done the old girl some good. She seemed to have figured out which console room was which, at any rate, although she was a little uncertain of which one to use. The one that the Doctor was now standing in was darkened, lit only by an old-fashioned gas-lit street lamp to one side of the door. It was a largish room, with stone walls and floor – indeed, the floor was cobbled – and a stone hexagonal console in the middle. The doors out of the chamber had been made to resemble front doors, the walls, houses and shops, and instead of a roof, the moon shone down on the Doctor from a starry night sky. It was quite beautiful.
“Ah, yes,” whispered the Doctor to himself, “I remember this.” He approached the central console. “I was having such a lovely night, and I said to myself, 'Why can't tonight last forever?' and I decided that it should.” He absently flicked a few switches. “I redesigned the control room to match my memories.”
Once he had finished reminiscing, the Doctor remembered why he had come. He needed to set the TARDIS into 'dormant' mode. He wouldn't be able to go in, but the repairs would be carried out much faster – and they needed to be, as a quick look at the fault locator told him that this was about the only room it was safe to enter. It was a long and complicated process, and by the time he had finished, the TARDIS had got confused again and shifted the console room into another form entirely.
“I don't remember this,” muttered the Doctor, looking around at the thickly wooded glade he was suddenly in. To his annoyance, the console was now an oversized mushroom, with buttons and levers protruding from it grotesquely. On top of that, the grass of the forest floor was covered in dew, and now his hooves were soaking. On the bright side, there was the pleasant sound of birdsong, and although the tall conifers stopped him from seeing much to either side, there was a patch of beautiful morning sky visible above him.
“Must be one of the previous owner's,” he concluded. “Oh, for crying out loud! Where's the door?” He experimentally poked a button. Between two trees, an odd-looking jet-black hole appeared in mid air. “Melodramatic,” he tutted, stepping through it. Finding himself outside, he closed and locked the door behind him. Giving his ship one last wistful glance, he turned around – only to find himself muzzle to muzzle with the grinning face of Pinkie Pie.
“Hey, Doc! What'cha doin'?”
The surprised Doctor gave a funny sort of yelp, and instinctively leapt backwards, straight into the side of the TARDIS, which gave a dissatisfied 'vworp'.
Apparently not noticing his predicament, Pinkie continued to bounce cheerfully on the spot.
“For your information, Miss Pie,” said the Doctor, picking himself up, “I was engaged in an extremely complex and difficult operation involving multiple dimensional shut-downs.”
“Why were you hanging around the famous Blue Box of Ponyville?” She put on a spooky voice: “Legend has it that it was placed here hundreds of years ago by an evil necromancer who-”
“Miss Pie, I put it here yesterday.”
“Oh,” said Pinkie, not in the least put-out, “Silly ol' me!”
“This is my TARDIS, and I've just...” The Doctor decided to forgo technical language, “I've just told her to have a nap. Hopefully I haven't woken her up by launching myself against her.”
Pinkie peered at him. “You look grumpy about something. Are you okay? Are you sick?”
Before the Doctor could stop her, Pinkie had used her hooves to prise his mouth open and peek inside. “Say 'Ah!'” she ordered.
“Ah.”
“Hmm. Doesn't seem to be anything wrong there.”
“I'm relieved to hear it.”
“You're welcome! So, what's up, Doc?”
“If you must know, I'm on the horns of a dilemma.”
“A dilemma? Why don't you come with me and tell Auntie Pinkie all about it?” she suggested.
“Auntie Pink-” began the Doctor incredulously, but then his expression softened. “Oh, very well.” It couldn't hurt. Probably.
“Come on then, slow-coach!” Pinkie began to bounce away. “Tra-la-la-la-la!”
Grumbling, the Doctor followed her, already wondering whether this was such a good idea after all.

Author's Note:

Next episode: Auntie Pinkie

I got through a whole chapter without a single footnote. I am pleased with myself.