Dressing for Company

Author’s Note: This story has come about after some conversations with some friends on mine on a science fiction show that you might have heard of, Doctor Who. Musings on public reactions to if the 12th regeneration of The Doctor was a woman planted a seed in my head, and someone said ‘hey, you should try and write a scene about it.’ So here it is:

Standard disclaimer here about it being fanfiction, The Doctor and the TARDIS belong to the BBC, no profit, no offence intended, it’s just speculative fan-writing.

Somewhere in time and space…

“No.” A woman’s voice came from behind the open doors of a walk-in wardrobe. Smoke wafted from her current attire of smart trousers, a man’s shirt, a particularly fine if now rather singed jacket, and an undone red bow-tie. A cricket jumper was thrown behind her into a pile of clothes rapidly amassing behind her.

“Again, no.” She spoke in well pronounced clipped English, if full of distaste for her previous eleven incarnations dress sense. A black leather jacket was cast out behind her, followed by a splendidly coloured scarf.

“What on earth was I thinking?” She commented as in quick succession a green velvet coat, a riotous mishmash coloured jacket and a long trenchcoat were thrown out behind her. Sitting back with a forlorn sigh, the Doctor glanced up at the ceiling. “I do not know what possessed you to let me go out dressed like that, dear girl, but I do wish you might have locked the door on the occasion of some of these ensembles.”

The TARDIS didn’t dignify that statement with a response.

“Oh, fine. These clothes may have suited me then, but… hello…” Hauling herself up, the Doctor dove back into wardrobe to start hauling several sturdy looking golden chests out. A cursory look inside one revealed yet more outfits, unwanted or forgotten by previous companions. Committed to her task she removed her jacket, rolled up her sleeves and started digging in, rooting about for anything of interest. After several more minutes, more items of clothing began to be flung back behind her. Starting with the bow-tie.

“Well, this will have to do for now. What do you think, my dear?” She asked of the TARDIS as she turned in the full-length mirror, perusing her outfit with great intent expressed from her green eyes. Skirts and dresses were simply a no go, instead a comfortable pair of black trousers had been chosen, with sensible shoes that narrowed into a pointed toe. Her shirt had been changed for a much cleaner white one, no longer marked and singed. Over that, a red waistcoat was worn, a simple gold chain running from it just yearning to be clipped to a pocket watch.

Her fingers fussed about with her dark hair, sweeping it this way and that before settling on having the majority of the medium-length locks swept to the right. With a little nod, she laid a fond hand on the nearby wall. “There. Presentable, and with clothing that does not look like it has come from a fire sale.”

Her heels clicked on the floor of the TARDIS as she headed back to the console room, tracing her fingers along the detailing of the interior with her mind going over all of the machine’s previous looks. “Once more it is just you and I, sexy. And this simply will not do. New body, new eyes, and the universe waiting for us once more.” She announced to the console, her pace eager as she reached the mechanical panel and flipped the engine release lever.

“The universe is our backyard,” a switch was toggled as she spoke, “all of time and space await,” buttons were pushed at random and toggles toggled, “and I have got no one to dazzle and impress!” With a grin on both her lips and in her eyes, she moved from the navigation panel to the helm and gripped the controls. “Let’s find ourselves a stray!”

London Liverpool Street Station, January 2nd, 2015.

The Doctor leapt out of the TARDIS as soon as it had finished materializing. As soon as she had done so, her face fell from the look of excitement to one of resignation as she surveyed the area. Various signs pointed towards the entrances to the overground and underground stations, and the ground squelched under the dirty grey-brown slush of snow robbed of its ephemeral lustre.

“London. Again.” The Doctor groaned, before drawing herself up and setting her shoulders. “If you insist, dear.” She spoke back to the TARDIS before clicking her fingers. The doors to the police box locked with a satisfying clunk, and she was soon making her way into the station.

‘RANDOM BLACKOUTS ON UNDERGROUND’ A newspaper board said in its most alarming typeface. In smaller, but still alarming font underneath it added ‘5 MISSING LAST SEEN ON TUBE TRAINS.’

“Glad I dressed for company.” The Doctor muttered, heading towards the Underground ticket office with psychic paper coming to hand.

The Doctor may return in ‘Alight in the Dark’?


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