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The Doctor looked disapprovingly at Buffy. “Is that what I think it is?” He was holding up Buffy’s blaster between finger and thumb, looking haughtily at her. She hated that. It always made her feel like she’d done something so evil that she’d have to spend the rest of her life making up for it. It also made her want to punch him in the mouth. She wasn’t quite sure which feeling would win out today. It was touch and go, especially when he kinda waggled his eyebrows at her.
“Nooo,” she said, trying to keep her temper by speaking slowly and deliberately. “It just looks like one. It’s for forcefields. Definitely NOT a gun.” She tossed her hair dismissively. “Anyway, Donna told me you used a gun on those stone demons.”
“That wasn’t a gun, it was a water pistol. Water! Not bullets.” The Doctor’s grumpy look turned into a sly smile. “Anyway, they weren’t demons, they were aliens.”
“Oh, not THIS one again.” Buffy rolled her eyes. They’d been arguing about demons and aliens since they first met.
Which was a long story, set in a secret government facility, involving breaking and entering, a corrupt official, a tube of toothpaste, a near-miss apocalypse, and some creatures that may have been aliens, may have been demons – that argument was clearly going to run and run. The Doctor insisted that EVERYTHING was about aliens. Can you say self-centred?
Buffy sighed. “Look, we’re both not of the gun lobby, can’t we leave it at that?”
“Okedoke!” said the Doctor.
He sat down and she sat beside him, putting the blaster – NOT a gun – underneath the seat. They were in the castle grounds, in a lovely little formal garden, or what had once been a formal garden. It was now a wilderness that remembered once being a garden, with overgrown hedges and wild flowers. Buffy loved it, especially the cute little carved stone benches. The one they were sitting on had a statue of a cherub, though one of its wings was missing.
“So, guns are no no no, not go go go, but what about the rest of it?”
“What do you mean?” Buffy looked sideways at him. He wasn’t teasing her now, he had a very serious frown. He turned to meet her eyes. She grit her teeth, to stop the shiver. Those deep brown eyes were so old. Angel was a preschooler in comparison.
“Did you know some of them call you the General?”
Buffy shrugged. “They call me a lot of things.” She huffed. “I even overheard one of them saying I had fake boobs!”
The Doctor seemed to blush a little at the boobs comment, but he went on with the serious tone. “But this one’s true, isn’t it?” Those eyes again. Buffy looked away. “You are an army. Well, not you personally, being just one person and an army being multiple, because how do you have a military hierarchy with only the one of you? You can’t, can you?” The Doctor halted his own babblefest and drew breath. “So, anyway, they’re an army. And you’re the leader of that army, whatever you call yourself.”
“And?” said Buffy angrily. She stood up, paced away a step or two, then turned back. “Look, I’m over my watcher-having phase, where do you get off giving me the anti-military lecture? I’m not the one who works for UNIT.”
“That’s just a technicality. I don’t really. Honest.” He held up his hands in a gesture of innocence and surrender.
Buffy folded her arms and stood over him. “You so do. They salute you.”
“I keep trying to get them to stop.”
“And so do I.” Buffy sighed and ceased the pacing and sat again. “Oh… I don’t know.”
The Doctor had stayed exactly where he was, watching her. It was when he sat still that he freaked her out the most. When he was manic and mobile, there was something childlike about him. But when he was still and watchful, it was unsettling. He didn’t reply. He waited. Buffy knew it was her job to fill the silence, and that irritated her. Talking to him was sometimes like her therapy sessions back in the mental institution, only with the Doctor she didn’t get a nice comfy padded cell and exciting medication. She crossed her legs and leaned back on the stone back of the seat. Oh crap, she just realised she was wearing white and the seat was mossy. But the damage was probably done.
She felt that was true of so many things nowadays.
“Do you ever feel, doing what you do, that you’re just making it all up as you go along?” she asked him.
“I never do anything else,” said the Doctor, cheerfully.
“And,” Buffy went on, “the more you make up, the more tangled things get…until you don’t know how you got there, but there you are, all tangled?” Buffy looked at him. “Except, you clearly never feel that, do you?”
He didn’t answer her at first. His face went still, almost sad and he cocked his head on one side, as if he was listening to something very far away. “There’s no tangle, no, not a tangle. Quite the opposite. I can see it all. I can feel it all.”
“Feel what all?”
“The universe.”
“Oh. That.” Buffy shifted on the cold seat. “So, how’s it feel?”
The Doctor smiled. “Wonderful.”
“I’m glad you think so. The last person I know who tapped into the vibes of the universe went all evil and veiny and tried to end it.”
“Veiny?”
“Yeah, I’m not really sure why that happened. Something to do with the evil?”
The Doctor shrugged. “Search me. Evil’s your field.”
“Yeah.” Buffy paused, then pouted. “My field sucks. How come you get interstellar tourism and supernovas and time travel and I get evil?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You got that cool scythe. I like that. Very King Arthur.”
“Ha, see!” said Buffy, jumping up again.
“See what? I don’t see. What?”
“I’m not an army. I mean, we’re not an army!” Buffy grinned. “We’re the Round Table. Knights of.”
“And you’re King Arthur?”
“Yes. Except female. And American. And not, you know, technically a king. But you know what I mean. We’re not an army. We’re the thin blue…”
“…table?”
“Yes…between the world and evil.”
The Doctor smiled. “I like it.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “So, if you’re Arthur, then who are the knights who say Ni?“
“Seriously. Why are you Brits always quoting Monty Python?”
“I am NOT a Brit!” The Doctor sounded offended.
“Then why the accent?”
“Came with the face.”
Buffy raised an eyebrow. “Aliens are weird.”
The Doctor made a face. “Well, I like that. King Arthur was never that rude.”
Buffy’s face lit up. “No you didn’t…seriously? You met King Arthur? He was real?”
“Large as life and twice as Roman.”
“He was Roman?”
“Yup.”
“As in…Julius Caesar?”
“Sort of, yeah.”
“Weird.”
They sat side by side in silence for a few moments. Buffy reached below the bench and picked up her blaster. She didn’t want it getting damp inside. Last time one of those things fritzed out, she’d ended up in another dimension. She looked down at it. It really did look like a gun. But it didn’t mean the same. Did it? Was she a General? Or was she Arthur? And was that really any better?
“May I?” The Doctor was holding out a hand.
Buffy passed him the blaster. He weighed it in his hands, and slipped his finger around the trigger mechanism. He aimed it and mimed firing it, then shook his head.
“What?” Buffy asked. “Don’t give me judgemental face.”
The Doctor passed her the gun.
Did I just think gun?
“I’m not,” he said. “I think…it’s just easy to end up somewhere that you didn’t intend, and do harm that you didn’t mean.”
“Hey, I….”
“And by you, I mean me,” he said. He stood up. Buffy stood too.
“What did you do?” she asked.
“Destroyed my planet,” he said, not looking at her, but out across the grounds. “Lost someone I loved in a parallel dimension. Couldn’t save someone else I…” He inhaled and exhaled slowly, then smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “Oh, and I committed genocide on a race of spider people.”
Buffy raised an eyebrow.
“Donna didn’t like it,” said the Doctor, as if that explained everything. And, having met Donna – with her bossy honesty and her kind eyes – Buffy thought that perhaps it did.
They both stood and looked out over the tangled garden for a while. Even though he could be crazy-making with his self-righteousness, it was nice to be with someone who understood, Buffy thought.
Someone else who was incapable of sustaining a proper relationship without somebody dying or leaving the dimension.
Someone who knew that guns were overrated.
Someone who made things up as they went along.
Someone who understood what it felt like to be responsible for oh, just about everything.
“Nooo,” she said, trying to keep her temper by speaking slowly and deliberately. “It just looks like one. It’s for forcefields. Definitely NOT a gun.” She tossed her hair dismissively. “Anyway, Donna told me you used a gun on those stone demons.”
“That wasn’t a gun, it was a water pistol. Water! Not bullets.” The Doctor’s grumpy look turned into a sly smile. “Anyway, they weren’t demons, they were aliens.”
“Oh, not THIS one again.” Buffy rolled her eyes. They’d been arguing about demons and aliens since they first met.
Which was a long story, set in a secret government facility, involving breaking and entering, a corrupt official, a tube of toothpaste, a near-miss apocalypse, and some creatures that may have been aliens, may have been demons – that argument was clearly going to run and run. The Doctor insisted that EVERYTHING was about aliens. Can you say self-centred?
Buffy sighed. “Look, we’re both not of the gun lobby, can’t we leave it at that?”
“Okedoke!” said the Doctor.
He sat down and she sat beside him, putting the blaster – NOT a gun – underneath the seat. They were in the castle grounds, in a lovely little formal garden, or what had once been a formal garden. It was now a wilderness that remembered once being a garden, with overgrown hedges and wild flowers. Buffy loved it, especially the cute little carved stone benches. The one they were sitting on had a statue of a cherub, though one of its wings was missing.
“So, guns are no no no, not go go go, but what about the rest of it?”
“What do you mean?” Buffy looked sideways at him. He wasn’t teasing her now, he had a very serious frown. He turned to meet her eyes. She grit her teeth, to stop the shiver. Those deep brown eyes were so old. Angel was a preschooler in comparison.
“Did you know some of them call you the General?”
Buffy shrugged. “They call me a lot of things.” She huffed. “I even overheard one of them saying I had fake boobs!”
The Doctor seemed to blush a little at the boobs comment, but he went on with the serious tone. “But this one’s true, isn’t it?” Those eyes again. Buffy looked away. “You are an army. Well, not you personally, being just one person and an army being multiple, because how do you have a military hierarchy with only the one of you? You can’t, can you?” The Doctor halted his own babblefest and drew breath. “So, anyway, they’re an army. And you’re the leader of that army, whatever you call yourself.”
“And?” said Buffy angrily. She stood up, paced away a step or two, then turned back. “Look, I’m over my watcher-having phase, where do you get off giving me the anti-military lecture? I’m not the one who works for UNIT.”
“That’s just a technicality. I don’t really. Honest.” He held up his hands in a gesture of innocence and surrender.
Buffy folded her arms and stood over him. “You so do. They salute you.”
“I keep trying to get them to stop.”
“And so do I.” Buffy sighed and ceased the pacing and sat again. “Oh… I don’t know.”
The Doctor had stayed exactly where he was, watching her. It was when he sat still that he freaked her out the most. When he was manic and mobile, there was something childlike about him. But when he was still and watchful, it was unsettling. He didn’t reply. He waited. Buffy knew it was her job to fill the silence, and that irritated her. Talking to him was sometimes like her therapy sessions back in the mental institution, only with the Doctor she didn’t get a nice comfy padded cell and exciting medication. She crossed her legs and leaned back on the stone back of the seat. Oh crap, she just realised she was wearing white and the seat was mossy. But the damage was probably done.
She felt that was true of so many things nowadays.
“Do you ever feel, doing what you do, that you’re just making it all up as you go along?” she asked him.
“I never do anything else,” said the Doctor, cheerfully.
“And,” Buffy went on, “the more you make up, the more tangled things get…until you don’t know how you got there, but there you are, all tangled?” Buffy looked at him. “Except, you clearly never feel that, do you?”
He didn’t answer her at first. His face went still, almost sad and he cocked his head on one side, as if he was listening to something very far away. “There’s no tangle, no, not a tangle. Quite the opposite. I can see it all. I can feel it all.”
“Feel what all?”
“The universe.”
“Oh. That.” Buffy shifted on the cold seat. “So, how’s it feel?”
The Doctor smiled. “Wonderful.”
“I’m glad you think so. The last person I know who tapped into the vibes of the universe went all evil and veiny and tried to end it.”
“Veiny?”
“Yeah, I’m not really sure why that happened. Something to do with the evil?”
The Doctor shrugged. “Search me. Evil’s your field.”
“Yeah.” Buffy paused, then pouted. “My field sucks. How come you get interstellar tourism and supernovas and time travel and I get evil?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You got that cool scythe. I like that. Very King Arthur.”
“Ha, see!” said Buffy, jumping up again.
“See what? I don’t see. What?”
“I’m not an army. I mean, we’re not an army!” Buffy grinned. “We’re the Round Table. Knights of.”
“And you’re King Arthur?”
“Yes. Except female. And American. And not, you know, technically a king. But you know what I mean. We’re not an army. We’re the thin blue…”
“…table?”
“Yes…between the world and evil.”
The Doctor smiled. “I like it.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “So, if you’re Arthur, then who are the knights who say Ni?“
“Seriously. Why are you Brits always quoting Monty Python?”
“I am NOT a Brit!” The Doctor sounded offended.
“Then why the accent?”
“Came with the face.”
Buffy raised an eyebrow. “Aliens are weird.”
The Doctor made a face. “Well, I like that. King Arthur was never that rude.”
Buffy’s face lit up. “No you didn’t…seriously? You met King Arthur? He was real?”
“Large as life and twice as Roman.”
“He was Roman?”
“Yup.”
“As in…Julius Caesar?”
“Sort of, yeah.”
“Weird.”
They sat side by side in silence for a few moments. Buffy reached below the bench and picked up her blaster. She didn’t want it getting damp inside. Last time one of those things fritzed out, she’d ended up in another dimension. She looked down at it. It really did look like a gun. But it didn’t mean the same. Did it? Was she a General? Or was she Arthur? And was that really any better?
“May I?” The Doctor was holding out a hand.
Buffy passed him the blaster. He weighed it in his hands, and slipped his finger around the trigger mechanism. He aimed it and mimed firing it, then shook his head.
“What?” Buffy asked. “Don’t give me judgemental face.”
The Doctor passed her the gun.
Did I just think gun?
“I’m not,” he said. “I think…it’s just easy to end up somewhere that you didn’t intend, and do harm that you didn’t mean.”
“Hey, I….”
“And by you, I mean me,” he said. He stood up. Buffy stood too.
“What did you do?” she asked.
“Destroyed my planet,” he said, not looking at her, but out across the grounds. “Lost someone I loved in a parallel dimension. Couldn’t save someone else I…” He inhaled and exhaled slowly, then smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “Oh, and I committed genocide on a race of spider people.”
Buffy raised an eyebrow.
“Donna didn’t like it,” said the Doctor, as if that explained everything. And, having met Donna – with her bossy honesty and her kind eyes – Buffy thought that perhaps it did.
They both stood and looked out over the tangled garden for a while. Even though he could be crazy-making with his self-righteousness, it was nice to be with someone who understood, Buffy thought.
Someone else who was incapable of sustaining a proper relationship without somebody dying or leaving the dimension.
Someone who knew that guns were overrated.
Someone who made things up as they went along.
Someone who understood what it felt like to be responsible for oh, just about everything.
