Doctor Who Fan Fiction ❯ War and Peace ❯ Chapter Four ( Chapter 4 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

More conspiracies and sightings of the Doctor in this chapter.

(This chapter contains real events and real people, and I have tried to write it with the greatest of respect to those involved. Apologies to anyone who feels that this is inappropriate.)

Non Anime: Doctor Who Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Sci-fi | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 03.12.2016 | Updated On: 03.12.2016 | Pages: 20 | Words: 8.1K | Visits: 358 | Status: Completed

Jackie Tyler was walking down Peckham High Road, holding the hand of her 12 year old daughter Rose. It was mid December, and it was raining a cold, sleety rain.

`Look Mum, that's like the bike Shareen's havin' for Christmas,' Rose said, with a hint of 'can I have one as well', in her voice.

Jackie stopped and looked at the red girl's bike in the shop window. Looking wouldn't hurt, because she knew she couldn't afford it.

`It's a nice bike Sweetheart, but I'm afraid it'll have to wait until I can afford it.' Rose's face fell, an expression of disappointment replaced the hopeful smile. `I mean, both Shareen's parents are workin', they can afford things like that. I've been payin' into the Christmas club for your presents, but I've also got to pay the bills, buy food, and don't get me started on the price of the school uniforms.'

Rose wasn't going to plead or throw a tantrum, she wasn't like that, and she knew that her Mum did the best for her, working all hours doing the hairdressing on the estate. If only her Dad was here to make things right, but he'd died just after she was born and she never knew him.

It didn't mean that she didn't know him though, because three times a year her Mum would get out the photo album, pour a drink, and tell Rose all about him. One day would be his birthday, the second would be their wedding anniversary, and the third was…. well, that day. Rose never tired of hearing the same tales over and over again; it was her only connection to her father.

`Yeah, okay,' she said disappointedly turning away from the object of her desire and nearly bumping into a man who was also looking at the bikes in the window. He had a thick, winter coat on with the hood up against the rain, the fur rim hiding his face.

`Oh, sorry luv,' Jackie said as she manoeuvred around him.

`No problem,' the stranger said, in a friendly, northern accent. As Jackie and Rose continued along the street, the stranger watched them with intense, blue, ancient eyes, before entering the cycle shop.

The Doctor smiled to himself as he adjusted the controls of the TARDIS. He had seen Rose Tyler again, she was 12 years old, and it was Christmas day. He had been on the roof of the flats opposite and had used his digitally enhanced binoculars to look in through the window of their flat. He had seen Rose jumping up and down in excitement and hugging her Mum around the neck. Jackie just looked baffled at the label tied to the red bike. 'To Rose, Merry Christmas, from Santa', is all it said.

Why did he keep visiting this human female? They had met, their time lines intertwined, he saved her life, she saved his, and he asked her to come with him, she said no, end of.

['But it isn't the end of, is it?'] The TARDIS hummed in his head. ['You thought she would say yes, you hoped she would say yes.']

The Old Girl was right of course, he did want her to come with him, because he didn't have anyone anymore. No more planet, no more home, no more family. . .. no more. That phrase echoed through his memories, he was sure he'd heard it before, but it was one of those annoying memories that scurries away as soon as you pay it any attention.

Rose Tyler, on the other hand had everything. She had a boyfriend (even if he was useless in a crisis), she had a home, she had a family (all be it a small one). All in all, she had a fantastic, ordinary life, and who could blame her for clinging on to that, he certainly wished he could cling on to something like that.

He shook his head to shake off this maudlin mood. `So where are we going now then old girl?' he asked the time rotor as it pumped up and down. He looked at the display, and his brow furrowed in puzzlement. `That's interesting; but these readings can't be right, not for that time period. . .. Oh, fantastic, the conspiracy theorists never saw that one coming.'

Dealey Plaza, Dallas, Texas, United States of America.

Friday, November 22, 1963.

The Doctor was standing on Main Street in the crowd of people watching the President's motorcade going past. Most people were looking excitedly at the open topped limo to get a glimpse of the attractive and charismatic couple. Not the Doctor though, he was looking straight at the Dallas Morning News photographer, Walt Cisco, knowing that this would be one of the last photographs taken of President Kennedy.

Once the motorcade had passed, he made his way across Main Street, and headed down Houston Street towards the Texas School Book Depository.

The Doctor made his way down the street, behind the crowds that were lining the route. He could see the motorcade was approaching the junction up ahead, and about to turn left onto Elm Street. In less than a minute, the world would change forever, and it was one of those fixed moments that he couldn't interfere with.

There was something he could do though, he could find the real assassin and find out what they were up to. He wondered if the patsy, Lee Harvey Oswald was a willing participant, or if he'd been manipulated or had his brain tampered with.

CRACK!

The first shot rang out and echoed around the Plaza, a few old soldiers flinched as they recognised the sound of a high powered rifle, but most of the crowd were blissfully unaware of what had just occurred.

CRACK. . .. CRACK.

Two more shots rang out, and the crowd started to panic as they realised what was happening. The Doctor ignored the shots and the crowds; he had a building to get to so that he could wait for the gunman. He made it to the Book Depository and leaned against the wall with his arms folded. He didn't have long to wait before Oswald exited the building, and he started to follow him down the street.

When Oswald stopped at the bus stop, he came and stood beside him. There was a quiet 'boing' noise from inside his leather jacket that made him raise his eyebrows.

`Afternoon,' the Doctor said cheerfully. `There seems to have been a bit of a ruckus in the Plaza.'

`Really? I hadn't noticed, I'm in a bit of a hurry,' Oswald said, looking hurriedly for the bus, which he spotted a block away.

`Lunch break I suppose, there's never enough time, is there?'

They stood in silence, waiting for the bus, and then boarded, with the Doctor following Oswald, who made his way half way down and took a window seat. The Doctor sat next to him, which Oswald was obviously nervous about, as there were plenty of other seats he could have taken.

'Boing'. There was that odd noise again from inside the Doctor's jacket.

`Oops, there it goes again,' he said with a smile. `Do you know what that means?' He asked. Oswald shook his head. `It means I've gotcha.'

Oswald gulped. `What do you mean, 'got me'?'

The Doctor reached inside his jacket pocket and took out an oversized pocket calculator.

`I'm sure I don't know what you are on about.'

`Of course you do.' The Doctor pressed the CE button on the calculator and it went 'boing' again.

`What? Who are you, and what is that thing?' Oswald asked in an annoyed tone.

The Doctor gave him a grin. `Me? I'm the Doctor, and this is a gadget that goes `boing' when it detects off world DNA…. It also tells the time on a dozen worlds, and somehow sets the timer on the video recorder. That was a bit unexpected that one, not quite sure how it does it to be honest.'

Oswald was looking decidedly uncomfortable and edgy.

`Boing'. `Ah, here we are then, not a shimmer that must mean…. Oh yes, of course, the best chameleons in the galaxy…. You're a Zygon.'

`I…. I don't know what you mean; I'm an American, not some foreigner.'

The Doctor ignored his protests of innocence. `The question is; why did you want the President dead? Was it because he proposed to put a human on the moon I wonder? Have you got a forward base of operations on the moon, ready for an invasion? Because, if it was, then you've completely misunderstood these humans. This will make them even more determined to get to the moon.'

The Doctor thought about this and then shook his head. `No, it couldn't be that, because the Russians are trying to get to the moon as well. It would have to be something else, something that would benefit the Zygons at the expense of the human race.'

The Doctor's brow furrowed in concentration as he recalled the history that he had studied at college on Gallifrey. `The Earth', had been the thesis for one of his doctorates. The title had been, `Humans, the hope and despair of the galaxy', and had seen the human race as both intrepid explorers and a plague of vermin.

That was probably what kept him coming back to this insignificant rock in a backwater arm of the galaxy. Humans were capable of unselfish acts of altruism, where curiosity and the thirst for knowledge could be more important than life itself. They were also capable of acts of such ferocious, barbaric violence, that you wondered how they had got this far without annihilating themselves.

`Hah! That's it. You want to destabilise the status quo between the two superpowers. You were hoping the October Crisis last year would lead to mutually assured destruction, but it didn't work did it?'

The Doctor remembered what he had learned about Lee Harvey Oswald, who had been a former U.S. Marine who defected to the Soviet Union in October 1959. He lived in the Soviet Union until June 1962, at which time he returned to the United States. Oswald was initially arrested for the murder of police officer J. D. Tippit, who would be killed in approximately 45 minutes time. Oswald would later be charged with the assassination of President Kennedy as well but denied shooting anybody.

Oswald gave him a sharp look; the Doctor had hit the nail on the head. `So, who ever you are, you find a disillusioned American who is a communist, and set him up for the assassination of his leader. You, as him, tell the world that the Russian government set it all up, and then sit back and watch as the world falls apart in a nuclear war.'

Oswald stood up and pushed past the Doctor who was still sitting. `I'm getting off this bus, you're mad.'

The Doctor cheerfully waved the 'calculator that goes boing' at him. `See you later.' The calculator went 'boing' again, and he looked at it with a frown and thumped the side of it. Oswald got off the bus and hailed a taxicab. The Doctor leisurely stood and walked to the front, showing the driver his psychic paper. The driver looked at the paper and his eyes went wide.

`I need to get off here,' the Doctor told him.

`Yessir,' the driver said, pulling up and opening the doors, when a Secret Service agent says he needs to get off a bus, you didn't argue.

The Doctor knew where Oswald was heading; he was going to his rooming house, at 1026 North Beckley Avenue. He walked onto the side walk and looked for what he needed, and there it was, a patrol car coming down the street. He raised his arm with the wallet of psychic paper and flagged down the car.

The officer inside rolled down the window. `Have you heard the news?' The Doctor asked him.

`Yes sir,' the patrol man answered, thinking he was talking to agent John Smith of the Secret Service.

`I was tailing a suspect on the bus, but he made me and jumped off. I need a lift to North Beckley Avenue, where he lives.'

`Of course sir, jump in.'

The Doctor ran around to the passenger side and jumped in. `What's your name son,' the Doctor asked with a smile.

`Tippit sir, but they call me JD.'

Oh no, the Doctor mentally groaned, he was responsible for J.D Tippit being on North Beckley Avenue when Oswald, or the Zygon, came out of the rooming house. This poor patrol man had about 30 minutes to live. `Nice to meet you JD, I'm called The Doctor.'

Tippit pulled away and switched on the blue flashing light to hasten their progress through the traffic. They made their way along West Commerce Street over the Trinity River, and then headed south down North Beckly Avenue towards Oswald's rooming house.

When he got to within half a mile of the house, the Doctor asked Tippit to pull over. `You can drop me off here JD; I can take it from here.' The Doctor got out of the patrol car and started to walk down the street, counting the house numbers as he went. He had counted a few ahead, and spotted the house that he wanted.

They were single story houses along this part of the Avenue, and he made his way around the back of the next door neighbour, looking over the fence, before climbing over into the backyard of 1026. He crouched down and carefully made his way to a window at the back of the house. Peeping into the first window, he saw a bedroom that was empty. Still crouched, he made his way to the next window and peeped in and quickly ducked down again, putting his hand over his jacket where the calculator went 'boing'.

`Shhhh,' he admonished the helpful gadget. He had seen Zygon-Oswald putting a revolver in the back of his waistband and pulling on a jacket. He knew it was the Zygon, because the real Lee Harvey Oswald was on the bed, covered in a thick web of organic strands. He took a stethoscope out of his 'larger on the inside' pocket and gently placed it on the window.

`So Mr. Oswald, you finally got your wish to be famous and notorious, by becoming America's most wanted. I will go and get myself arrested, after putting up a fight of course, make a statement that it was all planned by the Russians, and then escape by way of teleport, leaving you to be found and put in the gas chamber. Enjoy what's left of your short life.'

The Doctor heard the door open and close, followed by the front door. He popped his head up above the sill and looked in; the room was empty, all except for the cocooned body of Oswald. He put the stethoscope away, took out his sonic screwdriver, and 'sonicked' the latch on the window, before lifting it and climbing inside.

He made his way over to the bed and started to pull the tendrils off Oswald, who started to cough and splutter as he regained consciousness.

`What the hell's going on, and who the hell are you?' he wheezed as he sat up.

`I'm the Doctor, and you've been set up to take the fall for the assassination of President Kennedy. You need to get out of here.'

`What?' Oswald got off the bed and moved quickly to a chest of draws, opening the top drawer and rummaging through the clothes. He took out a revolver, flipped out the cylinder, and checked that the chambers were loaded.

`What are you doing?' the Doctor asked him incredulously. `You don't need that; you just need to get out of here.'

SMACK. Oswald swung his arm around and caught the Doctor on the temple with the handle of the revolver. The Doctor's knees buckled and he sagged to the floor, rolling on to his back, groaning.

Oswald started to search his pockets that were impossibly big. He found a pocket book sized device with numeric keys on it. Pocket calculators wouldn't be invented for another ten years, and certainly not one that had been modified to detect aliens. He found something that looked like a novelty pen, and the wallet of psychic paper, which he opened.

`Hah! Secret Service, I knew it.' Oswald threw the wallet on the Doctor's chest, put the gun in his waistband, put on his jacket, and climbed out of the window. The Doctor rolled on to his side, reached up to the bed, and pulled himself on to his knees.

`Urgh, why do these things have to get so complicated?' He asked himself, as he rubbed the side of his head. He felt sick to the stomach, not from the blow to the head, but from the knowledge that the Zygon-Oswald would kill a police officer just to make his arrest look realistic. He shook his head to clear the fuzziness, and filled his pockets with the items that Oswald had removed.

He knew he had to get to the Texas Theatre, where the Zygon or Oswald would be hiding. Things were getting a bit wibbly-wobbly now, and he wasn't sure who was who in the historical account of Oswald's arrest.

While the Doctor was making his way to the cinema, Oswald was seen acting suspiciously, `ducking into' the entrance alcove of a shoe store. The manager of the store followed Oswald as he continued up the street and saw him slip into the nearby Texas Theatre without paying. He approached the theatre's ticket clerk in the booth.

`Excuse me, I've just seen a man acting suspiciously outside my store, and followed him here. I think he just went inside without paying, I've got a feeling that he's hiding from the police, he might even be the man who shot the President.'

`Oh my God, I heard about that on the radio, I can't believe it,' the clerk said.

`I think we should call the police,' the shoe store manager suggested. `I'll go in and see if I can spot him.'

`Be careful.' The clerk left the ticket booth and went to the office to call 911.

A few minutes later, the police arrived, and the house lights were brought up. The shoe store manager pointed out Oswald sitting near the rear of the theatre. When the Police Officer reached Oswald, he said `Well, it's all over now.' He had nothing to lose, he had been set up for an assassination that he would have liked to have done, but didn't get the chance.

Oswald pulled out his revolver and pointed it at the Officer, who rushed forward and grabbed the gun just as Oswald pulled the trigger. Fortunately, if not painfully, the hammer of the gun hit the web of skin between the thumb and index finger of his hand as he grabbed the pistol.

Oswald put up a struggle, but was eventually subdued by the officer and put under arrest. As he was led from the theatre, he shouted he was a victim of police brutality. The shoe store manager had a self satisfied smile on his face, aware that he had been instrumental in the arrest of the President's assassin, when he heard a muffled 'boing', behind him.

He felt the muzzle of a gun in his lower back and a hand on his shoulder.

`Hello again,' a northern English accent said. `Remember me? Into the restroom, NOW.' The shoe store manager was pushed in the direction of a door with the stick figure of a man on it. He felt the back of his jacket being lifted up and his revolver being taken out of the back of his waistband. He was pushed roughly through the door, and turned around to see who had forced him in here.

He saw the man from the bus, holding an oversized, novelty pen with a blue light on the end, which he had thought was a gun. Talking of guns, he was pointing the revolver at his head.

`Wha. . .. what's going on, are you that man's friend or something? I was only doing my civic duty,' he blurted out, the look in the man's eyes making his blood run cold. Without breaking eye contact, the man pointed the novelty pen at the door, which made a warbling whistle, causing the door lock to click.

`Give me one reason why I shouldn't use this right now,' the Doctor said with a trembling voice, his eyes flashing with the fury of the oncoming storm. `You couldn't leave it and go, could you? You had to carry on until someone else was needlessly killed to fulfil your pathetic little plan.'

The shoe store manager raised his hands. `I don't know what you mean; I followed that man from my store when I saw him acting suspiciously.'

The Doctor reached inside his leather jacket and pulled out the pocket calculator and thrust it at arms length towards the shoe store manager. It went 'boing' in accusation. `Drop the disguise. . .. now,' the Doctor growled in a low, menacing voice. `Or I'll shoot you where you stand, because I gave you your chance on the bus, and you didn't take it.'

The man rolled his head, stretching his neck, his features melting and transforming. His face reddened and his head started to swell, taking on a conical shape with suckers.

`So who was that man you copied?' The Doctor asked, scowling at the Zygon.

`He's the manager of a shoe store where I saw Oswald sneaking around. I went through the deliveries door at the back of the store and found him in the stockroom.'

`Well, at least you didn't kill him, but I suspect that's only because you need him alive so that you can copy him. If I let you go, how many more of these humans are you going to kill?'

`As many as are necessary for our survival. We are refugees; our world was destroyed in a war between the Daleks of Skaro and the Time Lords of Gallifrey. Have you heard of the Time War?'

The Doctor's expression turned from anger and hate, to sadness and regret. He lowered the gun, his arm hanging loosely by his side. Heard of it, he'd fought in it, for more years than he cared to remember, and of course he'd finished it. This Zygon was just another victim of the Time War. Collateral damage the strategists called it, it was easier to say than `innocent victim, who had nothing to do with the fighting'.

`There is no more Time War, no more fighting, no more killing…. I made sure of that,' he told the Zygon.

`No more'.

The Zygon looked astonished by this admission. `What…. but how?'

`I was there at the fall of Arcadia; I saw there was no way for either side to win the war, without destroying the galaxy, so I ended it.'

`No more'.

His memories came flooding back, the ones he had been trying to forget, because as the warrior, it was a clinical, military decision, without emotion or feeling. `Time Lords of Gallifrey, Daleks of Skaro, I serve notice on you all. Too long I have stayed my hand. No more. Today you leave me no choice. Today, this war will end. No more. No more.'

Now, as the Doctor, the man who's supposed to make things better, these memories cut him to the very core of his being, torturing him, as the people on Gallifrey were tortured as they burned with their planet. But unlike them, who only experienced the briefest of pain before dissolving into atoms, he survived to remember what he had done.

`Then that's your punishment. If you do this, if you kill them all, then that's the consequence. You live.' He could remember a voice, a female, but that was all, he presumed it was the TARDIS, but now, he wasn't sure.

`Then you are a Time Lord? I was told that you all perished,' the Zygon said, bringing him out of his memories.

`That was my intention, but some how I was forced to survive, and now I'm here, and if I survived for a purpose, then let that purpose be that I can protect this world.' The fire was back in his soul, not the fire of destruction, but the fire of restitution, he could do things to try and make amends, a penance.

On that day, it wasn't possible to get it right, on this day though, he could get it right. He straightened his body and stared at the Zygon with icy blue eyes. `Zygons, formerly of the planet Zygor, I am the Doctor, the last of the Time Lords of Gallifrey. I am deeply sorry for the loss of your home, but this world is inhabited, and today, it is under my protection. I am giving you the opportunity to leave now, and I would say never return….' He knew that they would be back in about ten years, where he, Sarah Jane and U.N.I.T would do battle with them in Scotland. `. . .. But I know you'll be back, so I'll just say `au revoir', and `see you in ten years',' he said with a cheery voice and a smile.

`What, and that's it, you're letting me go, just like that?' the Zygon asked, expecting some sort of trap.

It was at this point that the Doctor realised that he was back to his old self, because even in this serious situation, he had to suppress the urge to do a Tommy Cooper impersonation. `No, of course it's not `just like that', it's after weighing up the alternatives, and believe me, you really don't want to know what those are. I tried genocide once, and I don't much fancy having to do it again, so if I were you, I'd run…. Run as fast as you can, and don't look back, because I'll be there, looking over your shoulder.'

The Doctor turned to the door and `sonicked' the lock, before pulling the door open and leaving the Zygon in stunned silence. He made his way through the foyer and out onto the street, where he saw a number of police officers milling about, doing the things policemen do at the scene of a crime. He went over to a patrol car and leaned in through the driver's window, showing his psychic paper to the patrol man

`Agent Smith; I need a lift back to Dealy Plaza, y'know, back to the scene.'

The patrol man nodded. `Of course sir, I understand. Hop in; I'll take you over there.'

Thank you. The Doctor straightened up and walked around the car. He could have walked back to the TARDIS, but he'd had enough of Dallas for one day.