The Tale of the Angry Man

Home. A complicated word, redolent of warmth and cold shoulders, family and rivalry, love and politics. And for the Doctor it also spoke in muted voice of regret. Most days he had no desire to return to the hurly-burly, but somehow he wished it were not so. You were supposed to feel the pull of home, like a dense planet's gravity drawing you back. It didn't have that effect on him, and he wished it would.

So when he leaned across the console to consult the controls, the scene they sketched halted him in his tracks. The TARDIS was taking him... home. How could that be? He felt, simultaneously, stabs of irritation and a cautious tremor of anticipation.

But as he stepped out, trading the brightness of the console room, white and smothered in the cheery pattern of roundels, for the claustrophobic gloom that plagued the corridors of the Gallifreyan capital, his spirits were firmly returned to the ground. It was only when he beheld it that the fact truly struck home: he didn't miss it at all.

"Well, best find out what this is about," he muttered, setting off at a brisk pace. As he passed by one of the rooms branching off from the dimly-lit passageway, sudden movement caught his eye. A familiar face was framed by the doorway, and inwardly the Doctor groaned even as he put on his most cheerful aspect and stuck his head through, inquiring with a smile: "Oh dear, this isn't more of your High Council hijinks, is it? Only I'm getting rather tired of all that."

"There's no need to take that tone with me," the Doctor burst out indignantly. "I was only asking a simple question." He blinked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully before continuing, "Eliminated, hm? I suppose you'd like to have that honor yourself. And anyway, I'm not up to anything. In fact, it's lucky I'm not. I might have been in the middle of something important."

A frown suddenly knit his brows as the words of the fellow Time Lord sunk in. "Hang on. Are you saying you didn't bring me here?"

The Doctor sighed and rubbed his temples tiredly, the smile long gone. He'd quite forgotten how infuriating his people could be, though now that he thought about it, he seemed to remember this fellow as one of the worst out of a bad lot.

"Well, whoever did bring me here overrode the controls of my TARDIS. I'd certainly call that my business," he retorted. The man was really beginning to grate on his nerves, but he needed to keep a level head. If he did, he might learn something, anything, from the council member.

Swallowing his indignation with difficulty, he tried on a half-hearted smile, but it might well have come across as more of a grimace. He had opened his mouth to speak when Emmehujidat decided to have another go at him, much to his consternation. He kept his smile fixed in place, however, and waited for him to finish. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't insult my compatriots. You know, they may not be as advanced as we are, but they're hardly stupid."

The facade was nearly broken— he didn't mind personal attacks half so much as he did what amounted to malicious gossip; but he managed to maintain his amicable expression, just barely. "Well, you've answered your own question, haven't you, my dear fellow? Why should I want to return, when this is the sort of reception I get?"

The Doctor nodded slowly in acknowledgment. It was true. As fond as he was of them, the humans could be frightfully dim at times; but he refused to give Emmehujidat the added satisfaction of telling him so. And a moment later he was distracted at the sound of a name he hadn’t heard in far too long. “Correon! Where is the dear old fellow? I’m sure we’d both be happier if I were speaking with him rather than yourself,” he said, trying to ignore the fear that spiked his gut on hearing of his brother’s regeneration. His own change of features was near enough that he could recall with painful clarity just how difficult it had been.

The Doctor thanked Emmehudijat and moved off in the general direction of the Academy. However, when he arrived on the premises, he found Correon’s offices empty, and on inquiring, discovered that he was indeed working on High Council matters. His face collapsing like a house of cards, the Doctor grumbled as he made his way to the council’s chambers. “So, he was sending me off on a wild goose chase... I should have known.” And he really should have. Over and over again, experience had proven that, where he was concerned, Time Lords couldn’t entirely be trusted.

Finally reaching what he thought he remembered as Correon’s office, the Doctor paused to catch his breath before knocking. Despite the dispiriting encounter that had started out this little sojourn, he was rather looking forward to seeing his old teacher.

The Doctor cracked open the door, revealing a sliver of his smile before he entered fully, striding forward and effusively extending a hand. Ah, the handshake... an Earthism, but it did feel appropriate. “Correon!” he exclaimed with genuine warmth. “It’s been too long. What have you been up to? Nothing bar the usual, I suppose?”

Once the greetings were over, however, his expression sobered, his brows drawing together in concern. “I met Emmehudijat on my way here and he said something about my brother’s regeneration... what happened? I know it’s painful, believe me, the memory isn’t that far behind me... but it wasn’t as bad as all that. He seemed to be saying something had gone wrong.” The Doctor wrung his hands and helplessly waited for the bad news that was surely coming.

“The hospital...” Sounds serious. No, he reflected on hearing Correon’s next words, it is serious. “Do they have any inkling as to what went wrong? Or what caused him to regenerate in the first place? And thank you for bringing me back for this, though I do wish you could have got word to me somehow. Emmehudjiat seemed to have trouble giving me a straight answer,” the Doctor said, the recent memory leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Perhaps his dander was up, but something about the councilor still seemed off.