Explosion of the Daleks

The Doctor poked his head up. Daleks. Lots of Daleks in the bunker. Too many Daleks, and they weren’t in the least interested in communicating with him.

“Clara, I hate to say this, but I think a tactical retreat might be–”

“A tactical retreat?”

“Run!”

He grabbed her and and tugged her into motion. There was an odd whistling in the air, then a Dalek said, “Retreat! Retreat!”

The bunker full of Daleks blew up. The Doctor watched the explosion for a moment, then turned his back and ducked, pulling Clara down with him. She squawked and covered her hands with her head. Debris and clods of dirt rained down on them. A dismembered plunger landed next to their feet. The Doctor ran his tongue over his lips. Quite satisfying, really.

“What did that?” she said.

“Nitro-nine, if I’m not mistaken. And I’m not.”

“What’s that?”

“An explosive a friend of mine was quite fond of. I wonder.” He gnawed on his thumb for a moment.

He stood and headed toward what remained of the bunker. It had been quite satisfyingly obliterated, and if he was right, the author of the obliteration would be nearby to observe the results. And there she was: human female, leather jacket, backpack, hair in a braid. He waved to her and headed her way at a jog, Clara at his heels.

“Ace! It is you!” Ace studied him cautiously. “Don’t recognize me with this jacket on?”

“Professor?”

The Doctor found himself reaching down and tapping her nose before he quite realized what he was doing. Old habits. Old feelings. He had been quite ridiculously fond of this young person at the time. “It’s me,” he said.

“You’ve regenerated?” Ace said. “But–”

“Several times. I’m from a long ways further in my own timeline.” She looked relieved, and a moment later he found himself being hugged. By Ace, so it wasn’t as bad as it might have been. He might even have returned it, perhaps even have kissed the top of her head. Not that he was that sort of man any more, not usually. When she released him, he studied her, trying to place her in her own timeline. Before she’d gone to the Academy, he judged. That mean he himself was– “Is my prior self around? The fellow with the hat?”

“He’s in the TARDIS, doing something he wouldn’t explain to me even though I’m perfectly capable of understanding it.” Ace rolled her eyes.

He heard a stifled laugh from behind himself and turned. Clara had a hand over her mouth. “Right. Introductions. Clara Oswald, Ace McShane.”

“Pleased.”

“Likewise.”

The two shook hands solemnly.

“And what brings you here, Professor?”

“I am seeking a control mechanism, something the Daleks have been using to monkey with the trains in the Tube.”

“Funny. I’m looking for the same thing. Only I was just going to blow it up. Might have just now.”

The Doctor snapped out his sonic screwdriver and ran it for a moment. “No, still operating. Hope you don’t mind if we take it and run it off a few hundred years in the past.”

“Be my guest,” said Ace, and she grinned.