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TARDIS Exterior
thedoctorwho wrote in milliways_bar
Here's a face that's been absent of late.

When the Doctor walks into Milliways today, though, there are two notably strange things about it. First is that he comes in through the front door instead of the back door as usual. And second, he seems completely confused and baffled by what he's seeing.

Milliways, John Smith. John Smith, Milliways.

[ooc: This is the Doctor circa "Human Nature", so he will read as completely human to anyone who's looking.]

[tags: Professor River Song]

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The look on her face flickers through a whole range of emotion. Happiness, trepidation, anticipation, realisation, hurt and anger.

Some days, she wishes she'd never heard of time travel.

"I'd say you should. I still know you, even after a hundred years. Has it been longer than that for you this time? Or have we even met yet?"

John involuntarily takes a step back.

"Now, see here. There's no cause for such exaggerations. I believe you simply have me mistaken for someone else. I'm quite certain that I have not met you, madam."

Her brow furrows. "Oh it's simply a case of mistaken identity, is that it?"

Her fists are clenched by her sides and she is trembling.

"I'm afraid so. I'm sorry, but I really don't know who you are."

She closes the distance between them, getting right up in his face. He doesn't seem to be lying, but then he was always a consummate fabricator of half truths and wholly fabricated lies.

When she speaks, her voice is low and fierce. "You really are a bastard, you know that?"

She half turns, as if to leave, and then rounds on him. Her fist is small but it finds the peak of his jaw with unerring accuracy.

To an objective observer, it might appear that she'd done this before. At least once.

John crumples from the unexpected blow, dropping straight to the floor. When he wipes at his mouth, his hand comes away bloody.

"What the hell was the point of that? I say, if you weren't a woman, I would have half a mind to give you a right thrashing! As it stands, I'm not entirely certain I shouldn't just summon a constable right here and now!"

River shakes her hand, cursing softly in some ancient language before cradling it against her chest. There were very few people in the universe who could make her mad enough to lose her temper so completely, and he was always top of that list.

"Let's just say that at some point in the future? You earned that."

"And when you do finally know who I am, and you remember what you did, you'll realise you got off easy."

"The future?! Madam, I do believe you are quite out of your mind! Who do you think I am? I am just a history teacher!"

"A what? A history teacher? Oh that's rich."

River's laugh is loud and full.

"And to think, you will scoff at me for being a professor of archaeology!"

"Well, there at least you're correct. Whoever heard of a woman as a professor!"

John finally gets back on his feet and dusts himself off. He's convinced the woman has taken complete leave of her senses, so he calms down and tries something else.

"Look, I have no quarrel with you suffragettes. I think it's only a matter of time before women are given rights in accordance with their standing. But to claim yourself a professor is doing your cause no good at all."

She clenches her fist and winces in pain, watching as he rises. It's him. It really is him. A hundred years and not one thing has changed about him, save for this ludicrous little charade he's clinging to.

"You, sir, are damned lucky I'm shite with a left hook. I'll have you know, in the 52nd century, women can hold doctorates if they so choose, and men can bear children, if they so choose."

"And really, Doctor, I grow weary of this game. Have you hit your head or something?"

"Oh, I think it's you who've hit your head. The 52nd century?! What an insane notion. Believe me, though, if this is the way you make your arguments, it will certainly be the 52nd century before anyone will take you seriously!"

He wipes at his mouth again.

"And I am not a doctor of any sort! My name is John Smith, and I am a history professor at Farringham School for Boys. As I have told you, I am not who you think I am!"

She looks again. Maybe he isn't lying. Her left hand holds her mangled fingers. They're starting to throb.

"John Smith. Professor. School For Boys."

She watches the trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth.

"That can't be."

He frowns, his anger dissipating along with hers.

"I assure you it is. Come on. Let's get you some ice for your hand."

She backs up from him now, looking for all the world as if he was the one who had struck her.

"No, don't. I'm fine."

Her eyes search his face. Nothing. No recognition at all.

"I'm fine."

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