New Doctor On The Block © 2005 Margaret Price

Author's Notes: Okay, here's my first attempt at a Ninth Doctor story. The idea came to me while I was searching a fanfic site and noticed the abundance of Ninth Doctor stories out there. Sorry if it's a bit choppy. I did this without benefit of my beta reader. I do not own Doctor Who, the logo or anything else the BBC is making a ton of dough from.


NEW DOCTOR ON THE BLOCK

Rose stood leaning against a corner of the TARDIS, her arms folded. The sun was going down and she watched as the clouds picked up the colors of the sunset. A few minutes later, the Doctor appeared leading a group of… of… She frowned, wondering if gentlemen was the proper term to use here? They were a mismatched lot, that was certain. The Doctor had told her about regeneration and that he had done it "a few" times. A few! There where…where… She paused to do a head count. Eight! There were eight of them for pity's sake!

The Doctor motioned to her and she pushed open the doors, leading the way in. Then she stood to one side, watching the…er, gentlemen's reactions as they entered. Her Doctor strode in crossed to the console where he stood with arms folded, a manic grin on his face.

The first to enter was an elderly gentleman. He wore old-fashioned clothing, which made perfect sense, of course. He had a silver-tipped cane in his hand that he tapped on the floor the moment he crossed the threshold. He looked around the console room, wrinkling his nose as he did so. Rose heard him click his tongue before he started shaking his head. "Oh, dear, oh, dear," he muttered softly as he moved aside.

Rose could not help but smile at the small, rumpled individual who passed through the door next. One look at his mop of black hair and she wondered if the Doctor had gone back to the Sixties to pick up a Beatles groupie. His clothes looked two sizes too big, which he seemed to realize all of a sudden as he straightened his jacket. "You've changed things," he said in an angry tone, addressing her Doctor. "I don't like it."

Rose blinked as the third man entered. He was tall, and towered over the "little fellow" he was currently telling to kindly get out of his way. She had to hide a smile behind a hand as he received a retort of, "Fancy pants." This man's hair was snow white and he was dressed…well, he was quite a sight. Fancy pants, indeed. His eyes grew wide as he looked around the console room. "Oh no…" seemed to be all he could say.

The fourth man was in the door before Rose could blink. He was half-way across the room, an incredibly long scarf trailing after him. He pulled off a brown floppy hat, revealing a wild tangle of curls on his head. He leaned back, taking in the room with an appraising eye. "I like it!" he said in a loud, booming voice.

"You would," the third man snapped.

"Now, now. We're not here to— Oh dear…"

Rose turned to see a young, blond man standing in the doorway. He looked like he had just come from a cricket match. He also looked horrified.

"Well, let me see, then," came another loud voice from outside.

Rose thought she had seen everything until this sixth individual strode through the doors. He looked like a combination of the previous two; tall, with a mop of wild blond curls. But his clothes were…were…well, best not to think about that. He was moving in the opposite direction as the traveling scarf. "Were you in Barcelona when you did this?" he said in an astringent tone. "Design by Gaudi, perhaps?"

"You're a fine one to talk in that coat!" the Second Doctor injected.

"At least mine fits properly."

Suddenly, a new voice. "Must you always criticize?"

Rose jumped at the slightly Scottish lilt of this statement, the "r" in criticize having been rolled for emphasis. She turned to see another smallish individual enter and was slightly amazed to see he was actually dressed in a conventional way; brown linen suit, straw hat, and an umbrella in one hand. "What have you done?" he demanded.

"Well, let's have a look," a calm voice floated in from behind him. "I really do hate being last all the time."

Rose blinked as the eighth and final man stepped into the console room. He looked as though he had just walked out of a Victorian costume drama. His hair was the longest of the lot and framed the classic features of his face perfectly. "Well, don't look at me," he said to the man who had turned accusingly back at him. "I liked the Gothic look. I only changed a few things."

"Gentlemen, if you please," Rose's Doctor said loudly, clapping his hands together to gain everyone's attention. "You didn't come all this way just to criticize the architecture, did you?"

"Before we get into that," the First Doctor said, "perhaps you might introduce this young lady, hmm?" He turned to Rose and gave her a disarming smile.

The manic grin on the Doctor's face did not fade. He held out a hand in way of introduction. "This is my traveling companion, Rose Tyler."

The room exploded into murmurs of approval. The assembled Doctors greeted the slightly dazzled Rose before turning back to… She scowled. "I supposed I should think of him as the Ninth Doctor with this lot here," she thought.

The Fourth Doctor charged up to the console and looked down at the display screen. "This thing does connect to the internet, I presume?"

"It does," the Ninth Doctor replied, a puzzled look on his face. "Why?"

"Never mind the questions, young man," the First Doctor snapped, waving a hand in the air. Then to the Fourth Doctor, he said, "Show him."

After only a few seconds, a seemingly endless list was scrolling passed. The Ninth Doctor looked at it, and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I've seen that." He was grinning again, his face aglow with pride. "Fantastic, isn't it?"

"Fantastic?" the Sixth Doctor repeated in a derisive tone. "Is that all you can say?"

"Can I help it if the fans love me?" Throwing a quick look in Rose's direction, the Ninth Doctor corrected himself. "They love us."

"They certainly do," the Third Doctor snorted.

"Yes," the Fifth Doctor agreed. "To the tune of several billion words."

"That many?"

"How did you do it?" the Eighth Doctor wanted to know. "In less than a year, you've surpassed even me. And I'm much better looking than you, I might add."

"But you're not canon anymore."

"What!"

"Sorry. You didn't blow up Gallifrey to save it from the Faction Paradox. I did to end the Daleks' time war."

"That's ridiculous!" The Eighth Doctor threw his hands in the air.

The Ninth Doctor turned to the Seventh. "Oh, yeah. And your New Adventures. They're not canon, either."

The Seventh Doctor merely snorted.

The Ninth Doctor waved a hand at the screen that was still scrolling through an apparently infinite list of files. "I'm sorry, but you're all…well, old news."

"Old news?" the First Doctor repeated angrily. "Stuff and nonsense. If it weren't for me, my dear fellow, you wouldn't be any news."

"True. But I am here now. New. Brand new. Never seen adventures." He paused dramatically before adding, "Fans love that. Excites the imagination."

"And the libido," the Sixth Doctor injected sharply. "Have you actually read any of these?"

"At least he gets the girl in his," the Eighth Doctor injected with a shudder.

Rose was leaning against the wall beside the exterior doors, watching and listening as the Doctors continued to argue. A hand reached in and tapped her on the shoulder. It was followed by a quiet voice that had a slightly Scottish accent. "They still at it?"

Rose turned, a small smile coming to her face. "Yeah. No end in sight from the looks of it."

"I'd best stay out of sight then. Come get me when they leave, will you?"

"You're not going to join in?"

"Oh no. Let him think he's still the new kid," the unseen speaker replied. "At least until the new season starts."