Not The New Doctor On The Block © 2005 Margaret Price

Author's Note: After so many left such nice comments on my last attempt at a Ninth Doctor story, I decided to write a sequel. I am told that there aren't a lot of humorous stories post "Parting Of The Ways," so, here's my attempt. I hope this at least makes you smile. I know it made me while I was writing it. Again, I'm posting this with out benefit of my beta reader. Sorry, Rachel.



The assembled Doctors sat in small groups, nursing their various grudges over a pint or twelve. The First, Second and Third Doctors were talking in hushed tones, throwing the occasional glance toward the front door. The Fourth and Sixth Doctors had yet to make an appearance. The Fifth Doctor was standing at the bar observing the others. At a table across the room, the Seventh and Eighth Doctors sat in conversation.

"I still can't believe what he said," the Eighth Doctor moaned, looking into his half-empty glass. "Not canon!"

"I know," the Seventh Doctor replied in a sympathetic tone. "I've been hearing that for years. To be honest, I'm actually quite pleased to have all that manipulation swept under the rug."

"That's all well and good for you. But I destroyed Gallifrey, spent a hundred years on Earth with no memory because of it and for what? To have it all summarily dismissed as being not canon," the Eighth Doctor growled. "I gave up one of my hearts, too. Did you know that?"

"But you got it back, didn't you?"

"That's not the point. Now all I'm left with is a single TV movie that half the fans hate. Bloody BBC!" Realizing what he had just said, the Eight Doctor gave a loud growl. "Would you listen to me? I'm starting to sound like him." He pointed to the open front door. Outside the pub, the Sixth Doctor was standing amid a throng of admirers, happily signing autographs.

"Yes," the Seventh Doctor agreed. "Ever since the readers of Doctor Who Magazine voted him number one there's been no living with him."

Suddenly the Ninth Doctor entered. But instead of the grinning idiot he had been in the TARDIS console room, he looked on the verge of tears. The Fourth Doctor had an arm over his shoulder and appeared to be consoling him. This immediately gained the attention of the other Doctors, who pricked up their ears to listen in on their conversation.

"There, there, old man," the Fourth Doctor was saying. "It was bound to happen sooner or later."

The usually gregarious Ninth Doctor gave him a dark look before ordering a stiff drink.

"Happens to the best of us, you know," the Fourth Doctor went on, ordering a pint for himself.

"A year. One bloody season!" the Ninth Doctor moaned. He downed his drink and immediately ordered another.

The Sixth Doctor charged in the door at that moment and crossed to them. "He knows, does he?" He looked at the Fifth Doctor, who nodded.

"Must you be so bloody smug?" the Ninth Doctor snapped, ordering drink number three.

"Sorry," the Sixth Doctor replied in an unrepentant tone. "It's nice to finally not be the shortest running incarnation." He looked over at the Eighth Doctor, adding, "Present company excepted, naturally."

The Eighth Doctor contemplated making a rude gesture, changed his mind and held up his glass in way of salute before draining its contents in one go.

"He wouldn't be so smug if he didn't get all the good audio scripts," the Seventh Doctor said in a quiet voice.

"That's only because pompous is easy to write," the Eighth Doctor shot back with a snicker. "Anyway, those aren't canon, either."

The Fourth Doctor was still attempting to console the Ninth to no avail.

"I thought the fans loved me," the Ninth Doctor was moaning as he downed his third drink, finally taking the bottle himself and filling his glass to the rim. "Me, Rose, all those lovely stories."

"They'll still write about you, old man. They still write about all of us," the Fourth Doctor pointed out, holding out his hand to take in the other Doctors who were nodding in agreement.

"I know that! I can handle that."

The assembled Doctors exchanged a bewildered look.

"Then what on earth is the problem?" the Fifth Doctor wanted to know.

"It's the new stuff," the Ninth Doctor exploded. "It's not me and Rose anymore. It's me and Jack. Bloody hell!"