The Real Deal (Doctor Who/MUFC one-shot)
Author's Note: I started writing this awhile back. Probably almost a year ago. But with the 50th Anniversary of Doctor Who, I felt it was necessary to finish it and share it with you all. Happy reading!
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I once heard a rather funny joke about Superman sitting at a bar. It's not as funny as when I tell people I met him. The real deal. In the flesh. They tend to think one of two things - either I met the actor who plays the guy, or I'm just a little nuts-o. Fortunately for me, my story is quite true. And I wasn't sitting at a bar.
It's been years since that old telephone booth was mentioned. My cousins brought it up at dinner - there's been odd sounds in the neighborhood, they said. Whooshing sounds, the kind that wind would make in space if there was any. I wasn't gonna get my hopes up - these sort of things happen all the time. Someone sees something, hears something, feels something. Until I know it with my own two eyes, I ain't gonna talk. Three nights ago, I was heading back late. I could just hear the faintest whisper of the wind. The darned breeze carried with it a mild rain and rendered my umbrella useless. As I was folding it, I heard it again. That windy, cosmic heartbeat of the ship. The breaths that gave it life. It had to be close by. I ran through the darkest of alleys, streetlights bouncing off the cobblestone roads to guide me through the unlikely corridors to heaven. I hadn't a clue where I was going. All I knew is where I had to end up. I ran as fast as I could as soon as I saw the blue box, ripping open its wooden doors. It was just one of many times I visited my old friend. We chose a locale, a day and age, and off we went. On our way there, I finally got a good look at him. There he was, just as tall, well-kempt and ageless as all those years ago. The first time I saw him I was still in school. Now I was knee-deep in debt. I remember the first thing I ever asked him was if he knew how to fly. He said yes, and I said, well, prove it! But instead of taking off, he led me to a blue police box, opened the door, and said "after you". I know Clark Kent has a phone booth, but a time machine? That was something else. We've been everywhere since then, and the best part is, no matter how crazy our adventures get, I always make it safely back home. Today's adventure was over, but before I left, I thought I'd ask him one more thing. Something that's been bothering me for quite a while. "Who are you, really?" He just looked at me and said "I'm the Doctor". "Yes, I know, but I mean you. The real you, as a person - er, time lord." He thought about it for a minute. "Well, if you put it that way..." He started glowing, like he usually does before he changes form. Another Doctor? "That's not what I meant!" I shouted, but the transformation was complete. I had tried to guess his real identity many times before, and I was almost certain it would be the exact person now standing in front of me. "I - I don't believe it," I muttered, my lips slowly forming into a smile. He was clad in a suit and tie, as per tradition. He was somewhat younger than I remembered him, and better known for his success in his later years. It was the Doctor's first incarnation as an athlete, a former football player and manager at that. "I had an odd feeling it was you," I said, folding my arms. "Was it the red tie?" he asked, somewhat surprised. "Nah," I said. "It's that smug grin you're always wearing." "All part of the job. Now, where were we off to?" he asked, utilizing a series of buttons and switches. I chuckled. "Yes, you've got the most priceless expressions. I always remember those match celebrations..." "A game!" He stopped what he was doing, turned around and switched on a lever I never saw him use before. I had been just about ready to leave, but another adventure couldn't hurt, right? "Nottingham," he muttered. Not a derby, then. I thought, trying to remember any significant games against the Forest. "Nothing comes to mind," I said. "February sixth," he turned around abruptly. "Nineteen ninety....nine." He hit a few more buttons, and the TARDIS came alive. Late nineties. Beckham. Now we're talkin'! "Hat-trick?" I wondered. "Four," he corrected. "Four goals by Solskjaer. Four more in total!" I stood by all ready, expecting the TARDIS to take off, but he paused before finishing the sequence. Just froze beside the main console, engaged in deep thought. "Something's missing..." he said. I looked around. "The sonic screwdriver?" "No, nothing of the technical sort. Ah! I've got it!" He pulled out a bright red United scarf. "Can't leave without one of these!" he said, tossing it to me. I looked it over. It was an unidentifiable shade of red. Beautiful, golden thread was intricately woven to spell the team's name. I definitely hadn't seen it in stores. It must have been designed for him. "Well! Off we go then!" he said excitedly, setting the TARDIS in motion before I could ask him for an autograph. It's just as well, as he would have signed "The Doctor".