Right Angles of Time

Rory has always seen more than people give him credit for. He knows which questions are the right ones to ask, even if he doesn’t always realize he might not want to know the answers.

-

“The Time Lords were supposed to be the ones who created life, right?”

The Doctor looked up from the book they’d taken into the console room, surprised. Rory was standing next to the stack that the Doctor had brought with them right by the railing, his arms crossed over it, frowning slightly.

“Created life?” the Doctor snorted. “What rubbish- why would you think that?”

“Amy told me.” Rory admitted, straightening up. “That you told her- the Time Lords are the reason why so many species out there look human.”

Ah. They straightened up, absentmindedly fixing their bowtie as they considered the best way to answer the question.

“Yes, I rather suppose it’s true.” they finally acknowledged. “Though I dare say we didn’t create life. More like- seeded it. Like going from world to world planting apple seeds and then coming back a few million years later to see if the planet’s become an orchard yet.” the thought struck them as wistful but pleasing, and their display translator summarized that as a smile on their lips. “Like the Johnny Appleseed of humanoid life. That’s quite good.”

“But that’s just it.” Rory, however, did not seem to be quite so taken with the metaphor as they were. “You said- you’re not humanoid exactly, right? You’ve got that hologram projector thing that makes you look like you are.”

“Display Translator.” the Doctor corrected, feeling a little snippy about it. Honestly, trying to equate such a complex and advanced piece of machinery- one that not only changed their outward appearance to one that a humanoid would be familiar with, but also translated body language to that which the observing species would understand, as well as coming up with facial ques that matched appropriately to pheromone releases and changed their vocal tone depending on different frequencies of telepathic resonances- to a mere hologram projector? They were almost tempted to take offense.

Rory did not seem to notice. He merely sat down, allowing his legs to dangle down over the edge of the platform, leaning against the railing.

“So why human?” he finally asked.

“Hmm?” confusion had won out over the childish urge to go sulk and ignore Rory for a little while.

“If you were going to do something like that,” Rory explained, “Why would you seed the universe with human-looking life? Why not make lots of worlds of beings that actually looked like yourselves, and forego the whole problem of having to use that display translator thing because you would just naturally fit in wherever you went?”

The Doctor went silent.

They processed the question for a few nanospans before they experienced a surge of preemptive resigned amusement over the answer. The display translator helpfully offered a quiet huff of laughter.

“Think it through, Rory.” they glanced up at the cute, clever little human who was still watching them curiously. “I want you to look at yourself. Right now. Look down.”

Dutifully, he did as he was told. There was a moment of silence, then…

“What am I supposed to be seeing?” came the perplexed question.

“You don’t look human.” the Doctor pointed out. “Not entirely. Not completely, anyhow.”

“What?” when Rory looked back up, it was with a frown. “What are you talking about? Is something wrong with me?”

“No, no, of course not.” The Doctor straightened up, walking over and tugging lightly at one of Rory’s shoes. “But this isn’t what a human foot looks like, is it?”

“Of course it-” Rory caught himself, realization rippling through him and registering as a spike of recognition to the Doctor’s contact-starved telepathic receptors. “You’re not talking about my foot, you’re talking about my shoe.”

“Got it in one.” the Doctor reached out and lightly tapped the tip of Rory’s nose. It was an odd human gesture of affection that they’d only recently gotten in the habit of expressing, but they found that they greatly enjoyed it. “Look at the rest of you. You don’t look human. You’ve got weird, baggy external hide everywhere but your hands and your head, and it’s colored completely wrong for a human.”

“My clothes.” Rory mused, considering it. But then, he frowned again, and- “I’m sorry, I feel like I ought to get it, but I still don’t. What’s that got to do with seeding worlds with humanoid life?”

The exasperated fondness came out as a sigh.

“Oh Rory, the point is that the Time Lords wore flesh-puppets long before seeding the universe.” they explained. “We wore humanoid forms like suits- not in the creepy way, no, I mean actually literally like suits, for formal occasions and to go in to work and things. We-” they hesitated. It was always a bit odd to admit to humans, always wondering if it would go to their heads, but it was Rory. They doubted Rory would let anything go to his head. They wondered if he even could. “Well. You. You things with that perfect range of beautiful skin colors and all those interesting sizes and unique features and made up of that delicate tissue. You’re our Prada.”

That was an odd look that Rory had on his face. The Doctor wasn’t really sure it translated correctly, but it seemed like it was somewhere just between baffled and flattered.

“…uh, thank you.” Rory mumbled, at last. “I think.”

The warm delight that the Doctor was experiencing translated as a grin, even as they turned back to their book.

“But- hold on.” Rory’s voice continued, tinged with slight confusion now. “If they went around seeding planets with their ideal of what they thought of as beautiful- but you keep talking about it in terms like clothes…”

“Oh yes, they were a right lot of-” that word didn’t quite have any sort of equivalent in any spoken language, but it seemed to come out as- “Wankers. They weren’t interested in having neighbors, that’s the thing- none of the species they created were ever intended to come close to being equals to the ‘most ancient and powerful empire of the Time Lords’, you all were only made sentient because it was easier for you to demonstrate the possibilities of your skin if there was a mind inside of it giving it a reason to do things and show off- no, they were making art galleries. Biological fashion runways to advertise their skills as a genetic designer.”

When the Doctor glanced up again, that flattered befuddlement had been almost entirely replaced with an outright sour look of offended scorn that had the Doctor struggling not to shake with the effort of not disharmonizing from the conversation out of sheer hilarity.

“So-” Rory forced out. “So what you’re telling me is- you being friends with us, it isn’t even really like deciding that you’re going to spend the rest of your life playing with ants, but instead…”

“If my people were still around to see it,” the Doctor shrugged. “They might consider it more like collecting shoes. Will you hand me that first book to your right? I fear this one’s quite dull.”