TIME'S DINER
by Grant Watson


Copyright (c) 1993.
First published in Gallifreyan Graffiti #100, September 1993.
If you wish to reprint this work of fiction in a newsletter or fanzine,
please e-mail Grant Watson at nzone@iinet.net.au to arrange sending a
contributor's copy.
(23rd August, 1996)


Ace didn't like posh restaurants. You had to observe 'dress standards' and
'table etiquette' for one thing. That was why she was considerably relieved
when the Doctor dragged her in the way she was. A few people were looking
at them, she had noticed, but she was similarly considerably relieved when
she discovered they were examining the Doctor's apparel and not her
bike-pants, t-shirt and jacket. She couldn't blame them. He insisted upon
keeping his umbrella and hat, fighting with the doorman to keep them when
they arrived. When he finally snapped that he was the Doctor and he
expected better, the doorman immediately gave in, apologising with a
curious air of 'oh, that explains everything' to him.
   The Doctor looked at her from over his steak tartare, penetrating blue
eyes drawing her in as usual, peeling back her skull and reading her brain.
'Not hungry?' he enquired politely, between forkfuls of the red meat. Ace
looked down at the salad the waiter had deposited in front of her. She
picked up a carrot stick and bit into it, smiling weakly. He raised an
inquisitive eyebrow.
   'People are looking at you.' she finally admitted, expecting him to
finally realise and put his umbrella down rather than awkwardly cradle it
in his shoulder. Instead he shrugged.
   'Maybe they recognise me,' he said, 'I'm rather well-liked in these
parts.'<
   'You mean no one's going to try and kill you in the middle of dinner?'
   'Not often. That's why I don't come here on the 15th. There was a nasty
altercation with the chef. The 13th is a better day.'
   'Today is the 12th, professor.'
   'The 13th is a better day, the 12th is the best.'
   Ace picked up another carrot stick. idly listening in upon other
people's conversations.

'This is getting ridiculous.'
   'Nonsense. The TARDIS is just a bit out of sorts, that's all. She'll be
right as rain by the time we finish dinner.'
   'You said we'd just drop the Draconian ambassador back in her own time
zone and *then* catch the opening of Brighton Pavillion.'
   'Well, consider it a bonus. We can have a light meal beforehand. Cheers.'
   'This is the fourth time, Doctor. Four times. Every time you just shrug
it off and eat a meal or go to the theatre or save a planet from inevitable
destruction! It's beginning to get a bit predictable.'
   'Shall we go then?'
   'I don't know. Are we going to get any closer?'
   'I'm not too far away now.'
   'A five-star restaurant in downtown New York, 1995?'
   'Could've been further. Come on then, Romana. One more try, eh? I'll
fetch my coat and scarf from the doorman.'

'Don't stare, Ace.'
   Ace looked at the Doctor as the pair receded into distance. He wiped his
mouth delicately with a napkin. She looked back to catch a final glimpse of
the short woman with the blonde hair and the tall man in the burgundy
waistcoat.
   'Is he...?'
   'Yes. Fortunately, I improve with age.'
   'At least he takes his hat off at the table.'
   The Doctor sniffed unappreciatively. 'Finished?' Ace looked down at her
pristine salad, minus two carrot sticks.
   'I suppose so.'
   They stood, Ace desperately attempting to ignore the staring masses of
the New York cultural elite. She caught up with the Doctor as he coasted
across the floor of the room. 'Why are we hurrying?' she asked him, as they
moved along together.
   'It's a game. Come one, we mustn't be last.'
   'Last?'
   'Come on.'
   She excused herself meekly as she squeezed past the trio who sat at the
table nearest to the door. Then the Doctor doffed his hat to the doorman
and left the building.

'Not already, surely!'
   'What is it?'
   'Time to go. Come along, Jamie, Victoria.'
   'Och, I havenae finished, Doctor!'
   'Wrap it up in a napkin.'
   'Why are we hurrying like this?'
   'Because I don't want to lose the game, my dear. I'll explain later.
Come along, Jamie, there's a good fellow.'

Ace and the Doctor stood on the sidewalk, breathing in the chill autumn air.
The Doctor rubbed his hands briskly together, staring across Central Park
with his infinite blue eyes.
   'Doctor,' she finally gathered the nerve to ask, 'why didn't you pay for
the dinner?'
   'I didn't need to. I payed for it in advance.' he explained in his
standard enigmatic style, before hailing a taxi. Ace looked to the
restaurant entrance, where the trio they had passed walked out and away
down the street. She turned back to the Doctor as the yellow car pulled up
on demand.
   'Exactly how *far* in advance?'

'Preposterous! This is most disgraceful!'
   'What is it, Doctor?'
   'This bill, Chesterton! There must be some mistake!'
   'Let me see... four hundred dollars!'
   'That's more than we have, isn't it?'
   'Oh, I hope not Barbara. I'm sure I put a credit card in this jacket
somewhere... let me see...'