Doctor Who One Hundred

Title: Craft
Characters: Various
Word count: 100 x 2
Rating: U


Two stories this time, because I couldn't decide which definition of "craft" to go with.


She had her faults, of course. The Doctor remained unconvinced about petrol, and the Brigadier was positive she was a death-trap. Something to do with narrow wheels, and an engine that was older than he was. Nobody particularly liked her colour, either; but to the Doctor it was perfect. She was perfect. Well, no. She couldn’t break the speed of sound; she couldn’t fly; she couldn’t get him off this wretched, frustrating, confining planet. Nonetheless she did have comfortable seats, and her engine growled beautifully; or most of the time at least. Not quite perfect then. Just reassuringly perfect enough.


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I was six when I decided I was going to be a doctor. Dashed if I can remember why. It probably seemed exciting. I’d seen too many films, or perhaps I liked the idea of striding around with a stethoscope. Then one day he came along, with his daft hat, and his adventures in time; and I had to make a choice. We’re both of us doctors, both saving lives. Him out there, fighting monsters in space; and me here, muddling along on the wards. A difficult choice? No. It’s all about being where the universe needs you the most.