I held Amy's hand as we walked through the art gallery, looking at the pamphlet over her shoulder. The Doctor meandered along with us, sometimes behind us, sometimes beside Amy, but rarely near me. Good. We paused to listen to a little speech being given about Vincent Van Gogh, whose section of the museum we were currently in.
"So this is one of the last paintings Van Gogh ever painted. Those final months of his life were probably the most astonishing artistic outpouring in history. It was like Shakespeare knocking off Othello, Macbeth and King Lear over the summer hols. And especially astonishing because Van Gogh did it with no hope of praise or reward. He is now..."
The Doctor stood next to me and I cast him a sideways glance.
"Thanks for bringing us- I mean her here."
He looked back at me, astonished that I was speaking to him. "You're welcome."
Amy, energized by the fact that I was getting along with him for two sentences, leaned over me to tease him.
"You're being so nice to us. Why are you being nice to us?" She demanded.
"I'm always nice to you two!" He objected.
"Not like this! These places you're taking us! Arcadia, the Trojan Gardens, now this. I think it's suspicious," she joked. I squeezed her hand and she smiled at me.
"What? It's not. Nothing to be suspicious about," he insisted. I raised an eyebrow at them and held him off at an and length.
"Okay then. While, she was joking... why aren't you?" I demanded, immediately jumping into Ninja mode since he's being suspicious. He didn't answer. I finally tuned into the speech that we were following as the man who gave it moved around the room.
"Each of these pictures now is worth tens of millions of pounds, yet in his lifetime he was a commercial disaster. Sold only one painting, and that to the sister of a friend. We have here possibly the greatest artist of all time, but when he died you could sold his entire body of work and got about enough money to buy... a sofa. And a couple of... chairs? If you follow me now..."
"Who is it?" A little boy's voice caused me to look over.
"It's the doctor," another young schoolboy said. The Doctor looked over, suddenly interested when his name was mentioned. Notoriously self absorbed, as always. Instead of finding the boys gawking at him, we found them looking at work painting of an old man leaning good elbow on a wooden table top.
"He was the doctor who took care of Van Gogh when he started to go mad," the second boy said.
"I knew that," proclaimed the first boy convincingly.
"Look. There it is. The actual one!" Amy dragged us away from the group odd tourists who followed the man giving the Van Gogh speech to look at the painting Vincent had done of a tall, towering cathedral. She held up the matching pamphlet picture to the large painting.
"Yes. You can almost feel his hand painting it right in front of you, carving the colours into shapes... Wait a minute." He stopped dead cold, and I regained the grip on Amy's hand that I'd lost.
"What?" She asked cluelessly.
"Well, just... look at that," he said nervously.
"What?" She repeated.
"Something very not good indeed."
I was getting fed up. Yeah. Keep being vague for us. That will solve all the problems.
"What thing very not good?" She continued.
"Look there, in the church window." He pointed. I leaned forward and examined a detailed Dragon-like face in the window he meant.
"Is it a face?" Amy asked.
"Yes. And not a nice face at all. I know evil when I see it and I see it in that window. And in Miss Psycho here, but that's beyond the point."
I guess pushing someone off a cliff above boiling lava makes an impression.
Evil Miss Psycho though? That certainly had a ring to it.
We swung over to the man who was lecturing the tourists.
The Doctor cut him off mid-sentance. "Excuse me. If I can just interrupt for one second. Sorry, everyone, routine inspection, Ministry of Art and... Artiness." He flashed his psychic paper. Seriously? He had nothing better than "Ministry of Art and Artiness"? Wow. "So, er-"
"Doctor Black," the man introduced himself.
"Yes, that's right. Do you know when that picture of the church was painted?" The Doctor asked.
"Ah, well. Ah, well, what an interesting question. Most people imagine-"
"I'm going to have to hurry you, when was it?" The Doctor demanded.
"Exactly?" Doctor Black said, bewildered.
"As exactly as you can. Without a long speech, if poss. I'm in a hurry."
"Well, in that case, probably somewhere between the first and third of June," the shaken man replied reluctantly.
"What year?" I would've thought The Doctor would know that, with how he acted he knew everything. How hard would it be to know what year a famous painting was painted in?
"1890. Less than a year before, before he... killed himself," he said slowly.
"Thank you, sir, very helpful indeed. Nice bow-tie. Bow-ties are cool."
Typical of him to mention.
"Yours is very-"
"Oh, thank you." He looked so happy that he'd found someone who appreciated bowties like he did. "Keep telling them stuff. We need to go." He corralled us towards the staircase.
"What about the other pictures?" Amy asked reluctant to leave.
"Art can wait. This is life and death, we need to talk to Vincent Van Gogh!" He shoved her forward, earning a solid elbow in the ribs, courtesy of me. He doubled over slightly, but continued on with determination. I hate it when I can't make him break down. I immediately plotted how to make him regret not showing the pain the first time.
Maybe he was right. Maybe I am evil.
***
"Right, so, here's the plan. We find Vincent and he leads us straight to the church and our nasty friend," he said as he opened the Tardis door for me.
I stepped out into the narrow alleyway, my shoes crunching the gravelly pavement beneath them.
"Easy peasy," Amy said, skipping along beside him.
"Well, no. I suspect nothing will be easy with Mister Van Gogh. Now, he'll probably be in the local cafe. Sort of orangey light, chairs and tables outside."
Amy held up her pamphlet that she'd hung on to show a painting of the cafe description he'd given us.
"Like this?"
"That's the one."
"Or indeed like that," she said, seeing the actual thing that lay before us.
"Yeah. Exactly like that."
We strode up to the cafe, and The Doctor decided to ask around. "Good evening. Does the name Vincent Van Gogh ring a bell?" He asked politely.
"Don't mention that man to me," a man who I could tell was the manager said and stalked back inside. Okay then.
"Excuse me. Do you know Vincent Van Gogh?" The Doctor tried again with a waitress. She scoffed.
"Unfortunately," she grumbled.
"Unfortunately?" Amy asked, bewildered at what she was hearing.
Another waitress leaned in. "He's drunk, he's mad, and he never pays his bills."
And you're rude, stuck up, and never give the benefit of the doubt. Try that on for a size.
"Good painter though, eh?" The Doctor questioned. A general hilarity ensued at the very idea. I shifted feet, getting rather fed up with this bunch of gossiping idiots.
"Come on! Come on! One painting for one drink. That's not a bad deal!" A voice said. My jaw nearly hit the ground as Vincent Van Gogh walked backwards out of the cafe, followed by the manager. Amy nearly fell over. She ripped away from my hand and tiptoed around the pair of men in awe while their conversation continued.
"It wouldn't be a bad deal if the painting were any good! I can't hang that up on my walls. It'd scare the customers half to death. It's bad enough having you in here in person, let alone looming over the customers day and night in a stupid hat. You pay money or you get out."
You apologize for saying that, or you get punched in the face.
"I'll pay if you like," The Doctor suddenly spoke. This caught the attention of pretty much everyone.
I looked over to see him sitting and leaning back on a chair.
"What?" The manager asked.
"Well, if you like, I'll pay for the drink. Or I'll pay for the painting and you can use the money to pay for the drink."
"Well, in that case, you don't know three things. One, I pay for my own drinks, thank you." The people within earshot laughed. "Two, no one ever buys any of my paintings or they would be laughed out of town. So if you want to stay in town, I suggest you keep your cash to yourself. And three, your friend's cute, but you should keep your big nose out of other people's business." I got the feeling he was taking about Amy. I was not exactly in the best order for being referred to as "cute". I was literally wearing a leather jacket with small, blunt metal spikes. "Come on, just one more drink. I'll pay tomorrow."
"No," the manager replied flatly.
"Or, on the other hand, slightly more compassionately, yes?" Vincent offered.
"Or, to protect my business from madmen like you, no!"
"Or-"
"Oh, shut UP, the pair of you!" Amy hollered, obviously as fed up as I was. She marched up to them. "I would like a bottle of wine, please, which I will then share with whomever, I choose," she announced, looking pointedly at Vincent.
"That could be good," Vincent said reluctantly.
"That's fine by me," the manager agreed.
"Good." She winked at me.
The managershoved Vincent's self portrait back into his arms and ventured back inside to get the wine. I hadn't downed alcohol in ages, so I'd leave the drinking to Amy and Vincent. I had spent far too long digging myself out of a mess of addictions a couple years ago.
***
The cool breeze whipped by as we sat at an outdoor table, and I restrained from shivering. I didn't need any more looks from The Doctor then I'd already received.
"That accent of yours. You from Holland like me?" Vincent questioned.
"Yes," The Doctor answered.
"No," Amy objected.
"She means yes. So, start again. Hello, I'm the Doctor." I'd get mad at him for correcting her like that, but I saw clearly why he did it.
"I knew it!" Vincent cried. I arched a singular eyebrow.
"Sorry?" I asked, leaning forward.
"My brother's always sending doctors," he explained hopelessly. "But you won't be able to help."
"Oh, no, not that kind of doctor." He turned his attention to the self portrait of Vincent wearing a straw hat that lay on the table. "That's incredible, don't you think, Amy?"
"Absolutely. One of my favorites," she replied. I leaned back and combed a few stray strands of hair out of my face. Amy reached over and took my hand casually under the table without removing her gaze from the painting, making me smile.
We had an odd sentimental attachment that I didn't understand at all, since most best friends didn't have such a connection. Maybe it was just how we'd suffered together without The Doctor. But my inner logic assured me this wasn't it. Something, I didn't know what, was uniquely different.
"One of my favourite whats? You've never seen my work before," Vincent said. Amy scrambled for an explanation, so I stepped in.
"...One of the favorite paintings she's ever seen...!" I said convincingly. Thankfully, that wine was doing it's job on Vincent, and he was looking quite fuzzy-headed.
"Then you can't have seen many paintings, then. I know it's terrible, it's the best I can do." After a moment of studying Amy, he commented, "Your hair's orange."
"Yes," she agreed in a tone that said "duh". "So's yours."
"Yes. It was more orange, but now is, of course, less."
Ugh. Just because Amy was single didn't give me a reason to let her go around flirting with everyone.
"So. Er, Vincent, painted any churches recently? Any churchy plans? Are churches, chapels, religiousy stuff like that, something you'd like to get into? You know, fairly soon?"
Smooth, my inner logic commented. I got the feeling that my inner logic was becoming more like a voice in my head. I wasn't worried. If I didn't have voices in my head, who would I talk to when Amy was gone?
"Well, there is one church I'm thinking of painting, when the weather is right," Vincent said thoughtfully.
"That is very good news," The Doctor said.
Suddenly a terrified woman burst through the alley screaming, "She's been murdered! Help me!"
"That, on the other hand, is not quite such good news," I commented, preparing to stand up.
"Uh huh. Come on, Amy, Vincent, Psycho!" The Doctor lead us down the alleyway. That name didn't even faze me. Maybe because it was true.
"She's been ripped to shreds!" A man exclaimed as we approached a small crowd of people.
"Please, let me look, I'm a doctor!" The Doctor cried, pushing through the ring of people. I followed and immediately wished I hadn't. I could barely stomach the sight of the bloody, mangled strips of human that lay before me.
"Oh, no, no, no," The Doctor said, crouching down.
Suddenly a voice rose above all the commotion. "Away, you vultures! This is my daughter! Giselle! What monster could have done this! Get away from her!"
"Okay, okay," The Doctor consented, wisely backing away from the grief and wrath of a mother.
"Get that madman out of here!" She screeched. The crowd began pelting us with stones, mainly Vincent. "You bring this on us. Your madness! You!" She yelled. Yeah, I'm sure. He's the problem.
In any case, we all retreated from the seething crowd, back into an empty alley.
"Are you alright?" The Doctor asked us.
"Yes, I'm used to it," Vincent answered breathlessly.
"Has anything like this murder happened here before?" The Doctor continued, still trying to catch his breath.
"Only a week ago. It's a terrible time," Vincent said.
"As I thought. As I thought. Come on, we'd better get you home." He patted Vincent on the back and Amy slid her arm through mine.
"Where are you staying tonight?" Vincent asked.
"Oh! You're very kind," The Doctor said. I giggled at this and he caught a glance at me. When he saw he was causing me to smile, there wasn't a single star in the universe that could outshine those eyes.
***
"Dark night. Very starry," The Doctor commented as we strode up go a small, worn down house.
"It's not much. I live on my own. But you should be okay for one night. One night." Vincent talked, but I was preoccupied with admiring the paintings that hung along a rack by the door.
"We're going to stay with him?" Amy muttered in The Doctor's ear.
"Until he paints that church," he answered quietly. She slipped her hand back into mine and nearly ran me into one of the paintings when she stumbled.
"Watch out, that one's wet," Vincent cautioned us as he entered the quaint little home.
"Hm?" I asked. I looked over and had to concentrate to shut my mouth. I'd just almost smudged The Bedroom in Arles, one of my favorites from Van Gogh.
After sharing the moment of awe, Amy tugged me inside. After The Doctor and Vincent.
"Sorry about the clutter," Vincent was saying as we entered.
"Some clutter," I commented, running my finger along the edge of one of the exquisite paintings.
"I've come to accept the only person who's going to love my paintings is me," Vincent admitted.
"Wow," Amy said, releasing my hand. "I mean, really. Wow."
"Yeah, I know it's a mess. I'll have a proper clear out. I must, I really must," Vincent mumbled, his mind evidently somewhere else.
Amy and The Doctor browsed through the pieces of art, while I found refuge sitting on a stool and searching delicately though some of the precious art supplies on the table in front of me.
"Coffee, anyone?" Vincent offered.
"Not for me, actually," The Doctor answered.
"Ooh!" I raised my hand excitedly. Vincent smiled at me vaguely and poured a mug of the stuff.
"Amazing. You seem to be grown, but you remind me very much of a child," he mused wondrously. "I almost wonder if it is wise to give you caffeine, in fear of the lives of others," he chuckled. I smiled at him and gladly took the mug of brown liquid from him.
"Not a good idea. She flew off the handle last time," The Doctor said, calmly taking the mug from me despite my protest and walking it across the room. Vincent set down the coffee pot on Still Life. "You know, you should be careful with these. They're... precious."
You really don't need to say that, My inner logic snapped at him. Either way, they survived until 2010 SOMEHOW.
"Precious to me. Not precious to anyone else."
Amy poked her head in from the little hall where she was admiring paintings to announce, "They're precious to me!"
"You're very kind," Vincent said disbelievingly. "Kindness is most welcome." She smiled and disappeared back into the hallway.
"Right, so, this church, then. Near here, is it?" The Doctor inquired.
"What is it with you and the church?" Vincent demanded, half annoyed, half on the brink of laughter.
"Oh, just casually interested in it, you know," he said slowly, nervously saving his own secret.
"Far from casual," Vincent chuckled. "It seems to me you never talk about anything else. He's a strange one," he told me.
Oh believe me, I know.
"Okay, so, let's talk about you, then. What are you interested in?" He said, relenting on the subject of the church.
"Well, look around. Art. It seems to me there's so much more to the world than the average eye is allowed to see. I believe, if you look hard, there are more wonders in this universe than you could have ever dreamed of."
"You don't have to tell me," The Doctor said discretely.
***
Vincent seemed very shaky. "It's colour! Colour that holds the key! I can hear the colours. Listen to them." He held a finger to his lips for a moment, silencing the nonexistent noise. "Every time I step outside, I feel nature is shouting at me. Come on. Come and get me. Come on. Come on! Capture my mystery!" He was shouting now, and was holding The Doctor's jacket collar. The Doctor himself looked very shaken by this behavior.
"Maybe you've had enough coffee now," he said slowly. "How about some nice, calming tea? Let's get you a cup of chamomile or something, shall we? Amy. Where's Amy?"
That question dawned on me too. I just figured she was in the hall since that's where I'd last noted her presence, but when I leaned over, she was clearly not there.
A scream made me shoot to my feet. I was bolting to the door before The Doctor and Vincent had even registered that the voice was Amys. Great. The one time I stopped thinking about her...
Hey guys! Long time no update, I know. I'm still scrambling to finish episodes before I post them and it can be really hard on me... but anyway, what did you think? Questions? Comments?
Quick shoutout to FangirliestFangirl and Lets-Go-To-Narnia. They wrote an EPIC parody of Katy Perry's song Roar for Ruby. I thought it was pretty awesome since Katy Perry plays Ruby...
By the way, I might start a question of the update to get to know my readers if enough people respond to them. I'd say question of the week, but I can't guarantee an update every week :/
So here it goes: who's your favourite Doctor?
(Mine are 11 and 9)
Simple, I know, but I literally just decided to do this question of the update thing like five minutes before I updated this, so I didn't have long to think of an interesting one.
Alright, this has been an unnecessarily long A/N, so buh bai!
10 votes for the next chapter!
Read On, Awkward Ferrets!
~ TheLivingParadox