The Time of Change

Blast from the Future

Riding on the back of a brilliantly white horse, the Tenth Doctor charges through the TARDIS's open doors, the redheaded woman sitting behind him laughing hysterically. She clings a bit too tightly to his blue pinstriped suit and shrieks as he brings the steed to a skidding halt. The Doctor smiles, squinting around at the rolling green hills and listening to the gentle ebb of a nearby brook. The horse whinnies as it bucks, and he whoas it.

"Allons-y!" he calls out. The woman titters. "There you go, your Majesty. What did I tell you? Bigger on the inside!" He deftly hops down and gestures back at the TARDIS.

Queen Elizabeth draws her mouth into a thin line, attempting to hide the fact that she is impressed, but he sees right through it. With a regal air, she holds out her hand. The Doctor takes it, helping her off the steed. "The door isn't," she replies. "You nearly took my head off. It's normally me who does that."

The Doctor gives her a quirked look with one eyebrows raised. The Queen grins mischievously. Together, they make their way over to a pallet of cushions and blankets set up on the soft grassy hillside, a basket and plates of food atop it. The Doctor allows Elizabeth to seat herself, then plops down beside her, reclining back on a cushion comfortably.

"Tell me, Doctor, why I'm wasting my time on you," says Elizabeth in a teasing yet contemplative tone, peering at him sideways. "I have wars to plan."

"You have a picnic to eat," he tells her aloofly. He pulls a ripe, round grape away from its clump and feeds it to her.

"You could help me," she adds.

The Doctor gives her a plastic smile that she takes as misunderstanding, though he is fully aware of the hidden meaning in her suggestion. "I am helping you." With a flick of his wrist, he tosses a small cube of cheese into his mouth.

Elizabeth watches him intently. "But you have a stomach for war," she says surely. She puts her hand on the side of his face, running her fingers along his cheek, and the hairs along his jawline bristle at her touch. "This face has seen conflict; it's clear as day."

The Doctor sighs, "Oh, I've seen conflict like you wouldn't believe, but it wasn't this face."

Elizabeth nods softly, an understanding look in her eye, and several hypotheses click together in the Doctor's mind at once. Suddenly he jumps to his feet, quipping, "But never mind that, your Majesty. Up on your feet. Up, up!" he adds with playful urgency.

She gapes at him in a fake-indignant way. "How dare you?" she shrieks, smirking. "I'm the Queen of England!"

"I'm not English," the Doctor shoots back. Elizabeth stands, grudgingly, and he takes her hand, which reigns in her full attention. Her eyes widen considerably as the Doctor drops to one knee. "Elizabeth, will you marry me?"

"Oh, my dear, sweet love," she gasps. Her other hand goes to her heart. "Of course I will!"

"Aha!" the Doctor shouts, leaping up again and pointing at her with the hand that just released her own. Elizabeth jumps a little. "My love?" she begins, but the victorious grin that crosses his face causes her to stop short. "One," he declares, holding up his slender index as he paces back and forth in front of her, "the real Elizabeth would have never accepted my marriage proposal. Two, the real Elizabeth would notice when I just casually mention having a different face. But then..." He peers at her closely. "The real Elizabeth isn't a shape-shifting alien from outer space. And—"

He fishes in his pocket for a moment, then whips out a clockwork-like object lets out a single high-pitched tone. "Ding," he repeats it lowly, proud.