Eyes of Time: The Final Line ✓

Chapter 16: The Idiot's Lantern

[Fated Pair Bedroom]

The Alchemist sits quietly in her chair, facing the bedroom door, going over research on her tablet. Rose has just gone to bed, and her husband is busy tinkering with wiring in the console room. It is rare to have a moment alone these days. The Doctor is constantly by her side, chatting endlessly to rebuild their bond. She appreciates it, but even she needs a breather now and then.

A soft sigh escapes her as the door flies open, shattering her peace.

"Elvis!" the Doctor shouts, running into their room while yanking off his sandshoes.

The door shuts gently behind him—thanks to the TARDIS. She was right, he either forgets to close them or slams them in this Regeneration. It helps, at least, for their ship to do it.

"What about him?" she mumbles, trying to reclaim her train of thought.

"We should visit him!" The Doctor shouts, practically vibrating with excitement as he hops from foot to foot, "Go to a show! It's been ages. Rose would love it. Next trip? What year? Which show?"

Quiet time is officially over. With a resigned sigh, the Alchemist shuts down her tablet, her mind already racing through possibilities. A visit to Elvis sounds fun—and productive. She's been itching to confront the Colonel about that unauthorized release of Hound Dog.

"As long as I can avoid the Colonel, I'm in," she says, sitting up straighter, "It has been a while since we had a good chat with Elvis. We can bring him some bananas from Villengard. He loves those."

The Doctor pauses mid-step, kissing his teeth in thought, "Right," he drawls out, "Maybe sometime before his depression and PTSD, then? The Colonel practically stalks him when he notices it."

The Alchemist rolls her eyes, "He's always stalked him; that man is so controlling. 1950s again? He's really happy during those years."

"Oh, absolutely," the Doctor agrees, rocking on his heels, "Now, which concert? They were all brilliant—well, apart from his G's."

"Oh! We could visit Ed while we're at it! We promised Elvis we'd see one of his shows in person."

"Aw, yes!" he says, equally excited, "Wonderful idea, Amara. Ed's such a nice man; makes an excellent cuppa for an American."

"And Sylvia!" she adds, beginning to pace, "She still owes me that cinnamon quick bread recipe. She never missed a show—always front row."

"Which concert, though?" he asks, flopping onto the bed, "Elvis played there three times."

The Alchemist hums, "I've been listening to Big Mama lately. I wish we could see her play Hound Dog live again."

"Aha!" the Doctor gestures at her triumphantly, "I know what you're really after! You want to chew out the Colonel for releasing that cover. You did give Elvis Big Mama's record, after all."