Between Times

Time is unravelling before me. And as a Lord of the stuff, this is deeply depressing. I was monologuing, there’s been zombies…I’ve no idea where/when Womble is or who he may be with. I think I’ve just about managed to discern and mentally rearrange all these cracks in the skin of causality, not at all helped by the concussion I was dealt not long after Womble so colourfully departed. I apologise in advance if a few yesterdays turn up tomorrow and suddenly the 1960s show up again. Although I’d love to meet Mr Hendrix.

Anyway, if you’d like someone to blame for all this…time splintering, talk to this clown.

“I’m so glad you put it like that. Insulting your future self is still insulting yourself. Hypocrisy and History, we’ll call it.”

Yes, he’s been doing this sort of thing ever since I woke up. The best arguments had do tend to be with yourself, and this just reaches a whole other level. Good to know I don’t change.

Also the return to consciousness was, as ever, fun. His move of linking his future sonic to my current one to create time distortion to the point of physical effect – genius. Can’t wait to use that one.

Since then, there’s been many arguments. A lot of “What have you done?”, “How can this happen?”, “Are you a f**king idiot?”, all served by me, to an older self so infuriatingly blasé and cool, I’m planning to risk all paradoxes just to swing a punch at…well, me.

“Do you still play Keane in the TARDIS on a regular basis?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Because I’m just ascertaining that I came to the right me. I mean you’d think I’d remember, but…busy days, y’know.”


“This is the long period after Silent Plains, isn’t it, when you were all moody and solemn? Playing the deep and mysterious antihero. Still carrying the past with you,” 

“Now look-”

“always sarcastic. Complaining.”

“If I could just-”

“I mean, it’s probably no wonder Womble exploded.”


“Just for some peace and quiet. The main question, of course, being how you managed to persuade him to join you on your travels in the first place, with you being so…overdramatic.”

That’s it. Smug Doc Brown here is about to lose a few teeth…



For anyone who missed that, my future self managed to dodge my punch, and returned a stronger one, even faster. I’ll be on the floor, just for now.

“I remembered the punch attempt, HH. I also remember the bruise you’re going to get. It’ll be shaped a bit like Belgium.”

Shut up. Just please shut up.

“So, what? So I’m still sore, still in the repression stage. What, are you here to sing Don’t Worry, Be Happy? Or did my mid life crisis finally show up?”

“Keep being bitter, HH, you’re just proving my point. I’m not here like some Dickensian phantom for you to mend all your ways, I’m here to get your and my life on some kind of bloody track. To make sure that I will definitely come from you.”

…I think I’m now on lifetime headache number one thousand, five hundred and nine. See, if I’d retired when I’d had the damn chance I could’ve avoided all this……possibly.

“Now, time is running short,”

You’d know.

“and I have two things to give you.”

And now Christmas is happening. Freaking timelines.

My future self unbuckles something from his wrist and drops it down to me.*

“What is it?”

“Something I don’t need anymore.”

I look at it, sideways, head stuffed with questions but that’s nothing new. It looks a bit like a Pip-Boy (which, if you’ve never played Fallout, is the technological equivalent of strapping a small computer to your wrist.)

Time to get up, I guess. “And the second thing?”

Future HH moves as I get upstanding again. I straighten up, and am eye-to-eye with my own personal version of Dorian Gray. Beneath that imperfect reflection is the face I shaved not too long ago. He reeks of ozone, like hundreds of thunderstorms going on at once.

I think they’re in his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

Both his hands clasp the sides of my face before I can even think.

And everything goes black.


*Ah, the Infinite Loop Paradox. I was given this by myself, and shall give it to myself. One of my favourites.


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