by Am-Chau Yakona
for Calapine ("who wants Jabe, her planet, anything to do with the Tree-people, and doesn't want any type of Nine/Rose shippiness"), as part of Raven's Ninth Doctor ficathon.
Doctor Who belongs to the BBC, with special thanks to R. T. Davies for this version; quotes from Douglas Adams, in loving memory.
Spoilers for The End of the World, obviously.
Thanks to Raven for the beta. Sorry to hear about your death from surreality.

* * *

1. We will be restoring normality just as soon as we are sure what is normal anyway.

The Forest of Cheem was full of trees.

It was, the Doctor thought, probably lucky that only some of them were walking and talking. From his vantage point in the tree-house, he could look out over miles and miles of waving green crowns on those who were standing still, or 'posts' as the walkers, slightly insultingly, referred to them. If, of course, any of the trees also attending the ceremony allowed him to stand and stare out the window for long; they were uncommonly good hosts, and did not like to see him appear melancholy.

"Come, Doctor," said a young ash tree, laying her hand upon his shoulder. "It is sad that Jabe has gone to the earth, and truly tragic that she should die of burning, but at least we may be thankful she did not endure a thousand years of post-hood."

"Yeah," the Doctor agreed, turning away from the window. The view in the opposite direction was no less full of trees, but these were standing around and chatting, dressed in the red of mourning, waiting for the Decay Dance to begin.

"They say you were there when it happened," the ash continued. "Will you be singing of it in the formal section of the ceremony?"

Quickly, the Doctor said, "I don't think so."

"Then would you be so kind as to tell me a little of the story now?"

"Nah," the Doctor said, and hunted for an escape route. "Are those pickled gherkins on the buffet? Excuse me."

Behind him, an older willow leaned close to the ash and whispered, "Don't chase him too hard, my dear. Apparently he and Jabe were very close, and he's recently lost another girl as well."

"Oh?"

"So I heard; a rose bush, apparently. Probably good riddance—their thorns can be dreadful."

* * *

2. You're never alone with a rubber duck.

"Commiserations on your loss, sir, but may I also be the first to offer my congratulations?" said a knobbly old tree who seemed to have been half pollarded.

"Err, thank you," said the Doctor, wondering when funerals had become time for congratulations.

"On your pollination, I mean," the tree went on, "perhaps you haven't announced it yet?"

"There's nothing to announce—my species don't pollinate," the Doctor said, blinking hard and trying not to giggle.

"Ah, I am sorry. I knew that Jabe had been in flower when she left to witness the planet's destruction, you see, and you seemed to be carrying browned petals, so I assumed…"

"No, no," the Doctor said. "We're not a pollinating species, even if some parents choose to give their offspring silly flower names. This brown stuff is hair."

"Parents, plural?" the tree questioned. "You don't practice vegetative reproduction?"

"Nah, we tried it once but we couldn't keep the weft straight."

"I'm sorry?" the old tree frowned.

"We practise the basic bump-'n'-grind routine," the Doctor explained. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I really have to find and destroy something small with half an olive on top."

* * *

3. The phone is ringing. The PHONE is RINGING.

"Forest of Cheem long-distance-sound exchange, how may I help you?"

"I'm trying to contact the family of a Jabe?"

"Jabe Arlglefonthoom, the recently murdered noblewoman of the Lysippos clan?"

"That would be the one."

"I'm sorry, I can't give you the number." The voice of the woman at the exchange seemed to take a perverse pleasure in imparting this information. "The funeral begins in ten minutes and the family have given strict order that they are not to be disturbed."

"I need to give my apologies for not attending the funeral."

"Who is this, please?"

"I was on the space station when she died."

"Can you not travel now? The family will be most disappointed."

"Okay, how do you know that?"

"My mother's mistletoe has contacts within the family circle."

"Smug bitch," the Doctor muttered. Aloud, he said, "Look, I really have to speak to someone. I'm calling from the future—I can't attend because it would change the course of history too much, but my failure to apologise has had terrible consequences. I need to speak to a member of the family."

"I'm sorry, I can't allow that."

The line went dead.

At the funeral, the gherkins, stuffed mushrooms and small things with half an olive balanced on top remained unmolested. In the future, things… happened.

* * *

4. The alcoholic equivalent of a mugging — expensive and bad for the head.

"A wizard's staff has a—hic—knob on the end," the Doctor sang, somewhat unsteadily. He leaned on Rose's shoulder as she attempted to steer him around the trees and towards the TARDIS. "A Womble's staff hics a bob on the end…"

"You're drunk," Rose said sharply. "Horribly, disgustingly drunk."

"Yep," the Doctor agreed. "Drunk like a n-n-newten judge fish thing. Gotta be. Mourning the woman I love, aren't I?"

"No," Rose said. "You love me, remember?"

The Doctor pulled away from Rose. "What?"

"You love me. And Jack. Don't you?"

"No!" the Doctor said. He tilted backwards until his elbow rested on a tree—luckily, a post, not a walker, because he proceeded to puke on its roots. "Urg ah mulurg," he said when he'd finished throwing up. "I… I loved Jabe. And not you. You're all icky and human."

"Okay," Rose nodded. "So you're not as drunk as you're pretending to be—you've not reached the 'I love everyone' stage. Come on, let's get back. I'm not going to let you drive but you can at least sleep it off indoors."

"Yeah yeah whatever," the Doctor said, lurching away from the tree and into another tree. "Gah, this place is full of trees."

"They don't call it a forest for nothing," Rose remarked, taking hold of his wrist. "Come on."

"I think the gherkins must have been bad," the Doctor said. "I don't half feel woozy."

* * *

5. So long, and thanks for all the fish.

"Goodbye," the Doctor whispered as Jabe's friends scattered her ashes on the grass of her birth-glade. "I'll always remember you."

"Will you sing?" asked a young ash tree. "It is the moment, but nobody else was present when she died."

Swallowing hard and hoping his breath didn't smell too badly of pickled gherkin, the Doctor nodded. "I'll sing briefly, if you'll promise not to tell my assistant how bad I am."

"Rose will not find out, if you do not wish that thorn in your bark," the ash tree agreed, and struck a chord on her harp.

"Brave and clever, stout and true, Teasing me with what she knew," the Doctor sang, "Jabe swapped her life for mine, She was brave and good and fine." He broke off, out of rhymes and unsure of the protocol.

The ash took up the tune to finish the song. "May she join with softest dew," she sang, "And help us grow such a one anew."

Other trees echoed the refrain. "And we'll grow such a one anew." Their voices tailed off, soaking into the woodland.

From somewhere in the distance, a shrill voice called, "Doctor? Where are you? I didn't come dressed for this!"

"Excuse me," the Doctor said, and slipped away towards Rose's cries.