Title: If the Crown Fits
Rating: PG 13, just for a few of the concepts. Cannibalism isn’t polite dinner conversation.
Set: During the two-part episode, “The End of Time.” Sometime when the Master is still eating people, so, in the beginning half.
Characters: The Master, all by himself
AN: After trying really hard to get the ‘lyrics’ prompt completed, a second one moseyed on in, saying, ‘c’mon, this isn’t so hard.’ Dratted muse. This was supposed to be at a later point in the episode, but the Master was so impatient, I ended up putting it a little further forward. The song is “A Criminal Mind” by Gowan.
The cook was tasty.
Not as good as some dinners he’d had, but still, for a human, not too bad at all. Tender, and full of energy. The lunch lady wasn’t too bad, either, come to think of it, and her terror had added that little bit of spice to the dish. Add a side of burger and chips, and just a touch of lettuce, and voila! Dinner fit for a king.
As he finished preparing a hearty sandwich as a third course, still ravenous, a drifting bit of melody and words caught his attention from the cab’s radio.
Some people struggle daily / They struggle with their conscience / Till the end / I have no guilt to haunt me / I feel no wrong intent
“Why should I?” he asked the sandwich, which didn’t answer him. “I am the Master.
“And I am so hungry.”
Title: Sad Apologies
Spoilers: Utopia, and the end of Season 1 with Rose and the 9th Doctor. Set in that episode, about three minutes in.
Characters: Jack Harkness, 10th Doctor.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
And the sad part is, I don’t even know, exactly, what it is that I am apologizing for. Oh, there are a whole host of things that that man deserves an apology from me about.
I’m sorry that brought you into this life of danger and magic and boxes that are bigger on the inside and running for your life from every horrible creature out there that screams for my blood.
I’m sorry that I’m not the Doctor you remember, that that man is long dead and gone, and I’m nothing, well, not a lot like him, and this is going to hurt you, like it does every other Companion that crosses paths with multiple me’s.
I’m sorry that Rose is gone, and that just thinking her name rips another hole in my bleeding hearts, that talking about her is going to slowly kill me one day, and that even if I wanted to, the merest mention of her name sends Martha into a snit, so there’s no support there, and you remind me of her with your very presence, of what she did for you, what the Bad Wolf did to you.
I’m sorry that I, well, my Tardis, dragged you through the vortex to this, the end of the Universe with a capital E, making me even wonder if we’ll be able to leave it and go back to civilization, or will this be It, the end of the line, the last stop, finite?
I’m sorry that I ran, that I panicked while I was dying, yeah, I could have waited those few seconds, but I was panicking, and the whole nature of panic is that you aren’t in the right frame of mind, and mine was literally melting in my head, so, but I could have gone back, but you know as well as anyone, I never, ever, ever, go back. I can’t.
I’m sorry that I can only say those words aloud when you are dead, and can’t hear me, and the wrongness that is you isn’t so strong, but it’s building and my nerves are aching, everything inside me is tightening in flee or fear or attack or run or scream or do something, but I can’t do that to you again, I can’t, so it takes everything in me just to stand perfectly still, answer quickly, answer harshly, because if I give longer answers, I’ll lose you forever.
I’m so, so sorry, Jack.
Spoilers: End of Season 4, and the Children of Time, with the very end of Journey’s End. Set at the end of that episode
Characters: 10th Doctor Duplicate, mentions of Rose, 10th Doctor, DoctorDonna, Jackie
I wonder how long I was supposed to be in the dark about this whole idea?
He’s doing his best to avoid my eyes, avoid looking at me, and avoid looking at the DoctorDonna, but there, at least, it’s because his… our… hearts are breaking, knowing what has to be with her. There has never been a metacrisis like her, and soon, oh, too soon, my brilliant DoctorDonna won’t be anymore.
Ah, but you’ve sidetracked me, Spaceman, even in my own head. (Oi, seems that is stuck in there, now, thanks, Donna.) I know why the Tardis is shaking so much, even with the extra hands to stabilize her. You’re going back, while you still can, going back to gaze across that bay to the ocean, and crush her hopes one last time.
You say I’m the dangerous one, killing all the Daleks yet again. Hear that, Doctor? Again. Don’t be so high and mighty about it, this isn’t the first time for either of us.
I only killed the Daleks, a race that wants to destroy everything that isn’t Dalek kind. You destroyed two civilizations, one of which, I admit, was trying to destroy all of Time and creation. Those reasons make a great smokescreen, there, Spaceman. It hides the real reason from Rose and Jackie, and from you, very well.
But I, as only Donna could of all your Companions, and being me, which is you, can see past the fog and the smoke that you’ve blown around and see the Storm in your eyes, even if everyone else can’t. There’s one reason you don’t want Rose with you anymore: so she won’t see what is happening inside you. And given time, she would, we both know that.
No one should see the Breaking of the Oncoming Storm. No survives it, Doctor.
Not even you.
Characters: Jack Harkness, the Master
Rating: PG-13, to be safe
Spoilers: End of Series 3.
AN: I just couldn’t try and kill the Doctor for this category, so Jack in the Box got to come out. The Master wandered in and demanded I let him play with Jack. I tried to make this canon, and not graphic.
“Only an hour? All that took you an hour to come back from?” The deranged Time Lord in front of me shook his head, whether in admiration or disappointment, I’m not sure. Like I have a choice when it comes down to when air gets sucked into my lungs, when my heart starts beating again. There are times when I wish I could have stayed dead a little longer. There are times, of course, when the opposite is true.
The universe is perverse that way.
“There’s no point in finishing that page off, then, if this is all you’re going to give me.”
He sounds disappointed, and the disappointed psychotic mad man with delusions of godhood over the Earth tends to hurt everybody else when one of his toys are not playing their part. I don’t have a choice, not if I don’t want to see Tosh with a black eye, or hear from Francine that the Doctor looks even more heartbroken than he did last month when he realized just what the Toclafane were. I’m sure the Doctor and the Master have really interesting hearts to hearts conversations in the middle of the night, ones that the Doctor will probably stew over for another 900 years.
There’s nothing else to do. “What have you got then, some sort of checklist going here?” I ask, scoffing. “Hate to break it to you, but everything has pretty much been tried.”
The Master’s grin is too shark-like for my taste. “Oh, really, Freak?” he whispers.
I decide, right then and there, not to count how many times he kills me anymore. That number, I think, is going to get really high, really quickly.
Rating: General (need a hankie, though)
Characters: The Last Doctor, the Tardis
Spoilers: None, as I totally ignoring the possibilities that were raised in the beginning of Series 6.
The last frame was hung, yet remained blank on her walls, the pose yet undecided. She knew, every time, what would fill that canvas even before the atron radiation had finished its task, knew who and what would be holding onto her levers, what the voice would sound like, the feel of his thoughts (for her Doctor always is a ‘he’, no matter what), how rough those hands will be, the strength of those arms to hold the universe together.
She knows, too, what will happen to him, and she cannot stop time from happening, events from unfolding, but sometimes she can push them away, let him play a little longer, run that little bit farther until, finally, the universe must be saved, the planets rescued, the people preserved.
The sacrifice made.
She sees that day, and she knows it draws closer, and she cannot stop it. The day her thief, her Doctor, her wonderfully brave Time Lord that she has travelled with for so many centuries that he made up his age at least four times now, doesn’t come back to her. The day when she feels him slip away, his fate sealed with the final stroke of a universe that can be so cruel and so kind to the very last of the Time Lords.
She knows that day is coming, as sure as her Doctor’s thoughts are focused on the pain of regeneration, the fear of not knowing whether he will regenerate, the agony of losing yet another persona, and the heartfelt plea to the cosmos to please, please, this last time, let me be ginger.
Title: Trail of Giggles
Characters: 10th, Rose, Tardis
Set: Some random time before Rose leaves.
Spoilers: Minor spoilers for “The Doctor’s Wife” (Series 6) with 11, but not major ones, and for the movie, “Lilo and Stitch”.
AN: Thanks for the idea, shadowsong_13
She had made it quite clear on her screen, with all the read-outs, and he had read them out loud and still, still he was poking her. Seeing if she was done, seeing if the couplings needed realigning, seeing if he could make himself into the biggest, oldest pest she had ever flown with. She loved her stolen Time Lord, but he could and was being a pain in the router right now. So, when he had wandered off to find a cup of tea and a banana, she had quietly locked him out of the control room, the auxiliary control room, the back-up rooms, the archived control rooms, and the blue laundry room, which held the only other entrance via a service duct that, admittedly, would be a tight squeeze, but he was being that big a pest.
She needed a good couple of days to finish realigning the axis, and to finish refuelling on the Rift energy she had found on this planet. It was inhospitable, it was barren, it had nothing for her Doctor and Rose to do, and she was staying put until she was done.
No matter how bored he got.
Rose settled more comfortably in the armchair in the library, studiously ignoring the grumbling of her Time Lord. She was determined to finish this chapter, and his grumbles would not deter her from it.
Finally, she looked up at his sulking face. “You knew she needed a while, Doctor,” she scolded. “You told me so yourself. Needed a couple of days, better find somethin’ to do. She won’t move until she’s all good and ready, you said, dincha?”
Rose sighed. “Well, then, you better find something to amuse yourself with, shouldn’t ya?” She had already played babysitter once today, with the running list of questions, and she wasn’t going to go through them again. Do you want to watch something? No. Do you want to read something? No. Do you want to do something? No. Do you want to cook/eat something? No. Do you want to putter with something that needs fixing? That last one had made him leave the room, grumbling in his own language.
So, no, Rose was done playing twenty questions.
The Doctor sulked for a little while longer, staring into the fire in the grate. The Tardis had done her best to lead him to this room, but he really didn’t feel like doing anything in here. Nothing productive, at any rate, he thought to himself. Making a tower of books and novels sounded like fun, but he wouldn’t want to put them all back on the shelf afterwards, and really, he’d be too tempted to go all Stitch and recreate San Francisco and ruin it all by playing King Kong, knocking everything down –
Giggling suddenly, the Doctor leapt from the chair and raced out of the room, leaving a startled Rose to wonder just what the Doctor had thought of to do. She decided, after a moment, that she didn’t want to know.
Seven hours later, Rose went wandering for her Doctor. He’d skipped tea, and she had a feeling that he’d lost track of time yet again. For a Time Lord, he was remarkably absentminded when it came to keeping track of things. The slow path, as Reinette had called it, seemed to confuse him so much.
It took her less time to find him than she thought; all she had to do was stop and listen for his hysterical giggles. It would be quiet, and then the giggles would start up, like he was high on something. That was a scary idea, she thought, remembering his regeneration gone so horribly wrong. This sounded more happy energy, less nervous energy.
She finally found him in a massive room filled with benches, tables, boxes, and various pieces of furniture all over the place, like he’d wandered into an abandoned storage room. Everything was covered in little black and white tiles, she saw, all standing upright close together, all in little lines and swirls, with the Doctor in the middle of the room, in one cleared off area, surrounded by the tiles circling outwards to meander all over the room.
“Whatcha doin’, Doctor?” she asked, bewildered.
Rose moved forward a step into the room.
“No, stay put!” The Doctor was shaking with his attempt at not giggling. His face nearly hurt from the huge grin he was wearing, and his eyes practically glowed from his mirth. “You’ve never played with dominoes?”
“No, can’t say I have.”
The Doctor tsked. “Whatever did Jackie do with you on games night? Dominoes, Tiles, Bones, however you call them, are a great game, and you used to be able to gamble on them too, but that was a long time ago, nobody plays with them anymore! But, if you had a really good set, with nice flat edges and even finishes, you could, if you were clever and had steady hands, and I have both, well, both my hands are steady, although the right one is a little bit iffy sometimes, just have to stretch it, you could balance them all on their edges and make this!”
“Like a house of cards, yeah?”
The Doctor shook his head back and forth. “No, well, kind of, well, no, well, never mind, because this is more fun! Because, Rose Tyler, when you’ve spent 6 hours building this one long trail of dominoes all over a room, up and down boxes and branches all over the place, with several dozen sets, didn’t realize I had 16 boxes of the things, could have sworn I only had 12, then, if you do it just right, you can do this!” With one finger, he reached out to the start of the line right in front of his crossed legs and poked it.
Slowly, the tile shook back and forth, until finally it fell towards the next tile in the line. It fell quicker onto the next tile, and the next tile, until all the tiles were suddenly making a continuous clicking noise, the falling tiles were splitting down the paths, converging again, speeding up, and running all the way around the room, and Rose’s laughter was mixing with the Doctor’s giggles as every single tile in the room fell to one mighty poke.
Title: Wonderful Thing About Time Lords
Spoilers: Last three episodes of Series 3, with the Master
Characters: 10th Doctor, the Master
AN: This was one of the harder prompts for me, to pick one song that would work, and not be a song fic, which I usually can’t stand. So, after thinking and puzzling, this idea slammed into the side of my muse, scaring 10 away to go and hide. Jack hasn’t finished laughing yet, and he’s not even in this story.
The Valiant slept, as much as a ship is capable of sleeping. Lying on the deck, or floor, or whatever you wanted to call the part of the ship you walked on, the Doctor could feel the engines vibrating slightly, just doing their job, with no extra effort expended for other tasks. The generators hummed to themselves, the floors (he was going to call it the floor, it was wood, and decks were not made of wood on airships) felt cool to the touch, and everything was quiet, save the random murmurs of the guards as they made their rounds…
And one something that was bouncing the floor under his cheek, in regular intervals.
“The wonderful thing about tiggers / Is tiggers are wonderful things!”
The doors opened just quickly enough for the Master, in silk pyjamas, to bounce into the conference room, on, of all things, a pogo stick. A red, white and green pogo stick, singing.
“They're bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, pouncy / Fun! Fun! Fun! Fun! Fun!”
The Master made one full circuit of the table, laughing hysterically, and bounced back toward the doors. With one last hysterical shout of laughter, the Master left with one parting line as he continued to bounce his way around his floating kingdom.
“But the most wonderful thing about Time Lords is I'm the bestest one!”
There were many things about the Year that the Doctor would try to forget, and this, this, he decided, was going to be at the top of the pile.
Prompt 5/15 – Lies
Title: Rule One
Characters: 11th Doctor, River Song, Amy Pond, Rory Williams
Spoilers: The Big Bang – set in that episode
“Is he… is he dead?”
Amelia had to ask that question and it is spinning around in my head, and all the possible answers to that question are dancing with it. I’ve just told myself that the whole of reality is collapsing everything in the universe is dying and everyone is slipping into nothingness and I don’t know yet how I am going to save it, but I need that Pandorica, but the Dalek is going to, admittedly, make that difficult, but River who isn’t here yet, but will be, will help and so will Amy and Rory the plastic man and everything may or may not be alright in the end, and it’s my Tardis, she’s the problem and the solution and I don’t doubt that for a second, but everything is confusing, and where did my Fez go, well, being half way exterminated always did/will make me a little incoherent, and Old Gallifreyan can be so picky and time consuming but so much quicker than this little ape’s language, ooh, thanks 9th, needed that right now, go away now, no time, which we don’t have, need to get to the roof, my Tardis, River, so the quickest, most time saving answer slips out of my mouth even before I know what it is I am saying.
“What? Dead? Yes, yes, of course he’s dead.”
Which, in point of fact, isn’t quite a lie: it’s just half a sentence. One I’d rather not finish.
Prompt 4/15 – Daffodils
Title: Helpful Gardeners
Characters: 5th Doctor
Rating: G - Fluff
AN: I`ve never written the 5th Doctor, and only read a few novels, seen one episode, and heard him on audio book twice. Please, be kind.
The Tardis gardens were usually well kept, the Doctor mused to himself, although the old girl did like to throw in the odd mess here and there, especially when she was feeling neglected. And the last few regenerations hadn’t seemed to be all that keen on gardening. Well, he thought wistfully, perhaps that will change when I settle in a bit more. I like cricket, and that`s certainly a lawn sport. The two go together, one would think. Yes, perhaps a little puttering in here won`t be so difficult.
Walking through the vast lawns, and winding shrubs, he came across the one silver willow tree that Sarah Jane had loved to have picnics under, sometimes convincing his 4th self to come along. All around it, blowing gently in the artificial wind, the red grasses from his home called out for him to lay down and enjoy a lazy afternoon where he could read, snack, and doze in perfect safety, surrounded by a sea of red…
…and one yellow blob in the distance.
So, now, crouching beside the yellow flower that bloomed so wonderfully in the middle of the sea of red grass, he wondered if it were the red or the black squirrels that were chattering at him from the branches above his head that had planted this lonely, lovely reminder of spring, hope and warm days to come.
Prompt 3/15 – A Hand to Hold
Characters: 10th Doctor, Jack Harkness
Rating: PG -13 for the language and some minor subject matter.
AN: This was inspired by my first night in the new apartment, and really needing a hug from my late Mom, and all the times when I was miserable and needed her there, but she’s can’t be. This time, though, the Doctor isn’t alone.
She made him promise to go somewhere, some-when, and to someone that he could trust, a place he could be safe in. She made him promise, refusing to let him close the blue doors, to not be alone for the next while. She wished it could have been her, but there were many reasonable reasons (and several of those were quite unfair, to his thinking) why he had to go, and not stay. She had been smart, and made him promise where the Tardis could hear him, tucking a sheaf of papers about the plague into the pocket of his blue suit. She’d made him promise to give that to the person he could trust, so they would know what was going on with him.
So, the Tardis had, with perfect aim and without taking any changes of route, taken the Doctor to Earth, early 21st century, but not to Great Britain. Not to Sarah Jane, or to Martha, or even to Cardiff. She’d landed in New York.
She had put him, to his tired and feverish eyes, in the penthouse suite of a major hotel in New York.
It was nice, and comfy, and he really didn’t mind the idea of just lying low and sleeping until this whole minor plague thing passed out of his system, but the suite was empty, and he had promised. It wasn’t yet midnight, so of course there was always the chance that the occupant just wasn’t back yet, but he’d promised to be with someone, and this whole place was empty. There was nothing that his eyes could find that would tell him who it belonged to. No suitcase, no attaché case, no computer, good snack bar.
Actually, bad idea, that. Bad food. Food bad, either way.
Although, to be fair, it gave him an up close and personal look at the fine tile floors of the master bathroom, with hot tub and 700 count towels and really cold tile floors…oh, wait, he’d looked at those before. The master bath, in reality, wasn’t a half mile from the bed, but it sure felt that way on his shaking legs and sore knees. And it wasn’t the side of a mountain to get up into the bed, but his limp muscles refused to work, and it took several tries to get from the floor where he’d collapsed to the top of the pillowtop mattress, shivering from the effort it had taken.
Only then did he realize whose room this was, by the scent of pheromones from the pillow…
He had promised to come to the wedding, and be there for the dancing and all the toasting. Sarah Jane had come, too, with Luke, and K9 even popped in for a bit. A good chunk of UNIT had been there, and they had growled at him, but Jack Harkness never really bothered to snarl back, he was simply having too much of a good time toasting the happy couple. Mickey certainly wouldn’t know what hit him when the thrill of marriage wore off and Martha had moulded him into husband material.
Even the Doctor had made an appearance, although he’d stayed for only a short time, enough to congratulate the newly minted Dr. Martha Jones Smith. He looked good in his black suit, Jack thought, although the bright red shoes could have been replaced with something a little less… well, it wouldn’t be the Doctor if he wore loafers or dress shoes. Martha hadn’t minded, and the bride had the final say.
Stepping out on the elevator, pulling the hotel key out of his normal coat, he smiled at the thought that UNIT was paying for the head of their nemesis organization to stay in the penthouse of one of the priciest hotels in the city, all because Martha had won a bet with the Colonel. A penthouse, he knew from his brief inspection earlier, with a wonderful master bath, onsite kitchen, gorgeous view of the city and …
…the Tardis sitting on Persian rug.
“Doc?” he called out, closing the door swiftly behind him and walking around the ship. “You ran off before all of UNIT could salute you and run back to my room? C’mon, that’s not fair, Doctor, they so look forward--”
Jack had entered the main bedroom.
He knew he must look a sight. The Doctor had seen enough cases on that little world to know that he probably looked like death warmed over, with sunken cheeks, ashen face, and that lovely greenish hue beneath of nausea. There was also the film over the eyes, slowly making him effectively blind, the liquid in his lungs making it hard to breathe, and several other nasty ailments he was trying not to remember. All in all, he had probably earned that sharp gasp, and the exclamation of profanity from the immortal man.
“Doc? What the hell happened to you?”
“Jack?” He raised his head a little, trying to see where Jack was. He thought that blur in the corner was him, but maybe not… so tired. The blur beside the blur he was staring at moved, proving him wrong. “S’right, or will be, soon.”
“What do you mean, alright?!” Jack was kneeling beside the bed, furious and worried all at once. This close, the Doctor could see his friend’s face, but it was fading even as he watched it. “You’re boiling hot, covered in sweat, and shivering. You are--”
The Doctor slipped a hand into the pocket of his jacket and pulled the sheaf out. “S’all there, Jack. Need to…sleep now. I’ll be alright…just a little sleep.” He closed his useless eyes and felt the pull of sleep tug him down the long corridor.
Jack hated the fact that the old alien was right. The plague that ran through the Doctor, according to these readouts, was fast, vicious and deadly to most of the lower-evolved species. It wouldn’t hurt the human race, with their immune systems, and the Doctor himself wasn’t susceptible to the most violent of the symptoms, but a cure would have been a nice thing to have right about then. This thing wouldn’t kill him, but he might wish for regeneration before this was over.
There had been a cure, but with his metabolism the Doctor would recover before anything could be tailored to meet his species unique needs. It had been decided, by the healers on this little backwater world that Jack had never heard of, and by the Tardis and the Doctor, that he would just have to suffer through the next 12 hours or so. Keep him comfortable, and that was it.
Which was why the Doctor was lying in his bed, looking small and lost amidst the pillows: he’d promised to go to someone that he could trust and let them look after him. He had picked Jack, of all the people he could have gone to.
So Jack did the only thing that he could, sitting up against the headboard. He pulled the exhausted Time Lord up against his chest, easing his breathing, warming him up with his body heat, and held him.