Fan Fic: Doctor Who meets Alien: Resurrection.
Title: It's all the same in the madhouse.
Fandom: Doctor Who // Alien: Resurrection. (& others mentioned).
Characters: Rose, Clone!Doctor, Dalek Caan, the baby alien & others.
Word Count: 1,080. ...It was meant to be short but got a bit long.
Warnings: Slight spoilers for JE, but nothing too drastic.
Author's Notes: This is, indeed, all ladyalcamy's fault. And the speech was half-inched from here. Also, a list of people who will want to kill me by the time I hit post: Gerry Anderson, Agatha Christie, JRR Tolkein, Captain WE Johns, Douglas Adams. This is purely intended as fun.
Summary: The universe collapsing wouldn't have been so bad, except that it might cost Rose her sanity. One last time: FUN.
At the end of the day, it was a job. And it was a job she could do well, because, basically, it was a job that anybody could do well. She wanted to get back involved with things, she wanted to...to..."go out there and kick-arse" as her mother would have put it. Rose paused by the window. Jackie Tyler had become a whole lot more gung-ho since settling in the Alt!Verse. Before it had been slaps, punches, and the occasional kick. Now it was bullets and missiles. And jars of pickle. She suspected it had something to do with the bazooka Pete had bought her for her third fortieth birthday. Rose shook her head.
"I want to get back involved with things," she had explained to her Doctor. "I want to...blow stuff up. You know. Game over man style." He had looked blank. He looked blank at a lot of popular culture references nowadays; her old Doctor would have understood, and quipped something back about Kylie. But apparently, this Doctor's popular culture references had been overlapped by Donna Noble's, and she didn't know what Aliens was, beyond a descriptive term for the man she was now travelling with.
Rose wasn't sure why she had been selected for this particular task, but when she had accepted she had made it clear she was only staying for a few months. A year, maybe. The brief was simple: when the barriers between universe had begun to disintegrate, a lot of weird things had landed on Alt!Earth. Not that Rose Tyler had any use for the term "weird" after roaming the universe with a Time Lord, but the UNIT commander who had approached her had used it quite liberally in his report. Rose (and the Doctor)'s temporary job was to stuff them all in an old abandoned nuclear bunker and see that they got along. Some days it went swimmingly; other days she felt like standing against a wall and banging her head against it. I was the Bad Wolf, she thought one rainy Wednesday after a Slitheen had entered the canteen at the wrong moment and gotten a face full of vinegar during an impromptu food-fight. Now I'm a babysitter for aliens. Munchkin there, she glanced at her Doctor, who was currently testing a piece of TARDIS to work out precisely the best growing environments, and all.
She took a deep breath and went on her rounds. The zombie in the black uniform in the hall gave her no problems; he just nodded slowly whenever she walked past. She tried to hold her breath as much as she could, because there was no way you could ask someone who was simultaneously dead and standing in your corridor to take a nice bath with a Lush bomb. It just wasn't possible. She peeked her head around the next door down: a small Frenchman with an egg-shaped head was attempting to explain away just exactly how Bilbo Baggins had stolen the Ring from Gollum using only a jar of honey, a small twisted key, and a lock of hair. The wizard he was explaining it to looked suitably unimpressed until the Frenchman lowered his tone to a whisper and said three suggestive words. Gandalf leapt to his feet, his long pipe falling from his lips. "Bilbo!" He cried. "That bastard."
Rose decided not to intervene, and carried along to the next room. This one was proving her a bit of a problem. As it transpired (according to the Doctor, anyway), a certain amount of belief was required to maintain all things. (No, hang on, she thought vaguely, that was the other guy. Terry something.) Because of this massive overcrowding problem (you couldn't have Biggles's flying squad interfering with Inspector Japp's investigations, for example), each fictional history created a branch in the universe that was kept strictly separate from the rest unless crossover fan fiction was involved. Unfortunately, when the barriers temporarily broke down, the universes bled into each other and, to save on space, serendipity chose to eject a few unwantables into this universe. And they ended up here, in Rose's (temporary) care.
She glared at them.
"I fleeeeeeeew," giggled Dalek Caan, "fleeeeeeew across the universe and across tiiiiime."
The baby alien opposite him carried on crying.
Dirk Gently had offered to fix the problem for her by getting a friend of his to build a language algorithm, thus breaking down the language barriers and actually offering means for communication (for a very reasonable rate), but Rose had doubted that in the two creatures' differing states of mind, it wouldn't make much difference anyway. They might well be communicating perfectly, for all she knew.
She checked on the rest of the rooms before lunch, but as she was walking down to the Doctor's workshop, she was suddenly way-laid by a bunch of blood-splattered UNIT officers. One of them even still had his gun - but it was a twisted piece of metal. "We got 'er, ma'am, we got 'er!" He cried victoriously.
Rose blinked. "Um...got who?" She asked, careful to check the name-badge without him noticing. "Sergeant...Watt."
He saluted. "We got 'er, ma'am," he repeated, "the last of the fallen-to-Earths, ma'am." He saw her puzzled expression. "Political correctness regulations state we are no longer allowed to call them unearthly bastards, ma'am."
She peered over Watt's shoulder to the struggling black body bag on the floor. The top was beginning to corrode with acid. "Got...who?" She asked again, backing away slightly and wishing she still had her laser canon.
Sergeant Watt grinned proudly. "Ripley, ma'am," he replied proudly. "Caught 'er wreaking her havoc on the tube station, although everybody thought she was a crazy homeless woman. Kept tryin' to nuzzle people. What shall we do with her?"
Rose groaned. "Er...stick her in room three," she suggested. "You know, with the baby and...Caan? They...have a lot to discuss." She backed away gracefully with a smile frozen to her face, then turned and ran for the workshop. When she arrived, she threw herself upon her clone Doctor. "Please," she pleaded as he carried on working, oblivious to the fact that she was clinging to his back with her knees around his waist, "pleeeeease tell me you can get this thing working soon?"
He removed his make-shift sonic spanner from his mouth and grinned. "Not too long at all," he replied optimistically. "Another three years, and we're outta here!"
Her screams of anguish could be heard from the gatepost.
Fandom: Doctor Who // Alien: Resurrection. (& others mentioned).
Characters: Rose, Clone!Doctor, Dalek Caan, the baby alien & others.
Word Count: 1,080. ...It was meant to be short but got a bit long.
Warnings: Slight spoilers for JE, but nothing too drastic.
Author's Notes: This is, indeed, all ladyalcamy's fault. And the speech was half-inched from here. Also, a list of people who will want to kill me by the time I hit post: Gerry Anderson, Agatha Christie, JRR Tolkein, Captain WE Johns, Douglas Adams. This is purely intended as fun.
Summary: The universe collapsing wouldn't have been so bad, except that it might cost Rose her sanity. One last time: FUN.
At the end of the day, it was a job. And it was a job she could do well, because, basically, it was a job that anybody could do well. She wanted to get back involved with things, she wanted to...to..."go out there and kick-arse" as her mother would have put it. Rose paused by the window. Jackie Tyler had become a whole lot more gung-ho since settling in the Alt!Verse. Before it had been slaps, punches, and the occasional kick. Now it was bullets and missiles. And jars of pickle. She suspected it had something to do with the bazooka Pete had bought her for her third fortieth birthday. Rose shook her head.
"I want to get back involved with things," she had explained to her Doctor. "I want to...blow stuff up. You know. Game over man style." He had looked blank. He looked blank at a lot of popular culture references nowadays; her old Doctor would have understood, and quipped something back about Kylie. But apparently, this Doctor's popular culture references had been overlapped by Donna Noble's, and she didn't know what Aliens was, beyond a descriptive term for the man she was now travelling with.
Rose wasn't sure why she had been selected for this particular task, but when she had accepted she had made it clear she was only staying for a few months. A year, maybe. The brief was simple: when the barriers between universe had begun to disintegrate, a lot of weird things had landed on Alt!Earth. Not that Rose Tyler had any use for the term "weird" after roaming the universe with a Time Lord, but the UNIT commander who had approached her had used it quite liberally in his report. Rose (and the Doctor)'s temporary job was to stuff them all in an old abandoned nuclear bunker and see that they got along. Some days it went swimmingly; other days she felt like standing against a wall and banging her head against it. I was the Bad Wolf, she thought one rainy Wednesday after a Slitheen had entered the canteen at the wrong moment and gotten a face full of vinegar during an impromptu food-fight. Now I'm a babysitter for aliens. Munchkin there, she glanced at her Doctor, who was currently testing a piece of TARDIS to work out precisely the best growing environments, and all.
She took a deep breath and went on her rounds. The zombie in the black uniform in the hall gave her no problems; he just nodded slowly whenever she walked past. She tried to hold her breath as much as she could, because there was no way you could ask someone who was simultaneously dead and standing in your corridor to take a nice bath with a Lush bomb. It just wasn't possible. She peeked her head around the next door down: a small Frenchman with an egg-shaped head was attempting to explain away just exactly how Bilbo Baggins had stolen the Ring from Gollum using only a jar of honey, a small twisted key, and a lock of hair. The wizard he was explaining it to looked suitably unimpressed until the Frenchman lowered his tone to a whisper and said three suggestive words. Gandalf leapt to his feet, his long pipe falling from his lips. "Bilbo!" He cried. "That bastard."
Rose decided not to intervene, and carried along to the next room. This one was proving her a bit of a problem. As it transpired (according to the Doctor, anyway), a certain amount of belief was required to maintain all things. (No, hang on, she thought vaguely, that was the other guy. Terry something.) Because of this massive overcrowding problem (you couldn't have Biggles's flying squad interfering with Inspector Japp's investigations, for example), each fictional history created a branch in the universe that was kept strictly separate from the rest unless crossover fan fiction was involved. Unfortunately, when the barriers temporarily broke down, the universes bled into each other and, to save on space, serendipity chose to eject a few unwantables into this universe. And they ended up here, in Rose's (temporary) care.
She glared at them.
"I fleeeeeeeew," giggled Dalek Caan, "fleeeeeeew across the universe and across tiiiiime."
The baby alien opposite him carried on crying.
Dirk Gently had offered to fix the problem for her by getting a friend of his to build a language algorithm, thus breaking down the language barriers and actually offering means for communication (for a very reasonable rate), but Rose had doubted that in the two creatures' differing states of mind, it wouldn't make much difference anyway. They might well be communicating perfectly, for all she knew.
She checked on the rest of the rooms before lunch, but as she was walking down to the Doctor's workshop, she was suddenly way-laid by a bunch of blood-splattered UNIT officers. One of them even still had his gun - but it was a twisted piece of metal. "We got 'er, ma'am, we got 'er!" He cried victoriously.
Rose blinked. "Um...got who?" She asked, careful to check the name-badge without him noticing. "Sergeant...Watt."
He saluted. "We got 'er, ma'am," he repeated, "the last of the fallen-to-Earths, ma'am." He saw her puzzled expression. "Political correctness regulations state we are no longer allowed to call them unearthly bastards, ma'am."
She peered over Watt's shoulder to the struggling black body bag on the floor. The top was beginning to corrode with acid. "Got...who?" She asked again, backing away slightly and wishing she still had her laser canon.
Sergeant Watt grinned proudly. "Ripley, ma'am," he replied proudly. "Caught 'er wreaking her havoc on the tube station, although everybody thought she was a crazy homeless woman. Kept tryin' to nuzzle people. What shall we do with her?"
Rose groaned. "Er...stick her in room three," she suggested. "You know, with the baby and...Caan? They...have a lot to discuss." She backed away gracefully with a smile frozen to her face, then turned and ran for the workshop. When she arrived, she threw herself upon her clone Doctor. "Please," she pleaded as he carried on working, oblivious to the fact that she was clinging to his back with her knees around his waist, "pleeeeease tell me you can get this thing working soon?"
He removed his make-shift sonic spanner from his mouth and grinned. "Not too long at all," he replied optimistically. "Another three years, and we're outta here!"
Her screams of anguish could be heard from the gatepost.