Fic: Always in the Last Place You Look (DW: Tenth Doctor, PG, 671 words)
I bring fic! It's completely unrelated to the fic I was banging on about in my last post; I consider this as more of an icebreaker come warm-up (as thermally challenging as that may be).
Fair warning: I've haven't posted fic for at least three years. Also unbeta'd.
Title: Always in the Last Place You Look
Author: eryaforsthye
Rating: PG-13 (for very mild language)
Pairing: Mentions of Ten/Rose, Ten/TARDIS (if you like that sort of thing) and Doctor/Master
Word Count: 671
Warnings: Wanton abuse of neuroscience. Also crack.
Spoilers: Torchwood (Miracle Day), none for Who (references to Ten's reign and Classic!Who)
Disclaimer: This is a transformative piece of work (Name: Erya, Rank: Medical Student, Intention: Fun). None of this is mine.
Summary: In which the Doctor sulks and makes a horrifying discovery.
The Doctor was sulking.
It was a good sulk, if you asked him (which nobody did, because everyone was dead and he was alone, all alone in the great empty expanse of the universe - humans and so forth didn’t count, naturally - with its impenetrable bloody dimensional walls, and its utter, deplorable lack of Time Lords...)
Oh, what he wouldn't give to see another Time Lord! Any Time Lord would do!
The Rani! His mother! Even Drax! (Well, probably Drax. Almost probably. Maybe. On a bad day.)
If only he hadn’t had to wipe Donna’s brain, he thought emotively. But he had and now he was alone, all alone...
It was during this, rather brilliant, sulk that the Doctor had a sudden premonition of Evil. He didn’t dwell on it, as, being him, he frequently had premonitions of Evil (sometimes, he wishfully thought, from the Dawn of Time. He liked Evil from the Dawn of Time. It was always properly Evil, none of this amateurish rubbish Evil he kept having to put up with. And there was that brilliant time with Ace! Where he completely… broke her heart. Gah!)
Just as the Doctor was gearing for a really excellent bout of angsting, the Temporal (no, really, Temporal, none of this lower case auditory business humans were always getting all confused about) lobe of his brain made a frankly magnificent crash-bang-fitzputting-whacking sort of sensation and he collapsed to the grated floor groaning.
Well. He thought. That certainly put a sink plunger in the works.
Dizzily, he rose (oh, Rose…) and stumbled to the console. “What?” he demanded. The TARDIS bleeped back at him balefully.
He glared at the rotor, before leaning on the edge of the console (the last TARDIS console in the entire universe) and pressed the tips of his fingers to his temples and promptly dived into the murky recesses of his brain to see what all the fuss was about.
Everything, he thought, seemed to be in roughly the right places. Gallifrey was still firmly non-existent, the Time Lords still stubbornly gone, the knots he’d placed in his gyri to remind him to stop the Medusa Cascade from swallowing up the entire multiverse were still there. And that small pseudo-fibrous mental scar from that really wild night him and Koschei had way back when was still… Ahem. In any case, all seemed to be in order.
Except that it clearly wasn’t. There was something. Something bright, Rassilon, really bright, right on the horizon of the mental temporal maps he kept in the bottom shelf of his occipito-temporal border, two Somethings in fact.
He squinted subconsciously as he strained to remember what it was he had stuffed on the in the bottom shelf of his occipito-temporal border. The algorithms for the equation at the heart of time travel? (Got to hide that from any aliens who went a-peeking. He utterly denied that hiding this knowledge - even from himself - had any bearing on his driving. No sirree.) The block transfer computations for the make up of a Zero room? No that wasn’t it - he’d jettisoned that knowledge years ago along with the actual thing. Never needed it anyway. Hmm, maybe a solid state memory (for repeated perfect recall) of that really fantastic thing Koschei used to do with his - Ahem. No. And that wouldn’t be on the bottom shelf of anything anyway. Hmm.
Oh! Maybe it could be -
The Doctor had a sudden sense of foreboding. No. It couldn’t be. Not two of them. No.
But surely, his cerebral hemisphere suggested carefully in the voice of his Fifth incarnation, surely, the bottom shelf of his occipito-temporal border was precisely where he’d left his -
Awareness of Jack. The Fact.
And now, where there was once one Fact. There was now, most certainly, two.
The Doctor stood in utter, horrified shock for a long moment before taking a very large breath (respiratory bypass be blowed) and bellowed at the top of his very considerable voice: “JACK!”
Somewhere, somewhen, Jack Harkness’ ears were burning.
This entry was originally posted at http://eryaforsthye.dreamwidth.org/147976.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fair warning: I've haven't posted fic for at least three years. Also unbeta'd.
Title: Always in the Last Place You Look
Author: eryaforsthye
Rating: PG-13 (for very mild language)
Pairing: Mentions of Ten/Rose, Ten/TARDIS (if you like that sort of thing) and Doctor/Master
Word Count: 671
Warnings: Wanton abuse of neuroscience. Also crack.
Spoilers: Torchwood (Miracle Day), none for Who (references to Ten's reign and Classic!Who)
Disclaimer: This is a transformative piece of work (Name: Erya, Rank: Medical Student, Intention: Fun). None of this is mine.
Summary: In which the Doctor sulks and makes a horrifying discovery.
The Doctor was sulking.
It was a good sulk, if you asked him (which nobody did, because everyone was dead and he was alone, all alone in the great empty expanse of the universe - humans and so forth didn’t count, naturally - with its impenetrable bloody dimensional walls, and its utter, deplorable lack of Time Lords...)
Oh, what he wouldn't give to see another Time Lord! Any Time Lord would do!
The Rani! His mother! Even Drax! (Well, probably Drax. Almost probably. Maybe. On a bad day.)
If only he hadn’t had to wipe Donna’s brain, he thought emotively. But he had and now he was alone, all alone...
It was during this, rather brilliant, sulk that the Doctor had a sudden premonition of Evil. He didn’t dwell on it, as, being him, he frequently had premonitions of Evil (sometimes, he wishfully thought, from the Dawn of Time. He liked Evil from the Dawn of Time. It was always properly Evil, none of this amateurish rubbish Evil he kept having to put up with. And there was that brilliant time with Ace! Where he completely… broke her heart. Gah!)
Just as the Doctor was gearing for a really excellent bout of angsting, the Temporal (no, really, Temporal, none of this lower case auditory business humans were always getting all confused about) lobe of his brain made a frankly magnificent crash-bang-fitzputting-whacking sort of sensation and he collapsed to the grated floor groaning.
Well. He thought. That certainly put a sink plunger in the works.
Dizzily, he rose (oh, Rose…) and stumbled to the console. “What?” he demanded. The TARDIS bleeped back at him balefully.
He glared at the rotor, before leaning on the edge of the console (the last TARDIS console in the entire universe) and pressed the tips of his fingers to his temples and promptly dived into the murky recesses of his brain to see what all the fuss was about.
Everything, he thought, seemed to be in roughly the right places. Gallifrey was still firmly non-existent, the Time Lords still stubbornly gone, the knots he’d placed in his gyri to remind him to stop the Medusa Cascade from swallowing up the entire multiverse were still there. And that small pseudo-fibrous mental scar from that really wild night him and Koschei had way back when was still… Ahem. In any case, all seemed to be in order.
Except that it clearly wasn’t. There was something. Something bright, Rassilon, really bright, right on the horizon of the mental temporal maps he kept in the bottom shelf of his occipito-temporal border, two Somethings in fact.
He squinted subconsciously as he strained to remember what it was he had stuffed on the in the bottom shelf of his occipito-temporal border. The algorithms for the equation at the heart of time travel? (Got to hide that from any aliens who went a-peeking. He utterly denied that hiding this knowledge - even from himself - had any bearing on his driving. No sirree.) The block transfer computations for the make up of a Zero room? No that wasn’t it - he’d jettisoned that knowledge years ago along with the actual thing. Never needed it anyway. Hmm, maybe a solid state memory (for repeated perfect recall) of that really fantastic thing Koschei used to do with his - Ahem. No. And that wouldn’t be on the bottom shelf of anything anyway. Hmm.
Oh! Maybe it could be -
The Doctor had a sudden sense of foreboding. No. It couldn’t be. Not two of them. No.
But surely, his cerebral hemisphere suggested carefully in the voice of his Fifth incarnation, surely, the bottom shelf of his occipito-temporal border was precisely where he’d left his -
Awareness of Jack. The Fact.
And now, where there was once one Fact. There was now, most certainly, two.
The Doctor stood in utter, horrified shock for a long moment before taking a very large breath (respiratory bypass be blowed) and bellowed at the top of his very considerable voice: “JACK!”
Somewhere, somewhen, Jack Harkness’ ears were burning.
This entry was originally posted at http://eryaforsthye.dreamwidth.org/147976.html. Please comment there using OpenID.