(no subject)
First installment of drox's fic. It carries on from the end of hexacontium's fic, which is here. (See what I did there? :)
Fitz can't quite work out how he ended up here. Here being the cold and slightly damp bit of vanilla-white TARDIS floor just outside one of the vessel's countless bathrooms. He leans against the door, eyes the ceiling to make sure the TARDIS hasn't abitrarily installed any fire-sprinklers, and lights up.
It started once they'd got this Benny woman out of the goo. She and the Doctor were both completely slimed with runny, watery honey. The Doctor announced he needed to wash his hair and Benny decided she needed a bath and a new set of clothes. So back to the TARDIS it was. All Fitz needed was to wipe the gunk off his hands and one knee and chuck his jacket in the wash, and he was like new.
The Doctor and Benny are shouting back and forth at each other over the noise of the shower. Fitz sticks his ear to the wood and listened.
'Earth bees don't keep their young in honey,' says Benny. 'They'd drown. Come to think of it, Earth bees don't keep their young pickled in purple haze, either.'
'Ah, but these aren't Earth bees,' says the Doctor. 'Technically, they're not even bees. I mean, technically, they're not even insects. Not hexapods. Not arthropods. Not ecdysozoans. Not-'
'Right, Doctor, I get the picture. What are they, then?'
'The Myriarchy.'
'The what?'
'The Myriarchy. At least, that's what other people call them. Even the TARDIS hasn't been able to crack their language, assuming they have one.' The shower shuts off. 'You didn't even know their name? Whatever were you doing drowning in their brood chamber, Benny?'
An odd pause. 'I'm still a little scrambled from the honey,' says Benny. 'Everything before you got me out of the cell is a bit of a blur... let me soak a bit longer and try to get my neurons back in order.'
Fitz frowns, squashing his ear against the door. Is she still in the bath while the Doctor is - he jumps back moments before the Doctor opens the bathroom door, wearing a dressing gown two sizes too big, his long hair hilariously turbanned in a towel. Fitz hastily drops his fag and crushes it under his boot heel.
'Shut the door!' calls Benny. 'You're letting in cold air!'
The Doctor shuts the door and leans against it, arms folded. 'Odd. Now, what's she up to?'
Fitz follows the Doctor as he pads through the TARDIS corridors. 'Look, I don't want to be an asshole, but... can you trust her?'
'Implicitly,' says the Doctor firmly. 'I'm just puzzled as to why she doesn't want to tell me what she was doing in the Myriarch hive on Podgorney's World.'
Fitz glances back. 'So that was b.s.? About not being able to remember?'
'Of course it was.' The Doctor yanks open the door of the wardrobe, which today has taken the appearance of an infinitely long corridor, lined on the left side with cupboards, each one with a neat printed label. He strides along it, slippers flapping. 'Luckily for the Myriarchy, their honey has only a momentary neurological effect. Oh no, these are in eccentric sequence! Otherwise the hives would be overrun with people looking for a free fix. Anyone who's in one, who isn't themselves a Myriarch, is either on a scientific fact-finding mission or...'
'Or what?'
The Doctor stops and knocks on a cupboard door. The door opens, and a pile of clean but crumpled chinos and T-shirts tumbles out. The Doctor scoops some of them up and pushes them into Fitz's arms. They smell faintly of lemon. 'These are for Benny,' he says. 'Could you -?'
Fitz looks at him over the top of the clothes. 'Or what?'
'Or they believe the old legend about the Myriarchy.'
'Which would be?'
'That the Myriarchs evolved the ability to travel through space. Instantaneously.'
'Evolved? You mean, they do it without spaceships?'
'Here we are!' The Doctor raps on the door of another cupboard. It opens to reveal a collection of velvet jackets - dozens of them, all slightly different shades. He grins and starts undoing the belt of his dressing gown.
'Uh,' says Fitz. 'I'll just go and give these to Benny then.'
Fitz can't quite work out how he ended up here. Here being the cold and slightly damp bit of vanilla-white TARDIS floor just outside one of the vessel's countless bathrooms. He leans against the door, eyes the ceiling to make sure the TARDIS hasn't abitrarily installed any fire-sprinklers, and lights up.
It started once they'd got this Benny woman out of the goo. She and the Doctor were both completely slimed with runny, watery honey. The Doctor announced he needed to wash his hair and Benny decided she needed a bath and a new set of clothes. So back to the TARDIS it was. All Fitz needed was to wipe the gunk off his hands and one knee and chuck his jacket in the wash, and he was like new.
The Doctor and Benny are shouting back and forth at each other over the noise of the shower. Fitz sticks his ear to the wood and listened.
'Earth bees don't keep their young in honey,' says Benny. 'They'd drown. Come to think of it, Earth bees don't keep their young pickled in purple haze, either.'
'Ah, but these aren't Earth bees,' says the Doctor. 'Technically, they're not even bees. I mean, technically, they're not even insects. Not hexapods. Not arthropods. Not ecdysozoans. Not-'
'Right, Doctor, I get the picture. What are they, then?'
'The Myriarchy.'
'The what?'
'The Myriarchy. At least, that's what other people call them. Even the TARDIS hasn't been able to crack their language, assuming they have one.' The shower shuts off. 'You didn't even know their name? Whatever were you doing drowning in their brood chamber, Benny?'
An odd pause. 'I'm still a little scrambled from the honey,' says Benny. 'Everything before you got me out of the cell is a bit of a blur... let me soak a bit longer and try to get my neurons back in order.'
Fitz frowns, squashing his ear against the door. Is she still in the bath while the Doctor is - he jumps back moments before the Doctor opens the bathroom door, wearing a dressing gown two sizes too big, his long hair hilariously turbanned in a towel. Fitz hastily drops his fag and crushes it under his boot heel.
'Shut the door!' calls Benny. 'You're letting in cold air!'
The Doctor shuts the door and leans against it, arms folded. 'Odd. Now, what's she up to?'
Fitz follows the Doctor as he pads through the TARDIS corridors. 'Look, I don't want to be an asshole, but... can you trust her?'
'Implicitly,' says the Doctor firmly. 'I'm just puzzled as to why she doesn't want to tell me what she was doing in the Myriarch hive on Podgorney's World.'
Fitz glances back. 'So that was b.s.? About not being able to remember?'
'Of course it was.' The Doctor yanks open the door of the wardrobe, which today has taken the appearance of an infinitely long corridor, lined on the left side with cupboards, each one with a neat printed label. He strides along it, slippers flapping. 'Luckily for the Myriarchy, their honey has only a momentary neurological effect. Oh no, these are in eccentric sequence! Otherwise the hives would be overrun with people looking for a free fix. Anyone who's in one, who isn't themselves a Myriarch, is either on a scientific fact-finding mission or...'
'Or what?'
The Doctor stops and knocks on a cupboard door. The door opens, and a pile of clean but crumpled chinos and T-shirts tumbles out. The Doctor scoops some of them up and pushes them into Fitz's arms. They smell faintly of lemon. 'These are for Benny,' he says. 'Could you -?'
Fitz looks at him over the top of the clothes. 'Or what?'
'Or they believe the old legend about the Myriarchy.'
'Which would be?'
'That the Myriarchs evolved the ability to travel through space. Instantaneously.'
'Evolved? You mean, they do it without spaceships?'
'Here we are!' The Doctor raps on the door of another cupboard. It opens to reveal a collection of velvet jackets - dozens of them, all slightly different shades. He grins and starts undoing the belt of his dressing gown.
'Uh,' says Fitz. 'I'll just go and give these to Benny then.'