Fic: The Doctor's New Clothes, part 2
This was written back in January. Apparently I have some type of previously unrealized psychic costuming powers. Interesting.
Title: The Doctor’s New Clothes (part 2 of 2)
Characters: Eleventh Doctor, the TARDIS. Cameo appearances from Jack and Sarah Jane. Slight reference to Ten/Rose.
Rating: Pg-13. Ish.
Genre: Mostly crack.
Spoilers: Vague reference to future Doctor casting. (Very vague, as this was mostly written before casting was announced.) I’ve not seen CoE. Therefore, whatever happens there hasn’t happened here.
Warnings: References nudity.
Summary: The clothes make the man, so they say. Or the Time Lord, as the case may be. And he’s always had a somewhat unique sense of style.
Author’s note- This is the first time I’ve screwed up enough courage to actually post fic for this fandom. Any comments and/or concrit very welcome.
Disclaimer : The author acknowledges that this work is derivative of properties owned by BBC. This work was conceived with great love and respect for the original materials, no copyright infringement or profit of any kind involved.
Moments after landing, a polite knock sounded at the door. “Come on in, Jack,” he called from under the console, still tangled up in ever-present repairs, “Just use your key, be with you in a mo’.”
“Doctor?” Jack inquired.
Standing and dusting off his hands, the Doctor replied seriously “Captain,” before breaking out in an enormous grin and enveloping his friend in a hug. Jack laughed and squeezed him, before stepping back and giving a slow perusal from head to toe.
“That’s… that’s quite a different look for you, Doctor.”
“Yes, well, I’ve had a bit of difficulty finding a style that suits me. So much to choose from, you know.”
“Ah. Yes, the outfit’s a change, too.”
“What? No, wait, Jack! I have something of vital importance to ask you. My future happiness depends entirely on your answer to this question. Do you know,” he paused, drawing closer as every muscle tensed and anguish fairly oozed from his eyes, “somewhere nearby where I can obtain some milk?”
As they stepped out of the TARDIS, the door gave a definitive click. Whirling back around, the Doctor tried his key and jiggled the door, to no avail. “Oh, what now,” he whined. “There’s nothing wrong with you at all. Why are you locking me out?”
A wisp of black smoke puffed out beneath the door, petulantly blowing in his face.
“Looks like the lady needs some alone time, Doctor. Why don’t you come in, see the gang, give her some time to cool down?”
“Oh, she’s been miffed with me ever since I regenerated. Not like a had a choice, you know!” he called back over his shoulder, as Jack gently led him away.
Passersby gaped as a barefoot man in a loincloth stormed over to a nearby tourist office. Pausing a moment, Jack pulled out his phone to place a call. “Sarah Jane? How fast can you get to Cardiff, sweetheart? Because trust me, you really want to see this.”
A few hours later, Sarah Jane was escorted into the hub, where she found Jack with an amused glint in his eye, chatting with a young man who sat straddling a chair with his back to her. He was bent forward , worshipfully cradling a cup of tea while he chattered animatedly. There was, she realized, rather a lot of skin on show for midwinter in Cardiff. In fact, he appeared to be only clad in something very small and… leather?
At that moment he seemed to become aware of her presence, turning towards her. She was annoyed to feel a slight flush creep to her cheeks as she quickly snapped her gaze up to eye level. At the sight of her, the exhibitionist youth jumped up, knocking over his chair in his rush to greet her. Pulling her into a hug that swept the ground out from below her as he swung her to and fro. “Erm, Jack?” she squeaked, “A little help here?”
Just then the strange young man set her down, leaned back and gave her a very familiar grin. “Sarah Jane!” he exclaimed.
“Oh,” she sighed weakly. “Oh, that’s just not fair.”
After some hours catching up on the latest goings on in the lives of his friends- and really, he was quite pleased to hear of all the invasions they’d managed to solve without him. Almost on a weekly basis, it seemed. Obviously he’d trained them well. After recounting some choice bits of his recent history and gleefully listening to theirs as they all relaxed over some take-out, he began to think that he really should do this more often. Drop by, when there was no crisis in need of solving simply to enjoy their company. Just as he opened his mouth to share this revelation, an alarm sounded.
The G8 conference had been invaded, leaders of the northern hemisphere held captive as the world breathlessly waited to hear the demands from this new alien menace. Sarah Jane stood in one corner talking on her mobile to her son Luke, ordering him in no uncertain terms to remain in the house until she got there, to stand by with Mr Smith in case she had need of them. Jack was barking orders as his team gathered, then calling Martha to coordinate with UNIT, differences put aside in the face of this crisis.
They were skilled. They were efficient. They had the technology and the know-how.
They were never going to get there in time.
“This has gone on long enough.” he announced, as the storm clouds gathered in his eyes. Stalking out into the pouring rain, he crossed back to the blue box that stood innocuously in the Plass. As the rain streamed down his face, he turned towards her doors with a glare that made armies turn and run. Slowly he raised his hand, and snapped.
Or tried to, it was rather difficult when sopping wet.
After several tries gave no response, he tried the key. Which still failed to work.
Pulling out the sonic screwdriver, he stood back, arm extended, and pointed it towards the lock. Still nothing.
He slumped wearily against the door and gently banged his forehead. “Look,” he reasoned, “I know you’re upset with me, and I‘m sorry.” Was it his imagination, or did the door give slightly? “Although I’ve no idea why!” The door firmed and almost seemed to give him a slight shove. “We can work this out, I know we can. Been together a long time, you and me. But right now, this world needs me. Needs us. Please.” With a resigned click, the door swung open. He bounded up to the console, somewhat awkward in the now sodden leather, and set course for the invader’s ship.
Bursting through the doors of his magnificent ship, the Doctor marched … well, waddled, given the bunching of the soaked leather… to the apparent leader of the invading ship. He didn’t immediately recognize the species, but he knew exactly what needed to be said.
“I’m the Doctor,” he announced. “Last of the Time Lords. Destroyer of Worlds. The Oncoming Storm. The,” he paused a moment to petulantly push wet hair out of his eyes, “Bringer of Darkness. If you’re looking for a higher authority, there isn’t one. And I’m here to…” at that moment his was cut off in his tirade by a polite voice at his elbow.
“Sir?” it queried. “Would you like a towel? Only, we’ve just refinished the floors and you do seem to be dripping rather a lot. Also,” it continued with averted eyes, “your garment appears to be… shrinking.”
Disconcerted, the Doctor turned the full force of his gaze upon this small… butler?
“Only,” it squeaked, “We do have so many honored guests, and one wouldn’t want to offend.”
Glancing around, the Doctor was relieved to find all of the missing world leaders apparently unharmed. And… drinking tea? With biscuits?
Several aides turn their faces to hide the sniggering that threatened to erupt, as an international conglomeration all united in the effort not to laugh at the strange, nearly naked man who stood there dripping on the apparently newly refinished floors. The Prime Minister of the United Kingdom stepped forward, gently pulling him to the side. “I‘m sorry, young man, but you appear to have been misinformed. Now,” he continued, glancing down at the rapidly shrinking garment as guards surrounded the Doctor, firmly separating him from the various world leaders, “while we settle exactly who you are and precisely how you got here, perhaps you would like to borrow my jacket?”
“But,” the Doctor spluttered, once more swiping his fringe out of his eyes ”Torchwood reported…”
The Prime Minister raised an eyebrow. “This is a matter of some delicacy. Why on earth would we involve Torchwood?”
As he was led away by the security officers, one by one the united people and aliens gave in to their pent up amusement. New jacket clutched firmly around his middle, the Doctor blushed from head to toe as the sound of their laughter followed him down the halls.
Some hours and a great deal of paperwork later, back in the warm glow of the Time Rotor, the Doctor collapsed in the captain’s chair. “Alright, you win,” he sighed. “It’s your choice now.”
After a long, hot shower, he returned to the wardrobe room. There he found only one option, prominently displayed in the center of the room. “Oh, no! No no no no no. No. Absolutely not. No.”
A warning growl emanated from deep inside the ship, as the lights flickered and a cool breeze drifted by. With a shudder of distaste, the Doctor stepped into the room and began to dress. Layer followed layer until he was completely covered, neck to ankle. “Feels like I’m wearing a tent,” he grumbled, as he lifted the final piece. “You do know this blocks my peripheral vision. Important, that is.” Carefully placing the massive collar on his shoulders, he turned to the mirror for the first time. Gazing back at him was a perfect image of a Time Lord, in traditional formal regalia. Unconsciously he straightened his shoulders and stood taller. It felt… right. For the first time in this body, it felt absolutely, perfectly, completely right.
*******
Dramatically throwing open the doors at the rear of the theater, the Doctor strode forward to confront the charlatan who had been hypnotizing beings across the galaxy, leaving behind a path of mysterious disappearances and tales of slave trade. His robes flowed majestically behind him as he stalked his prey, opening his mouth to issue that one last chance, when off to the side he heard someone mutter “Oh gawd, look at that collar. Please tell me he isn’t going to sit in front of us!” As he indignantly turned to berate the ill mannered audience member, beginning to explain the sacred history of his garb, his foot somehow was caught in one of the many layers. As he beat away the layers of silken fabrics, sprawled in an inelegant heap where he had tumbled down the aisle, he helplessly watched as his enemy made good on his escape, while the laughter of the audience at this unexpected intrusion echoed through the theater.
He had, in lives past, been a fop, a dandy, and a clown. But never, he reminded himself, head held high despite wrinkled garments and battered collar as he limped back up the aisle to his waiting ship, would he ever lack dignity.
***********
He gaped, staring at the High Council as Lady President Romana gave further explanations. “Yes, well, you’ve only yourself to blame, really. Seems they decided to discover for themselves what was so brilliant about this Earth you kept yammering on about. Couldn’t be bothered to visit for themselves, but connected to a bit of pop culture. It occurred to the counsel that perhaps what Gallifrey’s rebellious son needed was a bit of a time out. A few decades in the corner on the Naughty Chair, to think about what he’d done. I never would have agreed to it if I’d for one moment believed that you would actually fall for that whole ‘Gallifrey go boom’ thing.” She paused a moment to consider. “Again.”
Once more, he left a trail of garments behind as he stomped towards the wardrobe room. His recently acquired companion waited outside the door, listening as he tore through millennia of fashion history. Finally he spotted it, a rumpled heap in a dusty corner. As far different from pompous bejeweled robes as one could get.
A bit plain. A bit unusual. A bit unfashionable, in any time or place.
A bit… human.
********
She wrinkled her nose a bit as he spun in a slow circle, presenting his new look.
“Well,” she said, “it’s definitely… different.”
He quirked an eyebrow at her, waiting for more.
“I like it,” she decided, taking his proffered elbow as they walked towards the console room. “It’s very you.”
“Exactly,” he smiled.
Title: The Doctor’s New Clothes (part 2 of 2)
Characters: Eleventh Doctor, the TARDIS. Cameo appearances from Jack and Sarah Jane. Slight reference to Ten/Rose.
Rating: Pg-13. Ish.
Genre: Mostly crack.
Spoilers: Vague reference to future Doctor casting. (Very vague, as this was mostly written before casting was announced.) I’ve not seen CoE. Therefore, whatever happens there hasn’t happened here.
Warnings: References nudity.
Summary: The clothes make the man, so they say. Or the Time Lord, as the case may be. And he’s always had a somewhat unique sense of style.
Author’s note- This is the first time I’ve screwed up enough courage to actually post fic for this fandom. Any comments and/or concrit very welcome.
Disclaimer : The author acknowledges that this work is derivative of properties owned by BBC. This work was conceived with great love and respect for the original materials, no copyright infringement or profit of any kind involved.
Moments after landing, a polite knock sounded at the door. “Come on in, Jack,” he called from under the console, still tangled up in ever-present repairs, “Just use your key, be with you in a mo’.”
“Doctor?” Jack inquired.
Standing and dusting off his hands, the Doctor replied seriously “Captain,” before breaking out in an enormous grin and enveloping his friend in a hug. Jack laughed and squeezed him, before stepping back and giving a slow perusal from head to toe.
“That’s… that’s quite a different look for you, Doctor.”
“Yes, well, I’ve had a bit of difficulty finding a style that suits me. So much to choose from, you know.”
“Ah. Yes, the outfit’s a change, too.”
“What? No, wait, Jack! I have something of vital importance to ask you. My future happiness depends entirely on your answer to this question. Do you know,” he paused, drawing closer as every muscle tensed and anguish fairly oozed from his eyes, “somewhere nearby where I can obtain some milk?”
As they stepped out of the TARDIS, the door gave a definitive click. Whirling back around, the Doctor tried his key and jiggled the door, to no avail. “Oh, what now,” he whined. “There’s nothing wrong with you at all. Why are you locking me out?”
A wisp of black smoke puffed out beneath the door, petulantly blowing in his face.
“Looks like the lady needs some alone time, Doctor. Why don’t you come in, see the gang, give her some time to cool down?”
“Oh, she’s been miffed with me ever since I regenerated. Not like a had a choice, you know!” he called back over his shoulder, as Jack gently led him away.
Passersby gaped as a barefoot man in a loincloth stormed over to a nearby tourist office. Pausing a moment, Jack pulled out his phone to place a call. “Sarah Jane? How fast can you get to Cardiff, sweetheart? Because trust me, you really want to see this.”
A few hours later, Sarah Jane was escorted into the hub, where she found Jack with an amused glint in his eye, chatting with a young man who sat straddling a chair with his back to her. He was bent forward , worshipfully cradling a cup of tea while he chattered animatedly. There was, she realized, rather a lot of skin on show for midwinter in Cardiff. In fact, he appeared to be only clad in something very small and… leather?
At that moment he seemed to become aware of her presence, turning towards her. She was annoyed to feel a slight flush creep to her cheeks as she quickly snapped her gaze up to eye level. At the sight of her, the exhibitionist youth jumped up, knocking over his chair in his rush to greet her. Pulling her into a hug that swept the ground out from below her as he swung her to and fro. “Erm, Jack?” she squeaked, “A little help here?”
Just then the strange young man set her down, leaned back and gave her a very familiar grin. “Sarah Jane!” he exclaimed.
“Oh,” she sighed weakly. “Oh, that’s just not fair.”
After some hours catching up on the latest goings on in the lives of his friends- and really, he was quite pleased to hear of all the invasions they’d managed to solve without him. Almost on a weekly basis, it seemed. Obviously he’d trained them well. After recounting some choice bits of his recent history and gleefully listening to theirs as they all relaxed over some take-out, he began to think that he really should do this more often. Drop by, when there was no crisis in need of solving simply to enjoy their company. Just as he opened his mouth to share this revelation, an alarm sounded.
The G8 conference had been invaded, leaders of the northern hemisphere held captive as the world breathlessly waited to hear the demands from this new alien menace. Sarah Jane stood in one corner talking on her mobile to her son Luke, ordering him in no uncertain terms to remain in the house until she got there, to stand by with Mr Smith in case she had need of them. Jack was barking orders as his team gathered, then calling Martha to coordinate with UNIT, differences put aside in the face of this crisis.
They were skilled. They were efficient. They had the technology and the know-how.
They were never going to get there in time.
“This has gone on long enough.” he announced, as the storm clouds gathered in his eyes. Stalking out into the pouring rain, he crossed back to the blue box that stood innocuously in the Plass. As the rain streamed down his face, he turned towards her doors with a glare that made armies turn and run. Slowly he raised his hand, and snapped.
Or tried to, it was rather difficult when sopping wet.
After several tries gave no response, he tried the key. Which still failed to work.
Pulling out the sonic screwdriver, he stood back, arm extended, and pointed it towards the lock. Still nothing.
He slumped wearily against the door and gently banged his forehead. “Look,” he reasoned, “I know you’re upset with me, and I‘m sorry.” Was it his imagination, or did the door give slightly? “Although I’ve no idea why!” The door firmed and almost seemed to give him a slight shove. “We can work this out, I know we can. Been together a long time, you and me. But right now, this world needs me. Needs us. Please.” With a resigned click, the door swung open. He bounded up to the console, somewhat awkward in the now sodden leather, and set course for the invader’s ship.
Bursting through the doors of his magnificent ship, the Doctor marched … well, waddled, given the bunching of the soaked leather… to the apparent leader of the invading ship. He didn’t immediately recognize the species, but he knew exactly what needed to be said.
“I’m the Doctor,” he announced. “Last of the Time Lords. Destroyer of Worlds. The Oncoming Storm. The,” he paused a moment to petulantly push wet hair out of his eyes, “Bringer of Darkness. If you’re looking for a higher authority, there isn’t one. And I’m here to…” at that moment his was cut off in his tirade by a polite voice at his elbow.
“Sir?” it queried. “Would you like a towel? Only, we’ve just refinished the floors and you do seem to be dripping rather a lot. Also,” it continued with averted eyes, “your garment appears to be… shrinking.”
Disconcerted, the Doctor turned the full force of his gaze upon this small… butler?
“Only,” it squeaked, “We do have so many honored guests, and one wouldn’t want to offend.”
Glancing around, the Doctor was relieved to find all of the missing world leaders apparently unharmed. And… drinking tea? With biscuits?
Several aides turn their faces to hide the sniggering that threatened to erupt, as an international conglomeration all united in the effort not to laugh at the strange, nearly naked man who stood there dripping on the apparently newly refinished floors. The Prime Minister of the United Kingdom stepped forward, gently pulling him to the side. “I‘m sorry, young man, but you appear to have been misinformed. Now,” he continued, glancing down at the rapidly shrinking garment as guards surrounded the Doctor, firmly separating him from the various world leaders, “while we settle exactly who you are and precisely how you got here, perhaps you would like to borrow my jacket?”
“But,” the Doctor spluttered, once more swiping his fringe out of his eyes ”Torchwood reported…”
The Prime Minister raised an eyebrow. “This is a matter of some delicacy. Why on earth would we involve Torchwood?”
As he was led away by the security officers, one by one the united people and aliens gave in to their pent up amusement. New jacket clutched firmly around his middle, the Doctor blushed from head to toe as the sound of their laughter followed him down the halls.
Some hours and a great deal of paperwork later, back in the warm glow of the Time Rotor, the Doctor collapsed in the captain’s chair. “Alright, you win,” he sighed. “It’s your choice now.”
After a long, hot shower, he returned to the wardrobe room. There he found only one option, prominently displayed in the center of the room. “Oh, no! No no no no no. No. Absolutely not. No.”
A warning growl emanated from deep inside the ship, as the lights flickered and a cool breeze drifted by. With a shudder of distaste, the Doctor stepped into the room and began to dress. Layer followed layer until he was completely covered, neck to ankle. “Feels like I’m wearing a tent,” he grumbled, as he lifted the final piece. “You do know this blocks my peripheral vision. Important, that is.” Carefully placing the massive collar on his shoulders, he turned to the mirror for the first time. Gazing back at him was a perfect image of a Time Lord, in traditional formal regalia. Unconsciously he straightened his shoulders and stood taller. It felt… right. For the first time in this body, it felt absolutely, perfectly, completely right.
*******
Dramatically throwing open the doors at the rear of the theater, the Doctor strode forward to confront the charlatan who had been hypnotizing beings across the galaxy, leaving behind a path of mysterious disappearances and tales of slave trade. His robes flowed majestically behind him as he stalked his prey, opening his mouth to issue that one last chance, when off to the side he heard someone mutter “Oh gawd, look at that collar. Please tell me he isn’t going to sit in front of us!” As he indignantly turned to berate the ill mannered audience member, beginning to explain the sacred history of his garb, his foot somehow was caught in one of the many layers. As he beat away the layers of silken fabrics, sprawled in an inelegant heap where he had tumbled down the aisle, he helplessly watched as his enemy made good on his escape, while the laughter of the audience at this unexpected intrusion echoed through the theater.
He had, in lives past, been a fop, a dandy, and a clown. But never, he reminded himself, head held high despite wrinkled garments and battered collar as he limped back up the aisle to his waiting ship, would he ever lack dignity.
***********
He gaped, staring at the High Council as Lady President Romana gave further explanations. “Yes, well, you’ve only yourself to blame, really. Seems they decided to discover for themselves what was so brilliant about this Earth you kept yammering on about. Couldn’t be bothered to visit for themselves, but connected to a bit of pop culture. It occurred to the counsel that perhaps what Gallifrey’s rebellious son needed was a bit of a time out. A few decades in the corner on the Naughty Chair, to think about what he’d done. I never would have agreed to it if I’d for one moment believed that you would actually fall for that whole ‘Gallifrey go boom’ thing.” She paused a moment to consider. “Again.”
Once more, he left a trail of garments behind as he stomped towards the wardrobe room. His recently acquired companion waited outside the door, listening as he tore through millennia of fashion history. Finally he spotted it, a rumpled heap in a dusty corner. As far different from pompous bejeweled robes as one could get.
A bit plain. A bit unusual. A bit unfashionable, in any time or place.
A bit… human.
********
She wrinkled her nose a bit as he spun in a slow circle, presenting his new look.
“Well,” she said, “it’s definitely… different.”
He quirked an eyebrow at her, waiting for more.
“I like it,” she decided, taking his proffered elbow as they walked towards the console room. “It’s very you.”
“Exactly,” he smiled.