Inside The Box, 1/1 [G] Doctor Who/SPN Crossover
It’s true. The universe is vast and complicated and ridiculous. And yes, sometimes impossible things do happen.
But, generally, the Doctor knows about them.
Then there’s the Pandorica. It wasn’t supposed to be real, and yet it was, brazenly so-the cheek. The Doctor marveled at the thing that had the audacity to exist…it might have mentioned.
Offended though he was at the Pandorica’s rude reality, the Doctor’s indignation was a mere speck carried off in the overwhelming sea of his curiosity. His fingertips caressed the warm (warm? Yes, warm. Why warm?) side of it, taking in the texture and solidity of it.
The Pandorica. Fancy name for big bloody box.
But of course, the box itself was nothing-a triviality, the wrapping to be ripped to shreds, the silly garnish to be ignored. The Doctor couldn’t give two figs about the Pandorica itself, although, as far as big bloody boxes go, he supposed it was somewhat impressive.
He’d seen better.
The question was, what was inside the big box? The Doctor spread his hands against the surface of the Pandorica, as though he could feel the answer carved into the stone. His entire being was focused on that one question, honed intensely on it until he could feel it vibrate in his mind and buzz in his blood. What was inside the Pandorica? What was it? What could be possibly be so feared, so hated, and so important?
And, much more significantly, why didn’t he know about it?
The question teased him like an itch between the shoulder blades or a bit of fishstick between his teeth-he had to know what secret, fantastic, terrible thing the Pandorica held or he would go mad.
Well. Madder.
It was time to think. Time to think as though his very life and those of some very lovely people depended on it. And-hang on-it probably did, didn’t it? Right. Thoughts, then.
The Doctor knew the stories, of course-the blood-soaked unstoppable warrior, the thing that put Hell to shame with his creative brutality, the soldier who made angels and devils very ill at ease. The beautiful, awful thing in the box. The Pandorica had been constructed to contain something evil and strong and smart, but mostly the evil part. That was the Doctor’s first clue.
“Doctor?”
Except that it wasn’t, was it? Evil is just good from the perspective of evil. A warrior is a warrior, and history gets to stick on the labels well after the dust has settled. The Universe wasn’t black and white-the Doctor knew that quite well. No, it was often sort of bluish and swirly, and sometimes there were these fantastic bits of orange that-
“Doctor!”
A moral compass with only two directions is absurdly limited. There are actions committed not for the greater good or for the sick joy of deviance, but because there simply is no other option. There are compromises and mistakes and regrets. The Doctor understood this well. After all, River was wrong. He wasn’t always the good wizard in the stories.
“Doctor, it’s opening!” Amy shouted, clutching the Doctor’s arms and pulling him roughly away from the Pandorica, which, the Doctor noticed, seemed to be doing something. Doing something. Something. Opening. Right. Opening. Oh.
The Doctor ignored a pinch of disappointment. He’d been on to something a moment ago, and had been close to cracking the entire thing.
Alright, that wasn’t true at all. The whole “thinking as though his life depending on it” approach had been going very badly, but he would have got there eventually and the thing just going ahead and opening in the middle of his train of thought certainly stole his potential future thunder. Awfully inconsiderate.
Light poured from the cracks along the corners of the Pandorica and smoke curled away from the splits (Smoke? Of course smoke. The Universe has never lacked a sense of showmanship). Slowly, the heavy walls opened out and out heaved waves of vaporous clouds and brilliant white light (in fact, sometimes the Universe laid it on a little thick). The Doctor shielded his eyes and held out his arm to herd River and Amy behind him. He smiled just a little as he watched the mystery unravel itself before him.
The answer was here.
There was an awfully uncomfortable looking chair in the chamber of the Pandorica, and a man strapped to it. His head hung and for a crushing moment, the Doctor thought perhaps he was dead. But the figure coughed, and slowly, painfully straightened up. The first thing the Doctor registered was flashing green eyes, the color of old jade. The second thing was a jacket…Earth, probably North America, circa 1970, by the Doctor’s guess. He decided straightaway that leather jackets were cool.
The man tested his bonds, strained against them for a moment before collapsing back and snarling out, “Son of a bitch.”
The Doctor approached slowly, studying the man, for a long and tense moment.
“What the hell are you staring at?” the strange man snapped.
“I’m sorry,” the Doctor replied. “It's just...I was expecting you to be taller.”
--The End--