Ficlet: "You're Your Own Biggest Fan;" Ten/Metacrisis!Doctor, PG-13 (Fanboy/Fangirl)
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/ “Fifth Doctor” (Metacrisis!Doctor)
Challenge: Fanboy/Fangirl
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Implicit only; pairing may squick, language, a bit dark
Spoilers: Up to and Including “Waters of Mars” [Mostly spoilers for “Time Crash” and “Journey’s End”]
You're Your Own Biggest Fan
A quick trip to the early twentieth century and a nip to a twenty-first century supermarket set him on course to tear through the fabric of the universe and pop over into the next one. Why not? He could do it. He had that right. (No, of course not, but he wasn’t ready for his next destination.)
He slipped out into the streets and walked until his mark came to him. One shared look was all that was needed. They returned to the TARDIS and his Other caught sight of the costume laid out on the jumpseat. He laughed, something like Donna might have, and twirled the celery stalk between his fingers. “I’ll never be your Doctor, you know.”
“But don’t you want to be,” he fired back without hesitation. (He felt there, behind his hearts. The hurt, pain, and anger - at himself - but it was squashed down without guilt. He’d shagged the bloody virgin queen of England! He could anything he wanted to. There was nothing to stop him.)
He took them to an unused cricket field; dusk or dawn, who could tell? The importance was that there was a half-light and there weren't any spectators. Silent, obedient, and even excited by the illicit and taboo, his Other allowed him to do as he pleased. It was only as he was leaving (for a sunny beach, perhaps; some place with umbrellas in their drinks, not unlike celery sticks in bloody marys) that the human called him back, in his rumpled vest and dust-stained trousers, and said, “How’s it feel to be a narcissistic son of a bitch, dying old and alone?”
He held his head high and smiled. “You tell me, kid,” he said. “With that aneurysm, you could go anytime.”
He left without remorse. The beach was calling.
Challenge: Fanboy/Fangirl
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Implicit only; pairing may squick, language, a bit dark
Spoilers: Up to and Including “Waters of Mars” [Mostly spoilers for “Time Crash” and “Journey’s End”]
You're Your Own Biggest Fan
A quick trip to the early twentieth century and a nip to a twenty-first century supermarket set him on course to tear through the fabric of the universe and pop over into the next one. Why not? He could do it. He had that right. (No, of course not, but he wasn’t ready for his next destination.)
He slipped out into the streets and walked until his mark came to him. One shared look was all that was needed. They returned to the TARDIS and his Other caught sight of the costume laid out on the jumpseat. He laughed, something like Donna might have, and twirled the celery stalk between his fingers. “I’ll never be your Doctor, you know.”
“But don’t you want to be,” he fired back without hesitation. (He felt there, behind his hearts. The hurt, pain, and anger - at himself - but it was squashed down without guilt. He’d shagged the bloody virgin queen of England! He could anything he wanted to. There was nothing to stop him.)
He took them to an unused cricket field; dusk or dawn, who could tell? The importance was that there was a half-light and there weren't any spectators. Silent, obedient, and even excited by the illicit and taboo, his Other allowed him to do as he pleased. It was only as he was leaving (for a sunny beach, perhaps; some place with umbrellas in their drinks, not unlike celery sticks in bloody marys) that the human called him back, in his rumpled vest and dust-stained trousers, and said, “How’s it feel to be a narcissistic son of a bitch, dying old and alone?”
He held his head high and smiled. “You tell me, kid,” he said. “With that aneurysm, you could go anytime.”
He left without remorse. The beach was calling.