Fic: The Tea Cosy of Rassilon
It's the end. But the moment has been prepared for.
(Thirteenth Doctor, Jamie. A response to a drabble from the Drabble Tag game, the "Quarries! Looms! Pluto!" one; I've been meaning to write this for months.)
"Jamie!" The Doctor struggled for breath, his ginger lashes fluttering maniacally as he took in strained, fishlike gasps. The color had gone out of his lips, leaving them ice-pale. He lay on the TARDIS floor, and tapped on his hearts forlornly. Whatever he felt with his fingers wasn't good, from the expression of sorrow in his eyes. Dimly, Jamie felt explosions rock the timeship -- but not even a Dalek beam could destroy it. Not unless --
--oh. This wasn't good. Jamie could see that he might not make it this time. No more incarnations left, were there?
"Aye, Doctor?"
"Bring me--" The ginger boy clutched at his giant scarf, which stretched out across the floor, looking itself like a piteous drowned thing. He gasped again, and tried to make some words come out of his mouth. "Bring me--"
"What should I bring ye, Doctor?" Was he wanting something to ease his final moments, before death took them both for good? Jamie didn't mind. Jamie would be a good companion, loyal to the last.
"--In the safe cabinet," the Doctor managed to choke out. "Right up next to the heart," he coughed, "the heart of the TARDIS. My hand opens --" Then he was too winded to speak, and went pale again. Jamie was amazed the Dalek beam hadn't destroyed him instantly, but that was semi-hemi-demi-immortality for you. He grabbed the Doctor's hand and pulled him across the floor. Really not too hard. The Time Lord had kept his body at a pre-adolescent stage this time. Thought it was easier to get away with things ("And climb towers!") if harder to buy a beer.
The Doctor feebly gestured towards a hatch. Jamie took his hand, hoping this was the right version of things to do, and pressed it to the panel.
It was the right thing. The panel glowed, and opened. "--Bring," the Doctor squeaked.
Jamie reached inside, and delicately lifted out an object. Made of fine filaments, it seemed almost like fabric, but not quite: too sturdy, a crocheted net, formed into a cylinder with a sort of crochet lid.
"Open," the Doctor said. "Hurry."
Jamie opened the lid, and the Doctor's groping hand found what was inside. He's going to die now, Jamie thought, and he said, "Och, Doctor, I'm needing to say I've found you the best of friends--"
Then a blinding flash of light erupted from where the Doctor lay. The sound of silver bells chimed through the air. Jamie stumbled back, alarmed. The skin on his face grew slightly sunburned. Some weird smoke in a color he'd never seen before streamed up, and a strange crackling sound ensued.
When the smoke cleared, a gaunt, large-nosed, long-haired fellow lay in amongst the pile of giant scarf. He cleared his throat. "Well," he said. "Well. Okay. Hello. Jamie, is it?"
"Doctor?"
"Guilty as charged. Ha -- I do seem to be one for trite phrases this time around, don't I? Where were we? I believe we had some Daleks to fuck up, didn't we? Oh my! A potty mouth! I've never had a potty mouth!"
Jamie sat there staring at the Doctor. He found he was still holding the strange crocheted object that was so precious, that had been kept in that secret cache for so long. He blinked in consternation. "Did this -- did it save your life, Doctor? I didna know such a thing was possible!"
"Oh yes. Well. You know me. It's never any fun to mention things until you need them, Jamie. You know that." The Doctor was still lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. He folded his arms behind his head.
"What is it?"
"It's the Tea Cosy of Rassilon."
"A tea cosy? You put tea in, to keep it warm?" Jamie was baffled. Befuddled. Beflusticated. Other totally made-up words like that.
"Tea, or," the Doctor looked sheepish, "a spare cycle of regenerations. I mean, that's like tea, if you're bloody Rassilon. Fuck! I really have a dirty mouth this time!"
"Aye, Doctor. I see you do."
"An artifact of my people. Actually, was going to be tossed with the TARDIS. Nobody could decide who was going to get the bloody thing, because, I mean, an extra cycle of regenerations! Who doesn't want that!"
Then they lived happily ever after until Jamie took up with the Master to make the Doctor jealous and then things got a little wanky. But what did you expect?
(Thirteenth Doctor, Jamie. A response to a drabble from the Drabble Tag game, the "Quarries! Looms! Pluto!" one; I've been meaning to write this for months.)
"Jamie!" The Doctor struggled for breath, his ginger lashes fluttering maniacally as he took in strained, fishlike gasps. The color had gone out of his lips, leaving them ice-pale. He lay on the TARDIS floor, and tapped on his hearts forlornly. Whatever he felt with his fingers wasn't good, from the expression of sorrow in his eyes. Dimly, Jamie felt explosions rock the timeship -- but not even a Dalek beam could destroy it. Not unless --
--oh. This wasn't good. Jamie could see that he might not make it this time. No more incarnations left, were there?
"Aye, Doctor?"
"Bring me--" The ginger boy clutched at his giant scarf, which stretched out across the floor, looking itself like a piteous drowned thing. He gasped again, and tried to make some words come out of his mouth. "Bring me--"
"What should I bring ye, Doctor?" Was he wanting something to ease his final moments, before death took them both for good? Jamie didn't mind. Jamie would be a good companion, loyal to the last.
"--In the safe cabinet," the Doctor managed to choke out. "Right up next to the heart," he coughed, "the heart of the TARDIS. My hand opens --" Then he was too winded to speak, and went pale again. Jamie was amazed the Dalek beam hadn't destroyed him instantly, but that was semi-hemi-demi-immortality for you. He grabbed the Doctor's hand and pulled him across the floor. Really not too hard. The Time Lord had kept his body at a pre-adolescent stage this time. Thought it was easier to get away with things ("And climb towers!") if harder to buy a beer.
The Doctor feebly gestured towards a hatch. Jamie took his hand, hoping this was the right version of things to do, and pressed it to the panel.
It was the right thing. The panel glowed, and opened. "--Bring," the Doctor squeaked.
Jamie reached inside, and delicately lifted out an object. Made of fine filaments, it seemed almost like fabric, but not quite: too sturdy, a crocheted net, formed into a cylinder with a sort of crochet lid.
"Open," the Doctor said. "Hurry."
Jamie opened the lid, and the Doctor's groping hand found what was inside. He's going to die now, Jamie thought, and he said, "Och, Doctor, I'm needing to say I've found you the best of friends--"
Then a blinding flash of light erupted from where the Doctor lay. The sound of silver bells chimed through the air. Jamie stumbled back, alarmed. The skin on his face grew slightly sunburned. Some weird smoke in a color he'd never seen before streamed up, and a strange crackling sound ensued.
When the smoke cleared, a gaunt, large-nosed, long-haired fellow lay in amongst the pile of giant scarf. He cleared his throat. "Well," he said. "Well. Okay. Hello. Jamie, is it?"
"Doctor?"
"Guilty as charged. Ha -- I do seem to be one for trite phrases this time around, don't I? Where were we? I believe we had some Daleks to fuck up, didn't we? Oh my! A potty mouth! I've never had a potty mouth!"
Jamie sat there staring at the Doctor. He found he was still holding the strange crocheted object that was so precious, that had been kept in that secret cache for so long. He blinked in consternation. "Did this -- did it save your life, Doctor? I didna know such a thing was possible!"
"Oh yes. Well. You know me. It's never any fun to mention things until you need them, Jamie. You know that." The Doctor was still lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. He folded his arms behind his head.
"What is it?"
"It's the Tea Cosy of Rassilon."
"A tea cosy? You put tea in, to keep it warm?" Jamie was baffled. Befuddled. Beflusticated. Other totally made-up words like that.
"Tea, or," the Doctor looked sheepish, "a spare cycle of regenerations. I mean, that's like tea, if you're bloody Rassilon. Fuck! I really have a dirty mouth this time!"
"Aye, Doctor. I see you do."
"An artifact of my people. Actually, was going to be tossed with the TARDIS. Nobody could decide who was going to get the bloody thing, because, I mean, an extra cycle of regenerations! Who doesn't want that!"
Then they lived happily ever after until Jamie took up with the Master to make the Doctor jealous and then things got a little wanky. But what did you expect?