I don't even have a title for this thing yet.
That macro I posted a little while ago? It came from a fic idea I had while watching... I can't even remember which movie it was now, but it was one of the older not-prequels. I can't think of a title, yet, though, without first deciding what exactly the plot is. -fail writer-
chapter one.
The Doctor felt Amy's arm brush his shoulder as she reached up to point at something on the TARDIS's scanner. As he looked up from his work and followed her arm up to what she was pointing at, he saw in her eyes the sparkling delight of a little girl on her birthday.
"A space station!" she exclaimed. "I've always wanted to visit a space station." He groaned inwardly as he rose to his feet to get a better look. First a ship, and now this. Apart from mobility, the two were virtually the same. This spherical one spinning on the screen was no different.
...Except for that massive, planet-destroying weapon now rotating into view. Suddenly he remembered which station this was. With a swift turn of the head, he looked at Amy as though she'd just lost her mind. She looked back at him with puzzlement.
"Amy, that's the Death Star," he said worriedly.
"So?"
"The last time I went there, the Emperor tried to kill me after I beat him at psychic chess." The Time Lord suppressed a grimace as the memory of that particular electrocution flooded to the front of his mind where it didn't belong. He'd had to put himself in quite a deep coma to fool the man into thinking he was dead. "Worst electrocution ever."
"How'd you get out?" wondered his companion in an interruption of his thoughts.
"I played possum."
Suddenly, the phone on the TARDIS rang. Amy reached to pick it up, but the Doctor was nearer, and found it first. The other end turned out to be a communications operator somewhere in the equator of the station making a brave attempt to order him to land his ship there. The fact that the Doctor could hear rhythmic, mechanical breathing in the background of the man talking did little to help his reluctance to go any nearer the Death Star than he and Amy already were--which, apparently, was within the range of its tractor beam. He furrowed his nonexistent brows.
"Why should I?" he asked cheekily. "I have no weapons and no aggressive intent toward you or your Empire. What I do have is very powerful shielding--even that giant laser wouldn't put a dent in my ship." He covered the receiver with his hand, and whispered to Amy, "It might leave a nasty burn mark, though." The expression on her face appeared to be a war between bewilderment and fits of giggles being stifled. Satisified, he returned to his conversation.
The man speaking on the other end seemed to have run dry of threats, for he was now explaining that it was supposed to be impossible for ships of any size to escape the tractor beam, and that the Doctor must therefore land it himself. It wasn't until the Doctor had forced him to waste all his methods of persuasion that he agreed to land on one of the Death Star's many hangars. The Emperor did owe him an apology.
While he set the coordinates, Amy followed him around the console like a lost sheep(he couldn't tell why; he was too busy coaxing the TARDIS to go to the coordinates he'd set).
"Yes, sorry?" he said, glancing at his friend.
"What was that all about?" she asked of him.
"We're going to the Death Star, just like you asked," replied the Doctor. "Turns out they want us there, too." She looked surprised and disturbed all at once. He looked up briefly from what he was doing to fix her with an intensely serious gaze.
"It's dangerous on that ship. Either stay in the TARDIS, or stick close to me." Amy pouted, but they both knew she'd wander off and get lost either way. After about a second, she responded with another question.
"Are you part of the rebellion?" she asked suspiciously. He shook his head.
"I'm not, and I don't plan to join it, either. That would be one hell of an interference." A thudding sound rang in their ears, marking that the TARDIS had landed.
"You never plan to," quipped Amy as they stepped out together, mostly unaware of the soldiers who'd assembled outside to prevent their escape. Beside her, the Doctor raised his hands and smiled warily at them. Suddenly realising they were being threatened, his companion copied him, but made no attempt to pretend she was happy to meet them.
"Hello," he greeted everyone present.
Lord Vader watched several stormtroopers gather around the strange craft from a window somewhere above the hangar. Two people, a man and a woman, stepped out. Both were dressed like nothing he'd seen before (and he'd been all over the galaxy); and the man, though his amiable treatment of the Imperial soldiers proved him clearly insane, made such a powerful disturbance in the Force that the Sith lord doubted he was as harmless as he seemed. Indeed, the tiny, box-shaped thing the pair piloted had an aura of her own. This he found at once puzzling and frustrating, the latter of which he exercised on a passing officer.
Suddenly resolute, Vader took off walking through the corridor. He must find out about these strangers--who were they? What was that odd ship? Were they rebels? Why had the magnetic field not pulled them toward the Death Star at such a short distance? To the purpose of answering these, he gave orders to the troopers to take them to the detention cells.
The Doctor wasn't certain that handcuffs were necessary--or the veritable battalion of guards now flanking him and his companion. At times like this, unfortunately, the only certainty was that no one would be able to get into his precious TARDIS without the key--which was now buried in the depths of one of his dimensionally transcendental pockets. Just watch them try to find it there.
Almost gleefully, he noticed the insane number of corridors down which they were being made to walk and made a note of every turn for when an escape was made. For some reason, every landing he made ended up with him and his friends running through them. This thought brought his mind back to Amy walking beside him, looking troubled and slightly scared both of what she didn't know might happen to them, and of the fact that the man she'd dreamt of for the majority of her short life looked like he was enjoying himself far too much. In an attempt at reassurance, he winked slyly at her, then nodded to his pockets. After being locked in a laboratory with nothing but Sarah Jane and the components for cyanogen, never again would he make the mistake of leaving the sonic screwdriver in the TARDIS.
He didn't, however, expect that he and Amy would be placed--or rather, shoved--into separate cells plainly designed for one prisoner each. He'd been uncuffed, yes, but what purpose did that serve if he didn't know which cell was Amy's? She hadn't even wandered off this time, and already he sat on a bench in the corner, worrying himself sick about his companion and what might be done to her without his protection.
chapter one.
The Doctor felt Amy's arm brush his shoulder as she reached up to point at something on the TARDIS's scanner. As he looked up from his work and followed her arm up to what she was pointing at, he saw in her eyes the sparkling delight of a little girl on her birthday.
"A space station!" she exclaimed. "I've always wanted to visit a space station." He groaned inwardly as he rose to his feet to get a better look. First a ship, and now this. Apart from mobility, the two were virtually the same. This spherical one spinning on the screen was no different.
...Except for that massive, planet-destroying weapon now rotating into view. Suddenly he remembered which station this was. With a swift turn of the head, he looked at Amy as though she'd just lost her mind. She looked back at him with puzzlement.
"Amy, that's the Death Star," he said worriedly.
"So?"
"The last time I went there, the Emperor tried to kill me after I beat him at psychic chess." The Time Lord suppressed a grimace as the memory of that particular electrocution flooded to the front of his mind where it didn't belong. He'd had to put himself in quite a deep coma to fool the man into thinking he was dead. "Worst electrocution ever."
"How'd you get out?" wondered his companion in an interruption of his thoughts.
"I played possum."
Suddenly, the phone on the TARDIS rang. Amy reached to pick it up, but the Doctor was nearer, and found it first. The other end turned out to be a communications operator somewhere in the equator of the station making a brave attempt to order him to land his ship there. The fact that the Doctor could hear rhythmic, mechanical breathing in the background of the man talking did little to help his reluctance to go any nearer the Death Star than he and Amy already were--which, apparently, was within the range of its tractor beam. He furrowed his nonexistent brows.
"Why should I?" he asked cheekily. "I have no weapons and no aggressive intent toward you or your Empire. What I do have is very powerful shielding--even that giant laser wouldn't put a dent in my ship." He covered the receiver with his hand, and whispered to Amy, "It might leave a nasty burn mark, though." The expression on her face appeared to be a war between bewilderment and fits of giggles being stifled. Satisified, he returned to his conversation.
The man speaking on the other end seemed to have run dry of threats, for he was now explaining that it was supposed to be impossible for ships of any size to escape the tractor beam, and that the Doctor must therefore land it himself. It wasn't until the Doctor had forced him to waste all his methods of persuasion that he agreed to land on one of the Death Star's many hangars. The Emperor did owe him an apology.
While he set the coordinates, Amy followed him around the console like a lost sheep(he couldn't tell why; he was too busy coaxing the TARDIS to go to the coordinates he'd set).
"Yes, sorry?" he said, glancing at his friend.
"What was that all about?" she asked of him.
"We're going to the Death Star, just like you asked," replied the Doctor. "Turns out they want us there, too." She looked surprised and disturbed all at once. He looked up briefly from what he was doing to fix her with an intensely serious gaze.
"It's dangerous on that ship. Either stay in the TARDIS, or stick close to me." Amy pouted, but they both knew she'd wander off and get lost either way. After about a second, she responded with another question.
"Are you part of the rebellion?" she asked suspiciously. He shook his head.
"I'm not, and I don't plan to join it, either. That would be one hell of an interference." A thudding sound rang in their ears, marking that the TARDIS had landed.
"You never plan to," quipped Amy as they stepped out together, mostly unaware of the soldiers who'd assembled outside to prevent their escape. Beside her, the Doctor raised his hands and smiled warily at them. Suddenly realising they were being threatened, his companion copied him, but made no attempt to pretend she was happy to meet them.
"Hello," he greeted everyone present.
Lord Vader watched several stormtroopers gather around the strange craft from a window somewhere above the hangar. Two people, a man and a woman, stepped out. Both were dressed like nothing he'd seen before (and he'd been all over the galaxy); and the man, though his amiable treatment of the Imperial soldiers proved him clearly insane, made such a powerful disturbance in the Force that the Sith lord doubted he was as harmless as he seemed. Indeed, the tiny, box-shaped thing the pair piloted had an aura of her own. This he found at once puzzling and frustrating, the latter of which he exercised on a passing officer.
Suddenly resolute, Vader took off walking through the corridor. He must find out about these strangers--who were they? What was that odd ship? Were they rebels? Why had the magnetic field not pulled them toward the Death Star at such a short distance? To the purpose of answering these, he gave orders to the troopers to take them to the detention cells.
The Doctor wasn't certain that handcuffs were necessary--or the veritable battalion of guards now flanking him and his companion. At times like this, unfortunately, the only certainty was that no one would be able to get into his precious TARDIS without the key--which was now buried in the depths of one of his dimensionally transcendental pockets. Just watch them try to find it there.
Almost gleefully, he noticed the insane number of corridors down which they were being made to walk and made a note of every turn for when an escape was made. For some reason, every landing he made ended up with him and his friends running through them. This thought brought his mind back to Amy walking beside him, looking troubled and slightly scared both of what she didn't know might happen to them, and of the fact that the man she'd dreamt of for the majority of her short life looked like he was enjoying himself far too much. In an attempt at reassurance, he winked slyly at her, then nodded to his pockets. After being locked in a laboratory with nothing but Sarah Jane and the components for cyanogen, never again would he make the mistake of leaving the sonic screwdriver in the TARDIS.
He didn't, however, expect that he and Amy would be placed--or rather, shoved--into separate cells plainly designed for one prisoner each. He'd been uncuffed, yes, but what purpose did that serve if he didn't know which cell was Amy's? She hadn't even wandered off this time, and already he sat on a bench in the corner, worrying himself sick about his companion and what might be done to her without his protection.