Police Boxes and Improbability Drives - Crossover (Chapter 1)
Title: Police Boxes and Improbability Drives (Chapter 1)
Fandoms: Doctor Who; Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy
Characters/pairings: In this chapter, Nine, Trillian, Zaphod, and Marvin.
Warnings: Crack and probably bad language later.
Disclaimers: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. HHGTTG belongs (/ed?) to Douglas Adams.
Summary: Nine ends up crash-landing in the cabin of the Heart of Gold.
A/N: I entirely blame fandomsecretsfor this. I should not hang around there while I'm tired and easily manipulated. A pox on whoever posted that secret asking for this crossover. I would have had an early night tonight if it weren't for you! =/
Dedicated to
insaneslasher and masterfedora, who I did semi-promise this fic to.
Beta'd by yarukage
-----
It was three-fifteen precisely, according to the clock on the Heart of Gold's control panel (which was admittedly slightly unreliable, given the circumstances), on a day which was either a Monday or a Tuesday, when the blue police box appeared from thin air and landed on Zaphod.
"Fantastic!” The door opened, and a head appeared. It was balanced on a pair of shoulders, oddly enough, which was balanced on a body, which belonged to a rather dusty-looking man in a leather jacket. "Absolutely brilliant!”
“Yeah, I'm sure it's hoopy as anything,” Zaphod's right head felt inclined to put in, “but right now, I'd kinda like it if you'd get off my body.”
“Your little spaceship's a lot heavier than it looks,” his left head added, nodding at the police box.
Trillian, who was standing by the controls, frowned. “I thought this cabin was meant to be improbability-proof?” she asked thin air.
“So did I, babe,” Zaphod told her, as the skinny man leapt out of the police box. “Seems not.”
“Improbability-proof?” the man asked excitedly, his eyes lighting up. “You mean, this ship...”
“Has an Improbility Drive, yes,” Trillian said, without looking around.
“Fantastic!” The newcomer bounded over to her, grabbing her hand and pumping it. “That's fantastic! An IID? Already? I thought they weren't coming in for another century at least! Hi, I'm the Doctor, that's my TARDIS, and you are?”
Trillian quirked an eyebrow. “Are you from Lancashire?”
“England? Nah.” The Doctor shrugged, still shaking her hand. “I'm from way away. A looong way away. Sorry about the TARDIS, I sort of lost control a bit.” He grinned, looking back at the police box. “Hey, that's not bad parking. For me.”
Zaphod tugged the door open, one head peering around the edge. “Hoopy! Hey, Marvin, get this ship thing off me. I want to take a look.”
The robot in the corner raised its head slowly, as though it weighed a great deal. “It doesn't look that interesting...” it said, in a voice a couple of shades below suicidal.
“Nobody asked you,” Zaphod snapped, worming a foot or so further out into the open. “Just get it off me.”
“Doesn't it all seem kind of... pointless?” Marvin queried in a tone of deep depression.
“Oh, for the love of God...” Zaphod rolled his eyes - all four of them - and folded his arms. “I'm not staying under here forever.”
“I don't see why not,” Marvin replied. “It can't be worse than staying out here forever.”
“Look here, you rust-ridden piece of scrap metal...” Zaphod began angrily, and was two steps towards the robot before he realised that he wasn't under the TARDIS any more.
“You're not under the TARDIS any more,” Marvin observed, monotonously. “I suppose you didn't need my help after all. Well, as I clearly don't have a use here, I shall be in the corner, contemplating the essential pointlessness of existence.”
With that, he went and contemplated the essential pointlessness of existence on nine thousand different levels, and moved onto contemplating the essential pointlessness of his specific existence one thousandth of a second later.
Zaphod ignored him. He was already inside the TARDIS, prodding aimlessly at buttons and tugging levers. The Doctor and Trillian started towards the TARDIS doors within a split second of each other.
“Zaphod!”
“I really don't think you should...”
“Hey! This ship is hoopy!” Zaphod grinned, teeth flashing perfectly white, and yanked at a large, inviting lever.
There was a nasty, mechanical crunch somewhere deep in the workings of the machine. The Doctor grimaced, tugging the TARDIS door open and pulling Zaphod forcably away from the controls. As Trillian grabbed Zaphod's arm, steering him back out into the cabin, the Doctor dived under the control panel, fiddling with wires and thick cables. Somewhere along the line, the whirring, undulating column in the centre of the TARDIS had ground to a halt, and several dangerous-looking lights were flashing on what Trillian could only assume was the dashboard.
“Aw, you've gone and broken the rakidon generator!” the Doctor called from under the panels, emerging a moment later with a forlorn-looking piece of metal in his hand. Wires trailed from either end, blue sparks leaping from the twisted copper to the Doctor's arm and hanging there like dust. He didn't seem to notice. “She won't fly without that. Got a spare?”
Trillian gave the piece of metal a cursory glance. “Not that I know of. Can you get another one?”
The Doctor shrugged, shaking the clinging sparks off his arm and tucking the generator into his pocket. “Dunno. Where are we?”
“Just passing through ZZ-9-plural Z-alpha,” she replied, after a quick glance at the dials.
“Okay, when are we?”
“Tricky question. Earth years?”
“Sure.”
“Good. I'm not. Nineteen-seventy-something?”
“Yeah, sounds about right.” The Doctor nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets, and leant back against the doorway of the TARDIS. “Well, I got the right time for once. Not the right place, though. I was aiming for Earth. Ah, well. Win some, you lose some, right?”
Trillian shrugged and turned her attention back to the control panels, one hand absently holding onto Zaphod's collar as he attempted to bound back past the Doctor. “Sorry, what did you say your ship was called?”
“The TARDIS,” the Doctor repeated patiently. “Time And Relative Dimension In Space. It's...”
“A police box,” she finished for him. “Any idea where you can get one of those generators?”
“Not a clue,” he said brightly. “And it's not a police box. The IPD went out, what, four, five hundred years ago, and...”
“IPD?” Zaphod asked, blinking.
Trillian sighed, tapping one finger impatiently on a display screen. “Look, fascinating as this conversation is...”
“Ooh, are those hitchhikers?” the Doctor interrupted, peering over her shoulder.
Zaphod pouted. “Trillian, we don't have time to pick up hitchhikers. We're desperados, on the run from the law, remember?”
“Oh,” the Doctor said curiously, looking around at the sparklingly new interior of the Heart of Gold, “why?”
“We stole the ship,” Trillian replied dully, without looking around.
“Isn't that hoopy?” Zaphod's faces broke into simultaneous grins of delight. “But it's shush-shush. Trillian.”
Trillian shrugged. “Hey, it's not like it's obvious or anything,” she replied, her voice drippingwith sarcasm. “This ship isn't at all distinctive, after all.” Leaning over the panel, she pressed a button, pulling the mic towards her.
Looking up at the display screen, the Doctor frowned. “I swear I've seen one of those guys before.”
Shrugging again, Trillian tapped the base of the mike. “Two to the power of one thousand one hundred and one against,” she said mildly, in a voice strikingly remeniscent of an air hostess, “and falling.”
Fandoms: Doctor Who; Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy
Characters/pairings: In this chapter, Nine, Trillian, Zaphod, and Marvin.
Warnings: Crack and probably bad language later.
Disclaimers: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. HHGTTG belongs (/ed?) to Douglas Adams.
Summary: Nine ends up crash-landing in the cabin of the Heart of Gold.
A/N: I entirely blame fandomsecretsfor this. I should not hang around there while I'm tired and easily manipulated. A pox on whoever posted that secret asking for this crossover. I would have had an early night tonight if it weren't for you! =/
Dedicated to
insaneslasher and masterfedora, who I did semi-promise this fic to.
Beta'd by yarukage
-----
It was three-fifteen precisely, according to the clock on the Heart of Gold's control panel (which was admittedly slightly unreliable, given the circumstances), on a day which was either a Monday or a Tuesday, when the blue police box appeared from thin air and landed on Zaphod.
"Fantastic!” The door opened, and a head appeared. It was balanced on a pair of shoulders, oddly enough, which was balanced on a body, which belonged to a rather dusty-looking man in a leather jacket. "Absolutely brilliant!”
“Yeah, I'm sure it's hoopy as anything,” Zaphod's right head felt inclined to put in, “but right now, I'd kinda like it if you'd get off my body.”
“Your little spaceship's a lot heavier than it looks,” his left head added, nodding at the police box.
Trillian, who was standing by the controls, frowned. “I thought this cabin was meant to be improbability-proof?” she asked thin air.
“So did I, babe,” Zaphod told her, as the skinny man leapt out of the police box. “Seems not.”
“Improbability-proof?” the man asked excitedly, his eyes lighting up. “You mean, this ship...”
“Has an Improbility Drive, yes,” Trillian said, without looking around.
“Fantastic!” The newcomer bounded over to her, grabbing her hand and pumping it. “That's fantastic! An IID? Already? I thought they weren't coming in for another century at least! Hi, I'm the Doctor, that's my TARDIS, and you are?”
Trillian quirked an eyebrow. “Are you from Lancashire?”
“England? Nah.” The Doctor shrugged, still shaking her hand. “I'm from way away. A looong way away. Sorry about the TARDIS, I sort of lost control a bit.” He grinned, looking back at the police box. “Hey, that's not bad parking. For me.”
Zaphod tugged the door open, one head peering around the edge. “Hoopy! Hey, Marvin, get this ship thing off me. I want to take a look.”
The robot in the corner raised its head slowly, as though it weighed a great deal. “It doesn't look that interesting...” it said, in a voice a couple of shades below suicidal.
“Nobody asked you,” Zaphod snapped, worming a foot or so further out into the open. “Just get it off me.”
“Doesn't it all seem kind of... pointless?” Marvin queried in a tone of deep depression.
“Oh, for the love of God...” Zaphod rolled his eyes - all four of them - and folded his arms. “I'm not staying under here forever.”
“I don't see why not,” Marvin replied. “It can't be worse than staying out here forever.”
“Look here, you rust-ridden piece of scrap metal...” Zaphod began angrily, and was two steps towards the robot before he realised that he wasn't under the TARDIS any more.
“You're not under the TARDIS any more,” Marvin observed, monotonously. “I suppose you didn't need my help after all. Well, as I clearly don't have a use here, I shall be in the corner, contemplating the essential pointlessness of existence.”
With that, he went and contemplated the essential pointlessness of existence on nine thousand different levels, and moved onto contemplating the essential pointlessness of his specific existence one thousandth of a second later.
Zaphod ignored him. He was already inside the TARDIS, prodding aimlessly at buttons and tugging levers. The Doctor and Trillian started towards the TARDIS doors within a split second of each other.
“Zaphod!”
“I really don't think you should...”
“Hey! This ship is hoopy!” Zaphod grinned, teeth flashing perfectly white, and yanked at a large, inviting lever.
There was a nasty, mechanical crunch somewhere deep in the workings of the machine. The Doctor grimaced, tugging the TARDIS door open and pulling Zaphod forcably away from the controls. As Trillian grabbed Zaphod's arm, steering him back out into the cabin, the Doctor dived under the control panel, fiddling with wires and thick cables. Somewhere along the line, the whirring, undulating column in the centre of the TARDIS had ground to a halt, and several dangerous-looking lights were flashing on what Trillian could only assume was the dashboard.
“Aw, you've gone and broken the rakidon generator!” the Doctor called from under the panels, emerging a moment later with a forlorn-looking piece of metal in his hand. Wires trailed from either end, blue sparks leaping from the twisted copper to the Doctor's arm and hanging there like dust. He didn't seem to notice. “She won't fly without that. Got a spare?”
Trillian gave the piece of metal a cursory glance. “Not that I know of. Can you get another one?”
The Doctor shrugged, shaking the clinging sparks off his arm and tucking the generator into his pocket. “Dunno. Where are we?”
“Just passing through ZZ-9-plural Z-alpha,” she replied, after a quick glance at the dials.
“Okay, when are we?”
“Tricky question. Earth years?”
“Sure.”
“Good. I'm not. Nineteen-seventy-something?”
“Yeah, sounds about right.” The Doctor nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets, and leant back against the doorway of the TARDIS. “Well, I got the right time for once. Not the right place, though. I was aiming for Earth. Ah, well. Win some, you lose some, right?”
Trillian shrugged and turned her attention back to the control panels, one hand absently holding onto Zaphod's collar as he attempted to bound back past the Doctor. “Sorry, what did you say your ship was called?”
“The TARDIS,” the Doctor repeated patiently. “Time And Relative Dimension In Space. It's...”
“A police box,” she finished for him. “Any idea where you can get one of those generators?”
“Not a clue,” he said brightly. “And it's not a police box. The IPD went out, what, four, five hundred years ago, and...”
“IPD?” Zaphod asked, blinking.
Trillian sighed, tapping one finger impatiently on a display screen. “Look, fascinating as this conversation is...”
“Ooh, are those hitchhikers?” the Doctor interrupted, peering over her shoulder.
Zaphod pouted. “Trillian, we don't have time to pick up hitchhikers. We're desperados, on the run from the law, remember?”
“Oh,” the Doctor said curiously, looking around at the sparklingly new interior of the Heart of Gold, “why?”
“We stole the ship,” Trillian replied dully, without looking around.
“Isn't that hoopy?” Zaphod's faces broke into simultaneous grins of delight. “But it's shush-shush. Trillian.”
Trillian shrugged. “Hey, it's not like it's obvious or anything,” she replied, her voice drippingwith sarcasm. “This ship isn't at all distinctive, after all.” Leaning over the panel, she pressed a button, pulling the mic towards her.
Looking up at the display screen, the Doctor frowned. “I swear I've seen one of those guys before.”
Shrugging again, Trillian tapped the base of the mike. “Two to the power of one thousand one hundred and one against,” she said mildly, in a voice strikingly remeniscent of an air hostess, “and falling.”