Doctor Who Fic - Part 1 of 6
Well, I've done it. I've committed Doctor Who fan fiction. I decided it was either continue to obsess over the ending of the fourth season, or write it out of my system. So here it is. Those who know me by reputation, no worries, this is largely already finished and chapters will follow in short order.
Title: The Six Stages of a Human Time Lord Biological Metacrisis (Or: How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Frosting)
Author: Gowdie
Spoilers: Journey’s End, obviously.
Rating: Teen, but Stage Four may be Adult, if the Doctor lets me.
Summary: You may have heard this one before. The Doctor learns to adapt. This time with the help of a few fights, a baby TARDIS, love and, eventually, sex.
Stage One: Babbling For Your Life
The Doctor didn’t remember much of his trip away from Darlig Ulv Stranden. There was walking, and a car of some sort, and finally a zeppelin. He knew that much, but, to be perfectly honest, all the other details passed him by in a bit of fog. Well, he would say a fog, but really it had more to do with him blocking everything out in a fit of blind panic.
He felt something building up inside him. Something powerful and frightening. It had started in the pit of his stomach and he knew, if he let it, if he gave it the slightest chance, it would grow, push its way out, through his veins and his skin. And that would be bad. Hideously, egregiously bad.
He was also completely blinded by Rose. Or rather the look on her face as she had watched the TARDIS disappear. It was all he could see. She’d looked so lost, sad, maybe even a little defeated. He hated that, absolutely despised the idea that she had become exhausted from arguing with him, over her place in his life. She needed answers. She deserved answers. And reassurance, but he couldn’t think straight right now. The only response that seemed reasonable was to take her shoulders, shake her a bit and beg, “It’s still me. I promise you, it’s still me.” And he knew, thank goodness he knew, that wasn’t right. He didn’t want to add sheer terror to her expression.
So the Doctor had gone with his only other option, his greatest defense: he’d babbled the entire way. About anything, everything, flitting from topic to topic as quickly as possible.
The nature of parallel worlds. The physics behind how they were created and how they had been closed when his people were gone. How Time Lords used to watch over them all and easily slip between, which meant, of course, that while there were multiple worlds, with multiple Roses and multiple Jackies, there was only one Doctor. Well… now… two... Moving on!
A long lecture on the precise mechanics of flight by zeppelin, how it differentiated from fight by airplanes, helicopters, and barrage balloons. He’d allowed himself a slight snort in the back of his throat at that. Rose didn’t seem amused, so he’d continued on to how flight by any of these devices all paled in comparison to flight by TARDIS.
He chronologically detailed various improvements he’d made to the TARDIS over the last several centuries.
TARDIS.
No more TARDIS.
Damn.
He veered off to regale them with a tale of how he’d come to be in possession of his handy spare hand. He really loved his hand - nonfighting though it may be. At the mention of Jack, Rose perked up in her seat and actually tried to interrupt him with, “But, Doctor…?” and he zoomed right over her.
It was very important that they not go anywhere near anything potentially emotional. Of that he was certain. It was also most important that he not stop talking, at any cost. If he paused, even for a moment, that thing inside him would grow and escape, impossible to contain any longer.
All through his monologue, Rose held his hand, and he grasped it desperately. She was a lifeline, keeping him rooted. And if he was slightly aware of Jackie, sitting across him, and starring in wide-eyed concern, well, she was just being her usual over-dramatic self. He could do this. He would be fine. He was always fine.
The Doctor rubbed his hands through his hair. Golly, when had he started sweating quite so much? It was indecent really. His hair and forehead were soaked. He started stumbling over his words, not remembering where he was in his diatribe.
Rose was clutching his shoulder now. “Doctor, are you alright?” The alarm in her voice certainly wasn’t helping.
It was Jackie who got to her knees, holding some sort of bag in front of his face. Why on earth was she doing that?
He retched. Violently emptying stomach contents into the bag. How could he even have stomach contents? He’d just been born, hadn’t he? Oh. Judging by the taste, it was a combination of bile and other gastric juices. It was awful. Disgustingly awful.
Rose continued to fret beside him. “What’s wrong with him?”
“It’s alright, just a bit of panic attack, I think,” Jackie whispered as she stroked his back.
“How do you…”
“I used to have them myself, after Pete... Just hush, sweetheart, give him a moment, he’ll be fine.” The soothing words and kinds hands continued as he gasped and heaved a few more times. Finally, confident he was finished, he raised his hand, and she withdrew the bag. “There now. Come on, let’s get you up and over to the loo. Can you walk?”
Jackie Tyler. Somewhere in his mind he knew he should be horrified by her mothering him, but right now he was too grateful. She carefully maneuvered him to the door of the bathroom and ushered him inside. “Now, I want you to wash your face. I’ll get you some water to drink.” He started to slide the door closed. “And if you’re longer than five minutes, I’m coming in there after you.”
He believed her. Without any doubt at all, Jackie could tear that door from its metal hinges. Terrifying.
Alone, in the closed space, the Doctor looked in the mirror and concentrated on breathing. “I’m still me,” he told the man staring back, just for good measure. The water felt good as he splashed it on his face and neck. Cool.
For a moment he considered staying, sitting on the small toilet, and just letting himself be, but then the thoughts started to run again, and he realized, if he started thinking now, he might never stop. The beast inside wasn’t finished with him, and he couldn’t let it out. Not yet. Not in a giant balloon hovering in the sky.
As the Doctor made his way back to his seat, he could hear Jackie chatting easily, trying to distract her daughter by acting as though everything were perfectly normal. “This is what you’re willing to put up with? I don’t know how you get a word in edgewise.”
Rose chuckled and blew her nose. She’d been crying. He wondered if she’d been doing that the whole time and he hadn’t noticed. Possibly. Probably. Very likely, in fact.
Jackie continued, “The old him never went on quite so much, did he?”
The Doctor knew instinctively that Jackie meant the version of him she’d first met, gruff, sarcastic and in leather, but he was relieved when Rose looked up, met his eyes and confirmed, “No. My new new Doctor woke up talking that Christmas, and never stopped.”
He smiled, just a little and returned to his seat. Rose’s hand reclaimed his immediately, threading her fingers through his, with a long sniff. They were certainly a matching pair: one vomiting, one weeping. At least they weren’t doing both at the same time. That would be a sight.
Jackie handed him a bottle. “Sip that. I’ve ordered some tea. And we should get some food in you.”
Tea he could definitely use. Food, he wasn’t so sure. He tried to wave her off. “Jackie, I’m fine.”
“You most certainly are not.” She gave him a look which told him quite clearly not to argue. “Now, if you’re going to live in my home, we’re going to have to set up some ground rules.”
The Doctor choked on his water in alarm, sputtering, “I’m going to live in your home?”
“What else are we going to do with you?” There wasn’t any fault in that logic, so he stayed silent. Apparently finding something distressing in his question, she quickly switched to her familiar protective persona and added, “My daughter went through hell for the last four years to get back to you. Don’t you dare even think about swanning off.”
“Mum!”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured her. He hoped his sincerity came through somehow. He would never leave Rose’s side again, not if he could help it.
Jackie watched his eyes for a moment, and seemed to find something that appeased any lingering doubt. “Right.” She paused, before quietly adding, “And I should say, thank you.”
“For what?”
“What you did back there.” She frowned, looking horribly sympathetic. “Must have been hard.”
“I didn’t do anything.” Really, he hadn’t. He’d stood on the sand and watched as this new world, a world with Rose, was handed to him.
She leaned forward and touched his knee. This was a final peace offering. An absolute acceptance. “I don’t really understand it, there being two of you, but if you are the same man, then you did. You’ve always kept your promise. You’ve always done the right thing by my daughter. Thank you.”
He shifted uncomfortably. The Doctor couldn’t start defining the difference between himself and his other … self. He wouldn’t. “Right. Well, since you’ve mentioned it: the exact science behind and the implications of a human Time Lord metacrises…” And he was off again. This time outlining precisely what he was, and how it all meant, specifically, that he was him. Not a clone. Not a double. Not a wounded creature to be nurtured back to health and socialized. Him.
This particular lecture lasted until it was time to land.
Next Chapter - Stage Two: The Oncoming Tantrum
Title: The Six Stages of a Human Time Lord Biological Metacrisis (Or: How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Frosting)
Author: Gowdie
Spoilers: Journey’s End, obviously.
Rating: Teen, but Stage Four may be Adult, if the Doctor lets me.
Summary: You may have heard this one before. The Doctor learns to adapt. This time with the help of a few fights, a baby TARDIS, love and, eventually, sex.
Stage One: Babbling For Your Life
The Doctor didn’t remember much of his trip away from Darlig Ulv Stranden. There was walking, and a car of some sort, and finally a zeppelin. He knew that much, but, to be perfectly honest, all the other details passed him by in a bit of fog. Well, he would say a fog, but really it had more to do with him blocking everything out in a fit of blind panic.
He felt something building up inside him. Something powerful and frightening. It had started in the pit of his stomach and he knew, if he let it, if he gave it the slightest chance, it would grow, push its way out, through his veins and his skin. And that would be bad. Hideously, egregiously bad.
He was also completely blinded by Rose. Or rather the look on her face as she had watched the TARDIS disappear. It was all he could see. She’d looked so lost, sad, maybe even a little defeated. He hated that, absolutely despised the idea that she had become exhausted from arguing with him, over her place in his life. She needed answers. She deserved answers. And reassurance, but he couldn’t think straight right now. The only response that seemed reasonable was to take her shoulders, shake her a bit and beg, “It’s still me. I promise you, it’s still me.” And he knew, thank goodness he knew, that wasn’t right. He didn’t want to add sheer terror to her expression.
So the Doctor had gone with his only other option, his greatest defense: he’d babbled the entire way. About anything, everything, flitting from topic to topic as quickly as possible.
The nature of parallel worlds. The physics behind how they were created and how they had been closed when his people were gone. How Time Lords used to watch over them all and easily slip between, which meant, of course, that while there were multiple worlds, with multiple Roses and multiple Jackies, there was only one Doctor. Well… now… two... Moving on!
A long lecture on the precise mechanics of flight by zeppelin, how it differentiated from fight by airplanes, helicopters, and barrage balloons. He’d allowed himself a slight snort in the back of his throat at that. Rose didn’t seem amused, so he’d continued on to how flight by any of these devices all paled in comparison to flight by TARDIS.
He chronologically detailed various improvements he’d made to the TARDIS over the last several centuries.
TARDIS.
No more TARDIS.
Damn.
He veered off to regale them with a tale of how he’d come to be in possession of his handy spare hand. He really loved his hand - nonfighting though it may be. At the mention of Jack, Rose perked up in her seat and actually tried to interrupt him with, “But, Doctor…?” and he zoomed right over her.
It was very important that they not go anywhere near anything potentially emotional. Of that he was certain. It was also most important that he not stop talking, at any cost. If he paused, even for a moment, that thing inside him would grow and escape, impossible to contain any longer.
All through his monologue, Rose held his hand, and he grasped it desperately. She was a lifeline, keeping him rooted. And if he was slightly aware of Jackie, sitting across him, and starring in wide-eyed concern, well, she was just being her usual over-dramatic self. He could do this. He would be fine. He was always fine.
The Doctor rubbed his hands through his hair. Golly, when had he started sweating quite so much? It was indecent really. His hair and forehead were soaked. He started stumbling over his words, not remembering where he was in his diatribe.
Rose was clutching his shoulder now. “Doctor, are you alright?” The alarm in her voice certainly wasn’t helping.
It was Jackie who got to her knees, holding some sort of bag in front of his face. Why on earth was she doing that?
He retched. Violently emptying stomach contents into the bag. How could he even have stomach contents? He’d just been born, hadn’t he? Oh. Judging by the taste, it was a combination of bile and other gastric juices. It was awful. Disgustingly awful.
Rose continued to fret beside him. “What’s wrong with him?”
“It’s alright, just a bit of panic attack, I think,” Jackie whispered as she stroked his back.
“How do you…”
“I used to have them myself, after Pete... Just hush, sweetheart, give him a moment, he’ll be fine.” The soothing words and kinds hands continued as he gasped and heaved a few more times. Finally, confident he was finished, he raised his hand, and she withdrew the bag. “There now. Come on, let’s get you up and over to the loo. Can you walk?”
Jackie Tyler. Somewhere in his mind he knew he should be horrified by her mothering him, but right now he was too grateful. She carefully maneuvered him to the door of the bathroom and ushered him inside. “Now, I want you to wash your face. I’ll get you some water to drink.” He started to slide the door closed. “And if you’re longer than five minutes, I’m coming in there after you.”
He believed her. Without any doubt at all, Jackie could tear that door from its metal hinges. Terrifying.
Alone, in the closed space, the Doctor looked in the mirror and concentrated on breathing. “I’m still me,” he told the man staring back, just for good measure. The water felt good as he splashed it on his face and neck. Cool.
For a moment he considered staying, sitting on the small toilet, and just letting himself be, but then the thoughts started to run again, and he realized, if he started thinking now, he might never stop. The beast inside wasn’t finished with him, and he couldn’t let it out. Not yet. Not in a giant balloon hovering in the sky.
As the Doctor made his way back to his seat, he could hear Jackie chatting easily, trying to distract her daughter by acting as though everything were perfectly normal. “This is what you’re willing to put up with? I don’t know how you get a word in edgewise.”
Rose chuckled and blew her nose. She’d been crying. He wondered if she’d been doing that the whole time and he hadn’t noticed. Possibly. Probably. Very likely, in fact.
Jackie continued, “The old him never went on quite so much, did he?”
The Doctor knew instinctively that Jackie meant the version of him she’d first met, gruff, sarcastic and in leather, but he was relieved when Rose looked up, met his eyes and confirmed, “No. My new new Doctor woke up talking that Christmas, and never stopped.”
He smiled, just a little and returned to his seat. Rose’s hand reclaimed his immediately, threading her fingers through his, with a long sniff. They were certainly a matching pair: one vomiting, one weeping. At least they weren’t doing both at the same time. That would be a sight.
Jackie handed him a bottle. “Sip that. I’ve ordered some tea. And we should get some food in you.”
Tea he could definitely use. Food, he wasn’t so sure. He tried to wave her off. “Jackie, I’m fine.”
“You most certainly are not.” She gave him a look which told him quite clearly not to argue. “Now, if you’re going to live in my home, we’re going to have to set up some ground rules.”
The Doctor choked on his water in alarm, sputtering, “I’m going to live in your home?”
“What else are we going to do with you?” There wasn’t any fault in that logic, so he stayed silent. Apparently finding something distressing in his question, she quickly switched to her familiar protective persona and added, “My daughter went through hell for the last four years to get back to you. Don’t you dare even think about swanning off.”
“Mum!”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured her. He hoped his sincerity came through somehow. He would never leave Rose’s side again, not if he could help it.
Jackie watched his eyes for a moment, and seemed to find something that appeased any lingering doubt. “Right.” She paused, before quietly adding, “And I should say, thank you.”
“For what?”
“What you did back there.” She frowned, looking horribly sympathetic. “Must have been hard.”
“I didn’t do anything.” Really, he hadn’t. He’d stood on the sand and watched as this new world, a world with Rose, was handed to him.
She leaned forward and touched his knee. This was a final peace offering. An absolute acceptance. “I don’t really understand it, there being two of you, but if you are the same man, then you did. You’ve always kept your promise. You’ve always done the right thing by my daughter. Thank you.”
He shifted uncomfortably. The Doctor couldn’t start defining the difference between himself and his other … self. He wouldn’t. “Right. Well, since you’ve mentioned it: the exact science behind and the implications of a human Time Lord metacrises…” And he was off again. This time outlining precisely what he was, and how it all meant, specifically, that he was him. Not a clone. Not a double. Not a wounded creature to be nurtured back to health and socialized. Him.
This particular lecture lasted until it was time to land.
Next Chapter - Stage Two: The Oncoming Tantrum