Flowers on Air 7/11
TITLE: Flowers on Air
CHARACTERS: Ten/Rose, OC (lots)
RATING: PG/Teen
SPOILERS: None past mid-series-2
SUMMARY: After being temporarily stranded in 1999, the Doctor is faced with a temptation he may not be able to turn from. Can Rose save him from himself?
DISCLAIMER: If I owned any of these characters, I'd have already released a collectors edition of Until the End of the World on region 1 DVD. BBC, RTD, Wim Wenders, full props.
A/N: This is a crossover fic between Doctor Who and the mid-90's film Until the End of the World. Knowing anything about the movie is not required (besides, I'm taking some liberties, and then the Doctor shows up and the timeline's all shot to hell anyway).
This Chapter: The sound of the Universe opening a door that should have remained shut passed unnoticed.
The blankets and pillows brought in to the lab marked a sharp contrast to the rest of the rather clinical furnishings therein. It was quiet, and not just because of the importance of sleep to this new phase of the experiment. The Aboriginal lab technicians had been highly offended by Dr. Farber’s proposal to record and watch dreams, dreaming being of central importance to their culture and spirituality.
“It would be like filming the face of God,” they said.
“That is precisely what we’re going to do!” barked Dr. Farber. “Watching the human soul singing to it’s own God.”
So they left him to it, filing out of the lab and not returning.
Edith Farber’s health was failing and her husband and son predictably dealt with their anxiety by throwing themselves in to this new work. The Doctor, for his part, was energized, and spent 20 solid hours altering the computer programs that would show Claire her dreams. He relished again being helpful to someone (someone not Rose, Rose observed frequently, then felt selfish and churlish after), and to perhaps ignore the fact that his first attempts at helping did not really have the desired effect, in the end.
Claire slept on a lab table, among wires and sensors. It would take some time for the computers to process the information and create the images, so for now the central screen was dark and the Farber men quietly busied themselves by monitoring the various signals pulsating through the cables.
Rose and the Doctor sat side by side on a set of stairs leading to a side room, knees lightly touching. Rose leaned slightly in to him and rested her head on his shoulder.
“I’ve always wanted to ask you, Doctor, do you dream?”
She’d seen him napping in various locations on the TARDIS-not frequently but every now and then. He liked to tease her about the human frailty that required so much sleep, but she had a hunch that he in fact slept more than he let on.
“Of course I dream. Great big brain like this, it’s got to do something when I sleep.” He coughed a little ahem. “Not that I sleep that much, mind.” He said sleep like a health nut says chips.
“And this doesn’t bother you, people being able to watch their dreams?”
“What, you think humans are the first species in all of time and space to be preoccupied with what they see in their dreams? The Chimerical Monks of Lazuline spend their entire lives in meditation, contemplating their own dreams. I imagine they’d be right chuffed to get their hands on this technology. The Gonangion of Ophelia are only able to reproduce while in a deep state of dreaming.” He sniffed and rubbed the back of his head absently. “I may give it a go myself, see how the computer gets on with a Time Lord brain.”
If Rose had known what to listen for, she perhaps could have heard the faint snick of the last tumbler of a great lock falling in to place at that moment. The Doctor would have known, had he been paying attention. But already the dreams were becoming more real than reality itself and the sound of the Universe opening a door that should have remained shut passed unnoticed.
It seemed that before she even knew it, Rose was sitting in the cool of the cavern, plastic sheeting billowing this way and that with the movement of the air deeper in the caves, feeling like a horrible voyeur. Who was she to invade the privacy of anyone in this way? She wanted to run out of that room and never return to it, but found herself stuck to her seat, unable to look away from the monitor showing the Doctor sleeping on the table in the next room, U-shaped receiver blinking away around his head, recording his every brain wave. The Doctor, sleeping. Everyone else in the cave went about their business, completely ignoring this extraordinary thing, this creature, in repose on a lab table like it was totally normal.
The bank of supercomputers on the far wall blinked red and green constellations of LEDs and created a white-noise hum that drowned out nearly every other sound in the place. The big screen at the front of the room blinked to life finally and the few non-Aboriginal technicians left all stopped what they were doing, clipboards in hands, and stared. Rose stared as well.
The first thing they saw was a vivid orange color, mixing and swirling with silver.
“Your friend dreams in color!” Dr. Farber whooped to Rose. “Fascinating.”
Rose finally found the strength and approached Dr. Farber where he sat in front of a bank of monitors. “Can we turn off that big screen now? It’s not right, watching.”
Dr. Farber scoffed and gave an unsettling smirk, “The Doctor never said we couldn’t watch. Don’t you want to see what he dreams about?” He paused and looked Rose dead in the eye, “Who he dreams about?”
Rose felt the color rise in her cheeks and broke his gaze.
“Oh yes, my dear. There’s questionable love affairs breaking out all over this centre, but you and your friend there, well….” He trailed off and looked up at the big screen with a leer on his face. “Sometimes May/December relationships can work.”
The orange and silver were resolving themselves into a pattern that resembled a sky, and clouds, with two suns approaching one another from opposite horizons in fast motion, like time lapse photography.
Dr. Farber grinned, “Quite an imagination!” He hit a button in front of him and the big screen went dark. “Are you happy now Miss Tyler?”
Rose turned wordlessly away and watched the Doctor through the glass separating the room where he slept from the rest of the lab. She felt sick. How desperately she wanted to know the Doctor’s dreams, this little animal inside of her clawing to get out and glue itself to the monitors, searching for clues to his past, what made him tick, how he felt about her. All of the times when she wanted to know what he was thinking, all of the secrets, the dances around subjects, the bobbing and weaving around the truth, the answer was right here at her fingertips and he didn’t even have to know.
On the other side of the glass, the Doctor, fully clothed and even still wearing his coat, stirred slightly. His eyelids fluttered in deep REM sleep. The Doctor at rest, helpless, unguarded, innocent, shedding delta waves and theta waves, revealing his most closely held secrets if anyone dared to look. None of these people scurrying about the caves had any idea what sort of horrors and wonders might await them on that screen. She exited the caves, emerging out in to the cleansing desert sun.
Gene Fitzpatrick, from where he’d been sitting on a rock, notebook in hand, spied her and began walking towards her, waving and smiling. Rose had no idea how he could remain so seemingly unmoved by the events at the centre. Claire had already become so enthralled by her dreaming that she had taken a portable minidisc player and sat all day under a tree, watching them over and over again, refusing all but the bare minimum of food and water. Edith Farber was tended by her Aboriginal blood sister, slowly dying of a broken heart, her grief and despair all but ignored by her husband and son. And the Doctor in the thick of it all, his desires to be useful and helpful turned upside-down as he failed to see that he had helped to give people what they wanted, but not what they needed.
Mr. Fitzpatrick, apparently, was working on a new novel.
“He’s doing it then?” He asked as he approached. “Recording his dreams?”
Rose nodded, at a loss for words.
“And you, Miss Tyler?” Gene closed his notebook and took his sunglasses off.
“I’ve already seen my dreams. And my nightmares. They’ve all come true already.”
(To Chapter 8)
CHARACTERS: Ten/Rose, OC (lots)
RATING: PG/Teen
SPOILERS: None past mid-series-2
SUMMARY: After being temporarily stranded in 1999, the Doctor is faced with a temptation he may not be able to turn from. Can Rose save him from himself?
DISCLAIMER: If I owned any of these characters, I'd have already released a collectors edition of Until the End of the World on region 1 DVD. BBC, RTD, Wim Wenders, full props.
A/N: This is a crossover fic between Doctor Who and the mid-90's film Until the End of the World. Knowing anything about the movie is not required (besides, I'm taking some liberties, and then the Doctor shows up and the timeline's all shot to hell anyway).
This Chapter: The sound of the Universe opening a door that should have remained shut passed unnoticed.
The blankets and pillows brought in to the lab marked a sharp contrast to the rest of the rather clinical furnishings therein. It was quiet, and not just because of the importance of sleep to this new phase of the experiment. The Aboriginal lab technicians had been highly offended by Dr. Farber’s proposal to record and watch dreams, dreaming being of central importance to their culture and spirituality.
“It would be like filming the face of God,” they said.
“That is precisely what we’re going to do!” barked Dr. Farber. “Watching the human soul singing to it’s own God.”
So they left him to it, filing out of the lab and not returning.
Edith Farber’s health was failing and her husband and son predictably dealt with their anxiety by throwing themselves in to this new work. The Doctor, for his part, was energized, and spent 20 solid hours altering the computer programs that would show Claire her dreams. He relished again being helpful to someone (someone not Rose, Rose observed frequently, then felt selfish and churlish after), and to perhaps ignore the fact that his first attempts at helping did not really have the desired effect, in the end.
Claire slept on a lab table, among wires and sensors. It would take some time for the computers to process the information and create the images, so for now the central screen was dark and the Farber men quietly busied themselves by monitoring the various signals pulsating through the cables.
Rose and the Doctor sat side by side on a set of stairs leading to a side room, knees lightly touching. Rose leaned slightly in to him and rested her head on his shoulder.
“I’ve always wanted to ask you, Doctor, do you dream?”
She’d seen him napping in various locations on the TARDIS-not frequently but every now and then. He liked to tease her about the human frailty that required so much sleep, but she had a hunch that he in fact slept more than he let on.
“Of course I dream. Great big brain like this, it’s got to do something when I sleep.” He coughed a little ahem. “Not that I sleep that much, mind.” He said sleep like a health nut says chips.
“And this doesn’t bother you, people being able to watch their dreams?”
“What, you think humans are the first species in all of time and space to be preoccupied with what they see in their dreams? The Chimerical Monks of Lazuline spend their entire lives in meditation, contemplating their own dreams. I imagine they’d be right chuffed to get their hands on this technology. The Gonangion of Ophelia are only able to reproduce while in a deep state of dreaming.” He sniffed and rubbed the back of his head absently. “I may give it a go myself, see how the computer gets on with a Time Lord brain.”
If Rose had known what to listen for, she perhaps could have heard the faint snick of the last tumbler of a great lock falling in to place at that moment. The Doctor would have known, had he been paying attention. But already the dreams were becoming more real than reality itself and the sound of the Universe opening a door that should have remained shut passed unnoticed.
It seemed that before she even knew it, Rose was sitting in the cool of the cavern, plastic sheeting billowing this way and that with the movement of the air deeper in the caves, feeling like a horrible voyeur. Who was she to invade the privacy of anyone in this way? She wanted to run out of that room and never return to it, but found herself stuck to her seat, unable to look away from the monitor showing the Doctor sleeping on the table in the next room, U-shaped receiver blinking away around his head, recording his every brain wave. The Doctor, sleeping. Everyone else in the cave went about their business, completely ignoring this extraordinary thing, this creature, in repose on a lab table like it was totally normal.
The bank of supercomputers on the far wall blinked red and green constellations of LEDs and created a white-noise hum that drowned out nearly every other sound in the place. The big screen at the front of the room blinked to life finally and the few non-Aboriginal technicians left all stopped what they were doing, clipboards in hands, and stared. Rose stared as well.
The first thing they saw was a vivid orange color, mixing and swirling with silver.
“Your friend dreams in color!” Dr. Farber whooped to Rose. “Fascinating.”
Rose finally found the strength and approached Dr. Farber where he sat in front of a bank of monitors. “Can we turn off that big screen now? It’s not right, watching.”
Dr. Farber scoffed and gave an unsettling smirk, “The Doctor never said we couldn’t watch. Don’t you want to see what he dreams about?” He paused and looked Rose dead in the eye, “Who he dreams about?”
Rose felt the color rise in her cheeks and broke his gaze.
“Oh yes, my dear. There’s questionable love affairs breaking out all over this centre, but you and your friend there, well….” He trailed off and looked up at the big screen with a leer on his face. “Sometimes May/December relationships can work.”
The orange and silver were resolving themselves into a pattern that resembled a sky, and clouds, with two suns approaching one another from opposite horizons in fast motion, like time lapse photography.
Dr. Farber grinned, “Quite an imagination!” He hit a button in front of him and the big screen went dark. “Are you happy now Miss Tyler?”
Rose turned wordlessly away and watched the Doctor through the glass separating the room where he slept from the rest of the lab. She felt sick. How desperately she wanted to know the Doctor’s dreams, this little animal inside of her clawing to get out and glue itself to the monitors, searching for clues to his past, what made him tick, how he felt about her. All of the times when she wanted to know what he was thinking, all of the secrets, the dances around subjects, the bobbing and weaving around the truth, the answer was right here at her fingertips and he didn’t even have to know.
On the other side of the glass, the Doctor, fully clothed and even still wearing his coat, stirred slightly. His eyelids fluttered in deep REM sleep. The Doctor at rest, helpless, unguarded, innocent, shedding delta waves and theta waves, revealing his most closely held secrets if anyone dared to look. None of these people scurrying about the caves had any idea what sort of horrors and wonders might await them on that screen. She exited the caves, emerging out in to the cleansing desert sun.
Gene Fitzpatrick, from where he’d been sitting on a rock, notebook in hand, spied her and began walking towards her, waving and smiling. Rose had no idea how he could remain so seemingly unmoved by the events at the centre. Claire had already become so enthralled by her dreaming that she had taken a portable minidisc player and sat all day under a tree, watching them over and over again, refusing all but the bare minimum of food and water. Edith Farber was tended by her Aboriginal blood sister, slowly dying of a broken heart, her grief and despair all but ignored by her husband and son. And the Doctor in the thick of it all, his desires to be useful and helpful turned upside-down as he failed to see that he had helped to give people what they wanted, but not what they needed.
Mr. Fitzpatrick, apparently, was working on a new novel.
“He’s doing it then?” He asked as he approached. “Recording his dreams?”
Rose nodded, at a loss for words.
“And you, Miss Tyler?” Gene closed his notebook and took his sunglasses off.
“I’ve already seen my dreams. And my nightmares. They’ve all come true already.”
(To Chapter 8)