castrovalva9

Doctor Who fic: Ginger Beer 4/7

2009-07-12T05:35:25Z

Title: Ginger Beer 4/7
Author: castrovalva9
Rating: G
Pairing: Five/Nyssa
Summary: The Doctor overindulges in ginger beer and speaks unwisely to Nyssa.
Note: Set after Time-Flight.

Previous parts

Following the debacle on Neptimius Prime, the Doctor did not see Nyssa for a number of hours. It didn't take a genius to reach the assumption that she was avoiding him.

After what he estimated was a reasonable amount of time to wait, he decided to again attempt to make up with her. A sincere overture should go a long way towards mending fences, and sincerity was one of his current persona's hallmarks. He tapped on Nyssa's door. There was no answer, so he nudged the door ajar and peered inside the room.

Nyssa wasn't there. Even he knew that hunting her down would be a very stupid move. Disappointed, the Doctor withdrew with the intention of making up later. He would just have to wait for Nyssa to come to him.

In the meantime, he thought about his next actions. He temporarily dropped the idea of finding another companion, seeing that his first two attempts had been little short of disastrous, yet his other ideas seemed equally prone to failure.

Eventually night fell outside the TARDIS. He had to come up with something to do, and no matter how he struggled to prolong the experience, procuring a cup of tea consumed mere minutes. He set the steaming mug on the console and grabbed a giant spanner. Fiddling with the TARDIS would make him feel busy, though he was never sure if any of his attempts would result in the slightest success.

At that moment, Nyssa chose to enter the room. She also chose to speak. "Good evening, Doctor," she said breezily, as if their disagreement had never taken place.

He dropped the spanner on his foot, winced, and replied, "Good evening, Nyssa," very cautiously.

"I'd like to ask you a few questions," Nyssa continued.

She hadn't spoken in the tone he had grown to associate with the dreaded wedding plans, so the Doctor, optimistic that she had come up with a fresh and safe vein of conversation to tap, readily consented. "All right. Go ahead."

"I happened to be in the library just now," Nyssa began.

"Oh, yes?" the Doctor said faintly, the sick realisation that Nyssa had been exploring dangerous areas oblitering his optimistic mood.

"Yes, the library," she confirmed. "And it's interesting, really, that I came upon a rather disturbing book behind a shelf way in the back of the room, almost as if it had been hidden."

"The Rassilonia?" the Doctor said quickly. "Oh, I just kept that for the articles. The pictures came with."

"No, not The Rassilonia."

"Well, The Omegatron Chronicles were officially ruled not to be indecent approximately 277.358 years after I left Gallifrey," the Doctor went on. "So my possession of them is retroactively acceptable and also arguably legal."

"Not The Omegatron Chronicles either," Nyssa clarified.

"Oh." Realising he had dug himself rather a hole, the Doctor suggested, "Perhaps you should just tell me which book you found and then I'll come up with a way to justify my possession of it."

"Maybe that would be best," Nyssa agreed. "Well, it wasn't a published book. It was a sort of journal, and the entries I saw contained some interesting information about you."

"Me?" the Doctor said in his finest "puzzled" tone, which he had been exercising quite often lately. Its usage bought him time to think of a potential cover story and (he hoped) lent him the illusion of bewildered innocence.

"Yes, you." (The Doctor received the distinct impression that Nyssa had seen straight through his "innocent" act and was not amused.) "Specifically, you and a previous fiancee of yours. You got engaged to her over a cup of cocoa, and to me, as you might or might not admit to recalling, over ginger beer. I'm sure you can understand why I'm beginning to wonder exactly how many fiancees you've had over the years."

The Doctor gulped. "You don't mean you know about..."

"I do mean..."

"Cameca," they chorused.

"The Aztec woman you jilted," Nyssa finished by herself.

She stared at him. Long, dead seconds ticked past. Outside, the moon reached its apex. Crickets chirped in the background. However, only when his tea grew cold--and indeed, began to congeal--did it dawn on the Doctor that Nyssa was not going to speak until he did, so he delicately offered, "Cameca was a special case."

"So special that you abandoned her. Left her high and dry with no notice." Nyssa nodded. "I understand."

"It wasn't exactly like that," the Doctor protested. "There was a lot more to the issue."

"In other words, I can expect a repeat performance? I mean, am I more or less special than she was?"

"I don't rank my acquaintances in order of specialness," the Doctor stressed. "Everyone is special."

"In your own unique way, you're saying you could jilt me just as easily as you did Cameca. That's comforting."

"No, I didn't say that." The Doctor was very aware that his voice dripped with frustration, but he couldn't help it. Nyssa seemed to be wilfully misinterpreting every word that slipped out of his mouth.

"Then what do you mean? You certainly don't seem very enthusiastic about our engagement." Nyssa narrowed her eyes. "You know, you were the one who proposed to me."

Since it would be most ungentlemanly to point out that he very much regretted uttering those ill-fated words, the Doctor remained silent.

"So that's the way things are. I see. Well, then, I think you had better find a suitable place for me to permanently live." On that unpleasant note, Nyssa left the room.

Alone, the Doctor mentally composed a to-do list:
Must recover incriminating journal from Nyssa.
Must discover identity of author of said journal. (Ian? Susan? Barbara?)
Must learn improved ways to communicate.

List completed, the Doctor then reached the sad realisation that he could never again safely drink in the presence of others, particularly women. Look at what such folly had twice led to!

Teaspoon meme

2009-04-08T01:09:28Z

Open up your "Manage Stories" page on Teaspoon and unfold all the chapters. For the purposes of this meme, disregard first chapters of multichapter fics.

1. Total number of completed fics on Teaspoon:
32, plus one WIP (Ginger Beer)

2. Highest hit count: One-shot / Chapter of a multichapter
Be Careful What You Wish For (1597). My only Ten/Rose adult-rated fic. I'm not surprised that it leads in hit count.
/
Chapter two of Pet Rock (170). I have only two multi-chaptered fics so not much choice here.

3. Lowest hit count: One-shot / Chapter of a multichapter (not counting WIPs)
Mendacious (150), a Six/Charley story.
/
chapter 3 of Pet Rock (164). Again, not much choice.

4. Most reviews: One-shot / Multichapter
Drose (38), where I make fun of the squishy name for "Doctor/Rose". It's my most popular fic by far in every location where it's posted.
/
Ginger Beer (15), despite being a WIP, has been fairly popular.

5. Fic with the number of reviews that bums you out the most (hey, let's exorcise those demons of self-doubt!)
Lost in Translation has just one review. It was faved by three people but two of them didn't comment. :( I think I'm sadder about Pet Rock getting just four total reviews. I spent a lot of time on it and it wasn't received very well anywhere so I haven't written any more Five/Turlough.

6. Top 3 fics favourited by others
Battle of Wills and Drose (17 apiece), Famous Last Words (11)

7. Number of people you have favourited
I haven't faved any authors but have faved 17 stories.

8. Number of reviews you have left
537

Torchwood Fic: Janto (1/1)

2009-04-01T21:27:04Z

Title: Janto
Author: castrovalva9
Rating: PG
Category: satire
Word count: around 1100
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Summary: A companion piece to Drose. Jack and Ianto go online and discover the portmanteau name "Janto" and various other interesting aspects of Torchwood fanfic.
Note: I took the approach that if you can't kill portmanteau names, at least you can mock them! ;)

The peace of the Hub was not destined to linger long on this fine spring afternoon. Ianto was the one to ruin the atmosphere, as he looked up from the computer monitor he was studying. "Jack?"

Jack, who was tossing his TARDIS coral up and down as if the action would make it grow faster, glanced over at him. "Yes?"

"You know how a few fanfic authors started to use the squished name 'Drose' as shorthand for the Doctor/Rose relationship?"

Jack shuddered and nearly dropped the coral. "Yeah, but thankfully, that name never caught on. Most people just laughed at it and then forgot it existed. You hardly ever see 'Drose' used nowadays. Score one for the anti-portmanteau team!"

"Janto," Ianto said quietly.

"What?"

"Janto," Ianto repeated. "It's the portmanteau name that caught on. As Smallville has 'Clex', and Harry Potter has 'Snarry' and 'Dramione', so Torchwood has 'Janto'. Jack/Ianto. Janto." Ianto shivered delicately.

Jack shivered less than delicately before demanding, "Tell me you're making it up. Please."

Silently, Ianto pointed at his monitor.

Jack approached and read aloud, "'This ficcy was written for Janto-fest!'" He looked at Ianto. "'Ficcy'?"

Ianto scrolled down the screen and highlighted another selection. "'Chappie', too."

"We have to look into this situation," Jack decided. "Immediately."

He set the TARDIS coral in a safe corner and reached for the mouse, but Ianto pulled it away. "Go use a different computer. We'll work faster if we pool our efforts."

Jack shrugged, sat down at the neighbouring terminal, and began his own exploration. Very quickly, he saw mentions of "Janto" riddling the page, and then he spotted another disturbing sight. He blinked, looked again, and frowned. "Ianto?" Jack said. "I have a pretty fair guess, but please enlighten me on what, exactly, 'chapter 108/?, cross-posted to 13 comms, and not beta read' means."

"Trust me, it's best if you never find out, Jack," Ianto replied.

"Why does this story have 108 parts, anyway?" Jack continued. "And why are they called 'chapters' when not a single one is even 500 words long?"

Ianto looked for himself and saw that Jack was, sadly, correct. "Chapter 68/? sets a record low at just 287 words," he noted. Then he skimmed the page. "Actually, 284 words, if only the author knew how to properly use hyphenates."

"I could forgive her that sin, if she'd lay off the 'Janto' and the Gwen bashing," Jack said. "Why so much Gwen hate, anyway? She's a nice person."

"She gets in the way of the OTP," Ianto pointed out. "You know, One True Pairing, the couple fated to be together no matter what? The Janto? That's us. You and me." He waved at Jack.

"Oh." Jack looked blankly back at him.

"You haven't seen all the stories where we commit exclusively, get married and start a family together, have you? A lot of the time, I become immortal and knock you up, not necessarily in that order, because we're soulmates. By the way, Jack, byddwn ar y cyd beunydd," Ianto said abruptly.

Jack stared at him. "What the hell was that?"

"Obligatory fan Welsh that I randomly spout in roughly 50 percent of all Janto stories, a.k.a. 'I ran it through an online translator and have no idea if it's accurate'," Ianto replied. "I think it's supposed to mean something like 'We will be together forever' but you know those wacky, unreliable translators. I might really have just said I'm a chicken with three heads. It doesn't matter, though. The readers will never know the difference. How many of them do you think speak Welsh?"

Jack glanced at his monitor, which displayed nonsense including "omgbbqwtf", and said, "Or proper English. Well, unfortunately, it looks like the usage of 'Janto' has spread beyond all reasonable attempts at control. What else can we do except cringe and bear it?"

"We can fight other portmanteau names that haven't yet gained a firm foothold in fan culture," Ianto said. "For instance, there's Gwen/Jack, which becomes Gwack."

Jack winced. "Gwack sounds like the noise a diseased duck might make."

"It's vile," Ianto agreed. "And Gwanto, for Gwen/Ianto, isn't that much better."

"Tosh/Jack could be either Josh or Tack. Equally horrifying options!" Jack bemoaned.

"There's Towen, for Tosh/Owen," Ianto went on. "And Gosh or Twen, for Gwen/Tosh."

"Jafanwy, if I decide to have some fun with the office pet." Jack winked.

Ianto scowled. "Iafanwy, if I do the same."

"You know what?" said Jack. "It's occurred to me that Owen/Ianto could be called 'Onto', which as these things run is rather cute."

"But Jack/Owen would never work, because it doesn't squish into anything cute or memorable. Jowen? Owack?" Ianto snorted. "Boring."

Jack let out a gusty sigh. "What a relief! I just realised that Gwen/Owen can't be squished together."

Ianto cleared his throat: "Gowen."

"No one really uses that, do they?" Jack blurted.

"God, I hope not," Ianto replied. "It's bad enough that these writers already make us do every possible thing with a stopwatch and no lube. Sir," he added. "I forgot about that. I'm supposed to constantly call you 'sir' throughout stories, especially after you've asked me not to."

Jack's eyes lit up. "Do I have a special name for you?"

Ianto shrugged. "Owen usually calls me 'Teaboy' but once in a while you do, too. Not so interesting."

Jack sighed. "Well. Janto, Gowen, Gwack, Twen. What's next? Instead of writing 'Jack and Ianto walked down the corridor', will authors just write 'Janto walked down the corridor'?"

Ianto stole a peek at his monitor. "Oh, I'm sure no one will stoop to doing that, sir," he said innocently, even as he casually slid his mouse over and clicked on the little x in the upper right corner of the screen.

Looking entirely unconvinced, Jack nevertheless retreated with his piece of coral to try to soothe the poor, abused thing into becoming a full-fledged TARDIS overnight (not that he didn't have a few centuries or so to waste waiting for it to mature properly, one would think). So it was that early evening had fallen when Ianto sought out Jack with important news.

"Gwen just rang. There's been a Weevil sighting near Queen Street."

Jack stopped studying the scale that showed the piece of coral hadn't gained so much as a fraction of weight all day and jumped up. "Let's go, then! We have to show complete support in backing up our friend Gwen, who truly is not a horrible, hateful person despite what some character bashers might think."

As Ianto led the way, he got in one last comment. "By the way, Jack, did I ever tell you that despite my supposed retiring nature, I'm usually the top in our relationship?"

And on the heels of that proclamation, Janto ran out of the Hub to capture a stray Weevil.

Doctor Who fic: Mendacious (Six/Charley)

2009-01-09T06:15:44Z

Title: Mendacious
Author: castrovalva9
Pairing: Six/Charley
Rating: G
Prompt: a Six/Charley story, for jedi_penguin at classicdw_fic
Word count: about 1350
Author's notes: This story has references to events in The Chimes of Midnight, The Condemned, and The Doomwood Curse. Nothing big enough to be spoilery, but it helps if you've heard those audios. Also, it's set soon after Doomwood.
Summary: The Sixth Doctor is tired of Charley's lies.

Once more, Miss Charlotte Pollard had displayed anachronistic knowledge of a concept about which she ought to know nothing. Dishonesty was her most prominent character trait and the Doctor had got tired of dealing with it very quickly, whether it occurred whilst aboard the TARDIS or in the middle of a London shop at Christmastime in the year 2010.

He stared at her, unblinking, as she guiltily dropped the DVD remote control she had just been wielding like an expert. "I thought you had amnesia, and were from approximately the 1930s, which I believe is well before DVD players came into existence?" he jibed.

"I do! I am!" she returned. "I just sometimes know how to do odd things. I can't explain why." Her eyes sidled away from his.

"And that is all you have to say on the subject," he stated rather than asked.

"That's all there is to say," she insisted.

He nodded shortly. "As you will."

Neither of them said another word as they exited the shop and wound their way through the festive streets back to the TARDIS. Inside, Charley went her own way, and the Doctor found himself wandering into the kitchen.

Charley was a terrible liar, he thought. In fact, over time her lies were growing worse rather than improving. The girl wasn't stupid. She had to know he knew she was lying, yet she refused to tell him the truth about herself. It galled him almost beyond belief. How to make her confess? That he, with his brain that could easily concentrate on millions of thoughts at once, could not come up with a workable method was almost more frustrating than he could say.

He idly glanced around the kitchen, when from nowhere he could identify, a thought struck him. He wanted to make plum pudding. He couldn't say particularly why plum pudding, of all possibilities, but there it was: Nothing would do but that he make it. Even the fact that he had never before attempted such a dish did not dissuade him in the slightest. He had eaten plum pudding, he had enjoyed plum pudding, and he had no problem recalling the exact taste of his favourite version, from which memories he extrapolated a list of ingredients and specific quantities of said ingredients, combined with the most efficacious cooking method. For a Time Lord of his intellect, the cooking experiment should be quite easy.

So it proved to be. Whilst he was preparing the pudding, he ran his mind through millions of options, all of them varying ways to deal with Charlotte Pollard. He very quickly discarded most potential ideas, saving a few hundred for more detailed examination. He then winnowed those hundreds down to a mere handful. Of that group with sterling potential, he would put one into play today and see if it paid dividends.

Much later that day, the Doctor decided he was satisfied with his work. He had come up with a brilliant plan regarding Charley, and he had created a most excellent plum pudding. Of course, he had expected no less. It was time to find Charley.

He soon found her in her room, lying on the bed reading a book. The Doctor winced when he read the title. The Grey Spectre was simplistic pap, almost as bad as that awful Rookwood that one of his earlier, much more foolish incarnations had picked up. He should have known the dreadful thing would hold vast appeal for Charley.

From the doorway, the Doctor concealed his disgust and cleared his throat. Charley looked up, nearly dropped her book, and sat up straight. "Yes?" she said stiffly.

"Charlotte," the Doctor greeted her properly. "I have a surprise. I cooked something special." He waited until she placed the book aside and rose with obvious reluctance.

"Really, you cooked." She trailed him towards the kitchen, beginning to display more curiosity as they moved along.

"Indeed." The Doctor stopped at the kitchen door, held it open for Charley to precede him, and then entered behind her. He had to step around her, as she had stopped dead in the middle of the floor, staring at the table.

"Plum pudding," he announced. When she didn't respond, he elaborated, "Plum pudding is one of your quaint Earth traditions during Christmas, I believe?"

"I don't really like plum pudding," she blurted.

The Doctor experienced a pang, but shrugged it off. "More for me, then." He reached towards her plate.

"No!" Charley darted forward and grabbed the dish.

The Doctor arched a supercilious eyebrow. "If you don't want it, why are you clutching the plate so?"

She gave him that look she sometimes did, the one that made him think she was searching for something in him that did not exist, or that he didn't know existed. Whatever she wanted to find, she evidently did not. She looked away, sat down at the table, and picked up her fork. "I didn't say I wouldn't eat it. As long as it has no threepenny bits?" As if at some private joke, her lips started to curve upward before stopping abruptly.

"Not a bit to be found." The Doctor watched through narrowed eyes as Charley stabbed into the pudding and took her first bite. Then he went to his own chair, took up his fork, and dug into his plate.

For someone who professed not to care for plum pudding, Charley ate her share at speed. When she had finished the Doctor proffered another helping, but she shook her head. "Some people make rather too much of this," she said pointedly.

The Doctor glanced at her empty plate but said nothing. At this point, it wouldn't do to set Charley's back up. He abandoned his own unfinished serving and followed her as she left the room. She looked back at him. It might have been a trick of the light, but he thought he saw a glimmer of moisture in her eyes.

It didn't matter. Within seconds, they had reached the spot he had known they would reach if she followed the route he had anticipated much earlier. "Charley," he said softly, deliberately using the diminutive.

As expected, she stopped and faced him. There it was again: her expression of doubt tinged with hope, which inevitably would fade into disappointment. Disappointment in him. The Doctor realised that he hated that look. That knowledge made what he was to do next a much easier proposition.

He took the one necessary step forward, grasped Charley within his arms, and lowered his lips to hers. She didn't pull away, as one might reasonably expect from a girl of her age who had been pounced upon by a man who was still very nearly a stranger. Rather, she relaxed within his hold and responded to his kiss. It felt almost as if in some ways she knew him, yet in other ways his embrace was new to her. Her reaction, like so many other things about her, was wrong.

The Doctor found himself moving away first. That, he had not anticipated.

Charley stared at him. "Doctor? What was that about?"

He nodded upward, at the sprig of mistletoe dangling above their heads. "Well, it is Christmas, you know."

"It was all some... some sick joke to you?" she choked out.

This time he was sure he saw moisture in her eyes, and he had the feeling he had broken something fragile but he didn't know precisely how. And rather than breaking it further, he wanted to put it together again.

"No, Charley, it wasn't a joke. It was merely an unfortunate miscalculation." He tentatively held out his arms. And after all that he had done to her, both deliberately and unwittingly, she moved into his touch rather than away from it. Her heart was beating with hummingbird velocity, and he--who had just used her own humanity against her in a manner that was foreign to him--was able to soothe it.

He still didn't know why she was lying to him, and suddenly it no longer mattered nearly as much to him that he might never know.

Doctor Who fic: Ticky Box Therapy (Fifth Doctor)

2008-09-11T03:55:55Z

Title: Ticky Box Therapy
Author: castrovalva9
Rating: G
Word count: 2600
Characters: Fifth Doctor
Summary: After Time-Flight, the Fifth Doctor goes to see a therapist. "The ticky boxes told the sad tale. The Doctor was a histrionic, narcissistic, dependent, paranoid, passive-aggressive sociopath with possible bipolar tendencies."

Carla Saunders wasn't a psychologist; she merely pretended to be one, and on the whole she thought she made a pretty good job of faking it. She certainly didn't want to go back to five months ago, when she had been scraping a living as a waitress.

Just think! She would still be mired in that dead-end job if one afternoon, an idea hadn't occurred to her. Indeed, that idea was so brilliant she wondered why she had never thought of it before. That same day, she quit her job, hired a cheap office in a ratty old nearly vacant building, began calling herself a psychologist, and waited for clients. She got some, too. Her rates were low, her manner nonjudgmental. She was a natural for the job, excepting the minor fact that she was supremely unqualified. Still, she justified to herself, she wasn't a patch on that American who had, in the 1960s, sccessfully faked being a lawyer, a doctor, an aeroplane pilot, and more. He had endangered lives; she hadn't.

Truth be told, usually her work was easy. Most of her clients simply wanted a sympathetic ear and uninterrupted time to talk. With the few who required special knowledge, Carla used fudged information she'd picked up on the Internet. No one ever seemed to notice or asked to see her credentials. It was amazing what nonsense people would believe if you told it to them with a straight face. Best of all, Carla rather enjoyed her job. Even with limited customers and fairly cheap rates, it paid much better than waiting on tables ever had.

So what if she worked out of a cramped office whose single window stuck so badly she'd not once been able to pry it open? So what if the lone adjoining room was so tiny it didn't even have a window, stuck or otherwise? She was making her own way quite nicely, and it was no less than she deserved.

Or at least, she thought so until the day an odd young blond man showed up in her office and seriously dented her confidence in her abilities.

It happened to be a very slow day, with no appointments and no sign of a random client walking through the door. Bored, Carla leaned her head against the back of her chair and closed her eyes. She was just resting them, of course, but shut eyes tend to lead to actual sleep and such was the case with Carla on this dull Tuesday morning.

"Ahem!"

The sound of a nearby throat being cleared startled Carla awake. Her eyes flew open and she found herself staring across her desk at a sprig of celery. The sprig of celery was attached to the lapel of an old-fashioned beige cricketing outfit worn by a blond man of about 30. He would not have looked out of place in a famous painting Carla had recently seen of a 1920s cricket match held at old Cranleigh Hall.

"Please accept my apologies," the stranger said with the utmost politeness. "I was hoping you might have time to speak with me this morning."

"Speak with?" Carla repeated groggily.

"In a professional capacity," the man clarified. "I understand you're a psychologist?"

"Oh. Yes." Carla pushed herself fully upright and lifted her chin. "Yes, I am."

"Then, might I have an hour or so of your time?" the man went on.

"I do have the morning free," Carla replied. (Actually, she had the entire day free, but admitting her lack of business to clients probably wasn't the best way to inspire confidence in her services.) "Please sit down," she invited.

The man did so while Carla fumbled around on her desk and eventually emerged with her handy list she had obtained on the Internet and revised slightly for her own needs. The top of the paper contained spaces for entering background data on each individual. The bottom section was a list complete with handy ticky boxes. She quickly marked the box next to "histrionic", thinking of the eccentric dress of her client, then informed him, "I'll need some basic information from you."

He nodded. "Certainly."

"Name?" she asked perfunctorily.

"The Doctor," he said.

Carla raised an eyebrow but didn't otherwise outwardly react. After all, last Friday she'd had "Superman" as a client. She scrawled the Doctor's name at the top of her paper, then skipped down and ticked "superiority complex" on her list, as well as "delusions of grandeur".

Seeming to sense her scepticism, the man elaborated. "Some people know me as John Smith."

Alias! Carla thought triumphantly as she smiled falsely. "And your address?"

"Ahem." Her client shifted in his seat. "I have a home, but it isn't precisely a fixed location. I move a lot."

Carla set aside her pen for a moment. "Have you ever considered settling down in one place?"

"I tried it. I didn't like it," the Doctor replied shortly. He then added, in a conciliatory manner, "I love to travel and see new and exciting places, you see."

"Yes, I see." His answer set off an alarm bell, but Carla merely nodded and moved to the next question. "What is your occupation?"

"I suppose you could put down 'traveller', though some might regard me as an inveterate do-gooder."

"Understood." Carla scribbled "layabout" in the pertinent space and continued her short list of questions. "Birthdate?"

"Erm... what year is it?"

"The date is 19 April, 2008," Carla answered precisely.

"Then it's 26 August, 1978," the Doctor said.

Carla had the distinct impression that he had performed some quick sums before replying. She stared at him; he smiled blandly back. He was extremely beige, Carla thought. Perhaps if he dressed in a different colour, it would help give him more personality.

Finally she looked away and moved on with her work. The Doctor managed to answer the final few questions without incident, but the background information was supposed to be the easy part. Next came the more revealing section. In her best faux professional manner, Carla folded her hands before her on the desk and said, "So, what brings you here today?"

"Anything I tell you is in complete confidence?" the Doctor began.

"Certainly," Carla lied. (She was forever bringing home tales of her weirdo clients to friends and family, but she'd never be foolish enough to admit as much to a paying customer.) "You just have to be totally honest with me."

The Doctor cleared his throat again. "Well, you ask why I'm here, and it's due to a combination of factors. But if you want the straw that broke the camel's back, it's the fact that once I got the cricket scores off my mind, I found that I can't stop thinking about poor Adric."

"Adric," Carla repeated invitingly.

"I suppose you could call him my ward. Or rather, could have called him that."

"You feel guilty about something that happened to Adric," Carla rephrased.

The Doctor looked away. "He died."

Carla felt triumph surging as she recognised the signs of an issue having been dodged. She ruthlessly pressed her advantage. "Do bad things often happen to people you know?"

Without hesitation, the Doctor nodded. "People are always getting injured or dying around me, especially in this most recent persona."

"Persona?" Carla probed.

The Doctor sighed. "I used to be a very different man indeed. Four of them, actually. Only not all at once, of course. We--I--took turns. That's how it works."

Carla nodded. "Oh, of course." Meanwhile, her biro practically flew across her paper, mercilessly ticking boxes. The Doctor was revealing disorders almost faster than she could mark them down. She finally caught up, then looked him in the eye. "By the way, do you ever feel like the world is out to 'get you'?" She sketched air quotes around the final two words of the sentence in an effort to appear more casual and approachable.

The technique seemed to work. The Doctor quickly replied, "Oh, yes, very much so. It seems that everywhere I go, someone tries to shoot, attack, arrest, or otherwise harm me. And all I ever want to do is help them." He brightened. "Well, sometimes I succeed in helping. I do find myself in dangerous situations quite often and tend to be the only one who can assist. I suppose it's my lot in life."

"Do you seek out these dangerous situations?" Carla asked.

The Doctor shrugged. "Not particularly. I seem to have this habit of stumbling across them and wanting to help. Unfortunately, my efforts are not always appreciated."

"Thus, the shooting, attacking, and arresting?" Carla said. "How many times have you been arrested?"

"Well," the Doctor hedged, "more times than I've cared to be."

"Were any of these arrests justified?"

He blinkly rapidly. "Technically, I suppose a few here and there were. Possibly more than a few. But I always meant well! If I'd known my actions would definitely result in arrest, I could have altered them accordingly."

"So, I can assume you're not very good at planning ahead?" Carla asked.

"I'm afraid it's not one of my strengths."

Carla ticked several more boxes (her paper was becoming alarmingly cluttered) and hoped the Doctor was wildly exaggerating.

With no encouragement from her, he abruptly volunteered, "I saved so many people and could have saved so many more, if only...." He paused and was silent for a few moments. Carla, utilising an old technique she had read about, did not attempt to fill this silence.

The Doctor spoke first. "I didn't mean to let Tegan down! She was forever angry with me for not getting her back home on time but she never seemed to grasp the fact that it didn't matter, that time was never an issue for us. What did it matter if she travelled with me for an hour, or for two years?" He scowled. "Ian and Barbara were a bit unreasonable on that front, too."

Rapidly shifting emotional states, Carla jotted down. She couldn't for the life of her remember which mental disorder they indicated, but it couldn't be anything good. She had to calm the Doctor. In her most soothing tone, she recited, "Adric, Tegan, Ian, Barbara. You seem to frequently have friends around. How often do you travel alone?"

"Usually never. It becomes far too lonely and makes me feel so empty." The Doctor sighed. "They do come and go all too frequently."

"Who?" Carla asked in alarm (weren't rapidly shifting emotions indicative of psychopathy?).

"My companions, naturally," the Doctor said, appearing serenely unaware of the suspicions he had raised. "When one leaves, I have to get another one. Susan, Ian, Barbara, Vicki, Steven," he began and continued to rattle names until he concluded with a rush, "Romana, Adric, Nyssa, Tegan. I think that's everyone. No, wait! I forgot Katarina and Sara. But they died, too."

Which unpleasantly reminded Carla of the subject of Adric. She gulped, but she had to ask it: the question whose answer she was afraid to hear. "What did you do to those responsible for Adric's death?"

"Oh, they're dead now. They're very dead," he said quietly.

A chill ran down Carla's spine. Suddenly and forcefully, it struck her that she could well be in the company of a dangerous individual who might mean to do her harm. She frantically tried to recall the basic facts she had half-heartedly memorised about anti-social personality disorder. At the moment she could recall only three, but it seemed the Doctor had achieved the threesome of repeated law-breaking, extreme aggressiveness, and frequent irresponsibility.

To avoid looking at the Doctor and perhaps tipping him off as to her suspicions, she instead looked down. There was her list of disorders, with little ink marks scoring the page. The ticky boxes told the sad tale. The Doctor was a histrionic, narcissistic, dependent, paranoid, passive-aggressive sociopath with possible bipolar tendencies. Carla expected she had missed out on a few more unpleasant diagnoses, too. What the hell was she still doing in the same room as this man?

She forced a smile to her lips and hoped it didn't look as sickly as she suspected it might. "Please excuse me for a few minutes," she said, hoping the Doctor would assume she was merely going to make a trip to the loo.

"Of course," he said politely.

Carla stole one last glance at him before she escaped from her office. His gaze had abruply sharpened (her voice might have trembled a bit when she'd last spoken), but he wasn't getting up to follow her. An excellent sign.

She found herself in the corridor and quickly strode away from her office. She wanted there to be no chance that the psychopathic Doctor would hear her conversation with the police. When she was sure she was far enough away, Carla stopped, fixed a cautious eye on her office door, and extracted her mobile from her pocket. Then she heard it, coming from the direction of her office.

The noise was horrible, a bizarre scraping and grinding that Carla could not identify. Unless, possibly, the Doctor was trying to to pry open that difficult window so he could escape or commit suicide by jumping! If one of her clients died, it would call unwanted attention to her perhaps not-entirely-legal business.

The endangerment of her livelihood drove Carla to foolish measures. She shoved her phone back into her pocket, sprinted down the corridor, and flung open her office door.

The noise had faded into silence. Her strange client was nowhere to be seen and the window remained resolutely shut. However, the door to the adjoining room stood ajar. Carla shoved it all the way open. This modest space also was deserted, though square marks on the dusty floor indicated where a large object had recently stood, with a mass of footprints blanketing the area.

Completely confused, Carla mused over how the Doctor might have escaped. He hadn't left her office via the corridor; she would have seen him. Even if he'd managed to open and then close the stubborn window behind himself, it was a drop of five storeys to the street. She peeked out the window anyway; no one was anywhere in sight.

With a sigh, Carla slumped into her office chair. On the desk before her sat a piece of paper and a purple metal card that had not been present when she had left her client in the office mere moments ago. She pulled the items closer.

The neat script on the paper read, "Thanks for listening." The card, with its odd little notches, was a complete puzzle. The thought that it was a form of payment only briefly crossed Carla's mind; the thought that it was a futuristic credit card from an alien planet never did.

Maybe, Carla thought, her new job wasn't quite so wonderful after all. Realistically, it had only been a matter of time before a genuine psychopath had come her way. Shaken, she decided to call it a day, go home to her flat, and lie down in a cool, quiet room with a firmly locked door and perhaps a chair wedged before it for added security.

She grabbed her handbag from the floor and started to stand up. At that moment, a quick rapping sounded on the office door and then the knob twisted. Carla braced herself but relaxed when, instead of the strange young blond Doctor, a burly man wearing a blindingly multi-coloured coat stepped into her office. Then, as she saw a bizarre object pinned to his lapel (a cat badge?), fresh alarm spiked through her mind.

"Good morning," the man greeted her. "I'm here for a follow-up visit."

Doctor Who fic: Why It Wouldn't Work (Five/Tegan, G)

2008-09-03T20:32:37Z

Title: Why It Wouldn't Work
Author: castrovalva9
Rating: G
Word count: about 750
Characters: Fifth Doctor/Tegan
Summary: The Fifth Doctor thinks he and Tegan are meant for each other. But does she agree? (See the title.)
Note: Set after Terminus.

The Doctor stiffened his spine in resolution. He had been putting off a delicate task for some time, but further delay would be cowardly. He had to fulfill his duty.

He slowly approached the console room and peeked inside. Tegan was alone, watching the time rotor move up and down. She looked hypnotised or else incredibly bored. It was the perfect moment to strike. Surely, the Doctor thought, he was more interesting than a time rotor. He strode up to Tegan, grabbed her by the shoulders, and leaned down to press his lips to hers.

She began to shake uncontrollably. The Doctor hadn't expected tears, and he stepped back in alarm. Then he realised he should be comforting Tegan. It was another of his new duties.

"There, there," he said awkwardly as he patted her back exactly five times in perfect rhythm.

"Right, then. That's enough," said Tegan, shoving him away with rather more force than was strictly necessary. "What in the world were you doing?"

"Couldn't you tell?"

"Oh, I could tell it was a kiss. A really bad kiss, but definitely a kiss." Tegan's brow furrowed and she paused. "Right?"

"Right, though I might dispute the relative badness of it."

She stared at him. "Why?"

"Why?" the Doctor echoed. "It may have been a while, but I do still know how to kiss passably well!"

"I wasn't asking why the kiss was so bad. I was asking why you kissed me."

"Oh." The Doctor hesitated, alarm growing in his mind. Could he have miscalculated? Then he relaxed. Tegan was just playing hard to get. It was one of her finer qualities. She merely wanted him to convince her they belonged together, to do some of the work. "Well," he said, "I realised it was unfair of me to allow you to feel unrequited love for me. It was past time for me to reciprocate."

"Unrequited love?" Tegan hooted. "I don't love you."

"Of course you do," the Doctor said patiently.

"No, I don't. Look, I think I'd know if I did."

The Doctor fumbled for a new argument. "But... but you argue with me."

"So?"

The Doctor blinked, at a bit of a loss. He hadn't expected to encounter this amount of resistance, but he was nothing if not adaptive. After taking a moment to marshal his thoughts, he renewed his attack. "It's obviously a form of foreplay when you scream at me and call me names. You scream because you love me," he triumphantly concluded.

"No, I scream because I'm angry and it's how I blow off steam. I don't do it because I want to shag you." Tegan looked the Doctor up and down and shuddered. "No offence, but you're too stodgy and alien and stubborn and bland for me. And aren't you, like, a million years old or something? Plus, this habit you have of changing bodies is kind of creepy."

"But you're my only companion who's ever stopped travelling on the TARDIS and later returned. That means you recognised your love and had to come back to be with me, that you couldn't bear to be away from me."

"No, it means I got the sack from my job for incompetence, had no money, and decided to freeload off of you till I figure out what the hell I want to do with the rest of my life," Tegan cheerfully corrected.

"But together we have fire and passion and chemistry. And you tell me when I'm being foolish! I need you."

"Together we're a total trainwreck," Tegan said. "You're Gallifrey; I'm human. You're intellectual; I'm impetuous. You're relatively polite; I'm outspoken. Besides, we have virtually no common interests."

"Opposites attract?" the Doctor weakly offered.

Tegan shook her head. "Not in this lifetime. And remember, I get only one of those."

It was a thorough rout. Tegan didn't look like she was pining away for want of his love, and the Doctor had to face facts. How could he have been so wrong about her feelings for him? He lowered his head in defeat and retreated.

"You're not inconsolable now, are you?" Tegan called after him. "Because if you are, I noticed Nyssa doodling your name and hers across her journal before we left her on Terminus, and I'm sure she wouldn't mind being rescued."

"No, no." The Doctor waved off her concern, set his shoulders, and went off in search of Turlough. He was sure his ginger companion had been coquettishly eyeing him ever since he'd come on board.

Doctor Who fic: Nyssa's Diary

2008-05-11T21:11:01Z

Title: Nyssa's Diary
Author: castrovalva9
Rating: PG
Characters: Nyssa, Fifth Doctor/Nyssa pairing
Summary: After the Fourth Doctor regenerates, Nyssa decides to keep a diary.

Earth, 1981
Have decided to keep a diary. The Doctor (who just regenerated) gave me only one bit of advice: Don't try. The chronology is too difficult. Therefore, I have chosen to label my entries by location instead of merely by the date. By the way, Adric is missing.

Castrovalva
Oh, my aching back! The Doctor is a lot heavier than he looks, and Tegan kept dropping her end of the cabinet we were using to transport him (long story). Sometimes I think she did it on purpose.

TARDIS
Adric's back. The Doctor has begun to wear a vegetable in his lapel. Tegan's whinging about wanting to go home. I hope it isn't always like this around here.

Monarch's ship
Watched Adric annoy the Doctor. Sat back, smiled politely, and inwardly laughed.
Watched Tegan annoy the Doctor. Sat back, watched politely, and inwardly laughed.
Became the Doctor's favourite, if only by default. Yes!

Deva Loka (not that I would have known the difference, for all the time I spent looking around)
Stuck on TARDIS with mysterious malady while everyone else has adventures outside. Damn them. Damn them all!

Earth, 1666
Helped burn down London. Feel remarkable sense of accomplishment.

Earth, 1925
Met my lookalike. Finally I have an active role in things! I have a feeling I had better enjoy it while it lasts.

Also discovered something in common with Adric. Neither of us understands cricket; neither of us wants to.

(two hours later) Newfound sense of kinship with Adric fading fast. He'd rather eat the entire buffet than dance with me.

(a little later) Adric too busy eating to dance with me. Doctor too busy evading murder charges to dance with me. Tegan too busy dancing with various men to dance with me.

(still later) Almost killed in fire by disfigured maniac. Possibly being stuck on the TARDIS is safer than venturing outside. Will try it next time.

Earth, 2526
Adric left the TARDIS with the Doctor and was captured.
Tegan left the TARDIS without the Doctor and was captured.
I stayed inside the TARDIS and was captured.
Is there no middle ground?

PS Adric died.

pre-historic Earth
Earth yet again. Slightly tiresome as a destination.

Attacked by bubble bath. Bad day. Saw the Master again. Worse day.

Earth, 1982
Abandoned Tegan at airport. How has the Doctor survived this long? He's rather incompetent. On the other hand, he is also rather attractive, in a sweet and disarming way, and I think I've noticed him looking at me like (several pages ripped out) and I do hope that wasn't too much detail. Anyway, we agreed to keep on, no strings attached, for the time being. I understand; he has commitment issues, but we'll work past them.

Gallifrey
Note to self: Never visit Gallifrey again.

Manussa
The Doctor's commitment issues are more serious than I thought. With Tegan again on board (and why the hell is she back anyway? I thought she wanted to be home!), he has pretended to forget we were ever shagging. Men!

Desperate for proper holiday.

Earth, 1977 (I think)
Decided to play along with the Doctor and ignore our new relationship. Reverse psychology failed miserably, as he picked up a new "friend" named Turlough and seemed to truly forget my existence.

Terminus
Stripped off as much as I dared, in a desperate play for attention, and ran around partially naked until I nearly caught cold. Doctor didn't bat an eye. Very depressing. Almost got a reaction when I told him I was staying behind on Terminus but then he shut off again. Will stand firm and not give in. He'll be back for me. I know he will! What kind of man would abandon me, leaving me to cure lepers?

Wait. We are talking about the Doctor here. Is it too late to tell him I changed my mind?

Teaspoon

2008-04-11T21:37:17Z

The story I just posted at Teaspoon was approved within five minutes. Way faster than I could have reasonably expected!

ETA: My second story was approved after about another ten minutes.

BTW, these postings were the first I've made at Teaspoon since they changed their policies and began moderating the place. I wasn't boycotting; I just hadn't posted anywhere recently and happened to get around to it today. I was simply curious about how long approval might take. The response time was impressively fast, though certainly I don't expect it to always be so swift.

Doctor Who fic: Concatenation (One/Rose)

2007-09-06T20:30:07Z

Title: Concatenation
Author: castrovalva9
Rating: G
Characters: One/Rose
Summary: An Onose story! Or, if you prefer, One/Rose. Personally, though, I think Onose says it all. Anyway: A few years after the events of Doomsday, Rose meets the First Doctor. Well, why do you think the Doctor has generally travelled with young women over the years?
Note: Beta read by Kara MT.

Even though she had held an important position at Torchwood for nearly four years, Rose Tyler still found herself listening for sounds of the TARDIS nearby. Surely the Doctor, with his wonderful brain, would figure out a way back to the woman he loved. On that point, she held little doubt.

Then, one day, it happened. Rose was enduring a boring budgetary meeting when suddenly, she was certain her ears caught an echo of the TARDIS materialisation noise. It was so distinctive, she couldn't have been mistaken.

Rose shot out of the meeting room and down the corridor, hurdled a chair, bypassed the far-too-slow lift, and galloped down nine flights of stairs. Panting, she shoved open the outside door and emerged into the open air.

There was no sign of the TARDIS. Rose clutched a painful stitch in her side and hobbled around the building at as fast a pace as she could manage. Still no TARDIS. She must have been wrong.

She was about to drag herself back indoors when she spotted an old man nearby. He was staring at her, and he looked incredibly sad. For a moment, in the face of his obvious pain, Rose forgot her own trials. She approached the man and gently said, "Hello. Are you all right?" Then, before he could reply, an exciting thought struck her. "Did the Doctor send you to me? The time-and-space-travelling alien Doctor, I mean. Is that why you were watching me? Do you know him? Do you?" she fairly screamed.

"Know him?" The man threw back his shoulders and clasped his lapels. "Young lady, I am the Doctor!"

"Oh, no, you've regenerated again!" Rose blurted, just managing to avoid the unflattering addendum of "And into an old man, too!" Nevertheless, the thought that the trauma of losing her had forced the Doctor to regenerate into a much older and (let's face it) far less sexy persona was a tragically romantic idea that greatly appealed to Rose's fanciful side.

"Regenerated again?" the man cried, promptly bursting her bubble. "Why, I've never done it even the once yet. This is my original body."

Rose deflated. "Oh. It's just that now you look old enough to be my grandfather, and the Doctor I knew most recently looked old enough to be my slightly-older-by-about-15-tiny-little-years boyfriend."

"Miss, in actual fact, I am already, in my first incarnation, old enough to be at least your great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather," the Doctor declared.

In making this statement, he sounded so much like the Doctor who had rattled off "New New New New New New New New New New New New New New New Earth" to her that tears again infiltrated Rose's eyes. In the next moment, she found herself spilling out the entire epic tale of her and the Doctor's adventures and undying love. It was a long story full of detailed explanations and reenactments, but Rose wanted to make sure she properly related the complete story. "And we loved each so, so much," she finally concluded on a sniffle.

"There, there." The old Doctor patted her hand. "Never be so upset."

Rose smiled bravely. "I do feel better after talking to you."

"That's very good to hear." The Doctor smiled and reached out to clasp her hand.

Rose beamed; the way he held it reminded her very much of her own two Doctors. And no matter how old and wrinkled this man looked, he was still the Doctor, she firmly reminded herself. "I don't suppose," she said tentatively, "that is, would you mind very much if I travelled with you? At least until we find my Doctor? I think we'd have a better chance as a team."

"Certainly you may!" The Doctor hugged her with such great enthusiasm that Rose felt like all the air had been squeezed from her lungs before he eventually withdrew. He studied her face, then remarked, "You know, the reason I was staring at you earlier was because you greatly remind me of my granddaughter, Susan. She was a brunette, too."

"I'm blonde!" Rose protested.

The Doctor gallantly refrained from staring pointedly at her dark roots and instead draped an arm around her shoulders as he steered her down the street and around the corner. Rose caught her breath; there stood the TARDIS in all her glory, looking so wonderfully familiar and homely. She tried to quicken her steps, but the Doctor was clutching her like a lifeline and she was forced to match his deliberate gait.

"Sometimes I think I'll never get over the loss of dear Susan," he remarked. "She was around your age the last time I saw her." He hugged Rose a bit closer and took a shaky breath before he went on. "Vicki, Katarina, Sara, and Dodo were all lovely, but they weren't my Susan." They stopped in front of the TARDIS and the Doctor inserted his key into the lock, all the while maintaining his tight hold on Rose and moving his lips close to her ear. "Ah, yes, you and I are going to get on wonderfully. You know, I like young girls!"

Doctor Who fic: The Uncommon Penguin (PG, Six/Frobisher)

2007-07-18T21:56:10Z

Title: The Uncommon Penguin
Author: castrovalva9
Rating: PG
Characters: Six/Frobisher (implied Six/Peri)
Summary: Frobisher tells a little story about the Doctor and himself.
Notes: Beta read by KaraMT.
At the time this story is set, Frobisher doesn't know anything about the Doctor's previous companions.

For a long time, I didn't know whether the "Peri" the Doctor occasionally mentioned was a guy or a gal. He name-dropped a lot, and I let most of it go in one ear and out the other. But every once in a while that name would come up, like the Doc would say that he and Peri had once gone to such and such a place, or he wondered what Peri would have thought of this planet or that food. And then he'd seem to catch himself and go real quiet for a bit, and when he spoke again he'd changed the subject.

I didn't mind the mystery. Mostly because I didn't really care who Peri was. He or she wasn't around and I was. Pretty clear winner there.

But then things changed between the Doc and me. You know, changed, in the wink wink, nudge nudge kinda way.

And when that happened, some other things had to change, too. The main one being me. More specifically, my usual outward appearance.

Because certain things, even the Doc wouldn't do. Flirt with a penguin? Oh, yeah. Kiss one? Edging into questionable territory. Heavy petting? Somewhat less likely. And the next stage? Not in this universe, even if the penguin in question isn't a real, honest-to-God penguin, but merely a Whifferdill who has simply assumed the form of said bird. It wouldn't technically qualify as bestiality between the Doc and penguin-me (at least, I think it wouldn't), but it would definitely fall way on the weird side of the scale.

Well, one day the big moment came: The Doc asked me to shapeshift. And not into just any old shape, either. He was real particular about the details. It took me hours to make all the adjustments. First I was too short, then I was too tall. My nose was too long, my ears too pointed, my hands too flippery, my eyes too beady. Plus, I wasn't brunette enough. I've always had trouble assuming the humanoid form, with all of those strange little unnecessary bits that just get in the way, and I thought I'd never get everything right. But eventually, at long last, I had matters arranged to the Doc's liking.

I wasn't quite as wild about the whole business. For one thing, those breasts had to be disproportionate. As for the new voice he made me use, it was nowhere close to natural. But the Doc seemed satisfied, and that was what counted.

Anyway, that first night, when he slipped up and called me "Peri", I finally knew for sure that she had been a "she". But like I said, it didn't matter. Besides, I had other things to think about. Like whether Jamie, Tegan, K9, Turlough, and Jo had been male or female, and how long it would take me to find out about them.

As it turned out, not terribly long. But those are stories for another day.

Doctor Who fic: Prevarication (Nyssa/Tegan/Turlough, PG)

2007-04-30T23:23:10Z

Title: Prevarication
Author: castrovalva9
Rating: PG
Characters: Nyssa/Tegan/Turlough
Summary: After Mawdryn Undead, Tegan and Nyssa wonder why Turlough asked to travel on the TARDIS. Obviously he can't give the real reason, so he makes up a lie.
Note: Beta read by Kara MT.

The good news: Turlough had talked his way onto the TARDIS with surprising ease. The bad news: Tegan and Nyssa were also aboard. Actually, Turlough mused, Tegan was the real problem. Nyssa had seemed prepared to accept his presence, until Tegan went to work on poisoning her mind against him.

The result was that the three of them, along with the Doctor, ended up clumped in the console room, conversation occurring only sporadically and awkwardly. Tegan seemed content to spend the night glaring at Turlough, while Nyssa shot nervous little sidelong looks at him. Turlough knew he had to allay their suspicions. Much luck he'd have with trying to kill the Doctor if Tegan decided to breathe down his neck.

For his part, the Doctor ignored the adversarial posturing, until finally--in either a very cunning or a very cowardly move--he fled, leaving the three of them to work out their differences.

Wasting not a second, Tegan crossed her arms. "Spit it out, Turlough. Admit the real reason you wanted to come on board, because 'sneak' is written all over you."

Turlough turned to Nyssa, by far the likelier of the pair to give him the benefit of the doubt. "What do you think about me?"

She hesitated. "Well, Tegan's usually a a pretty good judge of character--"

"Don't you ever have any thoughts of your own?" Turlough interrupted.

Nyssa flushed. "Of course I do. At first I thought you might be nice, but now I'm not so sure."

"Yeah, Turlough, if Nyssa doesn't like someone, he's got to be bad," Tegan jeered. "So, why are you on board?"

Turlough hedged, "Well, why are you two here? Isn't it because of the Doctor? To be with him?" They looked blankly back at him. Turlough sighed. "I believe it's commonly called a menage a trois, or a threesome."

"With the Doctor?" Tegan recoiled.

"Both of us?" Nyssa questioned.

Their reactions had been predictably horror-struck. Too predictably so. Turlough arched one ginger brow and waited them out.

After a pause, Tegan went on, "To be completely honest, the thought has crossed my mind. Once or twice."

"Mine, too," Nyssa admitted.

"But it's never actually happened," Tegan clarified.

"No? What's wrong with the Doctor, to pass up such convenient, available..." Turlough hastily continued, "...attractive, intelligent women? Well, never mind about him. I can appreciate what he doesn't."

Nyssa looked at Tegan. Tegan looked back at Nyssa and then replied, "Hell, why not?"

"After all, our last offer came from Adric," added Nyssa.

If the Doctor noticed that all three of his companions spent the entire night in Turlough's room and did not emerge until late the next morning, he never said anything.

As for the repercussions of that evening, it should be noted that very soon afterwards, Nyssa abruptly left the TARDIS with the shakiest of explanations and Tegan's mood deteriorated into pure foulness, so that the success of Turlough's endeavours to avert suspicion is thrown into serious question indeed.

Doctor Who fic: Ginger Beer 3/? (Five/Nyssa)

2007-04-30T22:59:27Z

Special note: I posted the first part of this story as a standalone in October, thinking that I might never finish any more of it. Well, I've decided I want to complete it. Since it's still a WIP, until it's finished it's only being posted at ff.net and here on my own LJ (where very few people are likely to see it, but if you do, you're more than welcome to read it). I'll post it to the main comms when it's all done. Part One and Part Two

Title: Ginger Beer 3/?
Author: castrovalva9
Rating: G
Pairing: Five/Nyssa
Summary: The Doctor overindulges in ginger beer and speaks unwisely to Nyssa.
Note: Set after Time-Flight.

Over the last few days, Nyssa had noticed that the Doctor was behaving in a very shifty and evasive manner, which alternated with buoyant cheerfulness of a variety not seen since before the ginger-beer incident. Therefore, she became suspicious.

She discovered she was entitled to this emotion when they landed on the planet Frania and the Doctor kept trying to slip away from her. This could mean Nothing Good. Letting him go off on his own was always a risky proposition. No matter how innocent their surroundings, he usually managed to become entangled in the most awful trouble the region had ever known. But eventually, her curiosity got the better of her and she allowed him to get "lost". If she found out he was doing something she didn't like, she would... she would... actually, she wasn't sure what she would do. She would just have to wait and base her reaction on whatever he had in mind.

*****

The Doctor kept his wonderful plan of finding a new companion to himself for the time being. He had a sneaking suspicion that Nyssa might not fully appreciate it at first. Once he had selected the appropriate individual, he would surprise her with the news and then he was sure she would grow to appreciate the idea as much as he did.

He seized the opportunity to search when they arrived on Frania. It was one of the most peaceful planets to be found, well, anywhere. Numerous species had coexisted there for centuries, and visitors were always welcome. Consequently, the Doctor experienced only minor guilt when, after several attempts, he succeeded in separating himself from Nyssa and sidled away into a nearby pub.

After a few false starts, he struck up a conversation with a promising individual: an extremely friendly young foreigner named Z'le who expressed great interest in travel. Even better, he had no close family ties and spoke passionately against social injustices. The only slight drawback was that Z'le was covered with blue fur and even while motionless, he shed copiously. Still, presumably the TARDIS would clean up after him. But if necessary the Doctor would gladly take on the job himself. It would be a very small price to pay, he figured.

Indeed, he almost couldn't believe his luck. Z'le seemed an ideal companion. Even if the Doctor hadn't been desperate, he would have liked to ask the young fellow along.

A feeling of guilt again attempted to sneak in and taint the jubilation, but the Doctor shoved it away. He wasn't being completely selfish by any means. He was thinking of Nyssa in all of this, too. Not only would he be off the hook, so would she. And she would have another friend about the TARDIS. More friends were always of the good.

In the midst of his musings, the pub door next to him swung open and he automatically glanced towards it. Nyssa had found him at just the right moment. He leaped up, eager to perform the introductions. "Ah, Nyssa, I'm glad you're here. Somehow we became separated, but I haven't wasted our time apart. I'd like you to meet my new friend Z'le. We--"

He stopped talking. Rather than approaching them, Nyssa was quickly backing up. The retreat was accompanied by sneezing and choking on her part. Z'le edged towards the other side of the room, all the while apologising profusely as blue tufts of fur drifted through the air.

The Doctor saw his perfect plan falling apart before him. Nyssa was suffering an allergic reaction to Z'le's fur. Her eyes were red and she was visibly upset. The surge of guilt returned with overwhelming force, the Doctor almost feeling like he had deliberately brought about Nyssa's condition. After a hurried goodbye to Z'le, he guided Nyssa back to the TARDIS without further delay.

*****

Despite Nyssa's unfortunate allergy to his first choice of a new companion, the Doctor was not discouraged. The basic idea was sound and was bound to result in success. He decided to try again, on the planet Neptimius Prime. His first move was to distance himself from Nyssa. Since "getting lost" wouldn't work twice in a row, he instead attempted to leave her aboard the TARDIS.

"Wait," Nyssa objected. "Maybe I'd like to accompany you. What are your plans?"

The Doctor's immediate impulse was to claim that he was looking for spare parts for the TARDIS. Then he reconsidered. Nyssa had some interest in that area and might want to come with him, which would severely compromise his efforts. He quickly chose a safer alternative. "I believe they play cricket here. I might want to take in a match."

As he had hoped, Nyssa's interest evaporated at the mention of the sport. "Oh. I'll just go shopping, instead."

"Wonderful idea." The Doctor searched his pockets and ended up depositing a handful of varied coins into Nyssa's palm. "Here. Something in that lot probably approximates the local currency."

Together they left the TARDIS and walked for what turned out to a considerable distance, the Doctor having misjudged their landing position by a bit. At last, though, they reached the outer walls of the capital and promptly split up as agreed.

This time the Doctor was careful to avoid anyone he so much as suspected of even wearing fur. His screening process led him to the plaza, where he met a young Neptimian woman named Olan. She said she enjoyed new experiences and meeting people. With little time to spend on more intensive interviewing, the Doctor decided to take his chances.

He leaned closer to Olan and asked the all-important question. Her reaction was not precisely the one he had expected.

One minute he was making his casually clever move, and in the next Olan had opened her mouth and emitted a piercing, persistent wail that instantly attracted the attention of four burly antennaed individuals wearing scarlet uniforms.

As they dragged him away from the plaza, the Doctor realised he had committed a cultural faux pas.

*****

Seven hours later...

The Doctor studied his tiny jail cell, worries over his own captivity superseded by an ever-pressing concern. Surely Nyssa had missed him hours ago. She had probably been searching for him for the entire time, fearing the worst. He only hoped she hadn't run afoul of the local law and landed in her own cell. He had first-hand knowledge of how trigger-happy and unreasonable they were on this planet. Aside from his entirely unfair arrest, the few times a guard had passed along the corridor he had tried to reason with the fellow, but it was like the man had turned deaf.

Seeking any means of release, the Doctor had paced his cell many times over, poked and prodded every bit of it he could reach, attempted to pick the lock, and was still trapped. Again, he bemoaned the loss of his sonic screwdriver. A handful of seconds with that trusty device, and he would have been free. On the other hand, at times its existence had made matters almost too easy. He had fallen out of the habit of using his brain. He now put it to work and came up with precisely zero viable solutions. So it was most fortuitous when the door swung heavily open on creaky hinges and he was allowed to step into the dim corridor.

His liberator was the guard who had consistently ignored him earlier, but the Doctor wasn't one to hold a grudge. "Thank you for listening to me. I knew you were a man of good sense and reason." He extended a hand.

The guard didn't take it. "You didn't talk yourself out. You could have babbled forever and never been released."

"Then why did you let me out? Did Olan tell you I was harmless and she had misinterpreted the situation this afternoon?"

"No. She saved you." The guard hooked a thumb towards the end of the corridor.

Straining his eyes, the Doctor saw Nyssa. To his relief, she appeared perfectly unharmed, although it was difficult to decipher the expression on her face. He didn't think he had ever before seen her wearing quite that look, and it did not inspire great confidence in him. But he had no good opportunity to question her right away, as the guard escorted them both out of the jail and to the outskirts of the city, where he strongly advised them to leave and never return.

Once they were alone, the Doctor eyed Nyssa. "I suppose we might as well go back to the TARDIS," he suggested.

Nyssa immediately began to pick her way across the grass in that direction. The Doctor paced along beside her, stealing an occasional glance at her averted face and trying to determine what the right thing to say might possibly be. When the silence grew to be too much, he offered, "As jails go, it was among the more pleasant cells I've ever visited. It actually had a window. It was microscopic, but it was a window."

Finally Nyssa spoke. "I talked to the woman who got you arrested. She said you asked her if she wanted to see your TARDIS."

She had uttered the words entirely without inflection. The Doctor scented danger--did that mean his instincts were sharpening?--but didn't know the safest answer to give. At last he decided that when in doubt it was best to be honest. "Yes, I did say that to her."

"Oh."

That single syllable was the coldest the Doctor had ever heard. Clearly, he had chosen the wrong words; a lie had been in order.

They continued for a time in even more uncomfortable silence, but as they neared the TARDIS, the Doctor could be quiet no longer. "What's wrong, Nyssa? Obviously you're upset, and I'd like to know why. It can't be because I was in jail, can it? Because that's happened often enough before and you never reacted in this manner."

"If you don't know what's wrong, I can't tell you," she replied.

The instant the door was open, she stalked into the TARDIS, leaving the Doctor to trail and reflect that interspecies communications could be very difficult at times.

Doctor Who fic: Ginger Beer 2/? (Five/Nyssa)

2007-03-14T06:31:19Z

Special note: I posted the first part of this story as a standalone in October, thinking that I might never finish any more of it. Well, I've decided I want to complete it. Since it's still a WIP, until it's finished it's only being posted at ff.net and here on my own LJ (where very few people are likely to see it, but if you do, you're more than welcome to read it). I'll post it to the main comms when it's all done. BTW, here's Part One.

Title: Ginger Beer
Author: castrovalva9
Rating: G
Pairing: Five/Nyssa
Summary: The Doctor overindulges in ginger beer and speaks unwisely to Nyssa.
Note: Set after Time-Flight.

Pretending to be absorbed in a page of biochemistry notes, Nyssa stole a surreptitious glance across the console room at the Doctor. No doubt about it, he was was extremely unnerved. He hadn't once looked her in the eye, instead focusing on a spot just beside her head or managing to speak to her with his back turned.

Nyssa, having expected as much, was not unduly concerned. He simply needed some time to come around to the idea of them as a couple. She truly thought she could have waited a full century without saying anything and it never would have occurred him to do so on his own. They would have travelled on indefinitely, in exactly the same manner as before, until an external force ended their acquaintanceship. It wasn't what she wanted at all.

So, when presented with a prime opportunity in the form of numerous bottles of ginger beer and a drunken Doctor, she had manipulated the situation internally. (The fact that she'd been a bit tipsy at the time had helped, too.) True, her gentle nudge had manifested itself as more of an enthusiastic shove, but he had been the one to bring up the subject of marriage. With his guard down, he had been expressing his innermost feelings without inhibitions. Now, in the light of day, he was panicking, probably inventing all manner of obstacles. But he had liked the idea well enough last night. The situation was not without hope. Yes, Nyssa decided, she would work on the matter. If the Doctor did not eventually warm up to it, she promised herself, she would gracefully let him off the hook.

A few minutes later, she allowed him to make up a transparent excuse so he could escape down the corridor. It wouldn't do her any good to press too hard, too soon. She would corner him later on and introduce talk of their engagement on her own terms.

*****

Alone in a distant corridor, the Doctor breathed a sigh of relief. He had never before felt uncomfortable in Nyssa's presence but that single torturous hour spent with her this morning had already made up for all the other peaceful days, in spades. Every time she opened her mouth he had tensed, expecting her to chatter on about wedding plans. Fortunately, she had mentioned the dreaded issue only once, stating that they could talk about it "later". And, the Doctor optimistically thought, "later" could mean decades from now. Centuries, even.

Or it could mean later today. On the heels of this disheartening thought, the Doctor wandered into the kitchen and promptly wandered back out. Even looking at the setting of last night's folly was too much to bear.

Lunch, which arrived much too soon for his comfort, was a thoroughly depressing affair. Gone was the old camaraderie; absent were the easy, casual discussions. They had been replaced by long, leaden silences, interspersed with the occasional excruciatingly polite "please pass the butter" and "thank you".

Attempting to break the tension, the Doctor cleared his throat. Nyssa looked at him expectantly, appearing completely willing to hang on his every syllable. He could think of nothing to say, cleared his throat again, and gave up the idea of conversation as a bad job. They finished their meal without exchanging a meaningful word.

Afterwards, while hiding (there was no better word for it) in the library, the Doctor realised that he didn't know how many more days like this that he could bear. Then a truly chilling thought struck him: How long could he expect Nyssa to be around, anyway? If she'd been from Earth, he could have relaxed. Barring any unfortunate accidents, maybe 60 years longer and the typical human of Tegan's generation would expire. But he expected that with his recent run of luck, Trakenites were bound to be substantially hardier than humans. The problem was, he wasn't sure how substantially. And of course it would be rather rude, under the circumstances, to enquire of Nyssa how long she might be expected to live. He imagined that cringeworthy conversation.

"Nyssa, please overlook the fact that this question is most insensitive, considering that your homeworld was destroyed, but I was wondering what the average Trakenite lifespan is."

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I want to know how soon you'll die like all the rest of your people and free me from your onerous presence."

"It's about 5,000 years. You'll have to wait a while."

No, it would never do. Besides, he didn't really want Nyssa to die. He just wanted her to develop a convenient case of amnesia or the like.

A tap on the door interrupted these sorry thoughts. Nyssa had tracked him down.

She sidled into the room and with the inevitability of doom, the Doctor immediately sensed that she wanted to talk about the engagement. He, on the other hand, wanted to pretend it didn't exist.

Nyssa won, by the entirely unfair tactic of engaging in speech. "I've been thinking about our engagement." The Doctor's hearts leapt; had she changed her mind? "And I decided it would be best if we remain engaged indefinitely, until we find the right place to get married." The Doctor's hearts dropped back into their usual positions. "Unless you want to return to Gallifrey for the wedding?" Nyssa added.

"Definitely not!" the Doctor said with fervour. The longer he could delay matters, the better, and an engagement of undetermined length was about the best he could expect under the circumstances. It would give him breathing space to do damage control. Naturally, he couldn't play the villain and break the engagement, but he fully intended to persuade Nyssa that it was in her best interests to do so. As evidence, perhaps he should develop some extremely annoying habits, such as failing to go where and when he had promised, or attempting to reason with long-toothed beasts long past the time that they had earnestly endeavoured to devour his friends.

He instantly launched his first plan, saying, "We shouldn't rush into anything. Circumstances can change unexpectedly. For instance, there's always the possibility at any point that I might suffer grievous injuries and be forced to regenerate again."

Nyssa shrugged, appearing surprisingly unmoved by this argument. "I've seen it once already. If it happens again, I'm sure it will come as much less of a shock than this time did."

"But I could regenerate into an egotistical maniac with bad dress sense who attempts to strangle the first person he sees," the Doctor said desperately.

Nyssa smiled indulgently. "That's hardly likely, is it?"

The Doctor sighed, compelled by his damned innate decency to be honest. "No, I suppose it isn't likely at all."

Nyssa's face lit up, as if she had just experienced a pleasant thought. "And if you regenerated, you probably wouldn't care for cricket anymore, would you?"

"Probably not nearly as much," the Doctor admitted.

"Oh, good!" Nyssa exclaimed. "Then I needn't bother to learn the rules. I find them a bit boring, I'm afraid." She paused, then went on, "And when you regenerate, it's possible you might like those little jelly babies again and carry them around like you used to, isn't it?"

"Yes," the Doctor grudgingly acknowledged.

"That would be nice," Nyssa declared. "I do miss the jelly babies."

"Wouldn't you miss me?" the Doctor demanded, suddenly feeling piqued for some reason and wishing he had never brought up the topic of regeneration.

Nyssa looked at him pityingly. "But I wouldn't have to miss you, would I. When you regenerate, you'll still be yourself, won't you? Only, possibly, a you who likes sweets?"

"Oh, yes. Certainly." The Doctor dropped the subject, having been thoroughly routed. But the war was not yet over. His brain, working frantically to find an escape route, had just come up with a brilliant idea. It was such an obvious solution, he wondered why he hadn't thought of it sooner. If their unchaperoned status was such an issue for Nyssa, he would fix that problem. All he had to do was pick up another companion to act as chaperone. It shouldn't be at all difficult. Strangers wandered in; they stowed away; they begged to tag along.

Yes, what he needed to find was a nice, lonely orphan. Orphans were usually good.

The only problem was, when you wanted to find one they were nowhere in sight. They badly needed to land somewhere--anywhere--conducive to picking up a suitable orphan, but the TARDIS was not cooperating.

Three planets, two averted revolutions, and one near beheading later, matters on that front finally began to look up.

Doctor Who story: Reunions (G)

2007-03-02T07:01:30Z

I'm supposed to be working on the continuation of Ginger Beer, a Five fic, but this came out instead.

Title: Reunions
Author: castrovalva9
Rating: G
Characters: Rose, with brief appearances by the first eight Doctors and various companions
Spoils Doomsday
Summary: My version of a post-Doomsday reunion fic, kind of. Rose keeps meeting the wrong Doctor.

Note: Beta read by Kara MT.

The first time Rose heard the TARDIS materialise in the alternate world, she didn't even stop to dress properly. She simply bolted from her bedroom and sprinted outside, cavalierly abandoning Jackie, Pete, little Joey, Mickey, and all of her new friends and acquaintances.

Now, it wasn't like her new life was miserable and pointless, with Rose desperate to escape its horrors. In reality, over the past year she had settled quite nicely into this existence, growing pleasantly accustomed to the new family dynamic that included father and little brother, besides attaining a prominent and important position at Torchwood. Still, given the choice between here (one planet, during one time only) and there (everywhere and everytime else), was it any wonder that she should prefer there? Especially since there included the Doctor's presence.

Miraculously, it was all within her reach. Although the Doctor had claimed he could never come back to this world, he must have persevered and found a way. In the back garden stood the comforting form of the old blue police box. The door slipped open at Rose's touch, as if the TARDIS had been waiting for her return, and she stepped into the familiar surroundings that were... not so familiar at all. The small, plain console room looked almost nothing like she remembered. The Doctor, who must have redecorated, had most unfortunately gone overboard with the minimalist approach.

As she gaped in dismay, there came the sound of a throat being cleared. Rose glanced to the right to see an old man staring at her, eyebrows arched. "Who are you?" Rose blurted, though relieved that the Doctor hadn't insultingly replaced her with another young female companion.

"I am the Doctor, of course. Now, who are you and what do you want?"

Rose, brought back to reality with the news that this old man was the Doctor, suddenly became horribly conscious that she was wearing a very thin pair of blue pyjamas that did not benefit from the lighting in the room, and hurriedly backed towards the door. "Never mind. Sorry to have bothered you."

When the Doctor turned and called for "Ian and Barbara", Rose made a run for it.

Back in her room, she mulled over the situation. When she'd first heard the TARDIS, she had never expected to encounter an old man inside, much less an old man who obviously was an earlier regeneration of the Doctor himself. Rose swallowed her disappointment and took heart in the knowledge that at least the Doctor was able to travel about in this world. Surely it was only a matter of time until the right one came for her. So over the ensuing several months, no matter where she was or what she was doing, Rose remained poised to race towards the sound of the TARDIS.

Her next opportunity occurred in the middle of an emergency Torchwood meeting, while the weak points of the invading Utans were being discussed. Rose missed this vital information but did find the TARDIS resting in a nearby office. She was now altogether better prepared to again find neither of "her" Doctors, but instead a short, scruffy, dark man and a young man in a kilt, who nearly wrung their hands at the very sight of her.

"Doctor, who is that?" said the boy in a strong Scottish accent, as he carefully kept the console between himself and her.

"I don't know, Jamie, but when I say 'run'..."

"Sorry, wrong TARDIS," Rose apologised, and retreated before they could put their plan into action.

Although she returned to the Torchwood meeting, she spent the time weighing other concerns. What, precisely, should she say to a Doctor (assuming he pre-dated her own) if he attempted to hold a conversation of more than three sentences with her? If she filled him in on her identity, or dropped any hints of his own future, wasn'it it entirely possible that she would destroy or at the very least severely entangle the timeline? Opting to err on the side of caution, Rose stayed silent on these points when the third TARDIS eventually appeared, with the result that the grey-haired Doctor in the frilly clothing clearly regarded her as a stalker of limited mentality. Since he let her leave with little argument, however, he had evidently dismissed her as being relatively harmless.

Nothing of consequence occurred over the next month other than an sneak attack by the Utans, during which Rose failed to distinguish herself because she'd been too distracted to pay sufficient attention during meetings. It was quite embarrassing. The following afternoon, she took a long walk to clear her head and had just turned back towards home when the fourth TARDIS wheezed into sight barely an arm's length in front of her. The door swung open at the exact moment that Rose, hopes renewed with a vengeance, reached for the handle. She looked up at the exiting figure and sighed. "Let me guess: You're the Doctor, too."

This Doctor, who was all teeth and curls, blinked and then thrust a small sack in her direction. "Would you like a jelly baby?"

Attempting to pry a sticky red sweet from her teeth as she continued homeward, Rose wondered if she would ever see her Doctor again.

She had another chance in the library car park a fortnight later. Although four people piled out of this TARDIS, Rose made an educated guess that the one dressed like an old-fashioned cricketer, with fair hair and a pleasant, open face, must be the Doctor. Her gaze travelled from him, to the boy in pyjamas, to the girl in maroon velvet, to the girl in the lilac uniform. It certainly seemed like this Doctor had a sufficiently full house.

The boy, after a dismissive glance in her direction, studied his surroundings. "This isn't an airport, is it?"

"Sorry, Tegan, I tried," the latest Doctor murmured before collapsing onto the pavement in a dead faint.

The girl in the lilac aimed her seemingly permanent scowl at Rose. "Oh, now look at what you've done. He's gone off again."

Maroon velvet, kneeling beside the Doctor, interjected, "Don't be unkind, Tegan. This was already a difficult regeneration."

While the three tended to the fallen Doctor, Rose made good her escape. At home, she flipped open her little journal and wrote:
Dear Diary,
It's been five TARDISes and I'm starting to lose hope.

Nevertheless, despite the discouraging results of her quest, Rose didn't give up. She was certain the Doctor would never quit on her, so she continued to react like one of Pavlov's dogs to any sound even remotely resembling that of the TARDIS. Her odd behaviour did not go unnoticed, either at work or at home. Her coworkers eyed her nervously, the lift mysteriously emptied whenever she boarded it, and Rose found herself eating lunch alone at her desk with increasing frequency. Her mum made excuses when she asked to hold the baby, and holiday brochures began to spring up in prominent locations around the house.

By the time she'd been insulted (she thought) by the tall Doctor in the garish coat and just plain confused by the short one with the umbrella, Rose had rethought matters. After all, loyalty had its limits. And the truth was, it wasn't healthy of her to remain prepared to escape from her life at a moment's notice. She had become unreliable and unpredictable. Matters needed to be resolved, one way or the other. When the latest TARDIS finally showed up, this one on the pavement outside the grocery shop, she marched up to the door and yanked it open, anxious to see which Doctor was inside. If it was either of hers, her faith had been rewarded. If it was a different one... well, at least she'd be able to move on.

Rose paused on the threshold. Her grand entrance had made no impact, but the lack of reaction wasn't what concerned her. For a heartstopping moment, she thought the man across the room, the one wearing the leather jacket, was her own first Doctor. But then, with a horrible sinking feeling, she realised that his face and hair were wrong, and he wasn't alone. He was so not alone, in fact, that he was kissing a curly-haired man who had the sort of fashion sense Rose had quickly come to associate with the early Doctors.

It was no casual embrace, either. With still more of a sinking sensation, accompanied by quickly averted eyes, Rose admitted to herself not only that this Doctor had failed to notice her presence, but he was also apparently gay. Which led to the depressing thought that perhaps all the Doctors were gay and wouldn't that explanation account for an awful lot regarding her own relationship with him, like that interminable hand-holding stage that had never developed into anything more serious. Head bowed under the weight of severe disillusionment, Rose turned and slunk out of the TARDIS without being seen.

The next time Rose heard a TARDIS land nearby, she didn't even bother to get out of bed.

Doctor Who fic: Pet Rock 3/3

2007-01-22T04:40:24Z

Title: Pet Rock 3/3
Author: castrovalva9
Rating: PG
Characters: Five/Turlough, Black Guardian, Tegan
Summary: The Black Guardian sets Turlough a seemingly impossible task.

Part One | Part Two

They passed the bulk of the ensuing day exploring Telva. Turlough, deciding to let Tegan work as she pleased, deliberately avoided her and the Doctor as much as possible. He did occasionally see the two in passing (Tegan was always glued to the Doctor's side) but exchanged no more than a handful of words with them. He returned to the TARDIS late that afternoon to find the Doctor poised in the console room.

"Turlough! Finally! I've been waiting almost an hour for you to come back. I was on the verge of going outside to hunt for you."

Turlough stared at the Doctor, who looked the very personification of desperate. His eyes were wild, his breathing tortured, his hair rumpled as if by a mighty wind--or possibly Tegan's fingers. Something truly terrible must have happened between him and Tegan, but when Turlough opened his mouth to press for details, the Doctor shook his head. "I'm not talking about it, and that's final. I am, however, asking for your help with Tegan, if you're still willing to give it."

Turlough hesitated, using that small gap of time to inject the appropriate amount of doubt and sympathy into his voice. "But you said my idea wasn't right and you didn't like it. I'd feel horrible if you did something that violated your moral code just because I suggested it."

"Sometimes the wrong thing is the right thing, Turlough. Situations like the current one encourage me in that belief, and I only wish I'd realised it a little earlier. Now, do I have your help or not?"

Figuring that he had put up sufficient argument, Turlough relented. "You know I'll do whatever I can. When do you want to try--"

"Immediately," the Doctor interrupted.

"All right," Turlough agreed. "But you do know Tegan can't be around when we start. Lately, wherever you've been, she's turned up within two minutes."

The Doctor shook his head. "Not this time. Tegan got lost in the TARDIS. I may have had something to do with that."

"Good. That gives us some time to set the stage."

"Where do we do it?"

Turlough studied their surroundings. "All things considered, it's best if we stay right here. This room is probably the first place Tegan will come looking for you, and we need her to find us easily. The way we do it is, we wait until she gets close, and then we start the act."

"Yes. The sooner this is over, the better," the Doctor said. "I've allowed it to go on for too long as it is. So, the location is decided. How do we know when Tegan is close enough that we should begin in earnest?"

Turlough considered. "A warning system would be best. Can we count on the TARDIS to alert us when she's approaching?"

"Not reliably, and we'll only have one valid opportunity to attempt this ploy. These are very delicate circumstances. If Tegan even suspects an act..."

Turlough nodded. He, even more than the Doctor, needed this scheme to play out exactly according to plan. If Tegan guessed that it was a setup, the Doctor would survive. Turlough, on the other hand, would be doomed. "Since the TARDIS isn't reliable, we'll have to modify the plan a little. We need to get ready immediately and stay ready until Tegan arrives. Because that could be anytime. Maybe in five minutes, maybe in two hours."

"Yes, well." The Doctor hesitated. "Exactly how believable does this need to look?"

Turlough regarded him with disfavour. "She won't buy it for a second if you're still wearing all those clothes when she comes in. At least get rid of some of them."

"Oh. Right." The Doctor set about peeling the layers of clothing from his upper half, afterwards neatly folding the items and arranging them in a pile by his side.

"Wrong. All wrong," Turlough scolded. "Do you want Tegan to think you're doing your laundry, or you're in the middle of a tryst?" He picked up the shirt and tossed it in a random direction. The jumper ended up splayed across the console, and the frockcoat, celery and all, was left hanging askew from the hatstand.

"Of course," the Doctor acknowledged, assessing the results. "Your way looks much more... convincing. Except that you're still fully dressed."

"That is true," Turlough agreed. "Why don't you help me out with that? It'll look good for Tegan if she walks in on us at the right moment," he added enticingly, noting that the Doctor's eyes were riveted to his tie. Turlough's fingers crept towards the knot, then halted. "Maybe you should take it off for me," he suggested. "It would be good practice."

The Doctor abruptly stepped back. "Suddenly I'm not so certain this is a good idea."

"What? We've come this far. You can't quit now, when we're so close to success. Trust me," Turlough urged as he continued to fiddle with his tie. For some reason, the sight of Turlough's fingers on the knot appeared to unnerve the Doctor to distraction. The mood was quickly escaping, so Turlough turned away and swiftly undressed only to the same extent as the Doctor had, sensing that going further would be a risky move.

Having disposed of his discarded clothing in the same haphazard fashion he had applied to the Doctor's things, he resumed talking. "It could be a little while. Why shouldn't we entertain ourselves while we're waiting? Come on, what harm could it do? You're going to have to be able to do a lot more than just look at me if you want to fool Tegan."

"This is a very awkward and difficult situation," the Doctor protested. "Even though we're only pretending--"

At this point, Turlough launched his long-delayed move. "Is that all we're doing? Because it could be so much more, if you wanted."

"That would be extremely improper, Turlough."

"I didn't ask if it would be proper. I asked if you wanted it."

"That isn't a fair question," the Doctor countered, glancing away and then back.

"I'll take that answer as a yes. You know, you're way too good for Tegan. You're way too good for me, too, but I don't care."

"It isn't that I'm not attracted to you, Turlough. It's that I shouldn't let myself be."

"Why not?"

The Doctor rattled off a string of excuses. "This really isn't right. I'm so much older than you--I'm in the position of mentor--I'm in authority--my travelling companions look to me for guidance. That's why I always try not to get involved. It's a power imbalance."

Turlough shrugged. "I know. I don't care about any of that, either."

The Doctor dropped his protests with alacrity. A second later, Turlough found himself pinned against the wall, the outline of a roundel being impressed into his back. He would have bruises tomorrow, but this would be worth it. Then suddenly, all thoughts about the Black Guardian, obeying orders, and ensuring his own survival dissolved from Turlough's mind. It was about just him and the Doctor, locked together, alone. The sounds of harsh breathing and scrabbling fingers filled the room for long moments, until, inevitably, a much more unpleasant noise intruded.

"What the hell is going on in here?"

The rude awakening came in the form of Tegan's voice. The scene certainly must have appeared damning from her viewpoint, Turlough reflected: clothing strewn about the room, heavy breathing, hands in entirely inappropriate locations. Too bad Tegan hadn't been delayed for even another two minutes or so, but she always did have the most terrible timing. For a few moments he had actually forgotten she would be showing up. Judging from the look on the Doctor's face, the memory lapse was mutual.

"Tegan... I..." The Doctor's voice faltered and he hastily withdrew his right hand, Turlough letting it go with reluctance.

Tegan's gaze followed the movement. "So this is why you stranded me on the cricket pitch--so you could run away and fool around with him. I waited ages for you to come back with the bat!"

"Sorry, Tegan, but it must be obvious that he doesn't like girls in that special way," Turlough helpfully chimed in.

Attention averted, Tegan turned on him. "You tricked him into this," she accused wildly.

"I must be awfully persuasive, or he was really willing to be convinced," Turlough pointed out.

"Perhaps we should..." The Doctor gestured vaguely, then gathered up his scattered clothing, and began to dress. Turlough followed suit. There was a brief moment of confusion as Turlough untangled his blazer from the Doctor's shirt--he had no idea how the blazer had ended up at that end of the room--and Tegan hmphed impatiently and the Doctor looked away and then they all started to talk at once.

"This really isn't what it looks like," the Doctor began.

"I feel like being sick," Tegan contributed.

"It really is what it looks like," Turlough offered.

Turlough and the Doctor stopped speaking. Tegan did not. In fact, her objections resumed with even more vigour than before. "Doctor, what were you thinking? Turlough can't be trusted. I thought you'd realised that by now. I mean, I've told you often enough that he's using you."

"It goes both ways," Turlough muttered.

Ignoring him, Tegan continued to address the Doctor. "I knew Turlough was trouble from the second I saw him. He'll turn on you and then you'll be sorry. He doesn't deserve to be here and he never will."

The Doctor paused in the act of smoothing his shirt and looked at her. "That's enough, Tegan. Turlough is welcome on board and I won't have you talking that way about him. Is that understood?"

Turlough was taken aback by the sternness of his tone. He hadn't known the Doctor was capable of sounding so firm and commanding.

It seemed like Tegan hadn't, either. Her mouth flapped open and shut. Then, thwarted by the Doctor, she directed her wrath at Turlough. "You tricked him. You played on his weaknesses and lured into your trap. This is really low of you, Turlough. Unbelievably low."

"If you can't speak civilly, don't speak at all," the Doctor coldly cut in. "Turlough is as welcome on board as you are."

Tegan glared. "Obviously a lot more welcome. You wouldn't even kiss me, but you had your hands all over his--" As the Doctor opened his mouth again, she changed tack. "Fine, have it your way. I won't say another word. But sooner or later you'll find out for yourself that everything I've said is true. Then you'll wish you'd done a lot of things very differently." She whirled and stalked away.

In her wake, Turlough finished dressing. Despite himself, he found that he was oddly touched. The Doctor had defended him to Tegan. It was more than he had done on his own behalf--a lot more. If Turlough hadn't come under attack, he doubted the Doctor would have spoken a word to protect himself. Abruptly feeling the need to utter a supportive statement even if he didn't really believe it, Turlough volunteered, "She'll get over it."

"I hope so. I suppose it's up to her now." The Doctor shrugged into his frockcoat and tipped his celery at a jaunty angle. "Thank you for helping me, Turlough. I'd say we accomplished our goal, so I owe you quite a favour now."

"Favour. Right." Thus rudely brought back to reality, Turlough recalled the true purpose behind his charade. He had to follow the Black Guardian's orders, or he was as good as dead. He took a deep breath and went on, "As a matter of fact, now that you mention it, there is something I'd like."

Looking intrigued, the Doctor replied, "Name it."

"I'd like to visit a certain place," Turlough elaborated.

"Oh. I had anticipated a much different request." Frowning slightly--did Turlough imagine the gleam of disappointment in his eyes?--nevertheless, the Doctor walked over to the console and poised his hands over the controls. "The TARDIS is ready, so I suppose we can leave now. Where to?"

Turlough quickly repeated the location the Black Guardian had imparted to him. Despite the Guardian's concerns, he recalled it perfectly.

Without asking so much as a single question first, the Doctor slowly began to program the coordinates. Then he spoke in a very calm voice. "Turlough, are you absolutely certain about everything you just told me? According to the main identifying factor, the area you want to visit is highly unstable. If you're off by even the slightest degree with as much as one element, the TARDIS could be destroyed."

Turlough reviewed the coordinates in his mind. He had committed the exact words to memory and was positive he had correctly recited the entire string. "I'm sure."

"Very well." The Doctor resumed his actions at the console, slowly and steadily sealing his doom. He was taking Turlough's word for it. He hadn't even asked why Turlough wanted to visit this dangerous place, had taken him on faith. And it was going to kill him. Turlough was going to kill him.

Turlough felt a surge of a rather strong, somewhat unfamiliar emotion known as guilt. It did not feel good, or right. Before he could censor himself, he blurted, "Wait!"

The Doctor halted and looked up enquiringly. "Yes, Turlough, what is it? All I have left to do is to press two more buttons and we'll be on our way."

Turlough remembered how the Doctor had welcomed him on board. He had accepted Turlough as a member of the team and had defended him to Tegan. Then he thought of the Black Guardian and his fearsome presence, his belittling and threats. The only things the Black Guardian had ever given Turlough were an evil crystal, some nightmares, and dreadful tasks to accomplish. Boiled down to those terms, it really was no contest. "I suppose there may be the smallest chance that I could be just the tiniest bit wrong. It isn't worth risking our lives, is it?"

"Under the circumstances I would say no, but the choice isn't up to me. It has to be your decision."

Turlough had been hoping to take the easy way out, but the Doctor had picked the worst time to develop a backbone and refuse to decide for him. He was already having second thoughts. It was one matter to want to do the right thing, and quite another to actually do it, especially when said action was likely to result in one's protracted and agonising death. He looked at the Doctor once more and sighed. He just couldn't do go through with the Black Guardian's plan. Obviously he'd never make a proper villain. "Forget the whole thing. It isn't worth it."

"If you're certain."

"Yeah, I am."

The Doctor nodded. "Very well. Then we'll just remain here on Telva for a bit longer, if you don't mind. I never did get to visit that diamond mine I wanted to see."

As he watched the Doctor wipe out the coordinates, Turlough experienced an odd sense of relief. Of course, now the Black Guardian would probably kill him in the most painful manner he could devise, but at least it would all be over. Finally over.

"By the way," the Doctor added, "this may seem a bit of an unusual question, but I was wondering if you've met any especially unpleasant individuals lately."

Not for the first time, Turlough questioned whether the Doctor possessed mind-reading abilities. "You could say that," he replied guardedly.

"And one of them didn't by any chance have terrible fashion sense and what looked like a duck attached to his head, did he?"

"Now that you mention it, he might have," Turlough admitted.

"Well, if you happen to encounter that particular nasty-tempered fellow ever again, you should know that he's powerless as long as you make the choice to ignore him. Essentially, he's a bully who can be faced down, with the proper resolve. Now, if you'll excuse me for a moment..." The Doctor slipped out of the room before Turlough could react.

He stood there, thinking. He was alone. If he was going to die, it might as well be here and now, with no one around to witness the scene. In Turlough's estimation, the only thing worse than being slaughtered by the Black Guardian would be to be slaughtered by the Black Guardian while Tegan or the Doctor watched.

Tentatively, Turlough pulled the crystal from his pocket. Nothing happened, yet he had more or less expected to be struck down by lightning on the spot. Maybe the Black Guardian was delaying the move to lull Turlough into a false sense of security. Or maybe, just possibly, the Doctor had been right about the Guardian now being powerless. True, he hadn't specifically mentioned the Guardian by name, but his description had been telling. If more than one individual in the universe went in for the duck look, Turlough didn't want to know about it.

He stared at the crystal; there was no reaction. "It's over," Turlough said in as firm a voice as he could muster. "I won't listen to you anymore. You have no power over me, and I don't care if you kill me. You still won't get what you really want." He hesitated for several seconds, during which the crystal lay silently. It looked as defeated as he supposed an inanimate object could appear to be. It seemed the Doctor had been right.

He wasn't giving the Black Guardian another chance to work against him. Turlough pulled the door lever on the console, strode to the opening, and hurled the crystal as far away as he could. As he watched it arc through the air, a refreshing wave of freedom swept over him. The crystal landed at a considerable distance from the TARDIS and did not move. Satisfied, Turlough turned from the doorway, only to almost collide with Tegan.

"I'm going for a walk," she announced as she dodged him. "And for the Doctor's sake, I hope there's some good in you to be found." Head high, she marched outside.

With a mental shrug, Turlough moved back to the console and hit the lever to shut Tegan out. He hoped her walk was a very long one indeed and that he wasn't anywhere nearby when she came back.

He paced about the room for a few moments as an empty sensation settled over him. By all rights, he should be feeling good. No more Black Guardian. No more evil assignments. Those were positive things. So why did he feel so very at a loss? Was it because he had left Earth? Had hurt Tegan's feelings? Missed Nyssa? Was homesick for Trion?

After a bit of thought, Turlough figured out the problem. Lately the quest to do terrible, twisted things to the Doctor had consumed all his waking hours. Without that mission to guide him, he'd have to come up with a new purpose to occupy his barren social life.

As if on cue, the Doctor walked back in. Well, Turlough reflected, there were far worse distractions in the universe. He could still do terrible and twisted things to the Doctor, but now they would be of his own volition. "We're all alone now. Tegan decided to go for a walk," he offered, stepping closer.

The Doctor nodded. "I know. She told me as much when she saw me in the corridor." From the look on his face, it was not the only information Tegan had shared. "I think she may remain outside for a considerable amount of time. Understandably so, given the circumstances. It might be a good opportunity for me to tour that diamond mine."

"Or," Turlough suggested, "you could stay here with me."

"I could," the Doctor conceded. "Which reminds me, Turlough, I wanted to thank you again for your help."

"It wasn't a hardship," Turlough assured him. "More like a pleasure."

"Well, that's good to hear. Oh, and Turlough? Remember when you asked me if I ever get lonely? I do."

This time when Turlough's hand wandered towards his tie, the Doctor did not move away.

*****

Tegan plodded along on the surface of Telva, fuming. She still knew, she absolutely knew, that Turlough was up to no good, but no one (read: the Doctor) would listen to her. When she had cornered him in the corridor only moments ago, he had brushed off her very real concerns yet again. Insanely enough, he thought she was just trying to ruin his happiness out of sheer jealousy, or some such nonsense. As if anyone could be happy with Turlough, of all people!

Tegan snorted and kicked at the ground with particular vigour, then yelped and stopped in her tracks. Whatever object her foot had connected with, it was hard and it had hurt.

She studied the area and spied a familiar-looking shape. It was the crystal Turlough had been carrying around, the one she had just seen him cast out of the TARDIS for no reason. Well, it didn't deserve the treatment it had received at his hands, and it definitely couldn't help the fact that it had once belonged to Turlough. On impulse, Tegan bent and scooped it up. It certainly was a pretty sort of thing and it glowed in a most attractive manner, as if delighted to be in her possession.

end

Doctor Who Fic: Pet Rock (2/3)

2007-01-10T04:41:49Z

Title: Pet Rock 2/3
Author: castrovalva9
Rating: PG
Characters: Five/Turlough, Black Guardian, Tegan
Summary: Post-Terminus, the Black Guardian sets Turlough a seemingly impossible task.

Part One

Turlough spared a moment of sympathy for the poor Doctor, who would never know what had hit him once Tegan attacked. Unlike Turlough, she had no hidden agenda and absolutely nothing to lose. Also unlike Turlough, Tegan didn't know the meaning of the word "subtle". Back in the console room, he settled down with a TARDIS handbook and awaited her reappearance.

Thirty-two pages later, Turlough sensed a presence in the doorway and looked up. Tegan had indeed returned with a vengeance. As she posed in front of them, Turlough took in her extra-short skirt, low-cut blouse, spiky heels to match her hairstyle, and scarlet lipstick. The Doctor didn't spare her a second glance. Tegan's face fell at the lack of acknowledgement, but nevertheless she sauntered into the room and proceeded to monopolise the Doctor's attention. Now she, rather than Turlough, was the one who chatted flirtatiously, and juggled tools whose names she didn't know, and violated personal space.

Turlough retreated to the outskirts of the room, assumed a sullen expression, and cast Tegan the occasional glare, just to keep her on her toes. After what seemed a suitable amount of time, he wandered away from the console room, doing his best to look simultaneously dejected yet scheming. Tegan, confused by his absence, was likely to redouble her efforts. Again, Turlough experienced a stab of pity for the Doctor. Just the merest stab, of course, but it was present.

A break in the routine came that afternoon when the three of them set off on a walk around Telva. For a change, they had happened upon a peaceful planet, and they joined other tourists in examining the marketplaces and displays. The minutes and hours ticked by. Turlough caught a glimpse of Tegan grasping the Doctor's hand and him trying, unobtrusively and unsuccessfully, to retrieve it.

It was late when they finished their explorations. Turlough had a strong feeling that the next day would see a significant shift in the dynamics of life aboard the TARDIS. He slept on it, and his dreams consisted of mocking Black Guardians, entrapped Doctors, and angry Tegans. He woke up feeling remarkably unrefreshed and positive that if something didn't break soon, he might go insane... provided he survived long enough to do so.

In an especially morbid moment, he wondered precisely how the Black Guardian would choose to kill him. Decapitation seemed a distinct possibility, drowning was also in the running, and strangulation wasn't out of the question. All in all, though, Turlough thought the Black Guardian probably was an evisceration fan.

As he finished dwelling on this unpleasant thought, Turlough realised that he was first into the console room this morning. He spared only a moment to wonder where the others were before he glanced at the console. Perhaps he could use the rare period of privacy to program the Black Guardian's desired coordinates. If he succeeded, he wouldn't need to involve the Doctor at all and could save a tremendous amount of time and trouble. He snaked a hand toward the controls, then hesitated. He hadn't yet learned enough about operating a craft as complex as the TARDIS; he wasn't even sure where to start.

While he wavered, footsteps rapidly tapped their way towards him. Turlough managed to be standing an innocent distance from the console when the Doctor slipped into the room and cast a furtive glance over his shoulder before slumping back against the wall. He wore the look of a hunted man.

"What's wrong?" enquired Turlough, though he already had a pretty good idea.

The Doctor peered down the corridor again before he answered. "I'm growing a bit concerned about Tegan. She's been behaving rather oddly."

Turlough shrugged. To him, much of Tegan's behaviour was odd. "In what way?"

"Well, she offered to help me practise my cricket swing. At least, I think she meant my cricket swing, because she was talking about balls and bats at the time. And--" here the Doctor lowered his voice, as if imparting a secret, "she just tried to massage my shoulders, without an invitation. Not that I would have extended one in the first place, but she just presumed quite boldly."

Admittedly, such conduct seemed bizarre even for Tegan. "Have you noticed any other strange behaviour?" Turlough pressed.

"Yes, Tegan was wandering the corridors near my room while wearing only a towel. A very short towel. A very short towel that slipped three times during our 60-second conversation." The Doctor reflexively covered his eyes at the memory.

Turlough hid a smirk. "Okay, mystery solved. I can tell you exactly why Tegan's acting like that."

"Really?" The Doctor raised his head. "All right, why?"

Turlough almost hated to extinguish the spark of hope glistening in the Doctor's eyes, but it had to be done. "I finally figured out why Tegan's still on board: She likes you."

"I like her, too," the Doctor readily agreed. "Most of the time, at any rate. Particularly when she isn't shouting at me. But I don't know what that has to do with her actions of today."

Turlough realised he was just going to have to spell it out. Subtlety was wasted on the Doctor. "Listen to me, because I'm only going to say this once: the reason Tegan's making double entendres, and trying to get her hands on you, and dropping her towel? She wants into your pants."

The Doctor winced. "Turlough, could you please at least try not to be quite so crude?"

"It's obviously what's going on. You could ask anyone and they'd tell you. I mean, the truth is the truth. Didn't that possibility ever occur to you?"

"No. It did not."

"You'd better get more open-minded in a hurry," Turlough warned. "Because Tegan wants you, and the sooner you accept that fact, the sooner you can fight back."

"Tegan doesn't have those sorts of feelings towards me," the Doctor insisted. "She doesn't even respect me. When the TARDIS crashed this most recent time, she called me a directionless Time Lord with even less purpose than all the other ones. She said she was surprised I could tell up from down, and sometimes she isn't convinced of even that much."

Turlough was forced to admit to himself that the Doctor's argument held great credence. Little said "I love you" less than Tegan's unique use of insults. Nevertheless, he had to convince the Doctor that Tegan harboured serious--and romantic--feelings towards him, or his plan would never succeed.

"Tegan does like you. A lot. Hell, I bet she's in love with you. Think about it: She complains about the accidents and the malfunctions and the mistakes and the murderous aliens and the--come to think of it, she does bring up some awfully valid issues. But getting back to my main point, Tegan complains about a lot of things but she doesn't leave. That's the key."

"You're wrong, Turlough. She did return home once."

"But she came back to travel with you again," Turlough countered. "And I'm sure it wasn't because she wanted to risk her life at the claws of Tarr beasts and the like. She came back because of you. Specifically, because of her deep feelings for you." Some of Turlough's words might even have been true. He didn't really care if they were, though. The important thing was that the Doctor believed they might be.

It seemed he had serious doubts, as he was already shaking his head. "You must be mistaken. I would know if Tegan felt that way, and I'm positive she doesn't. Whatever the reason for her unusual behaviour, if I pretend not to notice I'm sure she'll give up eventually."

"This is Tegan you're talking about, right?" Turlough had rarely met a more determined individual and doubted the Doctor had either. "All right, if you need proof of her intentions, I'll do my best to get it for you. I'd never forgive myself if I didn't try to help. First we need to find Tegan. Do you have any idea where she is now?"

Ignoring the Doctor's feeble protests, Turlough spearheaded a hunt for Tegan. The Doctor in tow, he explored vast chunks of the TARDIS without any luck. Finally they approached the library, where he hesitated. It hardly seemed a likely spot, but the door stood ajar.

The Doctor peeked inside, then withdrew his head and smiled. "Here Tegan is, and she's fine. She simply fell asleep while reading a book. It's all perfectly innocent and rather sweet, in my opinion."

Tegan, reading instead of exerting her best to beat him? That seemed very out of character to Turlough. He had expected to find her ensconced in her room, experimenting with various shades of lipstick to achieve her best seductive look. He slunk to the library door to see for himself.

On the surface, the Doctor's assessment of the situation appeared to be accurate. Library, Tegan, book. But something about the scene struck Turlough as being a bit off. Perhaps it was the way Tegan's lips curled in her rest, or the satisfied sprawl of her body upon the armchair. Whatever the reason, Turlough felt the need to have a closer look. The Doctor at his heels, he crept inside the room, inching closer and closer until he was directly in front of Tegan.

His instincts proved correct. Indeed, the scenario was better than he could have hoped for. Tegan was cradling a musty-looking book with "Aphrodisiacs For Aliens" emblazoned along the spine. Turlough circled the chair to peek over her shoulder and restrained a laugh only with considerable difficulty; the section about Gallifreyans stared up at him. Beside him, the Doctor tensed and Turlough knew he had also read the disturbing words.

They turned and tiptoed away. It was in neither of their best interests to disturb Tegan at the moment. Outside the library, Turlough glanced at the Doctor and noticed that he had turned nearly as pale as the wall behind him.

They had paced nearly all the way back to the console room, the Doctor veritably exuding anxiety, before either of them spoke again. It was the Doctor. He said, "I should have a little talk with Tegan. I'm sure it will clear up this minor misunderstanding. Best to nip these issues in the bud."

Confident that anything the Doctor said to Tegan would completely fail to solve his problem, Turlough merely nodded. Let the Doctor cling to his uplifting fantasy for a little while. He'd plummet back to reality soon enough and be increasingly vulnerable to Turlough's persuasions for the experience. Sometimes you just had to give them enough rope to hang themselves before they'd allow you to help.

The Doctor backtracked towards the library and Turlough continued to the console room, where he amused himself by doodling little figures of the Doctor and Tegan in various entertaining positions: Tegan chasing the Doctor, the Doctor fleeing, Tegan falling into a bottomless pit, the Doctor literally backed into a corner as Tegan relentlessly advanced upon him. The distraction proved so absorbing that he was taken by surprise when Tegan marched in, fairly dragging the Doctor behind her. She wore the broadest smirk Turlough had ever seen outside of his own reflection in a mirror.

The Doctor soon excused himself from the room, and Turlough was not surprised to find that Tegan couldn't resist flaunting her victory, albeit in subdued tones. "You might as well give up now. I've won."

The air of triumph was unmistakable. Tegan undoubtedly believed she was saving the Doctor from Turlough's evil clutches. In her own modest, primitive, human way, she actually meant well.

Impressed but not willing to give an inch, Turlough shook his head. "You know, Tegan, you are pretty sick. You're what is called a dog in the manger. You're not going after the Doctor because you want him--you're doing it because I want him and you just don't want me to win. Yet you think I'm such a horrible person. Well, from where I sit, you're a lot worse than I am."

"Who says I don't genuinely want the Doctor for myself? And how would you know what I'm thinking anyway?"

"You didn't have any interest in him at all until after you knew I wanted him. Your motive seems obvious to me, or anyone else with any sense."

"You're being awfully generous to even imply that you have sense, Turlough."

Their conversation, conducted in low, fierce mutters, drew the attention of the Doctor as he returned. "You two aren't arguing again, are you? I do wish you would try to get on with each other."

"It was just a little disagreement," Turlough assured him. "All over now, not worth thinking about."

Tegan didn't even bother to make up a lie. She just pointedly turned her back on Turlough and lavished attention on the Doctor. She spoke of outings for two to parks and French restaurants, of European holidays and sunset strolls on Mediterranean beaches. The Doctor took up the habit of nervous pacing, hands stuffed deep inside his pockets as he stalked round and round the console. He nearly collided with Turlough several times, and stopped apologising after the first two. This lapse in manners, Turlough took as a positive sign. The Doctor was so unnerved that he had ceased to be polite. It wouldn't be long now before he was begging for Turlough's assistance.

Tegan's speeches quickly grew tiresome. Turlough found himself less than interested in hearing any more about the wonders of the Australian outback, but knew that Tegan would not quit the field a second before he did. Therefore, citing exhaustion and the need for sleep, Turlough made a strategic withdrawal and hid in his room for a full hour before reemerging. His timing was impeccable. As expected, Tegan had retreated--presumably to her own room, though Turlough wouldn't put it past her to lie in wait in the Doctor's--while the Doctor remained in the console room, an easy target.

His head was bowed and he didn't see Turlough at first. At the sight of that lowered head, Turlough felt a surge of pity that he ruthlessly tamped down. It was wasted emotion that would move him no closer to his goal. He steeled himself and stepped forward.

The Doctor's body tensed; his head snapped up; he was coiled like a spring until he set eyes on the person who had entered the room. Then he sagged against the console, tension visibly draining out of him. "Oh, Turlough, it's only you. But I thought you were off to bed."

"Got lonely and wanted some company." Turlough paused, allowing the Doctor ample time to offer to be that company--he had to at least try, after all. When no reply was forthcoming, he proceeded with Plan B, glanced around the room, and then stated the obvious. "So, I see Tegan is gone."

"Yes. Yes, she is." The Doctor's tone practically dripped with relief.

"Good thing she has to sleep sometimes, huh?" Turlough pulled up a chair and settled down for what promised to be a most illuminating discussion. "So, what the hell happened between you and her today after you went back to the library?"

"We had a chat."

"That must be the chat where you said you'd straighten things out with her. Where you were supposed to inform her that you're not interested, it's never going to happen, and she's mental if she thinks it ever might. That sort of thing. So why was she talking Venetian gondola rides for two all afternoon?"

"Yes, well, the discussion did not exactly go according to plan."

"In what way?" Turlough prodded.

"It seems Tegan thinks I'm in love with her," the Doctor said in a subdued voice.

"What?!" Turlough almost couldn't believe his luck; the Doctor had screwed up beyond his wildest dreams. "How did she get that idea?"

The Doctor studied the floor, refusing to meet Turlough's probing gaze. "I suppose I might somehow have accidentally given her that impression with a most unfortunate choice of phrasing that was unhappily misunderstood."

"In other words, you totally fucked up." Turlough shook his head in wonder. "You should have brought a translator when you talked to her. What exactly did you say that got misinterpreted so badly?"

"I informed Tegan that while some friendships deepen into more over time, others are meant to remain strictly friendly. Surely she should have grasped my point, but she took the wrong meaning from those very clear words."

"So why didn't you correct her? Immediately and firmly?"

"Tegan can be very bullheaded when she wants to be. She simply wouldn't listen."

"Don't worry, we'll fix things. Obviously you were way too nice and let her walk all over you. You need to be firm, direct, and in command. Since you can't manage that much, it's up to me." Turlough jumped up and turned towards the corridor. "I don't care if she's sleeping right now. Someone has to save you. I'll go talk to her."

The Doctor stepped into his path, stopping Turlough short. "No, don't. I don't want Tegan's feelings to be hurt. Beneath her tough veneer lies a vulnerable soul."

"I'll take your word for it." Turlough dropped back into his chair and continued, "Either way, you still have a big problem on your hands and it isn't going away on its own."

"Yes," the Doctor admitted. "I am somewhat at a loss as to how to proceed with the situation."

"I take it you don't want to go to Paris with Tegan, at least not in the manner she intended."

"No, of course not. I've already holidayed there. Besides, Tegan is only a friend. But, Turlough," and here the Doctor turned his gaze on him, "one aspect of this matter in particular has me at a loss."

"Just one? All right, what is it?"

"Why now? Why did Tegan choose this time to begin making advances?"

For just a moment, Turlough wondered if the Doctor suspected his involvement in this turn of events. In that case, there was only one thing to do: He assumed a bland expression and flatly lied. "I have no idea why Tegan picked this time to attack. She is an alien, you know, and their behaviour can be quite hard to predict."

"But you lived on Earth for some time," the Doctor countered. "That experience must give you a certain amount of insight into the motivations of its inhabitants."

Turlough shook his head. "Tegan remains a virtual mystery to me, and I think that's okay with both of us. We just don't have much in common. I'd expect you to understand her better than I do. You've known her a lot longer than I have."

"That's just it." The Doctor began to pace again. "I can't come up with any reasonable explanation."

"Maybe you should ask Tegan about her timing," Turlough slyly suggested.

The Doctor halted, looking frankly horrified. "Absolutely not! She might take such an enquiry as a personal interest in her, as some sort of encouragement!"

Turlough shrugged. "Forget I had the idea, then. But you know, all this stuff started pretty much right after Nyssa left. Maybe Tegan was just lying around and started thinking about things and realised that life is too short not to go after you want--that if you don't grab something while it's around, it might not be there later."

"Carpe diem is an admirable sentiment," the Doctor agreed. "Though I'd appreciate it more if Tegan had decided to seize something other than me."

"Well," Turlough hinted, "if you want to discourage her, there are various methods. You don't have to suffer in silence, unless you're a complete masochist." Recognising that the Doctor did possess marked masochistic tendencies and the conversation had veered into dangerous territory, Turlough hurried on. "I could help you wiggle free."

The Doctor furrowed his brow. "I said I don't want Tegan to be hurt."

"That might be unavoidable, but if you're living a pain-free life, you're not really living. Isn't that true? Besides, if you're careful you can minimise the damage and let her down fairly gently while saving yourself. You're right that if you just tell her you don't love her and that's all there is to it, it'll hurt her feelings and she'll think there's something wrong with her. But if you show her why you don't love her, and you do it in just the right way, she'll know the problem is you instead of her. Even Tegan would have to accept defeat fairly gracefully."

Hope infiltrated the Doctor's voice. "And how do I go about letting Tegan down easily?"

"You have to show her that the issue with this relationship is not just Tegan herself. It's any woman." Turlough delicately stressed the final word of the sentence.

Comprehension dawned on the Doctor's face, yet he didn't flee the room. Turlough was encouraged, especially when the Doctor said, "You sound like you've come up with a plan."

"Yeah, and I think it'll work perfectly. It's pretty straightforward. How it goes is, Tegan has to catch you in a compromising position with someone else. Obviously a male someone."

"What's your reasoning?"

"If she found you with a woman, she would definitely feel hurt. She'd wonder what that woman has that she doesn't. Is she prettier, smarter, nicer, that sort of thing. She'd blame herself for not being good enough and end up feeling bad no matter what. But if Tegan finds you with a man, she'll just be mad that you didn't tell her the truth. There won't be any comparisons or any reason for her to feel inferior. That's why it has to be a man instead of a woman."

"I take it you have an individual in mind."

"Well..." Turlough equivocated.

"You," the Doctor stated rather than asked.

"I don't see much choice," Turlough pointed out. "The way she feels about me, if she thought we were involved she would have serious questions about your taste and might lose interest in you for that reason alone. Besides, there isn't anyone else around to do the job, unless you want to take your chances with finding a stranger who'll help."

"I very much doubt that Tegan would be convinced if she saw me with an unfamiliar person. In fact, she would most likely become extremely suspicious and not believe any of the act. Then I would be left worse off than I am now."

"I agree. So, I guess I'm nominated."

"It wouldn't be fair to you, Turlough. I could never ask you to do such a thing."

"You're not asking; I'm offering. You've done so much for me that I welcome the opportunity to return the favour," Turlough said nobly. "Isn't that what friends do for each other?"

"Wait a minute," the Doctor cautioned. "I have my concerns about this plan. It sounds rather dishonest and underhanded."

Turlough couldn't let the Doctor chicken out now. "It's suffer that for five minutes, or Tegan, long-term. Your life, your choice."

The Doctor was silent for so long, Turlough fully anticipated a negative response. Thus, he was not terribly discouraged when he received precisely that.

"No. It isn't right and I can't do it. Thank you for your offer of assistance. I know it's well intentioned but it's fundamentally wrong and I must refuse."

Turlough nodded. It was not the time to pursue the issue, or even to point out that sometimes the Doctor was far too self-righteous for his own good. All he had to do was wait until the Doctor felt pressured enough to agree to his plan, no matter how insane and/or distasteful it seemed to him. He would bide his time. It would happen eventually; on that point, Turlough was confident.

Part 3/3

Doctor Who Fic: Pet Rock (1/3)

2007-01-05T17:18:06Z

Title: Pet Rock 1/3
Author: castrovalva9
Rating: PG
Characters: Five/Turlough, Black Guardian, Tegan
Summary: The Black Guardian sets Turlough a seemingly impossible task.
Disclaimer: "Doctor Who" is property of the BBC.
Notes: Not quite crack!fic, but not terribly far off of it, either. I did try to keep the plot grounded in its own form of logic, though.
Set after Terminus, so the Black Guardian's still around and Nyssa has recently left. There just isn't a place for her in this particular story.
Beta read by Kara MT.

As days went, Turlough's had already been nothing short of disastrous, and it was barely half over. Tegan had stomped on his foot while wearing high heels (she claimed it was an accident, but Turlough had his doubts), the Doctor had forgotten his existence and nearly stranded him on the frozen fields of Alton Major, and to top it off, the Black Guardian had just materialised to demand a chat.

Leaning against a roundel in one of the endless corridors aboard the TARDIS, Turlough balanced the despised crystal in one hand, slipped off his right shoe, and rubbed his sore foot as the Guardian launched into a typical tirade. He still wasn't happy Tegan had injured him, but had to admit that tending the wound provided a convenient excuse to avoid looking the Guardian in the eye. Unfortunately, listening to his haranguing voice was not optional.

"You, my boy, are pathetic. I've made a very easy request and you have completely failed to fulfill it. Clearly, you are useless at committing simple acts such as murder and sabotage. I cannot find the words to express how disappointed I am." There was a significant pause during which Turlough braced himself for more abuse. The Guardian continued in a disturbingly gentler tone, "However, I have been considering the matter in some depth and I'm pleased to announce that I've come up with a way for you to redeem yourself."

Such a generous offer instantly raised Turlough's suspicions. "What do you have in mind?" he asked carefully. He had no illusions; the new task was bound to be dreadful, probably worse than his original revolting assignment to kill the Doctor.

"Even you can accomplish this job," the Guardian assured him. "As a bonus, it will be a great boost to your low self-esteem when you succeed. All you must do is convince the Doctor to pilot the TARDIS to a specific location."

Turlough waited to hear the inevitable catch as he finished massaging his foot and replaced his shoe. "And then what?" he finally prompted when the Guardian had remained silent for some seconds.

"And then nothing. That is where your participation in the plan begins and ends."

Turlough rolled his eyes, but only because he knew the Guardian was too busy posturing to notice. "Well, why didn't you just ask me to do that the very first time we met?"

"Because initially, I never imagined that you would be so inept at an elementary job like a quick murder. Due to your sheer incompetence, I've had to simplify matters substantially. Now, listen carefully and commit this information to memory, if you can manage even that much." Here the Guardian rattled off a set of coordinates.

Turlough obediently memorised the words, then thought of an obvious question. "But can't I just program the coordinates myself? I don't need the Doctor for that."

"On the contrary, you very much need him. Only someone with extremely advanced knowledge of and connection to a TARDIS will be able to pilot it to that exact place. It also requires a level of intelligence that you have so far shown no sign of possessing. The Doctor must do it himself. And you must convince him, or suffer the consequences," the Guardian firmly concluded.

"So how am I supposed to persuade him?"

"Do whatever is necessary. Be creative." The Guardian's lips curved. "While you may be good for little else, in this case I'm quite sure you have your wiles... er, ways. And I am equally sure that the Doctor will find those ways most enticing."

A chill spread through Turlough's stomach. "Oh, hold on, you don't expect me to..."

"Seduce him into it? It would be the most efficient method. And when one is operating under a deadline, one should strive for maximum efficiency. If one desires long-term survival, that is. Don't bother to protest that you are unwilling. We both know the opposite is true."

Turlough lowered his gaze. "Maybe so, but he'll wonder why I want to go to that place, and it'll look suspicious when I can't explain."

"Of course you can explain. Lie, boy, lie! Tell him you buried a fortune in gold there. Tell him it's your mother's rest home. I don't care what story you make up as long as you deliver him to that location. I will take care of the rest."

Turlough nodded. "That sounds..." His voice trailed off. The plan didn't sound "good" in the least; it sounded awful, but he didn't dare speak his mind. Instead he rephrased, "I understand what I have to do, and I won't let you down."

"You had better not." The Guardian regarded Turlough with a frown. "You see, I am going to allow you free rein to complete this job. This time, I won't be around to assist."

Turlough nearly dropped the crystal in shock. "What?"

"I do have other ongoing projects, you know. I'm a busy man, and it's impossible for me to constantly monitor you. Besides, your need for extensive supervision has become quite tedious. Has the thought never crossed your mind that I might like to participate in the occasional poker tournament or even read a good book once in a while? I see by the expression on your face that it has not. Ah, well, I am not surprised. Your lack of imagination is one of your outstanding characteristics." The Guardian's image wavered and began to fade. Just before he vanished, he uttered the reminder, "You are entirely on your own to complete this job. Succeed, and you are free. Fail, and the consequences will be severe. Two days should prove sufficient."

"Wait! What if I need more time?" Turlough yelled. Silence answered him. "Well, that was a big help," he muttered as he clutched the dormant crystal.

A hand fell upon his shoulder. Turlough froze; the hand was attached to the Doctor, who had turned up at almost the worst possible moment. He circled Turlough and looked inquisitively at the object in his palm. "What an unexpected sight. Turlough, I must say, I'm extremely surprised."

"It really isn't what you think," Turlough blindly insisted, curling his fingers over the top of the crystal.

The Doctor smiled kindly. "I know exactly what you're holding, and there's no reason to be ashamed or embarrassed. Absolutely no reason at all. You could be up to a lot worse."

What could be that much worse than colluding with the Black Guardian against the Doctor? Turlough thought. "What do you mean?"

"It isn't a bad thing by any means, and I don't think any less of you for it. I simply had no idea that you possessed a pet rock."

"A pet rock?" Turlough repeated. It was one of the last things he had expected to hear.

"You don't know their history?" The Doctor slipped into familiar lecture mode. "In 1970s America, a man named Gary Dahl came up with the idea of selling ordinary grey pebbles along with mock training booklets containing instructions on how to feed the rocks and teach them to perform tricks such as sitting and staying. Some owners even talked to their 'pets', like you do."

Turlough stared at him; the Doctor didn't appear to be joking. "That's the most asinine idea I've ever heard of."

"Perhaps not so foolish, since it did make the inventor a millionaire within mere months," the Doctor pointed out. "And, Turlough, I understand that the original concept may be unfamiliar to you, as the fad peaked in 1975. However, you do realise if that is not a pet rock, then I'll have to ask you some very uncomfortable questions about what it actually is."

Turlough sighed in defeat. "Fine, I guess it's a pet rock."

The Doctor nodded. "Exactly as I thought. It's a very quaint and human habit you've picked up here. You see, not everything you learned on Earth was bad for you." After a final cheery smile and a pat on Turlough's back, he proceeded down the corridor and out of sight.

Turlough eyed the crystal. "Be careful, or he might get suspicious of you and me."

"Turlough, are you talking to a crystal?" came Tegan's voice from beside him.

Somehow not terribly surprised to be caught in the act again, Turlough squared his shoulders. "Yes, I am talking to a crystal, Tegan. But you see, this isn't just any ordinary crystal. It's a very special crystal. This is my pet rock."

"Your what?"

"Ask the Doctor." Turlough turned and meandered away, leaving Tegan speechless for once. Doubtless, she would soon recover and charge away to confront the Doctor with Turlough's crackpot story. He only wished he could see the look on her face when she suffered the humiliation of the Doctor informing her that it was true.

In the meantime, though, Turlough had more weighty matters to consider. He'd already failed to kill the Doctor by his own hand, and sabotaging the TARDIS had reaped less than positive results. He supposed he was very lucky to have been offered this latest opportunity, even though it came along with yet another moral dilemma. Turlough was sure that after he gave the Black Guardian what he wanted, the Doctor would not live a very long or a very happy life. The knowledge that he would be sending another man to sure doom did not especially thrill him.

Still, the Doctor's future was none of Turlough's concern. He had to look out for himself first and foremost. If it boiled down to a choice between his life or the Doctor's, self-preservation had to prove victorious. He would follow the Black Guardian's orders, win the Doctor's confidence, and betray him. Then he would be free. As for the Doctor, he would just have to take his chances.

*****

Within that very hour, Turlough started his work in earnest and continued it over the next two days. During meals he brushed the Doctor's hand while passing requested items. He tried smiling seductively, innocently, boldly, and sweetly (that version was a real stretch and he wasn't entirely sure he pulled it off). He complimented the Doctor's apple pie, requested the name of his tailor, and even engaged in long, detailed discussions of cricket--knowledge courtesy of a handy but excruciatingly dull guide called The Noble Sport Through the Centuries-- during which he impressed the Doctor by dropping terms such as leg spinner and flat throw.

Despite Turlough's outrageous flirting, over the course of those two days he made not the slightest bit of meaningful progress. The Doctor's behaviour towards him did not alter one iota. He remained pleasant, polite, and friendly, but no more.

Truth be told, Turlough was rather insulted. He didn't think he was that unattractive, and it wasn't like there were a lot of options while aboard the TARDIS. If someone--anyone at all--offered, Turlough thought the Doctor should be accepting with a hell of a lot more eagerness than he had shown so far. So why was he ignoring Turlough's blatant advances? The Doctor couldn't be blind or naive as he was acting; he had to know exactly what Turlough was getting at. Didn't he?

Searching for any other reason to explain why he was being spurned, Turlough decided it was, naturally, all Tegan's fault. Having her hampering presence around was like being a Derby entrant with an extra six stone on its back: a crippling handicap. Turlough shuddered to think of the complications of seduction if he still had Nyssa about to contend with as well. Yes, as soon as Tegan gave him some breathing space and stopped lurking about and interrupting meaningful moments, Turlough thought he should be able to make serious inroads. Therefore, on the second day of his assignment he bided his time until finally, Tegan left the console room to turn in for the night.

The setup was ideal: He and the Doctor were alone, with Tegan nowhere to be seen. The Doctor was engaged in the familiar pastime of unsuccessfully fiddling with the TARDIS console. Turlough was assisting in small ways such as holding tools and making sympathetic noises whenever the Doctor swore. He had been considering, rehearsing, and rejecting potential conversational openers for hours. Now the depressing weight of the omnipresent crystal in his pocket spurred Turlough into speech. "So, Doctor, you must have been travelling around for quite a long while," he began.

"It's been some time, yes," the Doctor agreed, handing Turlough a spanner to hold and turning back to the console.

"I'm sure you must feel very lonely out here sometimes."

"Oh, I'm hardly alone," the Doctor replied as he soldered a wire and then glanced at Turlough. "I usually have friends with me."

"No, I meant 'lonely', not 'alone'. Lonely in a personal sort of way." Turlough smiled and stroked his tie with his right index finger.

"What are you going on about, Turlough?" the Doctor said blankly.

The Doctor was giving new meaning to the word "oblivious". Trying to give him an unmistakable sign, Turlough fondled the knot of his tie. In the next moment, the TARDIS lurched violently and they crashed on the planet of Telva.

*****

The enforced landing ruined Turlough's plan. For the remainder of the night, the Doctor was far too concerned with TARDIS repairs and negotiating with the Telvans for supplies to even notice his attempts at flirtation. In fact, considering the notable lack of success he had so far encountered, Turlough was beginning to suspect that the Black Guardian had set him an impossible task. There was no way anyone could have won over the Doctor within only 48 hours. Even given an unlimited amount of time, it might not be possible at all. The Doctor just didn't seem to understand the concept.

The crystal had, as promised, remained dim throughout the two days. Now, though, as Turlough moodily haunted the corridors and contemplated deliberately injuring himself just to get some attention, the horrible thing lit up his pocket like a spotlight. Turlough yanked it out and cupped it in his palms. Apparently they were to hold yet another key discussion in the open, probably because the Black Guardian delighted in tormenting Turlough with the constant fear of being discovered. The technique was effective. However, much to Turlough's relief, this time only the Guardian's voice confronted him, while his form stayed wherever it was when it wasn't offending Turlough's eyes.

"You have failed me once more, Turlough," the Guardian stated without preamble. "A very disheartening pattern to our interactions has formed. You are fortunate that, inept as you are, I have so far required your services. Nevertheless, your consistent failures do not inspire confidence."

"Yeah, well, it isn't all my fault. Not even close to it. I've been working night and day, so you know there's no lack of effort on my part."

"Then why is the Doctor not where I instructed you to bring him?"

"It does take two, and he hasn't exactly cooperated with me. Are you sure he even knows how to--"

"Certainly he does, boy," the Guardian snapped, "he is more than 750 years old."

"Well, he doesn't act like he has the first clue. What the hell is he saving it for anyway?" Turlough stopped, a potentially life-saving thought springing to the front of his brain. "Hey, maybe he just doesn't like me. If he isn't interested, you really can't blame me."

"Make him like you," the Guardian boomed, then paused. "Or perhaps your latest spectacular failure is indeed not entirely your fault."

Turlough could hardly believe his ears. Was the Black Guardian actually admitting that Turlough might be right?

"Perhaps," the Guardian went on, "you have competition. I understand you and the Doctor have another travelling companion, a female human. Can the girl possibly be the problem? Are she and the Doctor involved with each other?"

Turlough scoffed. "No, he's definitely not getting it from Tegan. Together they'd be like oil and water. In fact, I can't even figure out why she's still on board. She's always complaining about everything." He mimicked Tegan's voice. "'We crashed again, you couldn't steer a bicycle, Turlough's evil, the TARDIS burnt my toast.'"

"Why has she stayed around, indeed?" the Guardian mused. "It truly is a question to ponder."

Not for Turlough; he had more important things to consider than Tegan's baffling presence. Things like getting out of this mess alive and in one piece. Desperate to secure a reprieve, he heard himself uttering the words he had never thought he would voluntarily say. "Can't I just kill him instead? That would be so much easier."

"No. Use the girl," came the Black Guardian's faint voice.

"What?" Use Tegan how? Turlough wondered. Flirt with her to make the Doctor jealous? Strangle her so she would finally be out of his way? Something else? "A little direction would be nice!"

"Use the girl," the Guardian repeated, and on that note he left Turlough to think.

*****

Despite the Black Guardian's parting words of advice, by the next day Turlough had decided against "using" Tegan in any way. The thought of flirting with her made him sick to his stomach, she clearly felt the same level of distaste towards him, and the Doctor probably wouldn't notice anyway, let alone end up overcome with jealousy. Similarly, the idea of strangling Tegan--though tempting--was bound to backfire, since the Doctor was unlikely to be impressed by such violence. And if Turlough knew one thing for sure, it was that he didn't dare enlist Tegan to help in his schemes to entrap the Doctor. She didn't trust or like him and probably would enjoy nothing better than sabotaging his attempts. Not that she would need to bother. Turlough was crashing and burning quite well on his own, without any outside assistance.

No, Turlough concluded, the best way to deal with Tegan was to leave her well alone. For the time being, he was perfectly content to stay out of her path as long as she followed his lead. While it would be virtually impossible to entirely avoid her, he could do his best. Therefore, as he entered the console room he merely nodded briefly to Tegan in the bare minimum of a greeting and then pretended she didn't exist.

That matter taken care of, Turlough devoted his brainpower to the big question. He had to come up with a fresh approach. He studied the Doctor, who was half-buried in the console innards as he wielded a screwdriver to seemingly little effect. Now and then a spark flitted at him as the TARDIS protested his efforts.

Turlough had just taken a step towards him when a distraction struck. "Turlough, we need to talk." It was Tegan, hovering at his elbow like a particularly persistent gnat.

"Later, okay?"

"No, now." She grabbed his arm and tugged him out of the room.

Once in the corridor, well out of earshot of the Doctor, Turlough yanked his limb free. "What is it?"

Tegan announced, "I know what you're up to."

"Oh, really," Turlough said dismissively. "And what would that be?"

"I've seen how you're acting around the Doctor. The way you've been fawning all over him is disgusting. If you drooled any more, there'd be a puddle of saliva around your feet. Anyone with eyes can tell you have something up your sleeve. My guess is you want to win the Doctor's confidence and then betray him. The only reason he hasn't seen through you yet is that he's so idealistic, he always hunts for the good in everyone. And compared to some of the creatures he's believed in the past, you look relatively innocent. But I know you can't be trusted."

Despite himself, Turlough was intrigued by the (extremely accurate) accusations. Tegan was far more insightful than he ever would have guessed. Maybe if he prodded her a bit, she would unwittingly give his efforts a hand. "How do you think I'm going to 'win his confidence', as you put it?"

"You know what they say about public schools."

Turlough smirked. "No, what's that?"

Tegan scowled. "Don't try to play innocent with me. You know very well what I mean. But you're deluding yourself. The Doctor would never respond to you anyway. Why would he? He can do a lot better."

'He can do a lot better... do a lot better... do a lot better...'

The phrase echoed inside Turlough's head. It was significant. He just had to figure out how it was significant. Unless, perhaps... could it possibly be...?

"Are you even listening to me?" Tegan yelped.

Turlough flinched. "How can I avoid it?" Inside, however, he was grinning in triumph. He had found it: the key, the way to effectively use Tegan as a tool and accomplish his goals. She was playing right into his hands. "Yes, of course I'm listening to you, Tegan. Your voice just reached a level at which hearing damage can occur. You said you think the Doctor can do better than me. Personally, I'm not so sure about that. He seems pretty lonely. Probably wouldn't mind a little attention, even if it is just from me. After all, his options are awfully limited."

"Options?" Tegan repeated.

"No one, himself, me... oh, yeah, you're here too," Turlough said carelessly. "But you don't really count."

"Why not?" Tegan predictably flared.

Turlough shrugged. "You just... don't."

Tegan's eyes narrowed. "Leave the Doctor alone."

"Or what?"

"Or you'll see," Tegan coolly replied.

Turlough promptly decided that he very much wanted to see exactly what Tegan had in mind. If he'd guessed correctly, he'd roused Tegan's competitive instincts and lured her into the game. Soon, if all went according to plan, he could sit back and allow her to do the dirty work for him.

"While you're deciding what to do, I'll just go back in here." He shifted towards the console room.

Tegan did not speak. Instead, she appeared to be thinking very hard. Then she turned on her heel and hurried off.

Turlough gazed after her appraisingly. He didn't for a second believe that Tegan was running away. She wouldn't quit so easily. It just wasn't in her character. She was loyal to a fault, and more important in this case, she despised Turlough. Therefore, he knew she would return, and he also knew it would not be a quiet return.

Turlough spared a moment of sympathy for the poor Doctor, who would never know what had hit him once Tegan attacked. Unlike Turlough, she had no hidden agenda and absolutely nothing to lose. Also unlike Turlough, Tegan didn't know the meaning of the word "subtle". Back in the console room, he settled down with a TARDIS handbook and awaited her reappearance.

Part Two

Doctor Who fic: Ginger Beer (Five/Nyssa, G)

2006-10-10T21:45:03Z

Still in the Five era, which I love more than any other. :)

Title: Ginger Beer
Author: castrovalva9
Rating: G
Characters: Five/Nyssa
Summary: The Doctor overindulges in ginger beer and speaks unwisely to Nyssa.
Disclaimer: "Doctor Who" is property of the BBC.
Notes: Beta read by Kara MT.
Set after Time-Flight.
I've been working on this story for ages, and finally came to the conclusion that if I don't post something now, it'll never happen. This part can stand alone. I might eventually add more; I might not. If I do, it will get very shippy. If I don't go on, what you see is what you get.

The Doctor was celebrating.

He'd been hoarding a stock of the finest ginger beer for decades, in anticipation of a special occasion, and that time had finally arrived. He had managed to get Tegan home, even if it was by accident, and he'd managed to leave her there, even if by accident he had also failed to say an appropriate goodbye.

Yes, he deserved a treat. As many treats as he could drink before he passed out, in fact.

He sloshed a generous portion of the contents of the nearest bottle into his glass and then noticed that Nyssa wasn't keeping up. She was merely toying with her glass, lifting it and setting it down again, forming little wet rings on the kitchen table.

What had he been thinking before he looked at the rings? He couldn't remember, and settled for informing Nyssa, "Now that Tegan isn't around to hear it, I don't mind telling you I sometimes despaired of getting her home."

She nodded in a weary sort of way. "Yes, I know."

"How do you know that?" the Doctor wondered.

"Because you said it approximately three minutes ago," Nyssa said gently.

"Oh." The Doctor took another swig of ginger beer. He paused to marvel at how delicious it tasted before resuming, "Anyway, Tegan's home and it's just you and me now, Nyssa. Wherever you want to go. Whatever you want to do. Whenever." He spread his arms in an extravagant gesture, nearly toppling his glass in the process.

Nyssa performed a quick save and then finally tasted her drink. When she had finished the glass, she turned to the Doctor. "I can't travel with you any longer," she said baldly.

The Doctor blinked. "Why not?"

"Because," Nyssa said, pouring herself another helping, "it isn't proper. It was all right when Adric and Tegan were around. It wasn't just you and me then. But how do you think it looks now, with the two of us alone? I'll tell you: It looks... disreputable!"

The Doctor struggled to work his mind around her logic, which was decidedly foreign to him even after taking the potential effects of the ginger beer into account. "Are you saying you're concerned about what people will think?"

"Yes!" Nyssa tossed her head. "Yes, I am! Don't you remember that nasty little man at the hotel last week? How he looked at you and me and Tegan?"

The Doctor did indeed remember.

The receptionist's expert gaze encompassed the three of them. "Welcome to the Bradford Hotel. You're in luck; we've just had a cancellation and have a room now available."

"We need two rooms," the Doctor promptly corrected.

The other man frowned, looked from the Doctor to Tegan to Nyssa, and finally checked his records. "I suppose we do have a second room. If you and your..." He looked inquiringly at the Doctor and Tegan.

"Tegan is my... niece?" the Doctor offered.

"Oh, that sounded convincing," Tegan muttered.

"We're just travelling companions," the Doctor stressed, shooting her a quelling look.

The receptionist winked. "I understand. Let me assure you, we are very discreet here. You and your 'niece' and your other 'niece', I presume, are quite welcome. I'll make sure no one disturbs you; I'm sure you want your privacy."

At the time, Nyssa hadn't seemed unduly upset by the receptionist's insinuations, the Doctor thought, but then again, he was learning all sorts of new things about her tonight. She must be better at concealing her emotions than he had previously believed. She was so quiet and undemanding that he admittedly at times took her patience and good nature for granted. What was that old Earth saying? Still waters ran deep?

Nyssa was speaking again and she certainly seemed upset. "I couldn't even really blame that man because what else was he supposed to think, looking at us? Now that it's just you and me, more and more people are going to assume the exact same thing. Don't you agree?"

She was looking at the Doctor like she expected a sensible answer. "Ah, yes?" he guessed.

"Right!" Nyssa exclaimed. "That's exactly the problem. So you realise, as soon as possible you'll have to leave me on the nearest suitable planet."

Somehow, the Doctor had agreed to an action he had never intended to support. Perhaps worse, Nyssa was becoming rather worked up. He saw tears in her eyes, and her lips were trembling. He watched anxiously; if Nyssa cried, he was not quite sure what he should do. Then the ginger beer worked its magic, as Nyssa lifted her refilled glass and drained the contents. She did not cry, but instead drank at a steady pace.

Time passed and the Doctor mulled over how he never could stand to be alone. Now he was fast sliding in that direction. Most recently he had lost Adric, and Tegan couldn't wait to get away from him. He didn't think he could bear it if Nyssa left as well. That was the problem with his companions, always wanting to go their own way just about as soon as he had them nicely broken in. Even worse, Nyssa was one of the more promising of the lot, since unlike certain others she actually listened to him most of the time. It really wasn't fair of her to threaten to leave. It was an uncharitable thought, but then, he felt he had some right to be uncharitable. He'd invested a lot of time and emotion in Nyssa, and he hadn't yet received a fair return.

The Doctor and Nyssa sat glumly, imbibing several more glasses of ginger beer apiece. The drinks seemed to help the Doctor think, because after five additional glasses he had come up with a glaringly logical solution. Yes, he thought, it would work. Nyssa was quite amiable and they had always got on very well. She never argued with him and only rarely asked questions so foolish they made him want to tear out his hair in despair. He couldn't lose a paragon of a companion like her. There was really only one thing to do.

"You know," he informed Nyssa, blearily regarding her from behind his latest ginger beer, "we could get just married. If we were married, there wouldn't be anything improper about us travelling together, correct?"

Nyssa nodded vigorously, almost falling from her chair in the process. "Being married would make us very proper. I definitely wouldn't have to leave."

"Then it's settled." The Doctor tried to refill their glasses and realised only after several fruitless efforts that the final bottle of his precious supply was empty. "We can't drink to it, but we're engaged."

*****

In the morning, the Doctor was sober. He hadn't even a touch of hangover, but for some reason a feeling of dread hovered over him.

He fought to remember: What had happened last night? Had they encountered any more monsters composed of bubble bath? Individuals named Smarte or Mertas or any other anagram of 'Master'?

Oh, yes. He had overindulged in ginger beer and become engaged to Nyssa. That was all.

That was all?

He didn't want to marry Nyssa! Oh, he liked her very much and appreciated the fact that her voice never approached the decibel level of Tegan's finest efforts, but he had felt that way about Adric as well and wouldn't have wanted to marry him, either.

The Doctor could almost feel a noose tightening about his neck. It was all the fault of that wretched, tempting, seductive ginger beer, and if he hadn't run out of it last night, he would have downed another bottle on the spot to help him forget his current fix.

Then he calmed down and forced himself to engage in rational thought. Nyssa must have drunk almost as much ginger beer as he had. With some luck, she wouldn't remember a bit of their unfortunate conversation. And even if chance she did happen to recall the less illustrious parts, surely she didn't truly want to marry him any more than he wanted to marry her. She was certain to laugh off the entire idea, and then they would return to their old comfortable friendly footing.

Having thus reassured himself, the Doctor proceeded down the corridor to the console room in relatively good humour. After all, he had scored a stunning (if entirely inadvertent) success in transporting Tegan to Heathrow, and he was still proud of himself. In a modest way, of course.

As he neared his destination, he was poised to utter the words. Any of several phrases would work a treat. Perhaps he should go with, "This is a terrible mistake." Then again, "We're better off as friends" had a winning ring to it, and "I was drunk!" was the ultimate in honesty. Honesty was good. But then he stepped into the console room and caught sight of Nyssa's bright, expectant face and his hearts sank. Immediately he realised he couldn't say a word. Honesty would not be good in this particular case.

Again, he cursed that ginger beer.

Doctor Who fic: Abandonment (Five/Nyssa), PG

2006-09-24T17:08:55Z

Title: Abandonment
Author: castrovalva9
Rating: PG
Pairing: Five/Nyssa
Summary: Drabble. Right after "Terminus", the Doctor thinks about his relationship with Nyssa.

Disclaimer: "Doctor Who" is property of the BBC.
Note: Just a drabble, but for some reason hardly anyone ever writes Five/Nyssa so... better this than nothing?

Dispirited, the Doctor trudged back to the TARDIS without Nyssa. In the wake of her departure, everything reminded him of her. There was the roundel they had shagged against just yesterday, and that jammed row of buttons atop the console, and the dented door, not to mention his old scarf, now stretched a bit more than it was ever meant to. What had she been thinking, to abandon him to the company of Tegan and that odd ginger lad who was always fiddling with his tie in the most suggestive manner?

No, things would never be quite the same again.

Doctor Who story: Symbiosis

2006-09-17T23:47:02Z

Title: Symbiosis
Author: castrovalva9
Rating: PG
Characters: Kamelion/TARDIS; the Fifth Doctor, Tegan, and Turlough
Summary: What was Kamelion doing in the back of the TARDIS all that time between The King's Demons and Planet of Fire?

Disclaimer: "Doctor Who" is property of the BBC.
Notes: Beta read by Kara MT.
Inspired by the comment Peter Davison made about how Kamelion was basically just thrown in the TARDIS and forgotten about. I'm not sure why I care, but I started thinking about what Kamelion was doing during this absence from the screen. I wrote this one during a break from my Five/Nyssa story, which I'm afraid is also crack!fic.
Set immediately after Kamelion joins the crew in the The King's Demons.

Kamelion traversed the TARDIS corridors, searching for a place of his own. The one called Tegan had said he could have her room, for all she cared. Given approval, Kamelion assiduously sought out this location.

It was fortunate that he shared compatible data-stream rhythms with the TARDIS; it made finding the appropriate spot a simple process that did not require him to request additional help of Tegan or the others. Kamelion did not want to get off to a poor start by making a nuisance of himself.

He paused outside the doorway of the indicated room and examined the interior. Articles of clothing, crumpled papers, coins, and a few battered novels lay haphazardly on the floor. Kamelion picked his way around and over the items and settled atop the blue plastic chair in the corner. He was not demanding; all he needed was a quiet place to stay.

When Tegan came in four minutes later, she did not react in a positive manner and the room ceased to be quiet.

Kamelion filed away the information that he could not always trust Tegan's words and renewed his search. He learned that he was not wanted in the library, the laboratory, the kitchen, the study, Turlough's room, the art gallery, the medical bay, any of various storage rooms or bathrooms, and dozens of other places. Undeterred, he continued his hunt, eventually stepping into a dark room with a console in the middle of it.

'Secondary console room,' the TARDIS informed him. 'Functional but not currently in use.'

Kamelion thought this area should prove suitable. According to the TARDIS, the room had not been visited in years. However, this data was not all that the TARDIS shared. She communicated her loneliness and jealousy, the fact that she was mentally and physically abused, especially by her beloved Doctor. She flashed images of Tegan insulting her, the Doctor hitting her console, Turlough receiving the caresses that should have been hers alone.

Kamelion understood; he also knew what it felt like to be used. He and the TARDIS shared much in common, and should interface very effectively. Moving efficiently, he knelt, removed a panel from the side of the console, and last of all exposed his own circuits. As he had projected, they interlocked perfectly with those of the TARDIS.

Then she flooded him with her power and Kamelion accepted it.

*****

Turlough hesitated on his way out the door of the TARDIS. "Aren't we missing someone?" The Doctor and Tegan both looked blank, and he reminded them, "Kamelion isn't here."

"Who cares?" Tegan muttered.

"Don't you think his shape-shifting ability might come in handy?" Turlough pressed.

"I think he's more trouble than he's worth," was Tegan's assessment.

The Doctor offered no words of support, so Turlough shrugged and started walking again. "All right, we can go without him. But don't you wonder where he is and what he's doing?"

"He's probably in the back of the TARDIS somewhere," the Doctor replied. "I'm sure he's fine."

And that was the last time any of them spared for a thought about Kamelion for many days.

Doctor Who story: Famous Last Words (Four/Sarah, M)

2006-08-20T23:38:49Z

Title: Famous Last Words
Author: castrovalva9
Rating: M
Summary: Cliche!fic. The TARDIS deliberately takes the Fourth Doctor and Sarah Jane Smith to a planet where aliens force them to have sex. Yes, it's the classic "aliens made them do it" plot. I even used a cliched title.
Notes: Written for the Doctor/Sarah Jane Cliche Challenge. It's still the 20th where I live, so I made the deadline. :)

Beta read by Kara MT.
My other stories are listed here. This is my only Four/Sarah one at present, but I may eventually write more.
Disclaimer: "Doctor Who" is property of the BBC.

"You'll enjoy this place, I assure you."

The Doctor's confidence automatically made Sarah suspicious. There seemed to be a direct correlation between the strength of his assurances and the level of disaster they would inevitably encounter. She cast an assessing glance toward the scanner, to see that the TARDIS had materialised in the midst of a grove of oak-like trees.

"Where are we?" she asked.

The Doctor merely smiled. "Come outside and see."

There would be no hiding in the TARDIS for Sarah. She wanted to explore, and how bad could it be? She followed the Doctor as he flung one end of his scarf over his shoulder and strode outside.

So naturally, they barely made it 10 paces before a group of furry, one-eyed orange creatures surrounded them.

"Oh. This is rather unexpected," the Doctor noted. He and Sarah stopped dead, looking down at the four-foot-tall beings. They were vaguely humanoid in build, but each had orange fur and a single eye. None of this seemed to faze the Doctor. He merely smiled broadly and announced, "Hello. I'm the Doctor, and this is my friend Sarah Jane Smith. We mean you no harm."

One of the aliens extended a stubby arm and responded in an oddly clicking voice that Sarah had a difficult time understanding, despite the TARDIS's efforts at translation. The Doctor, who clearly had less trouble, listened for a few moments, then turned to her.

Quietly he said, "They're a bit hard of hearing. If we whisper, they won't know what we're saying." He raised his voice, speaking loudly and clearly as he went on, "Sarah, this is the planet Ulm, and our new friends here are also known as the Ulm."

One alien glided closer to Sarah, fixed its eye upon her, and began to hum as it looked between her and the Doctor. One by one, each of the others followed suit.

"Doctor? Why are they looking at us like this?" Sarah said uneasily.

At the sound of her voice, all of the Ulm commenced chattering.

"What did you just say?" Sarah gasped, staring at the nearest alien. She was really hoping she had misheard, and optimistically thought it was entirely possible--actually, probable--that she had.

The Doctor promptly burst her bubble in an unwarrantedly upbeat tone. "They want to observe our mating procedure. For scientific purposes, of course."

"Well, tell them no, thanks, and let's get out of here!" She turned toward the TARDIS, but the aliens refused to budge. Instead, they proceeded to click and chatter again, revealing their jagged teeth as they did so.

The Doctor translated, "They say we're fascinating specimens, they've never seen any quite like us before, and we are valuable research subjects. They want us to come with them. I think we should do so."

He stepped in the indicated direction. Thinking of the creatures' sharp teeth, Sarah reluctantly followed. The Ulm, nudging at their heels like sheepdogs, urged them out of the grove and down a slope toward a dull brown building in the distance. As they trudged along, picking their way over the uneven terrain, Sarah quietly moaned, "You couldn't carry a gun just this one time?"

"Weapons are almost never the answer," the Doctor replied pedantically.

"That's easy for you to say," Sarah retorted. "This is the first time aliens have ever tried to make me do it. You're ancient, though. It's probably happened to you at least a dozen times so far."

"Only the three," the Doctor cheerfully corrected.

"How did you get out of doing it those times?" Sarah asked.

"Who says I did?"

"Did I ever tell you you really know how to depress a girl, Doctor?" Sarah sidestepped a boulder and heaved a sigh. "Well, unlike you, I have willpower and determination. I just won't do it. Then they'll have no choice but to let us go."

"No, then they'll drug us," the Doctor warned.

"How do you know? Did that happen to you, those other three times?"

"No, it never came to that, but if one has a general understanding of scientifically minded aliens and how they think, then it makes perfect sense. It's the logical progression."

Sarah did not reply, mostly because they had arrived at the brown building. It was constructed of smooth stone and had no visible doors or windows, but a section of the wall vanished as they approached it. They stepped inside and saw corridors stretching in either direction. The aliens turned them to the right, then after about a minute or so of progress stopped them before an opening in the wall and instructed them to empty their pockets and hand over all of their belongings except their clothing.

Sarah realised that she was having much less trouble understanding the alien voices now, and wondered if that could be considered a good thing. She gave up her watch; the Doctor surrendered a quantity of tangled string, a battered cricket ball, three screws, a scrap of paper, a pencil stub, a small torch, eight coins, two paper clips, and half of a Jelly Baby. That was from the first pocket. As he reached into the second pocket, one of the aliens growled and pushed Sarah through the nearby opening and into a large room.

She looked around. The space was empty. Even the ceiling was quite high, perhaps 15 metres away, and she saw a balcony approximately halfway up. It was too high to reach, and there were no doors or windows.

A few minutes later, the Doctor also entered the room. The opening in the wall sealed behind him, leaving no indication that a space had ever been present.

"What were you doing out there?" Sarah demanded.

"Emptying the rest of my pockets," the Doctor replied. "They said if we willingly participate, we can leave within the hour."

"And if not?"

"We're their guests until we do cooperate."

"There's got to be some way out of this place," Sarah said firmly, and she began to feel the wall behind them for a trigger mechanism. The Doctor joined her in the search. Together, they sought any hint of escape: a hidden passage, a weak spot in the walls, any ray of hope. They found nothing. However, when they looked up at the balcony, they saw several Ulm gathered, peering down at them as if waiting for a show to begin.

Frustrated, Sarah turned on the Doctor. "And you thought I'd like this planet?"

"No, certainly not," he protested. "I didn't want to come here."

"So we're landed here by accident?"

"I didn't say that, either."

"Then what do you mean? Get to the point!"

"It's not my fault. I distinctly set the coordinates for 1776 Boston, Massachusetts, yet the TARDIS came here instead."

"Are you saying the TARDIS deliberately brought us to a planet where the inhabitants are obsessed with observing mating rituals?"

The Doctor beamed. "Now you have it! She does possess a unique sense of humour."

"I can think of another way to describe it," Sarah muttered darkly.

They didn't exchange another word for quite a while.

Sarah wasn't sure how much time had passed, considering that her watch was gone, but eventually she began to feel increasingly uncomfortable. She was flushed and hot, and a growing need thrummed throughout her veins. Dimly, she became aware that the Doctor had been right; somehow, those damned orange aliens had drugged her. She grew more and more aroused, until all she could think of was the need to relieve that terrible tension. Her fingers had slipped down to her zipper when the Doctor cleared his throat. Sarah yelped, jumped, and guiltily snatched her hand away.

"I believe the Ulm have introduced an aphrodisiac into the air," the Doctor announced, not looking at her. "It's having only a very slight effect, however, so they must have got the dosage wrong."

"On you, maybe," Sarah retorted.

The Doctor opened his mouth, saw the look on her face, and wisely remained silent. He sprawled out on his back and placed his hat over his face. Within minutes, he appeared to be fast asleep.

"Big help you are," Sarah complained. "Of course, you weren't any more use awake than you are asleep." She sighed, then realised that she felt somewhat better. The effects of the aphrodisiac were dissipating; she would be all right. Not that the place had grown any more entertaining in the last several minutes. Given her lack of options, Sarah chose to stretch out in the minimal remaining floor space, lie motionless, and contrive to look as uninteresting as possible. She didn't have to make it easy for the Ulm, after all. In this manner, seconds ticked by and stretched into minutes and possibly hours; it was difficult to tell.

The aliens hovered.

The Doctor snored.

Sarah stared at the ceiling.

After some time, she began to feel almost normal. It then that the aliens finally moved. One by one, they retreated through a small opening behind the balcony. The last orange tuft had barely whipped out of sight before Sarah swung into action.

"Doctor!" Sarah elbowed him in the ribs with just a little more force than was strictly necessary. "Wake up! The aliens are gone!"

The Doctor pushed his hat from his face, rubbed his side, and sat up. "So they are."

"Have they given up? Will they let us go now?"

"No, I believe they're simply regrouping. They must be coming up with a new plan."

"What else could they possibly do to us?"

"Well, they could try sleep deprivation, or hot irons, or mental probes, or shock treatment..."

"Forget I asked."

Another sweep of their cell revealed no miraculous escape route; frustrated, Sarah slumped on the floor beside the Doctor again. He looked calm and collected, which only served to make her feel less so. She turned away and glanced up at the balcony; they had an audience again, of what from this distance looked like about six aliens. She looked back to the Doctor and asked, "How long have we been here? It feels like forever!"

"Two hours and eight minutes," he replied without hesitation.

"What?" Sarah stared at him. "That can't be right. It seems like so much longer. How long could this go on, do you think? I mean, how long will they keep us here?"

"Oh, indefinitely," the Doctor speculated. "Years and years and years. I suppose that's no great inconvenience to me, of course. I can spare a few decades, after all. How about you?"

A few decades of this? She was nearly climbing the walls after only two hours. "This is really boring," Sarah observed.

"I agree."

"We're supposed to just sit here?"

"No, we're supposed to, as you put matters, 'do it.'"

"And if we don't, this is the alternative? Sitting here doing nothing?"

"Evidently."

They fell silent for several minutes before Sarah reiterated, "This is really boring. Isn't there some sort of distraction around here? I don't suppose you managed to hide anything when they made you empty your pockets."

The Doctor brightened. "Oh! Yes, I did!"

Sarah waited anxiously as he reached into a pocket. What did he have? The sonic screwdriver? A weapon? Even his yo-yo would help relieve the boredom.

The Doctor's hand emerged clutching a sack of Jelly Babies.

Sarah scowled, grabbed a green Baby, and viciously bit it in half. "Did it occur to you to tell them you're a different species than I am?" she asked, jerking her head toward the peeping aliens on the balcony.

"They realise that, but they also have ascertained that we're compatible, so to speak."

"Why didn't you just tell them you're a eunuch, then?" Sarah asked. It was a quite reasonable question, at least in her opinion, but the Doctor did not dignify it with a response.

Together, they finished off the sack of Jelly Babies. All the while, the aliens relentlessly observed them.

Then, abruptly, Sarah felt the sensations from before return with a vengeance. The Ulm hadn't repeated their use of the aphrodisiac, had they? She turned to the Doctor, ready to frame the question, when she was saw that he too was shifting about and looking uncomfortable.

"Sarah? Remember the aphrodisiac from before? I think the Ulm have made some adjustments to their formula and tried again."

Her gaze dropped to his trousers and the obvious bulge there. "Successful adjustments, I take it."

"Unfortunately, yes."

They sat in growing discomfort for a few minutes. The dosage was definitely stronger than before, Sarah thought, and it was increasing rather than abating. "I suppose we could..." she began at the same moment as the Doctor said, "I have thought of..."

They both stopped. "Go on," Sarah urged. "What were you going to say?"

"Oh. Well." The Doctor cleared his throat. "I have thought of one way to make the Ulm release us."

"What?" Sarah stared at him with wild hope. "Well, why didn't you say anything before this? What is it?"

"I didn't think you were ready before to seriously consider this method," the Doctor said.

A feeling of dread began to build in Sarah's mind. She had an awful suspicion that she knew exactly what the Doctor was about to say.

"We could simply do what they want. Cooperate with them," he concluded.

"You want you and me to--in front of them?" she choked out.

"Really, Sarah, is the thought of being with me truly a fate worse than death?"

The Doctor genuinely looked hurt, and Sarah felt a sharp stab of guilt. It was quickly followed by a flash of anger about feeling guilty, and then another flash of anger specifically aimed toward the Doctor for making her feel guilty about her totally justifiable anger. He probably knew exactly how she would react, and had manipulated her into those emotions to gain her sympathy. Which he was not receiving. Absolutely not. Except that he did look rather upset.

"Do you really think they would let us go if we did it?" she asked cautiously.

"Oh, certainly!" the Doctor insisted. "I believe they will stand by their word. They have no real reason not to."

"If I agree to this, and you're wrong..." Sarah let her voice trail off in an ominous manner.

"I won't be," the Doctor said firmly.

Sarah found that it was starting to seem like not such a bad idea after all. If she was honest with herself, she had never been totally averse to the thought of having sex with the Doctor--maybe even a tiny bit interested in it. Oh, all right, more than just a tiny bit, dating back to the first week of their acquaintance. It was a long-standing attraction and definitely wasn't all due to the aphrodisiac. But those stupid aliens were still lurking about, and voyeurism had never been a kink of hers.

The Doctor offered, "You'll just have to do your best to pretend we're alone."

Sarah stared at him. "Did you just read my mind?"

"Now, would I do that to a friend?"

The Doctor began to unwind his scarf from about his neck before Sarah realised he hadn't answered her question. Well, she firmly told herself, he'd merely made a lucky guess. Besides, soon it probably wouldn't matter to her if an entire herd of Ulm came and stood two feet from her to observe; she was becoming so aroused, she felt like jumping out of her own skin.

With shaking fingers (from the aphrodisiac, naturally), she peeled off her clothing, doing the best she could to shelter her body from any prying alien eyes. The Doctor, meanwhile, used his discarded coat to create a makeshift bed on the hard floor before he finished undressing. He was naked before she was, and Sarah stared unabashedly, trembling with need. The drug had overwhelmed her inhibitions about performing before an audience; she flicked off her bra and jumped the Doctor.

Tangled together, they rolled atop his coat, the Doctor pinning Sarah down to ghost his lips over hers. The pressure wasn't nearly enough. Sarah grabbed the back of the Doctor's head and yanked his mouth down to hers, coaxing his lips open and finding his tongue with her own.

As their mouths learned each other, she squirmed beneath him, encouraging his entrance. She was wet and more than ready, and she needed him now. Taking the hint, the Doctor positioned himself and thrust into her and she found that he was right about the compatibility issue. He was close enough to human, and apparently she was close enough to Gallifreyan, and suddenly it didn't matter if the aliens were watching anymore. All that mattered was him and the heat and the building heat inside of her and the two of them together.

She clenched around him, and he started and then focused on her face, and he was concentrating on her, looking into her eyes and moving steadily, pumping into her. She braced herself and pushed back as he thrust into her and they both groaned raggedly, finding a matching rhythm that was intensely satisfying. Why hadn't they ever done this before? Sarah couldn't remember. All she could think of was that they were doing it now; that was all that mattered. She was on the verge of falling apart, breaking into nothingness, and she welcomed the thought.

"Faster," she pleaded, nails raking the Doctor's back, "harder."

"Yes," he said on a moan as he complied.

He seemed to swell inside her as he increased his pace, and then she was there, spasming around him, panting, clutching his back as he came inside her and collapsed.

Beside them, an opening in the wall appeared.

***

Sarah, returning to her senses as the aphrodisiac left her system, saw the precise moment that the Doctor registered the fact that they were free. She suspected neither of them had ever dressed so rapidly in their lives. When they had flung on all of their clothing--without a word spoken to each other--they hurried through the exit to see another large opening leading directly outside. Beside it stood a single alien, and on the floor next to this alien lay a heap of miscellaneous items: Sarah's watch, which she promptly grabbed, and everything the Doctor had turned over to the Ulm.

As the Doctor crammed his belongings back into his pockets, the alien addressed Sarah. "Thank you for your assistance in our research, and we apologise for any inconvenience to you."

"What?" She glared at the horrid creature. "You apologise for any inconvenience? That's very generous of you, really." She drew back her leg, kicked the Ulm in the midsection as hard as she could manage, and stalked away. She could have cried from disappointment. It was all the fault of those aliens. The Doctor had never wanted to have sex with her, he'd been forced to, and now their relationship was ruined. She'd be lucky if he didn't return her to Earth on their next trip. Scowling, she walked faster and was halfway back to the TARDIS by the time the Doctor caught up with her.

"Was that act of violence truly necessary, Sarah?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied shortly, thinking that if he pressed the issue she might kick him in a delicate place, too.

Perhaps sensing this inclination, the Doctor did not speak as he unlocked the door of the TARDIS and stepped inside. Sarah, however, thought of a question.

"So, do you think we performed like the Ulm were expecting? Did we confirm their expectations of intercourse?"

His voice drifted back to her as he started down the corridor. "How could they have any expectations? They're asexual aliens. All we would have had to do to fool them was to engage in activity that raised our heart rates. We could have arm-wrestled and told them that was our version of sex."

"What?!?" Sarah halted, allowing the Doctor to slip down the corridor ahead of her, the ends of his scarf flowing out behind him as the import of his words fully sank in. "Doctor? Doctor? Come back here!"

Doctor Who story: Drose

2006-08-13T19:49:49Z

Title: Drose
Author: castrovalva9
Rating: G
Characters: Ten and Rose
Category: humour
Spoilers: none
Distribution: anywhere. No need to ask for permission or even to tell me. Link freely, archive, whatever.
Summary: The Tenth Doctor and Rose make a horrifying discovery on the Internet.

Disclaimer: "Doctor Who" is property of the BBC.
Notes: Inspired by use of the word "Drose" as shorthand for the Doctor/Rose relationship. This usage has popped up several times in the last week at LJ comms I visit and it just isn't right. Stop it NOW, people. Just stop it.

The Doctor/Kamelion/Cyberleader story does NOT exist, as far as I know. The One/Rose does, it is really good, and you should read it: calapine's Closed Circle.

I made up the summary of the awful story, though I have read real ones that are just as bad.

"Drose"

It began as a quiet, peaceful afternoon. The Doctor was trying to fix the TARDIS once more. Rose was not helping. Instead, she was curled up in a chair in a corner of the console room in front of the computer the Doctor had set up for her. It was connected to the Internet circa 2006, and Rose was visiting her favourite fan-fiction site. At first she had been amazed simply to find that so many authors wrote stories about her and the Doctor, or his other companions, acquaintances, and enemies. Then she had read some of the offerings and become addicted. The Doctor even occasionally glanced at the site and had been known to enjoy a story here and there, though he couldn't resist correcting the authors' timelines and facts.

Rose was much easier to please. If a story particularly moved her, she would sniffle. If one amused her, she laughed. Sometimes, when she came across a totally inept piece of writing, she groaned in dismay. But all of that was before today. Because today, she did something entirely different. Today, she screamed. It was a low, painful scream of disbelief, and it echoed throughout the TARDIS.

The Doctor dropped his tools and rushed to her side. "What? Did you finally find that story about me, Kamelion, and the Cyberleader?"

Rose, breathing hard, glanced at him. "You and who and the Cyberleader? No, that isn't it. Look. Just read the summary of this story." She jabbed a finger at the screen.

The Doctor looked at the top of the list of new stories. The synopsis of the first one read: "summery: it is Time 4 a new adveture in the caribean and the tardis crashes int he wrong Place agian. Drose. i suk at summeries p;us i posted this at 3 in teh morning and have Dislexia and my cat just died and o yah i didnt use a beated reader, is that okey? PLS PLS PLS R&R!!!!!!!!!!!! or my ded cat will atack u!" He looked at Rose. "I hate to say it, but that isn't even the worst summary I've ever read."

"But have you ever seen that before?" She indicated the screen again.

The Doctor reviewed the summary. Yes, he had previously encountered random capitalisation, lack of proofreading, horrible spelling, chatspeak, missing capitalisation, bad excuses, begging for reviews, and threats directed at readers. But then he spotted the one thing he had never seen before, and couldn't believe he had overlooked it on his first reading. It chilled his blood even more than it was already chilled, and would have made his hair stand on end if it could have. "Drose?" he whispered. "Did I read that right? Drose?"

Rose nodded. "Drose," she repeated, her voice dripping with venom.

She and the Doctor looked at each other. Together they said, "It's happened."

"I was hoping it never would," Rose continued by herself. "I didn't think it was too much for ask for. At least, I hoped it wasn't. I see now that I was wrong. Because they have begun to use the word 'Drose' to refer to us as a couple. We are no longer 'Doctor/Rose' or 'Ten/Rose' or anything normal."

"But if they call us Drose," the Doctor sensibly pointed out as he settled down in the chair next to her, "how do readers know when a story is about you and my ninth self, as opposed to you and, say, my first self?"

Rose looked at him pityingly. "Doctor, authors who would call us Drose are not going to write stories about me and any incarnation of you except the ninth or tenth one. In fact, no one would ever write fanfic about your first self and me."

The Doctor cleared his throat significantly.

Rose deflated. "Oh. Someone already has."

"But it's really quite good," the Doctor hastened to assure her. "Do you want to read it? I have it bookmarked."

"Maybe later," Rose said very quietly.

"Anyway," the Doctor continued, "obviously if people write about my first self and you, they need a special name for that ship. For instance, Nine/Rose would clearly be called Nose, and Ten/Rose would be Tose."

"So what would One/Rose be? Onose?" Rose reasoned aloud. "Sounds appropriate."

The Doctor continued, "Two/Rose could be Twose, and Three/Rose is Throse."

Rose nodded. "Throse isn't so terrible. I mean, if you spell it t-h-r-o-e-s."

"As in 'throes of passion'." The Doctor considered, then shook his head. "No, that wouldn't work. Then people would just start thinking your name is spelled R-o-e-s, like the ship name is. In fact, I'm surprised some don't think so right now." Before he could give more weight to the possibility that this unfortunate situation had indeed already occurred, he proceeded with his list. "Four/Rose. That's a harder one. Fose? Foose? Forose?"

"Let's forget that one and move on to Five," Rose said hastily. "Five/Rose could be Fise. No, how about Fiose... Firose... Fivose... no, those are terrible. You know what's really sad? I wouldn't mind a Five/Rose story, as long as there wasn't a ridiculous name for it. Because Five was pretty cute."

"Moving on," the Doctor spoke over her, "we have Six/Rose. That would have to be Sixse."

Neither of them said anything for a moment.

Finally, Rose resumed the list. "Seven/Rose. That's another tough one. Seose? Sevose? Serose?"

"And we'll have to get creative to be able to do anything with Eight, too," the Doctor realised. "Otherwise we'll end up with messes like Eose or Eise."

"Then we're back to Nine and Ten, Nose and Tose," Rose said. With a mighty effort, she kept from giggling.

"But there are many more relationships for authors to desecrate with their special names," the Doctor reminded her.

"Yes, because you have so many other 'friends' you never told me about," Rose shot back.

"And I'll do it now," the Doctor promised. "Some of them, anyway. For instance, Liz was a friend of my third self."

"Three/Liz," said Rose. "How about Tiz? That's actually not as awful as most of the others."

"They'll get worse," the Doctor promised. "Because what can you do with Four and Romana? Nothing good, I assure you."

Rose tried anyway. "Fomana. Foumana. Foana." She gave up in despair. "And that's a popular pairing, isn't it?"

The Doctor sighed. "Yes. Ten/Romana is also gaining in popularity. I don't think I can bear to see 'Temana' in that many summaries."

"Maybe you won't have to."

The Doctor brightened. "Really? Why not?"

"Maybe the authors will decide to call it Tomana instead."

"You're not helping, Rose," the Doctor informed her.

"Well, what else do you have?"

"There are the authors who like to pair me with myself. Five/Eight is one of the more common combinations."

"Feight, pronounced like 'fate,' because you're so adorable together," Rose answered. "If they did Five/Ten, it could be Fin or Fen."

"And back to me and my travelling companions, there's Four/Leela."

"Feela," Rose pronounced.

"Five/Adric," the Doctor offered.

"Fidric."

"Four/K9."

Rose simply looked at him. "K9 is a dog."

"Not a real one," the Doctor pointed out.

"And that makes it so much better? All right, fine, 49, then. Anyone else?"

"Five/Master has a bit of a following," the Doctor said.

"That would have to be Faster." Rose blanched. "Or Fister."

They fell silent again, both looking and feeling very morose indeed.

Despite his depression, however, the Doctor was concentrating very hard on coming up with a possible solution to this latest disaster. He had defeated Daleks and Cybermen and the Slitheen. He had saved planets many times over. Surely a contingent of fanfic authors wouldn't be able to overcome him.

Then he had it. He knew the solution, and it was such a simple one, it wouldn't even require much action on his part. He nudged Rose and indicated the computer monitor. "There's no need to be concerned! This isn't an epidemic. So one author called us Drose. Well, that doesn't mean anything. No one else will do it, and that single story will be forgotten. Here, I'll prove it." He reached over and refreshed the page.

Up popped a list of the newest stories added to the site.

Time Will Tell, by drose-fan

Drose Forever!, by Mrs.Tennant

a drose songfic, by Rose638975

The list went on and on. The word Drose appeared on every line.

END

Note: If you would like to add "hating mushed ship names" to your list of LJ interests, you can do it by going here.

Doctor Who story: Battle of Wills

2006-08-01T06:12:50Z

Post-"Doomsday" story alert! Yes, yet another one. If you're looking to read a story where Rose and the Doctor live happily ever after, this ain't it. I went in a different direction.

Title: Battle of Wills
Author: castrovalva9
Complete list of my stories
Rating: G
Spoilers: through "Doomsday"
Category: humour

Characters: Rose, Jackie, Pete, Mickey, Jake, Tenth Doctor, TARDIS
Summary: My version of a post-"Doomsday" story. Rose wants to move on with her new life, but no one will let her.
Disclaimer: "Doctor Who" is property of the BBC.
Notes: Beta read by Kara MT.

I've read quite a few post-"Doomsday" stories by now. While the odd one here and there has been outstanding, the plots of many horrify me. You've probably seen (perhaps even written!) some of the stories I mean: the ones where Rose spends most of her time bemoaning her meaningless life, mopes around listening to sappy songs and thinking about how well they describe her pathetic existence, cuts herself or commits suicide, etc. These stories basically posit that a Doctor-less Rose is a shell who can never lead a fulfilling life, because she is not an entire person in her own right and needs the Doctor to make her whole. I think that concept is pretty insulting and shallow, and it makes it seem like the authors don't like the character of Rose for herself, that they only like her when she is an extension of the Doctor.

Which is a long way of explaining why I wrote this story. I haven't always liked Rose, but she deserves some credit and respect.

"Battle of Wills"

Two days after her farewell to the Doctor at Bad Wolf Bay, Rose awoke in the middle of the night to the unusual sight of her mother perched on her bedside chair, knitting a baby blanket by lamplight.

"Mum?" Rose asked groggily, sitting up. "What are you doing in here?"

"I was waiting for you to wake up from your nightmare," Jackie replied as she continued to knit.

"What nightmare?"

"The nightmare you were about to have, of course," Jackie said.

Rose was beginning to feel like she walked into a cinema in the middle of a film. "Why do you think I was about to have a nightmare?" she asked carefully. "Was I tossing and turning?"

Jackie shook her head. "Not yet."

"Right, then." Rose yawned, rolled over, and promptly went back to sleep. She slept soundly, until her alarm rang in the morning.

Her mother was no longer in the room. Perhaps she had dreamed the incident of the previous night, Rose thought.

She got up, as usual, got ready for the day, as usual, and went downstairs, as usual. Jackie, Pete, Mickey, and Jake were already at the breakfast table, plates of food in front of them. Rose had long since grown accustomed to the idea that Jake and Mickey were together now, not to mention living in the same house as her, Pete, and Jackie, and she quickly filled her own plate with bacon and eggs before she plopped down on the chair next to Jake.

Mickey picked up his fork and, without looking at her, asked, "How did you sleep, Rose?"

Deciding to gloss over the odd interlude with her mum, which after all might not even have occurred, Rose merely replied, "Fine. I slept fine."

Across the table, Jackie whispered knowingly to Pete, "She's in denial."

Rose's forehead wrinkled; she definitely hadn't dreamed that comment. What was she supposed in denial about? She looked around the table, to find that everyone except Pete had become exceedingly occupied with the contents of their plates. "Tell me what's going on," she requested.

Pete stared straight at her. When he spoke, his voice was low and intent. "Rose, your life is not empty and meaningless, and it is worth living."

"Yeah, I know that."

"I really mean it," he stressed.

"So do I," Rose said with mounting irritation.

"I want you to repeat those words at least 20 times a day." Pete continued to gaze at her with that unnervingly piercing stare.

Rose shrugged and turned her attention to her food. The bacon was cold and the eggs were runny; Jake must have cooked again.

Beside her, Mickey and Jake started their own conversation, which sounded wonderfully prosaic in the wake of Pete's strange words. Rose idly listened as she poked at her bacon.

"You found the contract?" Mickey was saying. "That's fan--"

"Mickey!" Jackie yelped. "You know you aren't supposed to use the f-word."

Relieved to have an excuse, Rose looked up from her plate. "But Mum, Mickey wasn't going to swear. It sounded like he was about to say fantastic."

Pete, Jackie, Jake, and Mickey gasped in horror.

Rose set down her fork. "What? What did I say?"

Jake sighed. "Look, Rose, 'fantastic' is the f-word. We're not supposed to say it around you."

"Why not?"

Jake looked away. "Because, you know, he used to."

He, uttered with that degree of emphasis, could only mean the Doctor. Rose objected, "That's bonkers! All of you, you're stark raving mad."

Jake continued, in a tone that would best be described as one of resentment, "And he's also the reason we can't ever eat bananas or chips or beans on toast, and why whenever your mum has an antenatal visit, she's supposed to use code and say she's going to the bookshop, because the 'd-word' has been banned, too, in any context."

It was Rose's turn to sigh. "Let me guess. The 'd-word' is 'Doc'--"

Everyone gasped again, cutting her off.

Rose screamed, "Doctor! Doctor! Doctor!" She stopped, took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. It didn't help much; she still felt like wrapping her hands around a random neck and squeezing. To subvert the urge, she shoved her chair back from the table, leaving her breakfast virtually untouched. "I'm going to work now. Jake, Mickey, if you're ready we can go together." She strode away, but not before she heard her mother's comment of, "Look at her. Barely touched her food; she's wasting away from grief."

It wasn't like she lived with the most normal people anyway, so Rose attempted to put aside the bizarre events of the morning and go about her day as she typically would. She ate lunch with her new friends Erin and Vanessa, mildly flirted with Tom the deliveryman, and tried to ignore the fact that Mickey kept making up transparent excuses to stop by her office. Finally, having trouble devoting her full attention to her work but relieved that Mickey had stopped coming by, Rose decided to go home early. She'd get a fresh start on that mound of paperwork tomorrow.

When she entered, the house was quiet. Apparently, she was the only one there. Or so Rose thought until she headed down the hallway toward her room and heard scuffling and scraping noises coming from inside. She pushed open the door and walked in to see Mickey, his back to her, rifling through her dresser drawers.

"Mickey!" Rose called. "What are you doing?"

He jumped, whirled, and thrust his right hand behind his back.

"What do you have there?" Rose asked, unable to think of a good reason why Mickey would be searching her room and trying to hide that fact.

"Nothing," he muttered.

"Mickey," she repeated. "Show me what you have behind your back."

Shame-faced, he brought his hand forward.

The first thought that came to Rose's mind was, 'Thank God he wasn't raiding my knickers drawer.' She didn't want to think about what Mickey (and by extension, Jake) might want with her undergarments.

The second thought that occurred to her was, 'Why in the world is Mickey trying to walk off with my tweezers, razors, scissors, and pens?' He even clutched the fork she'd used the previous night when she'd smuggled a piece of cake into her room.

"Your mum told me to take all the sharp objects out of here," Mickey blurted.

"Okay," Rose said slowly, not even coming close to comprehending a decent reason behind this action. "And why did she do that?"

With a mumble that sounded something like, "Soyoucan'tslashorstabyourwristsinyourdespair," but couldn't possibly have been, Mickey dodged around her and bolted down the hallway.

Rose shook her head in amazement. She definitely needed to have a talk with her mum, whenever she returned home. She wandered toward the kitchen, only to be confronted by Jake.

"Rose. I have something for you." He thrust a small, crudely wrapped parcel at her.

"A gift? That's sweet." Rose tore off the paper and gazed at the object. "It's a CD."

"A special one," Jake said.

Rose looked at the CD case. It was hand-labelled, and the first section read, "Songs of Despair." With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Rose scanned the ensuing song titles. "My Immortal. I Need You. I Am Nothing Without You. What Becomes of the Broken Hearted." She stopped reading that list, guessing that it would not improve, and moved on to the other section, labelled "Songs of Inspiration." There, she read, "Learning to Live Again. I Will Survive." Her voice attained ear-piercing levels with the next title. "My Heart Will Go On?"

"Yeah," Jake mumbled. "Mickey and your mum told me which songs to use."

"Not your fault," Rose said grimly. "Now I know exactly who to blame."

With a jerky nod, Jake escaped. Rejecting her plan of going to the kitchen, Rose instead returned to her room for a more thorough look around. What she saw did not please her. She made a mental list, bided her time and pounced when everyone was home, gathered in the sitting room.

Rose appeared in the doorway of that room and stopped there. No one could flee without moving past her first. Four heads snapped up and four pairs of eyes stared in her direction as she appeared. "Who took the lock off my bedroom door?" Rose demanded without preamble. She looked straight at Mickey, who ducked his head.

Jackie spoke up. "It was for your own good, Rose. Now you can't lock yourself up in there for hours at a time, crying about all your problems, with us unable to get to you."

"When have I ever done that?" Rose demanded, at a loss. "Oh, and besides the little matter of the missing lock, who has my diary?"

Silence. Then Pete's voice rang out. "I have it, Rose. I took it and read it for your own good."

"Why is it that people always use that excuse after they've done something rubbishy?" she wondered.

"Three pages are missing from your diary--torn out," Pete continued. "Where are they?"

Rose stared at him in utter disbelief. "Oh, that's wonderful. You steal and read my diary, and now you want to see missing pages? Which, by the way, I tore out because ink had leaked all over them."

"Rose, we're worried," Jackie interjected. "You haven't cried yourself to sleep, had insomnia, had a nightmare, or inflicted injury on yourself even just the once yet. We expected at least one serious suicide attempt by now and it hasn't happened."

"And you say this worries you?"

"You haven't been grieving properly, so we know you must be harbouring some unhealthy fantasy," Mickey interpreted.

"Such as?" Rose asked.

"You think he is going to burn up some galaxy to get the power to come back here for you," Jackie replied.

"Or that an alternate version of him is in this world and he'll swoop in to save you," Jake said.

"It's better that you get over these thoughts now," Pete concluded.

"Oh, I see." Rose nodded. "So, according to you lot, I'm nothing with a man--alien, whatever--to rescue me. That's insulting, it is. You're all acting like this because of what happened at Bad Wolf Bay, aren't you? Well, you can just stop it! I'm fine. I got to say goodbye to the Doctor, and I've come to terms with being in this world. I've adjusted."

The others looked at one another and shook their heads. Pete was the first to speak. "Rose, that's exactly your problem. You're too well adjusted, so your feelings can't possibly be genuine. The reality is, you're in denial, and your repressed emotions are all going to come spilling out eventually unless we help you through your true feelings now. Trust us; we're doing this because we love you."

Rose looked from Pete, to Jackie, to Mickey, to Jake. "Let me get this straight: You think something's wrong with me because I'm moving on with my life--making friends, going to work, being optimistic about the future. Instead, to satisfy you, I really should be curled up on my bed in a ball of misery, wailing and gnashing my teeth, whinging on about how my life is empty and over while I listen to bad pop music."

Pete shrugged. "Well, yeah. Do that for a couple of months and get it out of your system, see?"

"I'll pass, thanks."

"But Rose," Jackie said gently, "you love him."

Rose nodded. "Yes, the Doctor and I were very close, and he was a huge part of my life for many months, but that's over now and I would like to move on with it. My life, that is. My life that I am more than capable of living happily without the presence of a significant other in it."

Her speech appeared to have little effect on any of the others. "Rose, dearie, the lock stays off your door," Jackie stated. "We want you to get over him, but we don't want you to kill yourself along the way, and we need to be able to get to you quickly at all times to make sure you haven't done something dangerous."

Pete stood up and strode over to her. "Remember this, Rose: Your life can have purpose and meaning again."

"My life has purpose and meaning right now," Rose retorted. Yet, again, her words seemed to have no impact, and she went to bed that night hoping the entire day had indeed been a nightmare and order would be restored in the morning.

Unfortunately, it wasn't.

The next several days were trying for Rose, in ways both large and small. If she slept too soundly, someone would shake her awake for fear that she had swallowed a handful of sleeping pills in a suicide attempt. If she didn't sleep soundly enough, she had to endure the ensuing knowing looks and murmurs to the effect that everyone had expected her to be restless in her grief. Her TV habits were monitored, and she was not allowed to watch The Muppet Movie (she never should have mentioned the Doctor's liking of that film to Mickey, who clearly had related that fact to her mum). All of her CDs except Jake's gift were confiscated. Even though she was desperate for a distraction, Rose couldn't bear to listen to that one very often. She could only hear Because You Loved Me and Bring Me to Life so many times before she felt like banging her head into a wall and never stopping.

She knew everyone meant well, that they really were trying to help her, but she very much wished they would stop. They were all mental, and she'd end up that way herself if matters continued.

The night she went down to supper and was given plastic utensils, Rose knew the end had come. She had wanted to stick it out, to be present for the birth of her little brother, but being there for her family had ceased to be a viable option. She was left with only one reasonable choice.

She grabbed her mobile and began to dial.

Two hours later, she was ready. Her bags were packed, her friends contacted, and she could stop at the bank on her way to the airport. She was waiting by the front door when Mickey, Jackie, Pete, and Jake found her.

"Rose?" Jake looked at her suitcases. "What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving," she said simply. "Vanessa and Erin will be here soon."

Jackie reached for her arm. "No, Rose! You can't go anywhere. It isn't safe in your current state of mind."

Rose shrugged away from the grasp. "I'm only going to say this once. No, I am not running off to commit suicide. No, I am not going on a pilgrimage to Bad Wolf Bay. No, I don't plan to sit in Cardiff or Scotland or any other place, waiting exactly five and a half hours for the Doctor to return for me. I am going on holiday in Germany with my friends. A nice, long, relaxing holiday with lots of chips and bananas and leather and fantastic fun." On that note, Erin's car appeared on the street. Rose grabbed her bags and uttered her parting words. "Don't worry about me. I'll be back someday." And with that, she ran off to continue her life, which was a fulfilling, exciting one despite the wild concerns of her family and friends.

Matters had turned out so well for Rose, it was a good thing she couldn't see what was taking place on the TARDIS at that moment because it would only have served to depress her. The Doctor, frustrated nearly beyond belief, was in the console room trying to reason with an entity that refused to compromise. Eventually, the TARDIS had to come around to his way of thinking, but he would much prefer it to happen sooner rather than later. To that end, he had tried yelling, begging, ignoring, kicking, and asking politely, yet no approach had met with any significant measure of success. Now, he was playing another card: seduction. The Doctor limbered up his hand, then gently stroked the TARDIS, running his fingers just the right way across a particularly delicate button as he whispered, "Come on, you know you want to go to Mars. Right? We could have a much better time there than here. After all, this vortex isn't very interesting."

A message flashed up on the screen to his right. It read: "Rose Tyler is your Most Special Companion Ever(TM) and we will remain in the vortex until you admit it."

The Doctor yanked his fingers away from the console and glared. "No more caresses for you! You don't deserve them. You're supposed to obey me, you know. And as for this 'most special companion' business, what about my own granddaughter? She's related to me. Doesn't she deserve that title just a little bit more? It's a matter of principle now! I've cried one single tear for Rose every day for weeks now. Isn't that enough? Let me get on with my life!"

The TARDIS hummed loudly and bucked, nearly pitching the Doctor onto the floor.

After he recovered his balance, he attempted a different tack. "Look, ever since Rose and I were separated, I've only had one proper adventure, which was helping that bride, and that was basically by accident. Aren't you getting bored just floating around? It's been about four months."

A new message appeared on the screen. This one stated: "Time elapsed since Rose entered the parallel world: Four months, one week, five days, 16 hours, 48 seconds. ... 49 seconds. ... 50 seconds. ..."

"Oh, well," the Doctor reassured himself as he settled in for another unexciting night of aimless drifting. "At least Rose can't possibly be undergoing such a strange experience."

Doctor Who story: Six-Five Special (Five/Six slash)

2006-07-25T07:03:45Z

Title: Six-Five Special
Author: castrovalva9
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: none
Pairing: Fifth Doctor/Sixth Doctor
Summary: Five and Six meet for the first time, and the obvious occurs. Five/Six slash.

Disclaimer: "Doctor Who" is property of the BBC.
Note: Story inspired by comments made by bibliophile1887, uktechgirl, and miss_s_b on LJ.

"Six-Five Special"

The Fifth Doctor met the Sixth Doctor for the first time on the planet Jamosidil X. Strictly speaking, he wasn't supposed to encounter himself ever, but it still happened on occasion.

He wasn't even the first to notice the strange man. Nyssa was. She, the Doctor, and Tegan were strolling among the vendor stalls in an atypically quiet, relaxing market when it happened.

Nyssa grabbed the Doctor's sleeve and hissed, "That man over there, to the right--he's following us."

Tegan, bypassing discretion, immediately turned her head to stare in the indicated direction. "The man in the clown costume?"

The Doctor looked, too. "Oh, shit," he said faintly.

"Doctor!" Nyssa stared in shock at the profanity.

"Yes, well, never mind about that," he said quickly. "If you and Tegan would just go back to the TARDIS, I'll sort this matter out and join you shortly."

Tegan looked ready to argue but at the look on the Doctor's face, she wisely snapped her mouth shut and allowed Nyssa to lead her away.

When he was certain they were safely gone, the Doctor struck out for the last spot where he had seen the odd man standing. Although the fellow was no longer there, the Doctor had a sneaking suspicion as to where he could find him. He turned the next corner and his hearts sank as he spotted the TARDIS standing beside a large hut. It wasn't his TARDIS, though. His TARDIS was on the other side of the town.

Squaring his shoulders, he marched up to the door. Before he could so much as tap on it, it flew open and a strong arm pulled him inside.

The door closed behind the Doctor. The clown faced him. He wore a patchwork coat of blinding colours that made him look like a deranged circus escapee, though he seemed not to realise this fact. When he smiled at the Doctor, it was almost more like he was baring his teeth than welcoming him. "Don't worry, we can talk freely. Peri is out."

"Who?" the Doctor said in confusion.

The other man shook his head. "You'll find out, in time."

"Well, obviously you are me," the Doctor said, still staring at the man whose TARDIS he had entered. His gaze took in the garish coat and the tabby cat badge on the other Doctor's lapel. "Rassilon, what was I thinking? Or rather, what am I going to be thinking?"

The future Doctor snorted. "You shouldn't scoff. I never did think much of your version of me. You were always too weak, indecisive, unmemorable." And he spared a disdainful look for his counterpart's cricket outfit and the celery on his lapel.

The Fifth Doctor retorted, "I really have let myself go lately, haven't I?" This time his gaze strayed to the clownish Doctor's ample midsection.

The other Doctor continued as if he hadn't heard those words. "You are pretty, though. In a bland way, of course." He reached toward the younger Doctor, who batted his hand away. "Oho! Touched a nerve, did I?"

"Which one of me are you?" the Fifth Doctor demanded, taking a step back. "I've already met everyone except Thirteen and--"

"Your immediate successor," the Sixth Doctor said with more than a bit of relish.

The Fifth Doctor winced. "How did I go so wrong, so quickly? And if I had to run into one of me, why couldn't it have been my eighth self?" He smiled fondly. "Now, there's a nice me."

The older Doctor scowled. "Ah, yes, everyone likes Eight. He's so innocent and likeable, and with his bad memory you can tell him anything and he believes it. Or do anything to him, and he always forgets it. Not that I would know anything about such reprehensible behaviour," he hastily added.

"Or my twelfth self would have been good," the Fifth Doctor went on. "Such a kind, well-mannered fellow. Gentle hands, too."

"Haven't had the pleasure yet." The Sixth Doctor scowled again. "You certainly get around, though."

"Speaking of which." The Fifth Doctor eyed him chidingly. "You know better than to let my companions see you."

"I don't follow those petty rules."

The Fifth Doctor rolled his eyes. "Wonderful. So you're a maverick."

The other Doctor shrugged. "Someone has to make up for boring, by-the-books you. Though I suppose you're better than no one."

"Ah, so that's why you're here." The younger Doctor cocked his head, considering. "You're far from my first choice, but then again, beggars can't be choosers. And I run into myself so seldom, I should take advantage of every opportunity."

"Well, we can't all be Eight, or Twelve. Or even Seven or Nine," the Sixth Doctor pointed out. "Though even you must admit, I'm a vast improvement over Eleven and--"

"You talk too much," the Fifth Doctor interrupted, pulling the other version of himself close. "You also wear too many clothes," he added as he pawed off the older Doctor's coat.

"A common failing," retorted the Sixth Doctor, working on the Fifth's many layers. "Our tenth self still hasn't learned any better."

"His oral fixation more than makes up for it," replied the Fifth Doctor with a grin that quickly faded. "On the other hand, I have yet to discover if you possess any redeeming characteristics." His voice suddenly cracked out like a whip. "On your knees!"

Immediately, the Sixth Doctor dropped to the floor. When he realised what he had reflexively done, he frowned mightily. "Why don't I ever get to be the one in charge?"

"You wear a cat badge on your lapel," pointed out the Fifth Doctor as he continued to strip. "It makes it impossible to take you seriously."

"Oh, and what about that celery that you--" the Sixth Doctor began indignantly, but he was then too busy with other matters to mount any sort of defence.

Half an hour later, the Fifth Doctor emerged from the TARDIS, patting his crumpled celery and smoothing his hair back into place. He set off at a brisk pace toward the location of his own TARDIS, hoping Tegan and Nyssa hadn't managed to get themselves into trouble during his absence. Even if they had, though, it had been worth it. His sixth self did indeed have a few redeeming qualities that would make any future run-ins quite enjoyable.

The Doctor's grin widened as he wondered if the mystery companion, Peri, would return to the other TARDIS before the Sixth Doctor managed to untie himself. If so, he would have a lot of explaining to do at some point in the future. The Doctor began to whistle as he walked along, already coming up with excuses for that day.

Doctor Who story: Companion Auditions

2006-07-25T00:23:03Z

Title: Companion Auditions
Author: castrovalva9
Rating: PG
Pairing: none
Spoilers: none
Summary: The Tenth Doctor, currently travelling alone (for an unspecified reason; no spoilers), advertises for a new companion, but finds the quest more difficult than he had anticipated.

Disclaimer: "Doctor Who" is property of the BBC.
Note: Beta read by Kara MT.

The Doctor had been working on his latest project for some time. Finally, he was almost finished. He sat back and surveyed the results with satisfaction. He had just created the greatest advert ever, he thought modestly.

His advert read:

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wanted: Long-Term Travelling Companion

All applicants will receive 20 pounds cash just for showing up!
One day only! Don't miss out on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!

MUST:
-be willing to learn
-enjoy long walks
-love to travel
-follow instructions to the letter
-work well with others
-enjoy making new acquaintances
-be good at improvisation
-engage in creative problem solving
-be able to provide a distraction
-have a high threshold for pain
-respect one's elders
-be a good listener
-be open-minded

Psychic ability, fighting skills, and mechanical aptitude are pluses.
No knowledge of foreign languages necessary.
Must pass physical-fitness test.
Cannot be claustrophobic or xenophobic.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

With the addition of the address, date, and hours, as well as a few notes in small print at the bottom of the page, the advert was indeed perfection itself.

The Doctor desperately needed a new companion, for one simple reason: His own company was damn boring. He had no one to listen to his ramblings, or to tell him when he was being rude, or to reassure him that he was brilliant. Even he could only talk to himself for so long. However, if he had a companion, he was sure his vague feeling of discontent would vanish.

Seeing that he had first encountered so many of his previous travelling companions on Earth during the 20th or early 21st century, he'd decided to stick with tradition. He had landed in London in July of 1990, and he had prepared well. This time, he was going to hunt for the perfect person. He was tired of companions who wandered off, didn't obey orders, ran too slowly, complained, or otherwise caused trouble that could easily be avoided. He would discover the ultimate companion: a self-motivated self-starter with problem-solving skills.

********

The big day dawned. To help settle his nerves, the Doctor checked to make certain he was as ready as he could be. The warehouse was his for the day, the props set up and the TARDIS standing unobtrusively in a corner. The adverts had run as required, and he had a thick stack of banknotes in hand. At 9 a.m. sharp, he flung open the warehouse door and surveyed the results.

A disorderly crowd had formed outside, and it stretched down the pavement as far as the eye could see. The Doctor hadn't dared hope for such an impressive turn-out. Certainly with that many applicants, he would have no trouble finding a perfect match.

"Who's first?" he called, anticipating a progression as orderly as the queue was not. After all, his advert had specifically requested applicants who could obey instructions.

Instead, a flood of clamouring humans stampeded him. Driven back into the warehouse by the crush of people, the Doctor only managed to restore some semblance of sanity by passing out the promised payment to obviously unqualified applicants just so they would leave. In the process, his foot was run over no fewer than three times by wheelchairs, several fights broke out in the crowd, and he even paid a baby in a pushchair, the mother having refused to depart until he did so.

After a harried 15 minutes, the Doctor gained the upper hand and, limping on his abused foot, pushed everyone except the first applicant back outside. A tall brunette named Melisande, she had stood calmly to the side in her overcoat during the earlier chaos. The Doctor turned his back on her while he pinned a copy of his advert on the wall. When he turned around, he blinked and looked again, wondering if his eyes had deceived him.

Melisande, starkers, was posed in front of him, her overcoat pooled on the floor at her feet. "Where do you want me? I have a high threshold for pain, as requested, if you particularly like whips."

"Pardon?" the Doctor asked, averting his eyes.

Melisande stepped closer. "Where, and how, do you want me?"

"Clothed, and somewhere other than here," the Doctor managed to say without looking at her.

He had to repeat this request several times, rudeness increasing in direct proportion to the volume of his voice, before the woman finally took the hint. As Melisande retreated, dressed and with payment in hand to speed her on her way, she snorted, "Why even place the advert, then, if you didn't intend to follow through?"

The Doctor shook his head in amazement at her sheer nerve and lack of reading comprehension, then called for the next applicant. The day had started so poorly, there could be nowhere to go but up.

Come noon, though, he found himself close to admitting defeat. Even at first glance, he had been able to eliminate most of the applicants, such as the little old ladies in wheelchairs, the parents accompanied by their children, young teenagers, and the like. The Doctor had eventually snatched up a biro and scrawled "NO FAMILIES, NO BABIES!" across his advert, but that line didn't stop the nutters from showing up.

And then there were the questions. The stupid, stupid questions.

One man asked, "When you say 'long term,' you mean like a fortnight, right?"

A trio of teenagers wanted to bring their girlfriends on board, for a total of six passengers.

A woman who initially looked deceptively normal ruined the illusion when she opened her mouth and asked if her 19 cats could come with her on the job.

Occasionally, a ray of hope appeared, but it was always soon extinguished. Rob, for instance, turned in a quick sprint and did well on a series of logic problems. However, when it came time to check his obedience, a problem arose.

The Doctor indicated a corner of the warehouse. "Wait here and don't move until I come back."

"Why?" Rob demanded. "Where are you going?"

With a put-upon sigh, the Doctor stalked out of the room without answering. He should have added "No backchat" to his list of requirements. He prepared to wait nearby for 10 minutes, but within three, Rob had left his position without permission. The Doctor could not begin to count the number of catastrophes that had occurred over the centuries when his companions failed to stay where he had left them, so Rob was automatically eliminated from contention.

The Doctor held out more hope for the ensuing applicant, a 20-something blonde named Lucy. She knew what "xenophobic" meant and could walk in a straight line. (His standards had dropped a bit since the beginning of the day.)

Then she uttered the words that shattered him: "You do realise your advert is pretty creepy, don't you?"

"No, is it?" he said in dismay. He had tried so hard and been so pleased with the results.

"Yeah," Lucy continued depressingly, "I really only showed up to collect the 20 quid and leave right away. I thought you were probably casting a porno."

The Doctor remembered Melisande and winced. "That explains a lot. No. No, that is definitely not the case. My motives are very straightforward and innocent. Perhaps you should review my advert before you decide whether to leave." He handed a copy to Lucy and waited, holding his breath.

She skimmed the list and then stared at him. "Not asking for much, are you? Maybe you ought to just get a dog."

"Tried that. He kept breaking down." Adrift in memories of K9, the Doctor suddenly realised that Lucy was eying him strangely and sidling toward the door. He quickly rephrased, "I mean, my ex kept him when we broke up. Every time. Didn't any of them ever think I might have some right to the dog?" Lucy took another step away, and he abandoned the topic. "Anyway, I'm going to see how these auditions go first. Are you ready to try out?"

She shrugged. "I suppose so."

"Right, then." He pointed to a line chalked onto the floor. "Start here and run to that other line over there, fast as you can." As Lucy moved into position, though, the Doctor frowned and held up his hand. "Hold on! What's with the high heels? Didn't you read the entire page?" He jabbed a finger at the small print that read "Wear comfortable shoes."

Lucy pouted. "But your list also says something about making a good distraction, and the heels help accentuate the length and shapeliness of my legs."

There was no arguing with that kind of logic. The Doctor dropped the debate, and Lucy began her sprint. She was remarkably fast despite the handicap of the heels, and he began to feel he might have a real contender on his hands. That hope faded when Lucy's vertical leap failed to meet standards, and it died entirely when she screamed after being asked to hold a python (even though it was a tiny one, just a single metre long). With a sigh, the Doctor peeled a 20-pound note off of his roll and handed it to Lucy with his muttered thanks.

Clearly, he'd left some key requirements out of his advert.

The afternoon wore on with discouraging results. There was Jenny, who nearly drowned in the paddling pool, and Annie, who couldn't pronounce "xenophobic" or define "claustrophobic." Not to mention Scott, whom the Doctor caught idly picking at the paint on the exterior of the TARDIS (that applicant didn't get paid and was lucky he didn't get something else, as well). Nick was quite promising and passed every test, until he fainted at his first step inside the TARDIS. One by one, they all failed, by being too slow, too stupid, too rude, too disrespectful, too something or other.

Finally, the day was over. By any measure, it had been a disaster. The Doctor, thousands of pounds poorer and very much disillusioned, allowed his last few twenties to flutter to the ground. Sadly, he patted the TARDIS and confided, "It's easier just to let them wander in by accident, I suppose."