rude_not_ginger: (look out side)
( Jun. 12th, 2011 09:24 pm)
The Doctor never liked the appearance of River Song. Whenever she appeared, he was always left confused, timesick, and on one strange occasion, drugged into unconsciousness by hallucinogenic lipstick.

This time, she arrived with a note, which she pushed into his hand before promptly disappearing. More than a note, of course. It was an invitation to the opening of a ship he'd never heard of before in a part of the universe he hadn't been in centuries.

What was she playing at?

He checked his hair in the mirror of his bedroom (and felt immediately awkward, because he shouldn't care what River thought of his hair), and headed back towards the console room. Right, whereever she was sending him, he was going. He wished he could figure out why.

He stepped outside. The hallway was brightly lit, with plush red carpet and mahogany walls showing the very pinnacle of taste and interspace elegance. But where was everyone? Where was River?

He shut the TARDIS door and started down the hallway.
Follows this.

During their time apart, the Doctor didn't dream. Dreaming wasn't common for Time Lords in general, but while Jack was away or in his extended coma, there was no accidental glimpse into the human part of the Doctor's psyche.

Now, he dreamed. Twisting storms and violent rainclouds and a ship that was coming apart. Somewhere he heard Martha calling for him, telling him they had to turn back. They had to turn back, there was too much damage in this section of water. The sentence itself didn't make sense, but to his dream-self it explained a lot of things that were wrong.

A spitfire shot above them through the storm, heading deeper in. The Doctor never dreamed of spitfires. He knew them, but not well enough to have such a beautifully detailed image in front of him. In the dream, he saw it as a sign.

We have to find him, the Doctor responded. He's in the storm.

But everyone was here, on the ship. Mickey, Martha, Donna, Rose, Wilf, they were all there. And the Doctor was steering them into danger and---

He blinked. He was awake in Jack's arms. How long had he been asleep? A few short hours, he imagined. How many more hours did Jack need?
rude_not_ginger: (OH NO)
( Jun. 21st, 2010 03:24 am)
This was not a good day for the Doctor.

First off, he missed an Intergalactic rerun of The West Wing he was looking forward to, then the TARDIS decided to land in the middle of London without warning. And then, of course, there were the squid-like monsters that just happened to be in the middle of London. And then there were the police who didn't seem to realize that he couldn't have done what all the squid-like monsters did to those people. And then there was Joe.

Joe was the Doctor's cellmate, and Joe was an unpleasant drunk who smelled like he'd forgotten to take his trousers off when he relieved himself. And he snored. And talked. And...was he starting to sing in his sleep?

"Phone call!" the Doctor called. "I get a phone call!"

He was led to a small cell-like room with a phone. He hoped she would pick up.

"Help me, Dr. Jones," he mumbled as the phone rang. "You're my only hope.
Gro 7 was, actually, not the most interesting planet the Doctor had ever been on. They grew a lot of very pretty but very boring plants and served very bland cocktails at the local bar. He scoured about for a bit, taking in the dull local sites, then opted to try again with the randomizer for something interesting.

After all, when this little joyride ended, he'd go to find Ood Sigma. He'd give up on the life he was living and move on. And he didn't want that. He never wanted it to stop, never wanted to just give in.

He hopped around another bouquet of flowers on his way to the TARDIS. A young man in a tweed jacket very nearly knocked him over as he turned to leave.

"Big enough walkway for both of us!" the Doctor called to him, irritated.

The man turned and gave him an oddly nostalgic look behind his dark, floppy hair before walking off, silently.

Odd. Still, places to go. Things to do.
He was getting his reward.

Every muscle in his body hurt. He could feel his intestines very slowly, very unpleasantly, liquifying due to the radiation bombarded through his system. The TARDIS ached for him, trying to pull his pain and only deteriorating the coral that held her in place. She was killing herself for him.

"Just two more stops," he promised her, patting her side.

The next stop was France.

He stepped outside into the warm, spring air. There was a garden and birds in the trees and a warm sun up in the sky. It was the perfect sort of day. The sort of day he might've liked to just laze around and enjoy himself.

But he couldn't today. He couldn't waste one minute of his time left.

Where was she? The TARDIS homed in on the biosignal of the person he wanted to see, just one last time.
Vacation planets only. That was the Doctor's present goal, after leaving the Library and the knowledge that he would eventually make a friend only to know her death their entire time together. He had on his list a series of worlds to attend. Midnight was on there, a diamond world he'd always promised himself he'd visit, and Trestraim. Trestraim was their present goal, off of the Andromeda cluster. A beach world, and the Doctor always promised Donna a beach.

The TARDIS did not like this section of vortex. The Doctor could tell, not by the way the turbulence worsened or by the way the TARDIS bucked as she rode the timeline, but by the words that appeared on the TARDIS's scanner. Some particularly colorful words that would not have appeared on a teatime television programme, expressing her extreme displeasure. He was grateful that Donna didn't understand Gallifreyan.

"Enough of that, now," he said to the ship, patting the side of the console. "Nearly through it. Just a little bit---"

The ship bucked one last time, and the Doctor lost his grip on the console and went spilling backwards onto the floor.

After this.

There was something utterly nerve-wracking about not being seen. It made the Doctor feel like he was doing something wrong, like he was spying on the people around him. Even Jack, who was aware he was there, still couldn't see what the Doctor was up to. It should've felt freeing, and sometimes it did, but mostly it just felt wrong. Like he suddenly had no one to account for.

Which, considering his ability to touch anything had also vanished, wasn't too terrible, he supposed. He couldn't exactly do anything to be accounted for. Except watch and make the odd comment.

Also, not piloting the TARDIS was up there on the unpleasant scale. Not because Jack was a bad pilot (quite the contrary), but because it was just another sign of how utterly out of control he was now. No idea where his physical form was, no idea what that storm could be, and unable to even touch his ship.

As a whole, he'd had better days.

"Well, you couldn't get rid of me," he told Jack, teasingly. "Too much to do just yet."
Follows this.

When the Doctor woke, he was prepared to feel stiff and uncomfortable. Usually, when reaching that point of exhaustion, he usually found himself on the floor or on the console, in some sort of an awkward position that left him sore for the next day. This morning, however, he was out of his clothes and stretched out on his bed, under the covers with a heating blanket.

A breathing heating blanket.

He raised an eyebrow and looked to where Jack had an arm around him as he slept. The previous day came rushing back. Pearl Harbor, the goodbyes, the return of Gallifrey, being captured by the Shadow Proclamation, and finally nearly killing Jack. They came so very close. Too close.

Without really thinking about it, the Doctor found himself wrapping an arm around Jack's shoulder. Jack, who was ready and willing to die the previous day. And the Doctor was willing to give him that. He had been willing to give him that. Not anmymore.

Where could they go, now?

Onwards, of course. It was the only way they could go.

The TARDIS wasn't moving anymore, and the Doctor slowly extracted himself from Jack's embrace. He grabbed his trousers and shirt and threw them on quickly, heading towards the console, hopefully before Jack woke.
Continued from here.



"Nah, I've never been particularly good with Christmas," he said. "Always did enjoy it, but never quite understood it. Yates always told me I was a bit too alien."

He looked over to the creature, the one that still looked like Donna. He wondered, privately, what she was doing right now. Was she celebrating? Hiding from a hangover?

"Besides, nobody wants a strange man showing up on their Christmas, do they?"
Continued from here.



The Doctor expects the teleportation and actually opens his mouth to protest. When it doesn't come, though, he has to admit being a little disappointed. Hiro was particularly good at getting them out of very tight situations, why hasn't he pulled them out now?

"Hiro?" He turns back, seeing Hiro's hand frozen mid-gesture. His eyes go from Hiro to the crystal hovering near them, and then back.

"Hiro!" he says, more firmly. "Listen to me. Can you hear me?"
Continued from here



With his words, the Doctor immediately decided that yes, he did like Alan Jackson. Anyone who was willing to go out of their comfort zones and take the extra step to save the world earned extra points in the Doctor's Yes-I-Like-You book.

And he was protecting his daughter. The Doctor silently envied him that ability.

"Allons-y," he said, turning towards the UN building and starting off at a quick jog, hoping that finding Alan running to begin with meant he wasn't already gassed.
Continued from here.



The Doctor scrambled awkwardly to his feet, took half a step back away from Lucy, and tried for all the world to look like he had not only meant to do that, but it was all right that it had happened.

"You all right?" he asked.

That could've been more awkward. He wasn't entirely certain how it could've been more awkward, but...somehow it could've.
Continued from here.



The Doctor beamed at Wilf. Good to know where Donna got her adventerous spirit from. It certainly wasn't her mother. The Doctor panicked internally that Sylvia might magically show up and yell at the two of them, but he decided he'd worry about that when the time came.

He followed the device's signal, gesturing for Wilf to follow. While the signal simply seemed to lead in a straight line, even two blocks down the Doctor noticed they hadn't managed to get closer to it.

"And we have odd occurrence number two." He paused. "Odd occurrence. I like that. Anyway, it looks like the signal's either changed, moved, or it's moving along with us. We're not getting closer."
Continued from here.



"Plans?" the Doctor called over to her, saying the word as though it were some foreign idea he'd never heard before. He rolled over on the ice and another tentacle smacked down hard, forming another long crack.

"Right now, plan #1: Get away from this thing before it pulls us both under water. All other plans come later. Let's stick with plan #1 for now!"
Continued from here.



"That's good," the Doctor said, picking up on Donna's psychic waves. He could feel her emotions, and he was surprised by how much calm she was radiating with her thoughts. He wasn't that surprised, though. Donna was brilliant.

"Now, try introducing yourself. Some species won't even open up communications without proper introductions. A bit silly, maybe, but it's true."
Following this.

Frioro 8 was a lovely planet just outside of the Daystar Nebula. Highly advanced but fairly welcome to tourists, it wasn't a bad place to take Faith for her first outing. And it would be good for her, he decided. She didn't deserve to think that living without proper sleep or dinner was normal. No matter how much excitement was in her life (and he had a feeling she rivaled him in excitement), she deserved the basics.

And maybe she'd be good for him, too. After Mars, after everything that had happened, he was loathe to run off to Ood Sigma anytime soon. Maybe enjoy himself with Faith for a bit, see a few stars in the meantime, then find out just where his song ended.

"This is the TARDIS," he said to Faith, gesturing to the big, blue box. "Our method of transport."
...and the Doctor was thoroughly excited. He wouldn't admit how much he loved the 60's on Earth, but in many ways it felt even more like home than Gallifrey did. Or France, for that matter. And now that he was steering the TARDIS towards London in 1964, he couldn't help the slight spring in his step as he hopped around the console, tapping his fingers along wires and buttons in time to "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" by the Beatles, which happened to be blaring through the TARDIS speakers.

After all, it was tradition to overplay an artists' songs when one was on their way to a concert.

He couldn't find Lucie's old Beatles shirt in the wardrobe, so he stuck to what he knew, changing out his usual ascot for a bright red one. It was the first real recreational trip he'd made since he found Reinette in India. No distress signals, no monsters. Just him and Reinette. And the Beatles, of course.

It very nearly felt like a first date.

Oh no. No, no, no. He was not going to start thinking that way. The moment he did, things would start to get awkward. Or worse! And the last thing he wanted was nerves tonight. Tonight was about his favorite Earth band and fun.

"Reinette, you ready to go?"
Right, so the Doctor was becoming increasingly aware of how very bad he was at steering. Or, at least, how very bad the TARDIS was at listening to his steering directions. He did say he wanted to go to Corsicroz Minor, but, instead, he found they had landed somewhere else.

"It's Saturday, at least," he said, pulling on his coat. He glanced at the screen on the console, then tossed the coat aside. "Temperature's at a lovely 40 degrees---um, that's around 98 degrees for you two---and the radiation's good, atmosphere's good. Should be quite nice out."

He looked over to his companions, trying for a 'this is an improvement' grin. He was looking forward to Corsicroz, but, really, a new and exciting place? So much better.
It was entirely possible that the Doctor had gotten way in over his head in this situation. It was not the sort of situation most people would consider "over their heads", but the Doctor had never been like most people, not even when he was among his own species. Which, at the moment (the moment being the 24th of June 2009) he was not.

He had spent the last several hours preparing for a party that would be taking place in a large mansion just outside of London. The party was run by a Mr. Finnis, a very wealthy and entirely too ambitious internet mogul whom the Doctor had only heard about in passing and in newspapers. That is, he'd only heard about him in passing and in newspapers until the Doctor had heard of him from the dying refugee from Saxorcoro 9 who said that Mr. Finnis had stolen the core of his ship, believing the dangerous material to be a precious jewel. The Doctor's trusty psychic paper secured him a place in the party and his tuxedo secured the fact that he would not stand out too terribly among the other guests at the lavish party.

And what a lovely party it was. There was a string quartet playing something lovely by Mozart (bizarre chap, but very talented), the entire ballroom and the large outdoor balcony was lit up with beautiful, multilayered candles and dim LED lights that flickered in order to create the illusion of being candles, and the table was set with a wide variety of foods and nibbles, something for every palate. As he passed by one of the many displays of huge, velvety roses, the Doctor thought to himself that Donna would like it here at this party.

He stopped at that thought and chewed a little on the inside of his lip. He did not like to think often of Donna and often wished that, like her, he could simply remove her memory from his mind and not worry on it. But, seeing as Time Lords rarely forgot anything, he knew he would have to handle her memory from time to time. He handled the thought of her awkwardly, the way one might handle an unexpected guest at a most inopportune moment. As gracefully as possible, before shooing it away and promising to see it at another time.

He took a glass of champagne from the table and scanned the room. Yes, he was most certainly in over his head. Too many guards at the doors, too many guests about, and no real idea where Mr. Finnis had hidden the core of the ship.
The Doctor couldn't sleep. It wasn't that he didn't want to, but it was far too early to sleep. A few days too soon to sleep, in fact. But River's cottage had a wonderful view and he could lose a good deal of time simply looking out the window.

It was, perhaps, a sign of his old age. He now could look out the window and sit in one place in quiet contemplation.

He could stop moving. Stop thinking. Just remember. Remember what it was like when he was younger. Like the Master. Previous companions. The end of the universe. Ah, the fun things to remember.

He never let himself think about these things when he was younger. Or maybe it was just being around River. Her home made him feel calm.


rude_not_ginger: (Default)
The Doctor


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