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Old 02-17-2010, 10:22 PM   #1
ChasNicollette
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"Doctor Who: Powers of Ten" (Invite Only!)

(( THIS THREAD IS CURRENTLY INVITE ONLY
PLEASE SEE THE OOC IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS
))


The box was blue.

The sands were red.

Outside the wind rattled crimson dust against the navy paneling of the wooden box, rattattatting like branches against the windows.

He stood with his hands in his pockets and his head bowed. He stood in the cavernous Console Room of The TARDIS, his back resting against the Console, the Time Rotor silently waiting behind him.

Tears stained his cheeks.

It had once taken him only six words to deconstruct a Prime Minister's career. But five words...

His friend.

His friend had saved the course of history. Twice. With only five.

Out there in the frozen desert sands of The Fourth Planet, the desert island of Mars, he had walked away from Bowie Base One.

It had been destined to die, the way so very few certain things were destined. Set in stone. Nothing he could do.

Nothing.

And oh, how he'd railed against it.

('Everybody knows that everybody dies. And nobody knows it like The Doctor.')

He was a time traveller. More than that, he was a Time Lord of the fabled planet of Gallifrey. Given to him was dominion over time and of space. He could explore their furthest reaches, from Creation to Entropy, from The Medusa Cascade to The Silver Devastation.

And where he saw fit, he could stride into events and make certain that The Universe would unfold as it should.

But there were limits.

There were certain things. Certain immensely important things. That could not be changed.

Natural disasters. Chain reactions.

Death and Destruction.

('Not one line.')

Not even by him.

And he had been okay with that.

Mostly. Sometimes. From a distance.

But every so often, that sort of thing would get up close. Up so very close. And personal. He would see the eyes and hear the screams of the people he could not save for the life of him and it would spear into his twin hearts like jagged ice.

Bowie Base One had been like this.

A turning point, a crucial instant in the history of The Universe. Great and Bountiful Human Empires would spring from this. But these were living and breathing people. Real, hoping, fearing, beautiful, heroic people.

And he had had to walk away.

The comm had been open in the Sanctuary Base 6 spacesuit he'd been wearing. He'd heard them weeping and calling out to each other amidst the gathering darkness. He'd heard the chitter hiss of The Flood's inexorable descent upon those people. Russian accent, Australian, English...

He'd heard the creaking yearning reluctance to die of the steel combination domes, and he had walked away without looking back. He'd heard the explosion of the rocket, their last avenue of escape, he'd been pitched to the ground by the shockwave.

And as he'd risen to his feet, surrounded by burning shrapnel, listening to those lovely brave people perishing helplessly, then, then he'd looked back. And he'd heard other voices, too. His own.

He'd heard his own voice. Remembered his own words.

'I'm not just a Time Lord. I'm the Last of The Time Lords.'

'They'll never come back. Not now.'

'I've got The TARDIS. Same old life, Last of The Time Lords.'

'When they died, they took it all with them. The walls of Reality closed, the worlds were sealed, gone forever.'

'The Time Lords kept an eye on them, but that's gone now, all of it.'

'But they died, The Time Lords, all of them, they died.'

'I'm the Last of The Time Lords.'


And in that moment had burned within him an unrighteous indignation, brighter hotter still than the scourged and blazing wreckage of the destructed shuttle, a kind of wanton resentful bitterness that had railed and wailed against the unfairness of it all.

(Why should these people die when it was in his power to save them? It was his power, no-one else's. There was no-one to exile him now, no-one to condemn him to a forced regeneration and a single century on a single planet. There was no-one now to tell him that he could not.

And why were they not there to stop him?

Because he'd let them die. The Time Lords.

He'd killed them himself. To stop them.

There was no-one left to stop him.

He could save them. He could save them. Him.

He would save them. And damn The Laws of Time that had stopped him thus far!)

The Doctor had taken one step forward. One step towards the burning leaking broken shell of Bowie Base One, and towards the human beings that still travailed within.

He had taken one step forward, fully intending to bend the so-called Laws of Time until they snapped.

And then he'd heard it.

Yet another voice.

This one hadn't been a voice from Bowie Base One. And it hadn't been an echo of his own voice in the past.

This had been his friend. His best mate.

Five words. In a still small voice.

They'd saved his life, once, those five words. Literally, had made the difference between his living and his dying. And now.

'Doctor! You can stop now.'

He had stopped, had stopped where he stood. He had hesitated.

His eyes had clenched shut.

He had still heard them screaming.

But for them to live when they should have died...

...oh...

...it had been excruciating.

He'd turned.

He'd turned away.

He had walked off into the Martian night, crossing scarlet dust towards a box of blue.

And as he'd stepped into the confines of his magical machine, there had come an enormous thunder. Another, far more final self-destruct, forever keeping The Flood from reaching Earth.

Forever annihilating what had been left of Bowie Base One.

A growing darkness had hesitated at the edges of Forever.

And history had remained intact.

The Doctor groaned, and fell to his knees there on the cold grating of The TARDIS. He had torn off his helmet and had hurled it away and its visor had shattered against one of the coral upgrowths of the Console Room.

This had felt fitting, somehow, the shattering of that helmet.

He had knelt there for a long time. Tears having run down his cheeks, he had knelt, and not moved. And eventually, eventually, trembling, he had stood. He had peeled his way out of the Sanctuary Base space-suit and had stood there against the Console.

'Doctor! You can stop now.'

He pursed his lips.

Should I?

Should I... stop? Could I?

Just make an end of it? No more no more no more...

Just leave off here. No more Time Lords at all, then. All gone. Universe can fend for itself for awhile.


He laughed faintly, a bitter laugh. I'm too old for this nonsense.

...but suddenly, there in the darkness of the Martian night, there with the sound of the Martian wind whistling outside, there with the sound of Martian sandstorms pattering against wood paneling that had never just been just wood, there came a buzzing.

Insistent.

Hungry.

Angry.

There came a buzzing.

The Doctor blinked dark, dark red-ringed tearful eyes. He blinked.

And withdrew his hand from his pocket.

With the hand, he pulled out a little black leather folder.

Psychic paper.

It buzzed in his fingers, the whole folder, and he arched an eyebrow. "Must have set it to vibrate," he muttered to himself. "Hate it when it does that in your pocket."

Hesitating, he frowned, and opened the folder.

Scrawled upon the slightly extrasensory notecard within was a short, brisk message. Repeating.

'S.O.S.'

'S.O.S.'

'S.O.S.'


He stared at it for a long, long moment. Stared at that paper.

"I should stop," he murmured. "I should really just... stop."

His brow furrowed, and his dark dark eyes scrunched tightly shut, his shoulders hunching.

A muscle in his jaw flexed.

He threw the psychic paper back in his pocket and whirled to face the Console with a blurring burst of movement, his fingers curling around the handbrake and his hand yanking downwards.

The Time Rotor groaned to life. Green light thrummed around him.

The TARDIS keened away.

"Busy life," The Doctor murmured, tightly through his teeth, unforgiving.

"Moving on."

********

PROLOGUE:
"Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue, and a Silver Sixpence in Her Shoe."


********

VWORRRP. VWORRRP. VWORRRP.

The sound like the wind between the worlds echoed from the walls of metal halls, the churning shuddering keening sad sad sound of The Universe. And the blue box faded into place in that corridor.

With a distinctive creak-- should really oil those hinges --The Doctor swung open the door, cautiously sticking his head out before stepping fully out into the hallway and pulling the door shut behind him.

"What have you got for me this time?" he murmured.

He frowned quietly, glancing at a doorway nearby: on the wall next to the doorway, about a metre from the floor, was a spot for a handprint. Except the handprint looked like a Vulcan salute.

The Doctor's eyes narrowed. "Sontarans."

He turned this way, he turned that way, the coat billowing around him like a cloak as he moved, he ran his tongue around in his teeth. "Seems quiet enough, though, am I missing a meeting? Something with a balcony, lots of shouting, fists in the air, Rutans must die?"

There came, then, the sound of footfalls-- blimey, spoke too soon --a dozen tromping footfalls, and a skittering, a wild skittering, The Doctor arched an eyebrow, his hand flew to his pocket and out came the sonic--

'Round the corner came pelting something small. Something like lightning, it was a blur, small, quadrupedal, orange, its claws skittering upon the metal floor.

It shot between his legs in an eyeblink and puffed up the hem of his coat as it streaked by and it skidded to a halt at the base of The TARDIS with a thwud.

The Doctor gazed down at it with incredulity.

"Since when do Sontarans have ship's cats?" he demanded.

The feline gazed up at him with wide wide golden-brown eyes, its striped body trembling, its tail bushy and inflated and lashing, its claws out, its nostrils flaring with heavy breath.

And then a voice rang in The Doctor's head, utterly unlike listening to a comm signal on Mars or remembering his own conversations, this was telepathy, ESP projection, words deposited directly in the linguistic section of his brain the way The TARDIS autotranslated alien tongues: "Mate, you need a catflap."

The Doctor blinked. "What?"

The cat squinched his eyes at The Doctor, and that voice came again, an inexplicable Tasmanian accent: "I need to spell it out for you? They're coming, big stompy clone boots coming to step on my tail and pick my brain and I'd like to be gone when they get here."

The Doctor blinked again. "What?"

But then the Sontarans rounded the corner, feet pounding at the deckplates, there were six of them, The Doctor scowled and held his screwdriver out in front of him, pointed at them like a weapon.

They were diminutive for bipeds, but strong, with muscles designed primarily for load-bearing, they wore helmets and armoured suits and carried blast rifles and their footfalls were thunder. The blacked-out narrowed eyelets etched into the visor of the lead Sontaran's helmet locked right onto the humanoid standing there in the brown coat and the blue suit and the scarlet shoes, sonic screwdriver held before him, and there came a shout of utmost triumph. Six blast rifles leveled at The Doctor; six lethal answers to the decidedly non-lethal sonic screwdriver.

"Right," The Doctor confided in the cat, though his voice never lost a shred of confidence, "now we're for it."

"Good luck, then," came the telepathic reply, and The Doctor heard a small pocket of air rush just behind his feet and tasted the metallic tang of a teleport exchange.

The screwdriver bleated at him, The TARDIS signalling a teleport breach, and The Doctor again arched an eyebrow. "'Catflap' indeed," he muttered. "Later for you."

The lead Sontaran pulled off his helmet, glowering at The Doctor. "Your primitive sonic trickery will avail you nothing, Time Lord! We have captured you, and captured your ship, and succeeded in our mission beyond our most optimistic predictions!"

The Doctor's lip quirked. "What mission's that, then?"

"Your own people committed a grave injustice against us," the lead Sontaran glowered, "when they refused the finest soldiers in The Universe the chance to participate in The Last Great Time War. The greatest War in all of existence..."

The Doctor frowned. "You can hardly blame us, really. I mean, look at your technology. Osmic-projection time travel? You'd never've been able to keep up! That'd be like, I dunno, taking Boy Scouts on missions with The S.A.S.! Erm, no offence meant."

He paused, considered this. "Well, a little."

The Sontaran sneered. "Had you only given us the means, we would have fought alongside you to the last breath, Time Warriors, for the glory of Sontar! But this, too, was denied us. And so we must take it for ourselves! We will use it to breach The Time War, ally ourselves with The Daleks, we will fight on their side and in exchange they will make certain that once and for all the filthsome Rutans are exterminated!"

The Doctor scrunched his face up at this, an incredulous frown. "Tell me, erm--"

"Field Major Shrowl," the Sontaran replied, proudly.

"Tell me, Field Major," The Doctor mused, "big students of warfare that Sontarans are, have you ever heard of a 'Pyrrhic victory?'"

"Enough talk!" Shrowl roared, and signaled to his troops, and The Doctor made to lunge, made to dive behind The TARDIS, but then--

--there were more footfalls.

Just one pair, this time. And like the cat, like lightning, a figure blurred around the corner of the corridor.

A woman. Dressed in black. Wearing a helmet like that of a Slab, all covering her face.

She had a shotgun strapped to her back and as she ran she drew pulse pistols from holsters at her hips.

Before The Sontarans could squeeze off a single shot, she was among them, and she was firing, she was firing--

Yellow flashes of light emerged from each pistol-barrel, flashes and blurts that crackled spheroidal as they flew, and every single shot, one-two-three-four-five, gun kata, struck a Sontaran in its probic vent.

Its one weak point.

One two three four five Sontarans went down groaning and shouting and crumpling and Shrowl gave The Doctor one last bitter look before whirling away from The Doctor and facing this other foe head-on, open-skinned, "SONTAR-HA!"

For just a moment, Time seemed to freeze.

The woman had her left-hand pulse pistol leveled at Shrowl's face, right between his eyes, and Shrowl's blast rifle was pointed at the centre of the woman's chest, momentary momentary Mexican stand-off.

The Doctor's hand shot into his pocket. Came back out again.

"Cheers," he shouted to the woman, and then returned the favour.

His hand held a satsuma and he brought the heat, bowling the little orange globe hard against the exposed probic vent at the back of Shrowl's neck.

Shrowl's eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he folded to the floor.

Twirling the sonic screwdriver in his other hand, The Doctor smiled thinly at this newcomer.

"Bit bloodthirsty, ennit?" he murmured.

"First of all," the woman replied, hauling her helmet off of her head, and holding up a pulse pistol for his consideration, "they're locked on stun."

The Doctor stiffened. Disbelieving. At the sight of her.

Long blonde hair fell from the back of her head, up in a pony tail, and she smirked at him softly. She was beautiful.

And he knew her. "But that's... impossible."

"Second of all," she chuckled, waggling her eyebrows, "gratitude."

The screwdriver vanished into his pocket, and he clasped her by her black-clad shoulders and gazed incredulous into her eyes. "But... but I saw you die."

"I got better," she pointed out, then: "Third of all: hello, Dad."

Gently and apologetically smiled The Doctor's Daughter.

Paf, a rush of an air-pocket by his foot, another metallic tang in the air, the cat reappeared, seeming far more relaxed, now. He licked his lips and gazed up at the two of them. "'Another family reunited.'"

"Yes, but," The Doctor glanced at the cat, back up at his daughter's face, "Jenny, how--? You're-- you're alive, and (this is yours?) you've got a cat?"

"Time for that later," Jenny promised, and she threw aside her helmet, and she holstered a pistol, and shoved her hand into his.

She grinned at him, she grinned, her eyes danced, full of promise. "Right now? We've got an awful lot of running to do."

The Doctor squeezed her hand. And grinned a fierce, puckish grin. "Yeah, that's my girl."

And off she ran, sprinting away, and with red Chuck Taylors pounding the deckplates, beside her ran The Doctor.

The cat sat there for a moment, eyes half-lidded, utterly cynical and dismal. "Yeah, no, I'll... I'll wait in the car, shall I?"

And paf, he was gone.

********

"They've been kidnapping them," Jenny called to him as they ran. "Time-travellers, great thinkers, child geniuses, victims of temporal rift displacement. Anyone that might have access to chrono-shift technology, or anyone who might understand principles that The Sontarans could engineer to their advantage. It's like-- it's like a harvest."

She glanced at him, her ponytail lashing a bit with the quickness of her movements, the corridors were screaming by-- "They tried to get me, too. I came here through a time fissure, flew my shuttle through it from The 61st Century, they were on me in no time. I fought them off, got away. But not everyone else was so lucky.

"I traced them back here, was just gathering intel,"
she continued, "getting ready to either go for help or make my move, when--"

They pounded around the corner.

Saw a huge figure, helmeted, armoured. Like The Sontarans, only in black. And huge.

It whirled to face them. "Halt!"

The Doctor scowled. "Judoon."

Jenny grabbed his arm and pulled: "Move!"

Red light scorched the air behind them as the two of them dove back around that corner, hitting the floor hard, The Doctor barely getting his hands under him in time, Jenny slapping the deckplates with one hand like a martial artist, absorbing the impact.

"Identified," that Judoon voice boomed, "person of interest in current investigation, resisted questioning."

The Doctor frowned. "'Person of interest,'" he muttered. "They think you're a part of this?"

Jenny shook her head, tugging a combat knife out of her boot. "They detected background temporal radiation in my biological make-up. As the only time-traveller in the vicinity not imprisoned by The Sontarans, well, obviously I must be aiding and abetting."

"Obviously," The Doctor nodded, his scowl deepening.

"Identified," the Judoon continued, "'The Doctor,' 'Time Lord,' warrant issued for arrest in matter of The Medusa Cascade Incident. Charges: interfering with investigation, refusal to cooperate with legal authority, refusal to surrender commandeered civilian vehicle."

Jenny arched an eyebrow at The Doctor.

The Doctor arched an eyebrow back. "Burned a bridge there, didn't I? Next they're going to start harassing me about those library books..."

She pursed her lips. "I can take out his weapon. Can you unseal his helmet?"

The Doctor nodded, and held up the sonic. "Sontarans are clever enough to deadlock their helmets. Judoon? Well, not to seem prejudiced, but they're pachyderms."

"Surrender immediately or be subject to summary sentencing," the Judoon demanded, from down in that hallway.

Jenny chuckled faintly, and tossed the knife to herself such that she was holding it by the tip. "They're a bit thick. Right, then."

"On three," The Doctor nodded, taking a deep breath.

"One," he exhaled...

...and as one, not waiting for three, both The Doctor and his daughter dove back 'round the corner.

The Doctor ran, sprinting for that huge figure in black, the walls again a blur...

...the Judoon stood its ground, leveled its energy weapon...

...The Doctor heard Jenny hiss behind him, kiai, and the knife whicked past his right ear, end over end over end over end...

...it sunk deep into the muzzle of the Judoon's energy weapon. Sparks flew, the Judoon roared...

...The Doctor hurtled towards the looming beast-man, running just about as fast as his considerable legs would carry him...

...and then moved sideways, darted, the Judoon reached for him, tried to club him with the useless gun, but The Doctor accelerated, sprinted...

...up the wall...

...the Judoon roared in startlement, reaching upwards now, too slow, too slow...

...up the wall, across the ceiling, ne'er slowing, and as he moved he reached beneath his downturned head, reached towards the floor, towards the helmet of his stymied foe...

...screwdriver outstretched...

...the light shone, the whistle sounded, and the locks 'round the rim of the helmet shuddered and gave way.

The Doctor scampered down the wall on the opposite side of the hall and landed in a crouch, his coat puffing dramatically around his feet.

"Hats off indoors, mate," The Doctor smiled faintly, breathing hard, "be a gentleman."

The Judoon reached up, reached up to cap its helmet, to try and restore the seals, but Jenny was already moving, fast as her father and maybe faster, she ran up the front of that beast and backflipped when she hit the whereabouts of his chin, kicking his helmet off over the top of his head as she passed with a flick of the toe of her boot.

The Doctor caught the helmet neatly with one hand as he straightened.

Jenny landed deftly, facing the Judoon, fists up.

She smirked at him. "And you thought I was interesting before."

The Judoon's voice was a roar, he didn't stick to protocol, he didn't call for back-up, he was infuriated, he ducked his head, he squared his shoulders, he charged...

...and she stood to meet him, The Doctor's dark eyes widened...

...and then she, too, sidestepped, reached up with one hand to grab his primary horn as he passed, planted her other hand on his shoulder, and she--

--she bent and she flowed--

--Venusian aikido--

--and with a thwoom that caused the deckplates to tremble, that Judoon was flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling, subject to every bit of the force he'd been about to impart to that frail little humanoid.

"Mo tro dro bo," it rumbled, astonished.

The Doctor leaned over it, still holding that helmet, and shook his head. "So po ho jo."

And then Jenny drew a pulse pistol and shot it in the face with a stunbolt at point-blank range. Out it went. And, simple as that, Jenny holstered her gun again.

The Doctor tossed the helmet aside with a grunt. "Yeah, no, let me guess, you were taking a gander at the place, getting the proper lay of the land, when these Judoon buffoons made a pig's ear of everything."

Yanking her knife free of the Judoon's weapon and sheathing it in her belt, Jenny nodded grimly. "The Sontarans had dozens, dozens of captives. They were working their way through all of them, evaluating their potential, but when The Judoon initiated their raid..."

She started off at a run, again, and The Doctor followed.

"...they vented those cells into space," Jenny winced. "I tried to. I tried to save them. But they were deemed unimportant to the greater goal and were reduced to--"

"--collateral damage," The Doctor murmured, his eyes reflecting Jenny's pain. She'd come so far; she was treating that phrase like a vulgarity instead of a fact of life.

"There's three more," Jenny informed him, shaking her head. "Highest-potential. And The Sontarans're fighting The Judoon tooth and nail to keep them."

"Which is where we come in," The Doctor nodded. "Rather save a handful, than none at all."

Jenny's eyes hardened, and she ran harder. "Especially this handful."
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Last edited by Chasnicollette : 04-19-2010 at 04:12 PM.
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Old 02-18-2010, 10:15 PM   #2
Varshanka
One of the Forsaken
 
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T'Pol - In her cell

Laying on the floor of the cell T’Pol twitched. The collar on her neck stimulating pain with her body. Much like an Agony Booth. But much more effective. And personal. You didn’t need to be dragged kicking and screaming to a booth. The guard simply touched a button and you were on the floor.

Filled with pain. And the screams in your brain.

One of the interesting effects of the collar was it cut off the vocal cords. Apparently these aliens didn’t like hearing there prisoners scream.

Fire. Ice. Needles. Hair being ripped out. None of that compared to what she felt. The pain was beyond comprehension. She didn’t know how long she’d been here. She didn’t even know where here was.

As soon as the collar engaged, everything stopped. Swallowed by the pain. Even seconds felt like for ever. And hours.. hours showed her just what hell was like.

She’d been able to resist at first. Discipline training from section 32 had been very beneficial. Until they’d increased the setting to something even they’d been leery of using. She’d begun to piece together some of their words. But most of it still made no sense.

Her uniform had been shredded during fights. She still ahd one. If you could call it that. The zipper on the vest was broken. The sleeves had been torn off, the Imperial patch was gone. The collar hung in shreds.

Hair was limp and clotted with blood and sweat. Green, red, and even blue blood smeared her face and body. The green was hers. The rest… she didn’t know or care.

Her boots were gone. Taken after she’d killed one of the guards with them. The heel had crushed his skull and she’d been free. And then they’d slapped the collar on her.

Her pants had become shorts. More like something from an olde earth movie set on some forgotten planet or deserted island. The Savage lands or some such title. Big breasted barbarian women wearing little to nothing. Brutish men with huge muscular chest and no mental skill at all.

But that was not here. Here her cell was a three walled room with a force field across the front. Usually a guard stood on the other side. At least when the pain was filling ever particle of her being and she could focus she’d see a guard. But now…

Now something was wrong. She’d been locked in here for hours.. and the guard had activated the pain collar as he left. Incapacitating her beyond comprehension. Beyond reason.

Pain.

Pain.

PAIN.

PAIN

PAIN!

PAIN!!

PAIN!!!

PAIN!!!!
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"Infinite Destruction in Infinite Ways."
"Mercy is for the Weak."
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Old 02-19-2010, 12:21 AM   #3
Lunaramblings
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Jack Harkness had been through a lot in a very short time. Too much. Jack hangs suspended by his wrists. Battered. Bloodied. Smiling.

"You will tell us what we want to know. The device. How does it work?"

Jack had been enduring these torture sessions for hours on end.

"Listen sweetheart, I have paid to have it rougher than this. Can you tighten the bonds at least?"

The thud from the thunderous right hand of the clone soldier reverberated through the room.

"Warrior Caste or not, I will break you."

"Promises, promises big boy. By the way, watch the face... I was a poster boy you know..." Jack laughs, spitting blood as the Sontaran delivers blow after blow.

It was subtle, barely audible really, but after listening for so long, wishing so hard, it was a sound Jack would not miss.

VWORRRP. VWORRRP. VWORRRP.


So soft. So subtle. Jack's eyes begin to water.

"Listen, I have really enjoyed out time here big guy, but I think it's time for the safety word. The Doctor is in."

"Stupid threats. You will be broken!" Jack laughs as blow after blow rain down on him.
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Old 02-19-2010, 03:39 PM   #4
UnseenMaiden
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In the entire universe, in all the galaxies, in all the planets, and of all the races on them, scrounging about on their own business, humans were unique. They persevered. They evolved. They adapted. No matter what tragedies befell them, even if all seemed lost, something of their spirit always glimmered there in the dark. It was an impossible, indefinable thing, but it was there and nothing could ever vanquish it.

Donna Noble had realized that once. She had that slip of spirit burning inside of her. A human woman, not very remarkable to many, who had never in her memory done anything worth noting in her life, she had harnessed that spirit and saved the universe. The best temp in Chiswick had once been the single most important being in all of time and space. Then that had disappeared and she woke up to coffee in the morning, pondering the meaning of success, and a hundred words per minute. She’d also woken up to a certain type of selective amnesia. Most of the time, she shrugged it off, but then something big would come up, like Maria mentioning those planets in the sky that she’d so conveniently missed, but everybody else knew about them, or something would be made mention of on the news and she’d catch her mother and grandfather trading looks, like they knew something, or she’d hear or see something herself that would seem almost familiar. It was maddening.

“All right then, love?”

“Hmm?”


The red-haired woman looked up from the hand that had rested on her own, a physical deliverance of the concerned question that had just been asked, and looked into Shaun’s eyes. They were crinkled at the edges, a little pucker of worry she’d become familiar with, just as he was becoming familiar with her suddenly losing track of the conversation. She was getting better, but sometimes. She couldn’t help it. He was really a very nice man, very sweet, very patient, and more than she ever thought she could have, but.

“Oh, sorry. There I go again. I was thinking we should catch some other show tomorrow night. Shelley saw it and said it was absolute rubbish. Really, who would’ve believed that something…”

The silence was once again filled up with her words, meaningless words really. They took away that worrisome look from his eyes and kept her from thinking about that ‘but’ that always hung between them, so maybe not so meaningless, after all. She didn’t love him. He made her happy or, at least, content and she knew he was probably thinking she was the one. Maybe she was, maybe her mum was right and she needed to settle. Still, there was a restlessness about her when she thought of it, just like with so much else these days. So she didn’t think about it and went on talking and having lunch, before smiles, hugs, and kisses that meant it was time for them both to head back to work. With the heels of her sensible shoes clicking against the pavement, Donna Noble took a deep breath of crisp fall air and told herself that this was enough. Then all went suddenly, terrifyingly black.

When a person wakes up somewhere that is not their bed, they tend to realize it before any of their other senses have had time to confirm this suspicion. Donna had not realized this just yet, went to roll over in her bed, and promptly feel off of the small bunk she had been placed upon and onto the cold, metal floor. It was the cold, and not so much the fall, that shocked her fully awake and had her reeling off of the floor before her head caught up to inform her that this sudden action was perhaps not such a good idea. Pain exploded in the back of her skull and she grimaced, rubbing the sore spot casually. For the next few moments, she just stood there, her eyes squeezed tightly closed, hand rubbing the back of her hand, drawing deep breaths, as she both tried to remember where she was and will her headache away. Eventually, she opened her eyes and then blinked several times, her mouth gaping open.

“What? ..WHAT?!”

It was impossible. It was ridiculous. It also had no door. Really, someone went through all the trouble of putting her here, and for what? She’d suspect Shaun of doing this, but the man had no imagination and was always so very straight-forward. So it had to be one of her friends, then, she supposed. Her birthday had been last month, though. It was a thought that worried her as she headed boldly for the opening. Well, whatever this was about, she’d find out soon enough.

Except, about half a foot from the hallway, she ran into something rather solid and, by the feel of it, dotted with needles. It was enough to make her back off with a small mad cry of indignation. Shining light rippled in the air before her, spreading out until it disappeared against the edges of the walls, ceiling, and floor. Scowling now, fully annoyed, she slapped a hand against the, now clear, bit of space as hard as she could, and pulled it back, sucking in air sharply as pain rushed up her arm. Well, it didn’t hurt, not exactly, it more felt like that awful prickling sensation one gets when trying to work the numbness out of a body. She watched warily as the shimmering ripples of light made their paths through the air. Something about them was prickling at her memory. Hands scrambled in her pockets until she pulled her cell phone out of her coat, calling the one person she always knew she could depend on.

“Come on, Gramps, pick up.”

With the sound of ringing in one ear, she kept the other tuned for any sound of people. It was as deathly quiet as a tomb, but every now and again, she’d catch something far off that sounded like shouting. The answering machine clicked on and she ended the call, only to re-dial the number once more, impatient to speak to a person and not wait for a call back. If he didn’t pick up this time, she’d try the police. Why would anyone ever want to kidnap her? That’s what she wanted to know. Striding over to one of the walls, she banged on it as she shouted out, her voice projecting and bouncing clearly down the halls.

“Oy! You scifi weirdos better let me out of here! I won’t be locked up and made some sort of ceremonial bride or something!”

“Donna, sweetheart, is that you? What are you shouting about then?! Donna!”

For a moment there, she could have sworn she heard footsteps, but they had sounded wrong, somehow, heavier. Turning from the open space of the hallway she concentrated on the phone, keeping her voice low now, just in case those were footsteps she’d heard.

“Something is wrong, Gramps. I was on my way back to work and I must have been jumped, because here I am in something out of Star Trek. ….Oh my god, this must be Norris’ doing! Oh that woman doesn’t know when to let things go!”

Her voice had risen into a shout about halfway through as it had hit her. Of course, she would do something like this. One little gag gift, a bit of harmless fun, even if it had been viciously meant, and suddenly Donna was her worst enemy. Oh this was just great, perfect in fact. She’d sue her. She’d sue Norris and anyone working with her within an inch of their life!

“Donna! Donna, calm down for a moment. I’m sure whoever this Norris is, she had nothing to do with this. Tell me, is there anyone else there with you? Is there a skinny man about wearing a suit and red trainers?”

“Trainers?! Gramps, what are you going on about? There’s no one here but me! I bet Norris and her goons are having a right laugh about now. Wait.. Someone’s coming.”

Those footsteps were getting louder, they were also gaining speed. Donna opened her mouth to demand her release right this minute, but then she caught sight of what they were and the words died in her throat. They ran past her and disappeared and she stood there staring as Wilf’s voice rang over the phone, asking her if she was okay, wanting to know what was going on. Her head was starting to hurt again. Unconsciously, she backed away from where she stood until her legs hit the bunk she’d fallen off of earlier and she collapsed on to it gratefully as the began to turn into this awful burning.

“There are these things. Oh, I’ve seen them before…. That’s impossible. Oh, my head.”
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Old 02-20-2010, 01:30 AM   #5
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The Doctor and Jenny.

Jenny skidded to a halt, holding up a hand for her father to halt, which he did.

"This is it," she breathed, peering around the corner. "The core detention level."

Mimicking her actions, The Doctor slunk about so that one eye blinked down the blue-steel corridor.

Three cells with forcefield entry, selectively permeable energy-membranes, probably hurt like blazes to touch.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, and murmured: "Cor blimey."

There were eighteen Sontarans in that hallway. All facing in their direction, braced, ready to fire, ready to make a last stand.

And off in the distance, thunder was coming. A pulsating colossal thunder that aftershocked through the deckplates. Something big, something scary, something Judoon.

Jenny slung her shotgun off of her back, and narrowed her eyes. "We don't have much time."

The Doctor regarded her quietly. "I don't suppose that thing has a stun setting, does it?"

Jenny smiled the tiniest of smiles. "It's a photonic blunderbuss from the late, lamented weapons factories of Villengard. No, it doesn't have a stun setting. And ordinarily... I wouldn't countenance it, but there are lives at stake, not just these three, but all the lives sacrificed by the Sontarans if their war becomes a genuine Time War."

The Doctor stared at her for a moment. And then stared to nowhere.

"I need to offer them a chance," he murmured. "Just one chance."

Jenny's brow furrowed. "Dad. You can hear them coming, do you think anyone here's going to survive what comes next?"

The Doctor stuck out his lower jaw and blew air through his teeth. "It's what I do. If I were as out of control as them, I would want one last chance to turn it around. And then, if I didn't, if I didn't turn it around, I would want someone to stop me."

Jenny processed this for a moment. And then nodded, clutching tightly to the barrel of the weapon that looked like a shotgun. "Call me if you need me."

The Doctor smiled at her, smiled at that. "I'll always need you."

And then he stood, shrugging out of his coat, and handing it to her. His left eye twitched.

With that, he strode around the corner, hands held high, a gesture of surrender.

He could hear one prisoner convulsing in agony, just beside him, fighting the urge to scream. He could hear another, further along, sobbing disbelievingly, a whole different class of agony, an almost psionic sort of suffering.

He didn't let himself look at them, couldn't let himself be distracted. He looked right at The Sontarans as he stepped into their cross-hairs. He stood just before the first cell, the first forcefield.

As one, The Sontarans prepared to fire.

The Doctor flinched not a micron, and smiled. "'Ello. Sorry to interrupt, I know you lads hate noncombatants like me about as much as I loathe burnt toast and bus stations, but, erm, I can't help but notice that you've got some prisoners of war, here."

One of the Sontarans in the rearmost row stood up a little straighter, aimed his weapon directly at The Doctor's forehead. "And what of them? If you are not prepared to fight for them, Time Lord, then we have nothing more to say to each other. A warrior does not talk. He acts!"

"So," The Doctor measured this, counted the Sontarans, there were more further down the corridor where it ended in an abrupt cul-de-sac, they were gathered around a door, and his eyes flickered back to the gun pointed at his forehead, "you're saying it would be useless for me to suggest negotiating for their release?"

This Sontaran chortled. "Quite! You are familiar with the policy, I think, of 'scorched earth?'"

The Doctor nodded, as if this were expected, keeping his hands where everyone could see them. "Yes, yes, of course, every schoolyard bully's prime directive. 'If I can't have it, no-one can.' Therefore, the only options available for a ceasefire would be--"

Again, the Sontaran expressed bemusement: "Annihilation of the enemy. Or unconditional surrender."

"No other choices," The Doctor clarified.

"None," the lead Sontaran stated, peremptory, "and while your circumlocution may have been amusing to some of your enemies in the past, I grow tired of it quickly!"

The Doctor shrugged, keeping his hands up. "Oh, well, yes, right, this gob doesn't stop for anything. But see, that's the thing, if I might just point out a minor flaw in your policy? First of all, annihilation, that's no good, what if your enemies have better things to do tonight than die? And, second of all, surrender? Specifically, that'd work just fine for me, I give up all the time, swore off violence ages ago, don't have the stomach for it. The only problem is, see, I've got this daughter. Not, you know, in the traditional sense, she was progenated out of my biology by a genetic extrapolation device four thousand years from here, and, well, the sample from which she was created was taken from my right hand."

He wiggled his fingers on that hand, and his eyes darkened like an oncoming storm. "My handy right hand."

The Sontaran stared at him in a kind of awed wonder. As if he could not believe the sheer audacity of this madman, his raw, unfettered nonsense, could not believe a single Sontaran could fall in battle to this blithering idiot...

"The problem," The Doctor kept right on rolling, "with asking surrender from a woman biologically cloned from my right hand--"

...his right hand flourished and, like a magician as adept as Erik Weisz himself, something sprung from his sleeve...

"--is that this hand--"

...the sonic screwdriver gleamed...

...the Sontarans gaped...

"--is a fightin' hand!"

The sonic extended and the button sank under the pressure of his thumb and The Doctor grimaced. "I choose door number three."

As one, in perfect unison, the three forcefields shuddered. They shuddered and rippled and sparked and they burst outward, surged outward, selectively permeable energy-membranes like daggers to the touch, these exploded out of the doorways and bowled into the Sontarans like a boulder into ninepins, the clone soldiers tumbled, hurled into the opposite wall with staggering force.

They were knocked sprawling, but they were hardly beaten, they began to rise...

...but their formation was broken and into that broken formation strode a beautiful blonde woman in a long brown coat wielding what looked like a shotgun.

Over and over again she fired, blue light and shattering force pulsing from the barrel, they tried to return fire, their shots went wild, she aimed for shoulders, blew craters into helmets, took out kneecaps, taking them down without hesitation and yet somehow without killing them. Cries of startlement and pain rang from wall to wall to wall...

There were Sontarans left standing. Further down this cul-de-sac of a corridor, sheltered in a doorway, and from this doorway they returned fire unimpeded, focused bitterly upon wiping their targets off of the face of The Universe.

The Doctor dove for cover, dove into the first cell, dropped there into a crouch beside the woman therein.

Beautiful woman. Dark-haired. Clothes tattered and scanty. She looked like she'd been through the Hells of a dozen religions. And she was still there... she was still in Hell.

Murderous red light zinged and sizzled past the cell door, and the flashes of light were blood-red upon the gleaming surfaces of her--

"Control collar," The Doctor snarled, shaking his head. "Blimey, you must have given 'em a run for their money."

He hesitated, taking in her ears, tapered to points, her upswept eyebrows, and on the air, the different colours of blood on her face gave way to the scent of her own, copper-based blood. "D'you know, you look like-- an awful lot like--"

He shook his head, forced himself to focus. "Pantheistic solipsism."

The sonic glowed, the sonic whistled, nothing happened, nothing changed, she was beautiful and she was in agony and his sonic was failing him-- "Deadlocked, of course it is."

The sonic vanished into his pocket. And he smiled at her grimly. "Never beaten."

And drew from the back pocket of his trousers a rather familiar device.

The squareness gun.

"Don't move," he murmured through gritted, gurning teeth.

And pulled the trigger, blue light and sonic pulses, and the square of the woman's collar that contained the lock vanished as though it had never been, causing the collar to fall away.

The Doctor took a step back, squareness gun held low and away, and he smiled softly at her. "There. Better now?"

Jenny made a run for the door, but was battered back by blistering fire, glowering, she then dove into the opened-up third cell.

She stood with her back to the side wall of the cell, eyes clenched shut, shotgun held tight...

But then she opened her eyes and regarded the woman whose cell she had just entered.

And with a start. She recognised the woman.

"Oh my God," she breathed. "Donna?"

And, now perhaps unnoticed, the deckplates began to thrumble in earnest.

Danger was coming.
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Old 02-20-2010, 06:48 PM   #6
Varshanka
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Doctor and T'Pol.. would that mean Doctor T'Pol? or only if they had kidlets?

And pulled the trigger, blue light and sonic pulses, and the square of the woman's collar that contained the lock vanished as though it had never been, causing the collar to fall away.

The Doctor took a step back, squareness gun held low and away, and he smiled softly at her. "There. Better now?"

****

The pain was gone. A moment, microscopically short, of painfree nothingness. And then she heard sounds.

A figure before her.

And she lunged. From prone on the floor to hands wrapped around a thin scrawny neck and choking the life from it.

FREEDOM!!!

Her face twisted into a feral snarl, or a viscious grin. Her fingers digging into the flesh of the thin short enemy trooper. This one had made a serious mistake of not wearing its armour. She’d killed the last one to do that. And she’d do the same to this one.

The suddeness of her motion, as well as the bad stance of her target, resulted in her taking both of them to the floor. Her legs starddling it’s waist. Fingers digging into an unprotected throat.

Squeezing.

Choking.

Throttling the life from the vile creature beneath her.

A drop of green blood slid from her her neck. Making a trail down her rather interesting skin, between her breasts, across the soft skin of one. Merging with her dark blue uniform top. Blending with so many other stains.

Another drop of green tinted blood dripped from her left eyebrow. The emerald drop turning into a perfect globe as it fell. The captor beneath her gasped, struggling for air. It’s hands futilely trying to pry her fingers off it’s throat. It wanted to breath.

But that was logical. Everything wanted to breathe. Even the pale skinned trooper below her. She watched as, in slow motion, that emerald drop descended. Splattering against the pale white skin of the troopers right cheek.

Pale.

Not grey.

Pale.

Human pale.

Humans.

The ones that enslaved her people. Subjugated them. Treated them as lesser beings. A second class.

Servants.

She squeezed harder.
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Old 02-20-2010, 10:02 PM   #7
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He had just been her salvation and, self-congratulating as The Doctor often was, he had paused to revel in that idea.

But then, a caged panthress, she hit him like a runaway lorry, her hands like a constrictor's coils around his throat, he thudded to the floor hard, his head was ringing...

...the squareness gun flew from his hand, skittered away, hit the wall of the cell...

...she was on top of him, and it was a strange feeling, such a strange feeling, like getting kissed by a Cassandra-powered Rose, or maybe hypothetically making out with Mercy Hartigan, it really...

...she was trying to kill him.

His eyes widened, bulged in his head, he clutched at her wrists, he sputtered, he tried to draw breath to talk her down, but her mighty hands were depriving his even-mightier Gallifreyan brain of life-giving oxygen.

He'd been throttled before. An Osiran robot. Had he died from being throttled? How had he... how had he...

Verdant lifeblood crawled down her chest, along supple curves.

Verdant lifeblood spattered on his face, warm and wet.

...he was going to die, this was karma, he'd tried to kill Peri once this way in post-regenerative madness and this was his sin finding him out.

I'm going to die.

Oh, thank God.


But then, like a denizen of CAL's virtual world, he remembered.

Respiratory bypass system.

The vicious tensile strength of her hands on his throat still hurt like blazes.

But contrary to her expectation, he no longer needed to breathe.

His eyes focused on hers.

He gazed quietly into her eyes.

She was trying to kill him. But he did not attempt to kill her back.

He couldn't talk, he didn't need air but neither could his voicebox form the words.

(He was strong, yeah, stronger than a human, capable of feats of impossible strength within the first fifteen hours of his regeneration cycle, but he was not at present as strong as a Vulcan. Which was, impossibly, indubitably, what this was. A Vulcan woman.

He couldn't throw her off him. He couldn't talk.)

Verdant lifeblood spattered on his cheek. And calmly, oh so very calmly, he reached up with a finger of his left hand, and took a measure of that blood, and painted on the palm of his right hand.

And he showed this to her. A crude, makeshift drawing on his palm.

The Vulcan IDIC. The Kol-Ut-Shan.

And then, just as he'd done with Chloe Webber in London the week of The Olympics, just as he'd had Donna do so as to utilize Sontaran handprint scanners, he delivered the Vulcan salute with that self-same IDIC-painted hand.

The Doctor arched both eyebrows.

Howzat? he seemed to ask. And hoped to clever blue blazes that this would take her aback.

I am not your enemy.

I come in peace.

'Let me help.'
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Old 02-20-2010, 11:10 PM   #8
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The Kol-Ut-Shan.

And then, just as he'd done with Chloe Webber in London the week of The Olympics, just as he'd had Donna do so as to utilize Sontaran handprint scanners, he delivered the Vulcan salute with that self-same IDIC-painted hand.

The Doctor arched both eyebrows.

Howzat? he seemed to ask. And hoped to clever blue blazes that this would take her aback.

I am not your enemy.

I come in peace.

'Let me help.'

******

Kol-Ut-Shan.

Infinite Destruction in Infinite Ways.

Snarling she applied even more pressure, her thumbs digging into flesh. And then she let go. Her hand pulling back in a motion that would crush his skull. The fingers tightening. Hardening like adamantium.

The fragments of her suit parted. Muscles pulling already stressed and damaged material. Strained fibers tore and parted.

She’d been betrayed by Humans all her life. Never again.

Lightening fast the hand decended. The K’a’sum’i strike was meant to shatter bone. To rupture blood vessels. To cause massive physical damage. To Kill.
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Old 02-21-2010, 12:25 AM   #9
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He hadn't lied about that hand.

When first he'd regenerated, he'd had a slight weakness in the dorsal tubercle, but this had been shortly thereafter corrected when the chieftain of The Sycorax had severed that hand in a swordfight.

Like his regenerations sometimes were, the circumstance of the injury influenced the healing of that limb; because he'd lost the hand in a fight, the hand he got in its place was a hand genetically programmed to battle.

And thus, when she released his throat and made to cave in the cranium that protected his considerable brain, that hand went into autopilot.

Went into overdrive.

And deflected the blow with a bashing sideswipe, fierce, again with the Venusian aikido...

...and like the right hand didn't know what the left hand was doing...

His left hand arose. And touched her face. And found her katra points with unwavering effortlessness.

And.

Contact.

His mind brushed her mind, not forcing entrance, not imposing his will on hers, just... requesting. Gently. The honour of an audience.

(Like Saavik, cooling the blood of a regenerated Spock in, what was that, the third film?)

He'd proven he could defend himself if he wanted to. But now. Now.

He would prove to her there was more to this Universe than fist and cuff and whip and blood.

Here, too, was kindness.

Here, too, was hope.

And if that didn't work?

Well, he'd think of something.
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Old 02-21-2010, 12:55 AM   #10
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Chasnicollette View Post
Here, too, was kindness.

Here, too, was hope.

And if that didn't work?

Well, he'd think of something.
Her mouth opened.

Her eyes rolled up.

Some would look at her face, her position atop the male below her. The state of her clothing. The way she straddled him. The way his hand touched her face.

They’d think she was having an orgasm.

In one way she was.

And she collapsed.

Not to the side like a damsel in distress, her body falling limply and revealing tidbits more of her sun bronzed skin.

She collapsed. A heavy weight of bone and muscle. And some very soft bits. Her entire weight falling onto the man she straddled.

Unconscious.
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Old 02-21-2010, 01:27 AM   #11
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Jack was bleeding. Not an unfamiliar thing he lamented. Maybe this is what he deserved. After what he did. After what choice he had made.

"Ok chief, you wanna know how that thing works? Real simply." Jack grinned as he gestured with his chin. "But, I can't deactivate the self destruct from here. I am not saying let me go, no, we are having way too much fun, but I am just saying, hold it up for me and I can use my nose, punch in the access code. Then I can explain."

"Do you take me for a fool? While strong the Warrior Caste obviously lacks mental prowess."

"Listen, I am trying to do this the nice way. We are not alone, and that fact alone is why I haven't killed you yet. Hate him having to see blood on my hands." Jack smiles as the Sontaran looks to the door. That was it. All he needed. Just a split second.

From seemingly nowhere a laser blasts the restraining harness above Jack. Hands free, laser in hand, Jack grins at his torturer.

"Amateur." The Sontaran was unfortunate not to be wearing his helmet. The laser takes him down before he has time to recognize the threat. "Never send an clone to do a man's job. Never understood cloning... takes all the fun out of it." Jack laughs to himself as he picks up his Time Agency wrist strap and puts it on. Punching a series of numbers there is soft whirring as a large gun appears next to Jack. "Now then, this should be more like it." Jack gathers his jacket and other belongings and hefts the large gun. Grinning Jack runs to the hall. "DOCTOR!!!"
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Old 02-21-2010, 01:33 AM   #12
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She...

...reacted...

...starved for contact, perhaps, starved for real gentle "human" contact, physically mentally emotionally psionically, she took one look at what he'd given her and passed out from bliss, passed out from shock.

Sprawled on him like a sack of potatoes.

Though, to be honest, a sack of very very pretty potatoes.

He grunted at the weight of her on him, not that the weight was especially much, it was just... surprising.

And, very carefully, suddenly aware that there was a firefight still happening outside, a firefight involving his daughter wearing his coat, he rolled the Vulcan woman off of him.

He sat up for a moment and stared at her, bewilderedly, getting his voice back. "Well. I don't know what I expected from all of this, but I didn't expect you, and I didn't expect--"

The Doctor gestured helplessly. "--that."

He gazed at her quietly. And, gently, he removed a purple bandanna from his pocket. And wiped the blood from his face, that green green blood.

And then. Quietly, he wiped the blood from her face, and from her chest. Gently. Almost clinically, but with just that dash of humanity.

"You've had some cowboys in here," he murmured, referring to her heart. (Though her heart wasn't in her chest, was it? It was more about where a human's liver would be...)

He shook his head, and crumpled the bandanna away, wiping off his hands as he did so. "I hate cowboys."

Jack gathers his jacket and other belongings and hefts the large gun. Grinning Jack runs to the hall. "DOCTOR!!!"

The Doctor stiffened. Blinked. Shot to his feet, shot to the doorway, the shooting hadn't stopped, but that voice--

The Doctor leaned out into the hallway, staggered out into the open, gazed in shock at who there he saw as the laser blasts zinged all around him.

Beyond the Sontarans that had moved out of their sheltered doorway at Jenny's retreat, there he stood: Chisel'd jaw. Bullshooter-blue eyes. A big smeg-off coat. And a defabricator gun.

"Well," he shook his head, "present company excepted."

Some cowboys aren't so bad.

His hand flew to his forehead, reeling back into the cell doorway as a blast came wickedly close for comfort. "Captain?"
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Old 02-21-2010, 05:18 PM   #13
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Sontarans. She knew what those things were now. Images and information was starting to trickle into her brain. Donna could scarcely breathe from it all and closed her eyes in a vain attempt to block them out. There were so many things and her head! Her cell fell from her hand, forgotten despite her grandfather’s voice screaming desperately so very close, and clattered loudly to the floor. There it vibrated softly, unnoticed, still sending the data of sound through the airwaves of space and time. Wilfred heard what his grand-daughter did not, out there in the house on Wessex St., that mysterious rumbling, a deep sound that renewed his efforts to find out what was going on, to get help, because he could very well guess that whatever it was had opened flood gates to Donna’s memories.

On this side of the phone, Donna’s hands had moved up to clutch at her skull as each image passed over her eyes and burned all the way through, leaving blazing trails of what once was and hinting at the infinites that lay just out of her reach. They were filtering past so quickly and she couldn’t stop them. A blue police box. Pompeii burning, Brains held so tenderly in cupped hands. A giant wasp. Why was there a wasp of all things!?

Time Lord

The words made their way from the hall and into her mind, blazing there for a moment, bright and beautiful and utterly familiar in the most sweetest, terrifying way.Part Time Lord. That voice came from inside her head, but also so achingly familiar. Two skinny boys in suits, gaping at her in joyful astonishment and her, smiling in response, so happy and then sad because she knew what had to happen and didn’t want to. I want to stay.

Light flared from outside of her own blazing being and she looked because she had to, because she needed to concentrate on something else that wasn’t her even if it was an octirinized neutrino level 5 k-field matrix being overloaded with five different types of bio-magnetic perceptive diatonics until it gained more than just a simple, reflective, repellent presence, but whirled into something akin to a self-contained ultraviolet storm. Then it become far too much to be contained and tore itself from the confines of walls, floors, and ceiling to flow out into the hallway. She saw it all and comprehended it mostly in a double-quick time that made the explosion seem slow and mesmerizing. Even as shots of energy began to score their successive paths through the ripples of the fading force field, it seemed almost beautiful. Oh, the universe has been waiting for me.

"Oh my God.Donna?"

She felt the steady rumbling now, beneath her feet, traveling through the floor, whispering through her memory. Then she couldn’t ignore her any longer, the blond girl that had called her name. Jenny. She was supposed to be dead. She had died. She wasn’t though. A million possible reasons flew through the red head’s mind, scalding her synapses, making her close her eyes in an attempt to shut out the Doctor’s daughter and cut her thought processes off so she could exist just a bit more, if she could stop the rampant destruction to her poor fragile cells, then maybe maybe maybe.

Gasping for air, she followed the path of her phone and slid from the prison bunk and onto the cold, vibrating metal below. Breathe. Deep gulps of dry air flowed through her mouth, lungs, absorbed into her blood stream, traveled through the various veins and arteries, reached her brain. More. More! She was pressing herself now, trying to leap that gap between memory and knowledge. If she could just find a solution in the moments left until her brain turned to ash, something that would buy time in the least. Forever.

That wasn’t happening, wasn’t a possibility, was it? Why not? I can think of things you boys couldn’t dream of in a million years. Her resolve hardened at the thought. Donna tuned out Jenny, the Sontaran warriors shouting and shooting close by, the cold metal thrumming under her hands, her grandfather’s voice over the phone, the memories clammering for attention and dashing against one another with the violence of their coming, and changed her breathing in order to draw in sharp, deep, quick breaths. She’d do it. She’d cross the divide needed to protect her from what she had become. The hyperventilation was just a tool. Deprive her brain of the oxygen it needed, constrict the blood vessels, relieve the pressure, relieve the burning, and..

"DOCTOR!!!"

The voice of one very dashing Jack Harkness cut its’ way through the air and her tender concentration. Her mind tried to pull away and let the memories inform her of what she knew about the nearly immortal man, but a deep growl of distinct irritation rumbled in the back of her throat, and she fought the instinct to concentrate on the now. Another volley of Sontaran weapons firing snapped what was left of her patience.

“Not now! I am trying to think!”
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Old 02-22-2010, 12:50 AM   #14
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Donna.

Jenny had been out of touch with her father for some time. She didn't know why Donna wasn't with The Doctor in the first place, she--

Donna.

Donna was the one who had named her. Who had convinced The Doctor that she was more than a tissue sample gone wrong.

...Donna was a time-traveller, apparently of the highest order, this was clear. This was... Donna was one of the Sontarans' holy trinity of time-travellers, they might have tortured her.

Jenny's eyes narrowed. If the Sontarans had hurt one hair on Donna's ginger head?

Donna had named her. Donna had been there when she'd died.

If they had hurt Donna?

This means war.

Her phone was on the floor, she could hear someone squawking on it. Jenny remembered the communication device from the stockade back in 6012, her father had done something to it, made it work better. Donna was again calling for help from imprisonment.

Donna slid from her bunk and hit the floor and scrunched her eyes shut and breathed like a bellows, and Jenny suddenly realised that this was more than just... fright. Hurriedly, Jenny dropped to one knee, she reached to touch her but there came an unexpected prickling in her fingers, Donna was like a live wire.

"Donna?" Jenny asked, hesitant, she wasn't a medic, and while she'd gotten some hints of genetic memory from her father, the vastness of his knowledge was not at her disposal.

In that sense, she was, like her father had at first claimed, just an "echo."

"Donna, it's Jenny, are you--?"

"DOCTOR!!!"

Jenny whirled in startlement, a man's voice calling her father's name, that didn't sound like a Sontaran, both hands gripped the photonic shotgun...

And then, seconds later, her father's voice. "Captain?"

Recognition. She could hear it, recognition, The Doctor knew this one too.

Her eyes darted from side-to-side, searching the middle distance, an instant passed...

...and then energy blasts ripped through the space in front of the doorway, so very much in earnest, desperate to kill, the noise tearing through the air along with the light...

And Donna, laying there, brow furrowed, exploded like a Chiswick Banshee at the intrusion upon her pounding head:

“Not now! I am trying to think!”

Jenny whipped her head around, stared frightfully at Donna.

Something was very wrong, she could feel it in her bones, in both her hearts. And she couldn't fight this. She hadn't the foggiest idea how to fight this.

She took a deep breath. Seemed like everyone was shouting names at each other, but: "DAAAAAAAD!"

Her father's coat billowed around her as she whirled to holler out into the hall without yet leaving cover. "I need you in here, stat! She's having some sort of-- something! Neurological warfare!"

Sheltering in the first cell beside the fallen Vulcan woman, The Doctor gritted his teeth, rubbed his throat. "Right, then. (Be right with you, Jack, got to do the tour first and then we'll do the reunion, can't do it the other way 'round.)"

With a lunge, he scooped up the squareness gun, pointed it at the wall of the cell, then hesitated. Glanced at the Vulcan woman's pointed ears.

Glanced at the sonic blaster that was the squareness gun. Oh, can't have you waking up unhappy, this is probably the best sleep you've had in ages...

Out came his sonic screwdriver. Although, sound waves being sound waves?

Absolutely, two identical sonic devices put together would cause a raucous cacophony, past precedent there, but, if properly modulated...

'Hush little baby, don't say a word.'


Firing off the squareness gun at the same time as he triggered the screwdriver, the beam flashed out from the gun and digitised a chunk of wall, but as the sound emanated out, the screwdriver's own sonic energies cancelled them out before they could reach The Vulcan.

Destructive interference.

One last glance at that Vulcan. You remind me of Leela, more than a little. Though it might just be the outfit.

S'funny.

Stereotypical Vulcan woman, I thought you'd remind me more of Romana. Well, The First Romana.

IDIC just gets you coming, and it gets you going, dunnit?


He dove through the gap. Another zap, another cancellation of sound, another brick gone from the wall, sorry Pink Floyd. And then he was through, and.

He went pale.

"Donna?" he rasped. "Oh, no, oh, nononononono..."

Shoving the squareness gun away, breast pocket of his suit, he dropped to his knees beside the redhead and passed the sonic screwdriver over her...

"She's having a relapse," he muttered, "she's remembering everything."

"Remembering?" Jenny blinked. "Everything? She's forgotten?"

The Doctor glanced up at his daughter, all manner of danger echoing in the unfathomable depths of his eyes. "She had to forget. It's killing her."

Jenny scowled at him. "Dad, you're not making any sense!"

The Doctor shook his head sharply. "Get Jack. The man in the coat. Help him. Make sure he doesn't kill anything. We need to get out of here, go!"

Jenny shot to her feet, she knew an order when she heard one, even though the name of the man in the coat gave her a bit of a twitch. She whirled, dove back out into the hallway...

A Sontaran came at her with a gun, but she never even slowed down, never even blinked.

One handed, she bashed the Sontaran's rifle aside with her shotgun, and then out came her knife, her other hand tearing this across the Sontaran's chest, a surface gouge, a vicious backhand, the Sontaran staggered with the force of the strike, staggered to one side, bleeding green...

...the knife clattered to the deck and two-handed, Jenny drove the butt of the shotgun into the Sontaran's probic vent.

He folded like a wet pancake and Jenny brought the shotgun up, eye to the sights, ready to fire, and--

She blinked.

Saw Captain Jack Harkness. Handsome devil. There amidst the fire and steel, in the heat of battle.

And smiled a languid smile.

Dad. Why didn't you tell me you had such interesting friends?

Touching Donna's face carefully, trembling, examining her, The Doctor pleaded with her. "Stay with me, Donna, keep it together, we're going to get to The TARDIS and I'm going to fix you. Properly this time. I can fix this. Just... please, please, keep it together!"
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Old 02-22-2010, 12:56 PM   #15
Varshanka
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Laying on the floor T’Pol’s eyes twitched as if she was in rem sleep. But this wasn’t anything like a human’s rem sleep. This was something more. Much much more.


****

Doctor..

“Doctor..
“Who are you? I’m the Doctor.”
“Doctor Who?”
“yes..?”
“What? What kind of a Doctor are you?”
“Oh, a little bit of everything you could say.”
“What?”
“Look if your going to talk in circles I’d best get you a doctor.”

****

“I am K-9..”

“I’m Leela..”

“Hello, Doctor. I’m Joe Grant.”

“Brigadier-General Lethbridge Stewert”

“Nam’s Jamie. Jamie McCrimmon..”

“Sarah Jane..”

“Rose Tyler.. RUN. Run as fast as you can..”

“Captain Jack Harkness, You can call me..”
“Leave off..”
“.. anytime you want. What?!”

***

A tear ran down the side of the female Vulcan’s face…

***

“Exterminate. Exterminate.”

“Delete, the Doctor. Delete, the Doctor.”

“KILL HIM!!!” The small grey man in the mechanized chair console said.

Davros.. his name was Davros…

“Kill the Doctor.”

“What’s your name.”
Turning she looked at the rather attractive man holding her hand. “Rose.. Rose Tyler.”
“Hello Rose Tyler. I’m the Doctor.”

“Romanadvoratrelundar”
“Can I just call you Romana?”
“Never really liked that part of my name.”
“Right, Romana it is..”

***

Jerking upright T’Pol grabbed the bunk next to her. Leveraging herself upright as she staggered to her feet. She twitched, images flipping through her skull. Friends. Companions. People long gone. Some not even born yet. Enemies destroyed eons from now. “Timeandrelativedimensionsinspace.”

“TheVulcanscienceadministratumhasdeterminedtemporaltravelisnotpossible.”

“I’m the Doctor.”

Leaning against the wall she dry heaved. Pain rippling through her psyche. Watching Adric die. Such a nice boy. He had great promise. Leela’s wedding.

Donna’s wedding. What a muck up that was.

“Arghh.. DoctorDonnaDoctorDonnaDoctorDonnaDoctorDonnaT’PolDoctorDonnaDoctorDonnaT’PolDoctorDonna DoctorDonna”

“Arghh..” she moaned through clenched teeth.

“T’Pol.”

“T’Ker, T’Pol A’Lex. Commander” She asserted. “Chief Science officer, Scimitar Imperial Starship 1701 B”

The tear finally dripped from her face. Splattering wetly on the floor.

“How..”

"Dad. Why didn't you tell me you had such interesting friends?"

Pushing her way forward she moved through the opening in the wall.

“How?” She asked. “How do you..?”

Falling to her hands and knees she cried. “Rose.. Oh Rose..”
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Old 02-22-2010, 09:59 PM   #16
ChasNicollette
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Glancing down from Donna, The Doctor glimpsed the mobile on the floor, talking up a storm to no-one at all.

He held out his hand to her, a placating gesture, trying to be soothing, calming, settling. "Hold on. Just... just hold on. Please."

And then he caught up the phone to his ear, heard Wilfred Mott's pleading voice, pleading for Donna just as The Doctor just had done.

"Wilfred," he attempted, "Wilf, it's The Doctor, I've got her, I've got her, I swear. I'm right here. I've got her. Just-- just three things, all of them are important, and one of them's true: don't have a heart attack, do tell Sylvia to put down that axe of hers, and, trust me. I've got this."

Someone was talking in his other ear, he glanced up to see The Vulcan Woman stagger through the gap left by the squareness gun.

Oh, luverly. Lieutenant Valeris is awake.

Oh, well, at least she'd be good at hitting people at the base of the neck...


But then she spoke.

“How?” She asked. “How do you..?”

Falling to her hands and knees she cried. “Rose.. Oh Rose..”


The Doctor blinked, his eyes widening, his cheeks paling.

"Who told you that name?" he wondered, shell-shocked. "How did you-- you haven't-- you've never been to Pompeii, have you? (Cult of... cult of Vulcan?)"

He grimaced, shaken. "Wilf, sorry, I'm-- I'm going to have to call you back, I'm sorry."

Rude but not ginger and kind of a mess, blimey, I'm busy, The Doctor tagged the "end" key and dropped to one knee in front of the woman on all fours.

He gazed into her tearful eyes and all of a sudden he could feel her, he could feel her rummaging at the back of his brain, like his synapses were cross-firing with hers. He could see the images scrolling past the retinas of her eyes, a slideshow of his life, the psychic equivalent of poor oul' Jackson Lake with a broken info-stamp.

Or "Tim Timothy Tim" Latimer glimpsing the soul sleeping inside that fob watch.

"Oh, dear, oh dear," he murmured, "a door open in both directions. Residual telepathic field left over from the intersection of our psyches boosting your species' own inherent psionics, I didn't expect that. It'll pass. Just-- give it a minute, I can already feel it fading. It'll pass. Like a dream. A winter's tale."
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Old 02-22-2010, 10:41 PM   #17
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Jack let blast even as he saw the girl springing into action. Blast after blast rattling through the Sontaran ranks. Amateurs. You can clone strength, but intelligence seems to get lost in translation. That's right stand in a tight formation, makes it easier for me.

Jack grinned as he tore threw. Moving as he blasted. One of them got a lucky shot off, blasting the defabricator gun. Useless Jack tosses it to the side. In an instant, Jack has drawn his Webley and Sonic Blaster. Shot after shot, punch, kick, headbutt. Jack never stops smiling. Why should he. His Doctor is back.

The last Sontaran falls as Jack and the pretty blond girl come together in the middle.

"You must be with the Doctor. He has a bit of a thing for gorgeous blonds." Jack grins as he holsters the two hand guns. "Captain Jack Harkness. At your service. Any service. Any." Jack winks and smiles as he dashes past.

"Doc! Come 'ere!" Jack darts into the room with the Doctor.
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Old 02-24-2010, 10:58 PM   #18
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On hands and knees the Vulcan female struggled with the psychic assault of her mind. Unintentional, innocent. But two minds such as theirs should never be joined except under the most controlled of circumstances. And even then it wouldn’t be wise.

Her body twitched.

Her back arched.

Capillaries exploded in her eyes turning them a shade of emerald.

“I know your name, Doctor…”

“You are…”

“John Smith..”

“Doctor James Smith..”

“Dr. Caligari”

“Doctor von Wer”

“Ka Faraq Gatri”

“Karshtakavaar”

“I name you…”

“Ket-cheleb Panu”

“You are….”

“THE DESTROYER OF WORLDS!!” she snarled, her throat raw and harsh. Twin trails of liquid emerald ran either side of her nose. Tear ducts ruptured as she overloaded. Releasing the gestalt of knowledge.

Jerking backwards her body launched itself against a wall. Reinforced titanium buckling under the force of her spine impacting the material.

With a nearly audible scream her mind closed. Psychic shields slamming into place tighter than the TARDIS doors.

And she curled. Vomiting a meal the Sontarans found appetizing. But nothing else in the known universe could. In any Universe.

Dazed she looked up…
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Old 02-25-2010, 06:02 PM   #19
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She looked up at him, her regurgitated nutrient feed pooling and cooling on the floor beneath and beside her. She looked up at him as blood and tears mingled on her face, and he gazed back down at her.

Gazed back down at her from the great height of his full six feet, hands in his pockets.

His face was hard. His eyes were harder. Battle raged beside him, Captain Jack and The Doctor's Daughter clearing the decks, and The Doctor batted nary an eye.

"Well," he shook his head, glancing briefly at the wisps of her she'd left behind staggering about in his surface memories. "Jolan tru to you too, Commander.

"You've left out a few of my favourites," he murmured, cool and hard. "'Merlin.' 'The Threefold Man.' 'The Oncoming Storm.' 'James Alistair Bowman.' Thirty-two flavours and then some."

He smiled faintly. "My real name is buried deeper than any mere telepathic backtrace'll dig up, and really, you're better off not knowing. I touched your mind to tell you I was a friend, that's all. (No good deed goes unpunished.)"

He turned away from her. "As for that last bit. 'Destroyer of Worlds.' 18 counts of planetary demolition according to Volag-Noc... I suppose all myths have some basis in fact."

Crouching back down in front of Donna, he glanced over his shoulder at T'Pol.

"I hope you're finished," he declared, "calling me names. Because I really do have to help my friend. I'll get to you in a minute."
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Old 02-25-2010, 08:29 PM   #20
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His formidable-looking weapon was silenced by a glancing blow, but "Jack" proved as heavily-armed as Jenny herself, drawing a slug-throwing six-shooter and a triple-enfolded sonic disruptor.

Looks like I'm not the only one who's been to Villengard.

"Jack" waded through the fray as though he'd been born to it, and Jenny, who had been born to it, she moved in kind.

The shotgun spat blue-white death over and over again without killing, silencing weapons and disabling warriors with each blast.

The Sontarans were the finest warriors in the cosmos. Or at least that was what The Sontarans said.

But then again, in The 61st Century, when Messaline's progenated soldiery were programmed at "birth" with tactics and history and skills suitable for a generations-long battle, might not have that history included The Sontarans' bitter feud with The Rutans?

You can't beat me. I learned from all your mistakes before I drew my first breath.

One last Sontaran hesitated between them, not sure which way to face, not sure which was the greater threat, and as it turned to face Jack, Jenny propped her shotgun on her hip and drew one of her pulse pistols, firing a stun bolt right into the heart of that warrior's probic vent.

The last Sontaran falls as Jack and the pretty blond girl come together in the middle.

She holstered the pulse pistol and lowered the shotgun and she regarded the man in the big grey coat with a touch of awe. She didn't know what to think.

You're a soldier, she shook her head, examining him in that moment of resounding silence in which the dust again settled. And you're my father's friend? And yet... and yet... he gave me so much trouble for being a soldier, that's...

Oh, Dad, you're such a hypocrite.


She opened her mouth to say something as these thoughts flew through her brain, but the man called "Jack" was a hair faster on the trigger.

"You must be with the Doctor. He has a bit of a thing for gorgeous blonds." Jack grins as he holsters the two hand guns.

Jenny blinked, she imagined wearing her father's coat had been misinterpreted. Like she was a part of The Doctor's love life? She didn't even know he had a love life...

"Captain Jack Harkness. At your service. Any service. Any." Jack winks and smiles as he dashes past.

She stood there for a moment, whirling to follow his dashing by, and she...

...she blinked, she touched her cheeks. They were warm.

He smelled nice. An inexplicable cologne. And he'd implied...

...what, exactly? Something good. Something... love-life-related?

Fraternisation of any kind was frowned upon where she "grew up," procreation was strictly automated, even kissing was a forbidden fruit, but this man, this captain, he seemed to embrace the notion of fraternising as easily as he embraced the field of battle.

Her eyebrows arched, and she grinned an incorrigible grin. Interesting friends, indeed.

She made to follow him, but she hesitated.

"Doc! Come 'ere!" Jack darts into the room with the Doctor.

She turned slowly and narrowed her eyes down the hall. The deckplates were really juddering now, there was no way out of this little cul-de-sac save the way they'd come. It seemed tactically unsound to Jenny that the creme-de-la-creme of The Sontarans' involuntary temporal-research conscripts would be kept in a place that could not be easily evacuated. Then again, Sontarans did not believe in retreat.

Picking up her knife before moving to the mouth of the corridor, Jenny sank to one knee and held the shotgun at the ready, squinting down the barrel.

They were going to have to fight their way out.

Against whatever it was.

Fine by me.
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Old 03-01-2010, 01:00 PM   #21
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Jenny shouted for her father, her genetic donor, and the panicked sound of it echoed through Donna’s skull, grounding her for one brief painful moment. She was aware, too aware, of the burning sensation that had spread from her mind to her chest as her harried breathing stopped and her lungs yearned for oxygen to fill them. Memories took the opportunity to score their destructive paths, centering on Jenny and then the blonde’s father, Doctor. The terror of being returned back to what she was, just a temp, made the redhaired woman tremble. He was coming. She realized that and could do nothing to stop it. Seeing him didn’t scare her. She looked forward to the reunion, actually. Even without remembering, without knowing, she’d missed her friend dearly. Those moments of quiet sadness, of being lost, made so much sense now.

It was what would come after that had her acting, forcing herself to push beyond the shock to her system and draw in another breathe. With an effort, she pushed her thoughts of what had been, and what could be, away from her. Inhale. Exhale. Again. Gather speed. Constrict the blood vessels. Relieve the pressure. Nothing else matters. Not now. The Doctor’s presence whispered at her side, his shock at seeing her insisting to be recognized, but she ignored it, ignored him as best she could. If she could just get past this, she could buy time at the most. Stop the burning, then hugs and kisses.

In another time, another place, in a little house made of stone and wood and more than a little bit of neither that the contractor would never own up to, Wilfred Mott was trying to calm his daughter down, even though he did not happen to feel particularly cool-headed either. The doctor had been right. Sylvia’s axe, something she kept around just in case, with ‘just in case’ becoming more and more likely every time something hinting of the worlds just beyond Earth’s reach came over the news, was indeed gripped firmly in her hands. He supposed that meant he couldn’t trust the Doctor, in that case, but he did. Because, if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that alien doing everything in his power to help Donna, even if it was only to bring her back to them with memories erased once more.

“Sylvia, sweetheart, please. What are you going to do with that anyways? We don’t even know where she is.”

“She’s my daughter! I can’t just leave her to that …man to take care of!”

The elderly man sighed. As much as things had changed lately, what with that newest event of the children of the world shouting the same thing at the same times, some things never changed. His daughter was one of those things, met every new circumstance bristling like a cactus. Eventually he did manage to convince her to put down the axe. Shaun helped in this a bit. He had come over after work, insisting that Donna was to see a show with him that night, but had never showed. In fact, the man had said that he hadn’t seen Donna since the afternoon before. Wilf had left the poor boy in his daughter’s hands, taking advantage of the distraction to slip out of the house.

He felt more than a little guilty as he made his way up to the hill he frequently stargazed from. He should’ve known something was wrong last night when Donna didn’t come home, but, well, she was a grown woman and he had thought, what with Shaun and all. Sylvia had made a big fuss over it all, but didn’t feel the need to call then. His guilt pricked at him, but he didn’t bother to wallow in it. There wasn’t any time. His grand-daughter was who knew where or when, remembering things she wasn’t supposed to. As much as he did trust the Doctor, he couldn’t sit idly by and worry and fuss. He’d leave that to his daughter.

Once on the hill, he pulled out a box buried just a few inches in the ground. It wasn’t much to look at, something metal, chipped and rusted with age, an old lunch pail actually, but good enough for its’ purpose. Flipping it open, the moon’s light revealed various papers, newspaper clippings, post it notes with words scrawled in his own spidery handwriting. There was one however, that was not his handwriting, but a man that he had only ever met once. He had said his name was Jack Harkness. Wilfred didn’t exactly believe him. The boy had had a shifty look about him when he’d sat down casually next to him in the pub, but when he’d spoke about the Doctor, Donna, and especially her possibly needing help, Wilfred Mott had understood this man was a friend.

Flipping open his cell phone, he briefly considered calling Donna’s cell back, just in case, just to learn something of what was going on. Then he punched in the numbers on the piece of napkin in his hand instead. No news was to be considered good news, in his opinion. He’d get in touch with this ‘Torchwood’ that Mr. Harkness had told him about, and take things from there.

"Hold on. Just... just hold on. Please."

That was easy for him to say. Irritation pricked at the edge of her consciousness, along with grief, joy, sorrow, and hope. It was the latter that drove her though. If only. If she could only push herself further. She was so close to that barrier now, so very close. She had barely even heard the Doctor’s words until after his presence was already gone from her side. That which was erected to protect her, that which kept her from being the DoctorDonna, she could see it in the periphery of her mind’s eye, glowing soft and sweet, like the most beautiful sunrise she had ever seen. Oh, how her body burned. The pain had grew stronger the closer she came to it, searing her from the inside out. She felt it from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. Her hands were oblivious to the cold metal they were resting on, just as Donna herself was now oblivious to most of the things that were going on around her, except dimly she heard screaming. There was a distinct possibility that sound was coming from her, but she was doing her very best to push everything out.

And, suddenly, all was calm.

She was floating, felt like she was floating, in a sea of soft light, glowing whites, blues, with flecks of gold. Everything had fallen away. The pain, the memories, her friends, herself. It was all gone now. Just this, a moment stretching into forever. She could see into forever. She could see all that was, all that is, all that would be. Then it grew deeper than that. She saw the ‘ifs’. She saw what could have been and what might be. Everything made so much sense now. It was nice, like meeting a friend for the first time while feeling like you had known them all of your life and then you realize that maybe you did and you say ‘Oh that was you.’ That curious man she’d met when she was six. That was him, the Gallifreyan that called himself ‘Doctor’. Here, now, everything connected so effortlessly. Of course things had to be the way they were, else they would be different. It was interesting to note, to see, but dimly she realized that she felt nothing but this sweet calm as new information flowed over her. Then she felt nothing but calm at this realization and was not bothered by it, though, she knew in the back of her mind that she should be. Donna quite softly thought that she could stay like this forever, and almost thought that she had.

An image flared brightly, violently in her mind, tainting the peace. A man, Lee McAvoy. He didn’t really exist and his image brought a sharp dagger of sorrow along for the ride, making her gasp with the pain. There, in the distance of forever, she saw what she could not otherwise, as her thoughts turned to the man she had once married, had loved. He was real. Hope flared, etching her into individuality once more.

Then she was falling, crashing back into a static existence, reality, and pain. Only there was one major difference. The burning was still there and it was most certainly killing her, but she had time. Not much, but possibly enough. Pulling herself up off of the floor, she smoothed the sweat-soaked tendrils of hair from her face and took in the scenery around her calmly. The DoctorDonna looked down at the Doctor and smiled softly, sweetly, serenely, sadly at her friend. For a few moments, all was quiet between them. Then she offered him her hand.

“Well, don’t just sit there gawking, Dumbo! We have some Judoon to deal with, if I don’t mistake that rumbling sound, and… Is she what I think she is? Live long and prosper and all that?”
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Old 03-02-2010, 12:00 AM   #22
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Ten.

For a moment, there as he crouched before her, fretting and coming all apart at the seams, for a moment, gazing into the windows of Donna's soul was like gazing into The Untempered Schism. All the raw and fright'ning power of The Time Vortex whirled about in her mind, and then... and then...

...there came a burst of light behind those eyes like a sunrise from orbit, and everything went just that much quieter.

The Doctor hesitated. He searched her face, gazed at her worriedly, she was still crackling with power, her human biology trying to support intelligence that would give most Gallifreyans a bit of a start. (Even Romana, and that was... saying something.)

Pulling herself up off of the floor, she smoothed the sweat-soaked tendrils of hair from her face and took in the scenery around her calmly. The DoctorDonna looked down at the Doctor and smiled softly, sweetly, serenely, sadly at her friend. For a few moments, all was quiet between them.

She'd. Stabilised. At least for now. They had a little time before she started down the darksome winding path. They had time to get her to The TARDIS.

And he chanced a soft little smile.

Then she offered him her hand.

“Well, don’t just sit there gawking, Dumbo! We have some Judoon to deal with, if I don’t mistake that rumbling sound, and… Is she what I think she is? Live long and prosper and all that?”


He took her hand, and rose to his feet, and his soft little smile became his broadest beaming Puckish grin, this was...

...oh, he'd felt so alone.

...oh, he'd missed this.

And he shook his head, eyes half-lidded, grinning his skinny alien face off.

She'd called him "Dumbo," he'd loved that even when she wasn't cleverer than him...

And he echoed their first reunion, something she'd said to him in the stairwell at Adipose Industries: "'Don't you ever change?'"

Then, quickly now, time's winged chariot had a lead foot, back to business: "Yeah, Judoon, they're probably going to want a word, and if we don't want to give them a word, they'll want a pound of flesh, and between you and me, really-really, I don't want to give them either, eh?"

He glanced at T'Pol, and he nodded with apology in his eyes. "Right. See, this is what happens when pantheistic multiple-ego solipsism meets spatial genetic multiplicity, eh-wot? Either that, or it's a gobstopping example of Hodgkin's Law of Parallel Planetary Development on a multiversal scale."

He cleared his throat.

"Donna Noble," he introduced, carefully, "this is Commander T'Pol A'Lex T'ker of Vulcan. Commander, this is Donna Noble. (Erm, of The Chiswick Nobles.) And, you two be careful with each other. T'Pol, Donna can outbrain me right now, and seeing as I just tromped all over you with one cerebral hemisphere tied behind me back, I'd look out. Donna, right now T'Pol's less 'live long and prosper' than she is 'die quick and destitute,' but that's really really really not her fault, so we're with-holding judgement."

The Doctor hesitated, and glanced over his shoulder. "I really need to get both of you to The TARDIS, I don't suppose either of you's in any condition to run--"

The battlefield outside their little detention chamber had fallen silent, and there were running footsteps, as in he galloped, in he gallumphed, that fixed point in reality, that Defender of The Earth...

"Doc! Come 'ere!" Jack darts into the room with the Doctor.

The Doctor wheeled around to face him, hands in his pockets, that brilliant grin back in place. "Captain! Good to have you along!"
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Old 03-02-2010, 01:03 AM   #23
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Gwen.

Flipping open his cell phone, he briefly considered calling Donna’s cell back, just in case, just to learn something of what was going on. Then he punched in the numbers on the piece of napkin in his hand instead. No news was to be considered good news, in his opinion. He’d get in touch with this ‘Torchwood’ that Mr. Harkness had told him about, and take things from there.

Cardiff, the jewel of South Wales, had taken some hits of late. Both above ground, and under it.

But they were rebuilding. Oh, they were rebuilding.

They had a little help.

UNIT crews were excavating what once had been The Hub for Torchwood Three, attempting to re-establish a base of operations for Caerdydd's first last and only line of defence against the troublesome Rift. UNIT owed Torchwood one. UNIT owed Torchwood a great deal.

But as the crews removed the rubble from that which lay below, they occasionally found things, inexplicable things, that had survived. They'd found the wrist-strap of Captain Jack Harkness. And this had been returned to him before he had... gone.

They'd found a strange piece of something that resembled coral, this had once been on Jack's desk.

They'd found a poster of Leonard Nimoy as Spock...

And now, as a well-meaning UNIT "grunt" shoveled a few chunks of sheetrock out of a conference room, he found... a telephone.

He blinked. It was in perfect condition. A little bit dusty, sure, a couple of cracks on the casing, but the LCD was still intact, and the little LEDs denoting which line one was on. He was good enough at math, but he still couldn't quite wrap his head around the odds of this.

As he looked at it, as he picked it up and gazed at it and traced its cords to the wall, they'd restored auxiliary power so as to use oxygen refreshers to pump out the dust raised by the reconstruction... as he looked at it, it started ringing. Like a dummy phone being manipulated by an entity with Chula OmCom capabilities, this phone, this long-buried artefact, it started ringing.

He gawped at it. And looked up, startled, looked out through the door of the conference room and bellowed: "Miz Cooper?"

Sitting quietly, taking a break, the extremely pregnant Gwen Cooper had one hand on her stomach and one hand woven in with her husband's fingers, and both of them, both her and Rhys Williams, they looked up at the sound of this lad's bellow.

"Oh, bluddy 'ell," Rhys scowled, "it's not another one of those ghost machines, is it? Thing nearly gave me a heart attack when it woke up on me..."

Gwen pulled her filter-mask off of her face, not entirely trusting the air-scrubbers to keep her baby safe from all the shite floating around in the air, and she smiled at him. "Well," she declared, "I'll go first, then, shall I?"

With Rhys helping her to her feet, she proceeded to the conference room, the phone still ringing in the poor lad's hands. Perhaps metaphorically not unlike Rhys' little snark, the little UNIT lad looked like he'd seen a ghost.

Gwen took in the ringing of the phone in a moment. The blinking of the little light that said "LINE 3," the wheedling brrrringing sound...

A dead phone ringing in the dead basement of an organisation limping back towards life.

Her tongue ran 'round her teeth, hesitating at that interesting little gap.

Well, she admitted, I've seen stranger things.

And without a word, she picked up the receiver and put it to her ear.

"Torchwood Cardiff," she announced. "Who's this?"
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Old 03-03-2010, 12:00 AM   #24
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The Doctor wheeled around to face him, hands in his pockets, that brilliant grin back in place. "Captain! Good to have you along!"

Jack crossed to The Doctor in quick order. The smile never left his face. Not for a second. Not until, with lightning like quickness, Jack's left hand darts out. A hard jab landing squarely on The Doctor's chin. As The Doctor begins to fold to the ground Jack is there Encompassing him in an embrace. Almost like a dancer dipping their partner.

"You should have been there. You would have been able to stop them. You wouldn't have made my choice, your the better man Doctor. Why couldn't you have been there?" A single tear rolls down Jack's cheek as he pulls The Doctor tightly to him and believers a firm kiss on his forehead. "Sorry Doc, but you deserved that. No hard feelings? Well, unless you insist?" The roguish grin spreads quickly back over Jack's face.
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Old 03-03-2010, 09:12 PM   #25
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Ten. And Jen.

The Doctor's right hand was, indeed, a fighting hand.

But just as a person of remarkable quickness is only as fast standing still as anyone else, a fighting right hand shoved in a pocket is only as effective as a right hand with a slight weakness of the dorsal tubercle. And thus, a left jab to the chin...

The Doctor was many things, he was relatively strong, relatively resilient, he had quick reflexes, he could survive a drop of thirty feet with relative ease, he could go for brief space-walks without a suit. He had developed resistances to radiation and to extreme cold, although these had plagued and sometimes killed him in earlier lives.

But one glaring weakness shone through all of this.

The Tenth Doctor had something of a glass jaw.

A thuggish policeman had discovered this around the time of Elisabeth II's Coronation, kidnapping that dear oul' gran from The Connollys' house.

River Song had known about this, too, an Achilles Heel she had judiciously employed when the time came.

And thus, when Jack Harkness' fist crashed into The Doctor's face like a runaway lorry, The Doctor saw stars explode behind his eyes (quite pretty) felt his legs take on the consistency of pipe-cleaners, and experienced a momentary but nostalgic flashback to "Button Moon."

He did not manage to stay upright. He went down, as they say, like a sack of potatoes.

But then the same strong arm that had bowled him over caught him up again, joined by another, and The Doctor struggled back towards full consciousness...

"You should have been there. You would have been able to stop them. You wouldn't have made my choice, your the better man Doctor. Why couldn't you have been there?"

His head was spinning, he couldn't, his jaw ached, he couldn't speak nor form coherent thought to speak. He wanted to explain. Why he hadn't stopped The 456. Why he hadn't saved them. Why he hadn't saved Jack, or Ianto, or The Frobishers or poor dear Steven.

It struck him, momentarily, as he swam through the aether back towards consciousness, how human a tendency this was, to turn their backs on something they believed in when they did not perform to expectations.

Men of Faith would rebel against God when they despaired of all the evil in The World and in The Universe.

Jack didn't have a God that The Doctor knew of. But at least The Doctor had a face that Jack could hit.

A single tear rolls down Jack's cheek as he pulls The Doctor tightly to him and believers a firm kiss on his forehead. "Sorry Doc, but you deserved that. No hard feelings? Well, unless you insist?" The roguish grin spreads quickly back over Jack's face.

And just like that. Mercurial, impossible Jack, it was done. Catharsis made manifest by five knuckles to the countenance.

And feeling a kiss cool on his forehead the way he'd felt Vulcan blood cool on his face, The Doctor smiled ever-so-faintly.

"'Hard feelings,'" The Doctor muttered, "no, not especially. But I am developing a bit of a complex. Why are half the people I run into today trying to do me a mischief?"

********

In Earth's atmosphere, one can count to five between lightning's first flash and thunder's crossing the first mile. And the closer the thunder, the closer the storm...

Thunder rumbled once, twice more, and then the storm arrived.

Jenny's beautiful eyes widened, and she looked up. And up.

There were three of them, but just one by itself would have been enough. Each one of them nearly filled the entire corridor from top to bottom.

Jenny backpedaled, instantly realising that her weapon wouldn't penetrate their hide, much less their armour.

"Uh, Dad?"

And then one of them moved, one of them moved so very fast, so impossibly fast given its size... it bashed her shotgun out of her hands, and it grabbed her by the throat, and held her aloft. Its breath smelled like rust and methane, and its eyes were a slow-burning crimson.

A Judoon. Three Judoon.

Though instead of grey skin, their integument was as black as their armour. They wore no helmets. And they were so very much bigger than their grey-skinned counterparts.

"Ko zo gro," it snarled.

"Ghhk," Jenny replied.

And slapped leather, drawing both pulse pistols and simultaneously shooting this monstrous rhinoceros in both eyes.

It roared, and dropped her, and she fell, hit the ground rolling, scooped up her shotgun by the strap and ran for the third cell... "DAD!"

The Judoon blinked twice. And recovered its sight. And the three of them began stomping after her.

Jenny dove back into the third cell, half-kneeling, two sidearms and one longarm and a rasp to her throat. "Dad. We're out of time."
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