whoniverse1000 | Fic Post

Fic Post

This post is where everything happens. All stories/ficlets/drabbles go in the comments here. If your story's too long to fit in a single comment, please post it in your own journal and leave the link in a comment here along with your next pairing request(s). Make certain that you include the pairing you've written as the title of the comment, so that specific pairings can be found easily.

Please don't post any comments that aren't stories. That way, this post will show an accurate count of all the written stories. If you make a mistake or forget something, just edit your comment. If you write a story featuring a specific pairing but somebody posts their story before you post yours, please post it in the overflow post instead of the main one.

If you need help thinking of a pairing to request next or getting inspiration, don't forget The Doctor Who Random Pairing Generator. It includes all of the "main" characters from the various shows, audios, books, and spin-offs. People who aren't participating in the writing can list pairings here that authors can write and/or use as requests in this post.

The rules can be found on the community profile. The masterlist of all written pairings can be found here, while all requested pairings that are still open can be found here. If you want to leave feedback for one of the authors, please go to this post. Any other questions can be asked here.

Note: If you're writing a story for someone's request, please post it as a reply to their comment. Only create a new thread if you've written a pairing that nobody has requested yet.

Threaded | Flat

The thing that surprises Grace most after New Year is how quickly normality reasserts itself. The way her life flows and heals around the mad few days when she knew the Doctor. She slips into a new job and a new lover comes along to take Brian’s place. She doesn’t tell him about the things she saw at the turn of the century. She doesn’t tell anyone. Never on purpose, there just never seems to be a way to start the conversation. Time heals its own wounds she supposes and tries not to think about how sad that thought makes her feel.

She doesn’t miss the man with two hearts as much as time passes. The sharp ache softens to a dull ache to a soft nostalgic smile. Yet, there is something missing in her life, something she found in those crazy few days that she thinks she’s lost again. She can’t share them with anyone. No one else remembers or understands. So she smiles enigmatically and carries on.

She never expected to see Chang Lee again, though she has in odd moments wondered about him. A postcard appears out of nowhere in her mail, from the other side of the world, then another. ‘Spending my gold dust’ reads the message on one, another from Ireland reads ‘Still looking for Gallifrey’. They’re never signed but she keeps them carefully in the drawer of her bedside cabinet, a reminder that she hadn’t dreamed that time. That someone else remembers and needs to reach out and share that. It’s comforting, this little reminder that she’s not entirely alone with her memories.

It’s by accident they find each other again, having almost literally walked into each other in a heavy shower, they’ve taken refuge in a bar almost before they’ve realised what they're doing without bothering to discuss it. Wordless understanding. He’s older than she’d remembered, but time’s passed for her too. He’s calmer and steadier whereas she feels adrift once more. They talk long into the night, drinking cheap beer in a quiet bar in Chinatown that’s seen decidedly better days. They talk of her patients and his travels for hours, before closing time dislodges them from their seats back out into the streets. He plays the gentleman walking her home, and on the way, their tongues loosened by beer and familiar circumstances they talk of that time that no one else really remembers. They lie in the grass of the park that she still lives beside, and count the stars. Even though she knew there would be a meteor shower tonight, it still brings tears to her eyes. He looks at her with that steady gaze of his for a long moment before he kisses her. She doesn’t ask him in, he would doubtless make an excuse and leave if she did. So they make love right there in the grass, the rising dew dampening their clothes and skin, oddly free and protected in the open dark. Both knowing that when the sun comes up they’ll go their separate ways once again so treasuring this moment all the more.

Another moment in time that no one else will understand, but this one is theirs alone, and unlike the last it is very much of this earth.

Eight/Master(Roberts), Eight/Grace, Grace/Donna

Edited 2008-06-14 22:58 (UTC)

"So. Toshiko. Tosh-eee-koh. Like the name. Good name, that. You built a sonic screwdriver? From scratch?"

"A sonic device, yes. It's not a memory I like to revisit."

"Ah, but you still did it. On 21st century earth, no less. That kind of technology should be way beyond you lot."

"It was... quite difficult."

"I should say so! I don't want to know where they got the schematics, even if they were faulty, but you... you built it anyway, didn't you? Fixed all the problems, filled in all the gaps."

"I suppose so. I didn't really have a choice."

"You know what I think? I think you're very clever, really. And I'm very clever too. Very, very clever, even. Makes us a good match."

"A match."

"Mmm. Brilliant minds together. We could do all sorts of things. I travel all over the universe being brilliant, you know."

"I know. Jack told us a bit about you, eventually."

"Don't suppose you fancy... coming with me?"

"I. I can't. I've got my job and... well, I've got my job. I can't just walk out."

"Fair enough. Worth a try."

"Thank you. For asking me."

"Oh, tell you what though. You know my ship? It also travels in time. You wouldn't have to miss a day. Have you back before Jack knew you were gone."

"Really?"

"Really really really."

"Um. Yes. Then. Yes. I'd like to come with you."

"Oh. Good."

Requests: Liz/Brigadier, Francine/Jackie, Gwen/Tosh

Of all the places she thought she'd end up this wasn't even on the list. Charlotte Pollard, Edwardian Adventuress turned into Charley Pollard, Space Pirate. Sometimes that thought was enough to make her burst into laughter, but then many things about her new life made her laugh. Glitz was prone to giving her strange looks, but Mel understood. Sometimes they would look at each other across the computers and burst into giggles. Glitz would sigh and leave the room until they calmed down. Charley had found that those moments were just another of the many ways she had found to love Melanie Bush since she'd found herself on the Nosferatu II.

Sometimes when they were lying together at night they would talk about all the strange and wonderful things they had seen with the Doctor. Those nights they would laugh and joke before making love. It would be loud and playful and Glitz would complain in the morning that he could hear them from across the ship. Other nights they would talk of the pain, the hurt, the anger, and the fear that had become a part of them when traveling with the Doctor. The love making then was slow and gentle. Soft fingers would move across her skin tracing all of the scars that would never show. Some nights they wouldn't talk of the Doctor at all, but instead they would tell stories of their childhoods on Earth. Those nights the love making would be warm and affectionate with Melanie's scent surrounding her.

Then there were the times when they would come together hard and fast against the nearest wall. The adrenaline would still be coursing through their veins as they made another escape from a successful raid. Clothing would be pushed aside rather than removed, seams would rip and later they'd have trouble finding all the buttons. It was rough and somewhat brutal and she loved it. Glitz had learned after those first few months not to stay and watch if he happened to run across them.

There were nights in fancy hotel rooms when they decided a holiday was in order. The beds would be so soft and so full of pillows it became hard to move. They would spend hours in bed, leaving only for room service or a bath. The many amenities of the hotel forgotten or ignored in favor of each other. Other nights could be spent under the moons of strange planets at the rim of explored space. The people around them would be celebrating the supplies they'd brought on the Nosferatu II. The corporations that ran this part of the universe had forgotten about the less successful colonies. Mel would say they were the intergalactic Robin Hood and Glitz would complain about all the money they were losing. Charley thought he did it only for show though as he was the one who usually kept track of what the various colonies they helped out needed. Later in the evening Glitz would wander off with one or two of the local women and leaving her and Mel to drink too much of whatever passed for alcohol on the planet. Drunken kisses would turn into a stumbling half run as they made their way to the house they were staying in that time. The kisses on those nights would be long and sloppy, interrupted only when it became too hard to undress without falling down.

One night was spent in the jail cell of an out of the way trading post. Charley had made a mistake in picking their next mark, it had seemed too good a catch and it had been. The ship had turned out to be a crew of bounty hunters looking to catch the Nosferatu II and their remarkably large bounty. That night was spent huddled together for warmth in a cold stone cell. The corporation willing to pay the highest price would be at the trading post by morning to take them into custody. In the dark of the cell, before dawn could finish breaking over the horizon, Mel whispered in her ear all the many ways she loved her. Charley sat with her head on Mel's shoulder listening to the soft words until the bounty hunters cam to march them out into the yard to await the official transfer. It came as a shock to everyone, most of all them, when Glitz showed up to rescue them several minutes later. Together they ran across the yard holding hands, laughing as they dodged explosions.

Requests: Mel/Tosh, Charley/C'rizz, and Mel/Ace

Edited 2008-06-11 01:00 (UTC)

The Doctor thinks he's won. No more end of the world. He hasn't though; he never lets him.

He thinks to himself that the Doctor is getting complacent in his old age and laughs and feels sad at the same time.

Then he stops and thinks 'how very interesting' as he fiddles with the TARDIS controls; the constraints the Doctor placed on the coordinates back at the end of the Universe are no longer there.

He's free. Sort of. A part of him doubts he ever will be; not free of this, anyway. Too many centuries have past and too many grudges have gone unsettled.

He knows exactly where to go first.

*

He never met her when she looked like this and he's momentarily taken back by her. There's no need for introductions but he wonders if she knows who he really is, if the Doctor has told her about him. He doesn't let himself doubt it.

"How very intersting," she says.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing."

"Has he told you how beautiful you are?"

"No, not yet."

"Well then, let me - "

"Oh, please. You're going to tell me for him, are you?"

He rationalises kissing her by telling himself that he just wanted her to shut up. Romana stops him. "I never said that you could kiss me."

"No," he says, "not yet."

*

Afterwards, they both head straight to the bathroom to fix themselves up again. He doesn't look at her, he can't. Instead, he stares quite coldly straight past her into the mirror as she stands in front of it. "He'll prefer it when you're blonde, just so you know."

She follows his example and continues to look into the mirror. "Just so you know, he preferred it when you had a beard."

He finishes straightening his tie, steals a glimpse of her as she's not looking and goes to leave, but on his way out he can't help but think to himself, 'How very interesting.'

Edited 2008-06-11 06:53 (UTC)

Tosh didn't wake when the Hub door rolled open. She thought it would wake her, between the alarm and the noise generally associated with the door opening, gears, the clank of metal. Instead, she only shifted on the couch, burrowing deeper into the jacket she'd balled up as a pillow. [...]

State of Grace (http://find-rightbrain.livejournal.com/112599.html) :: (2070 words)

Requests: River Song/Time Agent!Jack Harkness, Ida Scott/Zachary Cross Flane (both from "The Impossible Planet"/"The Satan Pit"), Lynda (from "Bad Wolf"/"Parting of the Ways")/Ninth Doctor

It was remarkable how much hate Leela of the Sevateem could convey with a single, sweeping movement. Her limbs, usually so loose and graceful, tensed with rage, and even Andred – who loved her more than he’d ever thought possible – wondered whether or not he should back away.

He had learned to read her moods over the years. In a manner of speaking. She was not the sort of person you could compare to any sort of book, let alone an open one, but he was able to recognise when she was angry with him, and – much more frequently – when she was angry with another Time Lord.

Life on Gallifrey didn’t suit Leela. She was often angry. The looks – the whispers! – she attracted within the Citadel constantly pushed her towards the edge, although the edge of what Andred didn’t know. He did know that she had only remained here because of him. He was constantly grateful for that. She loved him, and he loved her, and that amounted to happiness, of a sort. It was enough.

Borusa antagonised Leela more than most. Andred expected this was because, although the Doctor had left Gallifrey in the Chancellor’s hands (again) when he departed, Borusa couldn’t forget how close he’d come to losing everything. After all, his slights were directed at the Doctor, and even at Andred himself, just as often as they were directed at Leela.

His wife didn’t care about politics, or wounded Time Lord pride. She cared only about driving her knife into his ungrateful throat.

“That man,” she growled, slamming the chamber door behind her as she entered, “He does not wish me to wear my skins in the Citadel. He says it is inappropriate to show my legs.”

Leela sat heavily down on the bed beside Andred, her eyes shining with fury. Her temper was as wild as she was. It was, in his opinion, only when she was angry that she truly deserved the name ‘savage’. Not that it was a bad thing, of course. He didn’t consider himself her tamer (though he’d heard many people express those sorts of opinions in the cold chambers of the Capitol). She had been the one to change him. He’d never considered anything connected to Gallifrey to be ‘cold’ before meeting Leela. Leela, who burned like a flame, and had changed the universe when she’d arrived on his planet.

“Perhaps they have forgotten that such things exist underneath their heavy Time Lord robes?” she continued sharply, and Andred smiled despite himself.
“Perhaps they’re just frightened of you?” he suggested, “Because you’re different.”
“I am glad to be different! I would not wish to be like them!”

Her husband smiled softly, and reached over to entwine his fingers with hers. Them. Not him. He and Leela, they were of a sort. Separate. Together.

“I wouldn’t want that either.”

Next: Jamie McCrimmon/Zoe Herriot, Romana II/Reinette Poisson, Victoria Waterfield/Tenth Doctor

Edited 2008-06-13 22:44 (UTC)

“We’re going back to the Library? You can’t be serious, Doctor!”

Donna glared at him across the console, and the Doctor glared back. Almost. His eyes kept flicking back to the controls, presumably because he was keeping an eye on the co-ordinates, but possibly because he couldn’t meet his companion’s gaze.

“Serious? Of course I’m serious. Different century though, don’t worry. They’re only just being to construct it.”
“You’re not going to interfere, are you?” Donna asked, with remarkable tact, “I know you’re upset about…”

The TARDIS lurched sideways, and Donna strongly suspected that the button the Doctor pressed was the reason for that, rather than an attempted remedy.

“We’re going to see an old friend of mine,” he explained, although she hadn’t actually asked.
“Not River?”
“No. Someone else…”
“She has met you, hasn’t she?”
“Oh, yes. She just doesn’t remember it.”

Donna nodded. Then stared at him.

“What?”

***

“I still don’t understand how she can be building a library in the 50th century if she’s from the tail end of the 21st,” Donna commented as she followed the Doctor out of the TARDIS.
“The Lux family only wanted the best,” he said, “And Zoe is certainly the best. Time travel technology is a relatively new phenomenon in the 50th century. The regulations that will eventually govern it haven’t been implemented yet.”
“And she really doesn’t remember you? After everything you did together?”
“She remembers our first meeting. That’s it. I never said the Time Lords were perfect…”

“Time Lords? I’m afraid we haven’t started on the ‘Mythology’ section yet. There have been some delays in the coordination of the main computer banks.”

A dark-haired young woman, holding a clipboard to her chest, ducked beneath a crane and stepped across the empty atrium to greet them.

“I’m Zoe Heriot. Astrophysicist, pure mathematics major. How can I help you?”

***

“You should tell her.”
“Tell her what?”
“Who you are. Who she is.”

The Doctor didn’t look up from the screen.

“I can’t.”
“Why not, though? She’s like a machine, Doctor. If her trips with you helped to fix that, surely she should be allowed to remember them?”
“Just telling her what happened might not be enough to trigger a full recall.”
“But it’s worth a try…” Donna paused, her eyes widening. “That was the reason for our little trip, wasn’t it?”

The Doctor grinned at her.

“I can’t tell you that, Donna. Spoilers.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t actually know yet, do you?”
“No. But I know Zoe.”

***

“What did he want, Zoe?”

The Head Librarian surveyed his assistant, who was making her way across the concourse with a rather perplexed expression on her face. He had to repeat the question several times before she actually replied.

“Oh, he said he wanted to recommend a book,” she said.
“Recommend a book?”
“Yes. He said it was called ‘The Journal of Impossible Things’.”
“I don’t think we’ve catalogued that one yet. 'Mythology'?”
“Actually, I rather think it’ll be in 'Biography'.”

Edited 2008-06-13 22:43 (UTC)

Her name was Susan Foreman; it might as well be with her original name lost to the winds of time and her original face long broken under a falling boulder.

His name is also long forgotten, by deliberate force of will more then anything else… When she asks he tries to remember and eventually comes up with a “k” which it might have started with.

The Doctor probably remembers both of their names; he’s odd like that, the winds of time blowing over him just as smoothly as they roll her and him aside.

The Doctor would probably know the Master on sight, even though he is now blonde, tall, charming and completely beardless, his cackle is awful and he looks extremely bad in any kind of cape, like a child playing superhero instead of a proper villain that lurks in the night.

Susan however… She’s grown, changed… Ash blonde hair down to her shoulders, dark eyes and a certain leaning towards red, towards chuckling at mayhem, towards capes, towards destruction and chaos and her or her love ruling over a thousand planets and burning them at will.

It’s enough to tear rough gasps out of her throat, and he just looks at her and smiles.

The Doctor would recognise the Master, he always des… But his granddaughter? The one who kisses his foe so sweetly? The one who dances in the ashes of burning worlds? He would barely know her… She barely knows herself anymore.

Simm!Master/Susan Foreman, Delgado!Master/Susan Foreman, Delgado!Master/Liz Shaw

author's note: imho, there has to be some friendship for her to do this...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This factory of war was unlike those of other species, and for good reason. No sparks flew here, no cranes hauled steel or timber, no fires roared. Everything here bore the silence of the grave.

President Romana walked around, examining engines of creation, verbs of destruction, and all other manner of devices being firstmade for this, the Greatest War. For a few things, she had to squint to see the entirety of a weapon. The Safety ID on her bare wrist (that sleeve rolled up just enough) measured outputs and would alert her should things become too dangerous for her).

Overhead, space coiled like a patient serpent. Line of sight was not always a straight line, and a plot of air could all-too-easily be bigger than the open space surrounding it.

"One hopes these will suffice," she said under her breath. At present, the Daleks were winning, but they did not as yet have a sufficiently strong hand to collapse the Time Lords into nonexistance.

"Madame President," said the only other person in this factory (the security systems wouldn't even permit Leela entry). The Cabinet and War Council both agreed with the other august bodies (unanimousness! a novelty, that) that this Time Lord could not be trusted, and not simply because she changed names with each of her regenerations. No, she was to them the Rebel, the Traitor, the Turncoat, the Intolerable One. The more daring of Romana's advisors suggested that the President had pardoned her because of the Doctor.

No, that's not it at all. She's a brilliant mind. "Anything new, Miner?" You are still Miner, yes? or have you ducked back to being the Foreman?

"I have put the finishing touches on the Void Ship, though I know what you'll say to that." 'No! No! We are Gallifreyans. We do not flee. Ever!' Even in the presence of the August President, Susan rolled her eyes.

"We have no need for a Void Ship."

"To pursue the Daleks, we do."

"We will win." That should be enough. That is enough. Susan was smiling. "What?"

"You should know."

"Yes? Know what?"

"I took a commission," said the Miner. One which dovetails nicely.

Romana took a step back. "From the Daleks?"

"Nothing so fortunate for you, Madame President," taking a half-step towards her, ripping the ID off Romana. "I'll be needing that."

"For what?"

"Someone needs to be you."

"Who?" she demanded. "Who paid you to be me?" spitting the foul word out.

"Oh no, Susan replied. "That part is all my own. My commission is to dethrone you. Don't worry, I'll remove them from the populace shortly."

"So... are you going to kill me?" Romana asked quietly.

"I've no need to."

"I don't follow," slightly curious despite herself.

""On Earth, there's a belief that good works and increasing self-knowledge in successive reincarnatioins lead to the individual's liberation...impressive for people without our distinctive biology. I've devised something built to that basic principle," and pulled a gauze patch from her pocket."

"No chameleon arch? No handheld objects for identity storage?"

"Humans, no! Objects can be lost or stolen. And chameleon arches are too restrictive. Look at it this way, Romana, if you're killed, you reincarnate just like any other Time Lord does - but you will be automatically transported to another point in time and space."

"Miner..."

"It's simple enough to escape from -- simply know who you are, who you were," and slapped the gauze onto Romana's wrist. "Bye-bye," and fired the gun she'd produced. "You'll outlast the rest of us."

A bright light flashed past him, followed by an almighty bang. He flinched, and dropped the milk.

"Pol's gonna kill me," he muttered to himself as he tried to move the shards of glass off the walkway and salvage the biscuits that had also been in the bag. He stood up, writing it all off as a loss, and found himself staring at a very intense, very tall man.

The man blinked at him. "Didn't expect that," he said. "Come on then, give us a hand. Those Ice Warriors won't defeat themselves, you know."

"Ice Warriors?" Ben repeated, a nasty tingle spreading down his spine. "What, something to do with sport?"

The man laughed, a short, humourless bark, and reached out and grabbed Ben's hand. Ben stared at it.

"Ben Jackson," the man said, "run for your life."

And they did.

*

"Haven't run that much in ages," Ben said later, streaked with dirt from head to toe. He flopped down outside the ruined building, sirens wailing in the distance. "Ten years now, pretty much. So, Doctor, when did you change your face?"

The Doctor blinked at him again; it was disconcerting, Ben thought.

"Seen you do it before, remember?" Ben said, with a laugh. "Thought we'd seen the last of you, though."

"So did I," the Doctor said. Ben frowned.

"Here, Doctor, this ain't like you. I know you must miss having me and Pol around, but that's no reason to go over all funny like that." He smiled, hoping the Doctor would take the joke.

The Doctor laughed again, but his eyes narrowed. "Ben Jackson," he said, looking like he was reviewing a file in his mind, or something like that. You never really could tell what the Doctor was thinking, after all. "You left before the Ice Warriors."

"Must have," Ben said cheerfully, as the Doctor sat down next to him. "How's Jamie, by the way? Ain't he with you?"

The Doctor's whole demeanour changed; suddenly his shoulders were slumped, his head bowed, his spirit broken.

"They're all gone," he said, his voice a harsh rasp. "And for what?"

"Here now," Ben said, shocked at the change in the man, the man who even when he was old and a bit decrepit had always seemed so strong. He reached out his hand, and took the Doctor's hand in his. "I'm here, and so is Pol. And you're here, right? Defeating the bad guys and saving the world? Ain't that something?"

The Doctor turned to him, a spark of fire burning in his eyes again. Ben shivered.

"Yes, Ben Jackson," he said. "That sure is something." He laughed, then, and Ben joined in, a little unsure, but relieved at the change in the mood, even if the Doctor still seemed somewhat cold and distant.

"Come on," the Doctor said, finally, standing up. "You need to get home, and I have to keep going. The world keeps spinning and I keep running, and you keep living. That's how it always is."

"Visit us any time," Ben said, standing up as well. "Pol, she'd love to see you. Though I don't know, might be a bit too handsome to take home now, and tall, too. Not an old man now, are you!"

"I'm older than the dirt beneath your feet," the Doctor said fiercely, "and you should never forget that I have always, always been here." Without another word, he swept Ben into an embrace. The two men stood there for a while, and Ben found it felt natural, wrapped in the Doctor's leather-clad arms; he felt the earth spinning beneath him and for just a moment, he had stars in his eyes again, the taste of adventure pricking his tongue.

"Take care of yourself, Ben," the Doctor said, finally, pulling away. He strode off without looking back.

"And you, Doctor!" Ben called back. "And you!"

He waited and watched until the Doctor was gone from view, and turned for home. Along the way, he whistled; something from another planet, another time.

Requests: Benton/Rose, Five/Tegan, Ace/Glitz

“Hmph,” grunted the other man with a note of faint disapproval at the tattered hardbacks.

“The Naval Chronicle, not one of your three-volume novels.” Cecil tried not to sound too defensive; after all, he’d have to put up with this strange little chap for the rest of the voyage.

“I can see that,” said Seaman Smith, fixing him with frank blue eyes, “but who wants to read history at a time like this?”

“More – research, really. I’m a writer. Of fiction, that is.”

“Ah,” said Seaman Smith sagely, “a storyteller.” He returned to his scrapbook, and fell silent.

Seaman Smith, as it happened, was a storyteller too. He could tell improbable, impractical stories of actual dragons in the hinterlands of China and be believed (thought Cecil with a mild pang of envy). One might well believe that he was the distillation of generations of wild Irish poets, the last of whom had quietly made his escape across the Irish Sea, if the man’s accent was any guide.

Somewhat drunkenly, one night, the two of them had compared notes (Cecil’s manuscript doodles against Seaman Smith’s scrapbook) and lives. The latter was a rather one-sided comparison: it seemed the only things they had in common were a vaguely medical background and a love of the sea. Shell shock had done for the rest on poor Smith’s part: he had a bad case of amnesia, and so had chosen to focus on the present rather than dwell on the past. Cecil had to admit, though it was simplistic, the point of view did have something to recommend it.

“A man once told me,” Smith said, later, a rare break from his almost Trappist silence, “that history’s a lie twice-told; the first to yourself, the second to posterity.”

“How very cynical of your friend.”

“Perhaps.”

The words stuck in Cecil’s memory as he wrote: this tale should be less of the history, more of the people. By the time of his slightly more happy return to England, he had in his hands a tale of adventure and love, danger, loyalty and courage.

And the unfailing friendship of a simple, but sturdy, fellow with piercing blue eyes.

Pairings: Bernice/Vivant Denon (“Set Piece”), Seven/Ruby Duvall (“Iceberg”), The Master (Roberts)/Chang Lee

Hoffman was starting to regret the notoriety he'd won by dealing with that Code Blue on his first day. Oh, sure, the other lads had started to take him a bit more seriously, and he'd been made Chaudhry's second – good position, that – but he'd give it all up to not have to deal with all the cranks that came through, nattering on about time travel and blue boxes. [...]

Eleven Shillings Make Nine Short of a Pound (http://community.livejournal.com/the_randomiser/1115.html) (~1,650 words)

Requests: Donna/Rose/Martha, Jo/Liz, Donna/Jo

Edited 2008-06-21 18:48 (UTC)

Written for

the_randomizer so I'm gonna link there even though it could fit here.

Luck Through the Cracks

Words: 285

Requests: One/Tegan, Samson Griffin/Eight, Gemma Griffin/C'rizz

Edited 2008-06-23 01:58 (UTC)

Mickey Smith tried his best to ignore the yells, screams, and curses coming from behind him as he ran down yet another empty corridor. Not for the first time in the past few hours, he couldn't help but wonder why the hell he had thought it would be a good idea to check out the rumors he'd found on the internet about supposed alien sightings at an abandoned office building. [. . .]

In the Closet :: (~1000 words)

Requests: Gwen Cooper/Ianto Jones/Jack Harkness/Rhys Williams, Jake Simmonds/Mickey Smith, Maria Jackson/Romana II

Dr Grace Holloway sighed, rubbed her tired eyes and pulled at her locker door. It refused to open. She pulled harder; it rattled stubbornly. The frame was bent, the door didn’t fit properly and it did sometimes jam. The icing on the cake of a difficult day. She tried the trick of hitting it in exactly the right spot a few times, with variations on the right spot and when that failed to work, let her frustration overtake her, pounding on the door.

The door suddenly opened. Inwards, she noticed as her hand failed to make contact and she toppled forwards from her crouching position.

There was light. A lot more light, bright white light, than there should be, almost blinding her after the gloom of the locker room. And a voice, with a British accent.

“Have you quite finished?”

Grace looked up from the floor, squinting a little as her eyes adjusted. They immediately fixed on the only familiar object around, sitting no more than two feet away.

“That’s my locker!”

“Is it?”

“Yes.” Scrambling to her feet, she retrieved her bag from the locker, the door opening easily.

“Oh,” said the short, dark-haired woman. “Is that why you were making such a racket?
It makes it quite hard to concentrate on calculating complexities,” she added. “I thought it must be something important.”

Grace stared at her, thoughts and responses tumbling through her head as the past overtook her present. Both the ship and the person were very different, but both were something she’d thought she’d accepted weren’t coming back. Not that that stopped her checking her patients for two hearts.

“And I thought this must be my locker,” she managed.

“It’s a disguise.” The woman, alien, (Gallifreyan?) leaned back against the console. “It’s supposed to give a misleading impression.”

“Like that?” Grace pointed to the scanner, pleased with how calm she sounded for someone who had just seen a colleague morph into an alien.

“Like…do you have any lakes around here?”

Then there was chaos and running and kissing and some legally questionable activities, surprising herself with her boldness, all in the name of saving the world, just like she remembered. She almost didn’t want it to end, partly because she knew once the adrenaline drained out of her system, she’d keel over into exhaustion and partly because she suspected, believed (hoped?) she had a second chance, another choice to make.

“So why did you come here?” Grace asks, expecting another story that makes her doubt either the sanity of either or the both of them, involving Masters and Time Lords and Eyes of Harmony, because she doubts any of them do things by half.

“I was looking for a doctor,” Susan replies and gently squeezes Grace’s hand. “I think I found her.”

And the choice was there.

Requests: Donna Noble/Steven Taylor, Braxiatel/Jacobi!Master, Ross Jenkins/River Song

It's just a flickering: something eating away at the corner of her brain during the dark, the cold, the endless nights of the resistance, underground.

But it grows.

She shakes it off; she's an old woman, now, and she has meals to cook and socks to darn and propaganda to write and battle plans to draw up. They've been alone for so many months now, and no matter how much she might dream desperately in the night, the Doctor is not coming for them. She can't afford to waste her time on idle fantasies of knights on white horses.

When the flickering materializes, she realizes she only had the colour right, of anything at all.

"This will pass," Romana says, as they hole up together in the kitchen long after everyone else has tucked themselves up in bed, to pass a long and restless night. Romana appears like clockwork, at the strike of two in the morning, day after day. Barbara prepares tea and has a steaming mug ready, the teabag thrice used and the milk long gone, but Romana clutches it gratefully, and drinks deeply.

"This will all turn to dust," Romana continues. "There are wars raging across the universe and I can see each one, in perfect clarity." Barbara gives her a rueful smile.

"Is it for naught, then? Are we fighting in vain?"

"Never," Romana replies, her eyes flashing bright and fierce. "Never. But time will turn; the flow of history here is not constant."

Barbara laughs, a slightly rusty sound. It feels wonderful to do so, to open up her throat and let her emotions spill out properly, she thinks. "I know of history, Romana," she says. "And it's all just time, always ticking away."

Romana just smiles: always mysterious.

"There's a girl coming," she says, "and a great forgetting. Hold on, Barbara. Be strong, until the time comes."

Barbara starts to protest, to query, but Romana is – like a flash, she's leaned forward and there are soft lips on her ear and sweet, nonsense words being spoken, straight to her brain, her heart, her fingertips. Barbara finds her eyes are closed and her mouth is half-open and for the briefest moment, she thinks she has been kissed and loved for a lifetime, or more.

She's startled into wakefulness by a door banging shut; the kitchen is empty. On the table is a note, with plans for a better hiding place, stronger weapons, reassurance, hope.

Romana does not return – just a passing thought, Barbara thinks, a fleeting fancy – but three days later, in their new safehouse, a girl appears, so young and strong and fierce, and Barbara can taste time on her, spilling out in her words and she knows that one day, this all will pass.

"I'd have a shop. Not a big one - just a shop." - The Doctor, New Earth

The moment that he stood in her doorway and clicked his fingers, she knew he was the one. She'd never opened up for someone like this before.

Like him, she had many faces -- some stylish, some shabby, some eccentric, all different -- and yet they always recognized each other. There were others, of course, fly-by-nights who took what she had to offer and left her with nothing but a damp wad of notes, but that was just business. He was more than passing trade.

They never needed names. To her, he was simply the Customer, and she was his Store.

It began, as it always did, with some nonchalant browsing. Already her empty counter ached to be filled with reckless purchases, but she knew he would take his time, slowly stocktaking, preparing both of them for the most intimate of transactions.

Her display cases sparkled, drawing his eye to her special offers. "You saucy thing," he said. "Are you flashing your knick-knacks at me?" As his fingers flicked through her magazines, she almost shivered. "Nice rack," he murmured.

How she longed to give him the hard sell! To the rest of the universe, he might pretend that this sort of distracting human activity was beneath him, but she knew better. It was the old story: she was a hot piece of retail space, his pockets were bulging with legal tender, and she wanted him to spend it all over her.

"This is brilliant," he breathed, fondling a shiny trinket. "I want this, and one of these, and four of those. I can't stop myself. You're irresistible..."

Suddenly he could hold back no longer. His hands grabbed hungrily at her stock, shaking her snowglobes and stroking her souvenirs, rifling through her drawers and rummaging in her bargain bin. She'd never felt so completely plundered. It was thrilling to watch him serving himself, knowing he had needs that only she could satisfy.

There was no mistaking it, he was bracing himself for a huge splurge. Flushed and panting, he unloaded his full basket all over her countertop and groped shamelessly in his pockets for his wherewithal. Her cash register rang again and again as he thrust load after load of alien loose change deep inside it. Filled almost to bursting with his liquid assets, she positively pulsed with pleasure. The receipt of love was sweet, and very, very long.

A loud squeal shattered their idyll. Dishevelled, sweaty and tangled in yards of till roll, the Doctor looked up from the cash desk where he lay sprawled to find Donna gawping at him. "We are never," she said through gritted teeth, "coming to Starbase Shopping City again, do you hear me?"

As he was dragged away, the Doctor pressed his face longingly against the window, leaving tongue marks on the glass. Her entrance still tingling from his swift withdrawal, the shop was alone once more.

Never knowing when they would meet again was painful. But having the CCTV footage to remember him by? Priceless...

Requests: Ianto/coffee, Hand/Resurrection Glove, Mickey/Vicki

Linking to my journal so as not to spoil (even vaguely) those who have yet to see 4x11 "Turn Left" and 4x12 "The Stolen Earth":

Calling Time (http://brewsternorth.livejournal.com/6925.html#cutid1) (Pete Tyler/Kroton, PG, approx 539 words)

Cross-posted from

the_randomiser

Owen could not fathom how she could be so chipper when the world was in peril. Until she answered his unspoken question with a wide smile, “I’ve done this before.”

“Ah…” He synched up Torchwood’s computer system with hers, eyeing the way the stranger, Melanie, could comprehend the scrolling green-on-black code.

“Run a final scan; all the aliens are engaged in combat on the wharf?”

“Yeah, Jack an’ Suzie appear to be handling it—”

Without hesitating, Mel entered the code and they watched the abandoned alien submarine explode and sink into the sea on Cardiff’s CCTV.

Owen later discovered that computer programming was not Mel’s only talent. She was also very flexible.

Prompts: River Song/Liz Shaw, Fifth Doctor/the Rani, Harry Sullivan/River Song

Just about too long for a comment so here at my journal:

Freedom, Delgado!Master/Omega (http://safcooper.livejournal.com/82687.html#cutid1)

Cross-posted from

the_randomiser

Prompts: Harry Sullivan/The Master(Ainley), Grace Holloway/Jo Grant, Emily Chaudhry/Fifth Doctor

"Oy there! 'Scuse me, do you know the way to Coal Hill School?"

The girl calling her was like no one Dodo had ever seem before. She was wearing leggings and an odd skirt and some sort of jacket- like a winter jacket maybe, but with pins all over it. And was that a baseball bat in her rucksack? Very odd. She looked lost though, so Dodo smiled at her.

"Sure I do, just keep straight on down this street, then a left at the laundromat, a right a tobacconist, then there's a sort of a fork, take the left one, another two blocks and you're there."

"Right at the laundromat, right at the... what again?"

"Left at the laundromat, right at the tobacconist- hey, I've got a bit of time, I can show you the way if you want."

Actually, Dodo was supposed to be home already, but, if she was already going to be chewed out by her aunt, what was another fifteen minutes?

"Oh that'd be brill! I thought I knew how to get there
but I got all turned around on these streets. I'm Ace, by the way."

"What a fab name, I've never met anyone named Ace before. That jacket- are you a like, a flying ace? Are you with the RAF or something?"

"Nah, that'd be pretty wicked though, wouldn't it? No, I'm just- well, I guess I don't even have a proper job now. I used to be a waitress but that was lame anyway. Good riddance."

"Oh, I don't think it'd be wicked. I mean, why shouldn't a woman be able to fly a plane as well as a man? Better then being a waitress anyway, I'd think. Oh, where're my manners, my name's Dodo."

"Like, the bird?" The girl's voice was curious, not jeering and made Dodo feel divulging.

"Yeah, I saw this exhibit about dodo birds once on a trip to Whipsnade Zoo with school. I was looking at all the pictures of them and I kept thinking, maybe they didn't all die. What if they got tired of people killing them and taking their eggs so they just flew away? That's what I would've done if I were them, but I guess everyone else thought it was a pretty daft idea when I told them and they started calling me Dodo. Me real name's Dorothea though, horrid isn't it? And I liked the dodos anyway, so I think it's an improvement."

"You're kidding, my r-" the girl broke off for a second and a cloud passed over her face. She flicked her braid over her shoulder and continued, "well, it's not my real name, but the name my mum gave me's Dorothy. Totally naff, isn't it?"

"Naff?"

"Yeah, I don't even like to tell people normally."

"No, me neither. I live with me great-aunt and she
won't listen when I tell her I don't want to be called Dorothea anymore. She drives me a bit mad. Sometimes," Dodo dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper and met Ace's eyes, "sometime she makes me just want to fly away, you know?"

"Yeah, like there's something else you're supposed to be doing."

"Like there's another life I'm supposed to be living." Dodo dropped her eyes and kicked a stone one the pavement.

"Sounds a bit silly I guess," she said timidly. "Here we are, anyway."

"No, no it doesn't. I have to go, but, it was nice talking to you. Really."

"Maybe we could talk again sometime. Where do you live?"

"Right now I kind of live in a police box."

"In a police box?"

"Well, it's not really a police box it-" a loud rumbling sound came from the school and Ace frowned.

"Look, I really have to go," She turned and dashed across the schoolyard, but she turned for a second when she reached the door and called back, "Thanks for everything Dodo."

"Thank you Ace," she called back, but the door was already shut.

---

A couple years later Steven would comment that she'd come to terms with the whole 'police box that travels in space and time' bit pretty quickly for someone from the twenty-first century and Dodo would just laugh. The only thing that surprised her, once the situation was explained, was that she could never find that black winter jacket, no matter how far she dug into the Tardis's closet.

It's a bit over over 1000 words long, so here is the link.

Snippet:
He finds her, or perhaps she finds him, in the ruins outside the Cardiff police station. They both duck behind the same pile of rubble as a Toclafane patrol goes by. She's dressed in white without a smudge of dirt on her and he can't help but stare at what should be an impossible sight. She looks painfully lost and so he takes her had and quietly leads her into the station. Once inside he pulls her back into the holding cell he's taken as his. There's a cot in the corner with a stack of paperback books on the floor next to it and a small gas powered hotplate against the opposite wall with caned food piled around it. It's not much but it's a place to stay and it's been safe so far.

She sits on the cot and watches him as he heats up a can of soup. She accepts the cup he offers her once it's done. They drink the soup in a silence they break only to share their names. He has to leave then, there is a rumor of fresh fruit and he wants to see if he can get some. She doesn't say anything as he leaves and when he gets back he's surprised to find her still there. She's curled into a ball on the cot, shivering a bit from the cold. He carefully crawls onto the cot behind her and pulls a blanket over both of them. She relaxes against his body and holding her he falls asleep.

Edited 2008-07-09 03:42 (UTC)

His coat and trousers hadn't exactly been top priority when Jack had left his second-in-command's flat via the fire escape. Unfortunately, he'd missed his grab for his wristcomp -- though the handcuffs had been worth taking it off in the first place. Which meant he'd ended up driving around Glamorgan without his wallet or any way to contact the rest of the team, chasing the traces of a massive energy discharge with only his mostly-human senses. A bit of ozone in the air, the faint buzzing from bees that kept flying in the open windows of the truck, the prickle of hairs on the back of his neck that had told him that he should keep going rather than heading back to see if Henry had managed to placate his wife and bring his kit back to the hub.

Mid-20th-century motor vehicles were a near-complete mystery to Jack -- once they had computers in them that could tell him what was wrong, he could repair just about anything, but he'd hoped to forgo ever learning how to deal with those from this all-mechanical age. So when the engine coughed, quietly, and then cut out entirely, all he could do was pull to the side of the road and hope for someone to come along. He spent a while alternating between examining the verge on the off-chance that he'd broken down exactly in the right location and kicking up dust just to try to ignore the growing feeling that he was too late. After a while, he leaned up against the back of the truck and let the sun irradiate his skin while he watched the empty road. The handcuffs? Yeah, still worth it. But perhaps the next time they should stick to his quarters.

He had been waiting for over an hour when he felt a low rumble, and then a motorcycle, complete with sidecar, crested the ridge. It blew past him in a rush of dust and more than a little gravel. Only belatedly did he realize he should probably have tried to flag him down, rather than just leaning against the side of the truck.

Much to his relief, the motorcycle came roaring back a few minutes later, and this time slowed to a stop. The rider dismounted, and yanked off a helmet to reveal a disheveled mass of curls. She sauntered -- he liked a girl with a good saunter -- over to the truck, and looked Jack straight in the eye.

"Trouble, is it?" He nodded, and without another word, she popped the bonnet open. After waving away another rush of white smoke that billowed out, she started systematically doing something to the various cables and wires.

She hissed once, snatching back her hand, and then reached back in with a hankerchief over it, and continued tinkering. "Try turning the key, why don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am." The truck, however, was not so willing to follow orders, even from such a pleasant source.

"Billy taught me everything I know about motors -- and that includes how to tell when it's hopeless. This thing isn't going anywhere without a new engine, and that means ordering one. We don't keep parts for imports at the shop, you know." Having said that, she dropped of the edge of the bonnet, letting it slam shut, and strode over to her bike.

"C'mon, hop in. I'll take you into town and send Al over with the tow truck and you can buy me a drink."

Now was when the lack of a wallet became more pressing, but his mystery girl was still smiling. "All right, you can owe me a drink. So long as you can cover the work on the lorry."

Jack wasn't sure how the drawn-out vowels of a Welsh accent made the most mundane sentiments sound delightfully obscene, but he'd stopped questioning it years back. He answered only with a shrug and a flash of his very best smile, and hopped into the sidecar.

-----
Requests: Jo Grant/Jack Harkness/Cliff Jones, Mel/Glitz, Martha/Tegan.

Edited 2008-07-16 16:58 (UTC)

"Where's the damned thing?" - Jack shouted angrily.

If the Hand had a mouth, it'd grin. But the Hand hadn't it, so the Hand stayed soundless in the shadow. Oh, isn't it smart, to make fool of everyone? They thought, the Hand in a jar was helpless. Ha!
The Hand was very lonely, just like the Doctor - the Hand remembered him, but the image of the Doctor was unclear. And now the Hand wanted to find its second half. Like the Doctor took Rose, the Hand was ready to take anyone. The Hand gave a special signal which only another Hand could understand. And the Hand got a reply!
The Hand could feel it so it waited patiently. And here it is! A spaceship! Some zombied fellow came out, said that "Eldrad must live", left something blue on the ground and returned to his spacecraft. A second later he's gone.
Eldrad's Hand, shying, creeped to te Doctor's Hand. Eldrad's Hand was welcomed, so before too long they fondled each other. Everything looked just perfect, but soon it got even better: a portal appeared, and Thing jumped out of it! It couldn't left the signal unreplied.
Hands were very glad and with expressive gestures let Thing know it.
But Jack was not glad at all. He was tired of searching. He sat at some dirty barrel and though that he might need, heheh, an open hand. And at this moment Hands overturned something. As soon as Jack heard the noise, he jumped up. He was very curious after all.
When he found them he was so happy.. And he joined them.
And the next morning everyone wondered why Jack is so puffy but smug.

This turned out to be both long and spoilerific for "Journey's End," though I didn't intend either of those things when I started. Here's a taster:

The Doctor skulked in the shadows, waiting for his previous self to leave. He fervently hoped he wouldn’t go blind before that happened.

After an eternity of staring at the multi-colored nightmare that he used to be, his previous self finally went off on the errand that he had manufactured for the blowhard. Seizing his opportunity, the Doctor quietly slid up behind his former companion. “Hello, Charley,” he murmured quietly.

Charley let out a loud squeak and spun around. “Oh. I didn’t see you there!” She smiled at him, but a poised wariness belied her apparent friendliness. “I’m sorry, but do I know you?”

“You know me, Miss Pollard,” he assured her. “You know me quite well, in fact.”

She stared at him intently before focusing on his eyes. After a long moment, she broke out in a beatific grin and tackled him with a flying hug. “Doctor!” she squeaked. “It’s you! It’s really you! The Cybermen didn’t get you; you did regenerate after all!”

He lifted her up and swung her around while she peppered his face with kisses. The tight knot of grief in his hearts briefly loosened and a soppy smile overtook his face. “Yes, Charley,” he whispered. “It’s me.”

Sooner than he would have liked, he put her back on the ground. Charley kissed him one last time, a chaste but lingering meeting of their lips… and then promptly punched him in the shoulder. “You took your sweet time coming to my rescue, Doctor! Deserted planets are less entertaining than you might think, and your predecessor is no picnic either!”

Parallels (http://community.livejournal.com/shelfics/38874.html) :: 2,479

Charley/Clyde

Edited 2008-07-15 17:30 (UTC)

Threaded | Flat

Page 2 of 5

Grace Holloway/Chang Lee

Ten/Tosh

Charley Pollard/Melanie Bush

Simm!Master/Romana I

Owen Harper/Toshiko Sato

Leela/Andred

Ten/Zoe Heriot

Future!Susan Foreman/Future!Master

Susan & Romana

Ben/Nine

Eight/C. S. Forester (historical RPF)

Jo Grant/Will Hoffman

Barbara Wright/Ianto Jones

Liz Shaw/Mickey Smith

Susan/Grace Holloway

Romana I/Barbara

Doctor/Little Shop

Pete Tyler/Kroton

Owen Harper/Mel Bush

The Master (Delgado) / Omega

Ace McShane/ Dodo Chaplet

PC Andy Davidson/Romana I

Jack Harkness/Ray (from Delta and the Bannermen)

The Doctor's Hand/Eldrad's Hand/Thing/Jack

Charley/Tenth Doctor