Lynn | Settiai (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
settiai) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
whoniverse10002008-05-19 03:22 pm
settiai) wrote in whoniverse10002008-05-19 03:22 pm
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.
Susan/David
It wasn’t a case of “waiting for the wedding night” because of tradition, or because of moral objections that had fallen out of fashion a very long time ago. No, it was a matter of practicality more than anything else.
London was in ruins, food was scarce, and even with the Daleks gone it wasn’t particularly safe. It was better for everyone to stay together as a group until arrangements could be made for them to get to the countryside. For what seemed like an eternity, Susan and David had to make do with stolen kisses whenever they had a few moments to themselves.
But things progressed, and within a few days someone who had once been a judge was found. They held hands while he said a few words over them and pronounced them husband and wife, to have and to hold from this day forwards. With that ceremony, as legally binding as anything could be said to be these days, Susan traded the name Foreman, which was never really hers anyway, for the name Campbell, which absolutely was. She was sixteen years old, and most likely the youngest Gallifreyan bride in history.
Their friends took pity on the newlyweds and gave them as much privacy as possible, but still the marriage remained in name only. They were young and in love, and romantic enough to want everything to be perfect.
They’d been married nearly a week by the time they made it to Scotland. The farmhouse was grey and dilapidated, and the land surrounding it was full of rocks and debris and some absolutely unspeakable things. But to David, the land symbolised a new beginning, the start of his quest to give back to the shattered Earth. And to Susan, the house symbolised the home she’d been searching for for years.
Only one of the bedrooms had a bed left in it, and even that was uncomfortable and not really big enough for two people. There wasn’t one thing about that marriage bed or what they considered their “real” wedding night that could possibly be considered perfect.
But Mr. and Mrs. Campbell, snuggling together in that lumpy bed, would always believe it was.
Requests: Jack/Mike Yates, Five/Tegan, Six/Peri
Jack Harkness/Mike Yates
Jack swallows hard. Maybe he hasn't exactly been stealthy in his UNIT-spying activities. Being handsome as he is has these kind of drawbacks; it's sometimes hard to remain unnoticed. Still, he would have sworn he'd be able to hear someone coming up just behind him. This man is good.
And pointing a gun in his general direction.
"Who are you? I want the truth!"
Jack has absolutely nothing against the truth. It's just that, sometimes, it's necessary to select it carefully.
It would be the absolute truth to say: "Please, don't take me to the Doctor. It would be very dangerous for us and the whole universe." Or: "Oh, you can shoot me, I won't die anyway." Maybe: "I work for Torchwood. We've been fighting aliens longer than you. Oh, and we're better at keeping secrecy, too, because we know about you and you don't know about us." Or perhaps even: "I'm a time traveler. I knew the Doctor, in my past and in his future, and I can't see him now because he hasn't met me yet. But I stalk him anyway because I fancy him, and I know I'm pathetic, thanks."
Of course, all of those could potentially cause a disaster. Being brought to their scientific adviser and risking a massive temporal disturbance for the first two, being shot by UNIT and Torchwood for the third, and for the fourth... well, it would mean being pathetic in front of a perfect stranger. Not to mention that this man, while competent, might be completely ignorant of their scientific adviser being a time-traveling alien. Which would bring him back to the first scenario.
But . . . Jack can think better and faster than that, can't he? And he finally finds exactly the right thing to say. Or so he thinks.
"I was watching you soldiers," he explains with his most charming smile. "Fantasizing about your uniforms. Nice caps. By the way, did I mention that you're very handsome?"
There, a total truth.
"I'm Jack," he adds, holding out his hand. "Nice to meet you. What's your name?"
Of course, the man is shocked. But it's better that that. He's wearing an expression that Jack has learned to recognize in this primitive century: the I-want-this-but-it-would-be-wrong look, as he's dubbed it.
Flirting with this man suddenly becomes more than a pleasant occupation and a quick way to escape. It's a good deed, a service that he can do for the soldier.
"I'm Captain Mike Yates," the man says coldly, "and this area is not open to the public." It's not a very secret one, either, in Jack's opinion. In fact, save from the soldiers, there's nothing interesting to see. No secret activities. Unless they're better hidden. "You have no right to be here, and I have to demand that you leave immediately."
He's so formal. But he won't report him - or, worse, take him to his commanding officer - which is quite a relief. Either he likes Jack enough to let him go or the flirting has flustered him enough for him to want Jack gone immediately. In either case, there's no way Jack could give up now.
"Mike," Jack says, smiling again. "A good name. Quite nice of you to let me go. Of course, feel free to shoot me if I ever come back." He'd really like to kiss him and see his reaction, or even take his hand - but the gun is still there, looking quite threatening.
Mike's mouth twitches, not quite a grin but close. "I won't miss the opportunity."
"But," Jack quickly adds, "if you'd like to learn more about a possible intruder - that's part of your job, isn't it? - maybe we should see each other again? In less restricted place, of course?"
The disbelief on Mike's face is priceless. There's also a hint of what might possibly be fear, but aren't soldiers supposed to face their fears?
"I'm sure you could learn a lot of things," Jack continues, still smiling. "You must have questions sometimes. If you have any uncertainties, I'm at your disposal. There are so much things I'd like to teach you!"
"And you could learn a little discretion!" Mike says sternly.
"Maybe I could," Jack admits with a wry grin. "You seem to know a lot about it."
Mike takes the piece of paper Jack gives him, with a place and time. A nearby café later today.
He doesn't promise Jack anything.
But he doesn't say he won't come either.
Requests : Three/Delgado!Master, Four/Romana II, Jo/Cliff
Three/Delgado!Master
---
“I only mean, Doctor, that this comes as something of a surprise,” the Master said, watching the Doctor’s hands. “I would think grooming me would be beneath your dignity.”
“Leaving that beard the way it was would be beneath my dignity.” The Doctor didn’t break his gaze; the simple single blade of the razor flicked against the Master’s cheek, delicate. “You looked absolutely appalling. One of us had to do something about it. Up.” The pressure of his fingertips under the Master’s chin was enough to get his point across, and the Master raised his head accordingly. He adjusted his grip on the razor and inspected him with a criticism falsely cool; the metal’s slow stroke began again.
“Some might call it subservient,” the Master continued.
“Would they?” The Doctor smiled – he couldn’t see him, but he knew he was smiling. “Seems to me I’m the one holding a very sharp blade up to your throat.”
“Excellent point.” It was a simple observation, not meant to threaten or alarm. “And yet the fact remains that you are the one performing the menial task for me. Knives notwithstanding, of course.”
“Of course.” The Doctor didn’t respond for a moment, focusing on his task instead, but as he made his way along his chin, to the edge of his jaw, he noted with a casual air: “You could say that I’m abasing myself, doing something for you that you’d do yourself. But –”
And suddenly the blade of the razor pressed harder into the Master’s skin – not hard enough to draw blood, not yet, but enough for him to feel its edge and know what it could do with just the slightest bit more force. “– aren’t you still counting on me not being careless?”
Their eyes met, and in the still, perfect curve of the blade the Master could almost feel his temptation. Not the temptation to wound, no – the Doctor was never so direct. But if his hand just slipped, if he only pricked his skin and left the smallest, most impermanent mark…
For all that the Doctor pretended to be above such crude gestures of power, the possibility had obviously not escaped him.
Carefully, the Master raised his hand, and let his fingers rest along the blade, urging it on its inevitable course.
But the Doctor only smiled again, and withdrew the razor, wiping it clean as if nothing had happened. And the both of them laughed, quietly; with relief, with satisfaction, perhaps with both.
“Does this mean you’ll let me cut your hair?” The Master asked, as the Doctor went back to work.
“No. Why would I do a thing like that?”
“You’ve let it get terribly unruly, Doctor.”
Requests: Poul/D84 (both from "The Robots of Death"), Victoria Waterfield/Jo Grant
Re: D84/Poul (Robots of Death)
Just a brief explanation, because this is a fill and a bonus fill, because, I love RoD but thought how difficult Poul/D84 would be to pull off whereas Silver (also David Collings)/D84 would be easy. And when I wrote it, then, apparently I could write the other. Hence both of them here. :-)(ETA: Just looked at the request list. You know Silver. In which case no explanation is needed. :-D)D84/Poul, 506 words, PG
***
D84 did not understand humans. He did not understand humans, but he understood his primary function to serve and assist them. He had been made and was owned by the Company, and he had been instructed to serve and assist Poul specifically. He did not understand Poul, but that was not necessary. His memory had stored many instances of times when the illogic of this human had achieved their purpose in service of the Company. He had no need to question or to understand; only to obey.
Sometimes, though, D84 felt he did not understand Poul more than he did not understand other humans.
Every night since they had been on board the Storm Mine, Poul undressed and redressed D84. First he would remove his face and look at the mechanical components that were behind it. Next it would be a hand, to find only a metal joint, no blood or decaying flesh. Sometimes more, sometimes less, but that at least.
The first few nights, he had told D84 to leave him alone, that it was not necessary to protect him by standing guard in his room at night. He had frequently added that he did not even believe Taren Capel was on board (there was no definite evidence, D84 agreed), and that he, Poul, was capable of looking after himself without a stupid robot hanging about where he wasn’t wanted.
This contradicted his primary function and instructions. D84 reminded Poul that it was not rational to refuse protection he had been instructed to give. Poul did not speak again, save for any orders, until the next night. D84 only thought that logical.
It had changed, a few nights on, to an insistence that he promise not to harm him while he stayed. D84 saw no problem with repeating the obvious: “Of course, Chief Mover Poul. A robot cannot harm a human.”
“Yes,” Poul had started to say now, at that point. “Yes. You’re not like the others, are you? You’re different. You’re on my side, not theirs. You won’t hurt me. You’re not like the others at all.”
I am not like the other robots, D84 agreed, for it was a fact. He was far more sophisticated than even SV7, a prototype more advanced than any other robot on board Storm Mine 4. I will not hurt you. I am incapable of harming a human. I am here to follow your orders.
And then, some nights, Poul would throw words at him – sometimes more than words – but never anything that could pierce D84’s metal exterior. None of it had any meaning to a robot.
Now, these last few nights, once that was over, Poul only begged to be held, to be safe where the others could not reach him. Hide me. D84 did what was asked of him. The only satisfaction he knew was to fulfil the purpose for which he had been created.
D84 did not understand humans. He wondered now if that might be a failing in his programming.
***
Prompts: Harry Sullivan/Lucie Miller, D84(RoD)/K9, Leela/Vila Restal (Blake's 7)
Re: D84 (Robots of Death) / Silver (Sapphire & Steel)
D84/Silver, All ages, 987 words.
***
There is light and sound and he is functioning again, at least in part. That is not possible. D84 is not yet fully operational, but he knows that. Nevertheless, he is here; aware. And he is also aware of another presence, both within and without. “Doctor?”
“Well, you could say that, I suppose,” says a voice that is familiar but incorrect. Deft, long fingers run down his arm, over his mask of a face. “My, my, you really are something special, aren’t you?”
Optical and audio functions are being restored. He registers the human kneeling beside him, although something is still not correct. “Poul.”
“What?” the red-haired human turns his head to look down at him with a frown. “That’s odd. I thought I’d got everything working. I have, I’m sure.”
He states a fact: “I should not be here.”
“Yes,” says the man who is and isn’t Poul. “That is true, but it would have been a crime to leave you lying there. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to Diamond. You’re not part of this ridiculous non-assignment, you see, so-” He gives an expressive shrug. “In many ways, she’s a thousand times worse than -” He stops, but it is then that D84 registers again that this being is also inside his circuitry, for he hears the unspoken word and the darkness that goes with it: Steel.
“You were damaged. Broken. I am sorry.”
“I -?” The man stops and moves to put his hands over D84’s silver ones. “Broken? I think not. Never broken.”
The man is not Poul. D84’s full abilities are returning, little by little and he can scan the being next to him. He is not a man. He is… It is not possible, his artificial brain concludes again.
No, says the voice in his head in wry amusement. No, I daresay it is not. I am Silver, and you are lucky I found you. Nobody else could have brought you back. (It is another fact. It is also a boast.)
D84 analyses the available data and still nothing makes sense. “I… do not understand. How am I here? Where is Taren Capel?”
“Oh, my dear fellow, you are so very much more than they realise, aren’t you?” He is closer again, here in this room, and also as a dancing, sparkling presence within D84’s every component. “You want to understand, don’t you? Yes. Oh, I know.”
There is a sense somewhere of long millennia of watching from the outside. It gives a name to the elusive thoughts D84 had believed were quirks and faults: it is an emotion, it is loneliness and longing. Humans are the ultimate mystery. So obvious, crude and short-lived; yet so triumphantly illogical, full of passions and contradictions. So easily seen through and yet forever unknowable....
Rest here at my journal