Dr. Who fanfic: Bubble Tea, Chap. 2
Saturday, 13 July 2024 12:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kaffy_rAuthor:
kaffy_r Characters: The Thirteenth Doctor, Miles Vorkosigan, Ivan Vorpatril, Thomas Nightingale, Peter Grant, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Buckaroo Banzai, Rawhide, Joy the Solitract.
Rated: Gen.
Word Count: 11,093 total/ 5,430 Chapter 2
Summary: The Doctor wasn't sure how many plates the mysterious entity that brought them all together could handle, nor could she figure out why all the plates were in the air. What she did know was that she had to get all the plates - her friends and colleagues - safely out of the holding pen in which they found themselves.
Edited by: No one. That will probably show, for which I beg pardon. I did reread and edit rather obsessively.
Author's Notes: What is it Browning said? That someone's reach should exceed their grasp? This story may very well prove that point. Four years and seven months ago, I started this ungainly crossover/mashup. Could I manage to merge five, count'em five, separate universes? Why sure I could! Real Soon Now. Of course, I'd started without any idea of what to do, where to go, or how to get there ... but finally - finally - it's done. And I don't think I'll ever try something so ridiculous again. Heh.
Disclaimer: And here we go -
1) As much as I wish it were otherwise, no Whoniverse characters are mine. They are the sole properties of the BBC and their respective creators.
2) Miles Vorkosigan and Ivan Vorpatril belong solely to Lois McMaster Bujold and her Vorkosigan Saga.
3) Sherlock Holmes and John Watson belong to the estate of Arthur Conan Doyle.
4) Thomas Nightingale and Peter Grant belong solely to Ben Aaronovitch.
5) Buckaroo Banzai and Rawhide belong solely to Earl Mac Rauch and Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer.
*** *** ***
“I have a name now,” the frog said. “It’s Joy.”
It gives me joy, the lonely universe had said of her frog form. The Doctor opened her mouth, shut it, then nodded slightly. “My apologies. People, this is Joy. She’s a Solitract, which I said before, and I’ll try to explain a lot of what that is later, and I’ve met her before. I have to admit, though, I didn’t think I’d see her again.” -
As she said that, she shot her best schoolmarm look at the frog, or at least what she thought would be a good schoolmarm look. The entity deserved it, she thought, fuming a little internally.
“I, too, thought we would never meet again,” the Solitract said, sounding ever so slightly guilty. “For quite some time … or at least for time as I measure it. I tried so hard to avoid damaging your universe.”
There’s that, I suppose. “But something changed,” the Doctor said.
“I promise you that I fought the urge, Doctor.” The pleading in that statement, the hope that the Doctor would believe her, was palpable. “As I said, I did not want to hurt your home.
“It’s just that, after having let you go with your friends, I wasn’t able to stop thinking about how … how you told me what you thought I was.”
For a split second, the Doctor couldn’t follow. Then she could, and she winced. And she wanted to bang her head against a wall, at how unthinking she herself had been during their last encounter.
Telling a lonely universe how magnificent it is and then leaving with some bromide as your final wisdom. You absolute dolt. “I’m so sorry.”
The frog just looked at her, and the Doctor remembered how inadequate saying “I’m sorry” actually was.
“Ohhh ….”
That was Miles. The Doctor whirled around, to see a look she was sure he probably only let his lady mother see, or Ekaterin, and only after they pinned him down in some inescapable corner of the heart. That was the look of the boy — physically brittle, emotionally vulnerable — who faced destruction and hatred even in the womb, from his own grandfather, from kids he might have wanted as friends, who would only call him a mutie freak. The boy who was lonely.
It was gone in a moment, but the Doctor saw the epiphany. Of course, epiphanies come in all shapes and sizes, she knew from hard experience. She wondered —
Before she could decide what she was wondering, she saw Ivan’s face, behind and above his cousin. The handsome one, almost as brilliant, nearly as gifted, but desperate to hide it behind a louche mask; disguising what Miles burned and blazed in order to prove himself. Knowing his lady mother, the Doctor didn’t blame him. But she knew it meant he was often at odds with Miles.
Yet there it was, on his model-perfect face; he understood what his overwhelming relative was reacting to, and his eyes swam with frustration and reluctant love.
Loneliness is poisonous to humans, the Doctor thought. Perhaps lonely universes were at risk of being poisoned as well.
Then Joy spoke again, and even an amphibian’s face could show determination. “I was sure you’d like to talk to me again, if I could find a way to eliminate the danger to your universe.
“And I found it. The Antizone.”
“What?” The Doctor couldn’t help the flat note to her question. “What?”
The frog nodded, or did something akin to nodding. “You told me that I and your universe, and anything from your universe, couldn’t exist together.
“If I recall, you thought the Antizone was a buffer between there and … and me. But I thought and I thought, and I extended myself into the Antizone to feel it. It was not pleasant.”
No, I imagine it wasn’t, even for you. She waited for Joy’s next words.
“Eventually, I wondered if perhaps the Antizone was actually the cause of the danger, rather than its prevention; an irritant causing … for now, let’s just say I wondered if it was causing existential blisters on your universe and on my own skin. I don’t know what created it — your people possibly, but your universe itself is the likelier thing.
“And if the Antizone was the problem, I needed to adjust it in some fashion or, failing that, destroy it.”
The Doctor gawped, although she shut her mouth with a quickness; no reason to let anyone else know she was gobsmacked … but really, there were so many things wrong with Joy’s reasoning!
Once again, she had that sinking feeling she got when she knew she’d been the cause of her own problems, and had managed to drag others into it with her. Poor lonely universe. Poor, bloody awful lonely universe.
Don’t, she told herself. Wait until you get more information. “So did you? Adjust the Antizone? Or destroy it? I know I wasn’t brought here via that route.”
“I couldn’t destroy it,” the frog said, bouncing a bit on her back legs, almost as if she were in a rocking chair. It seemed clear to the Doctor that that failure irritated her. “But I was able to adjust it by making it grow the way I wanted it to grow; I thought of it as nurturing a flower, or pruning bonsai. Eventually I was able to grow a column of space-time from the Antizone that shared certain of its properties without its less savory aspects.
“At the end of the column farthest from its root, I grew a bubble that I estimated could be structurally stable. This is that place. It is, to use an extremely inaccurate metaphor, my front porch; a verandah where visitors could come and stay to talk to me.”
The Doctor was aware of six sets of human eyes fixed on her, and she knew she would soon have to explain this extremely odd conversation to them. And she wanted to have answers from the fro — the Solitr — from Joy about how to get them home. But she had no idea how to proceed, something she hated to admit.
Before she could figure out how to take it from here. She got a welcome interruption.
“Excuse me, uh, Joy,” Miles said. “I can understand wanting to talk to the Doctor. I really like talking to her, especially when things aren’t blowing up or chasing us—”
Liar; you love it when things blow up. But the Doctor held her tongue and let Miles do the talking for her.
“But why did you bring everyone else here? And where is ‘here’, precisely? And if you don’t mind my asking, how long are we going to be kept here? Or if that sounds a bit impolite, can I ask how long we’ll be your guests?”
“You’re Count Vorkosigan,” the frog said.
“I am.”
“Welcome, Count. And welcome to you, Lord Ivan.”
“Uh … thanks?” Miles’ handsome cousin almost succeeded in making his response smooth.
The frog turned remarkably quickly to the rest of the assemblage. “If I had had a way to issue a proper invitation, I would have done so. I didn’t mean to be precipitous—”
Miles cleared his throat, pointedly. “But…”
“... but I didn’t want the Doctor to find herself alone with me,” the frog said.
“That doesn’t sound threatening at all,” Peter Grant muttered. Ivan looked as if he shared the young policeman’s view.
“No,” the frog responded. “I just knew there would be times when she and I would not be interacting, and I didn’t want her to be lonely.”
Just how long did the Solitract think she could entertain one reluctant guest, the Doctor wondered, aghast at Joy’s presumption.
“That doesn’t really explain bringing these other people into your verandah bubble,” she said, with what she thought was admirable equanimity. “And I think Peter, here, has a point. It does sound rather threatening, the way you put it.”
The frog looked wounded and guilty, in equal parts.
“I didn’t intend to sound threatening. What I meant when I said I didn’t want you to be alone with me, was that I wanted you to have companions from your own universe. I am sometimes … unavailable,” the frog answered. She stopped speaking for a few seconds; if a frog’s face could register confusion, this one’s did.
What does she mean, unavailable? The Doctor filed that away, as she often did when things intrigued her at the wrong moment, under “Later. No, really. Later.”
Joy resumed. “But I also wanted those companions to have company, because I didn’t want them to be lonely while I talked to you. I wanted most of your time, you see, most of the time that I was available. I am selfish … but not so selfish that I wanted to leave them lonely.”
“That was thoughtful.” The Doctor restrained her urge to throttle the frog, reminding herself that frogs don’t have necks. The sarcasm, that was a little harder to restrain, but she managed it.
She also resisted, not quite successfully, the feeling that her heart would break over this unimaginable entity’s honest, careful, and unsuccessful effort to better understand the universe she longed to connect with. “However, it’s not —”
“Joy — may I call you Joy?” Banzai had secreted his computing equipment once again in the folds of his montsuki, and he approached their captor with a very brief bow. He really did have a charming voice, the Doctor thought; soft and resonant; no wonder the lead singer of the Hong Kong Cavaliers was such a draw onstage … she shook her head to rid it of rambles.
“Certainly.” The Solitract sounded curious.
“My associate and I,” and here Banzai nodded in Rawhide’s direction, “Have been measuring the energy that appears to power your space-time bubble. It’s surprisingly stable, and I salute your work.”
“Thank you.” The frog nodded in what seemed to be appreciation, although the Doctor noticed that she also seemed wary. Sometimes that was what B. Banzai elicited in observers, though, so it wasn’t particularly worrisome.
“It appears that you used a great deal of Artron B energy to create the ‘tunnel’ between yourself and this place.” He stopped, his gaze thoughtful. “Perhaps you adjusted yourself in order to generate the energy needed to create this bubble universe, although I’d have to examine you.”
Joy actually twitched when Banzai said that, and the Doctor didn’t blame her. She, herself, had been “examined” unwillingly far too often.
Banzai also appeared to notice the Solitract’s reaction. “No, no … I’m not asking you to submit to an examination.That was my scientific curiosity speaking, and I think I should aim my curiosity at the energy itself.” He stopped momentarily, then continued. “And I don’t think we shouldn’t refer to your energy as artron, although it’s almost the same as the energy that powers the Doctor. Let’s call it Artron B for now, shall we?”
The Doctor, who was trying not to look irked at Banzai’s words (partly because she found herself wondering if she was indeed made of artron energy, in whole or in part) waited for his ultimate point. She noticed that Holmes and Watson were leaning in to listen, as was Nightingale. And, to her mild surprise, Ivan.
“Over the last few minutes, or what we are subjectively experiencing as minutes, we have marked surges in Artron B. Each surge appears to happen as the area in which we stand becomes more concrete. That is, as we see earth and grass, flowers and buildings.”
“You are the ones creating this world,” Joy responded. Her face couldn’t express the pride the Doctor heard in her voice. She sounded like a mother who had just seen her children work together to build a sandcastle. “I simply created the vessel in which the world could be created.”
Someone at the back of what was now the entire crowd of unwilling Solitract guests snickered, and the Doctor was fairly sure she heard someone follow that with a hissed “Codswallop,” but the emerald green universe speaking to them now didn’t seem to notice.
“I assume you mean that this bubble is able to react to what it … hmm, can a non-sapient entity, even a micro universe, read human brainwaves?” Banzai fell silent, but Nightingale stepped in to continue the question.
“I lack Dr. Banzai’s scientific acumen, or at least I use a different language to describe some of the same observations, but I’m guessing you built the bubble to have some sort of core awareness, if not what we might consider life. That would allow it to reach into our minds and pick up patterns that allow it to solidify surroundings.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement.
After a moment’s silence, Joy said, “You are correct. But you can be assured that it scans your minds for specific things, visual memories, and goes no deeper than that. I had no wish to be invasive.”
“No. Just … no.”
Peter Grant elbowed his way past Ivan and Dr. Watson, and the Doctor saw that he was furious.
“Peter —” Thomas held up his hand, but his young colleague shook that off.
“Joy, or Solitract, or pocket universe, or whatever you want to call yourself; you had no right. Not to pick and choose from our brains, not to kidnap us so that, that she —” and here he jerked a thumb at the Doctor “ —could have buddies when you buggered off somewhere, and where the hell does a universe go when she’s not here, wherever ‘here’ is. Seriously, you had no right. None at all.”
Peter advanced on the frog by a couple of steps, then stopped, took a deep breath, and started again. He spoke more slowly, his voice softer, as if he was speaking to a child.
“I’m angry, Joy. You’re a universe, or at least that’s what she —” again, that chucked thumb, and the Doctor reminded herself not to be irritated “— has said. You can presumably take us back to our universe with a flick of a … whatever you can flick with. You've closed that door on us. No matter how friendly you sound, you're keeping us prisoners.
“Guests get to leave, and you haven't said even once that you'll let us go home. That's wrong and I'll bet you know that.”
With that, Peter subsided.
The silence that ensued should have been charged with tension, the Doctor thought; by rights, Joy should have been angry. Instead, the Doctor sensed only more confusion.
Right. She’s neither human nor Gallifreyan. As much as she’s trying to understand everything and every type of intelligence in our universe, she’s still deeply … not of our universe.
I … wouldn’t — I wouldn’t ‘bugger off.’ I would never … I can’t.” The frog’s confusion started to be tinged with what the Doctor felt was the beginning, or at least the seed, of chagrin, if not understanding. “I can’t leave here.”
“Madame, that is our problem as well,” Holmes said, with barely concealed distaste. “I do not intend to stay here, so I must ask you to adjust your plan, to allow for us to return to our natural home.”
Joy looked at him. This was the first time the Doctor felt some actual anger from the Solitract, but even as she registered that, chagrin overtook it again. She was, after all, extremely intelligent, as personified universes go. Well, she was the only personified universe the Doctor had ever met —
“Doctor.”-
Oh dear. She’d gotten lost in the rambles again. “Yes, sorry. What?”
It was Watson, who had apparently come to some decision. “I think that perhaps there is a solution to Madame Joy’s problem. At least it may be a starting point.”
Holmes turned to look at his companion but said nothing. Watson continued. “Sir Ivan and I have been speaking —”
Miles whipped around (did he ever do anything calmly, the Doctor wondered) “Ivan?”
Ivan sighed and rolled his eyes. “I know. Hard to believe, isn’t it, cuz.”
Miles started to shrug, then grinned. “Nah. Sometimes it’s easy to believe. Go on, both of you.”
“Actually, it’s the three of us, right, Rawhide?” Ivan turned to Banzai’s lieutenant, who took off his hat and bowed politely to the Doctor and then to Joy, before answering. When he straightened, the Doctor noticed that he looked worried.
“You’re quite correct, Mr. Vorpatril.”
Oh, that’s got to hit Ivan oddly. The Doctor unsuccessfully held back a grin, and let Rawhide continue.
“I confess, though, my part in our discussion is generated by the change I’ve spotted in your Artron B energy bubble, and not so much the social side of our conundrum,” he said; the Doctor lost her grin.
“Buckaroo told you that the stability you developed was surprising. That’s because both of us spotted places within your … I think Inspector Nightingale called it a framework created to be load bearing walls … that were potentially weak, where the Artron B was constantly shifting, rather than solid. Despite that, you managed to maintain stability, and that was impressive.
“When we first got here and measured the energy signals, there really weren’t many of those shifting areas. But right now —” Rawhide took another look at his handheld instrument. “Right now, there are at least a dozen.”
“And I’m afraid there are going to be more. It’s —”
The ground shook. Or rather, the Doctor thought, it shivered. Around them, things … shimmered. The latter lasted only for a picosecond and only she could see it. The former, the shaking, lasted much longer, perhaps two seconds. And everyone felt it.
Without missing a beat, Rawhide nodded to himself, then said, “I’ve just measured a massive increase in the shifting. Buckaroo, this is going to be deucedly fast.”
“What’s going to be … uh … deucedly fast?” Miles suddenly looked at least 15 years younger than the Doctor thought he was. The transformation to narrow-eyed military tactician was unnerving.
“I believe Rawhide’s measurements indicate that Miss Joy’s front porch is close to collapsing.” As he said it, Banzai turned to the Solitract. “I’m sure you felt it, ma’am.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead he turned to the Doctor. His electronic device chirped at him; he looked at it, then back at the Doctor. “I’m afraid you appear to be affected by the shifting. Can you feel it?”
He’s right. There it is.
“It” felt like something was rubbing at her medulla oblongata, or scratching at her leg bones. It felt a bit, a tiny, disconcerting bit, like the incandescent feeling of regeneration. Unbidden, her left hand went to the back of her neck.
“Uhm.”
“You can feel it, then.” Banzai’s expression was somewhere between scientific satisfaction and personal worry.
“Does this mean the Doctor is causing the problem?” DC Peter Grant was eyeing her with bad intent. She couldn’t blame him.
“Oh, no. Not in the least,” B. Banzai said. “I’m afraid it’s Miss Joy. Not as a personal fault, of course. It’s more of an architectural misstep by a new and inexperienced architect.”
The frog was suddenly, somehow, now within the circle. “How?” She sounded as close to panic stricken as a personified universe could.
Nightingale, who had been silent, standing slightly outside of the immediate circle, tapped the top of his cane. It wasn’t a loud sound, but people turned and made room for him. He didn’t speak immediately, but the others stayed silent.
Finally he sighed. “I’m sorry to have to agree with Dr. Banzai, but his measurements, and those of his colleague, match what I’ve measured with my own … let’s call them tools. Your infrastructure is eroding. I believe it will start an outright collapse within a few minutes, as measured by our own watches and other timepieces.”
While that seemed like the kind of statement that should elicit shock, those listening seemed as if they had expected it. The Doctor had certainly expected it. Some part of her had been holding its breath ever since this situation began.
Joy hopped closer to the DCI. She lifted her head, which should have been impossible, what with her not having a neck, but since this whole situation was impossible, a little anatomical flexibility was nothing at all. “What can I do to fix it?”
“Nothing, I’m afraid.”
Well, that was blunt enough to match Grant’s attitude, she thought. Unfortunately, it was also undoubtedly true.
“Are you sure?” The Solitract’s voice was just a bit ragged. “I thought I’d worked everything out ….” She trailed off.
“I don’t want you to blame yourself with regard to this,” Nightingale responded. “In my experience, mastering a skill properly involves making mistakes and learning from them. I committed many of them as I became a mage. Peter —” and here Nightingale gave his junior a level look, clearly meant to remind the young man that it might be best if he refrained from more outbursts. “ —is still handling his own learning curve.”
Grant blinked, but stepped back slightly, a wordless acceptance of the gentle rebuke. Nightingale continued. “With that said, however, a mistake in your spellwork could be fatal for us. And as we try to gather data to protect ourselves, I must ask you this; a short while ago, you seemed to indicate that you weren’t always available. But you almost immediately stated that you couldn’t, as Peter put it, ‘bugger off.’ Can you clarify that for me?”
“That is an excellent request.” Holmes had been silent for some time. Now he spoke. “Your two comments are contradictory.”
Joy turned away from the group. She looked in a completely different direction — up. The Doctor did too, and saw more of that section of the bubble; the cerulean sky dotted with sheep’s wool clouds.
A sky that was disappearing. She bit her tongue, because she wanted to hear what the frog had to say, but she also felt that odd shifting in her bones accelerate. It wasn’t pleasant, and she knew it was related to the blue and cloud-filled sky turning into the faint beige that had surrounded all of them initially.
Still, as Thomas had said, data had to be gathered. She listened for Joy’s next words.
“This is very hard to explain,” Joy said. “I don’t know if I can, but I’ll try. As I created my ‘front porch’ for you all, I —”
The ground shook again. She stopped. “Oh. What … what’s that —
“Oh. Oh no, no.” She rocked back and forth on her haunches.
“Ma’am?” Banzai stooped, then knelt by the animated universe. He brought out his handheld mechanism, aimed it at her, then checked its readout. His expression after doing so reminded the Doctor oddly of herself. She remembered how she felt standing over those she couldn’t save. “Is it hurting you?”
“Yes,” she said faintly. “I feel as if I’m beginning to come apart.”
That would make sense, the Doctor thought. And that made the danger even more immediate.
To the Doctor’s surprise — and probably to the surprise of everyone around Banzai and the Solitract — he gently put his hand on her amphibian head. She let him.
“I’m so sorry,” he said softly. “But I think we do have a solution, if you’re willing to hear it.”
He gestured to some of his fellows. “It’s time for Lord Ivan and Dr. Watson to fill all of us in on a potential plan. And DC Grant, of course, since I think he might appreciate their idea.”
“Guv?” The young police officer looked to Nightingale, who waved him toward the other two.
“I suggest we speak quickly,” Watson said uneasily, eyeing his surroundings. “I should like our host to consider the idea and, if possible, agree to it. And Doctor?”
She pointed to herself. “Me?”
“Yes. You’re involved,” Ivan said. He was looking at her with the patented mix of nervousness and interest she’d often noted when she visited Miles’ mother during Winterfair events and had been subjected to inspections both subtle and outright insulting by Cordelia’s guests and relatives. She didn’t mind it these days.
“That’s on brand,” Miles murmured. She was fairly certain he’d just insulted her. Considering the reason he, Ivan, and everyone else had been sucked onto Joy’s porch, she probably deserved it.
Watson didn’t have glasses on, but he looked at Miles over a pair of them nonetheless. Count Vorkosigan quieted, and Holmes’ colleague then spoke to the frog.
“Miss Joy, our scientific types have turned to figuring how long it took for this bubble to destabilize, and they believe it’s connected to the number of people you brought in. You needed to put out a great deal of energy to, ah, invite us, did you not? And that energy came from your very soul.
“That’s why you feel as if you are coming apart at the seams. The energy you’ve given to this little world should actually be keeping you going, and without it, you will … fall ill, if I can describe it in medical terms. If you had brought only the Doctor, your problem would have taken much longer to present.
“You brought us here to keep you company, and to convince the Doctor to stay here.” Watson looked disapprovingly at the green-skinned universe, fully Victorian. “That was wrong of you to do.”
“But it’s understandable,” Ivan said hurriedly, shooting a glare at Watson. “You are alone, and no one should be without company permanently. So perhaps you and the Doctor could set up a … a schedule, where she can visit you for perhaps a subjective half hour, maybe three quarters of an hour. She can leave, or you can send her back, long before your bubble starts to fall apart. They — our science types — think you could do that.
“Maybe you could even bring some of us in,” he said, a bit diffidently. “If you sent some sort of invitation, instead of, you know, just grabbing us with no warning. One or two people for a short time, at least to say hello.”
Ivan then turned to the Doctor. “What do you think?”
There it is, my occasional reminder that my big brain is no match for humanity.
“I think it’s brilliant,” she said. “Joy?”
The Solitract didn’t answer immediately. She was still rocking back and forth, while Buckaroo continued to kneel beside her, keeping one hand on her head. She must be suffering a great deal of pain, the Doctor thought. Time for her to take a hand in this, since she’d been the cause of it, as everyone had no trouble reminding her.
The ground shook again. In the distance, London disappeared. The Doctor felt the shiver and scratch. It was time to put her giant Gallifreyan brain to work, faster than the humans who were smarter than she was. And if that wasn’t confusing, she didn’t know what was. She closed her eyes.
A way to communicate … she abruptly thought of the TARDIS, the way she and She could communicate. And she thought of how the TARDIS could sometimes — many times, really — help her. For a very, very long time, possibly 25 seconds, the Doctor put together the basics of a plan she thought might work. She reached out cautiously. The TARDIS reached back, equally cautiously.
That was good. But she had to work fast. “Joy, if I can engineer a mental connection between us, with your approval of course, I’m pretty sure —”
“Pretty sure?” Miles couldn’t help opening his mouth, she thought, irritated.
“Best I can do, Miles. I’m never 100 percent sure, and you know that. Now shush.”
Silence.
The Doctor resumed. “Joy, I want you to look into my mind.”
The frog stopped rocking. The Doctor walked over and knelt on the other side from Buckaroo. “Let me touch my finger to your head, Joy; Dr. Banzai, you need to take your hand off.”
Even with the TARDIS’ distant help, it seemed to take forever, but the Doctor felt a mental jolt from Joy.
“Do you see what I think we can do?”
“Oh. I see what you hope to do,” Joy said. “It could work.”
“I’ve going to ask for the TARDIS’ help with the connection,” the Doctor said. “I think She’ll be happy to aid us.”
Around them, the little meadow had turned to beige nothingness. The Doctor had to speed this up. Why were all the important things so tied up in entropically cruel seconds and minutes?
“Please, Joy. You need to send everyone else back to where they belong,” she pleaded. “If we can keep in contact, if Dr. Banzai and Rawhide are correct that you can create your bubble temporarily, then ….”
She stopped, and spoke lower. “Then I won’t leave you alone like I did before. I’m so sorry.”
Joy’s figure wavered slightly before slipping into other forms; Grace, Graham, Yaz, Ryan, others flickering too fast for even the Doctor’s senses to catch. Then she settled back into the frog. “Yes. This could work. I agree.”
“Then let me lend you some energy, so that you can send people back home,” the Doctor said. She restrained herself from pumping her fist in the air with exuberant success.
The Solitract made a movement that the Doctor interpreted as a nod; she leaned in even closer, in order to put her forehead to Joy’s, and she opened her mind and essence even further.
I feel it, my energy leaving me and going to her and it feels like something being dragged out of me, and it’s an awful feeling. That’s alright. Let me help pay the bill I owe.
She remembered how she lent many of her years, sacrificed them, to restart her beloved TARDIS in the other universe. Alternate universes; they seemed to batter her again and again. It was worth it back then. It was worth it now.
The Solitract pushed the Doctor out of her mind. She was glowing, her skin dancing chartreuse and kelly green.
“I can do it now, Doctor.” Joy’s voice was musical again. “Everyone, goodbye. Perhaps I’ll see you again, and thank you for being patient with me.”
“Not as if we had a choice,” Peter Grant said, sotto voce, but no one paid attention. Well, possibly Miles, and even he kept it to himself.
The Doctor doubted her fellow guests actually saw each other disappear. She did, but not directly; she saw their disappearances a pico-second after they took place, almost as if they had never been there. It was possible that Nightingale felt the hole each disappearance left, but none of the others did.
And they didn't have to experience the Antizone. Good.
She, Nightingale, Miles, and Holmes remained together, along with the Solitract, in the featureless beige surroundings they had first experienced. Joy looked at them with a kind of sorrowful affection that, once again, shouldn’t be possible on a frog’s face.
“I’m so sorry that we couldn’t speak together and share ideas and thoughts,” she said. “But I can keep in touch with the Doctor. We’ll see how her plan works — or rather the plan that Dr. Watson, Lord Vorpatril, and Rawhide suggested — I hope I won’t be lonely.
“And Doctor, I forgive you.”
Before she could respond, she found herself back in the TARDIS, who immediately began replenishing her lost energy. For a very long time she simply leaned back against one of Her warm gold columns, relishing being home.
I forgive you.
Perhaps she deserved that; perhaps she didn’t. That, in and of itself, was a complicated thought. She would force herself to examine it, sooner rather than later. For now, though, she would rest. This adventure had sorely tested her.
And then, the Doctor promised herself, she would visit everyone Joy had brought to her front porch, to see for herself that they hadn’t been damaged by their experiences, particularly Watson and Holmes. (And perhaps she would need to convince Miles not to try to get back to the Solitract by himself. She knew Joy would love his quick mind and she knew the frog would find conversation with him rewarding. But let’s face it, someone — specifically her — needed to be by his side, to guard against unexpected events. In the case of Miles, that was usually explosions.)
In the end, she would make sure she could go back and have tea with a froggy universe. After all, Joy never explained why there were times she wasn’t available, and that, to be quite honest, was fascinating ….
-30-
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Date: Saturday, 27 July 2024 09:30 pm (UTC)It's a very clever fic, although if I ever imbibe all the other 'verses it'll probably work better. ^_^ But that is on me. This line, however, stood out:
Perhaps she deserved that; perhaps she didn’t. That, in and of itself, was a complicated thought. She would force herself to examine it, sooner rather than later. For now, though, she would rest. This adventure had sorely tested her.
Me: Oh sweetie. Honey. Bless. You will not examine squat. But it matters that you think you will. <3
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Date: Saturday, 27 July 2024 09:57 pm (UTC)Indubitably! As I said in my notes, I will never do anything as foolish as a five-universe crossover again. I'm trying to figure out which universe you might like best, of the four I played hob with; I'm betting you were familiar enough with Watson and Holmes that you could appreciate them. As might be inferred from my response to the comment you left on the first chapter, I'm ridiculously fond of Buckaroo Banzai, but that's a bridge waaay too far, probably. If you like police procedurals with a fantasy base, Rivers of London novels might appeal. But the Lois McMaster Bujold Vorkosiverse stories, with Miles et al, might be the most rewarding. It has some short stories, and a bunch of excellent novels - wait, I think I enthused about them as well. Oh la, it doesn't hurt to enthuse a seecond time.
Me: Oh sweetie. Honey. Bless. You will not examine squat.
I'd like to think that Thirteen does have a fair amount of self-awareness. Heh.
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Date: Saturday, 27 July 2024 10:19 pm (UTC)It's hugely impressive! Not just the crossover aspect, but juggling that many characters is a nightmare. You did exceedingly well.
And if I ever want to try something new, I know where to start... however my head is currently full of my beautiful Dead Boy Detectives, and I am writing fic. /o\ It's a PROPER obsession.
ETA: I'd like to think that Thirteen does have a fair amount of self-awareness. Heh.
Oh I think she is very aware of what she needs. She just... doesn't do it. *pets Thirteen* It's okay, Fourteen will ponder it all in his lovely house in France.
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Date: Sunday, 28 July 2024 02:58 pm (UTC)Ack. ???? I missed something didn't I? I must rewatch both finale episodes...or was that in Rogue?
You and others have ofteen spoken of Dead Boy Detectives. It's on Netflix, I think. I imaginee I'll have to watch it, since I like to keep up with shows and books liked by folks whose opinions I respect. Ah, well, more grist for my mental mill.
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Date: Thursday, 1 August 2024 10:37 am (UTC)It is in the novelisation of The Giggle (which I keep intending to buy) - someone mentioned it on Tumblr.
You and others have ofteen spoken of Dead Boy Detectives. It's on Netflix, I think. I imaginee I'll have to watch it, since I like to keep up with shows and books liked by folks whose opinions I respect. Ah, well, more grist for my mental mill.
If you want a show that uses 8 episodes to the max - that has a big cast of brilliant characters with intertwining storylines and a proper arc and... *everything*, then make thee haste. ^_^
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Date: Tuesday, 30 July 2024 08:01 pm (UTC)I really enjoyed the suggestion of a particular bond with Miles, that was very deft.
And I liked the nature of the problem and of the solution. Thank you so much.
P.
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Date: Wednesday, 31 July 2024 03:42 am (UTC)I really really like Thirteen, and I always enjoy trying to get inside a character's head, in order to write them in a way that feels natural to readers.
I wasn't certain that folks would want to read an ungainly five-universe crossover, so I've been pleased when folks have said versions of "I don't know this character/universee, but the story still worked for me."
The Rivers of London series is what I think is the perfect mix of police procedural with fantasy that goes from comic to horrific and back again, and it's done from the POV of Peter Grant, who is a particularly cheeky police officer.
Ah, Rawhide, Buckaroo's top lieutenant ... if you're at all familiar with the actor Clancy Brown, his physical presence is memorable - he looms, and in different movies I've seen him do it in a forbidding, evil manner and in a delightfully goofy manner. He does the latter in "Buckaroo Banzai Across the Eighth Dimension." He's my favorite character in that irreverent ode to Doc Savage.
I'm glad you like the way I solved the problem. It's something that milled around in my head ever since I saw that particular Thirteen episode ("It Takes You Away") and it finally bubbled its way to the surface in the form of this fic.
And I love writing a connection between the Doctor and the Vorkosiverse, especially with Miles, who has some of the brilliance and irrepressible attitude as a chaos attractor that the Doctor has. I think I've done a couple, one of which is a quick examination of the Doctor's affection for Taura. I also find it interesting that a surprising number of fic writers have paired the Doctor up with Miles, or with Cordelia, so I'm definitely not the only person who enjoys that particular mashup of universes!