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For Our Friend Alys

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*sits out all recess for being late* [Jul. 2nd, 2007|09:54 am]
For Our Friend Alys


Sorry this didn't get in on time, darling, but the internet was made of dead at my house. I would have tried my hand at a relatively full Doctor Who episode, but the one I had in mind only came in bits and pieces of dialogue, so I just structured it that way. Therefore it only makes a little sense, but that's kind of the point, since it's more to be goofy than anything. Also, there is no possible way for these two fandoms to be compatable. Well, no logical way. Which might be why I did it. Crack abounds. ;)

Title: Inconceivable
Fandoms: Doctor Who (season 3) and Good Omens
Rating and other miscellany: G or PG. Nothing fancy here. Not betaed, so I apologize for anything wonky. About 2800 words or so.

The TARDIS whirred, and the space-time continuum whistled, and the data screens crackled and glowed, and Martha unceremoniously fell over.


But not the kind of ‘oops, I’m just the newbie who’s not used to time travel, please ignore me, Doctor, I feel stupid enough already’ kind of falling over, more the ‘what side of the Eiffel Tower did you run into for me to be on this side of the console when I’m sure I was on the other side before, k thanks’ kind of falling over.

Luckily, a hand wrapped around hers and hoisted her to her feet.

“There you are,” the Doctor said unconcernedly, brushing some dust from the shoulder of her jacket. “No harm done, as usual, just a bit of turbulence, something destabilized in the front couplings, but things like that normally never happen more than twice and that was Number Two, and you seem to be just fine!”

She raised her eyebrows exasperatedly and shot back with, “Hhhhhhhhhhh.”

It took her until then to realize that she had the wind knocked out of her.

The Doctor blinked quizzically. “Come again?”

She raised one finger at him and took a step back, doubling over and inhaling hard to see if she could get her breath back. It worked, but at the price of her chest feeling like it had just been stepped on by a slitheen. “Ooohhhh,” she said slowly, as slowly was the only way that she could speak at all in that moment. “If you’re calling that ‘a bit’ of anything, I think we need to find you some professional help; and I don’t mean me.”

And as always, all she got for her semi-scolding was a wild grin. “Time to go!” he insisted. “Won’t see anything sitting in here nursing bruises!”

And in the end, there was nothing for it. One of the reasons she had stayed in the first place was that you couldn’t distract him from a goal for all the universe. It wouldn’t be exciting otherwise.

When they stepped outside the TARDIS, Martha managed to deflate and look flabbergasted at the same time. She thought the Doctor might have been impressed with that were he paying attention. “I thought you said we were going to be in London.”

“This is London,” the Doctor insisted, grabbing a soda-splashed newspaper out of a trash bin, ignoring the smear of the letters in running ink. He pulled out his glasses from a hidden inner pocket and slid them into place. “About five-hundred years in your future.”

Martha moved to peer over his shoulder at the newspaper. It looked unreadable to her, but his eyes were flicking from right to left, so clearly she just hadn’t passed that test in Water-damaged Document Reading. “If this is in the future then why to they still put newspapers in print? Shouldn’t everyone have some little chip that uploads everything direct into their brain?”

When the Doctor shivered she knew that the words had hit home somehow. She also knew that she’d never find out why – he was on another track.

“Well, not everyone has enough money for that, of course. They still have to put things in print for all the rest. You know, riff-raff and winos.”

“Never met a wino who liked reading the paper.”

The Doctor shrugged. “More people are literate these days.”

Martha glanced above their heads, still pulling the information in layer by layer. She was doing fairly well at keeping her calm. “But really, why would they need a paper? Why, when the entire city looks like Piccadilly Circus?” She gestured at the sides of every building, all of them covered in colourful lettering and advertisements for any kind of service imaginable. Some of them were even unimaginable, and Martha did her best not to look at those. Seemed that cosmetic surgery had taken certain leaps and bounds that she really did not need to know about.

The Doctor gave her a look that, on any other person, would have suggested that he finally remembered where he had left his car keys. “Ah, yes, well. All that is for corporations and the like. I don’t think they’d let a news station touch it unless it were a true emergency, and if I were completely honest I’d say that to these people, a true emergency would only be something that threatened the annihilation of the species.”

Martha sighed. That was probably as helpful as she would get.

“So what are we here for then?

He was pouring over that paper again. She had to wonder if he was really hearing her or simply guessing what she would ask next, since he always appeared to be doing at least two things at once. “Something called the TARDIS here. I don’t know what it is yet, but it has to be close by. Just checking the local paper for some kind of hint. I like hints; it’s not cheating, not really, just the tiniest push in the right – why hello there! Where did you come from, my friend? What a good boy you are, yes!”

It might be useful at this stage to point out that a large golden dog had approached the Doctor and he had proceeded to scratch it behind the ears.

Martha used this opportunity to snatch the paper and get a good look for herself. On page two there was something about ozone recycling and a blurb about the President of the Americas (that’s both continents, not the States) holding a ball in honour of some treaty’s anniversary. It was so strange to look at the news and not recognize a name or a face or a brand.

“Don’t worry, ol’ boy, you lead the way and I’ll be right behind you.”

She caught the edge of the Doctor’s sleeve just before he managed a clean getaway. “Where’re you going?”

“Following him, of course.” He motioned toward the hound (which looked like something of a cross between a St. Bernard and a golden retriever, if that were possible) who was waiting impatiently on the street corner ahead.

“…a dog.”

“He’s the one who sent for me, sent out the call.”

“…… a dog.

The Doctor glanced up at the sky exasperatedly. “Martha, we don’t have ti– oh, he’s not a dog.”

That, apparently, was meant to explain everything.

He grabbed her by the hand and dragged her along as he blew down the sidewalk.

* * *

Five hours later

“Are they supposed to look like that?”

“What? No! No, this is all wrong on the evolutionary scale, they should be half the size and not quite so…”


“Yes, good word.”

“So, what happened then?”

“I haven’t the foggiest… oh dear, that expression is several centuries too late, isn’t it? I wonder what the kids say now –”


“Right, what happened. Well, we’ll have to do some digging under the noses of the ad companies. You feeling up for it?”

“You have to ask?”

* * *

Two hours later

“You know, when you said digging I thought you meant metaphorically, like when a detective goes looking for evidence. I didn’t think I’d be…”

“You’d be what?”

“Up to my elbows in sewage, to start.”

“Could be worse, you haven’t been to Raxis Prime….Why would I have meant it metaphorically?”


* * *

Twelve hours later

“Martha, I need you to listen carefully and do exactly as I say –”

“Oh, do you? Where the bloody hell have you been? You told me you would be back here hours ago, and I nearly came in after you myself, you –”

“ –No, Martha, whatever you do, do not come after me, you –”

“ –spending all my time out here in the freezing cold, and I can’t feel my feet –”

“ –no, listen, I really need you to –”

“ –not that you would actually care if my toes got frozen off and I was wheelchair bound –”

“ –you sound like an angry housewife.”

“Er. I –”

“It’s sort of terrifying. You sound a bit like your mother. Like everyone’s mother.”

“I just –”

“You didn’t catch that Domestics Disease, did you?”

“Very funny.”


“You were joking, right?”

“No, not really.”

“I don’t think I’ll ask about that one.... Guess I just wanted to see if I could get your attention.”

“Well… it didn’t work, now listen closely, they’ll be coming to you any minute and I need you to stall them.”

“Stall them? How?”

“Dunno, didn’t think that far ahead, but you’ll have a good time with it.”

“Wait a minute! Doctor. Doctor! …Oh, hello! I’m here today to talk to you about a new breakthrough in time travel! All you’ll need is your car, with a few tiny adjustments….”

* * *

Thirty minutes later

“Oh, you must know it!”

“Know what?”

“The chorus, the one from that song by that group of women, there were five of them and they all had these twee little names – they were very popular in your time!”

“Please tell me you are not talking about the Spice Girls.”

“Yes! They’re the ones!”

“You need a Spice Girls song?”

“The whole thing only starts with a musical code – these people did everything in musical codes – and I always remembered the standard unlocking code because it sounded like that song of theirs, the one that everyone sings at Karaoke Night down the pub.”

“They had a bunch of hits. Do you remember what it sounded like at all?”

“There was lots of shouting back and forth, sort of like the way they do at American football matches?”


“Could be. Sing the chorus and we’ll see if it works.”

“You really owe me for this…”

“If it works I’ll get you a Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster.”

“Those actually exist?”

“No, but I know where to get the closest thing to it in the known universe.”

“…You’re on.”

* * *

Two hours later

He said it was St. James’ Park. Didn’t look the way she remembered it, but at least you couldn’t see all the lights from there. In fact, it seemed as though the park had been redesigned specifically to block out the light. Which might have explained why it looked more like St. James’ Forest.

Still beautiful as ever. She couldn’t believe that she was still allowed to sit on the grass. And feed the ducks, of course. It had been a little tradition in her family when she was young, and the Doctor didn’t seem to mind her indulgence.

They were crossing the bridge when she linked her arm with the Doctor in order to get him closer. “I think that chap in the expensive suit has been trailing us.”

“He has,” he agreed grimly before suddenly brightening to beat sunshine. “Well, only one way to handle that!”

He spun around to greet the new angular face. “What are you doing?”

This new fellow (who had brilliant cheekbones and a very stylish pair of sunglasses that would have made sense were it not for the lack of light) came to a startled halt, his hands frozen in an unnatural position, as though he’d had a mind to do something with them and thought better of it. “I could ask you the same question,” he said cautiously, tilting his head to one side like a child who has never seen marshmallow Peeps do that in the microwave. “But it wasn’t the question I was going to ask so I won’t. I’ll ask the question I was going to ask instead.”

“He makes as little sense as you do,” Martha said with a snort.

The man in the sunglasses ignored her. “What are you?”

The Doctor blinked. That happened seldom enough as it was, so Martha paid close attention from then on.

“I honestly don’t know what you’re going on about, sir.”

Not the right answer, it seemed, because the next move by the man in the sunglasses was to grab the lapels of the Doctor’s coat and throw him up against the bridge railing. It didn’t seem like he threw him too hard, but Martha was staring at the Doctor’s eyes, waiting for a cue to do some kind of elaborate karate chop or secret nerve pinch to send the guy out cold. Not that she knew how to do that…. “Don’t play dumb with me, I’ve seen you before. And I don’t mean wandering around the streets today, I mean before. Who sent you?”

The Doctor didn’t look threatened. He didn’t look worried. He looked more interested than anything, and he appeared to be weighing the options of his answers. After a moment, he sighed and sagged against the railing. “I’m a Time Lord, I come from a far away planet called Gallifrey that doesn’t exist anymore and I travel around in a ship called the TARDIS, it looks like a blue police call box, and this is my companion Martha, from this planet, only five hundred years in the past, and we just saved the Earth yet again from a possible alien invasion and planetary war. They call me the Doctor.”

The silence was very… silent.

“My dear, he makes as little sense as you do,” came a mild voice.

There was another stranger on the scene, dressed in an overabundance of tweed and wearing a smile far too friendly for any city-dweller.

“There’s something wrong here, Aziraphale,” said the man in sunglasses to the new arrival.

“There usually is, Crowley, but do me the favor of unhanding the poor fellow? He’s hardly done any harm in strolling across the bridge.”

“You don’t know that. I’m telling you, I saw these two during the only performance of Love’s Labour’s Won, I saw them on stage with Shakespeare.” It could not be blamed if his friend did not believe him just then, as the man in sunglasses was raving like an asylum patient off his meds. Martha and the Doctor waited in stunned silence, exchanging frantic glances back and forth. Was there some sort of contingency plan for this?

“And that coat – I know that coat! Janis Joplin gave that coat to a man in 1969 after her Woodstock performance, I’ll never forget it, one of the best parties I ever went to.”

“Really, Crowley, how can you possibly think that it’s the same coat and that is the same –”

“It didn’t look like the exact same man, mind you, but can’t you feel it? It’s something right on the other side of his eyes, something is wrong about him.”

“And about you too,” the Doctor finally retorted, narrowing his eyes. “You’re not time agents. I don’t even think you’re human.”

Against all probability, the two men seemed to bow their heads in a joint cringe. The Doctor was staring hard like he might decode the both of them through the air between them. It took a little longer than Martha had expected for the light bulb to go off. “Of course!” he shouted like an elated five-year-old at a carnival. “Oh, 1991! The energy surge, but not the one at the rift! The air base! Apples and motorcycles and neutrality! Brilliant!”

The two men took several steps back, like he had brandished a sword at them.

The Doctor grinned, manic as ever. “Martha, did I ever tell you about the Apocalypse?”

“You mean like, when the world finally explodes or gets swallowed by the sun or some such?” she tried.

“No, I mean the real fire and brimstone version, the one like what the Bible predicted.”

She gaped. “That actually happens?”

“Well, no. Not the way they thought it would, at least. You humans, you’re amazing at so many things, but your prophecies are just totally ridiculous. Better to ask a wombat about the future than a human being, your results would be infinitely more accurate.”

“That’s fascinating,” the tweed-clad man said cautiously, pulling at the arm of his companion in a quiet panic. “But I really do think that we should be going about now. Getting dark soon, you know.”

The Doctor nodded enthusiastically. “Yup, on your way then, nice to catch up with you. We should do it again some time!”

The man in the sunglasses looked as though that would be the last wish on his birthday list, and as he turned away from the two, he could be heard uttering a few sentences that contained phrases such as ‘drink’ and ‘no stopping for supper’ and ‘not sobering up tonight’.

It didn’t matter much in any case. The Doctor and Martha weren’t paying any attention to them at all.

“Did you really stall them by trying to sell them the Back to the Future version of time travel?”

“You bet – Time Travel Made Easy in Your Car!”

“Genius. Ms Jones, you deserve that drink.”

“I believe I do. Where’re you taking me?”

“Oh, you know, other end of the universe. Unless you’re clambering to stick around here? It won’t be a very pleasant trip out there.”

She smiled.

“I think I’m up for the worst, Mr Smith.”


[User Picture]From: alys_wonder
2007-07-03 09:02 pm (UTC)
We'll give him a screwdriver to defend himself with.

It deserves every single bit of praise! *huggles* And I'm recovering alright 8D The dressing might even come off tomorrow! *... but that makes me want to stay in bed and not recover ♥*
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