or_timelords: (Default)
or_timelords ([personal profile] or_timelords) wrote2008-12-19 09:34 pm

This could prove to be interesting.

from [livejournal.com profile] laser_not_sonic

If you woke up one morning and found me in your bed, what's the first thing you'd think or say?

[identity profile] watch-is-me.livejournal.com 2008-12-22 05:31 am (UTC)(link)
[There weren't any mirrors in this room when he fell asleep...]

[identity profile] watch-is-me.livejournal.com 2008-12-22 06:19 am (UTC)(link)
[Is coming properly awake, and realizing that, yes, there actually is someone else in his bed. Him. There's him in his bed. Because he's getting the Time Lord 'ping'—a clear tone, unmarred by the hint of the drums that marks his own mental signature, and the Master's.]

[Okay. Um. This is bizarre. But maybe his other decided to stay over after the Christmas party?]

Oi, you. [He pokes the other Doctor in the shoulder with one finger]

[For the narrative record, the Doctor who owns this bed is sleeping in his Time Boxers. Which are black. Like just about everything he wears.]

[identity profile] watch-is-me.livejournal.com 2008-12-22 04:00 pm (UTC)(link)
[He wasn't expecting his other to be quite that surprised. After all, the other Doctor's the one who decided, for whatever reason, to sleep in the same bed he was sleeping in. Granted, this is one of the most comfortable beds in the TARDIS; he's not sure how it got tucked away in this storeroom, with the 52nd-century aerocricket gear and the baby icthyosaurus skeleton and the samurai armor he picked up that one month he met Oda Nobunaga...]

What what? You couldn't find another bed?

[identity profile] watch-is-me.livejournal.com 2008-12-22 05:38 pm (UTC)(link)
[Okay, what? One eyebrow crawls up the Doctor's forehead as his other pokes him.]

Noooo, I'm not. You'd prefer telepathy? 'S not much of a way to wake up, me in your head, worse than a clock radio. Didn't think you'd want that.

[identity profile] watch-is-me.livejournal.com 2008-12-22 06:13 pm (UTC)(link)
[Right. So this isn't the other-Doctor he knows. This is...someone else. Another alternate, another Doctor. In his bed. That makes absolutely no sense.]

What?

[His turn for total loss in this conversation.]

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[identity profile] out-of-my-time.livejournal.com 2008-12-23 02:09 am (UTC)(link)
[Sam shifts in the grips of an uneasy sleep- all his sleep these days tends to be. His eyes under their lids flicker, and a frown tugs at the corner of his mouth. His sleeping mind is a mess of tangled images, dreaming and real, mixed and muddled until they're utterly incomprehensible. A flash of a red dress through trees, little four year old Sam Tyler's shoes following her, his own Cuban heels treading the path so that the young him didn't have to; Joni sitting in his flat, grinning at him over mango chicken, Joni on top of him, riding him as he lay, hands stretched over his head. Sorry for all the trouble, Sam. Sam strains against his bonds, but the cuffs hold fast; his muscles feel like overcooked spaghetti, and his mind is just as loose and unfocussed as his body. Images swamp him, seeping through his veins like dye, crashing over him like waves.]

[He strains against the dream- because he knows it's a dream. Just a dream. This isn't real, it isn't real. It's practically a mantra, those words, he repeats them so often, and though they never seem to work in the daylight of this dream-world, they work well enough know, and he jolts awake with a sharp inhalation of breath.]

[He's hardly had time to calm himself when he lets out a shout and tumbles off the bed entirely.
There is someone in his bed. A man. He only manages to catch a glimpse of naked shoulders and tousled brown hair before he hits the floor.]

Ow. Fuck. What?

[identity profile] out-of-my-time.livejournal.com 2008-12-23 02:33 am (UTC)(link)
Who the bloody hell-?

[Except then he looks up at the man on the bed, and he recognises him. Of course he does. He loves Doctor Who. It was always something Maya teased him about, especially when the new series came on and he had to watch it. So what's the only explanation? He must still be dreaming. One of those irritating moments where you think you've woken up from a dream but you've really just switched to another one.]

[He sighs, and gets himself up off the floor, brushing down his vest.]


Well, better dream than the last, anyway.

[identity profile] out-of-my-time.livejournal.com 2008-12-23 03:17 am (UTC)(link)
[Really, you'd think if the Doctor's going to go about showing up in his dreams, he'd at least know where he was. Or have some sort of reason for being there. Dashing about saving the universe, doing the things the Doctor usually does.]

[Sam lifts an eyebrow, before stifling a yawn into his hand, and leaning over to flick on the light switch. The lights complain for a moment, as if they can't quite decide whether it's worth the effort, before flickering on, illuminating Sam's flat in sour, yellow light. The eye-searing wallpaper, the peeling paint on the ceiling, the ratty brown carpeting; the place is never any better in his dreams than it is in real life.]

[Not that this is real life.]

[Sam takes those few paces back to sink into the armchair, leaving the bed to the dream-Doctor.]


You're a figment of my subconscious mind; shouldn't you know?

[identity profile] out-of-my-time.livejournal.com 2008-12-23 03:38 am (UTC)(link)
[Sam's brows furrow at the Doctor, part confusion and part irritation. Since when does he have to explain himself to his own dreams?]

Sorry?

[identity profile] mal-go-boom.livejournal.com 2009-04-21 08:02 pm (UTC)(link)
He knew when he woke up that something was not Right. He couldn't put his finger on it immediately; something was out of order, but he wasn't sure at first what it was. Yes, something warm was pressed against his back and someone's breath was tickling the back of his neck, but neither fact was unexpected or unpleasant. The smell, however... he opened his eyes. The smell was Not Right. His heart picked up a beat. No, not right at all.
He turned around.
Paused.
And grabbed the stranger, the skinny, wide-eyed, weird-smelling stranger around the neck.
"Who the hell are you?"

[identity profile] mal-go-boom.livejournal.com 2009-04-21 08:28 pm (UTC)(link)
The stranger blinked at him, rather desperately, it seemed. His skinny face was rapidly turning crimson, and Malcolm loosened his grip, just enough so the man could catch his breath.

Only then he noticed that the man was wearing rather odd clothes - a suit that reminded Malcolm of the one his grandfather had worn for Navy functions. Except that his grandfather wouldn't have been seen dead in a suit as crumpled as that of the man who was currently occupying his bed.

"Who are you?" Malcolm repeated. "How did you get in here?"

[identity profile] mal-go-boom.livejournal.com 2009-04-21 08:40 pm (UTC)(link)
Malcolm considered, then narrowed his eyes at the man. "Don't move, understand?"

[identity profile] mal-go-boom.livejournal.com 2009-04-21 08:54 pm (UTC)(link)
Malcolm quickly patted the man down for weapons, finding none. He considered quickly. Alerting security might prompt the man to do something rash and desperate. No, better to have the intruder at a safe distance when he pushed the intercom button.

"Malcolm Reed," he said. If nothing else, introducing himself would distract the man. "You look human to me."

He couldn't possibly be a stow-away, could he?

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