or_timelords (
or_timelords) wrote2008-12-19 09:34 pm
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This could prove to be interesting.
from
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?
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If you woke up one morning and found me in your bed, what's the first thing you'd think or say?
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[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.]
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What?
[The room's gone, but the drums haven't stopped. They're very faint, though, and he remembers this feeling from not so long ago. The waking up process suddenly happens a lot quicker.]
[There's someone here alright, but it's not the Master. That's - that's him. Himself.]
What?
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What what? You couldn't find another bed?
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[Great. Captured by the Master, that's always fun. Not. He reaches out to poke the other Time Lord in the bare chest.]
Drop it now. You're forgetting that I can hear you.
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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.
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No, I mean, I can hear you. Hear that it's you. Your, you know...
[But no. He can hear the drums, and they sound like the Master's, but the rest of the telepathic signature doesn't feel at all like the Master. It feels more like - his own. Yeah. Now. That. That is creepy.]
[He narrows his eyes.]
Who are you?
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What?
[His turn for total loss in this conversation.]
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[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?
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[So when he feels the mattress moving and someone kicking his calf, it doesn't feel like he's on a ship on a rough sea and his sheaved pirate sword is slapping against his leg. It just feels like someone is kicking his calf.]
[He blinks his eyes open, but before he can even properly wake up, there's more movement, a shout, and then the sound of someone falling out of bed. People falling out of bed make a very distinctive sound; it's hard to mistake it for anything else. He pushes himself up on his elbows.]
What?
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[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.
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[Wait. Window?]
[He turns on his back, and the bed squeaks - his own bed never squeaks. This isn't the TARDIS. This doesn't feel like the TARDIS; this doesn't even smell like the TARDIS.]
[When he speaks again, the Doctor turns his head back to the man beside the bed, who is barely more than a silhouette.]
Dream? What? Where am I?
[And doesn't that voice seem strangely familiar?]
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[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?
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[All of this registers with the Doctor only marginally, though. If the voice seemed familiar, it's because it is. The Doctor's not sure what the Master is putting on the accent for, and the choice of outfit seems atypical, but, yeah. It's the Master.]
[Oh, marvelous. He flops back down onto his back.]
What's all this now? A revenge scheme? I thought we came out rather equal last time we met. No reason to disturb the status quo. Not so soon, anyway.
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Sorry?
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[He looks over at the other man, and the genuine confusion on his face makes him break off. The Doctor frowns and lowers his mental shielding, just enough to see if he can feel the Master. He's fully expecting to, so when he doesn't, he drops the shields completely, eyes widening in surprise.]
You're human.
[This is new. He scrambles to his knees, the blankets falling away and leaving him kneeling on the bed in just his pajama bottoms.]
You're - properly human. Who are you?
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He turned around.
Paused.
And grabbed the stranger, the skinny, wide-eyed, weird-smelling stranger around the neck.
"Who the hell are you?"
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This isn't the TARDIS library.
He grabs the man who is clutching his throat by the wrists and opens his mouth, but due to the fact that the man, is, well, clutching his throat, he doesn't quite manage to say anything. He does try to signal with his eyes, though, that he would appreciate being let go. He does have the pulmonary bypass system, but breathing oxygen is just more convenient.
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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?"
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"I'm the Doctor." He tugs on the man's arms, not enough to actually dislodge his hands, but more to indicate that, no, seriously, this isn't necessary. "I don't know how I got in here, or, in fact, where "in here" even is, although it does look like a ship's cabin of some sort, from what I can see. Which isn't very much, since you're pinning me down. Would you please consider letting me go?"
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"Sure, alright, not moving, staying right here. What's your name?"
Exchanging names is always a good way of establishing a civil atmosphere. And after all, this man knows his already.
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"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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"Malcolm Reed. Hello, Malcolm Reed. I just recently met a Malcolm. I don't think he had anything to do with you, though." And the Doctor can see Malcolm eying what can only be an intercom button. "I'm--kind of not a human, but that's not important right now. Would you mind getting off of me? This bed is, well, rather small, to be quite honest."
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