This could prove to be interesting.

[or_timelords]

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?

Comments

[out-of-my-time.livejournal.com]

[Sam crosses his arms across his chest; somehow, the gesture looks slightly less impressive when he's half dressed]

Right then, you're real. Convince me. How is it a fictional character comes to life in my flat. My flat that... isn't even real. The flat's in me mind!

[or_timelords]

[Oh, now that's a puzzling concept. The Doctor, who was in the process of reaching for his sonic screwdriver - he's not sure what he was going to do with it, but he remembers wanting it before - stops in his tracks and frowns.]

Now why would you think that?

[out-of-my-time.livejournal.com]

What, that none of this is real?

[Sam huffs out a bitter little breath.]

I'm in a coma. In the future. 2006. All of this... this is just in me head. You, and the flat, and the entire city, and I'm here until I can wake up somehow. But I'm not even awake now; it feels real, this world, but you- you're impossible. So I know I'm dreaming.

[or_timelords]

I'm not impossible.

[Really. Too many people tell him that. They should know better, considering they're staring the fact of his possible-ness right in the face.]

And this isn't a dream, really. I mean, I'm acting on my own volition and impulses, I'm not a figment of your imagination. I think I'd know if I were.

[out-of-my-time.livejournal.com]

[Right. Gene and Annie insisting they're real is one thing, and that- well, Sam doesn't really know what to believe about that. But the Doctor's different. He's a fiction. Sam grew up watching his adventures weekly on telly. He rolls his eyes.]

And you'd know that how? You're not real, mate; you're a fictional character. Even if you're not a figment of my imagination, you're a product of somebody else's.

[or_timelords]

[If the Doctor were a man to get insulted, he'd be getting rather insulted by now. Sam's insistence that he's not a real person is anything but flattering.]

I'd really like to know where you're getting all this knowledge from about what's real and what isn't. Have you got any proof that I'm not real?

[out-of-my-time.livejournal.com]

[And if Sam was the sort of man who quailed at his own occasional, ill-chosen words, he'd be doing that. The Doctor in his flat and he's choosing to spend this time denying the fact that the man's there? But, alas. Once again, he looks at the Doctor like it should be obvious.]

You're from a television show. I grew up watching you, I-

[Ok, no need to share that bit, even if this is just a dream].

If it was a bit earlier, we could flip that on- [And that'd be the television he waves at] and watch you saving the world and managing not to trip over your scarf.

[or_timelords]

[He's actually listening now, because while people do tell him quite a lot that he's impossible, they don't tend to tell him he's a TV show.]

But - I'm not - I don't wear a scarf! At least not in this - wait. How do you know I used to wear a scarf?

[But he's not waiting for an answer. That's a good use for the sonic screwdriver, right there. He goes over to the telly and points the screwdriver at it, accessing its temporal memory and flicking through the shows that were on the day before.]

When do you say that show was on exactly?

[out-of-my-time.livejournal.com]

[And finally, finally something seems to have eked through there.]

Well, you won't be wearing a scarf for about another year; at the moment you're still in frills and smoking jackets.

[It doesn't really strike him that he's speaking about the Doctor as if he was an actual person. It just sort of... happens. And oh wait, what, was that a question?]

Saturdays. At six.

[or_timelords]

[When Sam names the time, the Doctor jumps directly to the program in question. The wobbly image of 1970ies television greets him, and a creaky voice from the telly speakers announces that the next scheduled program will be episode four of the Doctor Who serial The Mind of Evil.]

Doctor Who? What sort of name is -

[He breaks off in astonishment when the grainy picture of a face materializes on the screen - it's fuzzy and of quite bad quality, but it's unmistakably the face of his Third.]

What in Rassilon's name...

[He lets the title sequence finish, but as the colorful swirls fade out to be replaced by a from-above shot of his Third in a state of distress - and he remembers that, how could he ever forget it, that blasted machine the Master had been vain enough to think he could keep under control - he freezes the image and turns around.]

What is this?

[out-of-my-time.livejournal.com]

[It's the Doctor's shock more than anything else that trips Sam up, so to speak, and he stares, trying in vain to ignore what logic (what logic? This is not logic) is telling him. He puts a hesitant hand out, just enough to press fingertips against the fabric of the Doctor's sleeve. His brow furrows again.]

You're real? You-

[He draws his hand back, looks from the Doctor in front of him to the one onscreen, his lips pressed together. His face can't quite seem to decide if it wants to be gleeful or disbelieving or irritated]

You're actually- I'm not dreaming.

[or_timelords]

No, I told you before, you're not.

[He turns back to the telly with half a mind to turn it on again - he's curious; how could anyone have made this? - but at the image of himself in that chair, he just frowns again and leaves the TV screen frozen up.]

Who made that show? And where did they get their information from?

[out-of-my-time.livejournal.com]

[And this would be the point where it hits him. Actually, properly hits him. He's got the Doctor in his flat. The Doctor! The Doctor whom he positively hero worshiped as a boy, who- by rights, shouldn't exist at all, and yet here he is. Sam's face, which previously had wavered in between irritated and confused, now splits in a huge, fuckoff grin]

Oh, that's brilliant. You're the Doctor, and you're- [a little laugh.] Completely fucking mental, of course, but brilliant.

[He's still beaming that wonderful, little boy smile he so rarely has cause to use]

[or_timelords]

[The realization that he is, in fact, not dreaming - and it took Sam long enough to notice that, really; such a silly idea - brings a change about in the man that looks so much like the Master. The grumpy snark is gone, replaced by a face-splitting grin that the Doctor just can't not answer with one of his own.]

Yes I am brilliant, thank you. [One eyebrow twitches upwards.] Not mental, though. Usually I'd say I'm rather, uh, reasonable.

[out-of-my-time.livejournal.com]

[If anything, Sam's grin broadens further when the Doctor smiles in return. He has to suppress the daft urge to do- well, he doesn't even know what, but something. He exhales another little laugh, shaking his head]

Nah, not you; just... this.

[Vague, handwavey gesture]

It's insane. But then, I think I am insane half the time, so- can I get you a drink? Do you-?

[or_timelords]

[The Doctor has to agree that randomly waking up in strange people's beds is, if not actually insane, at least a little strange. But he's not sure that this is what Sam is talking about.]

A cup of tea would be lovely. [More grinning, and he flops down on the chair that previously held his clothes.] Why would you think you're insane?

[Sam might be a little slow on the uptake - this whole 'you're not real' business had taken a little long to clear up - but the Doctor has met actually insane people, and Sam doesn't seem like one of them. Despite the fact that he's the Master's doppelgänger.]

[out-of-my-time.livejournal.com]

[So tea it is. Sam pads over to the tiny kitchenette, putting on the kettle and pulling out a battered tin of teabags. He looks over at the Doctor- the Doctor!- and shrugs]

Told you, I'm in a coma in 2006. Got hit by a car, woke up here... 's enough to make anyone doubt their sanity to a certain degree.

[Perhaps not quite sufficient as an explanation, but Sam is understandably sidetracked at the moment]

[or_timelords]

[This makes... little to no sense.]

Are you telling me there are two versions of you? One who is in a coma in the 21st century, and you, here? When is here, anyway? Seventy-five? Seventy-six?

[Seventy-five, the Doctor's quite sure of that. Feels like a seventy-five year.]

And how do you know you're in a coma in 2006?

[out-of-my-time.livejournal.com]

'73.

[It's an absentminded correction, as he goes about fetching mugs from cupboards and getting milk and sugar out]

I'm in hospital in 2006, in a coma, and all this, this world- it's just in my head. I've created a world to live in while the doctors try to figure out how to get me to wake up

[This makes perfect sense to Sam. Or, well, mostly. The other two options are that he's a lunatic, or that he's somehow managed to go back in time, and neither of those are possible, as far as he's concerned. Though if the Doctor's showed up in his bed, well...]

[or_timelords]

[Alright, '73 then. Close enough.]

[Yes yes, he got that part. That was the part that didn't make any sense.]

But how do you know you're still there in 2006? Did you go and check, or did you get some kind of message or proof from someone?

[out-of-my-time.livejournal.com]

[Pouring water, mixing milk into his own mug, Sam ducks his head a little, as if embarrassed by what he's going to say next]

I... hear things. People. Doctors and nurses, me mum, me- well. Over the radio or the telly. And I can feel it, when they change my meds, bugger things up; it effects me here.

[He moves aside to let the Doctor prepare his tea how he will]

[or_timelords]

[Oh right, tea. He gets up and quickly prepares his tea - sugar, no milk. He leans against the counter, mug in hand.]

You see things? As in, hallucinations? And you've decided that you'd rather believe your hallucinations are real than what's around you?

[Maybe Sam wasn't that far off with the 'insane' thing, after all.]

[out-of-my-time.livejournal.com]

[Sam bristles somewhat at that; he's not some delusional escapist.]

I know they're not real. I was four in 1973. I remember growing up; Margaret Thatcher, the internet, mobile phones, iPods, CCTV- that's where I'm from.

[or_timelords]

[It's always hard to remember that humans are, in fact, linear beings, at least from a temporal viewpoint. Taking that into consideration, the fact that Sam knows about 21st century technology admittedly is little out of the ordinary for a man living in 1973.]

Could be a temporal shift. Or a displacement, really, either of you or your memories.

[He narrows his eyes at Sam and, without looking away, reaches for his sonic screwdriver again.]

When did you say you were born?

[out-of-my-time.livejournal.com]

[What is he saying, Sam's actually travelled in time? But that's... well, it's impossible, for one thing, and what does that say about his sanity, if all this is real? Christ. Sam almost laughs, but he can't decide between hysterical and scornful, and ends up aborting the notion altogether. He answers the Doctor's question in order to avoid thinking about it.]

1969.