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]

[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.

[or_timelords]

[The Doctor points the screwdriver at Sam, running the basic spatiotemporal check-up scans, but the data the little gadget spits out is most unhelpful. Apparently, there's no actual temporal disturbance about Sam, or Sam's mind, although the readings are still anything but ordinary. It seems almost as if Sam is two people, overlapping; one completely in 1973, one completely in 2006. Without any temporal disturbances to accompany this phenomenon.]

[He frowns and shakes the screwdriver a little; he's been using this one for a while, maybe it's developing quirks. But a second scan shows the same results. He shakes his head and frowns.]

How very strange.

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

[Sam can't help it- that grin flickers over his face again when the Doctor points the sonic screwdriver at him. Sonic screwdriver! But curiosity soon overcomes his fannishness, and he looks at the Doctor questioningly as he peers at the screwdriver.]

So, what's it say? Am I secretly a time traveller and just haven't bothered to tell myself about it yet?

[or_timelords]

I'm not sure.

[His tone is absentminded; he's still studying the readings. This makes no sense, he's never seen anything like this before. His interest is definitely piqued. This will require further studies with more sophisticated instruments than a sonic screwdriver.]

Sam, would you mind coming with me to my TARDIS -

[Wait. No TARDIS. He went to sleep in his TARDIS and woke up in Sam's bed, and only Rassilon knows where 'here' is in relation to the TARDIS. He pushes himself off the counter, suddenly irritated.]

Never mind you, how did I end up here? Last time I checked I wasn't anywhere near 1973.

[He looks around for his coat, and look, there it is, over the back of the other chair. Did he see it there before? Doesn't matter. He grabs it and shrugs it on.]

It was a great pleasure to meet you, Sam, but I gotta run. I need to get back to the TARDIS. Good luck with your [hand-wavy gesture] coma time travel - thing. And thanks for the tea!

[And he's on his way to the door. If Sam wants to stop him, he'll have to be quick.]

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

[Blimey, that's abrupt. Sam juggles his tea and almost drops it in his haste to turn and waylay the Doctor. He curses as some of it slops out onto his hand and vest, staining the fabric.]

Oi! Er, Doctor, wait. I- I can come with you, if you like. To look for the TARDIS. If you want to run tests or something... If that could help me get home-

[And that's definitely part of it, but another distinct part is getting to go inside the TARDIS!]

[or_timelords]

[His mind is already on trying to figure out how to find the TARDIS - he's got a Huon locator in his coat pocket; that should help, unfortunately the range is rather limited - when Sam's words interrupt his thought processes.]

What?

[Run tests? Why would he want to - oh right.]

Oh, uh, yeah. Why not, I guess.

[Really, he'd rather not have someone with him right now - company is one thing, being held up by random humans while trying to find the TARDIS is another - but if Sam wants to come with him, the Doctor can hardly stop him. Besides, those readings the screwdriver had given him had been rather odd; it might be worth taking a look.]

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

[He's seen more enthusiastic agreements in his life, frankly, but Sam doesn't let that put him off for long. He snags a shirt from the floor, pulling it on over his vest and buttoning it up as quick as he can, following that with his jacket. As he's doing this, a thought strikes him, a memory of watching Who as a boy, and he turns to the Doctor.]

If you've got a... bollocks, what was it called? A binary induction plasma displacement detector. That ought to be able to pick up the TARDIS, shouldn't it?

[He takes his pistol from the shelf next to the door, tucking it into an inner pocket, and holding the door open for the Doctor.]

((OOC: The Doctor used this device to locate the TARDIS in 'Keeper of Traken,'))

[or_timelords]

[Sam's eager, the Doctor has to give him that. He's rarely seen anyone buttoning their shirt any quicker than that. It's kind of fascinating to watch, but when Sam speaks, the Doctor's attention is thoroughly distracted. How would Sam know - oh right. That show on the telly.]

Blimey. You're a real fan, aren't you? [It's not like he's prone to using the displacement detector on a regular basis. He uses it hardly ever, if fact. Which is why he doesn't have it on him; it's probably still in the pocket of the coat his Forth liked to wear.] Haven't got it with me, sorry to say.

[And his attention is distracted yet again. A gun? Suddenly he's even less enthusiastic about the thought of Sam coming with him; the one thing he's always appreciated about the British police force is that they don't make their members carry firearms on a regular basis.]

Oi. If you want to come with me, you're leaving that. [He gestures at Sam's pocket.]

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

[His lips twist when the Doctor comments wryly about his being a real fan. Yeah, well. He's not one of those fans, but the name had popped up in his head, so hell, why not? He shrugs. When a frown creases his forehead, though, Sam almost bristles again. It's mostly irritation at himself; because way to go, Sam, doing the one thing that's sure to endear you to the Doctor. It honestly hadn't occurred to him, though, mere habit engendered from the amount of times it's been a necessity. His brows go up for a moment in slight surprise.]

Oh, right, sorry. Christ, Gene Hunt must be getting to me

[And that's the gun back on the shelf and Sam cocking a faintly sardonic eyebrow at the Doctor.]

Anything else?

[or_timelords]

[Oh, and that expression is just uncanny. He frowns.]

You look a lot like someone I know. Stop reminding me of him in other ways.

[Cryptic Doctor is cryptic. But he doesn't care, it wasn't really a comment meant for Sam to actually understand. The Doctor just needed to express the fact that this resemblance is maybe creeping him out a tiny little bit.]

[Since he doesn't expect an answer, he doesn't wait for one, and pushes past Sam, heading down the corridor to his left. He doesn't really know where he's going, but finding his way out of this house sounds like a good way to start.]

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

[It's somewhere between faintly insulting and faintly hurtful, being frowned at like that by the Doctor, but Sam shrugs it off.]

Well. I'll do my best, [he mutters wryly, but the Doctor's off out the door at a stride before he has any chance to hear Sam. Not that he'd really intended him to hear in the first place. Sam steps out after him, calling down the corridor.]

Doctor? Um, stairs are that way.