Fic: No Rest For the Wicked (1/1)
May. 31st, 2008 08:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
neadodsETA: Who_Daily, grab this line and add brackets as needed:
a href="http://neadods.livejournal.com/687757.html">No Rest for the Wicked by lj user="neadods"> (Nine/Six, Evelyn | R | Spoilers: none)
TITLE: No Rest For the Wicked
CHARACTERS: Nine/Six, Evelyn Smythe
RATING: R. NSFW
SPOILERS: none
DISCLAIMER: Not an authorized tie-in
AUTHOR NOTE: I know perfectly well that![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wendymr was expecting crack when she suggested Nine/Six slash in the "Things I Would Never Write" meme... especially as the Colin "Boom-chicka-bow-wow" Baker picture had recently been reposted.
However? Not so much with the crack in the execution.
They say travel lets you find yourself, although they usually don't mean it literally. Still, there was no mistaking the eye-watering coat slung over the chair. The Doctor looked to see where he might be loitering, but to his relief, he was out of sight.
Rassilon! The real reason we weren't allowed to cross our own timelines is the pronouns get too confusing!
The TARDIS was backfiring again. Who'd have thought his ship would prove to have a stronger survival instinct than him? The guilt and the loneliness and the sheer confusion of wondering how he'd survived the double genocide he'd committed were unbearable. As soon as this regeneration had stabilized, he'd tried to end it, but the TARDIS cruelly refused to let him go. Set the controls for the heart of a supernova; the TARDIS took him to a pleasure planet's beach. Set for the middle of an interplanetary war and it took him to... where was this, anyway? A festival of some sort. He'd taken one look and tried to leave right away, but the TARDIS slammed its door on him, insisting that there was something he needed out there.
He certainly didn't need to see himself. He turned away, and finally caught sight of something that triggered a memory. He'd come here with Evelyn.
Evelyn.
She'd been one of the best. Someone he'd needed as much as they needed him. There had been long nights and long talks, the perspective of someone who had lived longer along her lifespan than he had along his, even though her human life was a mayfly's compared to a Galli-
No. Don't say it. Don't think it. There were no Gallifreyans. Just him, mistake and murderer and misfit.
The Doctor closed his eyes and huddled into his new jacket like a turtle into its shell, but even then memories teased along with the smell of sweets from a nearby tent. Dear Evelyn. She thought that anything could be cured with a big slice of chocolate cake. Even though there wasn't enough cocoa in the universe to comfort him now, to talk with her one more time, to have something familiar to hold back the void where his planet, his people, his own history had...
The brush against the emptiness in his mind was so unexpected, so welcomed in the echoing silence that he shouted back mentally, clinging desperately to the contact, before he realized who it had to be.
"I should warn you," a familiar, husky voice said close behind him, "I'm the Doctor. You lot usually aren't that glad to see me."
"I..." I'm not glad to see me. I hate me. I can't bear to look at myself and know what I'm going to do.
He whirled on his younger self, who stepped back then drew himself up menacingly. He'd forgotten how big he was.
"You look terrible! What's wrong?" his other self asked.
I'm going to tell/protect the web of Time/I'm going to tell/protect/tell/protect "I... I've been fighting Daleks. Only survivor. Sorry for" he gestured at his temple, "shoutin'."
He still wasn't used to his new flat, broad accent. Until now, he'd always sounded, always felt, well, lordly. Then he woke up a genocide, only member of a race that didn't exist, and suddenly he sounded like a laborer and only felt comfortable in dark, nondescript clothes. Nothing to see here, no one to look at twice, move along, don't ask the likes of me to make decisions, don't look to me for leadership.
"Dal- there aren't any here, are there?" He was looking around as if one might trundle out of the food tent, fried dough resting on its plunger and powdered sugar on its casing.
"Nah. All gone."
"Then what are you doing here? Don't say vacation. I know how you lot are about the lesser races."
You lot. Yeah, that's right. It wasn't "my people" until there weren't any people left to be possessive about. "TARDIS malfunction."
This half truth was accepted along with the others. "You poor man, only survivor of a battalion - let me get you to my TARDIS. You can rest in peace there and I'll see if I can help. I've got a lot of spare TARDIS parts lying around, you know."
"Yeah. Yeah. That'll be nice, thanks." Rest in peace. That's what I need, yeah. As soon as they were within the TARDIS' temporal grace, free from the Blimovitch Limitation Effect of the same person touching out of time, he'd top himself. Not his new self, his old one. Let the Reapers come! Gallifrey burned, they can take everything else! If I stop myself now, then the Time Lords can sort it all out. They'll still be here TO sort it all out!
He gathered up that horrible coat and led the way to the TARDIS, which hummed confusedly when he followed himself in but did nothing else, even when he put a hand on his shoulder to keep himself still long enough for the killing blow. First the hand on the shoulder, then sliding up the neck to the pressure points, gently, don't spook myself, just get me out cold and grab one of the mallets I use on the console and it will all be over...
Slightly warmer fingers closed over his. "Did the Daleks trap you in a time corridor? Have you been alone for very long?"
"What?"
His younger self squeezed the restraining hand and turned. "I've... been alone a while too. They don't like me much on Gallifrey."
They're going to like you a lot less for about a minute. Wait... am I trying to pick myself up? Am I seriously trying to - oh, Rassilon!
On the other hand, what better way to get myself distracted and vulnerable? One last little death before the real death.
"I like you," he lied in that strange new accent.
The Doctor remembered in the nick of time to pretend he didn't know the way to the bedroom or the contents in it. His thoughts were whirling. To feel Gallifreyan hands and lips on his skin again, to have the touch of a mind against his own even if he didn't dare let it in to hear his lifetimes of protecting the web of Time and defending the innocent warring with self loathing. He kept thinking that he'd do it as he disrobed; no, as he explored in foreplay; no, as he reached for supplies; no, later, later, later still, but he was so grateful to be with someone, anyone, of his people, someone treating him with kind tenderness that he couldn't do it. He couldn't kill off Gallifrey again.
No matter how much he deserved it.
The moment after he shuddered, he started weeping. His younger self cradled and shushed him. Told him the fighting was over. Told him he could go home now, home and rest.
Lunatic laughter bubbled in the Doctor's chest. That unthinkingly cruel line had done it, given him back the strength to end his lives and his torment, and he was just reaching out to throttle himself when of all things, he heard Evelyn's voice.
"Doctor? Doctor are you there? I'll have you know that my cake was judged the best in three solar systems! But it's the oddest thing - when I was coming back to find you, I took a wrong turn and found the TARDIS. Well, a TARDIS. But it was just like yours! A police box and everything! Doctor?"
His younger self scrambled out of bed and out of arm's reach. "There's only one TARDIS like - you're ME!"
The Doctor pulled himself up. "Oh, come on, don't be shy. It's just like masturbation without havin' to get into awkward angles."
"THAT'S not - Battle? Only survivor? What have I DONE?"
"Doctor?" Evelyn's voice was getting closer. If he did it now, his young self would be dead, his current self would disappear, and his TARDIS - this one - would probably head for the TARDIS graveyard... with her trapped inside.
He could do anything to himself; he deserved it. But she didn't deserve that. He lept upon himself, wrestling the bigger body to the floor, but when he cupped his hands to his face, it wasn't with the intent of twisting his head off his neck. "Contact," he gritted through his teeth, taking all his unbearable self hatred and anger and agony and turning it into a battering ram through his own mental defenses. The body under his arched and screamed in a much different manner than it had so recently. "Contact. Forget."
A few minutes later, the Doctor gathered up his clothing, blindly ignoring the leather-clad man in the corner of the room, and woozily headed back out to the festival with Evelyn, claiming he must have et something bad for him and unable to focus on what she was saying. When he was gone, the Doctor slipped out of the TARDIS, heading for his own, intent on being gone before she dragged him there to see.
They say that there's no rest for the wicked.
They're right.
a href="http://neadods.livejournal.com/687757.html">No Rest for the Wicked by lj user="neadods"> (Nine/Six, Evelyn | R | Spoilers: none)
TITLE: No Rest For the Wicked
CHARACTERS: Nine/Six, Evelyn Smythe
RATING: R. NSFW
SPOILERS: none
DISCLAIMER: Not an authorized tie-in
AUTHOR NOTE: I know perfectly well that
wendymr was expecting crack when she suggested Nine/Six slash in the "Things I Would Never Write" meme... especially as the Colin "Boom-chicka-bow-wow" Baker picture had recently been reposted.However? Not so much with the crack in the execution.
They say travel lets you find yourself, although they usually don't mean it literally. Still, there was no mistaking the eye-watering coat slung over the chair. The Doctor looked to see where he might be loitering, but to his relief, he was out of sight.
Rassilon! The real reason we weren't allowed to cross our own timelines is the pronouns get too confusing!
The TARDIS was backfiring again. Who'd have thought his ship would prove to have a stronger survival instinct than him? The guilt and the loneliness and the sheer confusion of wondering how he'd survived the double genocide he'd committed were unbearable. As soon as this regeneration had stabilized, he'd tried to end it, but the TARDIS cruelly refused to let him go. Set the controls for the heart of a supernova; the TARDIS took him to a pleasure planet's beach. Set for the middle of an interplanetary war and it took him to... where was this, anyway? A festival of some sort. He'd taken one look and tried to leave right away, but the TARDIS slammed its door on him, insisting that there was something he needed out there.
He certainly didn't need to see himself. He turned away, and finally caught sight of something that triggered a memory. He'd come here with Evelyn.
Evelyn.
She'd been one of the best. Someone he'd needed as much as they needed him. There had been long nights and long talks, the perspective of someone who had lived longer along her lifespan than he had along his, even though her human life was a mayfly's compared to a Galli-
No. Don't say it. Don't think it. There were no Gallifreyans. Just him, mistake and murderer and misfit.
The Doctor closed his eyes and huddled into his new jacket like a turtle into its shell, but even then memories teased along with the smell of sweets from a nearby tent. Dear Evelyn. She thought that anything could be cured with a big slice of chocolate cake. Even though there wasn't enough cocoa in the universe to comfort him now, to talk with her one more time, to have something familiar to hold back the void where his planet, his people, his own history had...
The brush against the emptiness in his mind was so unexpected, so welcomed in the echoing silence that he shouted back mentally, clinging desperately to the contact, before he realized who it had to be.
"I should warn you," a familiar, husky voice said close behind him, "I'm the Doctor. You lot usually aren't that glad to see me."
"I..." I'm not glad to see me. I hate me. I can't bear to look at myself and know what I'm going to do.
He whirled on his younger self, who stepped back then drew himself up menacingly. He'd forgotten how big he was.
"You look terrible! What's wrong?" his other self asked.
I'm going to tell/protect the web of Time/I'm going to tell/protect/tell/protect "I... I've been fighting Daleks. Only survivor. Sorry for" he gestured at his temple, "shoutin'."
He still wasn't used to his new flat, broad accent. Until now, he'd always sounded, always felt, well, lordly. Then he woke up a genocide, only member of a race that didn't exist, and suddenly he sounded like a laborer and only felt comfortable in dark, nondescript clothes. Nothing to see here, no one to look at twice, move along, don't ask the likes of me to make decisions, don't look to me for leadership.
"Dal- there aren't any here, are there?" He was looking around as if one might trundle out of the food tent, fried dough resting on its plunger and powdered sugar on its casing.
"Nah. All gone."
"Then what are you doing here? Don't say vacation. I know how you lot are about the lesser races."
You lot. Yeah, that's right. It wasn't "my people" until there weren't any people left to be possessive about. "TARDIS malfunction."
This half truth was accepted along with the others. "You poor man, only survivor of a battalion - let me get you to my TARDIS. You can rest in peace there and I'll see if I can help. I've got a lot of spare TARDIS parts lying around, you know."
"Yeah. Yeah. That'll be nice, thanks." Rest in peace. That's what I need, yeah. As soon as they were within the TARDIS' temporal grace, free from the Blimovitch Limitation Effect of the same person touching out of time, he'd top himself. Not his new self, his old one. Let the Reapers come! Gallifrey burned, they can take everything else! If I stop myself now, then the Time Lords can sort it all out. They'll still be here TO sort it all out!
He gathered up that horrible coat and led the way to the TARDIS, which hummed confusedly when he followed himself in but did nothing else, even when he put a hand on his shoulder to keep himself still long enough for the killing blow. First the hand on the shoulder, then sliding up the neck to the pressure points, gently, don't spook myself, just get me out cold and grab one of the mallets I use on the console and it will all be over...
Slightly warmer fingers closed over his. "Did the Daleks trap you in a time corridor? Have you been alone for very long?"
"What?"
His younger self squeezed the restraining hand and turned. "I've... been alone a while too. They don't like me much on Gallifrey."
They're going to like you a lot less for about a minute. Wait... am I trying to pick myself up? Am I seriously trying to - oh, Rassilon!
On the other hand, what better way to get myself distracted and vulnerable? One last little death before the real death.
"I like you," he lied in that strange new accent.
The Doctor remembered in the nick of time to pretend he didn't know the way to the bedroom or the contents in it. His thoughts were whirling. To feel Gallifreyan hands and lips on his skin again, to have the touch of a mind against his own even if he didn't dare let it in to hear his lifetimes of protecting the web of Time and defending the innocent warring with self loathing. He kept thinking that he'd do it as he disrobed; no, as he explored in foreplay; no, as he reached for supplies; no, later, later, later still, but he was so grateful to be with someone, anyone, of his people, someone treating him with kind tenderness that he couldn't do it. He couldn't kill off Gallifrey again.
No matter how much he deserved it.
The moment after he shuddered, he started weeping. His younger self cradled and shushed him. Told him the fighting was over. Told him he could go home now, home and rest.
Lunatic laughter bubbled in the Doctor's chest. That unthinkingly cruel line had done it, given him back the strength to end his lives and his torment, and he was just reaching out to throttle himself when of all things, he heard Evelyn's voice.
"Doctor? Doctor are you there? I'll have you know that my cake was judged the best in three solar systems! But it's the oddest thing - when I was coming back to find you, I took a wrong turn and found the TARDIS. Well, a TARDIS. But it was just like yours! A police box and everything! Doctor?"
His younger self scrambled out of bed and out of arm's reach. "There's only one TARDIS like - you're ME!"
The Doctor pulled himself up. "Oh, come on, don't be shy. It's just like masturbation without havin' to get into awkward angles."
"THAT'S not - Battle? Only survivor? What have I DONE?"
"Doctor?" Evelyn's voice was getting closer. If he did it now, his young self would be dead, his current self would disappear, and his TARDIS - this one - would probably head for the TARDIS graveyard... with her trapped inside.
He could do anything to himself; he deserved it. But she didn't deserve that. He lept upon himself, wrestling the bigger body to the floor, but when he cupped his hands to his face, it wasn't with the intent of twisting his head off his neck. "Contact," he gritted through his teeth, taking all his unbearable self hatred and anger and agony and turning it into a battering ram through his own mental defenses. The body under his arched and screamed in a much different manner than it had so recently. "Contact. Forget."
A few minutes later, the Doctor gathered up his clothing, blindly ignoring the leather-clad man in the corner of the room, and woozily headed back out to the festival with Evelyn, claiming he must have et something bad for him and unable to focus on what she was saying. When he was gone, the Doctor slipped out of the TARDIS, heading for his own, intent on being gone before she dragged him there to see.
They say that there's no rest for the wicked.
They're right.
