cheesymice (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cheesymice) wrote2006-07-31 07:24 pm
cheesymice) wrote2006-07-31 07:24 pm
Entry tags:
- doctor who,
- fic,
- giles,
- wesley
Ten/Giles/Wesley fic, Part 1 of ?
Part 1 of my as-of-yet-untitled and incomplete Tenth Doctor/Giles/Wesley fic. Takes place during S3 BtVS for Giles and Wes, and after "Doomsday" for the Doctor. This part is PG-13. I plan for it to get R in later parts. Unbetaed and thrown out there. I'll probably edit and tidy it up for later distribution to communities. Here's what I've got so far.
Wesley and Giles tried in vain to concentrate on the texts in front of them. They preferred quiet reflection and silent reading when they were researching. The Doctor apparently preferred more animated ways of solving problems.
“Perhaps…” The Doctor said as he paced the library floor and scratched behind his right ear, “perhaps there was a temporal shift as the result of a solar--” he stopped pacing and scrunched up his face. “Nah, couldn’t have been. Not strong enough to freeze up the TARDIS.” His face brightened. “Unless… unless there was a reverberating wave of subatomic particles that had been superheated by burlesium and techtonicum… which is highly unlikely since burlesium is found only in the Pallsim System and there would have to be an explosion of phenomenal astronomical proportions to send--” The furrowed brow returned. “No. Yes! No. Hang on. Wait. No. Unless…” He resumed his pacing and mumbled mathematical equations under his breath.
Giles leaned closer to Wesley and whispered, “Have you understood a bloody thing he’s said since he’s been here?”
Wesley shook his head. “Not completely, no. He’s a brilliant man—he’s brimming with the most extraordinary knowledge about time and dimensions and physics and… everything actually—but he’s so…” Wesley waved his hand about, trying to find the right phrase as they both observed The Doctor.
“All over the place?” Giles offered. Wesley nodded in agreement. They watched the Doctor pace and think aloud some more.
“I like his coat. You should wear something like that.” Giles mused.
Wesley looked at him doubtfully. “Me?”
Giles nodded. “Oh, yes. You have the right frame for it. Tall, slim. Perhaps something a little wider in the shoulders for you, but…” Giles studied Wesley’s shoulders. “Yes. That would be very smart. Brown suede would suit you well.”
“Really?” Wesley smiled bashfully. “I always thought I’d like to have a black leather jacket. You know, sort of a ‘rogue demon hunter’ look,” he whispered conspiratorially.
“Oh, no, no, no.” Giles shook his head. “Too much flash. You want to give the impression of danger and ruggedness but also an underlying sense of intelligence and refinement. Brown suede. No question about it.”
“Hmm.” Wesley thought this over. “What is your opinion on linen?”
Giles bit his lip thoughtfully. “Well, if you’re looking for a versatile fabric that--” he broke off suddenly. Wesley looked up and saw Giles looking at the Doctor. The Doctor was standing still and silently looking at them both.
“Ah.” Giles said.
Wesley cleared his throat.
The Doctor squinted as he looked Wesley up and down. “If you ask me,” he said as he rubbed the back of his neck pensively, “I’d stick with flat front trousers—maybe something dark—good for hiding demon goo stains, which I’ve come to understand is a particular hazard in your line of work—and Giles is right about the brown suede. Although mine is moleskin. Very soft, moleskin.” The Doctor nodded as he mindlessly stroked a coat pocket. “But I think it should be a jacket in your case.” He made a sweeping motion with his arm, as if he was wielding an ax. “Easier to fight in a jacket. You’ll only get your legs tangled in a coat--or find it snagged on your enemy’s fangs or spikes or tentacles or what-have-you.”
Wesley looked confused. “But I don’t fight in the field that often. As a Watcher I’m primarily involved in research and training.”
The Doctor grinned. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. There’s a rogue demon hunter--albeit one in brown suede--underneath that Saville Row suit, no doubt about it, and he’s gonna find his place in this world. You’ll see.”
Wesley blushed at the Doctor’s encouraging words.
Giles decided it was time to get back to the problem at hand. The Doctor was a likeable fellow and he had been very helpful in preventing human-eating creatures from the planet Tabsipt from opening a portal over the Hellmouth. Death by Tabsiptian would not have been the best way to go, if the Doctor’s horrific stories were to be believed. Now the TARDIS, as the Doctor referred to his unusual mode of transport, lay quiet and unmoving in the same spot where it had suddenly materialized the day before. After initially fiddling with the interior controls to no avail and stepping outside to enlist Giles’s and Wesley’s help, the Doctor found himself locked out of his ship. His own key wouldn’t even open it. It seemed the Doctor wasn’t going anywhere soon.
Despite the promise of this new source of intelligent, interesting, and mature company (and the too rare opportunity to hear the correct use of the English language), Giles wasn’t very keen on the way Wesley kept glancing at the Doctor’s backside, nice backside though it was. Too nice. He found himself gazing at it rather frequently as well. “So, Doctor. Any ideas on how we can get you on your way? N-n-n-not that we haven’t enjoyed your company, but I’m sure you have other places to be, things to do.”
The Doctor shrugged, his hands in his trouser pockets. “Haven’t the foggiest. That’s highly unusual for me, it really is. There doesn’t seem to be any scientific explanation for why the TARDIS refuses to budge, or why my key no longer works. I can’t recall that I’ve done anything to upset her. Nothing consciously, anyway. I think this is more of a mystical problem. Not really my area of expertise, you see.”
“The Hellmouth does attract a great deal of unusual phenomena, both mystical and corporeal, like our friends from Tabsipt. You said that the TARDIS was more than just a machine.” Giles said.
The Doctor grinned with pride at the mention of his ship. “Oh yes. Much more than that.”
Giles looked over with wonder at the TARDIS, which was standing in the middle of the library floor. “Strange. You talk about it as if it is alive.”
“It is. It’s connected to time, space, life, the universe, and everything, I guess you could say.” The Doctor glanced over at the TARDIS. His smile of pride melted into a quizzical frown. “Hello. Where did that come from?”
On the floor in front of the TARDIS door was a silver tray containing a bottle of champagne on ice, three glasses, a small paper bag, and an addressed envelope.
Giles stared at the tray in disbelief. “I’m absolutely certain that we’re the only ones who have been in here all evening.”
“Could someone have teleported it here?” Wesley suggested.
“Possibly.” The Doctor put on his glasses and bent over to pick up the envelope. He read the front of it and held it up. “It’s addressed to all three of us.”
Giles and Wesley looked on worriedly as the Doctor opened the envelope and read the enclosed letter silently. They watched his curious scowl bloom into a pleased grin. “Well, what do you know about that. Looks like the universe is a little smaller than some of us may have ever realized.”
The Doctor handed the letter to Giles and Wesley, who read it simultaneously.
Dearest Doctor, Rupert, and Wesley,
Thought you fellows could use a much needed break from saving the universe and fighting evil, and I knew you’d all get along splendidly. The TARDIS was kind enough (after a little gentle persuasion and some stroking—don’t think I didn’t watch you when you work, Doctor) to let me arrange this get-together, so drink at least one toast to her—and the rest to me, of course! *wink* J.K.!
Don’t worry Doctor, you’ll be on your way soon enough, once the TARDIS and I are satisfied that you’ve all been properly satisfied.
Jack Harkness
Wesley’s eyes widened when he saw the signature. “Jack Harkness? I… I once had a bo--” he cleared his throat nervously “I-I-I mean I knew a Jack Harkness, years ago, when I was at University. But no, it couldn’t be the same man. Could it?”
The Doctor studied Wesley’s flushed expression. “Judging by your reaction to that name, you can bet all your licorice jelly babies it is the same man.”
He noticed an equally flushed expression on Giles’s face. “And you too, Rupert Giles.”
Giles looked at the Doctor and nodded. “I-I knew a Jack Harkness in London. During a rather, uh,” he chuckled nervously, “wild time in my youth.”
Wesley shook his head. “It couldn’t have been the same Jack Harkness I knew. He was my age, perhaps only a few years older.”
Giles lifted the silver tray and placed it on the library table. He opened the paper bag slowly and peered inside.
“What does he mean by ‘when we’ve all been properly satisfied’?” Wesley asked.
Giles handed Wesley the bag. “I think this should answer your question.”
Wesley peeked inside and gasped. “Is… is that—personal lubricant?”
The Doctor scratched his left earlobe. “You gotta hand it to Jack. He knows his… stuff.” He gestured at his ship. “Knows how to charm the ladies too. I’m going to have to have strong words with the TARDIS about that. But, Jack did go to an awful lot of trouble to arrange this. And the TARDIS, bless her, she has a way of knowing just what I need when I don’t even know I need it.” The Doctor’s eyes grew sad. “Or when I can’t admit to myself that I need it.”
Wesley was still perplexed by something. “Doctor, I don’t understand. How can it be the same Jack Harkness?”
“Time agent.” The Doctor explained.
“Is he a Timelord, like you?” Giles asked.
The Doctor shook his head. “No, Jack’s human same as you two, but he is a time traveler.” He picked up the bottle of champagne and murmured approvingly. “Good judge of fine bubbly too--” he looked up and grinned at Giles and Wesley. “—and fine companions.”
Giles and Wesley looked at each other fondly. Wesley suddenly remembered what was in the bag he was holding. He blushed and set it down on the table quickly. Giles couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, that’s Jack alright. Made a wicked martini too, if memory serves correct.”
“Well then, gentlemen.” The Doctor said as he began work on removing the cork from the bottle. “I believe a toast is in order.”
…TO BE CONTINUED.
Wesley and Giles tried in vain to concentrate on the texts in front of them. They preferred quiet reflection and silent reading when they were researching. The Doctor apparently preferred more animated ways of solving problems.
“Perhaps…” The Doctor said as he paced the library floor and scratched behind his right ear, “perhaps there was a temporal shift as the result of a solar--” he stopped pacing and scrunched up his face. “Nah, couldn’t have been. Not strong enough to freeze up the TARDIS.” His face brightened. “Unless… unless there was a reverberating wave of subatomic particles that had been superheated by burlesium and techtonicum… which is highly unlikely since burlesium is found only in the Pallsim System and there would have to be an explosion of phenomenal astronomical proportions to send--” The furrowed brow returned. “No. Yes! No. Hang on. Wait. No. Unless…” He resumed his pacing and mumbled mathematical equations under his breath.
Giles leaned closer to Wesley and whispered, “Have you understood a bloody thing he’s said since he’s been here?”
Wesley shook his head. “Not completely, no. He’s a brilliant man—he’s brimming with the most extraordinary knowledge about time and dimensions and physics and… everything actually—but he’s so…” Wesley waved his hand about, trying to find the right phrase as they both observed The Doctor.
“All over the place?” Giles offered. Wesley nodded in agreement. They watched the Doctor pace and think aloud some more.
“I like his coat. You should wear something like that.” Giles mused.
Wesley looked at him doubtfully. “Me?”
Giles nodded. “Oh, yes. You have the right frame for it. Tall, slim. Perhaps something a little wider in the shoulders for you, but…” Giles studied Wesley’s shoulders. “Yes. That would be very smart. Brown suede would suit you well.”
“Really?” Wesley smiled bashfully. “I always thought I’d like to have a black leather jacket. You know, sort of a ‘rogue demon hunter’ look,” he whispered conspiratorially.
“Oh, no, no, no.” Giles shook his head. “Too much flash. You want to give the impression of danger and ruggedness but also an underlying sense of intelligence and refinement. Brown suede. No question about it.”
“Hmm.” Wesley thought this over. “What is your opinion on linen?”
Giles bit his lip thoughtfully. “Well, if you’re looking for a versatile fabric that--” he broke off suddenly. Wesley looked up and saw Giles looking at the Doctor. The Doctor was standing still and silently looking at them both.
“Ah.” Giles said.
Wesley cleared his throat.
The Doctor squinted as he looked Wesley up and down. “If you ask me,” he said as he rubbed the back of his neck pensively, “I’d stick with flat front trousers—maybe something dark—good for hiding demon goo stains, which I’ve come to understand is a particular hazard in your line of work—and Giles is right about the brown suede. Although mine is moleskin. Very soft, moleskin.” The Doctor nodded as he mindlessly stroked a coat pocket. “But I think it should be a jacket in your case.” He made a sweeping motion with his arm, as if he was wielding an ax. “Easier to fight in a jacket. You’ll only get your legs tangled in a coat--or find it snagged on your enemy’s fangs or spikes or tentacles or what-have-you.”
Wesley looked confused. “But I don’t fight in the field that often. As a Watcher I’m primarily involved in research and training.”
The Doctor grinned. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. There’s a rogue demon hunter--albeit one in brown suede--underneath that Saville Row suit, no doubt about it, and he’s gonna find his place in this world. You’ll see.”
Wesley blushed at the Doctor’s encouraging words.
Giles decided it was time to get back to the problem at hand. The Doctor was a likeable fellow and he had been very helpful in preventing human-eating creatures from the planet Tabsipt from opening a portal over the Hellmouth. Death by Tabsiptian would not have been the best way to go, if the Doctor’s horrific stories were to be believed. Now the TARDIS, as the Doctor referred to his unusual mode of transport, lay quiet and unmoving in the same spot where it had suddenly materialized the day before. After initially fiddling with the interior controls to no avail and stepping outside to enlist Giles’s and Wesley’s help, the Doctor found himself locked out of his ship. His own key wouldn’t even open it. It seemed the Doctor wasn’t going anywhere soon.
Despite the promise of this new source of intelligent, interesting, and mature company (and the too rare opportunity to hear the correct use of the English language), Giles wasn’t very keen on the way Wesley kept glancing at the Doctor’s backside, nice backside though it was. Too nice. He found himself gazing at it rather frequently as well. “So, Doctor. Any ideas on how we can get you on your way? N-n-n-not that we haven’t enjoyed your company, but I’m sure you have other places to be, things to do.”
The Doctor shrugged, his hands in his trouser pockets. “Haven’t the foggiest. That’s highly unusual for me, it really is. There doesn’t seem to be any scientific explanation for why the TARDIS refuses to budge, or why my key no longer works. I can’t recall that I’ve done anything to upset her. Nothing consciously, anyway. I think this is more of a mystical problem. Not really my area of expertise, you see.”
“The Hellmouth does attract a great deal of unusual phenomena, both mystical and corporeal, like our friends from Tabsipt. You said that the TARDIS was more than just a machine.” Giles said.
The Doctor grinned with pride at the mention of his ship. “Oh yes. Much more than that.”
Giles looked over with wonder at the TARDIS, which was standing in the middle of the library floor. “Strange. You talk about it as if it is alive.”
“It is. It’s connected to time, space, life, the universe, and everything, I guess you could say.” The Doctor glanced over at the TARDIS. His smile of pride melted into a quizzical frown. “Hello. Where did that come from?”
On the floor in front of the TARDIS door was a silver tray containing a bottle of champagne on ice, three glasses, a small paper bag, and an addressed envelope.
Giles stared at the tray in disbelief. “I’m absolutely certain that we’re the only ones who have been in here all evening.”
“Could someone have teleported it here?” Wesley suggested.
“Possibly.” The Doctor put on his glasses and bent over to pick up the envelope. He read the front of it and held it up. “It’s addressed to all three of us.”
Giles and Wesley looked on worriedly as the Doctor opened the envelope and read the enclosed letter silently. They watched his curious scowl bloom into a pleased grin. “Well, what do you know about that. Looks like the universe is a little smaller than some of us may have ever realized.”
The Doctor handed the letter to Giles and Wesley, who read it simultaneously.
Dearest Doctor, Rupert, and Wesley,
Thought you fellows could use a much needed break from saving the universe and fighting evil, and I knew you’d all get along splendidly. The TARDIS was kind enough (after a little gentle persuasion and some stroking—don’t think I didn’t watch you when you work, Doctor) to let me arrange this get-together, so drink at least one toast to her—and the rest to me, of course! *wink* J.K.!
Don’t worry Doctor, you’ll be on your way soon enough, once the TARDIS and I are satisfied that you’ve all been properly satisfied.
Jack Harkness
Wesley’s eyes widened when he saw the signature. “Jack Harkness? I… I once had a bo--” he cleared his throat nervously “I-I-I mean I knew a Jack Harkness, years ago, when I was at University. But no, it couldn’t be the same man. Could it?”
The Doctor studied Wesley’s flushed expression. “Judging by your reaction to that name, you can bet all your licorice jelly babies it is the same man.”
He noticed an equally flushed expression on Giles’s face. “And you too, Rupert Giles.”
Giles looked at the Doctor and nodded. “I-I knew a Jack Harkness in London. During a rather, uh,” he chuckled nervously, “wild time in my youth.”
Wesley shook his head. “It couldn’t have been the same Jack Harkness I knew. He was my age, perhaps only a few years older.”
Giles lifted the silver tray and placed it on the library table. He opened the paper bag slowly and peered inside.
“What does he mean by ‘when we’ve all been properly satisfied’?” Wesley asked.
Giles handed Wesley the bag. “I think this should answer your question.”
Wesley peeked inside and gasped. “Is… is that—personal lubricant?”
The Doctor scratched his left earlobe. “You gotta hand it to Jack. He knows his… stuff.” He gestured at his ship. “Knows how to charm the ladies too. I’m going to have to have strong words with the TARDIS about that. But, Jack did go to an awful lot of trouble to arrange this. And the TARDIS, bless her, she has a way of knowing just what I need when I don’t even know I need it.” The Doctor’s eyes grew sad. “Or when I can’t admit to myself that I need it.”
Wesley was still perplexed by something. “Doctor, I don’t understand. How can it be the same Jack Harkness?”
“Time agent.” The Doctor explained.
“Is he a Timelord, like you?” Giles asked.
The Doctor shook his head. “No, Jack’s human same as you two, but he is a time traveler.” He picked up the bottle of champagne and murmured approvingly. “Good judge of fine bubbly too--” he looked up and grinned at Giles and Wesley. “—and fine companions.”
Giles and Wesley looked at each other fondly. Wesley suddenly remembered what was in the bag he was holding. He blushed and set it down on the table quickly. Giles couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, that’s Jack alright. Made a wicked martini too, if memory serves correct.”
“Well then, gentlemen.” The Doctor said as he began work on removing the cork from the bottle. “I believe a toast is in order.”
…TO BE CONTINUED.