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crack_van2011-10-08 11:15 pm
beatrice_otter) wrote in crack_van2011-10-08 11:15 pm
Entry tags:
In Geneva by Sam Storyteller (PG-13)
Fandom: DOCTOR WHO
Pairing:Eleven/Brigadier
Length: medium
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
copperbadge, copperbadge, (personal) and sam_storyteller for fic.
Author Website: Extribulum (Extribulum)--not fannish, original writing
Why this must be read:
The Brigadier was awesome, and I was sad he never got to show up in New Who before the actor who played him died. Here, in fic, it's never too late. Also, Sam is a wonderful author and you should read all of his stuff.
This fic takes advantage of timey-wimeyness to tell a non-timey-wimey story. You know at the end of the Big Bang, where the Doctor shows up at Amy and Rory's wedding reception and then goes to park his TARDIS and comes back? This fic happens in the time he was gone--a minute or two to Amy and Rory, rather longer for the Doctor. He goes back and visits the Brigadier. And the interaction between the two is wonderful.
The Brigadier was a man who was a good friend of the Doctor who didn't end up traveling with him through time and space. This is a wonderful character study of him, and his relationship with the Doctor, and a chance for a meeting that could never have happened otherwise. There's nothing earth-shattering about this story, just a quiet time with an old friend.
Given how much time he had spent in his garden, making sure everything was as orderly and correct as an English gardener could make it, he was...frustrated when he heard the familiar whine-and-thump of the TARDIS. Elated, yes; breathless when he reached the kitchen doorway and saw the TARDIS in his garden. But also frustrated and angered that the Doctor had just brought it down on top of the rhododendrons.
The calm remonstrance was on his lips as the door opened -- "A year AWOL, Doctor, and dereliction of duty; I should have you court-martialed" -- but it died when a young man stepped out, an unfamiliar but good-looking young man. Instead of what he'd planned, the Brigadier said, "Who the blazes are you?"
Really, after all, there was a reason he'd only assigned women to work with the Doctor.
"Brigadier," the man said, beaming, his voice warm. "I knew I'd find you here. Mind you, we never went to Geneva, did we? Took me a while to find the right house."
He was crossing the lawn, and when he was close enough to the door he leaned forward, squinting. "Guess my timing's about right, how old are you now? Thirty-eight?"
Ah. He'd done it again.
Alistair sighed, long-suffering. "Thirty-seven."
"Sorry, it's been a while," the Doctor said. "Got any tea?"
Alistair turned and went back into the kitchen, glad he'd cleaned it recently. He filled the gleaming kettle and put it on the hob to heat, measured out the tea into a basket in the pot, and took down two teacups. The Doctor watched it all from the doorway, shoulder against the frame.
"Like what you've done," he said, looking around. "Homey. Bit small."
"It suits me. Room enough to get my head down, that's all that matters."
"I don't believe it. That garden?" the Doctor jerked his thumb behind him. "Sorry about the rhododendrons," he added absently.
"They'll grow back," Alistair said, and finally found himself with nothing to do. He turned to study this new Doctor, well-used by now to his changing faces but still unsettled by it. He never felt comfortable staring, but he liked to know the look of the man.
Hm. Something of an improvement over the curly-headed, pop-eyed version he'd seen last. He couldn't approve of his clothes or hair, except that the former were at least tidy and the latter was probably not entirely under his control (it never had been). A strong jaw, high cheekbones, prominent brow, light eyes; a sense of mischief about the mouth. The Doctor was smiling.
In Geneva
Pairing:Eleven/Brigadier
Length: medium
Author on LJ:
copperbadge, copperbadge, (personal) and sam_storyteller for fic.Author Website: Extribulum (Extribulum)--not fannish, original writing
Why this must be read:
The Brigadier was awesome, and I was sad he never got to show up in New Who before the actor who played him died. Here, in fic, it's never too late. Also, Sam is a wonderful author and you should read all of his stuff.
This fic takes advantage of timey-wimeyness to tell a non-timey-wimey story. You know at the end of the Big Bang, where the Doctor shows up at Amy and Rory's wedding reception and then goes to park his TARDIS and comes back? This fic happens in the time he was gone--a minute or two to Amy and Rory, rather longer for the Doctor. He goes back and visits the Brigadier. And the interaction between the two is wonderful.
The Brigadier was a man who was a good friend of the Doctor who didn't end up traveling with him through time and space. This is a wonderful character study of him, and his relationship with the Doctor, and a chance for a meeting that could never have happened otherwise. There's nothing earth-shattering about this story, just a quiet time with an old friend.
Given how much time he had spent in his garden, making sure everything was as orderly and correct as an English gardener could make it, he was...frustrated when he heard the familiar whine-and-thump of the TARDIS. Elated, yes; breathless when he reached the kitchen doorway and saw the TARDIS in his garden. But also frustrated and angered that the Doctor had just brought it down on top of the rhododendrons.
The calm remonstrance was on his lips as the door opened -- "A year AWOL, Doctor, and dereliction of duty; I should have you court-martialed" -- but it died when a young man stepped out, an unfamiliar but good-looking young man. Instead of what he'd planned, the Brigadier said, "Who the blazes are you?"
Really, after all, there was a reason he'd only assigned women to work with the Doctor.
"Brigadier," the man said, beaming, his voice warm. "I knew I'd find you here. Mind you, we never went to Geneva, did we? Took me a while to find the right house."
He was crossing the lawn, and when he was close enough to the door he leaned forward, squinting. "Guess my timing's about right, how old are you now? Thirty-eight?"
Ah. He'd done it again.
Alistair sighed, long-suffering. "Thirty-seven."
"Sorry, it's been a while," the Doctor said. "Got any tea?"
Alistair turned and went back into the kitchen, glad he'd cleaned it recently. He filled the gleaming kettle and put it on the hob to heat, measured out the tea into a basket in the pot, and took down two teacups. The Doctor watched it all from the doorway, shoulder against the frame.
"Like what you've done," he said, looking around. "Homey. Bit small."
"It suits me. Room enough to get my head down, that's all that matters."
"I don't believe it. That garden?" the Doctor jerked his thumb behind him. "Sorry about the rhododendrons," he added absently.
"They'll grow back," Alistair said, and finally found himself with nothing to do. He turned to study this new Doctor, well-used by now to his changing faces but still unsettled by it. He never felt comfortable staring, but he liked to know the look of the man.
Hm. Something of an improvement over the curly-headed, pop-eyed version he'd seen last. He couldn't approve of his clothes or hair, except that the former were at least tidy and the latter was probably not entirely under his control (it never had been). A strong jaw, high cheekbones, prominent brow, light eyes; a sense of mischief about the mouth. The Doctor was smiling.
In Geneva