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AUTHOR : sensiblecat

IMAGE: red_temptation

WORDS: 4630

CHARACTERS: Ten, Rose, Donna, Jack


SPOILERS: Up to and beyond Journey's End. Includes "Music of the Spheres", from the recent BBC Proms Concert.

The characters and situations portrayed are the property of the BBC and no personal profit or plagiarism is intended.

"The Turino Scale" is a real piece, written by Mark-Anthony Turnage, and premiered at the Dr Who Prom on 27th July.

SUMMARY: Two years after the events of JE, the Doctor's speedily-implemented solutions seem to be unravelling. It falls to Jack and the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra to track down the TARDIS and present the Doctor with a rather embarrassing manuscript...

"Donna’s about to sign a contract for a series of young adult fantasy novels. Her agent’s talking about her being the next JK Rowling. Guess what they’re about?”

“Let me think,” said Rose. “A wonderful man in a blue box?”

“Got it in one,” said Jack.

When your social life deteriorated to the point where you found yourself talking to an uninvited Graske, you probably needed to get out more. Even an optimist like the Doctor had to acknowledge that.

It was quiet in the TARDIS these days – so quiet that sometimes he could hear the sound of the universe, romantically referred to by Renaissance humans as the music of the spheres. He had taken to dabbling in musical composition to pass the time. He travelled alone now – had done ever since he’d left Rose in the parallel world with the other him and returned a brain-wiped Donna to Chiswick over two years ago. It was better for everyone that way – who was he to go around the universe turning innocent people into warriors? Davros’s words had burned themselves into his conscience and his penance was going to be a long one.

He kept meaning to revisit Earth and look up the people who’d briefly filled the control room as his wonderful ship had towed their planet back to where it belonged. Apart from a chunk missing from one of the struts the TARDIS seemed to be unscathed by her brush with oblivion. He hoped he were equally resilient.

Still, as old Oscar Hammerstein had said in “The King and I”, make believe you’re brave and the trick will take you far. It worked for happiness as well – sort of. He went on in the way he always had – travelling, looking for trouble, admiring the weird and the wonderful – the universe teemed with both, and when he longed for someone to share it all with, or found himself exclaiming, “Blimey, look at that!” to a deserted control room, he told himself severely that being alone had its advantages. No more mindwiped Donnas, no more Jacks restored unwillingly to life, no more Adrics, or Astrids for that matter, throwing their lives away for someone who should have protected them.

One day he was working on a particularly tricky melodic problem when a Graske showed up and pointed out that there was a blinking great hole in the space-time continuum, linking him directly to the Albert Hall. Now, how had he missed that? The good old Albert Hall was full to the rafters – children, mostly. Apparently they put on Prom concerts for kids these days. Henry Wood might have had a thing or two to say about that. The Doctor had met him once – at the very first Prom, back in 1895. He’d played the tuba. He was brilliant.

The whole thing seemed as if it was meant to happen. Not only a symphony with the ink barely dry – and a rather wonderful one, because after all he’d written it – but a captive audience as well! He chucked the score through the portal, remembering at the last minute to activate a cloning mechanism that conveniently distributed it to almost everyone in the orchestra (the second violins and the percussion had to double up, but they didn’t seem to mind) – and there it was. Instant premiere!

The crafty Graske slipped through the portal right under his nose while he was conducting his new symphony and delivering a few admittedly cheesy remarks about music being inside every one of you if you knew where to look. Sort of Danny Kaye meets Disney with a touch of Abba thrown in. By the time he’d twigged what the little blighter was up to he’d attacked a cellist and if the Doctor hadn’t thought of reversing the jolly old polarity to pull the Graske back through into the TARDIS, who knows what trouble he would have ended up causing?

It was great fun while it lasted, but once it was over the a pall of gloom settled over him as he realised how easily he’d been duped. All it had taken was the promise of an audience to show off to. Now the old TARDIS seemed quieter than ever. Before he could be tempted into further conversation, he teleported the Graske to the other side of the galaxy, threw a temporary seal up on the portal to avoid further intruders, and put on a loud, petulant track by My Chemical Romance. There were times when you had to abandon yourself to a moment of negativity and coruscating self-loathing, just go with it until you came out the other side, cleansed and restored (hopefully). If you happened to be alone at the time, you could play air guitar as well.

Like he’d often said, travelling without companions had all kinds of advantages. Perfect life, really. Honestly.

Some time, though, he’d really have to do a bit of maintenance. Space portals popping up like that – the old girl must be falling to bits for that to happen.

Made two of them, he supposed.


Jack hadn’t set up a space portal for longer than he could remember. Frankly, he was amazed when this one worked perfectly first time.

But then, he’d had first-class advice. “All you have to do is get them to play this new piece,” Rose had explained. They’d been chatting regularly for the last few months. It had never occurred to the original Doctor that having a transdimensional rift and a Time Lord’s mind on the other side of it made multiversal communication a bit of a doddle. Or, if it had, he’d chosen not to think about it.

Unfortunately, not all the news had been good. The Doctor on Jack’s side had been particularly elusive lately, and there were one or two reasons why they needed to talk to him. Hence the second Doctor’s clever plan involving the BBC Proms.

“I get the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra to premiere a piece, just like that? In the middle of a concert?” Jack said sceptically. “We don’t all have the Doctor’s powers of persuasion.”

“You’ll think of something,” she replied. “Charmer like you. It’s a special concert dedicated to time and space music. There’ll be loads of kids there. He’d like that. He’ll probably tell them that old story about how he played the tuba at the first Prom back in 1895.”

“Probably true, knowing him,” said Jack. “So this music, is it your – I mean the – Doctor’s own composition?”

“Yep. He’s not been well enough to travel for a while, so he writes to pass the time. It’s called The Torino Scale.”

“Neat,” Jack observed.

“And the equations you’ll need to open the portal are embedded in its harmonic structure. Wherever the TARDIS is, it’ll act as a call signal and set up a direct link with the Albert Hall.”

“Let’s hope he isn’t in the shower,” said Jack.

“Or that horrible blue suit.”

“Thought you liked it.”

“Not on him.”

Jack hesitated for a few moments, wondering how to broach the next subject on his mind.

“So how’s it going with you two?” he asked, eventually.

Rose paused before replying. “Not too good. They tried another artificial heart but it failed. He’s on life support again.”

“I’m sorry.” Jack sighed deeply. “Any idea how long he’s got?”

“They’re not saying. ‘Course, he’s putting a brave face on it all, saying it’s just a blip, but he knows the score better than anyone. You can’t run a Time Lord brain with a human blood supply.”

And the Doctor probably knew that when he paired them off, thought Jack, recognising a familiar flash of anger coming back. Just like he knew Donna would burn up with a Time Lord consciousness inside her.

“I won’t let you lose him again,” he promised Rose, meaning every word of it.

“Thanks,” Rose said, a wealth of feeling in the one brief word. “So we need to find Donna and try to redistribute the Doctor/Donna symbiosis.”

“Preferably without her burning up,” Jack put in.

“John-Doc says that’s a load of rubbish, the Time Lord equivalent of telling a clingy girlfriend you have to stay in and wash your hair.” Rose giggled. “And he does know a thing about hair.”

“What about clingy girlfriends?”

“No comment on that one,” Rose snapped, the severity undermined by the amusement in her tone of voice. “No, seriously,” she went on, “If the two of them – him and Donna – hadn’t been separated so quickly, it could all have been sorted out in the TARDIS with a bit of advanced trimeculate psychowaveform manipulation. But our TARDIS isn’t big enough yet. It’s the old blue box or nothing.”

“I don’t know if I could ever get used to a red TARDIS,” said Jack. “It’d be like going to Old Trafford and finding they’d painted the seats blue.”

“Yeah, well,” said Rose, ruthlessly stamping on any feelings of nostalgia. “It’s not bad for a bit of coral he chopped off when he knew we were going to get the push.”

“Not the sort of thing the Doctor would do, though. TARDIS vandalism.”

“It’s the Donna in him. She’s lost a lot of jobs over the years. Revenge by stolen staplers.”

“Revenge,” Jack repeated, thoughtfully. “Somehow, I don’t think Donna’s finished with old John Brown yet.” His eyes turned to the manuscript on his desk, the second most pressing of his dilemmas right now. The Runaway Bride, by Stella Mott.

“Yep,” he agreed. “I need to talk to him about Donna.”

“Why? Is the memory wipe not holding? We didn’t think it would.”

“It’s gone in an unexpected direction,” Jack said, diplomatically. “When he took Donna back home and Sylvia pointed out she was famous now, he told Sylvia to tell Donna it was all a story. Looks like she took him at his word. Donna’s about to sign a contract for a series of young adult fantasy novels. Her agent’s talking about her being the next JK Rowling. Guess what they’re about?”

“Let me think,” said Rose. “A wonderful man in a blue box?”

“Got it in one,” said Jack.


What will it take to show you that it's not the life it seems?
(I'm not okay)
I've told you time and time again you sing the words but don't know what it means
(I'm not okay)

The Doctor was just ripping into a killer riff and wondering whether to jump forward a few years and pick up a copy of Guitar Hero 50 when a familiar voice made him freeze and turn round, his cheeks burning.

“So what else have you got on that playlist of yours? ‘Broken Hallelujah’? Rufus Wainwright or good old Leonard Cohen?” The owner of the voice strolled over to the console, his trench coat brushing the floor. “All to show how okay you are alone again, naturally.”

“Oh, please,” the Doctor groaned. “I draw the line at Gilbert O’Sullivan.”

“Don’t I get a hello?” Jack came forward, opening his arms for a hug. The Doctor stood still, resisting the bait.

“Or at least a ‘WHAAT’?” Jack continued, plaintively.

“All you did was wander in through a portal I should have sealed properly,” said the Doctor with what he hoped was convincing indifference. “It’s not exactly rocket science.”

“You were spoiling the show. They could hear you over the ‘Ride of the Valkyries.’”

“What is this, the ‘Harry Potter’ Prom?”

“ ‘Journeys in Time and Space’,” Jack corrected him. “There was a premiere, ‘The Torino Scale’, earlier on.”

“Really?” The Doctor tried his usual twiddling-with-the-controls technique, feigning indifference. “Good job they didn’t turn that up to 11, eh?”

“Aren’t you going to ask who wrote it?” Jack asked.

“It’s called the Torino Scale, isn’t it? Who d’you think wrote it? He was going to call it the Hiroshima Scale, but I pointed out that wasn’t really in the best of taste. Good thing someone listens to me. Beethoven never did.”

“The piece, I mean?”

The Doctor let out an irritated sigh and turned to make eye contact with Jack, acknowledging the reality of his presence with some regret.

“Since when has classical music been your kind of thing, Jack? Now musical theatre - that I could believe. Been working on a little show myself, as it happens, but I don’t like the ending. Bit downbeat. Think I need to get rid of the rain. Nothing looks as glum once you get rid of the rain. Except Gene Kelly, of course. He’s the only performer who could really handle an umbrella. D’you know how many gallons they used filming that? They should have gone to Manchester and done it on location, but would Stanley Donen listen? Nope.”

He was leaning on the console as usual, one foot tucked up behind his leg in his carefully cultivated pose of casual bonhomie. Trying, if the truth were told, not to remember that Rose used to say it made him look like a dog having a pee.

“You wrote it,” said Jack.

“What? ‘Singin’ in the Rain’? Wish I had, but Arthur Freed deserves the credit for that one. Tell you what, though! I’ve been dabbling in a bit of composition myself. Did you hear it? My symphony?” He folded his arms and basked in the acclaim he was sure would come.

Jack didn’t seem impressed. “Sounded like noise to me. I like a tune you can hum on the way out.”

“Oh, come on! It was brilliant! And a whole orchestra, just sitting there waiting to play it for me! Good old BBC, eh? You can always count on them to give you a lucky break-”

Jack’s expression gave the Doctor the uneasy feeling that he was being humoured. This was unfortunately confirmed by his reply.

“You really do think the universe revolves around you, don’t you?”

The Doctor paused and tugged at his earlobe. “Well, it does. Sort of. That what you came here for, then? To give me a bit of a lecture? Busy man like you? There’s always e-mail, you know.”

Jack sat down on the jump seat. “Yeah, go on. Make yourself at home,” said the Doctor, vaguely waving his arm. “So, how’s the old gang doing? Still getting ready for when it all changes? I suppose you’ve Mickey boy on the team now, have you?”

“You’ve been on your own too much,” Jack observed. “It’s made you more insufferable than ever.”

The Doctor frowned. That wasn’t a subject he wanted to discuss. “Better that way,” he said. “I’ve messed up enough people’s lives. Now everyone’s ended up exactly where they should be. Nobody’s dead, nobody has any regrets.” He looked over the controls at Jack, holding his gaze just long enough to be slightly disconcerting. Then he turned his face downwards again. “And I get to travel. Perfect life.”

“Who fed you that line?” Jack said, his voice betraying an irritated edge. “Davros? He destroyed your people and your planet, yet you still listen to him?”

A darkness seemed to have crept between them. “I’m the one they call destroyer of worlds, Jack.”

“Mad, bad and dangerous to know. So you sent her away to keep her safe.”

That crossed a line. “Leave Rose out of this. That’s over and done with now. I did everything in my power to make her happy.”

“I know,” said Jack, quietly. “Except you didn’t ask her first.”

“I didn’t need to ask her. She wanted me, and that was exactly what she got. A Doctor that’ll age alongside her, who’ll be a real partner for her, not some…some kind of…”

His voice trailed away. A moment later, he looked up again. “Why did you come here, Jack?”

Jack leaned forward and spread his hands out on his knees. “You broke them apart. The Doctor/Donna. The one chance you had to get things right, and you split it down the middle, one half in each universe, so you could walk away from Rose with a clear conscience.”

When the Doctor spoke again, his voice was dangerously quiet and edged with determined menace. “Jack, if you’ve said a word of this to Donna you are going to regret it. That was my problem, and I was the only one who knew how to solve it. I don’t want any moralising. I didn’t like doing what I had to do. And I did it for one reason, the only one that matters – to save her life.”

“Nice of you to trust me,” Jack said, bitterly. “Or did you conveniently forget that I’ve some personal experience of this kind of thing?”

“You’ve Retconned enough people yourself. Left them with families who’ll have to lie to them for the rest of their days. Bit late to take the moral high ground now, don’t you think?”

“Why did you do it, anyway?” Jack asked.

“Time Lord consciousness in a human body. It was burning her up. Would you rather I’d stood there and let her go insane before my eyes? There’s never been a successful human/Time Lord biological metacrisis, because…”

“…there can’t be,” Jack finished off, mechanically. “Didn’t stop you leaving Rose with one, though.”

In the silence that followed, it was almost possible to hear the music of the spheres. The Doctor walked over to his music stand, a little embarrassed by such affectation, and began to collect together the scattered pages of script. He arranged them in a little pile, tapping them together to make a neat edge.

“That was different,” he said at last. “That was me.”

“Heard anything from them since?” Jack asked.

“Course not. You know it’s impossible.”

“Is it?”

The Doctor swung sharply to look at him, knocking against the music stand in the process. He caught it just in time.

 “Have you?” he forced himself to ask.

Jack nodded. “They need you,” he said simply. “Wanna know why?”

“What do you think?” he replied, looking very intently beyond Jack at the damaged strut, which hadn’t regrown in exactly the same direction. He’d never understood that – it was almost as if the TARDIS didn’t want him to forget.

“He’s dying,” said Jack. “He’s on his third artificial heart in less than five years and it’s failing. He’s on life support. She’s going to lose him all over again.”

Withering and dying. His greatest fear. Imagine that happening to someone you…

“I’m sorry,” he said. The words had never sounded more inadequate.

“Then help them,” Jack said. “He still has his mind. That’s what’s killing him – his body can’t keep up with it. Nobody offered to take away his memories.”

“I couldn’t,” he protested. “That’s what makes him me. And she deserves…”

“Did you know this would happen?” asked Jack.

He shook his head, briefly closing his eyes. “I didn’t know. I mean, I don’t know. I don’t know if I knew. It all happened so quickly. The whole event…it’s a phenomenon in time and space. First the anomalous regeneration, then the shared consciousness. If I’d had more time…”

“You did have time,” Jack pointed out. “You were scared. Admit it.”

He scrubbed at his hair, pulling it down onto his forehead. “She shouldn’t have come back,” he said. “And that’s what I couldn’t tell her. Oh, I meant to. Then I saw her and all I could think about was running, just being in  – I mean, with her again. I was selfish – I let her believe I still cared.”

“How many times in your life have you run straight into a Dalek’s line of fire?” Jack asked. “That’s a funny thing to do for someone you don’t care about any more.”

“Stop it, Jack. What happened, happened. She’ll get over it.”

“Will she?”

“She’ll have to,” he protested, finding it hard to control his voice.

“What happens when you split a metabiological symbiosis?” Jack asked. “Because that’s what we’re dealing with here. The Doctor/Donna. He’s not complete without her. Doesn’t stop him loving Rose, or Rose loving him, but love’s not enough to keep him alive.”

“We can’t involve Donna,” said the Doctor urgently. “She mustn’t have those memories unlocked. I won’t allow it.” He glared at Jack. “Do you understand?”

“I think it’s too late for that,” said Jack.

“What?” A chill crept over him.

“I’ve said nothing to Donna,” said Jack. “Nothing that would have made a difference. She went on trying to make something of her life, never quite finding where she fitted in, until one day she came home and said she’d quit another job, and that mother of hers lost her temper and said she’d got to forget about that Doctor and settle down. Next day, Sylvia was on the phone to me in hysterics. Donna had gone up to her room and wouldn’t come out. I dropped everything and went over with Martha. Broke the door down and found her five chapters into this.”

He pulled a sheaf of paper from his pocket and laid it down on the controls. The Doctor forced himself to glance at the title page, and a chill went through him.

“I never knew she could be so…creative,” the Doctor said weakly.

“She’s already written two sequels,” Jack continued. “‘Partners in Crime’ and ‘The Fires of Pompeii.’”

The Doctor began to pace the floor, his hand hovering around his forehead. “Oh dear, this is not good. This really does set new records of not-goodness. Are you sure it’s all her own work? Maybe Wilf said something?”

Jack shook his head. “She says it’s as if someone’s writing it through her – it’s just all there in her mind. The TARDIS, the Racnoss, the man who needed someone to make him stop. She’s got no idea where it’s coming from, but when she’s writing it, that’s the only time she really feels alive. She’s been to a hypnotist, to try and see if it’s some past life regression thing, but you did a thorough job and he drew a blank.”

“How did you get involved?” asked the Doctor, quietly.

“Just stayed in touch. Martha called the day after you disappeared – she still had the number. Luckily, Wilf picked it up. We gave him our details, told him we were discreet and we’d be there if they ever needed us. One day he showed up with this manuscript and tears rolling down his cheeks. He’d never breathed a word to her. The strain’s nearly killed him.”

“He showed up with this?” The Doctor couldn’t quite bring himself to touch the manuscript. “Why would he do that?”

Jack looked blank. “I think he wanted you to have it. He said she was a different person when she was writing. Better.”

He recalled the second agonising conversation of that eventful evening. Remembered Wilf saying, “She was better when she was with you.” He knew it was true, and it had broken what was left of his hearts.

“Is that all?” he asked.

“Not quite,” said Jack. “Her mother’s pushing her to publish it. And it could happen. It’s really pretty good.”

The thought of Donna writing a string of bestsellers featuring their warts-and-all relationship didn’t appeal to the Doctor at all. But the alternatives would have been worse. “Healthy sublimation,” he said. “Wonderful thing, creativity. The ultimate safety valve. Course, she’ll never be able to publish it. UNIT would put a gag on her, if your lot didn’t get there first.”

“Yeah?” said Jack. “And let her think she’s failed at something else?”

“We can’t be sentimental. It’s too serious for that.”

“Leaving Rose with a version of yourself who could tell her he loves her wasn’t sentimental, then?”

“Do you think that was easy for me?” he demanded. “In some ways it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But I wanted to be sure she didn’t walk away with nothing. Because she saved me, Jack. She made me want to live again. And what could I offer her in return, except danger and…oh, you know. I couldn’t even…I’m a different species. Not gonna happen, Jack. Ever.”

Jack sighed. “Well, she’s got someone who loves her now. That’s why he wrote that piece they played tonight. It unlocked a harmonic code that triangulated the TARDIS and brought me right here. Like I said, his body’s failing but he still has that Time Lord brain. Two Time Lords. Nobody says they can’t be the same one. It’s enough to get you over there.”

“But there’s nothing I could do!” he cried.

“You could tell Donna the truth about herself. Then ask her what she wants to do. Get the two of them back together and he might have a chance. I don’t know the way these things work – you’re the expert. Maybe they’ll merge somehow into a single consciousness.”

“It’s possible,” he agreed, his mind spinning with the possibilities that raised. Not all of them desirable. If Donna became dominant, Rose would lose him all over again, and then…

All he’d been able to think about that day on the beach was how desperately he needed to get away from the pain of seeing Rose with the man who was so like him – the conflict between longing for her happiness and quietly relishing their hesitant, stilted manner with one another. He hadn’t been watching as he’d rushed away, yet somehow he’d known that Rose had pulled away from his other self’s hand and run towards the dematerializing TARDIS, pain and bewilderment in her eyes. He couldn’t bear to look; one moment of weakness and he would have become Orpheus, lost his resolve and destroyed everything.

He knew Rose would have given everything to her new life, the man he’d left behind for her to fix, with cowardly, evasive words that had applied more closely to himself. Yes, they were the same, but the Doctor he left on the beach hadn’t been broken by Davros, shown the rank hypocrisy of all his futile attempts to atone for his own past. He hadn’t been taught self-loathing. Rose was better off with him.

And hadn’t everything that had happened since confirmed his secret fears? Look at this mess – Donna’s mindwipe failing, Rose left with a man who wouldn’t live for even half her human lifespan… Everything he touched turned to dust; when he’d wittered on to those children about the music of the spheres he’d been a hollow shell, an idiot laughing at the darkness.

Jack’s eyes returned to the sheaf of paper on the controls. “Aren’t you going to even look at it?” he asked.

The Doctor shook his head. “Evesdroppers never hear any good of themselves, Jack. You know that.”

Jack picked up the bundle and turned a page. “Not even the dedication? Listen to this. “To the Doctor. Because every night... when it gets dark... and the stars come out... I look up at the sky and think of you.”

It hurt, to hear those words. It physically hurt – taking him straight back to that night, the rain soaking through his thin jacket, the rough benediction of Wilf’s comforting words after Sylvia had virtually thrown him out, and the bone-deep weariness that had washed over him back in the TARDIS as he’d resolved that never again would he seek out a travelling companion.

He struggled to find words to reply. It felt as if he’d been anaesthetized for the past two years from everything that night had brought, and suddenly it had all worn off.

“Cup of tea?” Jack offered gently, seeing the emotions play across his face.

He nodded feebly and Jack left the control room. For a couple of long moments the Doctor stood motionless, staring at the unexploded grenade of Donna’s manuscript, white and stark against the green and amber jumble of controls.

At last he picked it up, turned the page with trembling fingers, and began to read.



( 37 comments — Leave a comment )
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Aug. 1st, 2008 01:25 pm (UTC)
Wow. That was so funny and so heartbreaking at the same time. Totally unique, too. I love it. :D
Aug. 2nd, 2008 01:12 pm (UTC)
I love the idea of being unique. And that icon is fun!
Aug. 1st, 2008 01:46 pm (UTC)
Fabulous! Im glad you are still writing!I love the way you have merged JE and MOTS. Jacks interaction is fantastic, giving him a kick up the backside he deserves. Donna's dedication brought tears to my eyes.

I hope Rose's Doctor can be fixed! Good to hear from you!

Aug. 2nd, 2008 01:12 pm (UTC)
I do seem to get inspired by these little vignettes, don't I? And you can generally count on Jack to tell it like it is. I really like him in this one.
Aug. 1st, 2008 02:05 pm (UTC)
This is just wonderful. I love it.
Aug. 2nd, 2008 01:11 pm (UTC)
Thank you so much!
Aug. 1st, 2008 03:38 pm (UTC)
Geez. I love this... love love love. This is possibly the darkest and most fantastic fix-it I could possibly imagine!
Aug. 2nd, 2008 01:10 pm (UTC)
Oh wow - dark and fantastic. That makes it sound quite awsome. Thank you!
(no subject) - thunderemerald - Aug. 2nd, 2008 03:25 pm (UTC) - Expand
Aug. 1st, 2008 04:14 pm (UTC)

Thanks for sharing and I'll be looking forward to future chapters!
Aug. 2nd, 2008 01:10 pm (UTC)
Aww, thanks!
Aug. 1st, 2008 05:02 pm (UTC)
Really interesting! I'll be following this one with great anticipation.
Aug. 2nd, 2008 01:09 pm (UTC)
Thank you. From a writer of your standing that is praise indeed.
Aug. 1st, 2008 05:03 pm (UTC)
I love you. Seriously. Doctor Who and MCR. Perfect. *Wipes tear from eye* Actually, the funny thing is I was listening to I'm Not Okay while reading this...haha....although I thought that The Doctor might be more of a The Ghost Of You kind of guy......sorry....I love MCR... =D

Brilliant and am SO looking forward to more!
Aug. 2nd, 2008 01:09 pm (UTC)
Thank you. Not OK suddenly came up on my iPod and I just went with it, but I'm sure there are many other emo anthems that would do equally well.
Aug. 1st, 2008 05:58 pm (UTC)
This is so so great. I love Ten II stealing a bit of the TARDIS because of the Donna in him. "Revenge by stolen staplers.” I can't wait for more!
Aug. 2nd, 2008 01:08 pm (UTC)
That, I must confess, wasn't my own idea, but I really love it.
Aug. 1st, 2008 08:53 pm (UTC)
You're writing again! I'm so pleased :)))

And this, like all of your work in the last year, is so ingenious. Brilliantly imaginative (using tMoS!), so in character, and definitely designed to give the Doctor a kick where he most needs it. This made me laugh:

“Don’t I get a hello?” Jack came forward, opening his arms for a hug. The Doctor stood still, resisting the bait.

“Or at least a ‘WHAAT’?” Jack continued, plaintively.

But the rest... oh, Rose! And the Duplicate Doctor! They don't deserve that, and I hope you can find a way to fix him and Donna both. Jack's right: if the Doctor had only asked, he had both Jack and the other him there to help with a solution for Donna, and he should have sat down with Rose and the duplicate Doctor to sort them out as well. But, no, as ever he makes decisions for everyone.

I'm really looking forward to more of this!
Aug. 2nd, 2008 01:07 pm (UTC)
You're right, they don't deserve it and I'll be doing something about that. Quite what, I'm not quite sure!
Aug. 1st, 2008 11:21 pm (UTC)
Oh, this is brilliant. I do so love how to turn things on their ear and examine the deeper issues of these characters. Especially of the Doctor. And poor Rose and Ten 2.0! I do hope that there'll be a way to fix Donna and Ten 2.0 and I look forward to your next installment!
Aug. 2nd, 2008 01:06 pm (UTC)
Glad you're liking it so far. Lots of deeper issues to go into, of course.
Aug. 1st, 2008 11:33 pm (UTC)
PLEASE tell me you're going to continue this. This addresses so many problems I have with JE. I love that Jack is involved and I think he's got a right to be involved, considering. Donna's dedication made me tear up and I feel for Rose. She's losing the Doctor all over again!

I want to see how the Doctor fixes this, and if reuniting Doctor/Donna means one indeed becomes more dominant over the other. Will it affect the Doctor in any way? I guess that could mean that the Doctor gets his chance with Rose, if he can reconcile himself to what he's done.

So wonderful. Thank you.
Aug. 2nd, 2008 01:06 pm (UTC)
Yes, I will be continuing it, though I don't know exactly where it's going to go. Glad you are enjoying the ride.
Aug. 2nd, 2008 06:43 pm (UTC)
Oooh. This is something that's been bothering me since I saw JE - why was poor, widdle, human Donna/Doctor unable to survive the metacrisis, but SUPERIOR-timelordy-Doctor/Donna-in-a-poor-widdle-human-body able to handle it just fine and live happily ever after in AU-land (as they'd like us to surmise from the end of the episode)??? :) I love your take on this!!
Aug. 7th, 2008 06:57 am (UTC)
Sorry not to reply earlier. I've been to Stratford - lucky me. I actually picked up this idea from the Clone Doctor LJ but once I'd heard it I found it impossible to resist. I'm not quite sure where it'll take me yet.
Aug. 2nd, 2008 11:50 pm (UTC)
Loves this fic!!!
Aug. 7th, 2008 06:58 am (UTC)
Thank you - sorry not to reply sooner, but I've been away watching Hamlet.
(no subject) - caterwolime - Aug. 7th, 2008 06:31 pm (UTC) - Expand
Aug. 3rd, 2008 09:24 am (UTC)
Wowza! It's a bit crack, but quite dark. Either way, it's brilliant! The Doctor playing air guitar alone sent me into paroxysms of giggles. Jack was great as the voice of conscience and necessity that the Doctor didn't want to hear.

Also, thanks for the link to that little special! I hadn't seen or even heard of that (having been on highly restricted internet to avoid JE spoilers), and it was quite amusing in a cheesy way.
Aug. 7th, 2008 06:59 am (UTC)
The special was fun, wasn't it, and nice to see him looking more light-hearted. And I've always seen Ten as the emo, air-guitar type.
Aug. 5th, 2008 10:40 am (UTC)
Oh, I love this :) What a great idea!
Aug. 7th, 2008 07:00 am (UTC)
Thank you. It's not entirely my own, but that's half the fun of this kind of thing - seeing what you can do with other, fascinating scenarios.
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