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Title: Stitches in time 1.0 - Sophus.
Disclamer:I have no rights whatsoever on anything Joss & co came up with first or Russel T Davies & co either
PROLOGUE
The T.A.R.D.I.S rocked violently as yet another wave of force hit it, sending Rose scrambling to regain her balance against one of the supports that stretched to the roof of the alien craft.
“What the hell is that?” She asked, shouting to be heard above the suddenly amplified noise of the ships engines.
“Not sure,” the Doctor said as he danced frantically around the central control console, “seems to be some kind of disturbance in the vortex itself.”
“And what does that mean, exactly.”
The T.A.R.D.I.S quietened, the noise of its overworked engines diminishing even as it’s violent lurching ceased.
“Got it! He said triumphantly “That should sort give us more stability. Now let’s see what’s going on.” He pushed buttons and flipped switches with a preoccupied air, glancing as he did at the stranger hieroglyphs that appeared on a small screen. “that’s impossible!” He exclaimed eventually.
“What is?” Rose asked her exasperation showing.
“A timeline’s been altered, an important one; in fact, maybe THE important one.”
Rose walked up beside the Doctor and looked up into his ancient eyes. “Can we do something about it?”
“We can try.” The Doctor replied pursing his lips. “We can certainly try.” Then he turned back to the controls, a whirlwind of restless energy “Hold on to your hat Rose Tyler we’re off to save the world... Again. Alons-y!”
_____
Rupert ‘Ripper’ Giles warily opened one eye and almost immediately wished he hadn’t. The morning sun was dancing merrily through the crack between the curtains, sparkling and shining in a way that seemed wholly unreasonable. He groaned softly, turning away from the harsh glare and attempted to take refuge in the warm folds of the bed sheets and the sparse comfort of the thin lumpy pillows.
It had been a good night alright, a heady mix of booze, birds and drugs to kick things off, an even headier mix of the forbidden magicks to round out the night and seep exquisitely into the early hours of the morning. Yeah, a very good night, at least the bits he could remember, but it would be nothing compared to what was to come.
The thought was brief but delicious, the promise of hedonistic pleasures too quickly balanced by the inconvenient pain of the morning’s hangover. He rolled back over and exhaled heavily, peering blurrily at the ceiling, trying to stop it spinning in such a nauseating way. His head pounded with pain and his whole body complained of misuse. His parched mouth felt like something had crawled in there and died during his few brief hours of sleep.
He frowned up at the swaying ceiling a nagging thought finally breaking into his foggy brain. It had been a brief sleep, in fact, too brief. The sun was far too early into its travels for it to be time for him to wake, especially after a night like that. He hadn’t roused naturally either; something else had woken him, some external influence. The thought hit him like an icy shower, shaking him from his self indulgent fugue. He strained his senses trying to concentrate in an effort to cut through the haze in his brain, to reach out and find what had caused him to stir so unnaturally early.
There! There it was; faint but discernible. It was the sound of hushed voices, and they were coming from somewhere inside the flat. He rose, a little unsteadily and threw on last night’s pants and a stained, discarded tee-shirt, his whole body complaining at the unwelcome exercise. Pausing to pick up the golf club he kept by the side of the bed for protection he opened the door and quiet as a mouse he crept on bare feet towards the muted sounds.
The voices seemed to be coming from the direction of the kitchen and as Giles crept closer he also became aware of delicious, alluring aroma’s that drifted from the same direction. He inched forward, taking care not to make a sound, the golf club held out in front of him in readiness. The flat wasn’t huge by any means, and the kitchen door stood only a few feet in front of him, slightly ajar. He crept ever nearer, the voices coming to him now much more distinctly, one male the other distinctly female. On he edged, each foot placed lightly in front of him with slow careful precision. Finally, after what seemed like an age he reached the door and gave it a slow push cringing as it responded with a loud creak.
A man stood at the stove a spatula in his hand and a pan spitting and popping merrily in front of him. He had turned at the sound of the doors neglected hinges and was looking right at Giles.
“Hallo lazybones,” He said with a sudden bright grin “thought you were never gonna surface. Now how do you like your bacon?”
Giles could only stare at this strange apparition, totally bemusement adding to his already delicate state.
“Cat got your tongue has it?” the man asked in that same cheery fashion “well never mind, I’ve got you down as a crispy man” he poked at the bacon with the spatula a worried look drifting across his face “which is a bit lucky really. He turned and addressed someone over his shoulder “Rose why don’t you make old Ripper here a bit more comfortable and pour him some of that coffee; looks like he could use some”
A young woman probably a couple of years younger than himself appeared from behind the door with a large pot of coffee. “Shall we?” she said, pushing past him and back out to the hallway.
That was it for Giles “Who the hell are you people?” he yelled “And what give you the right to break in to my home and...”
“Make you breakfast?” the man finished, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t worry we’re not here to hurt you” He fished the crisp and slightly burnt bacon out of the pan and placed it on the buttered bread waiting on three plates “I’m the Doctor and that” he indicated the departing girl, with the greasy spatula “is Rose, as you’ve probably already gathered. As for why we’re here well, we just want a little chat really.”
Disclamer:I have no rights whatsoever on anything Joss & co came up with first or Russel T Davies & co either
PROLOGUE
The T.A.R.D.I.S rocked violently as yet another wave of force hit it, sending Rose scrambling to regain her balance against one of the supports that stretched to the roof of the alien craft.
“What the hell is that?” She asked, shouting to be heard above the suddenly amplified noise of the ships engines.
“Not sure,” the Doctor said as he danced frantically around the central control console, “seems to be some kind of disturbance in the vortex itself.”
“And what does that mean, exactly.”
The T.A.R.D.I.S quietened, the noise of its overworked engines diminishing even as it’s violent lurching ceased.
“Got it! He said triumphantly “That should sort give us more stability. Now let’s see what’s going on.” He pushed buttons and flipped switches with a preoccupied air, glancing as he did at the stranger hieroglyphs that appeared on a small screen. “that’s impossible!” He exclaimed eventually.
“What is?” Rose asked her exasperation showing.
“A timeline’s been altered, an important one; in fact, maybe THE important one.”
Rose walked up beside the Doctor and looked up into his ancient eyes. “Can we do something about it?”
“We can try.” The Doctor replied pursing his lips. “We can certainly try.” Then he turned back to the controls, a whirlwind of restless energy “Hold on to your hat Rose Tyler we’re off to save the world... Again. Alons-y!”
_____
Rupert ‘Ripper’ Giles warily opened one eye and almost immediately wished he hadn’t. The morning sun was dancing merrily through the crack between the curtains, sparkling and shining in a way that seemed wholly unreasonable. He groaned softly, turning away from the harsh glare and attempted to take refuge in the warm folds of the bed sheets and the sparse comfort of the thin lumpy pillows.
It had been a good night alright, a heady mix of booze, birds and drugs to kick things off, an even headier mix of the forbidden magicks to round out the night and seep exquisitely into the early hours of the morning. Yeah, a very good night, at least the bits he could remember, but it would be nothing compared to what was to come.
The thought was brief but delicious, the promise of hedonistic pleasures too quickly balanced by the inconvenient pain of the morning’s hangover. He rolled back over and exhaled heavily, peering blurrily at the ceiling, trying to stop it spinning in such a nauseating way. His head pounded with pain and his whole body complained of misuse. His parched mouth felt like something had crawled in there and died during his few brief hours of sleep.
He frowned up at the swaying ceiling a nagging thought finally breaking into his foggy brain. It had been a brief sleep, in fact, too brief. The sun was far too early into its travels for it to be time for him to wake, especially after a night like that. He hadn’t roused naturally either; something else had woken him, some external influence. The thought hit him like an icy shower, shaking him from his self indulgent fugue. He strained his senses trying to concentrate in an effort to cut through the haze in his brain, to reach out and find what had caused him to stir so unnaturally early.
There! There it was; faint but discernible. It was the sound of hushed voices, and they were coming from somewhere inside the flat. He rose, a little unsteadily and threw on last night’s pants and a stained, discarded tee-shirt, his whole body complaining at the unwelcome exercise. Pausing to pick up the golf club he kept by the side of the bed for protection he opened the door and quiet as a mouse he crept on bare feet towards the muted sounds.
The voices seemed to be coming from the direction of the kitchen and as Giles crept closer he also became aware of delicious, alluring aroma’s that drifted from the same direction. He inched forward, taking care not to make a sound, the golf club held out in front of him in readiness. The flat wasn’t huge by any means, and the kitchen door stood only a few feet in front of him, slightly ajar. He crept ever nearer, the voices coming to him now much more distinctly, one male the other distinctly female. On he edged, each foot placed lightly in front of him with slow careful precision. Finally, after what seemed like an age he reached the door and gave it a slow push cringing as it responded with a loud creak.
A man stood at the stove a spatula in his hand and a pan spitting and popping merrily in front of him. He had turned at the sound of the doors neglected hinges and was looking right at Giles.
“Hallo lazybones,” He said with a sudden bright grin “thought you were never gonna surface. Now how do you like your bacon?”
Giles could only stare at this strange apparition, totally bemusement adding to his already delicate state.
“Cat got your tongue has it?” the man asked in that same cheery fashion “well never mind, I’ve got you down as a crispy man” he poked at the bacon with the spatula a worried look drifting across his face “which is a bit lucky really. He turned and addressed someone over his shoulder “Rose why don’t you make old Ripper here a bit more comfortable and pour him some of that coffee; looks like he could use some”
A young woman probably a couple of years younger than himself appeared from behind the door with a large pot of coffee. “Shall we?” she said, pushing past him and back out to the hallway.
That was it for Giles “Who the hell are you people?” he yelled “And what give you the right to break in to my home and...”
“Make you breakfast?” the man finished, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t worry we’re not here to hurt you” He fished the crisp and slightly burnt bacon out of the pan and placed it on the buttered bread waiting on three plates “I’m the Doctor and that” he indicated the departing girl, with the greasy spatula “is Rose, as you’ve probably already gathered. As for why we’re here well, we just want a little chat really.”
_____
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