I’ve been trying to overcome a sudden bout of writer’s block in preparation for the upcoming event, and while I fear I may be unable to participate as much as I would’ve hoped – if at all – I did manage to write something, for all the good that’s worth, haha
It’s an excerpt from a story I’m unlikely to finish any time soon, but, for context, is a scene taken from what I’d like to be a reworked version of ‘Wild Blue Yonder’ with a different Doctor and companion; rather than the Fourteenth Doctor and Donna, this version features the Fifth Doctor and Turlough on their solo travels together, with the story sporting the name name ‘Beyond the Edge of Everything’:
Extract:
‘We see into your souls,’ the Not-Doctor began. ‘All blood and sweat and… Fear.’ The word hung in the air unchallenged save for the tension in the Doctor’s jaw and in Turlough’s shoulders. ‘We see your thoughts. We know what you know. And you know what must be done.’
‘You fear us,’ said Not-Turlough plainly. ‘You want us… Strange. The concept is strange. A new word.’ There was another pause as the false figure weighed the syllable on its fabricated tongue. Then, like a sharp release of breath, it continued, ‘Dead. You want us dead. But we see deeper. Past your masks, past your outer selves, past the breakable skin and sinew. We see into your souls.’
‘And you found your way out?’ the Doctor retorted, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets and leaning forwards. ‘You’re to be congratulated. Bigger minds than you have tried, though there’s only room for one in here.’
‘Or five,’ added Turlough. Vague fragments of the incident in the Death Zone resurfaced but were quickly dispelled as he scanned the three figures around him. ‘Don’t underestimate them, Doctor,’ he said.
The Doctor simply sighed, ‘Yes, Turlough. I wasn’t planning on that.’
‘Your plans mean nothing, little man,’ the Not-Doctor said. There was relish in the words but its familiar expression was flat and neutral, devoid of any feeling whatsoever. ‘We know you will not – cannot – kill us. You are…’ It sifted through the vast mind it had copied, scouring for the right word. ‘A coward.’
‘Coward is just the word,’ quipped the Doctor. His steely eyes betrayed his attempt at levity, and he knew the mimics would be unconvinced. But there was a small voice in the back of his mind, too small and subtle for even the Doctor himself to hear clearly, that whispered something to him. The Not-Things were unshaken, but the Doctor was terrified—his performance was for nobody’s benefit but his own. ‘A coward, yes,’ he continued. ‘Running fast, running quick, and running to what matters: people.’
But the Doctor knew the three pairs of eyes bearing down on him could see through that deception just as easily as their gazes bore into his hearts.
For the first time since it stole his face, the Not-Doctor grinned. ‘You’re no killer.’
‘And that won’t change,’ said Not-Turlough. ‘Nothing changes for you. Or is it that you don’t want things to change? Running and running without stopping in an endless chase.’
‘Like I said,’ the Doctor interjected, his mouth drier than he expected, ‘I’m running to what matters.’
‘But what are you running from?’ The mimic’s fiery hair dimmed as a spark flickered through its hollow eyes. ‘There’s a name. There are many names, but one above the rest. A fresher corpse. A star…’
The Doctor felt his throat itch. ‘Don’t.’ Even a single syllable took considerable force to utter; as the weak protest met his own ears, the Doctor was suddenly old and young all at once, weary with the weight of centuries and, at the same time, meek as though he had never grown up. ‘Please…’
'Adric.’
I’ll try not to make it a habit of sharing every little drabble I come up with. But, for what it’s worth, I was rather pleased with how this one turned out, even if the full story may never come to pass! 