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FIC: Flipped, Book 1 (2/8)

Ugh, I really needed to be in bed by now, but I kept finding little things to edit. So... here it is, a little later than I planned. And for some reason, some of the text might be a different size. I don't think I copied from one of the emails with my betas, but... *sighs*

Title: Flipped, Book 1
Rating: heavy T, for author's paranoia and uncertainty about rating rules
Author: tkel_paris
Summary: The Ninth Doctor saves two people at Henrick's. One is Rose Tyler. The other is a man who will change the Doctor's life forever. Written for tardis_mole's birthday.
Required Disclaimer: The summary should be enough to tell you I own nothing.
Dedications: My good friend tardis_mole, for helping me discover my talent at editing and for being an inspiration. You've challenged me to go beyond what I previously thought I would like, and so this is the farthest I've gone from my comfort zone so far. Who knows where I'll go next? ;D

And another important shout-out: sykira, whose LJ post about John Barrowman's comments about how Doctor Who could eventually go was the ultimate spark for this idea. Thank you, you treasure! :D

So I suppose that means the ultimate blame for this lies with the Barrowman. I can only imagine what he would think, although I suspect he would heartily approve. :P

Author's Note: Originally spawned from a different idea that split into three, this is a new version of one of those ideas revived as a birthday present. And it's spawned a significantly AU version for what I hope will be a Christmas present. If my NaNo story doesn't sap my writing energy for the rest of the month.

The original prompt from TM boiled down to this: “The Doctor and Donna in a situation that's never been done before.” Ask and ye shall receive, my friend. :D Happy birthday! :DDD

Oh, this chapter took some inspiration from the audio adventure "The Forever Trap". If you've ever listened to it, you'll spot where my Muse was inspired. :)

Special, Critical Disclaimer: I refuse to be held responsible for any $2000/2000 lattes, spit-takes, fainting spells, workplace/school gaffes, falling against/from things, or any other distracted spazzing off that might happen if you're not careful while reading this story. Especially in certain chapters. Read at your own risk. (I put this in because I was warned by one of my betas, cassikat, that my emails should come with a spit-take warning. So I'm looking out for y'all. ;D)

And an add-on disclaimer: This is not a Real Person Fic. It would've been plainly tagged and labeled as such, but that is something I will not touch. Ever.

FYI (mostly for American readers): At the time this story starts, March 2004, the age of consent in Britain was apparently sixteen. That's been since changed to eighteen everywhere because of medical information on unintentional sexual injuries. And there are multiple opinions on what happened between Rose Tyler and Jimmy Stone, the person she left school because of. Here I decided to go with cassikat's idea, which you'll see in chapter 3. :)

Chapter 1


The telly would be all about the explosion, so it remained off inside the house. The washing machine ran in another room. In the living room, the messenger bag sat on the sofa with the plastic arm still stuck inside.

David stepped out of his bedroom, freshly showered, hair still wet, and in regular clothes: jeans and a geeky t-shirt with strings of ones and zeros on it. You either had to understand binary or be informed to know that the number sets stood for 'You are stupid'. Given what he'd dealt with before coming home and how badly it fried his usually high patience, it seemed fitting – even without an audience to appreciate it. Hell, he usually wore these shirts for his own pleasure – not for anyone else's. Unless it was a geek meeting of some sort, and then it was almost a challenge for who had the best t-shirt.

He grabbed a pair of thick dark-rimmed glasses off the counter and put them on. So few noticed upon meeting him that he wore contacts. Being near-sighted was a right pain in the neck, and he wasn't yet willing to undergo the lasik treatment to fix it. Sometimes he preferred glasses, and they gave him an air of authority that he was willing to use if need be. He preferred these glasses to the thin gold-rimmed ones his mother insisted he wear for dates and professional occasions – he was a geek and he was fine with that, thank you very much.

He paused to ruffled the fur of his Red Setter, who was resting from an earlier run with his friends. The only way he'd been able to get her was proving that he could arrange for the needs of a big dog. He was grateful he'd secured a house with a yard – he wouldn't have been able to adopt her, and they had practically bonded from the day he met her. “Long day, Curie, long day.”

The dog watched him, eyeing her master's down mood. She followed him downstairs to the kitchen.

He pressed his mobile to speaker and dialled voice-mail. He opened a can of food for Madame Curie as the machine informed him that he had no new messages. He cut it off, exhaling in relief. “Fewer things to deal with.” After barely escaping from Henrick's and having to drive a flirty teen home, he was not ready to deal with any nagging from his mum.

Soon enough, Curie – as he usually called her, unless she was in a snit and then it was just Madame – was happily munching away at her meal while David made quick work of the sandwich he prepared. He glanced around at the few photos out: the day his first patent had been accepted, him with his parents and grandparents at university graduation, sitting on his granddad's knee up the hill as a little boy, working with his dad on random little inventions in the family shed, and the first science competition he won – at age four. Good memories, and yet tonight he found them not so comforting.

When he finished his meal, he paused with his napkin in hand. “You're lucky,” he commented with a smile at the dog. “Nothing ever makes you feel you need to rush eating or anything.”

The dog continued eating, like she hadn't heard him.

“No insane expectations of you, your meals are brought to you, and you don't have to worry about the needs you can't take care of because you have me.” He sighed, wiping his mouth. “You'd never want to trade places with me.”

Curie looked up at him, looking like her eyes had narrowed. She stared at him for a long moment before going back to her meal.

David laughed. Her responsive nature had been part of why he got her. “Yeah.” He picked up the plate and put it in the dishwasher. Closing it, he paused. “But while we both have to deal with family trying to decide our lives, I have the choice to say no, even if the consequences are unpleasant,” he muttered softly, remembering lunch today.

Come on!” Sylvia Noble insisted, shaking her head at her son. “Just one lunch. That's all I'm asking. Is that too much to expect of you?”

They were at a cosy restaurant near the hospital where she worked. It was a nice time for all five of them to get together: David, his parents, and his mother's parents. The cheerful mood had evaporated in David's mind as soon as she brought up this new idea. “Mum, not another one, please.” He dropped his head in his hands.

She frowned darkly. “David Andrew Noble, you'll be 33 years old next month. You're more than mature enough to be married and have a family. And you have the money for both – you wouldn't have a house big enough to start one without it. Why are you so picky?”

He exhaled sharply and propped his head with his hands. “In school, I was considered too geeky to catch any girl's eye. Remember? Most now only look at me because I'm successful. The ones who've seen me for me, I haven't yet found one whose goals fit mine. I can't name one girlfriend who came close to a match for me.” Well, he could, but he wasn't going to bring up Nerys right now. Not given that her choices were still a sore topic for her family.

You're too picky, making too many assumptions. That's the problem with your generation. You place all sorts of expectations on your partner – realistic or not – and are surprised when they're not met.”

Sylvia,” her mother, Eileen, chided. “He is a unique person, and needs a special girl. He'll find her, I know it.”

He sighed, grateful for his granny’s intervention. He'd avoided another blind date, and none of the previous ones had gone well. It was aggravating how much his mother's nagging about his future was getting worse.

Not that he was a disappointment. No, she boasted about him every chance she had. It was now the concern that all parents seemed to have, he'd noticed: seeing their children settle down and have a family.

And he would. If he could find the right woman. Never mind that he had his own ideas about what she would look like if he could have his way...

“God, I need a distraction!” he snapped.

Curie looked up from her meal, tilting her head at him – all unseen.

He strolled into the living room, and stopped when he saw the bag with the arm still in it. He'd forgotten about that!

Suddenly, the words of his granddad from earlier that day came back to him:

My boy, your best trait is your curiosity,” Wilfred Mott said when his daughter and her husband had already departed. “Never stop looking for knowledge, never stop asking questions. I'll bet that'll be the way for you.”

He raised an eyebrow. Here was a distraction.

Soon he was in his study, placing the arm on his work table, which had all sorts of dents and discolourations from years of experiments and projects. The arm was motionless. How, he wondered, could it have possibly been part of something that could move on its own? What could the properties of living plastic be?

He turned his computer on, the big one he couldn't take with him anywhere. He typed several different prompts in the search engine, thinking carefully about each one, but nothing seemed to suggest that plastic could become alive. Several rounds of poking and prodding and zapping with the tools on hand told him nothing. Even cutting into it with a knife produced nothing but plastic – very tough plastic, but mere plastic nonetheless.

Giving up, he scowled at the arm. “What the hell was going on at Henrick's? And what was that Doctor on that he truly believed plastic can be alive? They had to be robots!” He ran a hand through his hair, bringing it down to rub his neck. “I wonder if he made it out alive,” he added sombrely.

David stood and walked to the door, but stopped. He looked back at the arm. So much was still a mystery. “What if he wasn't completely bonkers?”

The idea of that arm becoming animate, like in Bed-knobs and Broomsticks (the book and the movie – the original version, thank you kindly – were treasured memories from childhood), alarmed him. He remembered that glove trying to strangle Mr. Brown, and had a vision of that arm somehow doing the same to him.

He rushed in, grabbed it and moved it to another table. This was his crafts table, where he put together model items to relax or occasionally drew a bit. He'd added ways of holding items down without getting his hands messy. He grabbed some heavy-duty G clamps he'd saved from some exhibition from his childhood, and used his power screwdriver to hold one end down with some metal screws. Then he placed the arm down, and fastened the other end of the clamp so that the wrist was held in place. He quickly did the same further up the arm. Taking no chances seemed the wise move.

Snorting when he was done, he shook his head. “Named the 'beloved wise noble'. Wish it felt fitting today.”

He turned and shut off the lights, closing the door to remind himself to end this day.

Had Curie not followed him in his before bed preparations, she might've heard the tiny and odd noises coming from that office.

The mobile's alarm went off. David's hand slowly reached out to silence it, and he yawned. Blinking as he felt something on his chest, he realised that he'd fallen asleep reading on the sofa. He'd had the urge to reread Bed-knobs and Broomsticks to relax, and had barely finished before he dozed off – apparently. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes until he heard a small whine by his side. “Okay, Curie, let me go first,” he mumbled. He pushed himself up and went to the loo.

A bit later, he opened his door and led her back inside, carrying the paper with him. He'd thrown on a hooded sweater with a zipper running partway down the front over his clothes since there was a bit of a chill. “You'll get a longer walk later,” he chided her – tossing her a narrow-eyed look through his favourite glasses – as he closed the door behind them. “I need to eat, and I think you do too.”

Curie made a noise that sounded like a dog's version of a snort.

“Oi, don't get cheeky with me!” Her rather responsive nature was part of what appealed to him when they met, why he made the effort to adopt her.

She looked up at him as if to say, And you're surprised?

Soon he was leisurely finishing breakfast while reading the paper. Curie had left hers behind and laid over one of his feet.

He closed the last section and groaned. “Same news, different names.”

Suddenly Curie's head popped up, and she rushed off.

David frowned. “What?! I turned off all the equipment! Is the computer acting up again?”

Then she barked, loud and frantic.

He blinked. “What the hell?” He pushed himself up and walked out of the kitchen.

But he stopped when a noise by the door caught his attention. The cat flap installed by the previous occupant, which he'd closed to keep strays out, was shaking. More to the point, all of the screws were loose – if not already on the floor. His mouth dropped. He couldn't think of anything that could explain that, or the odd noise that sounded familiar. “One moment, Curie,” he called out as he walked to the door. A check of the peep-hole showed no one standing on the other side. Someone wearing what looked like a leather jacket was kneeling instead.

Wait, he recognised that head. He quickly unlocked and opened the door. Sure enough, it was the Doctor! “What the hell are you doing?” he snapped, ignoring – for the moment – Curie's continued barking. “And how are you alive?!”

The Doctor blinked, stunned. So he did what he usually did when stunned: ask questions. “What are you doing here?”

“I asked first. How did you survive, what are you doing here and how the hell did you find me?”

Standing, the Doctor shrugged. “Following a signal. Had no idea I'd find you. This is where you live?”

“Yeah.” David blinked. “And wait a bloody minute, how did you loosen all those screws from the outside?”

The Doctor grinned and held up his pen-device. “This does many things.” He glanced at it, and frowned. “Wonder if I got the wrong signal.”

Curie barked even more frantically.

“Your dog's trying to tell you something,” the Doctor remarked, moving past him into the hall and heading toward the barking.

David groaned, but checked to make sure the Doctor was alone. Seeing no one, he closed the door and rushed after him. He found the Doctor going into the study, and they both froze. Curie was barking at the craft table, where the arm was twitching so violently it made the table shake. His mouth fell open.

“Hmm.” The Doctor eyed the clamps. “I'm impressed those are holding out against that movement.” He ignored the now silent dog, who was staring between him and David in disbelief, and walked right up to the table.

David snapped his mouth shut, trying to recover his voice, but was silenced as he saw that pen-device held against the arm. It made weird high-pitched noises, and Curie instantly curled against him, whimpering in distress.

“Sorry,” said the Doctor, not looking away as he changed the cadence. “Sonic frequencies. Might be a bit much for her.”

But the arm stopped moving, and the fingers twitched for a long moment before going still. David blinked as he rubbed Curie's head – when she slowly rose to sitting – to comfort her. “What the hell is that?!”

“My sonic screwdriver.” The Doctor aimed it at the screws and they moved themselves open. “Don't usually use it for that, but it works.” He freed the arm and tossed it in the air. He looked at Curie. “All done, dog.”

Curie barked at him, looking cross.

Her owner smirked over the Doctor's surprise. “Her name is Madame Curie.”

The Doctor shrugged. “Good name. Are you a scientist?”

David nodded slowly. “Medical inventions.”

“Ah. That explains that business card I see on the other desk. 'Dr. David A. Noble. Medical Inventor. A physician and an inventor. Must keep you busy.'” He nodded. “Good luck, then. And fantastic effort in keeping the arm contained. It might've caused a lot of harm otherwise. Goodbye.”

Eyes wide, David held out a hand. “What?! You're just leaving without an explanation?! I restrained that thing because I wasn't chancing it moving on its own, and you're not going to even bother giving me answers?!”

“Yep.” The Doctor pushed by him, walking out of the home within moments.

Jaw dropping, David stared a moment. Then he rushed for his keys and opened the door. Curie shot out first, and for once he didn't call her back. Instead he closed the door behind him before running.

The Doctor was stunned that Curie caught up to him within moments, creating an odd-looking dance as he tried to get around her. She couldn't stop him from moving forward, but she did slow him down a lot. Was she trying to herd him back to her human?

David ran to join them. “Listen, mate,” he snapped, catching his breath. “I don't know where you learned your manners, but it's rude to leave people without explaining why they were in a life-or-death moment that shouldn't be possible. I studied physics, and what happened just now and last night is impossible according to everything I know.”

“Your information is incomplete.” The Doctor tried to move around them both.

David groaned and slapped him upside the head.

The Doctor whipped to face him. “Oi!”

David raised a finger, almost in the Doctor's face. “Since I went to Henrick's yesterday to help Wilson figure out where to keep constantly charged defibrillators on each floor, I have gone looking for him when he went missing, endured flirting from a teenager who thinks she's the best thing since the discovery of alcohol, been attacked by dummies, shunted aside when I demanded answers, and forced to give said teenager a ride home which she took as a chance to flirt more with me. I spent my night trying to figure out how that plastic can move on its own, lost a lot of sleep to the thought that it could do that again, and just watched you disable it with a tool I've never seen before. I think I've earned an answer from you, you plonker!”

Curie watched, sitting in front of them with her tail still.

A long pause followed. The Doctor weighed David's words, and finally exhaled loudly. He glanced around and pointed at a nearby park. “We'll sit at that bench. Shall we?”

Ah, David thought as he let his lips quirk in triumph, you've figured out that you might have trouble shaking Madame, if not me? Good. He let the Doctor lead.

Moments later, they sat. David – suspecting Curie would need more exercise – had grabbed a loose branch on the way over and caught her attention with it. When she perked up, he tossed it. As she raced after it, he turned to the Doctor. “Why the hell won't you explain things? Has it never occurred to you that leaving questions unanswered makes people more inclined to ask them? And who the hell are you?”

“I told you, I'm the Doctor.”

Figures, David groaned silently, that he only answers the least important question. “Doctor what?”

“Just the Doctor.”

David narrowed his eyes. “The Doctor?”

He grinned and waved with the arm. “Hello.”

“Am I supposed to be impressed by a mere title?”

“Oi! I chose my title well.”

Curie came back, and David tossed the branch in a different direction. “But what's your real name? You must have one.”

The Doctor shifted uncomfortably. He knew there was pain in his eyes as he looked off in the distance. “I haven't used it in ages. I can't use it.”

David blinked, pondering what might be the source of the agony. The last time he saw anything like that, he was learning about post traumatic stress disorder in soldiers coming home from war. Filing that away, he changed the topic. “What are you, a member of some secret police?”

He shrugged. “No, I was just passing through. I'm a long way from home.”

'Home' sounded like somewhere in the north to David's ears. Perhaps York or even Nottingham. That thought made him want to make sheriff jokes, but he refrained. He thought about a few options for questions, and settled on something on another topic altogether. “Did I make a mistake in taking that arm home? Might that send whatever... controlled that after me and anyone who's near me?”

The Doctor shook his head. “It was after me, not you. I suppose I should've kept it in my hands rather than toss it to you, but I needed both hands free.”

David snorted. That wasn't what he remembered. “At least you didn't toss it to the daft bint,” he muttered. Shaking his head, he quickly added, before the Doctor could do more than open his mouth in question, “Then I don't have to worry about another one of those coming after me coz I happened to be there last night?”

“No. The only reason it might have crawled its way back inside had you tossed it was that you met me.”

This time Curie set the branch down and put her paws on it as she sat. A 'done' signal, so David just stroked her fur - even as he glared at the Doctor. “You're acting like the world revolves around you.”

“Sort of, yeah.” The answer was casual, since it was – in a way – the truth.

David laughed out loud. He ignored the Doctor's silent indignation. “Oh my god! I've seen people full of themselves before, but you're the first who's al-but swimming in it!”

The Doctor scowled and looked away.

Getting himself under control, David continued his line of thought. “Okay, so somehow plastic can come alive. Haven't you reported it? There have to be some authorities who can handle it. Who else knows?”

“No one.”

That made him blink. “No one?” he echoed quietly. “Not one person?”

“Well, who else is there? You're a intelligent man. How many people do you know who spend their whole lives eating chips, going to bed and watching the telly?! Ignorant of the human concerns all around them – never mind not knowing that all the time, underneath you, there's a war going on!”

That gave David pause. He pursed his lips, then shook his head. It was making no sense at all. “Start from the beginning. What the hell is behind those mannequins moving on their own? Where're they from and what do they want?”

The Doctor's face couldn't hide the frustration he felt as he evaluated how little he could get away with telling. Obviously it would be more than he wanted, given the intelligence and persistence he was dealing with. “It's called the Nestene Consciousness. Its home-world has been destroyed, so a new one is needed. It projects life into plastic items. For some reason, mannequins are ideal. Fitting when you consider its intent.”

The details made David's mouth go slack. “Wait, you mean an alien is using radio control?”

“Thought control.” The Doctor looked back at David. “They want to overthrow the human race and destroy you.”

David felt chilled to his bones. “That's...”

“Hard to believe? But you're listening.”

“Only because I'm certain that you believe what you're saying.”

“And I'm telling the truth when I say that the more you know, the greater the danger you and those around you are in.” He stood. “That's why you need to keep silent.” He began walking away.

David watched in shock. He looked at Curie. “Who is he? What is he? An alien?” he whispered to her as he pushed himself upright.

The Doctor stopped, paused, and turned around. “Do you know like we were saying? About the Earth revolving?” He walked back toward him.

David's jaw moved in surprise. “You could hear me. What are you, an alien?”

The Doctor took a deep breath as he reached him, weighing the options before committing to an answer. “Yes.”

He couldn't do anything but blink. He'd met an alien who looked human. His granddad would be ecstatic. If he could tell him.

It's like when you were a kid,” the Doctor added, looking at the sky above. “The first time they tell you the world's turning and you just can't quite believe it because everything looks like it's standing still.” He looked right at David, having to tilt his head slightly upward. “I can feel it. The turn of the Earth.” His eyes became distant, looking away at a point on the ground. “The ground beneath our feet is spinning at a thousand miles an hour, and the entire planet is hurtling around the sun at sixty-seven thousand miles an hour, and I can feel it.”

David had been vaguely aware of these details from astronomy sessions with his granddad, but the idea that someone could actually feel it was hard to swallow. He was a bit startled when the Doctor looked back at him and clasped his shoulder. “We're falling through space, you and me. Clinging to the skin of this tiny little world, and if we let go...”

As the Doctor let go of him, their eyes remained locked in a staring contest – one trying to persuade and the other struggling to piece the puzzle together. “That's who I am. Now forget me, David Noble,” the Doctor insisted before walking away with the air of finality.

Curie looked at David, readying herself to run again if he wanted her to.

David just used his hand to silently tell her to stay with him. He waited a long moment, and then stuck his hands in his jeans pockets as he began slowly tailing the Doctor. Curie stayed by his side. Although he was fairly certain the Doctor could not overhear, he remained silent and kept his footsteps as quiet as he could. Meant stepping around some small obstacles here and there, but he managed.

Soon he stopped by a tree as he saw the Doctor step up to a big blue box. “Wait,” he whispered to Curie, who looked at him, “I think I saw that last night. Right as I was rushing that Rose girl and me away from Henrick's.”

His eyes widened as the Doctor stepped inside the unlocked box and closed the door behind him. “That can't have much room. What's he-? Hang on, that's one of those old police boxes Dad's talked of! When did that appear?! What are the odds that two would exist anywhere around London now?”

Any response from Curie was cut off as the wind mysteriously picked up, and a collection of noises David had never heard outside of a science fiction movie floated through the air. Then he realised that the box was fading in and out of sight. Within moments, it was gone, and the noises faded as the wind went back to its earlier state.

David stared with eyes as wide as dinner plates as Curie barked. He rushed forward, Curie on his heels, to investigate.

They arrived at the spot, and he scanned it with his eyes. “There's nothing to indicate that something has even been there. No weight indentations, no dirt outline, nothing.” David looked around, seeing that he was the only witness other than Curie. What the hell had just happened?! “Come!” He bolted for home. Curie dashed after him.

In minutes, he burst into his study. Curie stopped at his side when he sat down, bringing his computer out of sleep mode. “He had to suspect that I might follow. Why doesn't he cover his tracks better?!” His fingers itched to start the search engine, and the computer was too slow today for his impatience.

He hesitated a moment over the terms to use. Lips pursed, he settled on 'Doctor, disappearing blue box' and hit Enter. He wasn't sure what to expect – the internet held many unhelpful sites.

So he was very surprised to promptly find a site with the Doctor's photo on it. He looked back at Curie. “For someone who's so intent on hiding, he's rubbish at it.”

Her eyebrows seemed to rise, almost mimicking one of his expressions.

Chapter 3: Information Hunting and Plastics


( 25 comments — Leave a comment )
Nov. 20th, 2012 05:10 pm (UTC)
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder can affect anyone, not just soldiers. A student doctor would know now. If David is a qualified doctor, then he should definitely know that.

Sorry, but no one in England could mistake Nine's accent for Nottingham. York, at a push, but never Nottingham. It's a Lancashire accent. Nottingham is much to south to be called 'the north'.

So.... David is Sylvia's son, in place of Donna. That was a surprise. Big surprise :DDD However, there is something very odd about him. I can't put my finger on it yet.

Looking forward to chapter 3 :D
Nov. 20th, 2012 08:07 pm (UTC)
Dang it. I see I have two things to correct here. Will do that later - I need a nap right now. Thanks for telling me.

So... did I surprise you? I mean, I am stepped a bit out of my comfort zone here. Writing things in ways I never tried to before.

Will post chapter 3 after some more correcting tonight.

BTW, it you're wanting to tell someone to bugger off (or whatever the phrasing is), what's a rude gesture that might be used to silently say that? (Wanna get that one right first posting.)
Nov. 20th, 2012 09:51 pm (UTC)
I am very surprised :D What I was thinking was way off :D I really can't tell that you're out of your comfort zone, to be honest. It's really good.

Well, you could try the British Sign Language sign for F-off. The old sign was: Cup your left palm in front of your chest, Make like your trying to pick dust from it with the fingertips of your right hand twice and then thumb over your right shoulder.

The new one is to splay you thumbs out and slap both hands together edge on between forefinger and thumb and then jerk your right thumb over your right shoulder.

Or there's p** off, which is raise your right thumb in front of you and shake your wrist vigorously as if thumbing for a lift, but a much shorter sharper jerk back and forth.

You can find these on youtube under "How to Swear in British Sign Language (BSL) - Part One", which leads on to Part Two.
Nov. 21st, 2012 12:13 am (UTC)
YAY!!! :DDDD Now I'm curious to know what you thought was happening. Really, you couldn't? :D It might become more obvious later on, unless I really did polish the heck out of the story.

Hmm... Ideas galore. Will be watching for entertainment and information. :DDDDDDDD BTW, what does it mean if you make a V sign but aim the back of your hand toward the other person and your fingers are aiming at your eyes? I swear I once saw a picture of DT doing that, and I've forgotten what it meant.
Nov. 21st, 2012 04:51 am (UTC)
I thought at first that he was the Duplicate come back from the future to change events. :) I'm still confused as to why he was putting medical instruments in a shop basement, though. I'm looking forward the Doctor calling him on that.

A 'V sign' with the back of your hand is basically "go away in short jerky movements, and here's a map just in case you're such a loser you don't know where it is". It also means that you think they are such a loser you're calling them a woman. Depends on which end of England you've seen it done. Either way it's extremely offensive.

The fingers at the eyes, usually accompanied by the same fingers pointing at the person you're speaking to alternating several times and quick succession, means "I'm watching you because you're such a dweeb, I don't trust you or like you, but and I wanna see where and how low your stupidity goes".
Nov. 21st, 2012 06:29 am (UTC)
So what would he be able to do and not cause a paradox? I'm curious to know what you think he could've done. :D Hmm... well, I can't really correct for that in this next chapter - it doesn't fit into the events. Chapter 4, however... it'll fit there. :) cassikat and I were going back and forth on ideas for WHY David would be in Henrick's in the first place, and his being a physician gave her that idea.

*snorts* Man, to see someone give Rose that one! :DDDDD
Nov. 21st, 2012 06:41 am (UTC)
To prevent what Nine couldn't - moving Rose out of the picture by placing himself as a buffer between her and Nine. :D Which means her later actions would be for the greater good and not for her perception of the Doctor's feelings for her.

I am so looking forward to the rest of the story. :DDDD

Hehehe. BTW, the sign you give to different genders is different. To make that sign to a woman is to call her gay, worthless, useless. To insult a man, you would curl your fingers a little to make a 'hole' and shake it in front of him. That's to call him gay (old meaning), or ineffectual, worthless, useless.
Nov. 21st, 2012 06:45 am (UTC)
Um, and how would that work? This is a girl who gave her TARDIS key to Adam, and who tried to save her father's life.

Man, way to ease the pressure, eh? ;)

*chokes* And adding a finger... and moving it... Oh, my! (Yes, I watched the youtube videos. It amazed me that some things were rather obvious, but others I had to wonder HOW they acquired that meaning.)
Nov. 21st, 2012 06:52 am (UTC)
True, but he's half Time Lord. He would be able to work it out. :)

Pressure? What pressure? :DD

Ah. No, though very similar. The sign I mention is used by the general public.

I think there is a cultural connection to some of those BSL signs. Others are formed by linking two already existing BSL signs together.
Nov. 21st, 2012 07:27 am (UTC)
New plot bunny, eh? ;)


Well, yeah. The other is kinda... for insulting and swearing in less polite terms. And I did notice that some were paired to create a different meaning.
Nov. 21st, 2012 10:42 am (UTC)
Oooh, good idea. *looks at list* Now where to slot it in....


There's a polite way to swear? This I gotta hear. :DDD BSL has changed in some ways to when I first learned it in 1983. Language progresses, words fall out of favour and new ones come along. I don't think I could confidently hold a conversation in BSL today.
Nov. 20th, 2012 05:15 pm (UTC)
There are so many little things in here to adore, but I particularly love the way you write Nine's gruffness and the way you've filled in David's back-story.
Okay, I want the dog too!! :D
Nov. 21st, 2012 12:14 am (UTC)
Revamping your love for Nine, eh? :D

I'd gladly take a Curie, even if I had to clean more often. :D
Nov. 21st, 2012 06:47 am (UTC)
I hope so. I've half way through my Donna/Nine story :DD
Nov. 21st, 2012 07:28 am (UTC)
*rubs hands*

Now back to last-minute editing. :)
Nov. 21st, 2012 10:47 am (UTC)
I thought that might perk you up. I have seventeen love scenes to write. I thought I'd better not overdo it. :D
Nov. 27th, 2012 04:37 pm (UTC)

Be still my beating heart... :D
Nov. 27th, 2012 05:01 pm (UTC)
Hehehehe :DDDD
Nov. 27th, 2012 09:05 am (UTC)
Hmm, so David is putting himself into the Doctor's thoughts now? Interesting when he can see the TARDIS and knows what Nine is thinking. I really love Curie though!
Nov. 27th, 2012 04:38 pm (UTC)
I think the Doctor is a more open book than he likes to think. And David is better at reading people than Rose could ever be. And yes, I adore Curie, too. :DDDD
Nov. 28th, 2012 09:01 pm (UTC)
*lol* Probably! And yes, he certainly would be.
Nov. 27th, 2012 12:10 pm (UTC)
This is great! The adventure is pulling me in, even though technically I know what happens in canon. With this back story you gave him, David's far better suited to be with the Doctor than Rose. And he seems to understand him quite well too.
Nov. 27th, 2012 04:35 pm (UTC)
Thank you! That's a high compliment given how well we all know canon. :D And yes, he is a more practical sort.

Love the icon, BTW. :D
Feb. 6th, 2013 06:11 pm (UTC)
(I need to get a Nine/Ten icon!)

(Okay, third time's a charm!)

First of all, I love Curie! And the interactions with her, David and the Doctor. And I especially love how you've dispensed so thoroughly with Rosie and her slag attitude. (hee hee hee)

And good for David, asking questions. So many of his companions (with one notable exception) just went along blindly, and adoringly.

So, if David is Sylvia's son, I suppose this means there's no Donna. *pouts* Ah well. One can't have everything.
Feb. 6th, 2013 06:24 pm (UTC)
(If you get one, let me know. Or make it one for this series. :DDDD)


Curie is one of my favorite characters. Her and Java from "The Noble Girl" are great dog characters. :DDDD And yes, getting you know who out of the way is always great. :DDDD

Would that notable exception have been Donna? :DDDD

No, sorry. But keep reading. :DDDDD
( 25 comments — Leave a comment )

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