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ptahrrificTitle: Truthiness And Relative Dimensions In Space: First Meetings (1/2)
Rating: PG
Series: The Colbert Report, Doctor Who
Spoilers: Anything through New Who S3 is fair game.
Summary: Stephen Colbert catches a lift with Four'n'Sarah Jane . . . and, in his younger days, Ten'n'Jack. Can Four cope with the older Stephen acting like an old hand at time travel? Can Ten avoid saying anything to the younger Stephen that will cause a paradox? And can the rest of space and time handle the truthiness?
The first serial follows immediately from Don't Step On The Butterflies. Table of contents, and footnotes, here.
First Meetings
Part One
Earth: 2008.
The Doctor is in his fourth incarnation. Stephen Colbert is 44. Sarah Jane Smith is 29.
The midday sun shone hot on the brilliant blue vista of the South Pacific. The light breeze stirred the fronds of the spindly palms, and the sea turned aquamarine where it kissed the white beaches as they stretched off towards the horizon.
Stephen watched all of this from the window of his air-conditioned hotel room.
It wasn't that he had some kind of aversion to the great outdoors. He even enjoyed spending time outside, as long as someone had vacuumed the area first. And this was a highly expensive private resort! They probably had enough cash to put a full-time landscape vacuumer on the payroll.
But when a Time Lord tells you to stay put, you stay put.
⇔
⇔
After staring moodily out the window for a while, Stephen crossed the room—avoiding the large blue box which stood in the middle of the floor—and flopped even more moodily down on the bed.
As he landed, something in his large brown coat went squish.
"What kind of benevolent guardian of space and time lends a man a coat that squishes?" demanded Stephen of nobody in particular, beginning to dig through the pockets. "Let's see . . . yo-yo . . . pair of scissors . . . catnip mouse—hm, fresh! . . . squeaky spider . . . key . . . comb, not that he looks like he's ever seen one in his life . . . aha! Squishy thing!"
The item in question turned out to be a bag of multicolored gelatin candies. Stephen pulled out half a dozen (not his fault; they were slightly stuck together) and popped them in his mouth as he looked over the pile of junk on his bed. How had all of this fit in one coat, anyway? Unless its pockets, like its owner's spaceship, were bigger on the—
—hang on a second.
Key?
Pausing in mid-chew, Stephen reached for the little key and plucked it from the pile, its fine silver chain unspooling as he lifted it into the air. "Definitely not an Earth key," he said out loud, then glanced cautiously at the blue box.
The Time Lord had given him strict orders to stay in his room for the rest of his vacation, and Stephen Colbert was very good at following orders. He hadn't really understood the explanation, but the thought of accidentally ruining the timeline made him want to curl up in a little ball and cry (which he had most certainly not been doing in the bathroom when the ship materialized outside). He wasn't about to leave the room.
But the box was in the room.
"And if that Time Lord hadn't wanted me to explore his ship," he reasoned, "he wouldn't have left a key with me, would he?"
Thus reassured, he hopped brightly from the bed, buttoned the much-lightened coat around himself, and stuck the dull silver key into the lock.
The door swung open.
"Huh," said Stephen, affecting the most nonchalant tone he could muster in the face of a physical impossibility effected by transdimensional engineering. "The last one was cooler."
⇔
"That really was amazing, Doctor!" exclaimed Sarah Jane as she returned to the TARDIS. She wore a floral-print swimsuit and sarong, there was a miniature pink umbrella tucked behind her ear, and she swayed a little in a way that suggested she had had gone through several similar umbrellas, along with the drinks that accompanied them.
"Damogran has nicer beaches," said the Doctor offhandedly as he scurried around the white TARDIS console to pull a lever. "But the rest of it is completely uninteresting."
"Mmhmm. And I bet it didn't have drinks like these."
"No, certainly not!" agreed the Doctor, circling the console in the other direction. "Though that would probably make it more interesting—I say! What are you doing here?"
Sarah Jane let out a gasp as she followed the Doctor's gaze.
She hardly recognized the man at the far end of the console room. When they had materialized in his room that morning, he had been disheveled, teary-eyed, and completely starkers. Now he cut an imposing figure in a crisp brown pinstriped suit, a pair of smart wire-rimmed spectacles, and what must have been enough hair gel to stun an ox.
"Welcome back!" he said brightly, flashing her a charming smile. "I've just been checking out the wardrobe. You have some truly hideous outfits in there—I mean, red plaid with pink and yellow lapels? Did a dye factory explode on that poor coat?—but I think this one shows off my figure nicely, don't you?"
"What are you doing here?" sputtered the Doctor.
"I just told you! Checking out the wardrobe. Don't worry, I'm still obeying your orders. All this is still inside the hotel, I know."
"Well, not any more," said Sarah Jane. "We just took off."
The intruder's eyes went wide. "Then—I've left the hotel room? Oh no! Am I causing some kind of temporal disaster just by being here?"
"Don't be silly," said the Doctor, waving a dismissive hand. "I made that up to keep you out of our way. You never even time traveled in the first place; you just crossed the International Date Line. That's not the point! The point is, you're a stowaway!"
"So was I," put in Sarah Jane, "and you've kept me around."
Neither of the men paid her any attention. "I am not!" protested the newcomer. "You gave me a key! It's not my fault you took off!"
"I did no such thing!"
"Oh yeah? What's this, then?"
"That's . . . oh. I suppose that is a key," said the Doctor, deflating somewhat as the intruder held it up. "Must've left it in one of my pockets. You didn't leave my coat behind, did you?"
"Nah, it's in the wardrobe. I finished off the candy, though."
"You ate all my Jelly Babies?"
"I couldn't find the kitchen!"
Sarah Jane was secretly gratified to see the Doctor rendered speechless.
Taking advantage of the silence, she addressed the stranger. "You're taking this awfully well. The whole alien, spaceship, bigger-on-the-inside bit, I mean."
"Oh, that." He shrugged with exaggerated casualness. "It takes more than a transdimensional thingamajig to faze Stephen Colbert."
"That'd be you, then?"
"In the flesh." Another 500-watt smile. "You've probably heard the name. The Doctor told me it would go down in history."
⇔
Earth: 1981.
The Doctor is in his tenth incarnation. Stephen Col-bert is 17. Jack Harkness is older than he has any business being.
Stephen was up a tree.
Just the thought of his imminent return to the socially sanctioned torture known as high school set his teeth on edge. As if that weren't enough, he couldn't turn a corner without running into a parent reminding him that he needed to get his grades up this year if he ever wanted to get into a good college and not be a complete disappointment—or, worse, a housebound older sibling seething from a similar lecture (for a brother, "work harder so you can get your own place"; for a sister, "find a husband so you can get his") and itching to take it out on a safe target, which usually meant their youngest brother.
So, though the day was blazing hot and the sunlight unforgiving, he had no intention of being inside.
The tree in question, like its fellows in the orchard, was short and broad, putting Stephen just a few feet off the ground. It was enough. His legs were slung over a thick branch, his bare back against the trunk, a discarded T-shirt hanging a few branches below, and a ripe peach dribbling juice down his chin.
It didn't matter if he made a mess here. There was no one to watch him. No one to judge. No one to care.
Sucking gently on the sweet flesh, he allowed himself a low moan . . .
. . . which was utterly drowned out by a cranking, grating wheeze that reverberated throughout the orchard, while a breeze stirred the leaves and a faint blue light winked from between the trees.
Stephen couldn't imagine what kind of machine would make a noise like that. He would have bet anything it was old and rusty and dangerous; but it didn't make any further noise, and the next sound he heard was like nothing so much as the opening of a door, which made no sense at all.
All of this was followed by what sounded like a conversation. Stephen strained to make out the words.
"...best peaches in the galaxy," a chirpy British voice was saying. "No other planet's produce can hold a candle to South Carolina peaches. Fill 'er up!"
"What, the whole TARDIS?" came the refreshingly American reply.
"Nah, don't be silly. We could get the whole orchard in there, with room to spare. Just this bag, there's a good lad. Allons-y!"
Stephen couldn't believe it. Aliens had just arrived on Earth.
And they spoke French.
⇔
The Vortex.
The Doctor is in his fourth incarnation. Stephen Colbert is 44. Sarah Jane Smith is 29.
Stephen couldn't help smirking a little at the two strangers, who were now both staring openmouthed. They're probably awed to meet someone of such cosmic importance. I'd better be nice to—
"You know this man?" asked the woman in the flowered sarong.
"Never seen him before in my life," replied the man in the stupid scarf.
"Hey!" exclaimed Stephen. "Time Lords really should know about important things like me!"
"I'm not a Time Lord," said the woman.
"Time Lady, then."
"Not that either. I'm a human. Sarah Jane Smith. He's the Time Lord—and he's the Doctor."
"Don't be ridiculous," said Stephen promptly. "He doesn't look anything like the Doctor."
"Well, he changes—"
"Just a moment, Sarah," said the Time Lord who was definitely not the Doctor, holding up a hand for silence. "Now, Stephen, what does the Doctor look like?"
"Tall, skinny, hair like a mutant hedgehog. Usually walks around in a suit just like this—must've come standard with the ship, because you have the same model, even though the decoration in this one is a lot more disco. Oh, and sometimes he puts on black emo glasses to make himself look smarter. It doesn't work, though."
"Huh," said Sarah. "Have you ever looked like that, Doctor?"
"No, never. He must have met a future version of me." The Time Lord looked slightly queasy. "I'm going to regenerate into a skinny bloke who wears emo glasses? Rassilon help me."
Rating: PG
Series: The Colbert Report, Doctor Who
Spoilers: Anything through New Who S3 is fair game.
Summary: Stephen Colbert catches a lift with Four'n'Sarah Jane . . . and, in his younger days, Ten'n'Jack. Can Four cope with the older Stephen acting like an old hand at time travel? Can Ten avoid saying anything to the younger Stephen that will cause a paradox? And can the rest of space and time handle the truthiness?
The first serial follows immediately from Don't Step On The Butterflies. Table of contents, and footnotes, here.
First Meetings
Part One
Earth: 2008.
The Doctor is in his fourth incarnation. Stephen Colbert is 44. Sarah Jane Smith is 29.
The midday sun shone hot on the brilliant blue vista of the South Pacific. The light breeze stirred the fronds of the spindly palms, and the sea turned aquamarine where it kissed the white beaches as they stretched off towards the horizon.
Stephen watched all of this from the window of his air-conditioned hotel room.
It wasn't that he had some kind of aversion to the great outdoors. He even enjoyed spending time outside, as long as someone had vacuumed the area first. And this was a highly expensive private resort! They probably had enough cash to put a full-time landscape vacuumer on the payroll.
But when a Time Lord tells you to stay put, you stay put.
After staring moodily out the window for a while, Stephen crossed the room—avoiding the large blue box which stood in the middle of the floor—and flopped even more moodily down on the bed.
As he landed, something in his large brown coat went squish.
"What kind of benevolent guardian of space and time lends a man a coat that squishes?" demanded Stephen of nobody in particular, beginning to dig through the pockets. "Let's see . . . yo-yo . . . pair of scissors . . . catnip mouse—hm, fresh! . . . squeaky spider . . . key . . . comb, not that he looks like he's ever seen one in his life . . . aha! Squishy thing!"
The item in question turned out to be a bag of multicolored gelatin candies. Stephen pulled out half a dozen (not his fault; they were slightly stuck together) and popped them in his mouth as he looked over the pile of junk on his bed. How had all of this fit in one coat, anyway? Unless its pockets, like its owner's spaceship, were bigger on the—
—hang on a second.
Key?
Pausing in mid-chew, Stephen reached for the little key and plucked it from the pile, its fine silver chain unspooling as he lifted it into the air. "Definitely not an Earth key," he said out loud, then glanced cautiously at the blue box.
The Time Lord had given him strict orders to stay in his room for the rest of his vacation, and Stephen Colbert was very good at following orders. He hadn't really understood the explanation, but the thought of accidentally ruining the timeline made him want to curl up in a little ball and cry (which he had most certainly not been doing in the bathroom when the ship materialized outside). He wasn't about to leave the room.
But the box was in the room.
"And if that Time Lord hadn't wanted me to explore his ship," he reasoned, "he wouldn't have left a key with me, would he?"
Thus reassured, he hopped brightly from the bed, buttoned the much-lightened coat around himself, and stuck the dull silver key into the lock.
The door swung open.
"Huh," said Stephen, affecting the most nonchalant tone he could muster in the face of a physical impossibility effected by transdimensional engineering. "The last one was cooler."
"That really was amazing, Doctor!" exclaimed Sarah Jane as she returned to the TARDIS. She wore a floral-print swimsuit and sarong, there was a miniature pink umbrella tucked behind her ear, and she swayed a little in a way that suggested she had had gone through several similar umbrellas, along with the drinks that accompanied them.
"Damogran has nicer beaches," said the Doctor offhandedly as he scurried around the white TARDIS console to pull a lever. "But the rest of it is completely uninteresting."
"Mmhmm. And I bet it didn't have drinks like these."
"No, certainly not!" agreed the Doctor, circling the console in the other direction. "Though that would probably make it more interesting—I say! What are you doing here?"
Sarah Jane let out a gasp as she followed the Doctor's gaze.
She hardly recognized the man at the far end of the console room. When they had materialized in his room that morning, he had been disheveled, teary-eyed, and completely starkers. Now he cut an imposing figure in a crisp brown pinstriped suit, a pair of smart wire-rimmed spectacles, and what must have been enough hair gel to stun an ox.
"Welcome back!" he said brightly, flashing her a charming smile. "I've just been checking out the wardrobe. You have some truly hideous outfits in there—I mean, red plaid with pink and yellow lapels? Did a dye factory explode on that poor coat?—but I think this one shows off my figure nicely, don't you?"
"What are you doing here?" sputtered the Doctor.
"I just told you! Checking out the wardrobe. Don't worry, I'm still obeying your orders. All this is still inside the hotel, I know."
"Well, not any more," said Sarah Jane. "We just took off."
The intruder's eyes went wide. "Then—I've left the hotel room? Oh no! Am I causing some kind of temporal disaster just by being here?"
"Don't be silly," said the Doctor, waving a dismissive hand. "I made that up to keep you out of our way. You never even time traveled in the first place; you just crossed the International Date Line. That's not the point! The point is, you're a stowaway!"
"So was I," put in Sarah Jane, "and you've kept me around."
Neither of the men paid her any attention. "I am not!" protested the newcomer. "You gave me a key! It's not my fault you took off!"
"I did no such thing!"
"Oh yeah? What's this, then?"
"That's . . . oh. I suppose that is a key," said the Doctor, deflating somewhat as the intruder held it up. "Must've left it in one of my pockets. You didn't leave my coat behind, did you?"
"Nah, it's in the wardrobe. I finished off the candy, though."
"You ate all my Jelly Babies?"
"I couldn't find the kitchen!"
Sarah Jane was secretly gratified to see the Doctor rendered speechless.
Taking advantage of the silence, she addressed the stranger. "You're taking this awfully well. The whole alien, spaceship, bigger-on-the-inside bit, I mean."
"Oh, that." He shrugged with exaggerated casualness. "It takes more than a transdimensional thingamajig to faze Stephen Colbert."
"That'd be you, then?"
"In the flesh." Another 500-watt smile. "You've probably heard the name. The Doctor told me it would go down in history."
Earth: 1981.
The Doctor is in his tenth incarnation. Stephen Col-bert is 17. Jack Harkness is older than he has any business being.
Stephen was up a tree.
Just the thought of his imminent return to the socially sanctioned torture known as high school set his teeth on edge. As if that weren't enough, he couldn't turn a corner without running into a parent reminding him that he needed to get his grades up this year if he ever wanted to get into a good college and not be a complete disappointment—or, worse, a housebound older sibling seething from a similar lecture (for a brother, "work harder so you can get your own place"; for a sister, "find a husband so you can get his") and itching to take it out on a safe target, which usually meant their youngest brother.
So, though the day was blazing hot and the sunlight unforgiving, he had no intention of being inside.
The tree in question, like its fellows in the orchard, was short and broad, putting Stephen just a few feet off the ground. It was enough. His legs were slung over a thick branch, his bare back against the trunk, a discarded T-shirt hanging a few branches below, and a ripe peach dribbling juice down his chin.
It didn't matter if he made a mess here. There was no one to watch him. No one to judge. No one to care.
Sucking gently on the sweet flesh, he allowed himself a low moan . . .
. . . which was utterly drowned out by a cranking, grating wheeze that reverberated throughout the orchard, while a breeze stirred the leaves and a faint blue light winked from between the trees.
Stephen couldn't imagine what kind of machine would make a noise like that. He would have bet anything it was old and rusty and dangerous; but it didn't make any further noise, and the next sound he heard was like nothing so much as the opening of a door, which made no sense at all.
All of this was followed by what sounded like a conversation. Stephen strained to make out the words.
"...best peaches in the galaxy," a chirpy British voice was saying. "No other planet's produce can hold a candle to South Carolina peaches. Fill 'er up!"
"What, the whole TARDIS?" came the refreshingly American reply.
"Nah, don't be silly. We could get the whole orchard in there, with room to spare. Just this bag, there's a good lad. Allons-y!"
Stephen couldn't believe it. Aliens had just arrived on Earth.
And they spoke French.
The Vortex.
The Doctor is in his fourth incarnation. Stephen Colbert is 44. Sarah Jane Smith is 29.
Stephen couldn't help smirking a little at the two strangers, who were now both staring openmouthed. They're probably awed to meet someone of such cosmic importance. I'd better be nice to—
"You know this man?" asked the woman in the flowered sarong.
"Never seen him before in my life," replied the man in the stupid scarf.
"Hey!" exclaimed Stephen. "Time Lords really should know about important things like me!"
"I'm not a Time Lord," said the woman.
"Time Lady, then."
"Not that either. I'm a human. Sarah Jane Smith. He's the Time Lord—and he's the Doctor."
"Don't be ridiculous," said Stephen promptly. "He doesn't look anything like the Doctor."
"Well, he changes—"
"Just a moment, Sarah," said the Time Lord who was definitely not the Doctor, holding up a hand for silence. "Now, Stephen, what does the Doctor look like?"
"Tall, skinny, hair like a mutant hedgehog. Usually walks around in a suit just like this—must've come standard with the ship, because you have the same model, even though the decoration in this one is a lot more disco. Oh, and sometimes he puts on black emo glasses to make himself look smarter. It doesn't work, though."
"Huh," said Sarah. "Have you ever looked like that, Doctor?"
"No, never. He must have met a future version of me." The Time Lord looked slightly queasy. "I'm going to regenerate into a skinny bloke who wears emo glasses? Rassilon help me."
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-05 12:27 am (UTC)And they spoke French.
I laughed so hard. Have you seen 'Kung Pow, Enter the Fist'? It's... kind of an obscure movie. But it has French aliens. And it's hilarious.
Much like this fic, in fact!
Apart from being a little-known redub of a Mandarin kung fu movie, which this fic... isn't. As far as I can tell, anyway.
(Psst. Damogran with an N. But it does have very nice beaches.)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-05 01:04 am (UTC)Thank you!
(Whoops. Lemme get that.)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-09-15 01:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-05 01:24 am (UTC)His legs were slung over a thick branch, his bare back against the trunk, a discarded T-shirt hanging a few branches below, and a ripe peach dribbling juice down his chin.
... rowr.
Stephen couldn't believe it. Aliens had just arrived on Earth.
And they spoke French.
HA! British and French, I can't imagine he likes the sound of that.
Emo glasses :-P
Lovely! Quite funny, as always.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-05 02:11 am (UTC)I'm trying to find the right balance between "teenage Stephen is sexy" and "sweet fancy Moses my baby brother is now that age." And wait'll you see how Jack feels about this...
And so continues the long tradition of the Doctor's regenerations snarking on each other's fashion sense :3
Thank you!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-05 11:28 pm (UTC)My brother is that age too, but so is my ex-girlfriend ... the balance works for me ;-)
And wait'll you see how Jack feels about this...
Ooh! I like the sound of that.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-05 07:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-05 08:15 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-05 10:07 pm (UTC)"I'm going to regenerate into a skinny bloke who wears emo glasses? Rassilon help me."
xD I love that. I do believe Four would respond to Ten in that way.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-05 10:22 pm (UTC)And your icon is spectacular =D
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-05 11:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-06 12:33 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-06 03:52 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-06 04:21 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-06 08:13 pm (UTC)I would totally take credit for inspiring this since I demanded this crossover at one point, but methinks you've had this in the works for a while. Still. HOORAY!
And I love the Fourth doctor with his craaaazy scarf. It brings me back to my childhood when my uncle would make me watch Doctor Who on PBS and I had no idea what was going on.
Anyway, LOVE LOVE LOOOOVE <3
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-06 09:07 pm (UTC)Haha, I'm exactly the same with the Fourth Doctor, except it was my dad who made me watch. He has a poster of Four in his office, it's fantastic.
Thank you thank you thank you! ♥
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-07 12:48 am (UTC)I *love* the way you worked the TCR intro into the video - it fits so well!
"The last one was cooler."
Ahahahahaha!
"You ate all my Jelly Babies?"
*Gasp!* Not that!
Jack Harkness is older than he has any business being.
lol.
Oh, Stephen in the orchard, what an image. Yum.
And they spoke French.
Win!
"I'm going to regenerate into a skinny bloke who wears emo glasses? Rassilon help me."
BWAHAHA!
And I love the image of Stephen in Ten's clothes. (I'd also love to see John Oliver in that get-up ... heeee.)
Hilariously awesome!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-07 01:08 am (UTC)Had jelly babies myself for the first time this summer, and I can see why the Doctor likes 'em. (Don't worry, he has lots of spare bags.)
Many more Jack-is-ancient age jokes to come!
I would totally buy John-O as the next Doctor. Trouble is, they'd have to drag him away from TDS kicking and screaming.
So glad you like!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-07 01:49 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-07 02:02 am (UTC)(Fingers still crossed for a female Doctor at some point, too.)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-07 02:54 am (UTC)(I keep running across people who say that, and it'd be interesting, but is there *any* canonical evidence for regenerations changing sex? Not that that means it couldn't happen, of course, but.)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-07 03:04 am (UTC)(No canon evidence; the closest we get is Romana sorting through a couple of different physical appearances before settling on the basic human model. But it happened in the parody charity special The Curse of Fatal Death, written by none other than Steven Moffat (and you have no idea how much I keep trying to write it "Stephen Moffat"), so at the very least we know he thinks the idea has entertainment value.)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-20 07:05 am (UTC)...cannot...stop...laughing. Catnip mouse what the hell.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-20 07:13 am (UTC)Oh MAN have I had days/weeks/months/years like that.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-09-10 12:29 pm (UTC)(The TARDIS helped Stephen out with the tailoring on Ten's future suit, right? Because I see no other way Stephen would be able to fit into it. Ten is a tiny, tiny twig of a man.)
(no subject)
Date: 2010-09-10 03:46 pm (UTC)Given that this is the younger version of the TARDIS, she probably had a Stephen-sized suit handy, which only later got retailored to fit Ten. Two is not so much a twig as a muppet, and One was pretty small and wiry, but Three and Four are closer to Stephen's size.