Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2008-11-27 12:02 am
ptahrrific) wrote2008-11-27 12:02 am
Entry tags:
Fake News/Doctor Who: The Eagle Has Landed, part 3
Title: The Eagle Has Landed (3/5)
Rating: PG
Series: The Colbert Report, Doctor Who
Spoilers: Anything DW/TW/SJA is fair game.
Summary: Four and Sarah Jane get embroiled in a small alien problem at Jon's studio. Young Stephen gets an unexpected rescuer.
Beta by the auspiciousstellar_dust. Table of contents, and footnotes, here.
The Eagle Has Landed
Part Three
New York.
"Now here it is, your moment of Zen."
Jon huffed a sigh as he sat back, picking up the script and tapping it into shape. It wasn't the worst rehearsal ever, but it sure could have been better: there were corrective scribbles on every page, and he had a sinking feeling that the whole opening bit about the President didn't work at all.
"Okay, everyone, take five!" he ordered.
The writers and crew filed gratefully towards the studio door. Pushing back his chair, Jon followed the group that was making for the bathroom.
When he finally made it to the writers' room, he found a crowd at the door, and was struck by a vague sense of déjà vu. "What's going on?"
"You gotta see this to believe it," said Rich, as people stepped aside to let Jon through. "It went under the table."
Crouching down to get a better view, Jon found himself staring at the biggest beetle he had ever seen. Its mottled green shell was at least six inches across.
Tim was already on the phone with what sounded like animal control, and Leslie left with the declaration that she was going to get a broom and a bucket, but Jon found himself scootching closer to the creature. No way was this thing from Earth.
"Hey there, little guy," he said quietly.
The thing chittered in response.
"Careful, Jon!" hissed Wyatt. "What if it's poisonous?"
"It's probably more scared of us than we are of it," reasoned Jon, inching closer still.
The creature sneezed. At least, it made a noise that sounded exactly like a cat sneezing, its whole little shell jumping with the tiny force. For a giant bug, it was surprisingly cute.
"We're not going to hurt you," said Jon. "How did you get here?"
He was at the edge of the table now, close enough that he could have reached out and touched the intruder's shell.
The bug sneezed again—this time expelling a huge puff of greenish-yellow smoke.
Jon threw himself backwards, but it was too late: the smoke had caught him full in the face, and he was already dizzy . . .
⇔
????.
"Drink this."
Something hot and smooth was pressed to Stephen's lips. He swallowed a mouthful of steaming liquid, coughing as some of it went down the wrong pipe.
"Easy there," said a soothing voice. "Just take it slow. Don't want to save you from hypothermia only to have you choke to death."
Stephen tried to focus on the man to whom the voice belonged. His vision was blurred, but as awareness gradually returned he realized that it was because his glasses were missing. For that matter, so was his coat. And his shirt. And very possibly his pants.
"Where'd my clothes go?" he mumbled.
"They're drying by the fire. The electric blanket's keeping your core temperature up. Drink."
Stephen swallowed again, with more coordination this time. It tasted like hot chocolate.
The rest of the world began to assemble itself as he drank. He was sitting in a plush recliner, stripped to his boxers but wrapped in a softly humming electric blanket, with a thicker quilt tucked around him. The scene was illuminated by a few lamps and a flickering fire set in one wall.
"Where am I?" he asked next.
"Montana. Close to the Canada border. No place you have any business being on your own, especially in the middle of a storm. You're very lucky."
No kidding, thought Stephen dizzily. He wasn't light-years away from South Carolina, but hundreds of miles was probably far enough, and he wouldn't have to learn an alien language to stay.
"Can you hold the cup?" asked his benefactor. "I'll get your glasses."
Stephen extracted his hands from the blankets and wrapped them around the mug. It was, he now saw, dark blue, with #1 Grandpa printed on the side. His fingers tingled painfully, but he managed to grip the cup without dropping it, and swallowed some more of the hot chocolate while the strange man got up.
Once his glasses had been settled on his face, Stephen studied his benefactor. The man was definitely old enough to be a grandfather. His hair was dark, but it was pretty clearly dyed, and getting thin on top. His face, meanwhile, was lined and weathered, with more than its share of laugh lines around the eyes.
He was also, for some reason, dressed in all silver. Maybe it was a Montana thing.
"How do you feel?" he asked, kneeling at the side of the chair.
"Tingly," said Stephen.
The man's lips quirked in a smile.
Stephen felt a surge of irritation over being laughed at, but this person had probably earned the right to do a lot more than that to him, so he didn't protest. "Thanks," he said instead, "mister . . ."
"Stewart," supplied his benefactor. "Mr. Stewart."
⇔
New York.
The Doctor is in his fourth incarnation. Sarah Jane Smith is 29. Stephen Colbert is 44.
Stephen strode into the console room like . . . well, like an oncoming storm.
"Why are we in New York?" he demanded as soon as the Doctor was in view. "I haven't said I want to go back yet!"
"You don't have to," said the Doctor reasonably. "We're only here to visit the Daily Show studio."
Stephen stared at him in horror, then ran to the front door and opened it a crack. The TARDIS was in the park across West 52nd from the studio: through the trees he could see the giant banner of Jon on the side of the building. "I'm not going!" he shouted, slamming the door closed.
"Oh, good! We won't have to fret about another psychic paper mishap," said the Doctor.
Turning to glare at him, Stephen saw that the Time Lord was busy applying something to his mouth. "Are you putting on lipstick?"
"Nothing of the kind!" the Doctor exclaimed. "A first-century Barillian hive mother has somehow gotten herself stuck in the building. If anyone finds her she's likely to panic, which will probably involve releasing stun gas. This is a counteracting agent. It just happens to come in a convenient lipstick-like form. Catch, Sarah Jane."
He tossed the tube across the console; Sarah Jane snatched it from the air and added a layer of the 'counteracting agent' to her own lips. Stephen rolled his eyes. "Now I'm definitely not coming."
"We'll leave the tube, just in case you change your mind," declared the Doctor. "Come along, Sarah!"
"See you in a bit," added Sarah Jane, and followed him out the door.
⇔
Montana.
The more Stephen looked around the cabin, the more he began to notice strangely out-of-place objects among the rustic decorations.
One bookshelf had a clock with a digital readout, green numbers glowing on a black background. There was a palm-sized metallic object on the mantel, like one of the tiny phones he had seen Jack and the Doctor use. A gigantic television screen was set in one wall; whether it was recessed somehow or just a very thin screen, he couldn't tell.
And then, of course, there was Mr. Stewart's silver suit. Maybe it wasn't just a Montana thing. Maybe it was a future Montana thing.
"Are you hungry?" asked Mr. Stewart. "We're a little low on food right now; my partner went to town to go shopping right before the storm hit. But I could warm up some leftover herbs and stewed rabbit."
"There's no such thing as a free lunch," mumbled Stephen. It was something he'd heard the Doctor say.
"Maybe not. But this is dinner, and it's on me."
"How come you're being so nice to me? You don't even know my name."
Mr. Stewart smiled. "Are you going to tell me?"
". . . it's Stephen."
"Well, Stephen, do you ever think that some people are just nice?"
"No," said Stephen flatly. If you want a person to be nice, you have to earn it. Unless that person is Jack. Or, sometimes, the Doctor.
"So that's why you're running away," observed Mr. Stewart.
"I'm not running away!"
Mr. Stewart got to his feet. "I'll go make that stew."
Outside the walls, the storm raged on.
⇔
New York.
A dozen people were already queued up outside the studio, waiting for the show to start.
The Doctor went straight past them and flashed the slightly psychic paper at the audience wrangler. Not five minutes later their tour guide had slumped immobile to the ground, overcome by the greenish-tinted air.
"That gets her out of the way," pronounced the Doctor. "All set with the plan, then?"
"Yes, Doctor," said Sarah Jane in some exasperation. "I'll catch the poor lost hive mother while you pump a gaseous version of the antidote into the ventilation system. Nothing to it."
"Excellent! Now, which of us gets to deal with Stephen?"
"Why? Do you think he's going to come?"
The Doctor grinned. "I give him fifteen minutes, tops."
Rating: PG
Series: The Colbert Report, Doctor Who
Spoilers: Anything DW/TW/SJA is fair game.
Summary: Four and Sarah Jane get embroiled in a small alien problem at Jon's studio. Young Stephen gets an unexpected rescuer.
Beta by the auspicious
stellar_dust. Table of contents, and footnotes, here.The Eagle Has Landed
Part Three
New York.
"Now here it is, your moment of Zen."
Jon huffed a sigh as he sat back, picking up the script and tapping it into shape. It wasn't the worst rehearsal ever, but it sure could have been better: there were corrective scribbles on every page, and he had a sinking feeling that the whole opening bit about the President didn't work at all.
"Okay, everyone, take five!" he ordered.
The writers and crew filed gratefully towards the studio door. Pushing back his chair, Jon followed the group that was making for the bathroom.
When he finally made it to the writers' room, he found a crowd at the door, and was struck by a vague sense of déjà vu. "What's going on?"
"You gotta see this to believe it," said Rich, as people stepped aside to let Jon through. "It went under the table."
Crouching down to get a better view, Jon found himself staring at the biggest beetle he had ever seen. Its mottled green shell was at least six inches across.
Tim was already on the phone with what sounded like animal control, and Leslie left with the declaration that she was going to get a broom and a bucket, but Jon found himself scootching closer to the creature. No way was this thing from Earth.
"Hey there, little guy," he said quietly.
The thing chittered in response.
"Careful, Jon!" hissed Wyatt. "What if it's poisonous?"
"It's probably more scared of us than we are of it," reasoned Jon, inching closer still.
The creature sneezed. At least, it made a noise that sounded exactly like a cat sneezing, its whole little shell jumping with the tiny force. For a giant bug, it was surprisingly cute.
"We're not going to hurt you," said Jon. "How did you get here?"
He was at the edge of the table now, close enough that he could have reached out and touched the intruder's shell.
The bug sneezed again—this time expelling a huge puff of greenish-yellow smoke.
Jon threw himself backwards, but it was too late: the smoke had caught him full in the face, and he was already dizzy . . .
????.
"Drink this."
Something hot and smooth was pressed to Stephen's lips. He swallowed a mouthful of steaming liquid, coughing as some of it went down the wrong pipe.
"Easy there," said a soothing voice. "Just take it slow. Don't want to save you from hypothermia only to have you choke to death."
Stephen tried to focus on the man to whom the voice belonged. His vision was blurred, but as awareness gradually returned he realized that it was because his glasses were missing. For that matter, so was his coat. And his shirt. And very possibly his pants.
"Where'd my clothes go?" he mumbled.
"They're drying by the fire. The electric blanket's keeping your core temperature up. Drink."
Stephen swallowed again, with more coordination this time. It tasted like hot chocolate.
The rest of the world began to assemble itself as he drank. He was sitting in a plush recliner, stripped to his boxers but wrapped in a softly humming electric blanket, with a thicker quilt tucked around him. The scene was illuminated by a few lamps and a flickering fire set in one wall.
"Where am I?" he asked next.
"Montana. Close to the Canada border. No place you have any business being on your own, especially in the middle of a storm. You're very lucky."
No kidding, thought Stephen dizzily. He wasn't light-years away from South Carolina, but hundreds of miles was probably far enough, and he wouldn't have to learn an alien language to stay.
"Can you hold the cup?" asked his benefactor. "I'll get your glasses."
Stephen extracted his hands from the blankets and wrapped them around the mug. It was, he now saw, dark blue, with #1 Grandpa printed on the side. His fingers tingled painfully, but he managed to grip the cup without dropping it, and swallowed some more of the hot chocolate while the strange man got up.
Once his glasses had been settled on his face, Stephen studied his benefactor. The man was definitely old enough to be a grandfather. His hair was dark, but it was pretty clearly dyed, and getting thin on top. His face, meanwhile, was lined and weathered, with more than its share of laugh lines around the eyes.
He was also, for some reason, dressed in all silver. Maybe it was a Montana thing.
"How do you feel?" he asked, kneeling at the side of the chair.
"Tingly," said Stephen.
The man's lips quirked in a smile.
Stephen felt a surge of irritation over being laughed at, but this person had probably earned the right to do a lot more than that to him, so he didn't protest. "Thanks," he said instead, "mister . . ."
"Stewart," supplied his benefactor. "Mr. Stewart."
New York.
The Doctor is in his fourth incarnation. Sarah Jane Smith is 29. Stephen Colbert is 44.
Stephen strode into the console room like . . . well, like an oncoming storm.
"Why are we in New York?" he demanded as soon as the Doctor was in view. "I haven't said I want to go back yet!"
"You don't have to," said the Doctor reasonably. "We're only here to visit the Daily Show studio."
Stephen stared at him in horror, then ran to the front door and opened it a crack. The TARDIS was in the park across West 52nd from the studio: through the trees he could see the giant banner of Jon on the side of the building. "I'm not going!" he shouted, slamming the door closed.
"Oh, good! We won't have to fret about another psychic paper mishap," said the Doctor.
Turning to glare at him, Stephen saw that the Time Lord was busy applying something to his mouth. "Are you putting on lipstick?"
"Nothing of the kind!" the Doctor exclaimed. "A first-century Barillian hive mother has somehow gotten herself stuck in the building. If anyone finds her she's likely to panic, which will probably involve releasing stun gas. This is a counteracting agent. It just happens to come in a convenient lipstick-like form. Catch, Sarah Jane."
He tossed the tube across the console; Sarah Jane snatched it from the air and added a layer of the 'counteracting agent' to her own lips. Stephen rolled his eyes. "Now I'm definitely not coming."
"We'll leave the tube, just in case you change your mind," declared the Doctor. "Come along, Sarah!"
"See you in a bit," added Sarah Jane, and followed him out the door.
Montana.
The more Stephen looked around the cabin, the more he began to notice strangely out-of-place objects among the rustic decorations.
One bookshelf had a clock with a digital readout, green numbers glowing on a black background. There was a palm-sized metallic object on the mantel, like one of the tiny phones he had seen Jack and the Doctor use. A gigantic television screen was set in one wall; whether it was recessed somehow or just a very thin screen, he couldn't tell.
And then, of course, there was Mr. Stewart's silver suit. Maybe it wasn't just a Montana thing. Maybe it was a future Montana thing.
"Are you hungry?" asked Mr. Stewart. "We're a little low on food right now; my partner went to town to go shopping right before the storm hit. But I could warm up some leftover herbs and stewed rabbit."
"There's no such thing as a free lunch," mumbled Stephen. It was something he'd heard the Doctor say.
"Maybe not. But this is dinner, and it's on me."
"How come you're being so nice to me? You don't even know my name."
Mr. Stewart smiled. "Are you going to tell me?"
". . . it's Stephen."
"Well, Stephen, do you ever think that some people are just nice?"
"No," said Stephen flatly. If you want a person to be nice, you have to earn it. Unless that person is Jack. Or, sometimes, the Doctor.
"So that's why you're running away," observed Mr. Stewart.
"I'm not running away!"
Mr. Stewart got to his feet. "I'll go make that stew."
Outside the walls, the storm raged on.
New York.
A dozen people were already queued up outside the studio, waiting for the show to start.
The Doctor went straight past them and flashed the slightly psychic paper at the audience wrangler. Not five minutes later their tour guide had slumped immobile to the ground, overcome by the greenish-tinted air.
"That gets her out of the way," pronounced the Doctor. "All set with the plan, then?"
"Yes, Doctor," said Sarah Jane in some exasperation. "I'll catch the poor lost hive mother while you pump a gaseous version of the antidote into the ventilation system. Nothing to it."
"Excellent! Now, which of us gets to deal with Stephen?"
"Why? Do you think he's going to come?"
The Doctor grinned. "I give him fifteen minutes, tops."
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"Well, Stephen, do you ever think that some people are just nice?"
"No," said Stephen flatly.
That hurt me a little. Oh, ickle!Stephen. *cuddles him*
The Doctor grinned. "I give him fifteen minutes, tops."
He knows Stephen well! =P
Lovely, as usual.
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Ickle!Stephen needs lots of cuddling.
Thanks ♥
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I have a theory about Montana, which is so insane that I'm going to keep it a secret until it's proved completely wrong. It actually hit me in mid-word and I had to go back and reread the chapter, then completely rewrite this comment. I love it when that happens.
Poor Jon. Aliens attack and he gets smacked for not being empathic enough, and now aliens turn up again and he gets a face full of stun gas for being too friendly. The man just can't win, can he.
Incidentally, Christmas special. Windowpane. Squeeee. And call me
crazyhopelessly geeky, but this really does look like something from Star Trek II.no subject
Ooh, intriguing!
Good point - Jon hasn't been very lucky recently...(er, and by "recently" I apparently mean "in the past ~15 years").
I knoooooow. That scene. Gah. (Jon, go back in and kiss him already, you know he wants you to...) I would not have picked up on the Star Trek similarity, though. Neat.
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(Also, is there anywhere that I can see just the Jon scene(s?) in the Christmas special? Because tbh that's all I really want to see right now. Sorry, Stephen, I still love you.)
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(Their duet is on the CN site, or at least it was. You could also torrent the whole thing - which is what I did - and then just skip ahead until you found the Jon bits. Because they are definitely worth watching.)
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And I'm reallyreally looking forward to the next part of this story!
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WMV (11.7 MB)
AVI (22.7 MB)
MP4 (30.2 MB)
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Jon and the beetle-thing, young!Stephen and Mr. Stewart, AND lipstick.
Perfection :D
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Thank you!
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I love this series. I really have nothing else to say but that.
Can't wait for the next chapter.
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:D
Re: :D
b) Glad you're following enough to stick with the story ^_^;
c) Thank you!
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(Anonymous) 2008-12-03 12:04 am (UTC)(link)lipsticked Four? i still don't even know which Jeeves story has the novelty hat...
anyway, :heartheart:
Kagaya
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Thanks!
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LOL
Where did you FIND this? I was raised UU and I love your icon to little bits. : )
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I must share this wonderful thing with my fellow Jihadists on Sunday.
(Ok, that's not a sentence I ever expected to write.)