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ptahrrific) wrote2008-12-06 07:25 pm
ptahrrific) wrote2008-12-06 07:25 pm
Entry tags:
Fake News/Doctor Who: deleted scenes
Title: Truthiness And Relative Dimensions In Space: deleted scenes
Rating: PG
Series: TCR/DW
Summary: Cut/altered scenes from the sixth serial, and a brief snippet from the year and a half when Stephen was on his own.
Table of contents, and footnotes, here.
("The Eagle Has Landed," second scene from Ten's POV. Revised because it was a bit late in the day to start bringing in this much Ten!angst, especially as it wasn't going to be resolved in this story.)
Han Wavel: 3005 AD.
The Doctor is in his tenth incarnation. Stephen Col-bert is 17. Jack Harkness is old enough to be your great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, and then some.
"What's taking him so long?" wondered the Doctor out loud, pacing from side to side in front of the console. "We've got a planet to explore! Food to sample! Other people's money to waste!"
"You told him to 'dress up,'" observed Jack. "Stephen takes dressing up very seriously. Why are you so insistent on him seeing this particular planet, anyway?"
The Doctor rocked back and forth on his heels. "We-ell, I sort of lost my temper with him the last time I was here. Left him in the TARDIS while Sarah Jane and I went exploring, and maybe nagged him a bit later on about how he didn't help us break up the syndicate of crooked lenders that was fleecing tourists. So it's only fair that he get to see the place at some point."
Jack grinned a terribly smug grin.
"Oi!" demanded the Doctor. "What are you smirking about?"
"You're being nice to him! And not freaking out about paradoxes!"
"Well, you've somehow mellowed him out enough that, after we restored the Crown Prince of Ciceronicus 12 to his rightful throne, Stephen let His Majesty snog him in front of the entire court. And the universe hasn't torn itself apart yet. What's a little niceness on my part?"
"What did I tell you?" asked Jack, still grinning like the cat who caught the canary (or, given that this was Jack, like the felinoid who shagged one of the bird-people of Brontital).
The Doctor was about to reply when he smelled Stephen approaching.
That scent! It hit him like a freight train, like a planet to the forehead, like the weight of the past. The Doctor had finally begun to resign himself to the fact that he would never smell this particular fragrance again: the flower that produced it had been one of the uncounted species lost in the Time War.
And now Stephen was reeking of it.
"Hey there!" exclaimed Jack as the kid came in. "Went a little overboard with the cologne there, don't you think?"
"Did I?" asked Stephen nervously. "It was in the back of one of my drawers, so I thought . . . but the bottle wasn't labeled or anything, so I wasn't sure how much to use . . ."
"Wash it off," interrupted the Doctor.
Both of his companions looked sharply at him. "Come on, Doctor," said Jack placatingly. "It's not that bad."
"Oh, yes it is. Go on, then, wash it off! We'll wait until you're ready."
"Y-yes, sir," stammered Stephen. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize," said the Doctor shortly. He knew he was being ruder than strictly necessary, but he couldn't possibly be expected to be polite when all he could smell was the dead of Gallifrey. "It's a timeline thing. Not your fault."
With a quick nod, Stephen bolted for the door.
Avoiding Jack's exasperated look, the Doctor rounded the console and turned up the air conditioning.
⇔
(A moment from the months when Stephen wasn't talking to Jon, leading up to the Year That Never Was.)
New York: November 4, 2008.
As soon as the live election special dissolved into the live election special after-party, Stephen made a beeline for the bar.
By the time the rest of the crew was just getting into the swing of things, he was hammered. Drinking made Sweetness louder and blurred the Wørd's advice, but right now he needed a break from reality more than he needed the voices in his head to balance out right.
Besides, Sweetness had been weird lately. Instead of you could end their meaningless lives right now, she had started saying things like the Archangel Network is the future of global communications and you can trust Harry Saxon.
"Stephen?" said a hesitant voice from behind him.
"Go 'way," hissed Stephen, slumping down on the countertop.
"I'm not here to gloat, I promise," said Jon shyly, taking a seat next to him. "I know Winters wasn't your candidate, but—"
"Go. Away."
"Stephen, please. I don't want to fight about this. Talk to me."
"Not now, Jon!" Trying to get up, Stephen nearly fell over, and clung to the bar stool for support.
"Careful! Are you okay?" Jon touched his arm.
"'M going home," growled Stephen, trying to figure out which way the door was.
"Okay. Easy there. I'll call you a car."
Stephen couldn't help flinching as Jon pulled out his cell. He gritted his teeth until the call was over, clenching his fists so his fingers wouldn't start tapping out a beat on the nearest flat surface.
Once he closed the phone, Jon noticed. "What's wrong?"
"Th' phone," admitted Stephen. "Th' stupid Network."
"The Network's fine. It hasn't had a glitch since it went up."
"But . . . !" It makes me crazy. It's not human. It's brainwashing you all. The Master's involved in this somehow, and that beat, the one people keep tapping when they're not paying attention, it's war drums. "You're a lib'ral. It's a monop'ly. Why d'you like it?"
"Well, it hasn't raised prices," said Jon slowly. "And it's convenient, and it works. I mean, let's face it, the Archangel Network is the future of global communications."
That brought Stephen up short.
There was nothing Jon could do for him. Not yet, anyway. But none of this was going to be happening in a year, so all Stephen had to do was wait, keep quiet, and trust that the Doctor would sort it all out sooner or later.
Sooner, he thought desperately, as he shrugged off Jon's help and staggered outside. Please let it be sooner.
⇔
("The Eagle Has Landed," a turn the conversation didn't take. Also, I'm pretty sure Stephen Stewart deserves some kind of medal for avoiding the phrase "You'll understand when you're older.")
Montana.
Mr. Stewart sat back and folded his hands.
"I know there's more to this than you're telling me," he said slowly. "But I can promise you this: No matter what the situation, you can't just sit back and assume things are going to happen. You have to make the effort."
"I know that!" interrupted Stephen. "If I don't work hard enough, and people don't like me, it's my own fault. I know."
"That's . . . not exactly what I meant," said Mr. Stewart with a grimace. "Everyone deserves to be loved. No matter what."
"Which is it?" demanded Stephen. "Do I deserve to be loved, or do I have to work for it? Pick a side!"
"'The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function.'"
Tipping the bowl to his mouth, Stephen gulped the last of the stew. "I don't understand," he complained as he set it down.
Mr. Stewart shrugged. "It's kind of a Zen thing."
Rating: PG
Series: TCR/DW
Summary: Cut/altered scenes from the sixth serial, and a brief snippet from the year and a half when Stephen was on his own.
Table of contents, and footnotes, here.
("The Eagle Has Landed," second scene from Ten's POV. Revised because it was a bit late in the day to start bringing in this much Ten!angst, especially as it wasn't going to be resolved in this story.)
Han Wavel: 3005 AD.
The Doctor is in his tenth incarnation. Stephen Col-bert is 17. Jack Harkness is old enough to be your great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, and then some.
"What's taking him so long?" wondered the Doctor out loud, pacing from side to side in front of the console. "We've got a planet to explore! Food to sample! Other people's money to waste!"
"You told him to 'dress up,'" observed Jack. "Stephen takes dressing up very seriously. Why are you so insistent on him seeing this particular planet, anyway?"
The Doctor rocked back and forth on his heels. "We-ell, I sort of lost my temper with him the last time I was here. Left him in the TARDIS while Sarah Jane and I went exploring, and maybe nagged him a bit later on about how he didn't help us break up the syndicate of crooked lenders that was fleecing tourists. So it's only fair that he get to see the place at some point."
Jack grinned a terribly smug grin.
"Oi!" demanded the Doctor. "What are you smirking about?"
"You're being nice to him! And not freaking out about paradoxes!"
"Well, you've somehow mellowed him out enough that, after we restored the Crown Prince of Ciceronicus 12 to his rightful throne, Stephen let His Majesty snog him in front of the entire court. And the universe hasn't torn itself apart yet. What's a little niceness on my part?"
"What did I tell you?" asked Jack, still grinning like the cat who caught the canary (or, given that this was Jack, like the felinoid who shagged one of the bird-people of Brontital).
The Doctor was about to reply when he smelled Stephen approaching.
That scent! It hit him like a freight train, like a planet to the forehead, like the weight of the past. The Doctor had finally begun to resign himself to the fact that he would never smell this particular fragrance again: the flower that produced it had been one of the uncounted species lost in the Time War.
And now Stephen was reeking of it.
"Hey there!" exclaimed Jack as the kid came in. "Went a little overboard with the cologne there, don't you think?"
"Did I?" asked Stephen nervously. "It was in the back of one of my drawers, so I thought . . . but the bottle wasn't labeled or anything, so I wasn't sure how much to use . . ."
"Wash it off," interrupted the Doctor.
Both of his companions looked sharply at him. "Come on, Doctor," said Jack placatingly. "It's not that bad."
"Oh, yes it is. Go on, then, wash it off! We'll wait until you're ready."
"Y-yes, sir," stammered Stephen. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize," said the Doctor shortly. He knew he was being ruder than strictly necessary, but he couldn't possibly be expected to be polite when all he could smell was the dead of Gallifrey. "It's a timeline thing. Not your fault."
With a quick nod, Stephen bolted for the door.
Avoiding Jack's exasperated look, the Doctor rounded the console and turned up the air conditioning.
(A moment from the months when Stephen wasn't talking to Jon, leading up to the Year That Never Was.)
New York: November 4, 2008.
As soon as the live election special dissolved into the live election special after-party, Stephen made a beeline for the bar.
By the time the rest of the crew was just getting into the swing of things, he was hammered. Drinking made Sweetness louder and blurred the Wørd's advice, but right now he needed a break from reality more than he needed the voices in his head to balance out right.
Besides, Sweetness had been weird lately. Instead of you could end their meaningless lives right now, she had started saying things like the Archangel Network is the future of global communications and you can trust Harry Saxon.
"Stephen?" said a hesitant voice from behind him.
"Go 'way," hissed Stephen, slumping down on the countertop.
"I'm not here to gloat, I promise," said Jon shyly, taking a seat next to him. "I know Winters wasn't your candidate, but—"
"Go. Away."
"Stephen, please. I don't want to fight about this. Talk to me."
"Not now, Jon!" Trying to get up, Stephen nearly fell over, and clung to the bar stool for support.
"Careful! Are you okay?" Jon touched his arm.
"'M going home," growled Stephen, trying to figure out which way the door was.
"Okay. Easy there. I'll call you a car."
Stephen couldn't help flinching as Jon pulled out his cell. He gritted his teeth until the call was over, clenching his fists so his fingers wouldn't start tapping out a beat on the nearest flat surface.
Once he closed the phone, Jon noticed. "What's wrong?"
"Th' phone," admitted Stephen. "Th' stupid Network."
"The Network's fine. It hasn't had a glitch since it went up."
"But . . . !" It makes me crazy. It's not human. It's brainwashing you all. The Master's involved in this somehow, and that beat, the one people keep tapping when they're not paying attention, it's war drums. "You're a lib'ral. It's a monop'ly. Why d'you like it?"
"Well, it hasn't raised prices," said Jon slowly. "And it's convenient, and it works. I mean, let's face it, the Archangel Network is the future of global communications."
That brought Stephen up short.
There was nothing Jon could do for him. Not yet, anyway. But none of this was going to be happening in a year, so all Stephen had to do was wait, keep quiet, and trust that the Doctor would sort it all out sooner or later.
Sooner, he thought desperately, as he shrugged off Jon's help and staggered outside. Please let it be sooner.
("The Eagle Has Landed," a turn the conversation didn't take. Also, I'm pretty sure Stephen Stewart deserves some kind of medal for avoiding the phrase "You'll understand when you're older.")
Montana.
Mr. Stewart sat back and folded his hands.
"I know there's more to this than you're telling me," he said slowly. "But I can promise you this: No matter what the situation, you can't just sit back and assume things are going to happen. You have to make the effort."
"I know that!" interrupted Stephen. "If I don't work hard enough, and people don't like me, it's my own fault. I know."
"That's . . . not exactly what I meant," said Mr. Stewart with a grimace. "Everyone deserves to be loved. No matter what."
"Which is it?" demanded Stephen. "Do I deserve to be loved, or do I have to work for it? Pick a side!"
"'The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function.'"
Tipping the bowl to his mouth, Stephen gulped the last of the stew. "I don't understand," he complained as he set it down.
Mr. Stewart shrugged. "It's kind of a Zen thing."
no subject
the first one is interesting because I don't understand very much about how the Doctor feels about things including his planet. there must have been a lot more going on in his head when he was conversing with Stephen Stewart and Stephen recognized that he hadn't been used to relay a message about saving that planet.
the second one is so much impending misery. I forgot about the year that never was and how it would be concurrent (perhaps that is too weak a word given how this time thing works) with the year Stephen had to wait for Jon. I didn't know that throughout it Stephen knew it would be fixed though, and even that he wouldn't remember it (which I think is accurate.) or maybe he only knew that he would be living in a semi-normal world where Jon could give the peaches. even knowing that wouldn't make the suffering part very good at all.
OK not sure what all that added to anything. but I did want to recognize that I had read it and that the stuff makes my brain work!
no subject
The Doctor has a lot going on inside his head. Too much to really tackle here (Stephen's issues are more than enough for one fic!). This is one of the areas where it takes some knowledge of DW canon to get the whole picture, though I hope non-Who-fan readers at least picked up a general idea.
Stephen's fixation on peaches in the CiN special should make more sense now! And, yeah, during all the horror and devastation of that year, he was at (mostly) aware that it Should Not Have Been Happening. (You're right that everyone - except for a select handful, including Martha, the Doctor, and Jack - forgot the events of that year when it was erased from the timeline.)
Believe me, there is no better feedback to receive than thoughtful feedback. Thank you!
no subject
no subject
(Anonymous) 2008-12-08 11:19 pm (UTC)(link)oh Jack. oh Doctor. oh you. is this really rated G?
the part about needing the voices in his head to balance out right.
...Winters seemed like someone Stephen would like...
"'The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function.'" <-- i totally don't remember who said that, but go Stephen Stewart. and go you.
your humble servant,
Kagaya
no subject
I think Winters was supposed to be a generic Fairly Obnoxious American. No knowing what his policies are (were), though.
The quote is from F. Scott Fitzgerald. Wise man.
Thanks!
no subject
no subject