http://hexiva.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
hexiva.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
best_enemies2009-09-25 08:36 pm
hexiva.livejournal.com) wrote in best_enemies2009-09-25 08:36 pm
Entry tags:
Fic Remix
Title: One Last Time (the Seven Hundred Years After remix)
Rating: Young adult?
Summary: The Doctor goes back in time to say goodbye to Koschei. Original story by Unfeathered ( http://unfeathered.livejournal.com/105285.html#cutid1 )
I'm not really satisfied with this version, but I'm already a day late and, after starting and restarted the remix at least five times since I decided on remixing One Last Time, I think if I don't decide this is the finished product I'm not going to have a finished product, ever.
And now, after that terribly encouraging note, I hope you like this, Unfeathered!
Koschei has been waiting in the place he arranged to meet Thete for exactly one hour, six minutes, and three seconds, and he's starting to come up with all sorts of excuses for why Thete isn't here. He stole a faulty TARDIS. He got caught. He's just set the temporal coordinates a bit off and he'll be here soon.
He couldn't have chosen not to come. Koschei doesn't want to believe that, in the end, Theta Sigma chose to stay on Gallifrey and stagnate rather than come with him.
Ksochei gets up from the rock he's been sitting on and starts pacing.
This moon is, as far as these things go, very small. It's got a breathable atmosphere but no life and no signs that Koschei isn't the first Time Lord to come here. It's the perfect meeting place, so why isn't Theta here yet?
Koschei very nearly jumps off of the ground when he hears the sound of a TARDIS dematerializing. For a moment he thinks he's been caught. But that can't be right – Koschei can't imagine your average Time Lord choosing such a silly shape for his TARDIS. On the other hand, he can't imagine dignified, irritable Thete choosing it either. So who could this be?
The door flies open, and a wild-eyed young man sticks his head out. It's no-one Koschei recognizes; he supposes it could be a regenerated Drax or Mortimus – and they most certainly would not shirk from using such a silly shape. Yes, that would make sense. But why would either of them be here . . .?
It could, of course, be Thete. Regeneration changes everyone, and a good dose of regenerative trauma could have anyone making their TARDIS look like a police box from Sol 3.
“Thete?” he asked.
The other man smiles enigmatically. “Koschei.”
Which doesn't answer his question.
“I'd wondered whether you were going to come. Not having second thoughts, are we?” he says.
Something unidentifiable flicks over the possible Theta's face. “Well, you know how it is. Tricky business, theft. Very easy to steal the wrong thing.”
Koschei smirked. “You stole a faulty TARDIS? How very unsurprising. Your thieving skills always have left a lot to be desired, my dear Thete.”
He expects an insult in return. All he gets is a blank, sad stare, as if Theta Sigma hadn't heard him. Or, rather, as if Theta Sigma weren't here to hear him.
It would be so very easy to impersonate a Time Lord, Koschei thinks.
“Let me help you with the drums,” Thete says, out of nowhere.
It's Koschei's turn to stare blankly at Thete. Thete can't know about the drums. He can't. “What?”
“The drums. They're making you crazy. Making you do things you'd never have done before.”
Koschei feels sick. He tries to flick through his memories and remember which of his less exemplary activities Thete could possibly have found out about. The fact that there are too many for him to pick out one does not comfort him.
“Things I'd never have done before?” Koschei repeats, angry and more than a little ashamed. “What makes you think I would never have done anything like that before?”
“No. Not that.”
“My dear young man – ” and that doesn't sound right either, applied to Theta, but this man looks ten or twenty years younger than Koschei.“ – how would you know?”
There's a look of worry in Theta's eyes. He's not as sure of Koschei's behaviour as he was a minute ago. “Just let me help you. Please, let me help you.”
Koschei's not sure whether to be pleased or horribly disturbed at this pleading. Not just the fact that Thete is pleading, but the direct, complete concentration from a man not known for his attention span.
“Are you sure I'm the one in need of help?” he says, somewhat defensively. “What's happened to you, Thete?”
He reaches out to touch Theta's face – possibly to touch his mind, too, he can't decide – and Theta leans into the touch, closing his eyes. Koschei yanks his hand back as if it's been burned.
“Who are you?” Koschei demands.
“Theta Sigma.” It doesn't sound like a lie, but it doesn't sound right, either. Koschei has never had anyone close to him regenerate before. Maybe this is only a natural part of the process.
And the thing was, Thete never liked being called Theta Sigma or any variation.
“Do you honestly expect me to believe that?” Koschei raises his eyebrows.
“I am!” The other Time Lord looks offended.
“You don't act anything like him!"
The other Time Lord hesitates, gives him a blank look. "It's been a long time."
That, finally, gets through to him. "How long?"
"Seven hundred years."
Koschei stares. "What are you doing here?"
Thete shrugs. "Reminiscing?"
"Seven hundred years," Koschei repeats. "The paradoxes you could cause . . ."
"I was careful!"
"You should leave." Koschei considers. "In fact, you should not even be here in the first place." He steps back a bit.
Thete watches him, sadly. Koschei doesn't even want to think about what might have happened in his past. He wants even less to think about what might happen if Thete's past doesn't. Paradoxes are ridiculously easy to cause.
“It's dangerous,” Koschei adds, partly to convince Thete and partly to convince himself.
Thete nods, and steps back, silently, to his TARDIS. It starts to dematerialize, and then, suddenly, stops and fades back into view. Thete - or whoever it is - sticks his head out. "Goodbye, Koschei."
The TARDIS fades out of sight before Koschei can answer. He stares at the empty space there for a long time before leaving.
Theta Sigma never did show up that day.
Rating: Young adult?
Summary: The Doctor goes back in time to say goodbye to Koschei. Original story by Unfeathered ( http://unfeathered.livejournal.com/105285.html#cutid1 )
I'm not really satisfied with this version, but I'm already a day late and, after starting and restarted the remix at least five times since I decided on remixing One Last Time, I think if I don't decide this is the finished product I'm not going to have a finished product, ever.
And now, after that terribly encouraging note, I hope you like this, Unfeathered!
Koschei has been waiting in the place he arranged to meet Thete for exactly one hour, six minutes, and three seconds, and he's starting to come up with all sorts of excuses for why Thete isn't here. He stole a faulty TARDIS. He got caught. He's just set the temporal coordinates a bit off and he'll be here soon.
He couldn't have chosen not to come. Koschei doesn't want to believe that, in the end, Theta Sigma chose to stay on Gallifrey and stagnate rather than come with him.
Ksochei gets up from the rock he's been sitting on and starts pacing.
This moon is, as far as these things go, very small. It's got a breathable atmosphere but no life and no signs that Koschei isn't the first Time Lord to come here. It's the perfect meeting place, so why isn't Theta here yet?
Koschei very nearly jumps off of the ground when he hears the sound of a TARDIS dematerializing. For a moment he thinks he's been caught. But that can't be right – Koschei can't imagine your average Time Lord choosing such a silly shape for his TARDIS. On the other hand, he can't imagine dignified, irritable Thete choosing it either. So who could this be?
The door flies open, and a wild-eyed young man sticks his head out. It's no-one Koschei recognizes; he supposes it could be a regenerated Drax or Mortimus – and they most certainly would not shirk from using such a silly shape. Yes, that would make sense. But why would either of them be here . . .?
It could, of course, be Thete. Regeneration changes everyone, and a good dose of regenerative trauma could have anyone making their TARDIS look like a police box from Sol 3.
“Thete?” he asked.
The other man smiles enigmatically. “Koschei.”
Which doesn't answer his question.
“I'd wondered whether you were going to come. Not having second thoughts, are we?” he says.
Something unidentifiable flicks over the possible Theta's face. “Well, you know how it is. Tricky business, theft. Very easy to steal the wrong thing.”
Koschei smirked. “You stole a faulty TARDIS? How very unsurprising. Your thieving skills always have left a lot to be desired, my dear Thete.”
He expects an insult in return. All he gets is a blank, sad stare, as if Theta Sigma hadn't heard him. Or, rather, as if Theta Sigma weren't here to hear him.
It would be so very easy to impersonate a Time Lord, Koschei thinks.
“Let me help you with the drums,” Thete says, out of nowhere.
It's Koschei's turn to stare blankly at Thete. Thete can't know about the drums. He can't. “What?”
“The drums. They're making you crazy. Making you do things you'd never have done before.”
Koschei feels sick. He tries to flick through his memories and remember which of his less exemplary activities Thete could possibly have found out about. The fact that there are too many for him to pick out one does not comfort him.
“Things I'd never have done before?” Koschei repeats, angry and more than a little ashamed. “What makes you think I would never have done anything like that before?”
“No. Not that.”
“My dear young man – ” and that doesn't sound right either, applied to Theta, but this man looks ten or twenty years younger than Koschei.“ – how would you know?”
There's a look of worry in Theta's eyes. He's not as sure of Koschei's behaviour as he was a minute ago. “Just let me help you. Please, let me help you.”
Koschei's not sure whether to be pleased or horribly disturbed at this pleading. Not just the fact that Thete is pleading, but the direct, complete concentration from a man not known for his attention span.
“Are you sure I'm the one in need of help?” he says, somewhat defensively. “What's happened to you, Thete?”
He reaches out to touch Theta's face – possibly to touch his mind, too, he can't decide – and Theta leans into the touch, closing his eyes. Koschei yanks his hand back as if it's been burned.
“Who are you?” Koschei demands.
“Theta Sigma.” It doesn't sound like a lie, but it doesn't sound right, either. Koschei has never had anyone close to him regenerate before. Maybe this is only a natural part of the process.
And the thing was, Thete never liked being called Theta Sigma or any variation.
“Do you honestly expect me to believe that?” Koschei raises his eyebrows.
“I am!” The other Time Lord looks offended.
“You don't act anything like him!"
The other Time Lord hesitates, gives him a blank look. "It's been a long time."
That, finally, gets through to him. "How long?"
"Seven hundred years."
Koschei stares. "What are you doing here?"
Thete shrugs. "Reminiscing?"
"Seven hundred years," Koschei repeats. "The paradoxes you could cause . . ."
"I was careful!"
"You should leave." Koschei considers. "In fact, you should not even be here in the first place." He steps back a bit.
Thete watches him, sadly. Koschei doesn't even want to think about what might have happened in his past. He wants even less to think about what might happen if Thete's past doesn't. Paradoxes are ridiculously easy to cause.
“It's dangerous,” Koschei adds, partly to convince Thete and partly to convince himself.
Thete nods, and steps back, silently, to his TARDIS. It starts to dematerialize, and then, suddenly, stops and fades back into view. Thete - or whoever it is - sticks his head out. "Goodbye, Koschei."
The TARDIS fades out of sight before Koschei can answer. He stares at the empty space there for a long time before leaving.
Theta Sigma never did show up that day.