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Chapter Text

Ahnooie-4: 3792.
The Doctor is in his fourth incarnation. Stephen Colbert is 44. Sarah Jane Smith is 29.

"Hey, Sarah Jane?"

"Hm?"

"Have you ever seen one of the other versions of the Doctor?"

"Oh, yes. I've been traveling with two of him by now. In fact, I was with him the last time he regenerated."

"Really? What was the last one like?"

"Well . . . different. But sort of the same, too."

"You know, I can see why you're a journalist," said Stephen cheerfully. "What with those stellar observational skills of yours."

"Oh, shut up," replied Sarah Jane, but with affection.

"No! I still have questions!"

"All right, all right. Shoot."

Stephen carefully considered the subtle and thought-provoking queries he might pose about the nature of space, time, and reality, then settled on one. "Does the TARDIS change its appearance too? Or has it always looked like it does now?"

As an afterthought, he added, "I mean when the lights are on, of course. Right now it looks the same either way."

Aside from the flashlight in the Doctor's hand, pointed at the innards of the console while the other hand jiggered with wires and bolts, the room was pitch dark.

It had been like this for a while now, prompting Stephen to start plying Sarah Jane with questions. It wasn't like he didn't know plenty about the Doctor already, what with Stephen's vast prior experience at time travel and all. It was just, well, this Doctor was so different. Not quite his Doctor. And, truth be told, it was throwing him off a little.

Sarah Jane's answer to this one was short and simple. "It's always looked the same when I've been here. Is it going to look different, then, when your younger self shows up?"

"Yeah. A lot more orange. And twisty. Maybe it isn't the same ship at all. Maybe it's a new one with the same layout, and all the same stuff."

"I guess that depends on whether this one had finally crashed for good," remarked Sarah Jane dryly. "Doctor! Is she going to be all right?"

"Oh, the TARDIS is fine," said the Doctor, his head now stuck in the hole where a floor panel had been. "It's just the lights that are out."

"You mean the computers are okay?"

"Never better!" The Doctor tugged at a wire. "But I'm not about to fly her blind!"

"No, no, you shouldn't try to fly. But we could do some scans, find out where we've landed, see if it's safe to explore."

"We've landed on the fourth planet of the Ahnooie system, in the century when the entire planetary surface is taken up by a worldwide mall. You can explore all you like."

"Well, why didn't you say so?" demanded Stephen.

"You never asked," said the Doctor matter-of-factly, holding up a handful of wire and pointing the flashlight gloomily at the frayed bits of copper poking from its loose end. "Oh dear."

"Was that important?" asked Sarah Jane.

"Oh, extremely."

"Can we help?"

"Not in the least."

"Then we're going exploring," Stephen declared.

"Of course! You have a key, Sarah Jane?"

"I've got mine," volunteered Stephen.

The Doctor shone the flashlight in his face. "Really? I didn't think I'd given you one yet."

"You didn't," said Stephen, holding a hand over his eyes to shield them from the glare. "I remembered where you kept one of the spares, so I borrowed it. I knew you would want me to have one."

"I suppose it can't hurt," said the Doctor with a sigh. "Well, this isn't going to be fixed any time soon. You'd best get a head start on that exploring. Off you go!"

"You're from 2008, right?" asked Sarah Jane, as they strolled past the picture window of a shop which seemed to be exclusively in the business of selling helmets. "What's it like?"

"You're in the middle of a far-future alien mall, and you want to know what Earth's going to be like in thirty years?" said Stephen. "God, you're boring. Ooh!" A creature that looked sort of like a blue ferret with antennae was chittering at them from a shop window, and he stopped to lean against the glass. "Whoozagoodboy? Who? You are! You—ahhhh!"

"I take it there aren't many things with unexpectedly large teeth where you come from," remarked Sarah Jane as she pulled the quivering Stephen away from the snarling thing in the pet shop. "You all right?"

"Sure! Fine! Never better! So, 2008!" Stephen squeaked. "What do you want to know?"

"Oh, I don't know. What's going on in the world? What's changed since 1980?"

"I don't even know where to start," said Stephen, his voice settling back into a normal register as he warmed to his subject. "I guess the most important thing is me. I went from a charming, beloved, popular teenager to a charming, beloved, popular television host with an audience of millions. Oh, and the Cold War ended and the Internet was invented. But I'm pretty sure I've had the most impact."

"Have you?"

"Well, naturally! You can't fully appreciate the importance of my show to society until you've seen it for yourself. The world is so different, back in your day. John McCain is still in the Navy . . . David Letterman only has a poorly-rated morning comedy show . . . Jon Stewart is still in college . . . Paris Hilton is still an embryo." He paused to consider this. "I guess it wasn't all bad."

"And who are all these people?"

"Let's see." Stephen started ticking them off on his fingers. "McCain is the Republican nominee for President. He may be behind in the polls, but in my gut, he's already won. Letterman does a late-night comedy show, and the latest Harris Poll had him tied with me on the Most Popular TV Personality list, which means there must be somebody out there who still watches him. Jon Stewart is a hack so-called newsman who pushes his radical liberal agenda in the time slot right before mine, and, sure, we have lunch all the time, but that's only because he produces my show and I need to make nice. Paris Hilton is . . . I don't actually know what she is, but whatever it is, she's famous for it."

Dodging a group of aliens that looked kind of like blue centaurs with eyestalks, he added, "Oh, and you're Prime Minister."

Sarah Jane nearly tripped over her own feet. "I'm what?"

When she looked up at Stephen, he was grinning mischievously. "Had you going there, didn't I?"

"Mommy, Mommy, I want ice cream!"

"Later, Susie. Mommy has to check some things out first, okay?"

"That kid has the right idea," remarked Stephen as the little dark-haired humanoid bounced past, chanting a self-composed ditty about various ice cream flavors. "Where's the food court?"

"Keep your eye out for a directory," replied Sarah Jane. "I think we already passed one, but it was a while back."

"Really? What did it look like?"

"Big, black, shiny touch screen with a map you could zoom in on, logo shaped like an apple on the base. The kind of sleek-but-powerful thing you'd expect this far in the future."

"Is that one of them?" asked Stephen, pointing.

"That's it, yeah!"

"Looks like a giant iPhone."

"A what?"

"Tell you later."

Stopping in front of the map, Sarah Jane started scrolling through options, looking for a food court within half a mile of the You Are Here arrow.

"Hey, speaking of phones," Stephen added nonchalantly, "you should call me when you get back to Earth. Wait a year, though, because I didn't get picked up by the Doctor until August of '81. But after that, call me. Not that I was lonely and desperate for someone to talk to about it afterward, or anything like that! I had hundreds of friends! Just, you know, if you want to talk."

"Do you ever remember me doing that?" asked Sarah Jane.

". . . no."

"Then I guess I'm not going to. If I even go back in the first place. Aha! Ardala Memorial Food Court is two levels down and a couple of blocks that way."

"Let's go, then. I'm starving. What do you mean, 'if' you go back?"

Sarah Jane shrugged, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, as they boarded an escalator between a spiky red miniature humanoid and a couple of giant four-eyed bats. "I sort of think I might want to go on traveling with the Doctor for a long time. Maybe for the rest of my life. That's all."

"You weren't on the TARDIS when I was there. I mean, you won't be when I will be. I mean, you won't have been when I will be being . . . ."

"I said the rest of my life," interrupted Sarah Jane. "Not the rest of his."

"Oh."

They stepped off of the escalator and started walking alongside a huge opening that had been carved out of the floor to make room for a giant statue on the level below. Sarah Jane leaned over the railing to see the whole display. Stephen paused automatically beside her, but seemed too lost in thought to appreciate the artwork.

"Isn't that kind of sad, though?" he asked at last.

"I suppose. But we've all got to die some day—even he will run out of regenerations eventually. And can you imagine any better way to spend your life? I mean, look at this!"

She flung out her arms to encompass the statue. It was all in gold, depicting a cross-looking humanoid in suit and coat with curly hair and an umbrella in one hand; but the really dazzling part was the decorative alien plants that surrounded it. Rather than sitting demurely around the base and looking tasteful, they had crawled up the sides and sprouted flowers of all colors: some blooming from the statue's surface, some hanging on tendrils that sprouted from the sides, many of them waving gently in defiance of the total lack of wind.

"This is absolutely fantastic! And it's only a generic mall display. And there's a whole universe full of this stuff, just waiting to be explored! Can you honestly tell me you didn't miss it? Even a little bit?"

Stephen didn't answer. Glancing over at him, Sarah Jane realized with a start that his eyes were shining.

He's not crying, is he? Oh, I hope not. He'd never forgive me if I saw him cry.

And then the moment was gone. "Are we getting food or not?" demanded Stephen, glaring impatiently at her. "I'm hungry."

"I can't believe it," said Sarah Jane when she returned to their table, having finally secured a drink and a styrofoam cup of hot stew. "You have a whole alien buffet available here, and you go for the franchise that got its start on Earth."

"You can't believe it?" exclaimed Stephen. "I can't believe they've forgotten how to make a proper triple-shot latte with whole milk and extra cinnamon! I rely on Starbucks to give me consistency! How dare they change the recipe after only seventeen hundred years?"

"It's good to try new things," replied Sarah Jane philosophically. "You want a bite of sneg stew?"

"What's a sneg?"

"Kind of like a hairy salamander."

Stephen made a face. "I'll pass."

"Are you sure? It tastes like chicken curry."

"You finish it. If you're not dead in half an hour, maybe I'll order one."

With a shrug, Sarah Jane went at the stew, while Stephen attempted to swallow his unacceptable coffee. The effort was clearly paining him.

Amusing though it was to watch him suffer, Sarah Jane finally took pity. "There's another shop in here that's human-founded, if you want to give them a try. Their specialty is beef slushies."

Stephen's eyes went wide. "That sounds like the most amazing thing ever," he intoned, looking around the circle of restaurant fronts. "Where are—whoa!"

"What? What is it?"

"That human. Right there."

Sarah Jane followed his line of sight dubiously, spotting two or three humanoids at a quick glance. "They probably just look like humans. Lots of alien species do. It's a pretty common evolutionary template."

"I'll ignore that reference to evolution," said Stephen testily as he got to his feet, "because we have more important things to deal with. Look closer at the guy in the brown suit with his back to us. That's not just a humanoid, that's a human. Or at least, he's been in the 20th century very recently."

"How can you be sure?"

"Sarah Jane, I know my suits!"

"Maybe he just likes old-fashioned clothing! Stephen!" With a groan, Sarah Jane pushed back her chair and followed Stephen as he elbowed his way through the tightly packed plastic tables.

"It's not just the suit. I know who he is!"

"You think you know who he is! It's a big universe! You can't just go accosting every being who looks vaguely like someone you—"

It was no use; Stephen had already reached the figure, grabbed him by the shoulder, and spun him around, revealing a friendly face with round glasses and curly brown hair.

"Hello, stranger!" said the accosted man cheerfully. "What can I do you for?"

"Stephen!" Sarah Jane grabbed his arm. "I'm sorry, sir, my friend here is a little confused—"

"David Letterman?" interrupted Stephen. "Are you a Time Lord?"

Chapter Text

The Vortex.
The Doctor is in his tenth incarnation. Stephen Col-bert is 17.

Alone in his room on the TARDIS, safe behind a closed and locked door, Stephen was doing the unthinkable.

He was poring over a book.

Over the course of averting a few timeline-destroying paradoxes together, Stephen had kept up his efforts to win the Doctor's approval. The Doctor rarely addressed him directly, and once in a while Stephen would catch the Time Lord frowning at him, a strangely dark look in his eyes, when he thought Stephen wasn't looking.

Still, he had been more prone to smiling in Stephen's presence since their first mad dash from danger. The fact that Stephen hadn't made any progress since only encouraged him to redouble his efforts.

Which was why, dictionary in one hand and mirror in the other, he was practicing his Delphon.

Stephen didn't know why the Doctor wanted him to learn Delphon. (He assumed this was what the Doctor wanted, or why would the dictionary be in his room in the first place?) It certainly wasn't coming easily. The human body was simply not designed to express all the subtleties of a language based on eyebrow movements.

But then, Stephen had exceptionally talented eyebrows.

Ahnooie-4: 3792.
The Doctor is in his fourth incarnation. Stephen Colbert is 44. Sarah Jane Smith is 29. David Letterman is 43. Romana is in her second known incarnation.

"David Letterman? Are you a Time Lord?"

Letterman—it was definitely him, no question about it, although he looked at least ten years younger than the one in Stephen's era—shook his head. "Nope! You want the Time-babe? She went off to buy some time-travel type components, said I couldn't be trusted with anything more technically advanced than a screwdriver, and told me to stick around here. Women and their shopping! Say, how did you know my name? Are you a fan?"

"Peer," corrected Stephen peevishly. "I'm a peer. At least, I was. Will be. Am going to have been. Were any of those in the right tense? Wait, you're the companion of a Time Lady? The Doctor didn't change into a woman at some point, did he?"

"In order," said Letterman, "what?, yes, and that would be very wrong but strangely arousing. Hey, there she is now!"

Sure enough, approaching them through the crowd was a woman in an old-fashioned dark suit, a straw hat perched on her long blonde hair. What's more, she was deep in animated conversation with the Doctor, and it was clear to Stephen that she was a Time Lady from the way she didn't look completely baffled.

"Stephen! Sarah Jane!" exclaimed the Doctor once they were close enough to hear. "Look who I ran into! This is the very charming Romanadvoratrelundar. I don't actually know her yet, but she insists that she knows me."

"Well, it's official," said Sarah Jane to nobody in particular. "I've completely lost track of who knows who."

Argabuthon: 17,452 AD (Earth time).
The Doctor is in his tenth incarnation. Stephen Col-bert is 17. Jack Harkness is older than that joke about the chicken and the road. (For the record, he likes both sides.)

Stephen was conjugating basic Delphonic verbs when Jack knocked on his door. "Vermicious Knids at ten o'clock! You coming?"

The Doctor was already in the console room when Jack and Stephen arrived, standing before the open doors of the TARDIS. "That was a great landing!" offered Stephen. "Usually we might as well be crashing, but that time I didn't feel the impact at all."

"That's because we haven't landed," said the Doctor. "We're in orbit."

"Oh," said Stephen quietly.

Jack broke the resulting silence. "We're catching the invasion before they get to the surface," he explained. "C'mon, we're all guys here. Let's blow some stuff up!"

Ahnooie-4: 3792.

After a fresh round of introductions by all, in which Dave Letterman revealed himself to be from 1990 and Romanadavematthewsbandar revealed that she would gladly answer to "Romana", the group had headed for Romana's TARDIS.

A cascade of technobabble washed back and forth between the Time Lords, most of which the companions tuned out. The general idea was that an examination of Romana's (fully functional) ship would help them figure out what was wrong with the Doctor's. Of course, being Time Lords, they couldn't just say that. It would be too simple.

"I should warn you," added Romana as she opened a door labeled JANITORIAL STAFF ONLY, "the chameleon circuit's broken."

"Oh, that's not so bad," said the Doctor brightly. "So's mine."

To the companions, he added, "The chameleon circuit is supposed to make the exterior of the TARDIS blend in with its surroundings. Mine got stuck at some point, and now it always looks like a police box, which still looks natural in a surprising variety of settings. Romana, what's . . . oh. Oh my. That's not it, is it?"

"Yes. Yes, this is my TARDIS."

"It looks like a fire hydrant," said Stephen in disbelief.

"Yes, it does." Romana sighed. "I never should have let K-9 build the chameleon circuit. Can't talk too much about that, though. Spoilers."

"Say no more," said the Doctor magnanimously, waving the issue away. "In we go, then. Come on!"

Argabuthon: 17,452 AD (Earth time).

The technologically advanced but ultimately peaceful citizens of Argabuthon insisted on throwing the Doctor a party for stopping the invasion, and Jack insisted that they actually attend.

It had been fun to blast Vermicious Knids out of the sky, but Stephen was relieved to be back in black tie. Suits made him feel important. Legitimate. Like he deserved to have an opinion, and the rest of the world had better shut up and listen.

Or, in this case, shut up and look.

All spoken conversation ground to a halt when the main course (something lumpy, smothered in a creamy yellow sauce with little blue flecks) arrived and those gathered dug in, using a utensil that looked like nothing so much as a fine silver spork. After eating a few sporkfuls, Stephen began pushing his whatever-it-was around the plate, his eyes on the Doctor.

Eventually the Doctor looked in his direction. It was only a glance, but an instant later he frowned and looked again, properly this time.

~Like me,~ Stephen was pleading in Delphon.

The Doctor furrowed his brow; and then his own eyebrows were forming a recognizable and definite phrase: ~I like you.~

~No. You no talk me. Why?~

~It's not your fault,~ replied the Doctor, his phrasing much smoother than Stephen's, signed slowly and clearly so that it could be followed. ~I have [something] to protect, and if I talk to you too much it could cause a [something] that would [something] [something] everything [something].~

Stephen blinked several times, then realized he was probably signing something nonsensical and hastily rearranged his eyebrows. ~I no understand.~

~Right,~ signed the Doctor, then broke into speech. "Look, the timeline is in a very fragile state right now, so yeah, I'm keeping mum, because if I talk to you too much it could end up causing a paradox on a scale that might very well tear apart the whole fabric of existence!"

The entire table stared.

"Uh, Doctor?" hissed Jack under his breath. "I don't think these guys are big on talking during meals."

"Yeah, I got that," murmured the Doctor in response, then grinned broadly at the table. "Lovely dish, this! Absolutely smashing. My compliments to the chef!"

Ahnooie-4: 3792.

"So, if the Doctor picks up me now, while Romana picks up you over then, and the android mummies on Mars were then . . ."

Sarah Jane had enlisted Dave's help to diagram the complicated tangle of who-met-who-and-when. Stephen, who had quickly gotten bored with the idea, was now only half listening to them, the other half of his ear occupied with the Doctor and Romana.

In spite of its unfortunate exterior, the inside of Romana's TARDIS was much neater and more tasteful than either this Doctor's white minimalism or the older Doctor's crazy orange twisty scheme. It was all dark wood, with chrome accents on the console and seats (upholstered ones, even!) around the edges. A section of the floor had been removed so that the two Time Lords could poke around at the insides. Fortunately for the "let's compare parts" theory, the underlying gears of the two machines looked pretty much the same.

". . . but then an older Doctor comes back and picks Stephen up here," continued Sarah Jane. "How do we show that? We're going to need some string."

"Top ten ways you can tell you've been hanging around with Time Lords too long," mused Dave. "When faced with a seemingly paradoxical question of temporal mechanics, your first instinct is to reach for the string."

It did seem paradoxical, now that Stephen thought about it. If an older Doctor had picked him up, then all the time he had been on the TARDIS when he was seventeen, everything that was happening now had already been in his memory. And if the Doctor had said anything to Stephen's younger self that had affected how he, the current Stephen, would behave with the younger Doctor, then that would in turn affect the older Doctor's memories.

No wonder the Doctor had been so standoffish at the time!

Stephen shuddered, feeling his muscles start to seize up. He was in that same position now! Did he dare to move, if he was currently in a position to tear apart all of existence with a paradox?

Except . . . .

"Romana says she met the Doctor about here," Dave was saying, as he and Sarah Jane stood over what was turning into a veritable cat's cradle. "They palled around for a while, then Romana left, here, and picked up me back here, and then the whole shebang loops back and meets the Doctor and you two crazy kids right now."

Except that Romana was in that position too, wasn't she? Talking to a Doctor who hadn't met her younger self yet?

Stephen looked over at the open floor panel. The two Time Lords were chattering away like old friends, laughing, joking, using words of about ten syllables, and generally being about as friendly as possible. And then there was the way Romana's eyes sparkled when she smiled at the Doctor, as if she were very fond of him and didn't care who knew it.

"What's wrong with you two?" demanded Stephen abruptly.

The pair broke off their conversation about circuits and light cells to look up at him. "Who, us?" asked the Doctor blankly.

"Yes, you! She," and Stephen aimed an accusing finger squarely at Romana, "is talking to you as if you're the you she already knows! But you only just met her!" He turned to the Time Lady. "Aren't you the least bit afraid you'll cause some kind of paradox that makes the universe go foom?"

Romana shrugged. "No."

"Why?" added the Doctor. "Should she be?"

For a moment Stephen could only stutter. "But—but the timeline—I mean, the timey-wimey ball—or whatever—"

"'Timey-wimey ball'? I like that. I'll have to use it again. Really, Stephen, no need to fret. Time is surprisingly resilient. It bounces back."

Stephen saw red. "Then—all the times you fed me lines about keeping the timeline safe, you were full of it," he said, voice dangerously low.

Sarah Jane and Dave had gone silent. He could feel their eyes on his back.

The Doctor frowned. "I'm sure I must be going to have a good reason . . . ."

"Oh, sure, make up something else!" snapped Stephen. "You just didn't want to talk to me, did you? Was I not good enough for you? Everything I did, and I still wasn't good enough?"

"Stephen—"

"Don't start! I'm not listening to one more excuse." Stephen turned on his heel and stalked to the TARDIS door.

"Oh," he added, turning back for just a moment before he stormed out, "and guess what? You're On Notice. Yeah. Hurts, doesn't it? Now you know how it feels."

Chapter Text

Ahnooie-4: 3792.
Stephen Colbert is 44. (And so on.)

"Strongest thing you've got. And make it snappy," ordered Stephen as he slapped the Doctor's credit card down on the bar. It had been a half-hour walk to find an establishment that specialized in alcohol, and he had no intention of waiting any longer to get drunk.

"Sir, our strongest is designed for Sontarans, and has been known to dissolve the hulls of some less sturdy battle cruisers," said the bartender, a scaly blue humanoid with definite gills on the sides of his neck. (Or possibly hers. It was hard to tell.) "I'm legally prohibited from serving this beverage to any being who cannot produce proof that your metabolism is strong enough."

So much for that idea, then. Stephen tried to remember what future-type drinks had come up in Captain Jack's stories. "Do you carry hypervodka? And will Big Government let you serve it to me?"

"It's not the government, sir, it's mall policy," clarified the bartender. "But I can get you a hypervodka. Would you like one?"

"On the rocks," agreed Stephen.

A minute later he had to send the drink back, explaining that his species did not literally eat rocks, it was just an expression, and (this said while eying the security guard at the end of the bar, who was literally twice his height and several times broader) he would like some frozen water, if it wasn't too much trouble.

"An' another thing!" slurred Stephen, knocking about the ice in his empty glass. "He's elitist! 'Sright, I said it! Just because he has a fancy Time Lord university degree an' he's been all over th' space 'n time, th' Doctor thinks he's so great. He's not!"

"I'm sure he isn't, sir," said the bartender smoothly. "Can I refill your jynnan tonnyx?"

"'M not sure," muttered Stephen. "Dunno if I should spend too much . . . hey, you're not gonna slip me a Mickey Finn, are you? Hee hee . . . get it? Fin? 'Cause you have fins?" He giggled over this for a moment or two. "'Sfunny," he clarified.

"Excuse me, sir," interrupted a genteel male voice. "May I buy you a drink?"

Stephen eyed the stranger with what he felt was a look of keen suspicion. "'M not gonna put out," he said firmly. "Even if you do have a ver' nice mustache."

"Why, thank you. But don't worry, I only want to talk."

"'Kay."

"Bartender! Another jynnan tonnyx for the gentleman," said the stranger. "Now, did you say 'the Doctor'?"

"Well, aren't you going to go after him, Doctor?" protested Sarah Jane.

"What? Oh, yes! Eventually. Don't look so cross, Sarah. He needs a while to cool down. Come here for a second—scoot over, Romana."

Sarah Jane was secretly gratified when the Time Lady moved aside to make room for her.

Don't be silly, she chided herself. You can hardly be jealous of someone he hasn't even met yet, even if she is brilliant and capable and from his species and already seems to get on with him like they're best mates. "What am I looking at, Doctor?"

The Doctor hauled his scarf out of the way and pointed down into the gears. "That bit there, that's the piece we need. We're going to need to ask around at the tech shops, find somebody who sells it."

"Probably some incredibly advanced bit of Time Lord technology," observed Dave, leaning over her shoulder. "With a tongue-twister of a name like the ancillary modial turbonecabulator."

"It looks like a light bulb," said Sarah Jane.

"Very good!" enthused the Doctor. "Now all we have to do is find a shop that sells these for a Type 40 TARDIS."

"Hang on!" broke in Dave. "Your whole lighting system is busted because one bulb is missing? Masters of time and space, and you're on the same technological level as 20th-century Christmas lights? No wonder I can only get burnt toast around here."

It wasn't exactly an accomplishment to have outsmarted Dave, but Sarah Jane found herself feeling rather proud. Human or not, she could still be useful to a Time Lord.

"Doctor!" called Romana, now standing over a panel at the console. "I've run a quick scan on your credit card usage in this era. A card in your name was used to purchase drinks at a local establishment called Brannigan's, with a total of enough alcohol to intoxicate but not incapacitate a human metabolism. Your companion should be fine."

"Wonderful!" exclaimed the Doctor. "Romana, you're a treasure."

Sarah Jane suppressed a groan.

"Y'wanna hear somethin' hilarious?" demanded Stephen, in a tone that made it clear the question was not rhetorical. "Sarah Jane thinks she wants to stay with 'im! Stay! Like, until she dies!

His new friend, who had so far bought him three jynnan tonnyx and downed just as many himself, nodded sympathetically at him from across the booth. "Is that so?"

"Yes! 'S pathetic! 'Cause he's never gonna look at 'er that way, y'know. Never looks at nobody that way. Not even the lady Time Lord we jus' ran into, wossername . . . ."

"Not Romanadvoratrelundor?"

"Thassit! Not Romanahmadinejador. Not Jack, an' Jack would've died for 'im—well, Jack can't die, 's a long story an' 'e never got around to telling, but 'e woulda done if 'e could. Not any of the others—we ran into one of 'em once, when I was a kid, lady named Jo, bit of an envir'n'mentalist but ver' nice otherwise, an' you could tell she would've rather stayed with th' Doctor f'rever, only she got wise to the fact that he doesn't notice people that way!"

"It certainly is hard to get his attention," agreed the generous buyer of the drinks. "Can we get another round over here?"

"An' Sarah Jane must've figured it out, too," continued Stephen. "She's not stupid. Don' tell 'er I said this or I'll put you On Notice for the rest of f'rever, but she's probl'ly a lot smarter'n me. She knows."

Tears filled his eyes. Oh, he was plastered.

"And it's so sad!" he practically wailed. "Because she still wants t' stay! She has nothin' t'go back to that's better'n that! I mean . . . I missed this, yeah." He waved vaguely to indicate the bar, or perhaps the universe, around him. "'S why I jumped on th' chance t'go back to it. But it's jus' like a vacation. I'm gonna wanna go home after."

A fluorescent orange waitress replaced their empty glasses with full ones, and none too soon: Stephen took a great gulp, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

"'Cause I got stuff t'go home to!" he elaborated. "Like th' rush of a mill'n people watchin' you on TV ev'ry night. An' th' feel of y'r dog lickin' y'r face. An' th' fun of singin' with other superfamous people, even if they did get th' Emmys you shoulda won. An' th' taste of South Carolina peaches, an' th' way Jon hides his smile behind his fist but you c'n still tell 'cause his eyes crinkle up, an' th' sound of a hunnerd people cheerin' y'r name. An' . . . was somethin' else, I know it . . . ."

"Family?" suggested his friend.

"Thassit!" cried Stephen overloudly. "Course I'd want t'go home. I'm married! With kids! Which I did not jus' make up t'prove that I'm het'ra . . . hetara . . . hatarosecks . . . straight, without th' hassle of puttin' up with a girlfriend! But Sarah Jane, she doesn't 'ave anythin' on Earth that's better'n trailing an un-gettable man f'r th' rest of 'er life!"

There were tears rolling freely down his face now. "I," he declared, just in case it wasn't clear, "am so wasted right now."

"And yet you still haven't passed out," broke an unfamiliar woman's voice, as the speaker slid into the booth next to Stephen. He couldn't see very clearly through his double vision, but she was wearing red and seemed to have much more hair than was necessary.

"'M sorry," he managed, "y're certainly a ver' sexy woman, an' under other circa . . . circon . . . circastan . . . condit'ns, I would love t' have wild alien sex with you, but I'm married." He stuck his beringed left hand in her face to demonstrate.

"Yes, yes, I heard," replied the woman sternly, pushing the hand away.

"He might be int'rested," offered Stephen, waving at his mysterious benefactor before taking another gulp of his drink. "But I wouldn't bet too much on it." Putting his mouth next to the woman's ear, he confided in a loud whisper: "He's kind of a bitter old queen."

"Scintillating conversationalist," said the woman sarcastically. "Now I see why you didn't just drug him straightaway."

"The job was going to get done," snapped the strange man in reply. "There's no need to be so impatient."

He was much too lucid for a man who had downed that many jynnan tonnyx, and Stephen was struck by the vague idea that he ought to be afraid. "Why aren't you drunk?" he demanded, in what was supposed to be an authoritative tone of voice but came out as a mumble.

"My blood alcohol level only rises at half the speed of yours," replied the man. "Two hearts, you know."

Stephen's vision was starting to go foggy and colorless. "Wh-who are you?" he managed.

"Oh, didn't I introduce myself? How rude. I am the Master," he said, as Stephen slipped into unconsciousness, "and you will obey me."

Chapter Text

Magrathea: 100,000,000,000,000 (give or take).
The Doctor is in his tenth incarnation. Stephen Col-bert is 17. Jack Harkness is so old that when he walks into antique stores, they try to keep him.

The stars were burning.

Most of the sky above the force-shielded dome was a blank, inky black, its vistas of stars and galaxies and auroras blotted out by advancing reefs of dark matter. The few stars that remained were huge and hot and red. The planet's surface outside the dome, long since stripped of its atmosphere, was bare, craterless rock.

It was the end of the universe, and the wine list was fantastic.

Or at least, the wine list seemed to impress Jack and the Doctor. While the two older men ordered like experts, Stephen stabbed randomly at the menu. He still hadn't tried alien alcohol, but he had been raiding the liquor cabinet since he was twelve, so he figured he was prepared to take on whatever else the universe could throw at him.

"He didn't ask for my ID," observed Stephen as the waiter (vaguely lizardlike, with an accent that the TARDIS' translation circuits rendered as deeply British) left with their orders. "I guess I just look that mature."

"Or you're over the drinking age in this era," countered the Doctor. "Or it could just be that all humanoids look the same to him."

"Not that it matters in this case," put in Jack. "You got the chinanto/mnigs, right?"

Stephen nodded. "Why, what's in it?"

"Warm water."

"And what else?"

"That's all."

"Oh," said Stephen.

"Hey, cheer up," urged Jack, waving his arm to draw Stephen's eyes to the imploding cosmos all around them. "Nobody comes here for the drinks anyway. It's all about the show!"

Ahnooie-4: 3792.
The Doctor is in his fourth incarnation. Sarah Jane Smith is 29. David Letterman is 43. Romana is in her second known incarnation.

"Sorry we can't stay to help you," said Romana, opening the door of her TARDIS. "We're sort of in the middle of a quest of our own."

"You'll have to tell me about it some time," replied the Doctor cheerfully. "Don't spoil it for me now!"

"Look me up some time when you get back to Earth," added Dave to Sarah Jane. "You can come on the show. We'll do coffee."

Sarah Jane sighed. "Some other millennium."

"Exactly!"

"It's a pleasure to have met you both," said the Doctor. And, to Romana, "And I'm sure it will be a pleasure for you to have met me." Tipping his hat to them both, he stepped out of the TARDIS. "Come along, Sarah!"

Sarah Jane gratefully followed.

"Now," the Doctor continued, shouting over the sound of the giant fire hydrant loudly dematerializing behind them, "let's find a store that sells this bulb! Oh, and do keep an eye out for Stephen while you're at it!"

Magrathea: 100,000,000,000,000.

Jack watched the last of the stars boil away with more than idle interest.

"Hey, Doctor?" he asked, keeping his voice low. The whole restaurant seemed to be quieting down, out of instinctive respect for the end of reality.

"Hm?" replied the Doctor, mouth around the straw in his fizzy orange drink.

Trying not to get too distracted by this latest appearance of the Doctor's periodic oral fixation, Jack said, "If I live to see this era of history, and nobody shows up in a time machine to pick me up, what happens? Will that finally do me in?"

"Aw, Jack, don't worry about that," replied the Doctor unhelpfully. "Cross that bridge when you come to it."

This was not very reassuring. Rather than push it, though, Jack turned to explain the whole not-being-able-to-die thing to Stephen. The conversation wouldn't make much sense if you didn't know about it.

Stephen wasn't even listening. He was staring at the sky. Of course, the scene above them was a pretty awe-inspiring sight. But when Jack looked closer, he realized that Stephen was trembling.

"Hey, kid? You all right?"

"They're so big," whispered Stephen.

"What, the stars? Yeah. They're impressive."

"Big," repeated Stephen. "And bright. Bigger and brighter than anything on Earth, than anything in our solar system, and they're going to die, and we're next . . . ."

"Hey, hey, easy there." Jack put a hand on Stephen's shoulder. "This whole restaurant is in a big time bubble. The universe goes foom out there, we sit in here and kick back overpriced drinks. Tell him, Doctor."

"'S true," replied the Doctor nonchalantly. "When this is over, we'll all hop in our time machines and take off. No harm done."

The boy was shaking as he replied, still staring at the collapse of reality above them. "Doesn't matter," he gasped. "Oh, God, nothing matters."

Stephen's world had come unmoored.

Of course it matters! he shouted at himself. You'll be good and you'll work hard and someday you'll be famous and everyone will see you and everyone will love you and of course that'll matter!

His voice carried on breathlessly without him. "No matter how hard we work, anything we do, anything we build, it's all going to fall apart, it's all going to end like this . . ."

His vision was going black around the edges. The sounds of the restaurant echoed dimly around him, but all he could see was the sky.

Not if you're good enough! Not if you're big enough! Not if—

". . . never be bigger than the stars, and they're gone, so why bother? Why fight it? Why not just tear it all down . . ." With this came a series of images: scenes of burning, wrecking, smashing, shooting, destroying.

For all the horror, there was a kind of sweetness about the idea.

You can't! he cried, silent and helpless, as his voice continued: "It's not like time won't do that anyway. No way to stop it. Time goes on, the beat goes on . . . ."

The Doctor started so violently that the table jolted, all the dishes rattling in protest.

"Was that a coincidence?" demanded Jack, remembering the last person they had met with a destructive streak and a drumbeat in his head. "Please tell me that was a coincidence!"

The Doctor was already standing behind Stephen, pressing his hands to the boy's temples. A moment later the erratic stream of speech trailed off and Stephen slumped in his seat, eyes closed. Jack caught him before he could slide to the floor.

"It was a coincidence," said the Doctor, speaking low and fast. "But this was a bad idea. Jack, take him back to the TARDIS. I'll be right there." He waved one skinny arm frantically for a waiter. "Check, please!"

Ahnooie-4: 3792.
Stephen Colbert is 44. The Master is in the incarnation played by Anthony Ainley.

Stephen awoke slowly, groggily, and with a pounding headache.

He had been having a nightmare, but the details faded as he slipped out of its clutches, and he was happy to let them go. Something about the world falling apart around him, and he had to rally the Nation to keep it together, only he couldn't even move because Jon Stewart had tied him down, and why would he be having a dream like that?

Then he tried to move, and part of the question was answered: He really was tied down.

As Stephen grew more lucid, he began to pick up the sounds of two voices not far off. Keeping his eyes closed, he tried to focus over the pounding in his head. Slowly the voices resolved into words.

"There will be no taunting. Do you understand?"

A woman. She sounded like the one who had joined them in the bar, but Stephen couldn't be sure as he had been too blitzed to hear straight.

"No taunting? My dear Rani, you have no sense of occasion."

That was definitely the man who had bought Stephen all those drinks. The Master, he had called himself. It was fitting: he had the voice of a Master.

In spite of this, the woman—Rani?—replied as if she were the one in charge. "Occasion has nothing to do with it. You simply want to indulge your schoolboy rivalry with the Doctor."

"We have one of his precious Companions in custody," said the Master smoothly. "It would be a shame to waste the opportunity."

The voices were almost next to him now. "We won't. We'll use it to get valuable information out of the Doctor. You are simply not to waste time gloating about it. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Mother." The Master's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Shall we call him now, or do you wish to lecture me some more?"

"We'll call him as soon as the captive wakes up."

"Oh, so you didn't notice! He's been listening to us for a while now."

Stephen opened his eyes, trying to look as though he knew he hadn't been fooling anyone. "There's no need to have me tied down like this," he said, voice definitely not cracking with fear as he spoke. "I won't make any trouble. I'll do anything you say."

The Master looked gratified, though his fingers were still tapping out a quiet but irritated beat on his sleeve (onetwothreefour, onetwothreefour). The woman beside him only arched an eyebrow. She had truly impressive eyebrows: almost as magnificent as Stephen's own. "Even if it hurts the Doctor?"

"That unfair egotistical time-meddling technobabbling sonic-screwdriver-happy alien elitist?" snapped Stephen. "Why should I care what happens to him?"

"Well, well, well," purred the Master. "This should prove very interesting."

Chapter Text

Ahnooie-4: 3792.
The Doctor is in his fourth incarnation. Sarah Jane Smith is 29. Stephen Colbert is 44. The Master is in the incarnation played by Anthony Ainley.

"You're quite sure you don't have any more in stock?"

"Very sure, sir," confirmed the shopkeeper, whom Sarah Jane privately thought looked like a giant talking ferret with spectacles. "We have many other fine products, though, if sir would like to take a look."

While the Doctor continued to ply the ferret-woman ("Are you quite, quite sure?"), Sarah Jane wandered the aisles of the electronics shop. It was the fourth one they'd tried, and, to her eye, the most normal: futuristic gadgets whose purpose she couldn't have guessed in a thousand years sat side by side with objects that looked like ordinary television sets. One of them was even showing an Earth program.

Sarah Jane stopped short. It wasn't just any Earth program.

It was Stephen's program.

And he was talking about time travel.

At first Sarah Jane was horrified that he had bared the secret so openly. On public television! On a show with an audience of millions! (Or so he had claimed.)

Then she listened to what the recorded Stephen was actually saying.

"I'll tell you what's really going on here, Nation. Here's my theory. Scientists already have the time machines, but they don't want the rest of us to see them. Why? 'Cause we'd see all the dials only go back six thousand years!"

While the figure on the screen carried on about the Bible and the fraud of evolution and scientists traveling back in time to plant dinosaur bones, Sarah Jane boggled. Here was a man who, in his younger days, had skipped all over the timescape (unless the future Doctor had made the TARDIS a whole lot more precise, which she found hard to believe). Odds were good he had seen dinosaurs.

How could a man be so vocal about beliefs that were so clearly contradicted by facts?

The Vortex.
The Doctor is in his tenth incarnation. Stephen Col-bert is 17. If Jack Harkness acted his age, he would be dead.

"Denial," said the Doctor. "He's good at that."

They were standing in the Zero Room. Well, Jack and the Doctor were standing. Stephen was sort of floating. The Zero Room was cut off from all external influence, up to and including gravity. It was too bad the Doctor had put him to sleep; he probably would have enjoyed it.

For the most part, Jack didn't feel any different in here, but the effect on the Doctor was obvious. His usual agitated energy had calmed. If Jack hadn't known better, he would have said that the Time Lord seemed almost serene.

"Denial?" he repeated. (Another result of the Zero Room's calming influence: the Doctor hadn't already launched into a frenzied technical explanation of what was going on.) "He's just pretending it didn't happen? Is that going to be enough?"

"It might be when he does it." The Doctor stared pensively at his fingertips, pressed lightly to Stephen's temples. "He's repressing so much already."

Jack wanted to come closer, but, not knowing whether he would help or hurt, decided it was safer to keep his distance. "Wait, what else?"

The Doctor's eyelids fluttered briefly. "Fear. Lots of it. The fear that no one will ever notice him, that he'll never be loved, that nothing he does will ever matter. Normal human insecurities, but he's got them all in spades, and seeing the end of the universe nearly overwhelmed him with the last one. I never should have brought him there. If I'd realized how close to the edge he was . . . it'll only make it that much harder when he . . . ."

He trailed off.

"When he what?" prompted Jack softly.

"Never mind."

Ahnooie-4: 3792.

"Sarah, unless you've found a TARDIS bulb or somebody is dying, I don't want to hear it."

"But Doctor, it's Stephen! Don't you want to see?"

The Doctor perked up immediately, hurrying down the aisle to join her. "Stephen? You've found him?"

"No, no, they've just got one of his old shows playing on the telly. You can tell it's from before when he met us because he isn't wearing that silly red bracelet he's so attached to. I made the mistake of asking what it was the other day, and got a half-hour lecture on the importance of wrist safety."

"But he is wearing the bracelet," pointed out the Doctor.

"Oh? They must have changed the program, then." Sarah Jane turned from the Doctor back to the television.

The program had changed, all right. Every television set in the row was rolling a new piece of Stephen footage, completely different from the clip she had been watching the moment before.

"Did they frequently tie him up on his show?" inquired the Doctor. "He doesn't seem the type. At least, not in public."

The Vortex.

"He's not the Master," said the Doctor abruptly. "In case you were wondering."

Jack had been trying not to think about that possibility. The idea that the possibly insane renegade Time Lord could have regenerated into this engaging young boy who threw all of his protective instincts into overdrive was too chilling to entertain for long.

"Not possessed, either. Well, there's one psychic energy being fluttering around his head, but it's not malicious. This was all his own destructive impulse."

"Why bring him into the Zero Room, then?"

"Well, I had to check, didn't I? If there had been some outside force messing with his wiring, this would be the easiest way to tell. But it's all him. Just the little voice in the back of his head, suggesting that maybe he ought to just burn it all down."

Jack started. "You're not going to just leave him with that! Are you?"

"I told you, he has it very well controlled. I could put in some blocks of my own, but I'm afraid I'd only disturb the system that's already there. He's resisting plenty of urges, and rejecting anything that might trigger them—up to and including quite a lot of reality."

"You make it sound like he's delusional."

The Doctor seemed to seriously consider this before answering. "No, I wouldn't say that," he said at last. "Just very attached to truthiness."

There was that twinge of familiarity again. As if there were something here that Jack ought to remember.

It was on the tip of his tongue . . . .

"And when it gets too much for him," continued the Doctor (scattering Jack's train of thought like leaves in the wind), "he'll gravitate towards strict rules, strong people—outside forces that can keep him together. For better or for worse."

Ahnooie-4: 3792.

Every screen in the store was now showing the same footage, and it wasn't Stephen's program. It wasn't any kind of TV program designed for a mass audience. Only a select niche of people would have appreciated it.

Against a nondescript grey backdrop sat Stephen, tied to a chair. Thick ropes wrapped around his legs and torso, holding him securely in place; though his head was bowed, the gag in his mouth was clearly visible. There was not a sound to be heard.

Something in the Doctor's coat chose that moment to start beeping.

Sarah Jane and the Doctor both jumped, then the latter frantically slapped three pockets before pulling out a hand-held communicator. "Hello?"

"Doctor!" came the reply. Sarah Jane could hear it loud and clear, not from the phone itself, but through the television sets. "It's been a while. How are you doing?"

"Master," said the Doctor through gritted teeth.

"Why so hostile, Doctor? Can't I just call to have a friendly chat?"

"You? No. What are you up to?"

"I did happen to run into one of your pet humans recently . . . ."

"I can see that."

"Ah, so you're near a television! Wonderful! That makes this easier." As Sarah Jane watched the screen, the Master walked into the frame and stood behind Stephen, a similar communicator held to his ear as he looked directly into the camera and placed his other hand on top of the captive man's head.

"Let him go," ordered the Doctor.

"Oh, I don't think so. Not unless you make it worth my while."

"I'm not helping you."

"Now, Doctor, you haven't even heard what I want yet."

"I don't care. Whatever evil scheme you're planning, I want nothing to do with it."

"Evil scheme? You wound me. We only need some repairs done to this TARDIS."

"And unleash you on a helpless universe? Nothing doing."

"That's a shame. It really is. Especially for your little pet here." The Master ruffled Stephen's hair possessively. "We'll call back in an hour or so, find out if you're ready to be reasonable."

The screen went dark.

"Master, don't—!" began the Doctor. It was no use. The call had already ended.

"We can't just leave Stephen with him," said Sarah Jane. "What are we going to do, Doctor?"

The Time Lord turned on his heel and stalked out of the shop, multicolored scarf trailing behind him. "Back to the TARDIS," he declared, as Sarah Jane hurried to keep up. "The light bulb can wait. We're just going to have to plan a rescue in the dark."

In the middle of one of the wide corridors of the sprawling mall that covered the planet's surface, a boarded-up little kiosk advertised Piercings: Ears, Noses, Webs, Fins, Snouts, And More: Coming Soon!

It looked just like any other kiosk that dotted the hall, but a perception field around it reinforced the idea in an onlooker's mind that it belonged there. Just in case someone remembered that the spot had been empty the day before.

Between this boarded-up kiosk and the next one (hawking calendars with cute infant mammals on the covers) stood a back-to-back pair of benches, and on one of these sat two humanoids. The girl, dark-haired and chubby-cheeked, was kicking her heels as she licked an ice cream cone. The adult looked deceptively casual; only a close examination of her eyes would reveal that she was scanning the area with almost military precision.

They waited.

Chapter Text

Ahnooie-4: 3792.
The Doctor is in his fourth incarnation. Sarah Jane Smith is 29. Stephen Colbert is 44. The Master is in the incarnation played by Anthony Ainley.

"That was . . . passable," said the Rani sternly when she had switched off the camera.

It was "the Rani", Stephen had learned, because she was yet another Time Lady, and "Rani" was the title she had chosen. He hadn't been brave enough yet to ask her if the word meant anything, or it if was just more nonsense like Romananconvenientruthdor.

"I suppose you can't help being smug," she continued. "You never could resist showing off in front of the Doctor."

The Master's fingers were tapping out their irritated beat from before (onetwothreefour, onetwothreefour), this time at the base of Stephen's neck, so he leaped to the Time Lord's defense: "He deserves to show off."

At least, that was what he tried to say. With the gag still in his mouth, the best he could manage was "Mmmrrumumumph."

"Almost forgot," said the Master. Slipping his fingers into the knot at the nape of Stephen's neck, he tugged, pulling Stephen's head back for a moment before the gag came loose. "Better?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you. I was just saying that you deserve to show off. And the Doctor needs to be put in his place once in a while."

"You see, Rani?" The Master's smirk was evident in his voice as he ruffled Stephen's hair again. (From almost anyone else, Stephen would have taken this gesture as an insult. From the Master, he had the sense that he was lucky to get it.) "This one understands."

"That's right," agreed Stephen. "I get it. We're it-getters, us two."

For the first time, the Rani addressed him directly. "And you! If you act half this smitten the next time we call the Doctor, you'll give the whole game away. Control yourself."

The ropes wrapped around him, which until then had been surprisingly comfortable, felt restrictive for the first time as Stephen squirmed under the Time Lady's gaze. "Yes, ma'am."

The Vortex.
The Doctor is in his tenth incarnation. Stephen Col-bert is 17. Jack Harkness has forgotten more memories than you've had time to form.

The first thing Stephen heard as he regained consciousness was the Doctor exclaiming, "Ah! He's waking up. Better put him down."

He opened his eyes to find himself flat on his back in a perfectly white room, with the Doctor and Jack leaning over him. Oh, no. He hadn't fainted, had he? What would Jack think of him? What would the Doctor think?

"I'm okay!" he exclaimed, sitting up so quickly that his vision went spotty. "I was just—relaxing. That's all."

The Doctor sat back on his heels and pulled off his black-framed glasses. "It's all right. I put you to sleep."

Stephen latched onto this new bit of information and switched tracks in a heartbeat. "What did you do that for? I was fine! Nothing I couldn't handle!"

"How do you feel?" asked Jack gently.

"Never better!" declared Stephen, raising his voice to demonstrate how good he felt. "Want me to prove it? We can go back. Right now. Let's do it."

"Can't," said the Doctor. "We've already been in that place and time. The Blinovitch Limitation Effect prevents our going back."

Stephen might have accused the Doctor of making words up, but he was too relieved to care. Something about that restaurant gave him . . . the creeps. Yes, that was it. The creeps. Not a terrifying sense of insignificance that made him want to scream until his lungs gave out just to prove that he still had a voice. And anyway, he wasn't thinking about it. He wasn't. He was thinking about . . .

"Why don't you go study your Delphon?" suggested the Doctor.

Delphon! Yes! Now there was a subject that would take all of Stephen's concentration. You can't panic when your mind is full of verb conjugations. "I'll do that!" he said brightly, feeling steadier already as he got to his feet. "Just you wait. I'll practically be a native speaker before you know it."

I'll be good enough. You'll see.

Ahnooie-4: 3792.

"Now hold down the red button. But make absolutely sure you don't push the blue button, or we'll have to start all over."

"The lights are still off, Doctor!" protested Sarah Jane. "How am I meant to tell?"

She and the Doctor had returned to the TARDIS in the hopes of using it to track down Stephen, but so far it was proving just as much of a challenge to track down the right controls.

"Here." The Doctor aimed the lone torch at her section of the console, nearly blinding her. "All set?"

"Give me a minute. My eyes need to adjust . . . All right, got it." As Sarah Jane leaned on the button, the beam of light moved away as quickly as it had come, leaving her totally in the dark except for the colored afterimages dancing on her retinas. "Can you at least tell me what you're doing?"

"Scanning for TARDISes. The Master ought to have one around here somewhere . . . Aha! Here—no, that's not the Master's. Must be Romana's . . . ."

"Didn't Romana leave already?"

"So she did. I wonder whose this is, then? And here's another! Dear me, this planet is absolutely crawling with Time Lords. I wonder if I can get any of them to identify themselves."

With that, he lapsed into silence, except for a few mutterings under his breath.

After a while, Sarah Jane prompted, "Did you figure out whose they were?"

"What? Oh, that. A while ago, yes."

"Well, don't leave me in the dark here, Doctor!" She paused. "No pun intended."

"None taken. One of the TARDISes is recorded as stolen by the Monk. He's another renegade I used to run into—haven't seen him for centuries. He won't be a problem, though, as he's got a police TARDIS locked onto him—owned by someone called the Ace, nobody I know but hopefully on top of his game. One isn't registered at all; what's more, it's young, as if somebody grew it independently and is taking it for its first test run. The Master wouldn't have the patience for that. No, he's likely in the TARDIS that belongs to the Rani—which I was in the process of remotely hacking when you interrupted."

"Sorry about that."

"Not to worry. Time Lords have this lovely ability called multitasking. Really comes in handy in situations like this. Ah! Here we are."

There was a triumphant sort of dinging noise, and the large screen on the console room wall lit up with a mosaic of smaller shots, each displaying scenes from the interior of a ship decorated in grey with, of all things, pink highlights.

"Quick, Sarah: do you see Stephen anywhere?"

Sarah Jane scanned the views. "There he is! Third from the left, in the bottom row."

The image promptly enlarged to fill the whole screen. "What luck!" exclaimed the Doctor. "They've left him in a room with a security camera and a speaker system. Probably didn't realize it was so easy to hack."

"Or it could be a trap."

"That too." The Doctor hesitated for a moment, then shook himself. "Only one way to find out! Patching in . . . disabling internal monitoring systems . . . rerouting the audio . . . Stephen? Stephen, can you hear me?"

At the sound of the voice, distorted but strangely familiar, Stephen looked up in confusion. "Conscience? Is that you?"

Not that he was feeling guilty, of course! Not at all! What would make him feel guilty? He was only doing what the Master said. And if this meant betraying the Doctor, well, the Doctor was a jerk. So there.

Trouble was, now that the Rani had gone off to work on some experiment and the Master was busy with part of the plan that he would probably explain to Stephen at some point, they had left Stephen alone in a bare room. And the blank grey walls and sparse grey furnishings only underscored how richly decorated his room, the one in the Doctor's TARDIS, had been. And that, in turn, made him remember how nice the Doctor could be . . . .

"Stephen, it's me," said the voice. It wasn't his conscience after all; it was the Doctor himself. "Are you all right? Have they hurt you?"

"I'm fine," snapped Stephen, then remembered he was supposed to be an unwilling captive. "So far. Wait, how are you talking to me?"

"Hacked the sound system in the Rani's TARDIS. We're seeing and hearing you through the camera in the room. Up and to the left. More left. That's it!"

Once he was facing in the direction the Doctor had aimed him at, Stephen automatically arranged himself to make sure the nondescript whorl in the molding caught his good side. Not that all of his sides weren't good, but it never hurt to take care.

"You're still On Notice," he couldn't help saying, once he knew where to aim his formidably arched eyebrows.

"Yes, yes, you mentioned. It's a good thing they untied you; that'll make this easier."

"Make what easier?"

"Getting you out, of course."

Stephen wished he had still been tied up. It would have given him an excuse to stay put. "Uh, the door's locked," he invented quickly.

"From the inside?"

"Uh—I mean—well, what if I run into the Master or the Rani in the hall?"

"They're both a fair distance from you right now. I can't think why the Rani's got her TARDIS so wired, but it's working in our favor. If they get too close, I can always fake the sound of an explosion nearby, throw them off the scent. But it'll still be best if you hurry."

Stephen took a breath to give another excuse, then realized his stock had run dry.

"Now, once you're out the door, you'll want to turn left and go straight down the hall about sixty feet—"

"I'm not going!"

Chapter Text

Ahnooie-4: 3792.
The Doctor is in his fourth incarnation. Sarah Jane Smith is 29. Stephen Colbert is 44. The Master is in the incarnation played by Anthony Ainley.

When Stephen had made his declaration, the room went so quiet that he started to wonder if the connection had given out.

Finally the Doctor replied. "Come again?"

"You heard me."

"Stephen, I know you're upset, but you can't possibly want to stay with the Master!"

"And why not?"

"He's evil!" sputtered the Doctor.

"Says who?"

"Says—well, the inhabitants of all the planets he's taken over, for one!"

"I'm sure he only took them over for their own good. They were probably freewheeling hives of liberal excess that needed a little rule-of-law to whip them into shape."

"His goal is to take over the entire universe!"

"You have a problem with ambition?"

Sarah Jane's voice broke into the conversation. "But what about democracy? The American ideal?"

"Democracy's great, but I'm pro-fascism. Always have been."

"He's terrorized populations!" cried the Doctor. "Enslaved entire races! Induced interplanetary wars! If I hadn't shown up to thwart his schemes, he might have brought down whole galaxies by now!"

None of this was news to Stephen. The Master had bragged about quite a bit of it in his presence, egged on by the Rani's snarking. But there were other pieces of information tucked away in his mind: ideas he had picked up in conversation with the Master the night before, even if they were a bit fuzzy from the vast amount of alcohol that had been in his system at the time.

"He's saved your life."

"What?"

"He has, hasn't he? In the past . . . your past, anyway . . . the Master has saved your life."

"Well, yes," the Doctor admitted. "Multiple times, in fact. What difference does that make?"

"It makes plenty of difference!" cried Stephen. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Don't be silly! He's a mass-murdering megalomaniac! What good does it do for him to save one being when he's harmed and killed countless others?"

"You're not just 'one being.' You're the Doctor. You're the one who always foils his plans. If he really just wanted power, he'd be glad to get you out of the way! But he makes sure you can always reach him! And, sure, his plans are huge and grandiose and over-the-top. They have to be! You wouldn't try to stop them if they weren't big enough to make you notice in the first place! Don't you understand? He's doing it all to get your attention, Jon!"

By the light of the image of a defiant-looking Stephen on the console room wall screen, Sarah Jane could just make out the Doctor's bewildered expression as he turned to look at her.

"Jon? Who's this Jon?"

"Who said anything about Jon?" demanded Stephen.

"You did. Just now, you called me Jon."

In spite of the bickering, Sarah Jane's mind was racing.

"I did no such thing."

There was only one Jon that Stephen could possibly be referring to: the one that he talked about incessantly, usually in the context of how he was not talking about him, or didn't need to talk about him, or wasn't so much as thinking about him.

"You most certainly did!"

Although Stephen had deflected all questions, Sarah Jane had gathered that Jon Stewart was either a close friend or a bitter rival, regarded with a fierce jealousy that stemmed either from resentment or admiration. And she couldn't for the life of her figure out which it was.

"Did not!"

This apparently irreconcilable mix of emotions suddenly fell into place. Of course. Contradictory or not, Stephen felt them all at once.

"Stephen," interrupted Sarah Jane, cutting off the argument before it could deteriorate any further, "you say the Master just wants the Doctor's attention, right?"

"That's exactly what I said. Nothing to do with Jon. I don't know where you got that idea."

"Then why doesn't the Master get involved in grandiose plans to help people, instead of controlling them? That would get the Doctor's attention and his approval."

"The Master doesn't need the Doctor's approval," said Stephen sulkily. "He's doing fine on his own."

"But he could have it if he wanted," pressed Sarah Jane, trying to ignore the fact that the Doctor was looking at her as if she had gone well and truly round the bend. "Why doesn't he try?"

"Maybe because the Doctor's an idiot?"

Sarah Jane held up a hand to stay the Doctor's protest. "The Master doesn't really believe that. He and the Doctor may not get along very well, but they do respect each other."

"I guess," allowed Stephen.

Now they were getting somewhere. "And they've been dealing with each other a long time. They know each other inside and out."

"Hang on. 'Inside'?"

"It's a metaphor," said Sarah Jane quickly. "The point is, I bet you the Master could guess what the Doctor would do in just about any situation. If the Doctor were in the position that the Master is in right now, do you think he would be working on taking over the universe?"

Stephen looked terribly uncomfortable by this point. "No-o."

"Well, in that case, you have to ask yourself: what would Jon do?"

Before Stephen could respond, the door to his room opened and a stern-looking Time Lady walked into the frame.

"It's time," she said. "Ah, I see you've discovered the camera. No need to worry; it isn't working." She raised a hand, the nails lacquered bright red, and crooked a finger. "Come along."

"Yes, Rani," said Stephen obediently. He followed her without looking back.

No sooner were they gone than the Doctor wrapped Sarah Jane in a furious bear hug. "You were brilliant!" he enthused. "I don't know what you did, but it worked!"

"It did?" stammered Sarah Jane, gasping for breath as the hug squeezed her lungs. "He's with us again? How could you tell?"

"He said so! Right there at the end, when . . . oh, of course!" The Doctor set her down, the dim screen illuminating his gargoyle grin. "You wouldn't have seen it. Although I can't think when he had the time to learn Delphon."

The next call from the Master arrived when they were already on the move.

Doing his best to sound defeated, the Doctor admitted that they were on the way over, and for good measure took a moment to implore that Stephen not be hurt. As soon as he hung up, they went back to discussing the plan.

When they were in sight of the Rani's TARDIS (in the form of a boarded-up kiosk), though, the Doctor abruptly pulled Sarah Jane behind a stand selling novelty hats. "Look at the bench just beyond the kiosk," he hissed. "They've got someone standing guard."

Sarah Jane stuck her head out to see. "I'm not so sure. We saw those two walking around earlier. I'm glad the girl got her ice cream. Maybe her mother's just the protective type."

"Can't be that simple. That woman has a military bearing if ever I saw one."

"Are you sure?" asked Sarah Jane, and checked again.

The pair were gone.

"Oh, I'm sure," said the Doctor wryly. There was a strange catch in his voice.

"Turn around," added a light female voice. "Slowly."

Sarah Jane turned, and stared. Not only had the blonde woman come up behind them without being noticed, she had put the Doctor in a grappling hold with a miniature laser pistol pressed to his throat. Her daughter was standing off to the side, paying more attention to the ice cream dribbling from the bottom of the cone than to the adults' confrontation.

"Hands in the air," said the woman. "Don't even think about going for the sonic lipstick."

"The what?" asked Sarah Jane, though she raised her hands.

Ignoring the question, the stranger addressed her captive in a low voice. "I'm only going to ask this once, and I want a straight answer. No waffling, no dodging, no hemming, no hawing. Just yes or no: Are you the Doctor?"

Chapter Text

Ahnooie-4: 3792.
Stephen Colbert is 44. (And so on.)

"I'm only going to ask this once, and I want a straight answer," said the stranger who held the Doctor at laserpoint. "No waffling, no dodging, no hemming, no hawing. Just yes or no: Are you the Doctor?"

Though it clearly pained him to follow such directions, the Doctor managed it. "Yes."

To Sarah Jane's utter astonishment, the woman released her hold, dropped the weapon, and hugged him tightly.

"I knew it!" she exclaimed. "I mean, I had to make sure, of course, just as a precaution, but I knew it would turn out to be you—"

"Um—" began the Doctor.

"—and just when I was about to give up, too; oh, you've no idea how long I've been looking for you, even I don't know, I've lost track—"

"Er—"

"—there was a war, you see, and I did all right, but I want my little girl to have a better life, a safer—"

Grabbing her by the shoulders, the Doctor pushed her away, not roughly but still firmly. "Listen, this is all very well," he said, "and I'm sure you have a very touching story, and I'll be glad to help you, but right now my companion and I are sort of in the middle of a rescue operation."

"Oh!" exclaimed the woman. And then, without missing a beat: "Can I help?"

Stephen was back in his chair in the console room, ropes around his torso and the Master's hand on his head.

The touch was almost comforting, and Stephen fought the temptation to surrender to it again. Whether through some hypnotic effect or his own sheer charisma, the Master had a way of making it seem like life would be so much easier if only you would follow him without question. Obeying him meant you didn't have to think. Didn't have to feel worry, or guilt, or doubt. Didn't even have to move, if you were tied properly.

You wouldn't have to be responsible for anything. And if you weren't responsible, then it couldn't be your fault if somebody got hurt.

"Still no sign of him," said the Rani, leaning over a screen. "Perhaps he took a calculated loss."

When the Doctor had gotten in touch, Stephen had been all prepared to stand by his Master. But then Sarah Jane had brought up Jon. Standing by people was not one of Jon's specialties. Mocking them, even the powerful ones who deserved respect and love and fear, was more up his alley.

"He won't." The Master's tone was liquid smooth, but his fingers were tapping out that impatient beat on Stephen's head again. "He can't defy me now."

If someone like that took over the universe, people like Jon would be the first to go. And somehow, though he disagreed with Jon on pretty much every possible issue, Stephen found that he didn't want that to happen.

"Well, this is a surprise," said the Rani abruptly, straightening. "You were right." Pulling a lever to open the front doors, she added, "Do come in, Doctor. And what is that on your head?"

"Novelty hat," replied the Doctor nonchalantly as he stepped across the threshold. "Are you all right, Stephen?"

"Y-yeah. So far," replied Stephen as the doors closed, putting a (completely fake, but very natural-sounding) note of fear in his voice.

And at the same time he added, in Delphon, ~These ropes are loose.~

"So, how do you know the Doctor?" asked Sarah Jane, aiming for a light and conversational tone.

"It's a long story," said the strange woman. Although she was still scanning the area every few seconds, her attention was focused on the door of the 'closed' kiosk. The next time it opened would be her cue to rush in and do . . . whatever it was she did.

"Give me the short version."

"I really need to focus."

This was fair, of course; but Sarah Jane couldn't help feeling inquisitive. It wasn't just her journalistic instincts, either. She wasn't comfortable leaving the Doctor's safety in the hands of a complete stranger, even if he seemed perfectly happy to do so. "At least tell me your name."

"Better not," said the woman. "Possible paradox."

"We've been running into those a lot lately."

"Another long story. Please, just watch my daughter."

Sarah Jane looked tentatively at the little humanoid standing between them and sucking on her fingers. "What's your name, honey?" she asked, hoping the child hadn't been coached to be as nonresponsive as her mother.

The girl took her fingers out of her mouth. "My name is Susan," she recited.

For the third time that day the Doctor was rummaging around in the circuits under the floor of a TARDIS; for the second time he was doing it while having a conversation with a Time Lady. But though Romanamericanpiedor had interspersed her tech support with friendly conversation, the Rani was clipped and clinical when she spoke about the ship, and otherwise silent.

This made it much easier for Stephen, who was practiced at ignoring things he didn't understand, to tune out the entire conversation.

Or at least, the spoken part. Although the Doctor's new headgear (it could have been a mascot hat for a sports team known as the Fightin' Stuffed Frogs) looked sublimely ridiculous, it did keep his out-of-control hair away from his eyebrows, so that Stephen could read his Delphon clearly. ~Hold still for now. The door will open in a minute, and the woman will come in. When I give the word, distract the man behind you.~

Stephen waited anxiously for the Doctor to look up from the circuits, then signed as quickly as he could: ~How do I distract him?~

~It doesn't matter. Anything will do.~

~That doesn't help!~ signed Stephen angrily; but the Doctor was looking away again.

No doubt the Doctor thought that, because he could distract the Master so easily, anyone could do it. He didn't realize that the Master's attention was always only a hairsbreadth from him in the first place, even when he himself was far away.

Now that the Doctor was actually in the same room, what would it take to break the Master's focus on him? Would anything short of an atomic bomb do the trick? What—

"Now!" shouted the Doctor.

No more time for thinking. Stephen shrugged off the ropes as he jumped to his feet, grabbed the Master, and pulled him into a heated kiss.

As Susie's mother sprinted for the opening kiosk door, Sarah Jane scooped up the rather sticky child. "We're going to be running in a minute," she announced. "Hang on tight."

"'Kay," said Susie, wrapping her arms around Sarah Jane's neck and leaning against her.

Sticky or not, she was really quite cute. Sarah Jane had never imagined children in her future, but she found herself warming to the one cuddling against her chest, so close that she could feel the heartbeat.

The double heartbeat.

Stephen could barely hear the commotion in the rest of the room over the blood pounding in his ears.

The Master had gotten over his shock in an instant, but he hadn't broken the contact; that would have been a kind of concession, admitting that Stephen had caught him by surprise in the first place. Instead he was making it very clear that the kiss was going to end when he decided to let Stephen go, and it was going to be as rough as he wanted it in the meantime.

And still it couldn't have been more than a few seconds, though it felt like much longer, when the Master slumped unconscious against Stephen, revealing behind him an unfamiliar blonde woman who apparently knew how to do the Vulcan nerve pinch.

"He—he was sweet," stammered Stephen breathlessly. "I didn't expect—"

"Shut up and come on!" called the Doctor from the door.

Stephen shoved the Master's limp body away from him, sprinted past where the Rani lay knocked out on the floor, and ran.

As soon as the rescue party flew out of the TARDIS, Sarah Jane tightened her grip on the girl and dashed after them. They turned several corners, barreled down a flight of stairs, and only slowed to a walk when at last they reached a hall with a crowd. Not until they were passing the food court that had served sneg stew and beef slushies did Sarah Jane notice that Susie's mother was no longer with them.

"Doctor," she said, trying not to sound alarmed, "we seem to be missing someone."

The child balanced on her hip wasn't fooled. "Where's my mummy?"

The Doctor stopped short; Stephen, still panting from the run, stumbled to a halt beside him. "She—left you—with some random kid? That's—ridiculous!"

"That's just it," said Sarah Jane, lowering her voice. "I don't think it's random at all. I think she's Gallifreyan."

"Of course she is," said the Doctor dismissively. "Although I did hope her mother would tell me a little something about her before running off like this. In that unregistered TARDIS I picked up earlier, I expect. Oh well. I suppose I'll have to find out eventually."

"You know her?" exclaimed Sarah Jane.

"Know her!" repeated the Doctor incredulously. "Can't you see the family resemblance?"

Sarah Jane looked from Susie (whose lip was wobbling) to the Doctor (still sporting the frog-shaped hat) and back. Stephen was doing the same. "You don't mean to say she's your—"

"I want my mummy!" wailed the girl, and began to sob.

"There, there," said the Doctor, reaching out and taking her in his arms. "Don't cry, Susan. That's a good girl! You're going to go live with your grandfather, just like your mummy wanted. Won't that be fun?"

They were in sight of the familiar police-box exterior of the Doctor's TARDIS when Stephen finally managed to say, "Doctor? Thank you."

"Don't mention it," said the Doctor sternly, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the novelty hat he was still wearing, not to mention the sleeping girl drooling on his shoulder. "Let's just get you off-planet before you get into any more trouble."

"What about the Master?"

"He and the Rani are still stuck here without a working TARDIS. They won't be troubling us any time soon."

"No, no, I mean—when are you going to stop leaving him behind and start paying attention to him?"

The Doctor looked at him with those unsettlingly wide eyes. "Oh, didn't you realize? All that talk about the Master and me was code for you and that Jon of yours. It wasn't actually anything to do with us."

Stephen wasn't entirely sure this was true, but he was almost certain it was truthy, at least as far as the Doctor was concerned. So he changed the subject. "Don't we still need a light bulb?"

With a broad grin, the Doctor held up something that looked like the mutant offspring of a can opener and a fluorescent bulb. "I nicked one of the Rani's."

"That," said Stephen, "is brilliant."

"Aren't I always?" Without letting Susie so much as slip, he unlocked the TARDIS. "In you go!"

Stephen stopped on the threshold and looked back at Sarah Jane, who had paused a few paces behind to study a storefront display of lipstick. Women and their makeup, he thought. "Coming, Sarah?"

"Oh! Yes, of course," said Sarah Jane, jogging quickly over to enter the ship with the rest of them. "I was just thinking—some of those could be a little more sonic."