Current mood:	silly
Entry tags:	dr who, writing

Brainjacked
So, a scene popped into my head and hijacked my brain and wouldn't let me rest until I'd written it, so now I think I've created some fanfiction. Oh, noes. It's largely silly and goes absolutely nowhere, and there's probably only a very small and specific audience who might find the whole thing as amusing as I am. But, hey. It's my party, right?



"We're in... New York!"

"Right we are!" The Doctor flashed his companion a grin, a little surprised at the speed she'd gotten her bearings. They'd only just stepped out of the TARDIS after all. "Been here before?"

Donna snorted a laugh. "Hardly. But I've seen enough telly, Doctor. And what with that chap over there reading the 'New York Times', well... it's not exactly likely we've landed in Vladivostok, now, is it?"

With a quick nod and an appreciative chuckle, the Doctor then spread his arms wide, welcoming the brisk evening air as they made their way down the unusually wide street. "But can you tell me when we are?"

"Wasn't close enough to read that, was I? There's enough bloomin' billboards around though, aren't there? You'd think at least one of them would have the decency to give us a date..."

"Nineteen fifty-nine," the Doctor interrupted, twirling in place so that his wide spread arms took in everything around them, from the myriad of luminous signs in every shape and size, to the bustling movement of people all around them. "Fifty-nine," he repeated, stopping to face Donna. "Nice sounding year, isn't it? Like someone should write a song about it."

"I think you're thinking of sixty-nine," Donna said with a grin of her own, before throwing the Doctor a quizzical glance. "So come on, what's so special about this year? Why'd you pick it for a 'fun night out'?"

"Don't know," the Doctor replied matter-of-factly, with a bit of a shrug. "The TARDIS picked the year, not me. I just chose the place. Must be something fascinating showing, though, I'm sure we'll work out what soon enough..."

Donna looked about to say something, but was left with her mouth hanging open as the Doctor continued his tirade, barely stopping for breath, leading Donna to wonder yet again if breathing were actually a physical requirement for the Doctor at all, or just an occasional indulgence.

"Somewhere around West Forty-fourth street, if I'm correct. Midtown Manhattan, Theater District..." he turned again, positively beaming at Donna as he swept his arms about in a flourish. "The Great White Way." Not sticking around long enough to take in her reaction though, the Doctor went on to bounce down the street, reading aloud the names of various shows advertised by the countless brilliantly lit boards. "Wonder if Hamlet is playing anywhere," he paused long enough to muse, tilting his head thoughtfully. "I wonder if- oh, no, he's not dead yet. Never mind."

Donna had to hurry to keep up with him, and catching up to hear his somewhat cryptic statement caused her to pull a bit of a face. Not to be put off, though, she cast her gaze about the street, squinting at various signs, before a mixed look of amusement and disbelief spread upon her face. "No way."

The Doctor immediately followed her line of sight, and his features cracked into an expression of utter delight. "Oh, yes."

"Is that for real?"

"Oh," the Doctor repeated himself, unable to hide the thoroughly entertained glee from his tone. "Yes."

"We have got to see that."

"Well then, our seats await!" Announced the Doctor, pulling out his wad of psychic paper and fluttering it in front of Donna's face. "What would you prefer? Front row? Balcony?"

Linking arms, the two mimicked the parade of well-to-do couples in elegant evening wear moving in procession down the street, toward a tall theater settled on a street corner. Proudly proclaimed on a neon sign at the front of the building, right above the main entry, was the name of the play, evidently produced by 'Bialystock and Bloom'. It was the opening night of 'Springtime for Hitler'.

Stepping quickly, the Doctor and Donna Noble made their way past the stage door, where a rather round and shiny-faced man stood with a ladder, and a well dressed group stood in urgent conversation just off to the side. Though they were hurrying for their as-yet non-existent seat, Donna tugged the Doctor into a halt and froze, once again pulling a slightly incredulous face. "They're singing."

"We're on Broadway, Donna. Is that really so odd?"

"No, but I mean, their conversation. They're singing their conversation to each other!"

"Theater folk!" The Doctor grinned, eyes sparkling. "Marvelous, aren't they?"

"They're bonkers, is what they are," Donna retorted, not without some amusement of her own. "I remember them in school. Always the weirdest, the Drama Club. Weirdest and loudest."

"But a lot of fun, I bet?"

Donna huffed her agreement with a lift of her shoulders. "I guess..."

"Oh, come on, you know they were," the Doctor bit in, nudging her side with an elbow before waving his psychic paper in front of the pair of sweet, curly-haired blondes checking tickets at the door of the Shubert. He offered them a wink and a curt nod as they pointed him in the direction of their seats, and went on. "Performing artists. They're a special type of human, you know. The good ones, anyway. They know what life's all about. Emotions, telling stories, sharing them with the world... what's the line?"

Again the Doctor tilted his head, thinking for a moment. "The human race is filled with passion! Medicine, law, business, engineering... all noble pursuits, necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love..." the Doctor lifted his hands and shook his open palms about the insides of the theater, as though each of the things he was listing were somehow right there in the air around them. "These are what you stay alive for!" Concluding the quote, he then looped his arm back around Donna's, and they followed the line of people down towards their allocated seats. "Theater folk know this, consciously or not..."

"That's what whatsisname said, isn't it? In that movie?" For once, the Doctor found himself being the one interrupted, as Donna piped up. "The one with the school and the play and the..."

It didn't last long, though, as Donna found herself being spoken over the top of. Squeezing past a row of people already settled, the Doctor gave his head an incredulous shake. "What is it with you lot and attributing lines to the actors? Credit for clever quotes should go to the writers, you know. Tom Schulman, I believe his name was, and I bet you've never heard of him, right? Right, everyone just remembers whatsisname..."

"Well sor-ry," Donna muttered, flopping into her seat with all the grace of an elderly Labrador in front of a fireplace.

Not that the Doctor even heard, or gave any sign that he did. "Except for science-fiction fans. They always seem to care about who's writing their stuff. They're a fascinating breed of human, too. One doesn't normally think of passion when they think about, well, geeks, do they? But have you ever had an argument with a Star Wars fan? They're a passionate bunch, no questions asked. Absolutely brilliant."

"Just a different type of weirdo, if you ask me," Donna scoffed, before giving a bit of a grin herself. "Except at least these folk..." she waved her arm towards the stage, indicating the actors who would surely be just about ready behind the curtain. "Get paid to play dress-up."

"You watch yourself, Donna Noble," the Doctor threw her a sidelong, wide-eyed glance, his tone laced with mock severity. "Geeks rule the world in your time, you know. They're everywhere, not just lining up in costume for premiers. They're not just students of history and medieval studies, they're not just computer programmers," there he paused, wrinkling his brows and pursing his lips slightly. "Though you'd do well not to mess with a computer programmer. But anyway! To be a geek in your day and age isn't just to be part of a secret subculture of thick glasses and pale complexion, oh no. They're doctors. I mean, medicine doctors. Well, medical... you know what I mean! They're bank tellers and teachers and lawyers and salesmen. They're physicists, they're social workers, they're in the police force! They're fire-fighters and bakers and zookeepers..."

This last statement caused Donna to erupt with shrill laughter, causing not a few of the other audience members around them to turn and stare with rather haughty disapproval. "A geek zookeeper? Now that I'd like to see."

Their conversation was cut short, however, the Doctor and Donna finding themselves shushed into silence as the curtains began to rise. The orchestra burst into a bright and bouncy tune, and the opening scene of 'Springtime for Hitler' revealed a setting of perfect Bavarian stereotype.

Donna sat forward in her seat, propping her chin in her hands, to her credit managing to hold back the laughter bubbling away in the back of her mind. If the initial picture had anything to say for the remainder of the musical, this evening would be nothing short of hilarious.

In contrast, the Doctor rocked back, hands behind his head, allowing his gaze to rove about the audience. He was aware enough of how the play would go, had finally remembered the significance of this fateful opening night where one tiny slip would change the course of so many lives... so his focus lay not on the stage at all, but on the fascinating reactions of those watching the show. This is where his entertainment for the evening was.

The watching people were rife with curiosity, the same curiosity that drew them to buy tickets for a show about Hitler in the first place. Despite the renowned fact that Bialystock had been washed-up for years, his opening nights were almost always played to a full house, countless theatre goers wondering if, perhaps even hoping that he had finally gotten it right again.

As the opening number progressed, curiosity started to give way to a kind of baffled indignance, and the first signs of offence began to make themselves apparent.

"Aaaaand noooow iiiiit's..." a new character stepped out onto stage, his rich melodious voice soaring through the theater. His appearance caused a subtle shift amongst the audience, as expressions slowly turned to ones of disgust.

Except for Donna's, who's eyes widened as she whispered to the Doctor, "oooh, now, I wouldn't mind a piece of him."

Unable to help himself, the Doctor strayed from his avid people-watching to look upon the stage, and see just what sort of man would so quickly ensnare Donna's interest. His own eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, hearts skipping a beat. "Oh, it's not..." he breathed, as his expression became almost as horrified as those around him.

But it was. There, taking center stage, his hair dyed blonde and his baby-blue eyes twinkling for all the world to see, flashing that boyish grin to an audience completely aghast and utterly loving every second of it, was Captain Jack Harkness.

"What, you know him?" Donna didn't even bother to shift her gaze from the stage as she threw the Doctor the offhand question.

The Doctor rubbed his face with one hand, gradually letting himself relax into a foolish looking grin. Shocked, but really not that surprised. He shook his head, slowly, and for a fraction of an instant thought he might have caught Jack's eye. "Have I ever told you," he said, turning to look at Donna but only receiving half her attention. "About the Face of Boe?"