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chelseagirlTitle: The Tyler Conspiracy 1/3
By: Chelseagirl47
Characters/Pairings: Gen. Sam Tyler. Rose Tyler. Jaye Tyler.
Rating: No sex. A few disturbing images.
Disclaimers: Strictly borrowed and for amateur purposes; no infringement of copyright intended.
Notes: Life on Mars/Doctor Who/Wonderfalls crossover. Spoilers for Doctor Who through the end of series 2 only. (I began this story last September, shame on me!) Many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
blancafic and bakednudel for their comments on an earlier version, and to blancafic again for beta'ing the final. Very much appreciated! My husband M. did the Britpicking, and any Americanisms that remain are my own fault. Unless it's Jaye speaking, in which case they are fully intended. I know Wonderfalls will be familiar to many fewer of you than LOM or DW, but it is available on DVD and it is tremendous fun; buy, rent, or borrow and you will not be sorry you did.
The Tyler Conspiracy, Part 1
The thing about living thirty-three years in your own past is that you tend not to get a lot of post, or so Sam Tyler had found. With most of his friends and loved ones living in 2006, he suspected that holiday greetings directed to Sam Tyler, Some Crap Bedsit in Manchester, 1973, were going to be few and far between.
In fact, other than circulars, bills, and the odd departmental mailing, the only thing Sam had received in the post since his arrival had been a postcard from Annie on holiday, and a get-well card theoretically from Gene, but clearly the handiwork (and handwriting) of his missus.
So when the thick cream-coloured envelope arrived, with its hand-calligraphed address, Sam took notice. Nobody in the department was getting married, so far as he knew, and though his subconscious (or his coma, or whatever it was) had the tendency to talk to him through the television, it hadn’t actually sent him a letter before. He tore it open, and slid out an invitation card, engraved and on the same thick cream paper.
Tyler family reunion, it said, with a time, date, and address following. No telephone number, no request for R.S.V.P., nothing. Perhaps it was a mistake, taken from the city directory. Perhaps it was some kind of trick, Could his father, his twenty-nine year old father who thought Sam was just some random copper who was an oddly receptive audience for all his lies, be looking for some sort of revenge? But that seemed unlikely; it was a lot more probable there’d just been a mistake.
Sam tossed the invitation down on the table with all the bills and circulars that had piled up there, and didn’t think about it again.
##
Not until the day mentioned on the invitation itself, a Saturday. He woke up feeling a little foggy-headed from the previous evening at the Railway Arms. Work-related socializing was a lot more hazardous to the health here in 1973. Not necessarily more enjoyable, he thought, as an image of Maya came unbidden to him, Maya gasping in passion, back at the beginning when things were uncomplicated, and good. Somehow ending the evening with Ray Carling swinging a punch at him before they all staggered home wasn’t quite as satisfying, though the couple odd quid he’d won at cards would come in handy.
Water! For a moment, rehydration was all he could think about. He longed for a tall cold bottle of Evian; he’d left three or four of them chilling in the refrigerator of his 2006 flat. He remembered the stainless steel appliances with a pang, and cooking there with Maya, and tried not to remember the dead man he’d seen on that same spot in 1973. He’d been thinking about upgrading the range, but compared to the small, inconvenient stove and non-existent counters in his 1973 digs, that kitchen was luxury unimaginable. But as he pulled the covers down – and he really had to stop falling asleep fully dressed – he caught sight of something falling to the floor.
He looked down – it was a pale square of cardboard, what was it? Oh, the invitation card. He must have picked it up last night, before he’d fallen asleep. Funny that he wouldn’t have remembered – sure, he’d been a bit pissed, but not to the point of not remembering things. The satisfying way he’d ducked Ray’s punch and Ray’d stumbled forward into the wall. The trip home – every unsteady step of it, after he’d refused to let Gene give him a lift, and earnestly entreated him to call a taxi, or possibly the Missus, to come get him.
“And what would she come fetch me in, then? D’you think we’re millionaires, Tyler? Two cars in the family? Anyway, I’m perfectly fine to drive.”
Tyler Family Reunion, September 14, 2 p.m., The Oaks.
The Oaks was a fancy place outside of the city limits. Sam glanced at the clock. If he was going to make it there on time, he’d best get a move on.
Wait. He hadn’t planned on going. And it could still be a trap.
The problem with being a detective was that every little unexplained thing became a challenge.
Maybe he should phone for backup. He could get Annie to pose as his date.
He could get Annie to be his date. He wasn’t sure what the etiquette was for dating a figment of his comatose imagination, but Annie seemed real enough. Certainly if she was a figment she’d behave more the way he wanted her to, wouldn’t she? He thought about her soft hair and her . . . Sam shook his head, to rid himself of the image, just for now while he’d got this strange reunion thing to think about. Shaking his head was clearly a mistake in his present condition. He reached for the aspirin and tried to remember how long exactly it was until Resolve would be invented.
##
He arrived at the Oaks half an hour late. There were weddings and parties going on in several halls, but the signs for the Tyler Family Reunion directed him to the Imperial Room, at the back. Making his way between young girls in pink bridesmaid’s dresses and elderly gents in dinner jackets, he turned a corner and found himself alone, with a long, dim corridor ahead of him.
At the end of the corridor was a large banquet hall. There was a buffet set out, still steaming hot, but nobody tending it, and seated at the bar was the room’s only other occupant.
“Hullo!” she said, with a strong London accent. “I’m Rose Tyler. I was beginning to wonder if anyone else was going to turn up.”
Sam crossed the room and shook the hand she’d extended. “Sam Tyler.” He sat himself at the bar next to her. Drinks had been poured, so he helped himself to a glass of Scotch.
The girl was young, twenty or thereabouts, with long straight bottle-blonde hair and large hoop earrings. Sam observed her hooded top and flared black trousers without much interest, but as his glance reached her feet, he frowned. She was wearing high tech trainers of a type that didn’t exist in 1973.
“Rose,” he said, hesitantly. “I’m going to ask a question that’s going to sound a little . . . peculiar.” He took a deep breath. “What year are you from?”
Rose looked at him oddly, but not as though he was insane. “You’re from up North, in’t ya? Just like the Doc . . . a friend of mine . . . used to be. I’ll answer that, if you tell me who the Prime Minister is . . . er, President?”
“Prime Minister of Great Britain, President of the United States?”
Rose gave a sudden exhalation. “Not President of Britain? Could it be? Have I got back to the right universe?”
“Universe?” asked Sam. “Er, I have a question of my own. Those trainers don’t look like you bought them in 1973 – they’re way too high tech.”
“1973? Of course not. I bought these,” she thought a moment, “last year. 2006. Why did you ask?”
Sam broke into a smile. “2006? I know this is going to sound crazy, although possibly not to a girl who talks about multiple universes, but I’m from the year 2006, currently living in 1973.”
Rose’s excitement was apparent. “It actually doesn’t. Did you come with the Doctor?”
“The . . . no. Although I might be in a coma, so there are certainly doctors involved. I was hit by a car, and I woke up . . .”
“Not the TARDIS?”
“Tar . . . wait! You’re having me on. The TARDIS, like on Doctor Who?”
“Doctor Who? I mean, there’s the Doctor and . . .”
“And he travels in time and space, in a blue police box called the TARDIS, and he brings humans along with him, but he’s an alien who can change appearance whenever the actor gets fed up with the role.”
“The Doctor isn’t a television programme, he’s a person.”
“But I grew up watching Doctor Who. They brought it back last year, too, but I never got the chance to watch . . .”
Rose Tyler’s face grew sad. “Not the right universe then. A universe where the Doctor is fictional.” She quickly swallowed the contents of her wine glass, and reached for another.
Then she brightened. “On telly, did he travel with a blonde girl, like me, Rose Tyler?”
“Not in the old ones. The series stopped, back, I think it was the end of the eighties. Could have done in the new ones.”
“What about Sarah Jane Smith?”
“Sarah Jane Smith, absolutely. She was one of my favourites – I was just young, but I had such a crush on her. I thought she was the only woman in the world prettier than my mum, as I recall.”
Rose smiled. “One of the Doctor’s favourites, too. She’s real – I’ve met her.”
They looked at each other with slightly narrowed eyes, and clinked glasses. There was really nothing else to do. “Cheers.
“Cheers.” And each took a big swallow.
“So either I’m fictional and you’re in a coma . . .”
“Or something even stranger is happening, possibly related to travel between time and dimensions.”
“You’re a quick one, all right. But the real question is, are we actually related?”
At that moment, the door opened.
##
On the other side was a slim girl of about Rose’s age, with long brown hair. She was wearing a miniskirt with woolly tights, low-heeled boots, and a high-necked jumper. Sam was admittedly not an expert on women’s clothes; they didn’t scream 1973, but neither would they look too outlandish on the streets there. “Hey,” she said, in a distinctly American accent. “Sorry I’m late. . . . Kinda dead in here, isn’t it?” She looked around the room. “Aren’t my folks here?”
“Sorry,” said Rose. “Just us chickens. I’m Rose Tyler.”
“And I’m Sam Tyler.”
“Well, then I must be in the right place. Jaye Tyler.” The new girl looked at her watch. “They’re always on time. I’m the one who’s always late. Karen and Darrin Tyler? Or my sister, Sharon? Brother Aaron?”
“Ouch,” said Sam.
“I know,” said Jaye. “I got lucky. I’m the youngest and they ran out. Not that I’m complaining or anything, but I don’t think they were trying hard enough.” She peered around the room in a peculiar fashion. “Of course, it was kinda weird that they never mentioned it. Usually they’re all about the planning, and I’m all about the avoiding.”
“Want a drink?” Sam offered.
“Absolutely!” Jaye plopped down at the bar, still peering around her from time to time. “So, you’re both English.”
“And you’re American,” said Rose, her polite smile slightly strained.
“Well, I mean, obviously Tyler’s not, like, an Italian name or anything, it’s just funny to have two English distant relations show up at a party in Niagara Falls.”
“Niagara . . . Falls?” Sam and Rose spoke almost in unison.
“Like with the barrel?” Rose continued.
“The Oaks is just outside of Manchester.”
“Just outside of London, you mean!”
“Umm . . .”
Sam laughed, awkwardly. DI Tyler was on the case. “So,” he said, “to reiterate. Rose Tyler, of London in the year 2007, possibly a different universe where television programmes from my youth are real, enters a banquet hall outside of London. She’s a time traveler and dimension hopper. Half an hour later, DI Sam Tyler, Manchester police, enters a banquet hall of the same name outside of Manchester, in the year 1973, and encounters Rose. He’s originally from the year 2006, and thus either a time traveler or in a coma.”
Jaye started to speak, but Sam held up his hand to silence her, and continued. “Fifteen minutes after that, Jaye Tyler enters a banquet hall of the same name outside of Niagara Falls, way across the Atlantic Ocean, and encounters Rose and Sam.”
“Although,” Rose pointed out helpfully, “apart from being American there’s nothing peculiar about her that we can tell.”
Jaye had turned white. “I’m just a year off, by the way. 2005. And . . . things with faces kind of talk to me.” There was a slight whine to her tone of voice, though it wasn’t altogether unpleasant.
“Things with faces? Like . . . people?” Sam asked.
“Great, we’ve got a real crazy,” sighed Rose.
“Wax lions, brass monkeys, stuffed animals, images on people’s t-shirts. They tell me to do things. To help people.” Jaye looked kind of panicked. “Which . . . okay, not really in character but, I mean, it’s not like they’re telling me to, like, assassinate the President or anything.”
“The President of the United States?” asked Rose.
“No, the president of my senior class in high school. Which, come to think of it, wouldn’t have been a bad idea . . . If you’d ever met her, you’d understand.”
“I mean, not the President of Britain?”
“Okay, I realize you’re English and I’m not, so I might be missing something, but last time I checked you guys had a Prime Minister.”
“Right universe,” said Rose.
Jaye rolled her eyes. “And I’m supposed to be crazy?”
“Long, complicated story,” said Sam. “Let me get you another drink.”
Jaye’s story, peculiar as it was, explained why she’d been peering around the room. Helpfully, Sam pointed out a few carved animal heads in the elaborate mirror frame behind the bar.
Jaye nodded. “They don’t always talk to me. Just when there’s something they want me to do. Just when there’s something in my life they could mess up for me.”
“Well if they decide to tell you something about why we’re all here . . . or whether we’re all actually related . . . let us know,” said Rose, looking a bit impatient.
Sam helped the women and himself to another drink.
They compared family trees, but couldn’t find a common root, other than the not-unusual surname Tyler.
They compared stories, and while each was a bit suspicious of the others, the eventual conclusion was that something strange, but genuine, had happened to each of the three of them.
“So, you see,” said Rose, “the Pete in the alternate universe isn’t really my dad, but he and my mum fell in love anyway, since her Pete and his Jackie were both dead, and I can’t quite figure out if Sophie is my full sister or my half sister, but she’s absolutely adorable. And now Mickey wants us to get back together, get married and have a baby, too, but I’m definitely not ready for that. Anyway, I’m still not over the Doctor.”
Sam shook his head. “I still can’t get over the notion of Doctor Who as a . . . cute boy. Like . . . David Cassidy or something.” He’d finally gone native to 1973.
“David . . . oh, that guy? Well, not a boy. I mean, he’s nine hundred years old. But the second him I knew, especially, was pretty darn cute.” She grinned. “Mind you, the first him was dead sexy, too, and this whole Northern accent thing, I completely get now.”
“And I thought my life was complicated,” said Jaye. “Clearly being ordered around by inanimate objects and falling in love with a guy whose wife cheated on him on with the bellboy on the honeymoon is just kinda ordinary.”
They looked at each other and melted into slightly drunken giggles (or, in Sam’s case, a manly guffaw).
Sam rose to his feet. “I’ve got to find the loo,” and crossed the room to the door, which he opened on to . . .
Nothing.
Just then, Jaye seemed to hear something speak, something the others couldn’t.
END OF PART ONE
By: Chelseagirl47
Characters/Pairings: Gen. Sam Tyler. Rose Tyler. Jaye Tyler.
Rating: No sex. A few disturbing images.
Disclaimers: Strictly borrowed and for amateur purposes; no infringement of copyright intended.
Notes: Life on Mars/Doctor Who/Wonderfalls crossover. Spoilers for Doctor Who through the end of series 2 only. (I began this story last September, shame on me!) Many thanks to
blancafic and bakednudel for their comments on an earlier version, and to blancafic again for beta'ing the final. Very much appreciated! My husband M. did the Britpicking, and any Americanisms that remain are my own fault. Unless it's Jaye speaking, in which case they are fully intended. I know Wonderfalls will be familiar to many fewer of you than LOM or DW, but it is available on DVD and it is tremendous fun; buy, rent, or borrow and you will not be sorry you did.The Tyler Conspiracy, Part 1
The thing about living thirty-three years in your own past is that you tend not to get a lot of post, or so Sam Tyler had found. With most of his friends and loved ones living in 2006, he suspected that holiday greetings directed to Sam Tyler, Some Crap Bedsit in Manchester, 1973, were going to be few and far between.
In fact, other than circulars, bills, and the odd departmental mailing, the only thing Sam had received in the post since his arrival had been a postcard from Annie on holiday, and a get-well card theoretically from Gene, but clearly the handiwork (and handwriting) of his missus.
So when the thick cream-coloured envelope arrived, with its hand-calligraphed address, Sam took notice. Nobody in the department was getting married, so far as he knew, and though his subconscious (or his coma, or whatever it was) had the tendency to talk to him through the television, it hadn’t actually sent him a letter before. He tore it open, and slid out an invitation card, engraved and on the same thick cream paper.
Tyler family reunion, it said, with a time, date, and address following. No telephone number, no request for R.S.V.P., nothing. Perhaps it was a mistake, taken from the city directory. Perhaps it was some kind of trick, Could his father, his twenty-nine year old father who thought Sam was just some random copper who was an oddly receptive audience for all his lies, be looking for some sort of revenge? But that seemed unlikely; it was a lot more probable there’d just been a mistake.
Sam tossed the invitation down on the table with all the bills and circulars that had piled up there, and didn’t think about it again.
##
Not until the day mentioned on the invitation itself, a Saturday. He woke up feeling a little foggy-headed from the previous evening at the Railway Arms. Work-related socializing was a lot more hazardous to the health here in 1973. Not necessarily more enjoyable, he thought, as an image of Maya came unbidden to him, Maya gasping in passion, back at the beginning when things were uncomplicated, and good. Somehow ending the evening with Ray Carling swinging a punch at him before they all staggered home wasn’t quite as satisfying, though the couple odd quid he’d won at cards would come in handy.
Water! For a moment, rehydration was all he could think about. He longed for a tall cold bottle of Evian; he’d left three or four of them chilling in the refrigerator of his 2006 flat. He remembered the stainless steel appliances with a pang, and cooking there with Maya, and tried not to remember the dead man he’d seen on that same spot in 1973. He’d been thinking about upgrading the range, but compared to the small, inconvenient stove and non-existent counters in his 1973 digs, that kitchen was luxury unimaginable. But as he pulled the covers down – and he really had to stop falling asleep fully dressed – he caught sight of something falling to the floor.
He looked down – it was a pale square of cardboard, what was it? Oh, the invitation card. He must have picked it up last night, before he’d fallen asleep. Funny that he wouldn’t have remembered – sure, he’d been a bit pissed, but not to the point of not remembering things. The satisfying way he’d ducked Ray’s punch and Ray’d stumbled forward into the wall. The trip home – every unsteady step of it, after he’d refused to let Gene give him a lift, and earnestly entreated him to call a taxi, or possibly the Missus, to come get him.
“And what would she come fetch me in, then? D’you think we’re millionaires, Tyler? Two cars in the family? Anyway, I’m perfectly fine to drive.”
Tyler Family Reunion, September 14, 2 p.m., The Oaks.
The Oaks was a fancy place outside of the city limits. Sam glanced at the clock. If he was going to make it there on time, he’d best get a move on.
Wait. He hadn’t planned on going. And it could still be a trap.
The problem with being a detective was that every little unexplained thing became a challenge.
Maybe he should phone for backup. He could get Annie to pose as his date.
He could get Annie to be his date. He wasn’t sure what the etiquette was for dating a figment of his comatose imagination, but Annie seemed real enough. Certainly if she was a figment she’d behave more the way he wanted her to, wouldn’t she? He thought about her soft hair and her . . . Sam shook his head, to rid himself of the image, just for now while he’d got this strange reunion thing to think about. Shaking his head was clearly a mistake in his present condition. He reached for the aspirin and tried to remember how long exactly it was until Resolve would be invented.
##
He arrived at the Oaks half an hour late. There were weddings and parties going on in several halls, but the signs for the Tyler Family Reunion directed him to the Imperial Room, at the back. Making his way between young girls in pink bridesmaid’s dresses and elderly gents in dinner jackets, he turned a corner and found himself alone, with a long, dim corridor ahead of him.
At the end of the corridor was a large banquet hall. There was a buffet set out, still steaming hot, but nobody tending it, and seated at the bar was the room’s only other occupant.
“Hullo!” she said, with a strong London accent. “I’m Rose Tyler. I was beginning to wonder if anyone else was going to turn up.”
Sam crossed the room and shook the hand she’d extended. “Sam Tyler.” He sat himself at the bar next to her. Drinks had been poured, so he helped himself to a glass of Scotch.
The girl was young, twenty or thereabouts, with long straight bottle-blonde hair and large hoop earrings. Sam observed her hooded top and flared black trousers without much interest, but as his glance reached her feet, he frowned. She was wearing high tech trainers of a type that didn’t exist in 1973.
“Rose,” he said, hesitantly. “I’m going to ask a question that’s going to sound a little . . . peculiar.” He took a deep breath. “What year are you from?”
Rose looked at him oddly, but not as though he was insane. “You’re from up North, in’t ya? Just like the Doc . . . a friend of mine . . . used to be. I’ll answer that, if you tell me who the Prime Minister is . . . er, President?”
“Prime Minister of Great Britain, President of the United States?”
Rose gave a sudden exhalation. “Not President of Britain? Could it be? Have I got back to the right universe?”
“Universe?” asked Sam. “Er, I have a question of my own. Those trainers don’t look like you bought them in 1973 – they’re way too high tech.”
“1973? Of course not. I bought these,” she thought a moment, “last year. 2006. Why did you ask?”
Sam broke into a smile. “2006? I know this is going to sound crazy, although possibly not to a girl who talks about multiple universes, but I’m from the year 2006, currently living in 1973.”
Rose’s excitement was apparent. “It actually doesn’t. Did you come with the Doctor?”
“The . . . no. Although I might be in a coma, so there are certainly doctors involved. I was hit by a car, and I woke up . . .”
“Not the TARDIS?”
“Tar . . . wait! You’re having me on. The TARDIS, like on Doctor Who?”
“Doctor Who? I mean, there’s the Doctor and . . .”
“And he travels in time and space, in a blue police box called the TARDIS, and he brings humans along with him, but he’s an alien who can change appearance whenever the actor gets fed up with the role.”
“The Doctor isn’t a television programme, he’s a person.”
“But I grew up watching Doctor Who. They brought it back last year, too, but I never got the chance to watch . . .”
Rose Tyler’s face grew sad. “Not the right universe then. A universe where the Doctor is fictional.” She quickly swallowed the contents of her wine glass, and reached for another.
Then she brightened. “On telly, did he travel with a blonde girl, like me, Rose Tyler?”
“Not in the old ones. The series stopped, back, I think it was the end of the eighties. Could have done in the new ones.”
“What about Sarah Jane Smith?”
“Sarah Jane Smith, absolutely. She was one of my favourites – I was just young, but I had such a crush on her. I thought she was the only woman in the world prettier than my mum, as I recall.”
Rose smiled. “One of the Doctor’s favourites, too. She’s real – I’ve met her.”
They looked at each other with slightly narrowed eyes, and clinked glasses. There was really nothing else to do. “Cheers.
“Cheers.” And each took a big swallow.
“So either I’m fictional and you’re in a coma . . .”
“Or something even stranger is happening, possibly related to travel between time and dimensions.”
“You’re a quick one, all right. But the real question is, are we actually related?”
At that moment, the door opened.
##
On the other side was a slim girl of about Rose’s age, with long brown hair. She was wearing a miniskirt with woolly tights, low-heeled boots, and a high-necked jumper. Sam was admittedly not an expert on women’s clothes; they didn’t scream 1973, but neither would they look too outlandish on the streets there. “Hey,” she said, in a distinctly American accent. “Sorry I’m late. . . . Kinda dead in here, isn’t it?” She looked around the room. “Aren’t my folks here?”
“Sorry,” said Rose. “Just us chickens. I’m Rose Tyler.”
“And I’m Sam Tyler.”
“Well, then I must be in the right place. Jaye Tyler.” The new girl looked at her watch. “They’re always on time. I’m the one who’s always late. Karen and Darrin Tyler? Or my sister, Sharon? Brother Aaron?”
“Ouch,” said Sam.
“I know,” said Jaye. “I got lucky. I’m the youngest and they ran out. Not that I’m complaining or anything, but I don’t think they were trying hard enough.” She peered around the room in a peculiar fashion. “Of course, it was kinda weird that they never mentioned it. Usually they’re all about the planning, and I’m all about the avoiding.”
“Want a drink?” Sam offered.
“Absolutely!” Jaye plopped down at the bar, still peering around her from time to time. “So, you’re both English.”
“And you’re American,” said Rose, her polite smile slightly strained.
“Well, I mean, obviously Tyler’s not, like, an Italian name or anything, it’s just funny to have two English distant relations show up at a party in Niagara Falls.”
“Niagara . . . Falls?” Sam and Rose spoke almost in unison.
“Like with the barrel?” Rose continued.
“The Oaks is just outside of Manchester.”
“Just outside of London, you mean!”
“Umm . . .”
Sam laughed, awkwardly. DI Tyler was on the case. “So,” he said, “to reiterate. Rose Tyler, of London in the year 2007, possibly a different universe where television programmes from my youth are real, enters a banquet hall outside of London. She’s a time traveler and dimension hopper. Half an hour later, DI Sam Tyler, Manchester police, enters a banquet hall of the same name outside of Manchester, in the year 1973, and encounters Rose. He’s originally from the year 2006, and thus either a time traveler or in a coma.”
Jaye started to speak, but Sam held up his hand to silence her, and continued. “Fifteen minutes after that, Jaye Tyler enters a banquet hall of the same name outside of Niagara Falls, way across the Atlantic Ocean, and encounters Rose and Sam.”
“Although,” Rose pointed out helpfully, “apart from being American there’s nothing peculiar about her that we can tell.”
Jaye had turned white. “I’m just a year off, by the way. 2005. And . . . things with faces kind of talk to me.” There was a slight whine to her tone of voice, though it wasn’t altogether unpleasant.
“Things with faces? Like . . . people?” Sam asked.
“Great, we’ve got a real crazy,” sighed Rose.
“Wax lions, brass monkeys, stuffed animals, images on people’s t-shirts. They tell me to do things. To help people.” Jaye looked kind of panicked. “Which . . . okay, not really in character but, I mean, it’s not like they’re telling me to, like, assassinate the President or anything.”
“The President of the United States?” asked Rose.
“No, the president of my senior class in high school. Which, come to think of it, wouldn’t have been a bad idea . . . If you’d ever met her, you’d understand.”
“I mean, not the President of Britain?”
“Okay, I realize you’re English and I’m not, so I might be missing something, but last time I checked you guys had a Prime Minister.”
“Right universe,” said Rose.
Jaye rolled her eyes. “And I’m supposed to be crazy?”
“Long, complicated story,” said Sam. “Let me get you another drink.”
Jaye’s story, peculiar as it was, explained why she’d been peering around the room. Helpfully, Sam pointed out a few carved animal heads in the elaborate mirror frame behind the bar.
Jaye nodded. “They don’t always talk to me. Just when there’s something they want me to do. Just when there’s something in my life they could mess up for me.”
“Well if they decide to tell you something about why we’re all here . . . or whether we’re all actually related . . . let us know,” said Rose, looking a bit impatient.
Sam helped the women and himself to another drink.
They compared family trees, but couldn’t find a common root, other than the not-unusual surname Tyler.
They compared stories, and while each was a bit suspicious of the others, the eventual conclusion was that something strange, but genuine, had happened to each of the three of them.
“So, you see,” said Rose, “the Pete in the alternate universe isn’t really my dad, but he and my mum fell in love anyway, since her Pete and his Jackie were both dead, and I can’t quite figure out if Sophie is my full sister or my half sister, but she’s absolutely adorable. And now Mickey wants us to get back together, get married and have a baby, too, but I’m definitely not ready for that. Anyway, I’m still not over the Doctor.”
Sam shook his head. “I still can’t get over the notion of Doctor Who as a . . . cute boy. Like . . . David Cassidy or something.” He’d finally gone native to 1973.
“David . . . oh, that guy? Well, not a boy. I mean, he’s nine hundred years old. But the second him I knew, especially, was pretty darn cute.” She grinned. “Mind you, the first him was dead sexy, too, and this whole Northern accent thing, I completely get now.”
“And I thought my life was complicated,” said Jaye. “Clearly being ordered around by inanimate objects and falling in love with a guy whose wife cheated on him on with the bellboy on the honeymoon is just kinda ordinary.”
They looked at each other and melted into slightly drunken giggles (or, in Sam’s case, a manly guffaw).
Sam rose to his feet. “I’ve got to find the loo,” and crossed the room to the door, which he opened on to . . .
Nothing.
Just then, Jaye seemed to hear something speak, something the others couldn’t.
END OF PART ONE
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Date: 2007-07-12 11:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-12 05:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-12 12:07 pm (UTC)Looking forward to more :)
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Date: 2007-07-12 05:39 pm (UTC)And I can't pimp Wonderfalls enough -- great show. The network let it run for 4 eps before pulling the plug, but there's a DVD with all 12 or so filmed eps that is so much fun!
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Date: 2007-07-12 12:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-12 05:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-12 12:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-12 05:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-12 06:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-12 09:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-12 06:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-12 09:44 pm (UTC)I knew a lot of people might not have seen Wonderfalls so I tried especially to write Jaye so that you get all the background you need on her.
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Date: 2007-07-12 09:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-12 07:26 pm (UTC)I've never had the chance to watch Wonderfalls, as it never showed up here in Italy, but I've seen some internet promos and like the idea of the girl talking to inanimate objects. Didn't know her surname was Tyler, though. Talk about coincidences! *g*
What is it with scriptwriters and their fixation upon certain names, btw?!?
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Date: 2007-07-12 09:42 pm (UTC)Can you play American DVDs? Wonderfalls is out on DVD here and well worth seeing.
Yeah, I read that Sam was actually named after Rose bc Matthew? Ashley? Someone? had a kid who was a Dr. Who fan. But Jaye, that's pure coincidence. (Unless Russell T. Davies is a Wonderfalls fan, of course!)
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Date: 2007-07-12 09:53 pm (UTC)I knew about Sam being called Tyler because Matthew Graham's daughter was a Rose fan (does this make LoM/DW crossovers canon then? *g*), but I guess the other one is just a coincidence: after all, there are many famous Tylers in this world (*thinks of actress Liv Tyler, her dad Steven Tyler from Aerosmith, singer Bonnie Tyler, etc...*). Hey, maybe you could incorporate these other Tylers in the fic: I bet it would be an absolute crack!fic then!!! LOL
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Date: 2007-07-13 11:16 am (UTC)This was originally meant to be a short crack!fic and then it started to turn into a real story . . . When I started writing it I didn't know the Sam-Rose connection and it just struck me odd that people named Tyler had such a disproportionate amount of odd experiences. ;-)
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Date: 2007-07-13 01:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-13 11:17 am (UTC)Glad you enjoyed it -- hope the rest doesn't disappoint. :-)
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Date: 2007-07-13 02:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-13 11:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-15 12:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-16 12:06 pm (UTC)I thought Jaye just added that something extra that the mix needed. :-)
Maybe life in 1973? That's the only place I cross-posted it -- wasn't sure in the vastness of Who fandom a story like this would fit . . .
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Date: 2007-07-20 09:51 am (UTC)I am also quite proud to say that I knew everyone involved! Thanks to you, that is. Over various visits I have been oriented to both DW and LoM, the latter of which, I must say, I find myself obsessing about at times. I kind of need to see more... Wish I could download...
Anyway, looking forward to reading the rest. Excited to read this - and with your unmistakable stamp.
~Ai
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Date: 2007-07-20 11:32 am (UTC)I would cheerfully get you copies if we hadn't already proved that our burns don't play on any of your machines . . . no idea when the US dvds are coming out. Maybe when the American version (about which we are *not* hopeful) hits the air.