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Wishlist 2010

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Ficlet(s)

This story is No. 2 in the series "Wishlists". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: Twenty-four gifts for twenty-four people giving me twenty-four prompts. Ficlet collection. Part II. - Now Up: To The Ground! verse Christmas fluff.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Multiple Crossings > General > Ficlet Collections - Other(Moderator)FaithUnbreakableFR152440,119311736,69130 Nov 1024 Dec 10Yes

hello, goodbye and don't forget to wave - BtVS/DW

Warnings: Swearing. And the Doctor being the Doctor. Also, crack.

Prompt: silverflamemuse asked for BtVS/DW, Faith, Doctor, Donna, X glimpsed it out of the corner of their eye.

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hello, goodbye and don’t forget to wave

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It’s Wednesday.

Faith likes Wednesdays. A lot. Wednesday means Kidnapping Tuesday is over and Uh-Oh Friday is still a full two days away, not to mention We’re All Going To Die Saturday.

She doesn’t like Wednesdays so much during apocalypse season, of course, but that’s neither here nor there. Generally, Wednesdays are awesome.

No-one to save, nothing to worry about, no apocalypse looming.

Relaxing is nice.

She’s just… ambling along right now, hands in her pocket, taking a stroll through the park at the corner. In daylight. How often does a slayer get to go to a park in daylight? Not often, that’s how often.

She even had ice-cream earlier.

Of course, Murphy hates her and life sucks because suddenly she sees something out of the corner of her eye that wasn’t there a second ago. She turns her head to look at the snippet of blue and light and –

It’s gone.

She frowns, walks backwards a few steps, trying for a different angle. Nothing. She thinks she hears a British voice exclaiming over the wonderful weather (dude, this is Italy!), but she isn’t sure.

As a last ditch effort, she turns her head back to the path ahead and tries to look at whatever the hell she saw out of the corner of her eye. And, yes! There it is. And it’s a… police box?

What the actual fuck?

She stops, keeps staring straight ahead, all her focus on the box that is only visible when one isn’t looking at it. The door’s slightly ajar and suddenly a man in a brown suit steps out of it, followed by a redhead, who’s yammering on about something in a British accent.

They flicker and shimmer for a second and then they’re fully there. Faith turns her head, stares and repeats, out loud this time, “What the actual fuck?”

The man freezes in the middle of some great gesture and the woman looks at her, eyebrow raised.

“Now that,” the guy says, with the voice she heard before, “Is not very becoming of a young lady like you, is it?”

Faith, who is immune to what ‘young ladies’ should and should not do, snorts. Unladylike, of course. “You just walked out of an invisible friggin’ police box, buddy. I repeat, what the actual fuck?”

She’d be all with the slaying, usually, but her instincts are not a-tingly right now and the two of them look harmless enough, invisible boxes aside. Also, what were they even doing in that tiny thing?

Suddenly, the two of them are frowning. The redhead raises one hand, hooks a thumb over her shoulder at the where the blue box would be, if Faith weren’t looking directly at it. No, actually, scratch that. She can sort of see the outline now. Looks like the mojo is failing. “You can actually see that?”

She shrugs. “Well, yeah.”

And wham, the guy, who is kind of tall and skinny and has mad, mad hair, is all up in her face, studying her like she’s a bug. He looks at her from the left, then from the right, full frontal and is he looking up her nostrils?

She backs up a step, raises her hands, “Dude. Personal space. Ever heard of it?”

The woman pulls Mad Hair back by the bottom of his suit jacket and smiles disarmingly. “Sorry about him. He isn’t quite trained yet.”

“Oi!”

“I’m Donna. And this is the Doctor.”

Faith, who has, in her time, met people named Spike, Angel, The Host and The Destroyer, takes that in stride. “Faith,” she returns.

The Doctor brightens visibly. “Oh! Oh, that’s marvelous!” he announces to the world at large, tearing out of Donna’s grasp to dance down the path some twenty feet, pirouette once and then come sprinting back. He shoves a pair of black glasses on his nose, jams them up until they sit securely and gets right back to being in Faith’s face. “You’re a slayer, aren’t you?”

This time when she backs up, one hand goes for the knife in the back of her waistband. Donna rolls her eyes, pulls him back again and says, “Doctor. Slow down.”

He blinks owlishly at her through his glasses, frowns, then nods. The hair nods with him. “Right. Of course. I have to… explain, yes… sorry.” He says that in Faith’s direction before putting a hand to his chin in classic thinker-pose and marching off again.

The women look at each other and Faith asks, “Is he…?”

Donna purses her lips, nods and brings a finger up to twirl it next to her temple. “Completely bonkers, that one. Mad. He also got into the sugar this morning and that...” she mimes something blowing up with her hands. “Screaming, fear, panic. Usually. Don’t take it personally.”

Faith shifts her weight on the balls of her feet a bit. “Is he… dangerous?”

“The Doctor?” Donna shakes her head. “Nah. Not unless you’re trying to enslave mankind. Or steal his TARDIS.”

“TARDIS?”

“Well, that old thing,” she points at the blue box, which is wavering between being there and being… elsewhere. “It’s his space ship.”

Faith blinks. Very slowly. “Space ship.”

Donna nods again. “Yup. He’s an alien, him. Me, not so much. Ruddy old human, actually. I travel with him. What’s he muttering on about now? Doctor!”

He jerks around, stops his quiet ranting and looks at the two women. “Right,” he chirps, bounding up to them again, a bit like a puppy.

Faith thinks that this Wednesday is giving her a headache and thus, sucks.

“Sorry ‘bout that. You’re Faith. Buffy’s slayer-friend. That’s why you can see through the perception filter. Good old noggin,” he taps her forehead with one of his knuckles faster than she can react, “Is programmed to see through things like that. Marvelous things, really, slayers. Tell the old girl I said hello, will you?”

He opens his mouth to say something else, interrupts himself, runs a hand through his hair and points at Faith, finger uncomfortably close to her eye. She considers taking it off, but they guy is a friend of B’s, so she probably shouldn’t. Good manners and all that. Still. That finger is getting way too close for comfort.

“What year is it?” The Doctor asks, pulling his finger away before she can decide what to do with it.

“Oh-five,” she says, too confused, at this point, to do anything but go along with the crazy alien man. Alien. Andrew is never going to let her live that down. Also, B has aliens for friends? That explains so, so much.

The Doctor’s eyes widen. “Oh, dear,” he says, sounding remarkably like Giles. Or maybe all Brits sound like this when they’re saying ‘Oh, dear’. Except this dude is not British. He’s an alien.

“Is it November, yet?” He looks around furtively, like children with ice-cream cones are about to jump him and tear him to shreds, which, in Faith’s life, would be frighteningly par for the course.

“It’s May,” she retorts, not sure why, except, confused!

He relaxes, lets out an exaggerated breath, smiles. “Good. That’s… good. Well, then, dear Faith. Lovely to meet you. Don’t tell Buffy I said hello after all. Haven’t met her yet, you understand. Paradoxes.” He waves a hand grandly in the air and anytime now, Faith is going to start cutting off those limbs of his that keep getting in her face!

“Now, I’m afraid we must go. Nice park, nice weather, but the entirely wrong decade, I’m afraid. Oh-five. Really.” He glares at the box, mumbles something.

Faith looks to Donna for an explanation, but all the older woman has to offer is another finger at her temple. Nuts. Yeah, she got that, thanks.

“Donna!” the Doctor calls, even though she’s standing right next to him. She hastily drops her arm, smiles and then yelps as he grabs her by the sleeve and starts tugging her away, toward the police box.

She scolds him for being rude, smacks him into letting her go, waves at Faith once, offers a shrug in apology and then goes shimmery again before disappearing.

“Good to meet you, Faith, friend of Buffy!” the Doctor’s voice calls one last farewell and then there’s a strange whirring sound and silence.

When Faith turns her head to check, the box, ship, TARDIS thing is gone.

“Wow,” she says, very slowly, to herself.

And then, “No, really, what the actual fuck was that?”

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