sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-18 01:15 pm
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-18 01:15 pm
On The Run From The Lunar Mafia
Title: On The Run From The Lunar Mafia
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Summary: Gareth David-Lloyd's quiet evening is interrupted by time travel. And robots.
Notes: This is without a doubt the most ridiculous thing I have ever written. I was actually going to make it a semi-serious piece, and then...this came out. I don't even know, you guys.
BLAME:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hija_paloma is to blame for this, as illustrated here. 51stcenturyfox beta'd this hard. cruentum convinced me to post it. THEY ARE BAD PEOPLE.
Warnings: None.
Originally Posted 8.9.09
Also available at AO3.
***
At first Gareth thought there was something funny in his beer.
While it wasn't actually unusual for John Barrowman to come bursting into a room without knocking, it was slightly more unusual for him to immediately dive under the bed. Especially in a hotel room. Granted, it was a con, and all kinds of crazy bollocks happened at a con --
Gareth slowly leaned over the edge of the bed and peered underneath it. That was definitely John, with a hunted look on his face, cowering amidst the dust bunnies.
"All right then?" Gareth asked, slowly.
"Pretend everything's normal," John hissed, and shoved him in the head. Gareth sat up, considered things, and went back to studying the con schedule for the following day.
About ten seconds later, a woman also burst into the room without knocking. She had blue hair.
"Did a man come through here?" she demanded.
"Er?" Gareth managed.
"Tall bloke, dead sexy, brown hair," she said.
"No," Gareth replied. "Can't say as I have seen a tall dead sexy bloke recently."
"Do I know you from somewhere?" she asked, squinting.
"Telly?" Gareth suggested.
"Tell who?"
"The telly. I'm on it occasionally."
"Whatever," she sniffed. "Sorry to barge in."
And she was gone. Gareth carefully did not move until there was a slight rustle under the bed and John wriggled out on his elbows.
"Are you implying I'm not sexy?" he asked, before he was even upright.
"Not interested," Gareth answered, without looking up from the con schedule. "Fan of yours?"
"Uh. Yeah," John said, and for a practiced actor he was a terrible liar. Gareth glanced up. "Sort of. Actually not a fan at all."
"What'd she want?"
"JOHN," someone bellowed, and again, without knocking, for the third time in three minutes, someone came through Gareth's door.
"Don't they lock hotel room doors anymore? I'm sure I had a keycard given to me," Gareth complained. Scott paused in the entry, then quickly shut the door.
"Bila's here," Scott blurted.
"Thanks, I noticed," John drawled.
"Who's Bila?" Gareth asked.
"Nobody," the other two answered in unison. Gareth decided he needed another beer.
"What do we do?" Scott asked.
"As if I know?" John demanded. "Gareth, you couldn't give us a little privacy, huh?"
"Look, this is my hotel room," Gareth announced, growing increasingly annoyed. "And if you two want a quick shag you have quite a nice room of your own. Nicer than mine, in fact."
"No time for this," Scott said impatiently. "She'll be back, you know she will."
"Maybe we could go off the balcony," John suggested, jerking his thumb at the sliding door at the other end of the room. Scott started for it, and Gareth was just getting up to phone the con organisers because really this was ridiculous, when the door burst right off its hinges and blue-haired Bila was back.
"GOTCHA!" she shouted.
Several things happened at once.
Gareth found himself yelling in surprise, something on the lines of "FUCKING HELL." Scott cleared the bed in a single jump, which was fairly impressive. John grabbed Gareth's wrist. Scott took something small and glowing out of his pocket. Bila raised a gun. There was an impressive bang --
And suddenly they were not in fact in a hotel room anymore. They were standing on a beach. And the sun was out.
Gareth made the only possible inference he could.
"Great," he moaned. "I suppose I've died, then."
"Don't be a drama queen," John replied, letting go of his wrist. "Just a little transtemporal jump, that's all."
Gareth stared hard at him. "Are you dead and insane?"
"Nobody's dead," Scott assured him, tucking the little glowing thing back in a pocket.
"When are we, Scott?" John asked.
"Oh, I'd say about 1200 BC," Scott replied.
"We were just in LA!" Gareth blurted.
"Technically we still are," John assured him, kicking around some sand with his bare feet. "About two thousand years before it became LA. Breathe that fresh clean air. Good for the lungs."
Definitely something funny in that beer.
"Well, she'll never track us here, anyway, I routed us through Mars," Scott continued, looking rather smug, all things considered.
"Mars?" Gareth demanded. The other two men exchanged a look.
"He's your coworker," Scott said.
"I'm shit at this," John replied.
"You'll never get better if you don't practice."
"Why would I want to get better at it?"
"Sorry, can we go back to the fact that I'm apparently hallucinating?" Gareth managed. Scott gave John a sharp shove.
"Fine," John said, turning to glare at Scott. "Listen, this is going to sound insane."
"Oh, you think?" Gareth asked.
"You know how Russell said he based Jack Harkness on me?" John said slowly.
"Yes..."
"Well, he did. Base him on me."
"And?" Gareth prompted.
"No, like really," John said. "Jack Harkness. Me."
Gareth frowned. "Time-traveling superhero Jack Harkness?"
"Yup."
"Captain Jack Harkness?"
"Love the way he says that," Scott said to John.
"In the flesh," John said.
"You travel in time?" Gareth asked, just to be sure.
"Well, yeah."
"If you tell me Scott's real name is Ianto Jones I'm going to shit myself," Gareth said.
"Ianto Jones isn't real, Gareth," John said with exaggerated gentleness. Gareth scowled. "That's Scott. He's my husband."
"You're Time Agent Captain Jack Harkness and we're standing on a beach in 1200 BC," Gareth said.
"Yup." John rocked back and forth a little, looking pleased with himself.
Gareth crossed his arms. "Prove it."
"What?"
"Prove it."
"What more proof do you need?" John said, exasperated. "Look around you!"
"So what, you just dropped into the twentieth century and decided to make a television career?" Gareth demanded.
John and Scott both looked embarrassed.
"We're in Witness Protection," Scott said reluctantly.
"WITNESS PROTECTION?" Gareth shouted. "YOU'RE ON THE TELEVISION! Like a billion people watch you swan around pretending to be someone you ACTUALLY ARE, when they're not watching you ice skate in a reality show. Who's protecting you, MI-incompetent?"
"Look, the Lunar Mafia is three thousand years in the future, I didn't think they'd check back this far, okay?" John snapped.
"Oh, of course. You're on the run from the Lunar Mafia. Captain Jack Harkness is in hiding from the Lunar Mafia. And on the television." Gareth dropped into the sand, pulling his knees up to his chest. "John Barrowman is actually a time-traveler and he's hiding out from the moon crooks. And now he's kidnapped me to a beach twenty-two hundred years in the past."
"Er," Scott said, then faltered when Gareth glared at him.
"Yes?" Gareth said sharply.
"Is now a good time to tell him I'm a robot?" Scott asked John.
Gareth burst into hysterical laughter. "Of course you are. Of course you are. Scott Gill's a robot! Your robot husband. This is my husband, the robot. No, it's legal in the UK! There are no laws at all against time-travelers marrying robots."
"He's fully sentient," John said, annoyed. "It's not like he's my sex droid or something. And yeah, actually, it is legal in the UK, about three thousand years from now."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to be insensitive," Gareth hooted with laughter. "Oh Jesus. Do you fight aliens? No, wait. Is Russell really the Doctor? Say he's the Doctor."
"He's not the Doctor," John said.
"Are there aliens though?" Gareth asked. "Real aliens?"
"Not in this timezone," Scott muttered.
"Look, the less you know, the better," John said.
"You might have thought of that before time-kidnapping me! Jesus, will you listen to me?" Gareth said, throwing his hands in the air. "Time-kidnapped! That blue-haired woman, what was she then, some kind of Lunar Mafia assassin?"
"You can make fun all you want, but the Lunar Mafia knows I'm immortal -- "
"IMMORTAL," Gareth shouted.
" -- and they want to lock me up and do tests on me, this is serious!" John said. "If the Time Agency can't catch her, we're going to be stuck here for a while."
"I sunburn easily," Gareth said, sobering. "I don't want to live on a beach before the advent of sunscreen."
"Not to worry," Scott interrupted, touching a finger to his ear. "Getting a transmission now."
"In your finger?" Gareth asked.
"In my ear," Scott retorted.
"Oh, excuse -- " Gareth broke off as John shushed him. They waited expectantly, watching Scott stand very still, one finger in his ear.
"Right, that's our cue," Scott said, letting his hand fall. "We're in the clear. Agency got her. She shouldn't have tried it at a con, there were Time Agents crawling all over that place."
"The uniforms blend in," John said, before Gareth could ask.
"So, up you come," Scott grasped Gareth's wrist and pulled him effortlessly to his feet. "We should get back a few minutes after we left."
He took out the little glowing thing again, as John got a firm hold on his shoulder.
"One, two, three -- "
***
Gareth started awake, in his bed, in the hotel room.
The lights were still on, and he was still wearing his clothes; he must have fallen asleep sitting up.
Oh, fuck's sake. A dream, then, that's all it had been. A very fucked up dream. No more beer before bed.
He didn't notice a few grains of sand tumble out of the cuff of his trousers, as he stood to walk to the bathroom.
END
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Summary: Gareth David-Lloyd's quiet evening is interrupted by time travel. And robots.
Notes: This is without a doubt the most ridiculous thing I have ever written. I was actually going to make it a semi-serious piece, and then...this came out. I don't even know, you guys.
BLAME:
hija_paloma is to blame for this, as illustrated here. 51stcenturyfox beta'd this hard. cruentum convinced me to post it. THEY ARE BAD PEOPLE.Warnings: None.
Originally Posted 8.9.09
Also available at AO3.
***
At first Gareth thought there was something funny in his beer.
While it wasn't actually unusual for John Barrowman to come bursting into a room without knocking, it was slightly more unusual for him to immediately dive under the bed. Especially in a hotel room. Granted, it was a con, and all kinds of crazy bollocks happened at a con --
Gareth slowly leaned over the edge of the bed and peered underneath it. That was definitely John, with a hunted look on his face, cowering amidst the dust bunnies.
"All right then?" Gareth asked, slowly.
"Pretend everything's normal," John hissed, and shoved him in the head. Gareth sat up, considered things, and went back to studying the con schedule for the following day.
About ten seconds later, a woman also burst into the room without knocking. She had blue hair.
"Did a man come through here?" she demanded.
"Er?" Gareth managed.
"Tall bloke, dead sexy, brown hair," she said.
"No," Gareth replied. "Can't say as I have seen a tall dead sexy bloke recently."
"Do I know you from somewhere?" she asked, squinting.
"Telly?" Gareth suggested.
"Tell who?"
"The telly. I'm on it occasionally."
"Whatever," she sniffed. "Sorry to barge in."
And she was gone. Gareth carefully did not move until there was a slight rustle under the bed and John wriggled out on his elbows.
"Are you implying I'm not sexy?" he asked, before he was even upright.
"Not interested," Gareth answered, without looking up from the con schedule. "Fan of yours?"
"Uh. Yeah," John said, and for a practiced actor he was a terrible liar. Gareth glanced up. "Sort of. Actually not a fan at all."
"What'd she want?"
"JOHN," someone bellowed, and again, without knocking, for the third time in three minutes, someone came through Gareth's door.
"Don't they lock hotel room doors anymore? I'm sure I had a keycard given to me," Gareth complained. Scott paused in the entry, then quickly shut the door.
"Bila's here," Scott blurted.
"Thanks, I noticed," John drawled.
"Who's Bila?" Gareth asked.
"Nobody," the other two answered in unison. Gareth decided he needed another beer.
"What do we do?" Scott asked.
"As if I know?" John demanded. "Gareth, you couldn't give us a little privacy, huh?"
"Look, this is my hotel room," Gareth announced, growing increasingly annoyed. "And if you two want a quick shag you have quite a nice room of your own. Nicer than mine, in fact."
"No time for this," Scott said impatiently. "She'll be back, you know she will."
"Maybe we could go off the balcony," John suggested, jerking his thumb at the sliding door at the other end of the room. Scott started for it, and Gareth was just getting up to phone the con organisers because really this was ridiculous, when the door burst right off its hinges and blue-haired Bila was back.
"GOTCHA!" she shouted.
Several things happened at once.
Gareth found himself yelling in surprise, something on the lines of "FUCKING HELL." Scott cleared the bed in a single jump, which was fairly impressive. John grabbed Gareth's wrist. Scott took something small and glowing out of his pocket. Bila raised a gun. There was an impressive bang --
And suddenly they were not in fact in a hotel room anymore. They were standing on a beach. And the sun was out.
Gareth made the only possible inference he could.
"Great," he moaned. "I suppose I've died, then."
"Don't be a drama queen," John replied, letting go of his wrist. "Just a little transtemporal jump, that's all."
Gareth stared hard at him. "Are you dead and insane?"
"Nobody's dead," Scott assured him, tucking the little glowing thing back in a pocket.
"When are we, Scott?" John asked.
"Oh, I'd say about 1200 BC," Scott replied.
"We were just in LA!" Gareth blurted.
"Technically we still are," John assured him, kicking around some sand with his bare feet. "About two thousand years before it became LA. Breathe that fresh clean air. Good for the lungs."
Definitely something funny in that beer.
"Well, she'll never track us here, anyway, I routed us through Mars," Scott continued, looking rather smug, all things considered.
"Mars?" Gareth demanded. The other two men exchanged a look.
"He's your coworker," Scott said.
"I'm shit at this," John replied.
"You'll never get better if you don't practice."
"Why would I want to get better at it?"
"Sorry, can we go back to the fact that I'm apparently hallucinating?" Gareth managed. Scott gave John a sharp shove.
"Fine," John said, turning to glare at Scott. "Listen, this is going to sound insane."
"Oh, you think?" Gareth asked.
"You know how Russell said he based Jack Harkness on me?" John said slowly.
"Yes..."
"Well, he did. Base him on me."
"And?" Gareth prompted.
"No, like really," John said. "Jack Harkness. Me."
Gareth frowned. "Time-traveling superhero Jack Harkness?"
"Yup."
"Captain Jack Harkness?"
"Love the way he says that," Scott said to John.
"In the flesh," John said.
"You travel in time?" Gareth asked, just to be sure.
"Well, yeah."
"If you tell me Scott's real name is Ianto Jones I'm going to shit myself," Gareth said.
"Ianto Jones isn't real, Gareth," John said with exaggerated gentleness. Gareth scowled. "That's Scott. He's my husband."
"You're Time Agent Captain Jack Harkness and we're standing on a beach in 1200 BC," Gareth said.
"Yup." John rocked back and forth a little, looking pleased with himself.
Gareth crossed his arms. "Prove it."
"What?"
"Prove it."
"What more proof do you need?" John said, exasperated. "Look around you!"
"So what, you just dropped into the twentieth century and decided to make a television career?" Gareth demanded.
John and Scott both looked embarrassed.
"We're in Witness Protection," Scott said reluctantly.
"WITNESS PROTECTION?" Gareth shouted. "YOU'RE ON THE TELEVISION! Like a billion people watch you swan around pretending to be someone you ACTUALLY ARE, when they're not watching you ice skate in a reality show. Who's protecting you, MI-incompetent?"
"Look, the Lunar Mafia is three thousand years in the future, I didn't think they'd check back this far, okay?" John snapped.
"Oh, of course. You're on the run from the Lunar Mafia. Captain Jack Harkness is in hiding from the Lunar Mafia. And on the television." Gareth dropped into the sand, pulling his knees up to his chest. "John Barrowman is actually a time-traveler and he's hiding out from the moon crooks. And now he's kidnapped me to a beach twenty-two hundred years in the past."
"Er," Scott said, then faltered when Gareth glared at him.
"Yes?" Gareth said sharply.
"Is now a good time to tell him I'm a robot?" Scott asked John.
Gareth burst into hysterical laughter. "Of course you are. Of course you are. Scott Gill's a robot! Your robot husband. This is my husband, the robot. No, it's legal in the UK! There are no laws at all against time-travelers marrying robots."
"He's fully sentient," John said, annoyed. "It's not like he's my sex droid or something. And yeah, actually, it is legal in the UK, about three thousand years from now."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to be insensitive," Gareth hooted with laughter. "Oh Jesus. Do you fight aliens? No, wait. Is Russell really the Doctor? Say he's the Doctor."
"He's not the Doctor," John said.
"Are there aliens though?" Gareth asked. "Real aliens?"
"Not in this timezone," Scott muttered.
"Look, the less you know, the better," John said.
"You might have thought of that before time-kidnapping me! Jesus, will you listen to me?" Gareth said, throwing his hands in the air. "Time-kidnapped! That blue-haired woman, what was she then, some kind of Lunar Mafia assassin?"
"You can make fun all you want, but the Lunar Mafia knows I'm immortal -- "
"IMMORTAL," Gareth shouted.
" -- and they want to lock me up and do tests on me, this is serious!" John said. "If the Time Agency can't catch her, we're going to be stuck here for a while."
"I sunburn easily," Gareth said, sobering. "I don't want to live on a beach before the advent of sunscreen."
"Not to worry," Scott interrupted, touching a finger to his ear. "Getting a transmission now."
"In your finger?" Gareth asked.
"In my ear," Scott retorted.
"Oh, excuse -- " Gareth broke off as John shushed him. They waited expectantly, watching Scott stand very still, one finger in his ear.
"Right, that's our cue," Scott said, letting his hand fall. "We're in the clear. Agency got her. She shouldn't have tried it at a con, there were Time Agents crawling all over that place."
"The uniforms blend in," John said, before Gareth could ask.
"So, up you come," Scott grasped Gareth's wrist and pulled him effortlessly to his feet. "We should get back a few minutes after we left."
He took out the little glowing thing again, as John got a firm hold on his shoulder.
"One, two, three -- "
***
Gareth started awake, in his bed, in the hotel room.
The lights were still on, and he was still wearing his clothes; he must have fallen asleep sitting up.
Oh, fuck's sake. A dream, then, that's all it had been. A very fucked up dream. No more beer before bed.
He didn't notice a few grains of sand tumble out of the cuff of his trousers, as he stood to walk to the bathroom.
END
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Page 5 of 7