As Bad As It Looks

by Daemon faerie queen

To celebrate their marriages, The Doctor takes Rory to a pleasure planet as a post-wed stag event. Their enjoyment is short-lived when the simulations go terribly wrong. Someone wants payback, and they've lured the Tenth Doctor too. Cameo-full fanservice!

10. Chapter 10

A/N: Apologies for slow updates of this story. If you want these quicker, check out my deviantART SparrowandJesh, they go there first and look prettier. Quick note: A couple of you had issues with 11's comment about how long he's loved River. Are you forgetting his Rule Number One? - DFQ xxx

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"Hang on, why are you the one leading?" The Doctor-10 protested as he turned about the room with his chosen partner. It was an awkward waltz, not only on account of the lack of accompaniment.

"I've got a top hat," said The Doctor-11. His eyes darted from side to side as they moved, wary of the circle of simulations.

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Everything. Also, I'm the oldest. Now shut up, I'm trying to think, and it would be really helpful if you'd stop treading on my toes!"

"Don't blame me! I'm not the one who's had time to take lessons in activities for girls. Honestly, the things I'm picking up from your head -."

"Concentrate on here, now. You shouldn't have seen anything. I didn't send a telepathic signal, so I can only assume it was a random burst of information caused by our proximity."

"Speaking of which, how long do we have to do this? Is it even working? 'Cause if I'm about to get jumped by a crowd of eager virtual women, I'd sooner savour one last scrap of dignity."

The Doctor-11 slowed their pace in order to get a better glimpse of the faulty projections. "Er… they're not making any moves yet. I think we've confused the programmes, but I'm not placing any bets on how long it takes for them to find a way round it."

"Why don't we just disassemble the bots, the projectrons?"

"Been there, done that. They reconstitute fast and then I get earache from a pre-recorded message. Maybe if we tried via the console…"

"You didn't think of trying that first?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was a little distracted by the paradox looking to smash me in the face."

"Well maybe if you hadn't let her stick her tongue down your – OW!"

"Oops, was that your foot that time? Clumsy old me! Right, we'd better hope they let us past, so look like you're having the time of your life."

The Doctor-10 put on a dazzling smile, but his eyes were afire. He spoke through clenched teeth. "I hate you."

"I know." The Doctor-11 whirled with his younger self across the ballroom, spinning in wide circles that looped closer to the control panel. Luck held out enough for the simulated females to step aside and let them break the line. The Doctors danced alongside the access point, taking pains not to have to look at one another.

"Right, now use your sonic," The Doctor-11 instructed. "My sonic's in my jacket, which, although would delight me in having to remove my hand from your waist, would disrupt our movements and more likely upset the programmes. I'd also have to convince myself this suit has an inside pocket."

The Doctor-10 let the hand that had been at his other incarnation's back fall to his pocket. It took a few seconds longer than he had expected to find the sonic screwdriver, for he could feel the hologram pocket impressing its existence over the real one. At last his fingers locked around it and the sonic was soon pointed at the console. Blue light shone from the emitter and the familiar bzzzzzt echoed through the hall. "Gah! It's deadlocked!" he growled.

"That's impossible!"

"It is! It's deadlocked."

"You just mean it's not working! It can't be deadlocked. Why would anyone fit the console with deadlock circuitry? Well, apart from preventing people like us interfering with the system, but why would they expect it? Why not frisk people before they went in their rooms? Unless – ".

"Unless that was what someone wanted."

"This is a trap. Someone knew I would come here. They've prepared."

"But why?" The Doctor-10 hissed. "And what am I doing here?"

The Doctor-11 gave a worried frown. "Maybe they need both of us. Anyway, we need to stop talking."

"What? Why?"

"Because you've stopped dancing."

"I've not stopped dancing. You've stopped dancing!"

"Oh, fine. Let's argue about that, shall we? I'll just tell the ravening hordes to give us a few minutes."

The Doctor-10 noted the circle of simulations that had become a zombified mass with a slow approach. He exchanged a glance with The Doctor-11 before the two of them bolted into the first room. The Doctor-10 threw himself headlong at the entrance to the suite, tugging frantically at the vault-like door. "The pass!" he yelled. "Throw me the pass!"

The Doctor-11 paused in the act of shoving a bookshelf across the way they had come and scrabbled in his false and real pockets for the item in question. "It won't work, I'm telling you now!"

The Doctor-10 snarled irritably and clapped his fingers in hurried frustration. The pass was thrown. He swiped it across the panel and, sure enough, it was rejected. He tried his psychic paper to no effect. When his sonic screwdriver achieved the same result he roared and banged his hands on the cold metal. "Open this door!"

"Oh, give it a rest!" The Doctor-11 bellowed. "Save your energy for something useful like helping me with this!"

After one last beat on the door, The Doctor-10 bounded back across the room and seized the other end of the bookcase The Doctor-11 had been pushing. "Will this work?" he barked, as it slid against the ballroom door.

"I don't know! Maybe as long as the simulations believe they're real."

"We need to get to Jack and Rory. First we'll have to see if we can contact them, then we'll have to think about getting past that lot."

Both Doctors raced for the nearest control panel set into one of the sunset-toned walls.

"Wait, wait, what are you doing?" The Doctor-10 stuttered.

"Patching through to the other VIP chambers."

"No-no-no-no, one of us needs to guard the door!"

The Doctor-11's fingers were already pattering at the screen's options. "Then you'd better get back there while I'm talking." He selected the call function for Rory's room.

"Why does it have to be you?"

"Out of the two of us which one is most likely to be a calming influence on Rory?" At his younger self's draw of breath, The Doctor-11 tried again. "Out of the two of us which one has not struck him in the face?"

"Ah." The Doctor-10 turned on his heels and returned to the doorway as the call was made.

"Pick up, Rory. Pick up, pick up -," The Doctor-11 chanted for what felt like a painful stretch of time until his friend's face appeared on the screen. "Rory! Hello!"

"Doctor?" came the groggy reply.

"Thank goodness, for a moment I thought you were – never mind, is everything all right? This is very important, I need you to – have you been sleeping?"

"I was tired! I just had a little nap. What's wrong?"

"And you're fine? Nothing's… happened… while you were asleep?"

"Er, I don't think so… how do you mean happened?"

"There aren't any simulations in your room?"

Rory averted his eyes from the screen. "Well, yes, a couple. Why?"

"What are they doing?"

"I d'know, just, sitting, laughing together," the young man said dismissively.

"What sort of laughing? Is it genuine or in a sort of malicious… worrying sort of way?"

Rory sighed. "Doctor, are you telling me there are still problems?"

The Doctor-11 ignored the question. "What form did your simulations take, Rory?"

"Does it matter?"

"Rory, believe me, I wouldn't dream of asking if it wasn't important."

An embarrassed groan slipped from the young human's lips. "They're just – it's Amy and another girl, no one you know. They're messing about and painting something on the floor with their hands."

"What are they painting?"

"I don't know. They're just sloshing it about, making patterns and giggling. Doing… girly stuff."

"They're not doing anything unusual?"

"Girly stuff?" an incredulous voice came from somewhere behind The Doctor-11.

"They're just scribbling things," Rory insisted. "They've been painting while I slept, and talking. Just hearing them talk, hearing Amy laugh, it helped me sleep, okay? Aside from staying in a room with figments of imagination made real by incredible robots, there's nothing very strange going on. If it makes you happy, I'll take a quick look."

"Okay," said The Doctor-11, "but be careful."

"I will." Rory's jaded words trailed off as he wandered out of sight. When he returned, a frown hovered about his face. "It's probably nothing, but they've started writing words with the paint. Same three words, in a few different colours."

The Doctor-11 managed to look even less relaxed. "What words?"

"They just say 'In Her Name'."

"Whose name?"

"I don't know, it just says 'her'."

"Rory, the simulations, what are they doing now?"

"Nothing. They're still painting. They – oh."

"Rory?"

Rory swallowed, his gaze fixed to a point off-screen. "Doctor, they've stopped. They're looking at me."

"Well, you are talking about them. They could just be running a normal programme. Ask them why they wrote that message."

"Er, I don't think they feel like talking. In fact, I think they look a bit annoyed."

There came a loud thud from The Doctors' room. The Doctor-10 stumbled forward at the sudden jolt of the bookcase behind him. At once, he threw himself against it again and braced for a further attack. "They're pushing!"

The Doctor-11 yelled across, "They can't be pushing. It's real furniture, they can't move real furniture!" He turned back to the screen. "Rory, you need to get out of there. There'll be another room past your first one…" He opened up a separate window on the display to access the VIP area map. "Then straight on through there should be a corridor that loops past all of our suites. Meet us in that corridor. We will be there as soon as we can." He ended the call to Rory's room.

"Hurry up and get hold of Jack. I can't hold this much longer!" The Doctor-10 cried, his converse sliding on the blue floor.

"Wait, there's something I want to try." The Doctor-11 scurried over. "Screwdriver!" He prised the ready device out of his other self's hand and moved out into the centre of the room. "If this works, we're really really stupid." He raised the sonic and stretched out his other arm, revealing the Tinter wrist-strap. "Bound to be useless but I'm not having someone turn up laughing their heads off at Mr Thick that didn't have a crack at it. If we just cancel the signals coming from us, the simulations should just stop."

"Wait, don't -!" The Doctor-10 yelled.

Too late, The Doctor-11 set off the emitter. The wrist-strap defences kicked in and electricity surged through the timelord's body. He screamed and stumbled, but was fortunate that the attack ceased as soon as he dropped the screwdriver. "Okay, okay…" he stammered in between a bout of coughing. "Clearly the system is pretty well tamper-proof. Whatever you do, don't sonic the Tinters. Bad plan, silly plan. Back to the first plan." He picked up the sonic, tossed it back to The Doctor-10 then dashed – a little lacking in co-ordination – back to the controls.

"I'm slipping!" his younger self reminded.

"It's in your head. There is nothing pushing that case!" The Doctor-11 set up a call to Harkness's suite. "Come on, come on! Jack, where are you?" The screen remained black. After several more call attempts, the panel popped up with a new window and an automated voice addressed The Doctor-11.

The person you are calling is unavailable. Please leave them a message by selecting the 'Function' button.

Wincing impatiently, The Doctor-11 jabbed the suggested key and gestured emphatically at the panel to 'get on with it'. "Hello, Jack! It's The Doctor. Both Doctors. Probably know that once you get this message since I think it's a visual recording as well as audio. Not that you can see the other Doctor what with me standing in the way and the fact he's angled a little bit to my left. Bit of a situation, best not keep on waffling. Anyway, listen up, this is really important. Under absolutely no circumstances must you aggravate the simulations in your room. I have reason to believe that all of those in the VIP suite are malfunctioning and I highly doubt yours are exempt -."

Were Jack to receive the message, it likely did not paint as grave a picture as the timelords would have liked. As The Doctor-11 launched into a quick-fire, rather unnecessary, summary of their experience (editing out specific names), his younger counterpart spent the duration of the message flailing in and out of the background. Twice The Doctor-10 was jolted, hopping into view.

"…don't know why this is happening or if there's some ulterior motive at work but, whatever it is, I doubt it can be good. These things can make you believe absolutely anything is happening to you. If they want to hurt you, it will hurt as much as the real thing. Your mind will turn on you and you will quite literally feel pain…"

"Oh no you don't!" The Doctor-10 took a run up and pelted into the bookcase.

"-ven knows what they could do to someone like you, so for pity's sake if you get this message and aren't already being savaged or something worse, get out now!"

Tiny spherical bots hovered onto the scene behind The Doctor-11 before The Doctor-10 raced in again, swatting at them with a rolled up magazine. "Don't you dare!"

Finally The Doctor-11 completed the message entry much to his own relief. He turned just in time to witness a tremendous crash as the bookcase flopped on top of his younger incarnation who disappeared under its bulk with a dismayed yelp. The Doctor-11 leapt to grab the case's side, straining to lift it.

The Doctor-10 groaned. "This better not be how I go. I will not be The Doctor that went 'death by bookshelf'."

"I told you to get away from this case!" The Doctor-11 snapped, voice growling with the effort.

"No you did not!" the trapped man retorted, shoving upwards at the weight. "You said there wasn't anything pushing it. Now do you believe me?"

The Doctor-11 snarled and budged the case a few inches further. "There wasn't anything pushing it. It was all you! They got inside your head."

"You're telling me I pulled this bookcase on myself?"

"I'm telling you to get out from under this thing before I drop it!"

The Doctor-10 held his tongue and scrambled out and up to his feet. He twisted around, ready to save the barricade but The Doctor-11 had already let it fall, revealing the crowd of waiting simulations still in the ballroom scene. "Brilliant…"

"It doesn't matter," said The Doctor-11. "We need to get past them anyway. I think I've got a plan."

"Not another one."

"You can have the next one."

"Really?"

"Yes, but only if it's a good one."

"Rude and cheeky, you really must be my next in line."

The Doctor-11 stepped tentatively toward the mass of familiar females. He felt his hearts and stomach lurch at the sight of more than a few, taking extra care not to let his eyes linger. Time never completely healed wounds, especially for someone who did not perceive it in its natural sequence.

"Hello," he said, calmly but with enough volume for all of them to hear. "I understand you're all looking for a dance, maybe something else in the pipelines later on, who knows? We just wanted to make sure we were ready. Question is – are you lot? We can't very well dance with all of you at once, so we've agreed on what we think is the fairest means. Embracing an old British custom, it is the request of The Doctor and The Doctor that you all form an orderly queue – wait a minute, wait a minute – form an orderly queue in order of who you think most deserves to be first in line. If you prefer one of us over the other, form a different line either side of the hall and work it out amongst yourselves. Ready? Go!"

To his surprise, the ploy worked. The ballroom erupted into chaos as pushing turned to shoving and cold discussion rose quickly to bickering. Several of the simulations milled about with indecision. It was a matter of seconds before the handbags, nails, Janis thorns and varying technological ages of guns were introduced to the squabble.

"Quick, get to the door," The Doctor-11 hissed to the younger Doctor. "If we both go at the same time it'll look suspicious and they might stop fighting. Don't argue."

Loath to follow orders, The Doctor-10 hesitated for half a beat before he strode quickly through the fray, ducking a shot of laser fire as he went. The Doctor-11 watched, preparing to follow, unaware that the stray bots that had previously drifted into the room were reconstituting behind him. He saw his other self opening the door at the far side, a door that looked as though it should open out onto a veranda beneath the Gallifreyan sky but instead broke the façade with a dull white hallway. The Doctor-11 stepped forward into the ballroom and felt a hand squeeze his shoulder. He turned instinctively; tried to pull back. Another hand twined through the back of his hair and before he could break free, soft lips were upon his.

Cries of outrage sprang from about the hall, particularly from the small group that had made an adamant choice to engage in an Eleventh-Doctor-specific brawl, one of whom he had realised as having long red hair and made a mental note to keep his distance. He wormed his way out of River's embrace as the wolves descended, spinning on his heel for the doorway.

"Aaaaah RUN!" The Doctor-11 shrieked before he hurtled across the hall and out into the corridor. He slammed the door shut as his other self looked on, fumbling with an inside pocket that was determined not to exist. At last he pulled out his sonic screwdriver and, blinking profusely, aimed it at the locking mechanism.

"What on Earth's that?" The Doctor-10 spluttered.

"It's my screwdriver!"

"What have you done to it? It's not even blue!"

"It doesn't have to be blue!"

"But look at the size of it – you could put someone's eye out with that!"

"Can we please not do this now!" The Doctor-11 yapped with reproach. "I can't – I'm nearly – there. It's not deadlocked. Small mercy." He gasped in the extra breaths he sorely needed and staggered into the opposite wall, grateful for its support. "Really… need to confiscate that woman's lipstick…" He let his head loll back against the wall, not bothering to reach for the hologram hat this dislodged.

"Was that why you stayed behind?" The Doctor-10 scowled. "One last bit of cheap, stolen excitement? At least it was your wife this time."

"Oh shut up. In a moment you're going to wish it hadn't been." The Doctor-11 rubbed his eyes and blinked again. He grimaced and shook his head.

"Something's wrong." The Doctor-10's expression shifted to one of urgency. "What happened? Tell me what's wrong."

The Doctor-11 let out a bitter laugh. "You wanted the chance to have a good idea. Now you're going to need one." His younger self stared at him, horrified, furious at being so helpless when the answer was still waiting. Head swimming, he slumped lower, his vision blurring.

"I think I've been poisoned," said The Doctor-11, and collapsed.