Disclaimer: The characters of Doctor Who and All Creatures Great and Small don't belong to me. This is a non-profit story, written pure for fun.
Beta: Please take into consideration that I'm non native English. For reasons explained in my profile I'm not taking on beta's.
Rating: K
Warnings: No warnings.
Setting: This story is set right after the Mawdren Undead in the fifth doctor series, it helps if you have watched this as it might get confusing otherwise. And in the middle of Helen's bedrest episode in All Creatures. Knowledge of the tenth doctor's fob watch thingy is also a must. In general this is more a doctor who crossover than it is an All creatures crossover.
Characters: Fifth doctor, Tristan, James, Siegfried, Calum, Caroline
Genre: Drama, sci fi
Summary: "James stumbles upon a truth concerning Tristan that he is not ready to face"
Author's Notes: It's been a while since I have posted anything. Mainly due to real life. However, these days I find myself with a bit more time on my hands. So I'd thought to start it up again. But before I finish the bigger stories, I wanted to start simple. This is an old story I found lying around on my hard drive. I have always been intrigued by a crossover between these two universes. This story is finished in four chapters. Which I will post once a week.
Time Out
Kreek©January2011
Part 1
Hang on, what is this?
James had underestimated the job. First he had to remind Skeldale's residents that tomorrow was going to be the day, so now was the time to pile up. This was a challenge. Tristan tended to treat the announcement as a warning to lay low in the next twenty four hours. So James had to search Tristan's room, the bathroom, and the whole of the upstairs for discarded items. Second, when he had found said items hard work began. Oh yes, laundry duty required a methodical precision trying any vet's patience.
It wasn't Helen's fault that she was laid up with a slipped disk, so James went about the second phase with healthy optimism. He emptied pockets, readied the laundry to be washed and threw searched clothing on the kitchen table. He'd already landed the odd coin here and there, but this…
This was something different.
He turned the watch over in his hands. He wasn't aware of Tristan ever carrying a pocket watch. Siegfried, yes. But Tristan? The man had no need for one, lived in a time zone of his own. Intricate carvings rolled beneath his fingertips. It looked old, very old. Could it be an heirloom? He made a mental note to ask Siegfried and flipped open the cover.
He froze.
Images accosted him, blurs of text he couldn't read passed before his eyes. Tristan's voice, frightened but strangely restrained, echoed in his head. "Don't you see? Eight of them! Eight of me!"
An image, Tristan's again, hanging limply from some sort of machine. Then the feeling of a women panicking, guilt hanging thickly in the air.
"James?"
He staggered backward, watch snapping close at Siegfried's call.
"Are you all right?"
His attention lingered on the weight in his hand. James looked up only to hear insubstantial sounds coming from the object. If he mentioned any of it, Siegfried would promptly accuse him of spending too much time at the Drovers, so he just nodded vigorously, put the watch in his pocket and proceeded to do the rest of the laundry.
Basking in the warm smoke filled room of the Drover's, Tristan, feet up, drew a long smoke, savouring the tobacco's invigorating aroma. "I'm telling you, Callum, this is the life. No rush, no responsibilities, just the smell of the Dales after a day's hard work." At this time of day The pub was about to fill up with men craving their well-deserved lunch..
Callum leaned forward, hand clasped around a pint. "Except your day hasn't even started yet, and this so called smell of the Dales bears a remarkable resemblance to the heady musty interior of the Drovers," he sounded strained. "Siegfried will kill 'ye when he finds out."
"Relax, ol' boy. There's plenty of time. One cow, one sow, and Mister Biggins. Mustn't deprive ourselves of the finer things in life. I've been working hard you know. Doing lots of cooking of late, what with Helen out for the count." He savoured another sip. "I'm wasted on domestic chores, they take a lot out of me."
His friend threw him an impatient look, which stroke Tristan as odd. When it came to discarding punctuality, his colleague Calum Buchannon was the undefeated champion. Tristan felt a grin tug at the corner of his lips. Something was going on. "Feeling a bit anxious now are we?" He dropped his feet on the ground and leaned in. "Related perhaps to a date with the fair Deirdre this evening?"
"Oh come on, Tristan! We're late enough as it is! You know as well as I do that even between the two of us Biggins will take his sweet time."
Callum had a point. "I know." His mood soured. "Biggins is James' client. But he's stuck doing household chores."
Low level chatter surrounding them died away to a clouded murmur. Tristan pulled back in surprise, resulting in a sense of vertigo.
"I don't s'pose you want to trade jobs with him? What being wasted on domestic chores an' all?"
Callum's words barely registered as smoke thickened, its aroma no longer heartening but clogging his lungs. He blinked, trying to clear his cotton clouded perception. A hangover, that's what this was. Except he only had one pint. He stared at the cigarette between his fingers. Nearly done. It scorched his flesh. He dropped it, startled at the lack of feeling.
"Tristan?"
He couldn't think clearly. Callum swayed before him. Fear welled up in his throat, but before he could utter a word, feeling returned. His fingers hurt from the burn, nausea rose in waves and then he remembered. "Oh no."
"Are you all right?"
The room spun back on its axis, disorientation lifted and he felt like himself again. For the first time in years. "Yes, yes, fine." James. Household duties. He patted his pockets. Save for a pack of cigarettes and his wallet they were empty. Fighting to keep the dread from his face he rambled on. "You're right. Let's go. Don't want to be here when Siegfried's lunch hour arrives. My brother has quite the nasty temperament when he's on the hunt for food."
"Y-e-s." Callum drew out the word, looking both suspicious and glad at Tristan's sudden change of heart. "Well, what do you say. The cow, or the pig first?"
Rain drizzled from the sky as Tristan stepped outside. "Neither." He cast his eyes over Darrowby's cobble-stoned street. The houses, the fresh crisp air, the people rushing for shelter, so familiar yet so alien. Clinging to a warmth already dissipating in the cold harshness of truth. All he could think of was how he wasn't prepared to lose the life he had now. He swallowed. "Siegfried's place first. I need to talk to Caroline." See if he could do some damage control. If it wasn't already too late.
To be continued