Message in a Time Capsule

Thanks again to everyone who's reading this. Smiles for you. Just one quick note for any superwhovians reading this. Eccleston, Ackles, Padalecki. Ackleston. Padaleckleston. Just something to note.

Disclaimer: owning nothing.

11 months after the invasion.

"They come in zebra stripes now," said Donna, slamming the warehouse door and unwinding her scarf from around her neck. (The scarf being rather bulky, and effectively hiding half of her face when donned properly). She had a plastic bag in one hand, filled with cans and boxes of nonperishable food. They'd had a fridge wired up, but it had overloaded and died when the new power system went online, the new power system specialized for charging your Toclafane, with three times as much energy as the previous system. One touch of the plug and the fridge had sparked, the bulb had exploded, and all their food had become quite depressingly inedible.

Donna crossed the warehouse to the table where Martha sat, surrounded by photographs, hand drawings, newspapers, and handwritten notes. She looked haggard and frustrated, with bloodshot eyes and greasy hair that hung in lanky strands. Martha had not been outside in over nine months, not since the incident with the Toclafane in the alley, the night they had gotten the gun. After that, Donna had done the shopping and reconnoitering, while Martha amassed her library.

The collected information was separated into four piles: First, 10 Downing Street. Blue prints, personnel, history, etc., because odds were good they would have to break in. Second, the Doctor. He was bound to have friends whom they could contact and ask for help. The problem they faced was how. The Doctor's friends were scattered across time and space, it wasn't as though they could send an evite. Martha and Donna's first discussion of the Doctor had taken a rather unexpected turn…

"This friend of yours," said Donna, leaning casually against the edge of the table, "the one who's going to save us…do you fancy him?"

"No!" cried Martha, blushing horribly. "Of course not! Why would you think that?"

"Because of the way you talk about him." It was an almost magical moment, because for just one second, Donna and Martha weren't trying fruitlessly to usurp corrupt government and save the planet, they were just two mates gossiping about boys. "You know, you always say," Donna adopted a low, breathless tone of voice, "'He's mad and wild and wonderful and I just want to bear his children and I-'"

"Oh, stop it!" said Martha, her chocolate colored cheeks pinkening even more. "That's not how I sound! It's just…he's so wonderful, and sometimes he frightens me, but he always makes up for it with his big dopey grin and-"

"Martha," Donna interrupted, realization dawning on her face, "your friend wouldn't be the Doctor by any chance, would he?"

"Yes," said Martha in surprise. "how'd you know?"

"I met him once, last Christmas. We drained the Thames, him and me. An' I was looking for him. Funny this should be the way I find him."

The third pile had proven the most difficult to acquire, even with access to government mainframes. (The computers had more energy capacity, and Martha still had Jack's laptop.) Both Martha and Donna believed that the Toclafane had another purpose, one much less benign than walking dogs, and had come to the conclusion that knowing their weaknesses might come in extremely handy. They knew that the gun the Americans had had worked, but had been unable to find one even remotely like it. So far the most they'd been able to collect had been advertisements for apps and personalizations for the little spheres, which was where the zebra stripes came in.

Their first idea had been to cut the Toclafane off from its power source, but Donna's grandfather had shot that one down. He owned a Toclafane, but had refused to buy the charger, claiming it to be a corporate scam, and he had proven to be right. Ten months later, it was still running as well as the day he'd gotten it.

So they'd begun scouring wanted ads and help columns, searching for malfunctioning Toclafane or Toclafane maintenance, but had struck out once more. At least on a domestic level, the Toclafane seemed invincible.

The fourth pile had been Donna's idea, and she persisted despite Martha's many insistences that she watched too much telly. Donna had invested in what she called "spy stuff." Essentially, 'how to's for using codes, breaking and entering, and basic self defense. Because their ultimate plan was to break into 10 Downing Street and rescue the Doctor.

Donna handed Martha a can of lukewarm chicken noodle soup, which she accepted with a poorly disguised grimace, and set it to the side without eating any.

"I think it's time," she said. "It's time to save the Doctor. We've done all we can from where we are. We need him."

"Great," said Donna. "Let's go, then. Let's just…break into Ten Downing street, shall we? I'm sure this Ianto bloke wouldn't notice two random women just appearin' in his office. Come on."

"That's not exactly what I meant," said Martha with a small smile. "The Secretary of Defense needs a temp, and I've thought of a way to call for help."

oOo

It was really absurdly easy to break into the Random House Publishing warehouse. They didn't know what to make of the lack of security, but they said a prayer of thanks and hoped that fate was on their side. All it took was a few lines of computer code to stamp an image of the TARDIS on the inside cover, above the words, "HELP 9-17-2007 332 Baker Street". All that was left was to pray.

In the following centuries, the Harry Potter books would be printed and reprinted in 17,000,000 galactic languages all over the universe, become required reading in Earth 101 university courses, and be preserved forever in The Library. In short, Martha and Donna had chosen their vessel well.

oOo

Martha awoke on the seventeenth of September with terrible butterflies swarming in her stomach. Today was their last chance. If no one answered the call, Donna would be entirely on her own against Ianto. Martha prayed someone would come.

"Martha?" Donna whispered from the darkness beside her. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"There's someone at the door!"

Martha's hand closed around the nearest item on the floor next to her mattress, a torch. Slowly, she padded barefoot to the door with Donna close behind.

"I got your message," said a voice from the other side of the door. "Where's the Doctor?"

oOo

Toshiko had stopped talking entirely three months ago. Only a week later, she stopped eating. The only one of them who could get a sign of life out of her was Owen, and even then, the most he could do was get her to open her mouth and swallow. She was the smallest, the Doctor had explained during a brief moment when everyone had come to, and therefore most susceptible to the Deterrent Gas. Spirits in the tiny, dank cell had gone from low to nonexistent, until they received a visitor on September 17th of 2007. Not that any of them knew the date.

No one really registered the muffled shouting, "Get your hands off me!" The door to their cell swung open and two guards pushed a writhing woman with curly, light brown hair inside. She whirled around and screamed at the closing door, "You can tell Mr. Jones to stick his thumb up his-" BANG! The door slammed shut.

The woman spun around, breathing hard. She smiled flirtatiously at the Doctor.

"Hello, sweetie."

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