charamei: Third Doctor (DW3: Three)
[personal profile] charamei
Title: The Twelve Days of Christmas
Rating: PG
Genre: Humour
Characters/Pairings: Three, Delgado!Master, One, Two, Brigadier, Sgt. Benton, Jo
Continuity: Takes place before The Three Doctors (well, for Three, anyway), and while the Master is still stuck on Earth.
Wordcount: 2289
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who; I'm just playing in the BBC's sandbox for fun and practice.
Author's Note: After the angst of the last two, here's some good old-fashioned Christmas crack from Three.

Summary: The Master comes up with his own unique version of The Twelve Days of Christmas... and enacts it.

[01] The Doctor's First Noel
[03] The Twelve Days Of Christmas
[08]A Very Gallifreyan Occasion
[09]Recovery


On the first day of Christmas the Master sent to me -
A Dalek in a lav-a-tree!


The Doctor opened the cubicle door to find a Dalek sat on the toilet seat, a large pink bow tied about its middle.

"EXTERMINATE!"

He slammed the door again just as the thing's energy ray went off, carving a hole straight through said door and into the wall opposite, and went to alert the Brigadier just as soon as he'd put an 'OUT OF ORDER' notice on the outer door.

It took the rest of the day to get the dashed thing out safely. They ended up blowing up half the west wing, and had a terrible draught for the rest of the month, but at least nobody was hurt.

On the second day of Christmas the Master sent to me -
Two former lives
And a Dalek in a lav-a-tree!


He'd always hated that scruffy little tramp, and his first self wasn't helping matters, either.

"Now listen to me," the Doctor said, as his two former selves each tried to shout him down, "I don't know how the Master – Koschei – managed to convince you two that I was plotting to take over the universe, but I can assure you I'm not. I am, however, quite busy with a small Dalek problem, so if you wouldn't mind -"

That got their attention. No such thing as a 'small Dalek problem', of course, and they spent the next six hours bickering about how best to remove a Dalek from a toilet seat until the Brigadier came in and told them that while they'd been arguing he'd just sent some men in and blown the thing up again.

"We should stay until the Master's done with his little game," the first decided, and the Doctor's hearts sank into his boots.

On the third day of Christmas the Master sent to me -
Three Cybermen
Two former lives
And a Dalek in a lav-a-tree!


"If this carries on much longer," the Brigadier said crossly, "we shan't have a working lavatory in the place."

"Quite a dastardly plan in some ways, sir," Benton pointed out.

"Yes, well, that's as may be. All right, you lot; contain the toilet."

UNIT had rapidly become very efficient at this. As they set up their bazookas and prepared to kick down the door, the Doctor heard an unfortunately familiar voice from some way away:

"Cybermen!"

"Oh, Rassilon," he said, and went to find out what was going on, but by the time he'd got there the upstaging little Beatle had dealt with it, and there was nothing but a pile of three bodies on the floor.

On the fourth day of Christmas the Master sent to me -
Four Sontar clones
Three Cybermen
Two former lives
And a Dalek in a lav-a-tree!


The Sontarans were very confused as to how they'd ended up in UNIT HQ, and the Doctor couldn't blame them for that. He could, however, blame them for trying to murder everyone in revenge.

As he and his first self slammed the door on the mess hall to let the Sontarans and Cybermen fight it out amongst themselves, Jo came running out of a nearby toilet, shrieking. Behind her, a Dalek screeched, "Exterminate!"

"This is becoming ridiculous," he said, and for once his second self agreed with him.

On the fifth day of Christmas the Master sent to me -
Five aspirin!
Four Sontar clones
Three Cybermen
Two former lives
And a Dalek in a lav-a-tree!


UNIT really were getting very efficient at dealing with the Toilet Dalek-Cyberman-Sontaran combined threat. The whole thing was over by lunch time, and the Doctor was listening to the Brigadier place an emergency order for thirty portaloos and enjoying a nice, peaceful lunch when he bit into something hard and round hidden inside his mashed potato.

He spat it out into his palm and looked at it carefully. The Brigadier put the phone down and leaned over to have a look too. "What is it, Doctor?"

The Doctor sighed, and threw it into the bin. "Aspirin."

There were four more dotted about his plate. He made a mental note to be more careful with his food for the next few days.

On the sixth day of Christmas the Master sent to me -
Six gifts a-gassing
Five aspirin!
Four Sontar clones
Three Cybermen
Two former lives
And a Dalek in a lav-a-tree!


There was a small pile of brightly-wrapped parcels on his lab bench, and Jo had retreated to the opposite corner of the room, where she was eyeing them with a healthy dose of paranoia. The usual sounds of soldiers finding today's Dalek, and of Sontarans and Cybermen fighting in the mess hall, were almost comforting by comparison.

"Open it carefully," Trampy advised, as if he was going to just breeze in and rip the things open. The first, for his part, was too busy shouting helpful instructions to the soldiers dealing with the Dalek.

He found the sonic screwdriver and opened the first one from a distance of six feet. A purple gas erupted from it as the lid came off; Jo dived under the bench, scattering test tubes and TARDIS parts as she went, and the two Doctors found themselves face-to-face on the floor, coughing.

"Quasinite!" his second self choked out. "Low density."

"Of course it's low density. It's a gas. It would hardly be high density, would it?"

"Oh, do be quiet," Jo muttered, and, covering her mouth with her hand, made it to the window to open it and let the gas out.

On the seventh day of Christmas the Master sent to me -
Seven cobras spitting
Six gifts a-gassing
Five aspirin!
Four Sontar clones
Three Cybermen
Two former lives
And a Dalek in a lav-a-tree!


The parcels emitted both quasinite gas and cobras, which spat venom all over the place, ruining three experiments in the process, then died from the gas. As murder attempts went, the Doctor felt, this one lacked both finesse and efficacy. Maybe the Master was running out of ideas.

There was aspirin in his soup, which ruined the whole thing, and the pile of bodies in the mess hall was becoming so high that it was difficult to get in or out.

On the eighth day of Christmas the Master sent to me -
Eight Autons killing
Seven cobras spitting
Six gifts a-gassing
Five aspirin!
Four Sontar clones
Three Cybermen
Two former lives
And a Dalek in a lav-a-tree!


The portaloos were made of plastic, of course, so he supposed he really should have seen it coming when they started springing to life and folding in on themselves, trapping the people using them in Auton cocoons. Except for the one exception with the Dalek in it, that is...

His first and second selves spent the entire day arguing about an obscure point of Gallifreyan law as they boiled up antiplastics to melt the portaloos before anyone died, a task that was only temporarily interrupted by the packages of quasinite and cobra, and the Doctor found himself called into the Brigadier's office at half-past seven that night. The Brigadier was, understandably, not very happy.

"What I want to know is, Doctor," he said crossly, "how are they all getting in?"

"I'm not entirely sure," the Doctor admitted, and plunged a finger into his tea, swilling it about until he found what he was looking for. He took the aspirin out and threw it into the bin, where it rattled to the bottom.

"Well, find out! If this carries on much longer we'll be a laughing-stock." When the Doctor did not immediately move, the Brigadier roared, "NOW!"

On the ninth day of Christmas the Master sent to me -
Nine Graske kidnapping
Eight Autons killing
Seven cobras spitting
Six gifts a-gassing
Five aspirin!
Four Sontar clones
Three Cybermen
Two former lives
And a Dalek in a lav-a-tree!


At least with three of him, he could keep watch over several different parts of the base and still be in telepathic contact, although that was arguably a mixed blessing with Trampy being his usual witless self.

Of all the arrogant, self-centred, foolish -

I see it! their first self interrupted, saving him the bother of forming a reply. Graske. Heading into the bathrooms on the first floor. A pause. Nine of them, with those time-transfer guns, the little rapscallions.

The Doctor radioed Benton, and by the end of the night UNIT had rounded up eight of the nine Graske and locked them securely in the cells for the Brigadier to shout at in the morning.

They still had tonight's load of Daleks, Cybermen, Sontarans and aspirin to handle, but with luck...

On the tenth day of Christmas the Master sent to me -
Ten Time Lords preaching
Nine Graske kidnapping
Eight Autons killing
Seven cobras spitting
Six gifts a-gassing
Five aspirin!
Four Sontar clones
Three Cybermen
Two former lives
And a Dalek in a lav-a-tree!


The Negotiator was a fussy little man, dwarfed by his official gown and collar, who seemed not to understand why the humans kept giving him such strange looks as he marched into the middle of the field in full Gallifreyan costume. The Doctors, surrounded by three of the Chancellery Guard, and the Master, surrounded by six, all wore identical expressions of boredom as he began to calmly explain to them what a ruckus they were causing across the universe and how it absolutely must end right now.

It took them some time to work out that the only actual authority he had was to lecture and send the Doctor's first two selves away, but he left quite quickly after they did, taking the two interfering old goats with him.

"And hopefully that's the end of that," Jo said fervently.

"Oh, not at all, Miss Grant," the Master assured her, backing away from UNIT as he did so. "I understand there to be twelve days in Christmas, after all."

He transmatted himself out hastily as the Brigadier gave orders to arrest him at once.

On the eleventh day of Christmas the Master sent to me -
Eleven cakes a-poisoned
Ten Time Lords preaching
Nine Graske kidnapping
Eight Autons killing
Seven cobras spitting
Six gifts a-gassing
Five aspirin!
Four Sontar clones
Three Cybermen
Two former lives
And a Dalek in a lav-a-tree!


His former lives had gone. The Daleks, Cybermen and Sontarans had gone. The Doctor found no quasinite-cobra parcels, no aspirin and no Graske, and UNIT soldiers were now equipped with antiplastic as standard for when the portaloos inevitably tried to kill them.

What did arrive was eleven small fruitcakes, with a note expressing the Master's most humble apologies and hoping that the Doctor would accept this small token of remorse. Well, naturally; the Time Lords were no doubt still watching.

He tested for several obscure poisons, and eventually found cyanide in the cake... and a light dusting of aspirin on the icing, just to be sure.

On the twelfth day of Christmas the Master sent to me -
Twelve circuits faulty
Eleven cakes a-poisoned
Ten Time Lords preaching
Nine Graske kidnapping
Eight Autons killing
Seven cobras spitting
Six gifts a-gassing
Five aspirin!
Four Sontar clones
Three Cybermen
Two former lives
And a Dalek in a lav-a-tree!


This time, the parcels had dematerialisation circuits in them, together with another note expressing more sincere apologies for the mix-up with the cakes (of which the Master had sent some more) and an offer to help the Doctor fix his TARDIS.

Curiosity, and a vague hope, had him test the first one, which blew up in his face. After that he elected not to try the others... not just yet, anyway. The HQ needed rebuilding before he could blow up any more of it.

"Is that it?" the Brigadier demanded.

"Yes, I should think so, Brigadier," the Doctor assured him. "Until next year, anyway."

From the expression on the Brigadier's face, he was not looking forward to it.

On the thirteenth day of Christmas the Doctor sent to me,
Two socks a-singing:
'We wish you a Christmas Merry!'


My dear Master:
Thank you most kindly for your thoughtful and interesting gifts this Christmas. I am pleased to report that everyone here at UNIT is alive and in good health, having very much enjoyed this festive season.

I enclose your present, a pair of socks which sing 'We Wish You A Merry Christmas' as you walk. They are very warm and quite delightfully soft, and as I know you have an ear for music I am sure you will enjoy the shrill, peeping tones of a traditional holiday carol all year round.

I do hope to see you soon, old chap. If not before, let us at least agree to meet on our mutual birthday. I'm sure you missed not being able to see my face as I opened your wonderful gifts.

Yours,
The Doctor


The Master, gnashing his teeth, tore up the letter and threw it on the fire. Twelve days, Time knew how much time and effort... wasted. Again. Every year...!

Still, he reflected, cheered a little by the thought, there was always their birthday.

He put his socks on, and, humming along to them, went to see what he could round up for that occasion.

/\/\/\

Date: 2008-12-16 07:19 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] charamei [journalfen.net]
[DWFic link, for my own review-whoring purposes (http://community.livejournal.com/dwfiction/1845497.html)]

Date: 2008-12-16 07:29 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
LOL! What a dreadful Christmas - poor Doctor. :)

(torn_eledhwen)

Date: 2008-12-16 07:37 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] charamei [journalfen.net]
You know your Christmas has been bad when pre-Romana Gallifrey intervenes to stop it getting any worse ;)

Glad you're enjoying these.

Date: 2015-01-02 06:44 am (UTC)
shyfoxling: animated Tenth Doctor smiling with text reading "Heee" (doctor who humor (ten hee))
From: [personal profile] shyfoxling
'Kay, this is crack... but lovely crack! :)

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