“Must you drive with your feet?” complained Zepheera as she clung to a hopefully useless doodad on the console, eyeing the red Chuck Taylor that had landed a little too close for comfort. “Not to be rude or anything, I just can’t help but feel slightly at risk here!”
“Oh, always the backseat drivers…” the Doctor muttered through clenched teeth. But he peered through the loops of cable at Zepheera, careful to know where she was at all times in order to avoid…incidents, he thought with a glance at his shoe. “For your information, it takes six pilots to fly this ship properly, and considering I failed my test, I think I manage quite well, thanks very–!”
He was cut off when a rumble of turbulence shook the TARDIS. With the extra leverage of his propped-up foot, the Doctor managed to keep his balance. Zepheera was not quite so lucky, as the tremor was much greater to her. Her feet were thrown out from under her and she slipped over the edge of the raised section of the console that she had thought for sure would be safer. As her grip tightened on her handhold to prevent her from being thrown off the console altogether, she reconsidered her chain of logic.
“Zepheera?” called the Doctor after losing sight of his four-inch-tall companion. He hurried around to the panel where he’d last seen her, letting out a relieved breath when she appeared unhurt. Even so, while his left hand turned a crank and several dials, his right scooped up Zepheera and lifted her to his shoulder. “How ‘bout we try this?” It was still early days for the pair of them, and neither had ever lived so closely with someone of such a dramatic size difference before.
But they were learning. Zepheera didn’t have time to be cross about being picked up without warning because the Doctor was already on the move. She clung to his collar as the Time Lord dashed about, and through trial and error she found a stable position in shoving her legs under his lapel and anchoring her feet against his neck.
Once she felt secure, Zepheera actually thought this wasn’t so bad. Sure, riding on a giant’s shoulder was nerve-wracking, not to mention he moved at a borderline dizzying rate. But at least up here, she wouldn’t have to worry about any flying converse.
In the depths of the TARDIS, a black and white tuxedo cat lounged on a table. It had just woken up from a three-hour nap and thoroughly groomed itself when a small grey tabby kitten appeared in front of it, drawing its attention. The kitten mewed at the cat, crying for help as it was lifted even higher. The cat watched lazily as the man underneath the kitten slowly straightened and removed the kitten from his head, staring at the cat owlishly as he did so.
This room, as well as several others throughout the TARDIS, was crawling with cats of varying ages and breeds, the younger ones nipping at the Doctor’s ankles while the older ones kept a nonchalant eye on the Time Lord. Such had been the state of the TARDIS for about a week.
“Doctor!” a hushed voice rang out somewhere above his head. His eyes darted around looking for the source, ending the staring contest between him and the cat–which he rather resembled in his black suit and white button-down.
“Up here!” the voice hissed again, leading him to look up at the air vent high up in the wall above the table. Seeing who was calling him, the Doctor grinned without reaching his eyes.
“Zepheera!” exclaimed the Time Lord, shifting the kitten in his hands to a shoulder as he climbed up onto the table. This put him at perfect eye level with the vent.
“I haven’t seen you in days!” he remarked, seemingly emotionally unaffected by this fact. “How’ve you been? Are you eating well?” He stuck his fingers through the slats, as though trying to reach the very small woman inside the vent, but they were too big to make it past their second joints. But the borrower, all four and a half inches of her, would make quick work of the small space, he thought absently.
Zepheera scrambled back a few inches deeper into the vent at the approach of his digits. “Don’t do that!” she scolded, masking her fear.
The Doctor blinked slowly, a slight frown pinching just above glazed eyes. The fingers withdrew until their tips rested at the bottom of the vent’s opening, allowing him a place to rest his chin as he peered into the vent. “Zepheera, what’s the matter?”
She had to bite back a scoff at that. It should’ve been rather obvious to him why she was so wary, why she had spent the last few days hiding out in the depths of a ship she’d come to call home, sneaking food from the kitchens the few chances she got. If she were honest, a small part of her had missed living like this, like a proper borrower; but the illusion was broken by the need to hide from her best friend and the legion of cats he’d brought on board.
“I’ve contacted Torchwood,” she informed him rather than answering his question. “Captain Jack Harkness, you once told me he could be trusted. The TARDIS is set to pilot itself to their headquarters as soon as it receives their signal.”
“What’d you do that for?” asked the Doctor, more curious than concerned.
“Because I can’t very well fly this hunk of metal myself, can I?” Zepheera snapped, crossing her arms. “I’ve half a mind to make you teach me, once you’ve got half a mind.”
The Doctor tilted his head, clearly confused, and the little grey tabby mewed and crossed to his other shoulder.
“Look…You’re not yourself, Doctor,” she explained, placing her hands on her hips. “I don’t know if it’s the cats or the planet we were on or something else, but this isn’t you. And I just. Can’t. Handle this. Not on my own.”
For all her efforts to make him understand, she received a pair of big brown puppy-dog eyes in return. “No no, but the cats are friendly!” he insisted, breaking her heart a little more with each word. “I’m sure they’d be friends with you, too, if you’d just–”
He was cut off by the borrower suddenly lunging forward until her little fists slammed into the metal slats of the vent. The Doctor flinched back in surprise, blinking at her sudden outburst. Zepheera forced herself to slow her breathing, calm herself down, remind herself that it wasn’t the Doctor talking–not really.
“I would never befriend a cat!” she practically spat, venom coloring each word. “Not after what happened to Kernel…” Her voice trailed off at the mention of his name, and she squeezed her eyes shut to push back the memories and tears. He had only been ten years old…
“Your brother,” the Doctor replied at length.
Zepheera’s head snapped up. “Yes. You remember him, you remember me telling you about that!” Despite the grisly memories this situation had roused, Zepheera smiled for the first time in a week. “It’s still you.”
The Doctor didn’t respond; his brow was knit tightly together, as though he were trying to remember how exactly he knew what he’d said. Before he could even think about answering the borrower, the TARDIS rumbled and the familiar sound of the engines in flight rang throughout the beautiful machine.
“That’ll be Jack,” she remarked, backing away from the vent slowly. “I have to go. We’ll be there soon, and I’ve got to show them where you are.” Having warned him fairly, she turned to go.
“Wait!” the Doctor called after her. “Why won’t you come out? It’s all they want, and it’s all I want, so would you just…come out? Please? You don’t have to hide.”
Zepheera kept walking despite the chillingly familiar words, never once breaking her stride. “I’ll stop hiding once you understand why I have to.”
The borrower in question stared up at the Doctor with affronted incredulity.
“This isn’t funny anymore, Doctor.” Her voice was so quiet and close to breaking that she finally elicited an emotional response from the Time Lord. He looked confused, but it was something, and she latched on to the chink in the armor she seemed to have found.
“I dunno if this is just you getting me to try new things or…or forget about my past, but this is just…” She heaved a deep breath to release some of the tension building up in her chest. “Doctor, you know exactly why I have a problem with cats, why a significant part of our friendship hinges on the fact–the fact–that you are not a cat person!”
“I’m not a cat person!” insisted the Doctor, his voice going a bit squeaky in the half-shout. The volume of his voice did nothing to faze Zepheera, who placed her hands on her hips and shot him a disbelieving look. The Doctor blinked, eyes trailing back to the kitten he was still holding and petting.
“Well…maybe I’m a kitten person.”
Zepheera groaned miserably.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Final part next Saturday!
“Oh! Hello, little fella,” the Doctor softly greeted the dark, pink-ribboned kitten who’d managed to climb onto his shoulder. It mewed timidly as it looked down from its precarious perch. “Yeah, I bet it does look high,” replied the Time Lord, “but don’t worry, I won’t let you fall.”
“Doctor, what is a cat doing in my spot?” Zepheera demanded, tired of being continuously ignored.
This time, the Doctor actually spared her an exasperated glance. “Don’t exaggerate, he’s a kitten not a cat. And it’s my shoulder.”
“Where I sit! A lot!”
Another mewling cry escaped the kitten as its balance wavered; it was trying to crawl down the slope of the Doctor’s raised elbow with some difficulty. Its paw slipped and the Doctor’s free hand swung in to catch it before it fell. “Ooh! Careful. See, what’d I tell ya. I’ve got you…” Using both hands to support the small feline, he cradled it close and turned to look down at Zepheera, whose back was pressed firmly against a junk-filled box on the nearby table.
Oblivious of her skeptical scowl, he smiled and said, “Come on, Zepheera, just say hello!”
“What? Calm? I am calm. Calm and perfectly…sane. I mean, any normal bloke would just imagine a four inch tall woman telling him he’s actually an alien from outer space. And offering said tiny imaginary woman beans on toast is only polite, logical, and-and-and–” John Smith stammered as the more than slightly burnt toast jumped straight out of the toaster, throwing him off his already flustered rant. He tried to catch the flying bread in a knee-jerk reaction, succeeding only in hurting his fingers and swatting the food across the counter, thankfully away from Zepheera.
“This is crazy!” he snapped, throwing his hands in the air in utter exasperation. With a white-knuckled grip on the counter, he rounded on the self-proclaimed borrower. “More than that–it’s impossible! There’s no such thing as aliens, and I’m not even sure if you’re real! Tiny people just don’t exist. And even if they…if you are real, then…why me? Why did you have to come to me??” John squeezed his eyes shut as though it would make everything go away, anxiously rocking back and forth a little. This was all too much for him to handle at once.
But a light touch brushing against his knuckles made his eyes snap open and focus on Zepheera, who had laid her own tiny hand on his. His breath caught; she had looked small before, but now in direct comparison to his hand he felt so terribly large. He couldn’t help but stare in wonder at how she somehow found the nerve to approach a comparative giant who could hypothetically grab her at any time, one who had been shouting at her not a moment ago. For that, John thought she was an extraordinarily brave figment of his imagination.
“I’m real,” she promised. He watched as she leaned down and took hold of his first finger where it sat curled in a formerly tense fist. She lifted it, uncoiled it, and laid the very tip of it against her cheek, half-leaning against her shoulder. John could feel her soft, fine hair, her miniscule ear, the warmth of her skin, and he could no longer deny her existence. When she saw the recognition in his eyes, she shifted the finger against her shoulder–to sit more comfortably, John could assume.
“I know it doesn’t make sense, but you need to understand that it had to be you. You don’t know it yet, but we’re friends, you and I. I’m supposed to be watching out for you in case of trouble. And I’m afraid, John, that we really, really need to talk.”
Zepheera’s voice was so kind and sincere, and a small part of John could not resist that look in her teeny violet eyes. “Shall I get started on those beans then?”
She smiled, sending a bubble of warmth through John’s heart. He’d made her happy, and for whatever reason he was extremely proud of that. “Yeah, I think you better had. Gonna be a long chat.”
John waited for Zepheera to fully let his finger go before carefully lifting it away and walking to the cabinet by the stove.
“And that’s four and a half inches tall, thanks very much!”
Despite himself, John giggled at the correction.
Bonus post celebrating 20 followers! Thanks so much, you guys!
The Doctor’s attention snapped from the kitten in his hands to the borrower putting a safe distance between herself and him. “What! I didn’t say anything!” His wide grin belied his indignation.
“You KNOW how I feel about cats, Doctor!” Zepheera glared at the bundle of fur he held as it glanced around meekly. She wasn’t fazed, not even by the little pink bow around its neck. “I thought you hated cats.”
“Oh, don’t listen to ‘er, Jacks,” he cooed, lifting the kitten to his face. “She’s just being grumpy today.”
“No, don’t name it! You are NOT keeping them!”
Her protests went ignored as the Doctor looked fondly down at the other half-dozen kittens circling his feet, crying for his attention. The only solace Zepheera could find in the situation was that they were too young to jump onto the table she currently stood on; and even then, she kept as far from the edges as possible.
Beginning to feel desperate, Zepheera tried a different angle,
only slightly emboldened by the barrier of junk between them. “Doctor. If I wanted to bring a Dalek onto the TARDIS, let alone seven, you’d say no. Because the Daleks are predators and would be a threat to AT LEAST one of us!”
Still, the Doctor didn’t respond, lost in the fluffy cuteness that surrounded him.
The borrower in question shot the Doctor a look before ignoring him, carrying on twisting a few pieces of string into a stronger rope.
“Zepheera…” he tried again, licking his lips as though in preparation. “…I need to get up.” Despite himself, a twinge of mirth tugged at his lips.
“Funny, that,” scoffed Zepheera as she looked up from her work. “That’s not what you said two hours ago.”
“But I have to–”
“‘Zepheera, I’m bored. Sit with me, Zepheera. Keep me company.’”
The Doctor sighed, an action that blew the borrower’s already messy bob about. “I know, I know. But I’ve got to check on the experiment, it should be ready by now.”
Zepheera threw up the hand that wasn’t keeping her progress on the rope in place. “Just saying. It’s your own fault for scooping me up and putting me on the pillow on top of you.”
“I was lonely,” he shrugged, making Zepheera’s perch shift back and forth slightly.
She regarded the Doctor in contemplation, but after a moment of staring at those big brown puppy-dog eyes her shoulders slumped in defeat. Gathering her work, she slid off the small pillow that she would never ever admit was actually quite comfortable, and made her way up his chest toward his shoulder.
“One of these days, you’re gonna run out of trump cards,” she informed him, pointing an accusing finger at the Doctor’s stupid grin.
New Zepheera-Vision every Saturday! Hope you enjoyed!
Doctor Who is such a bizarre show, chock-full of crazy angles and POV shots. Some of these lovely moments, whether from the show or from behind-the-scenes clips, have been immortalized as GIFs. Scrolling through them, I can’t help but imagine some of them as from the point of view of my borrower OC Zepheera.
Take this GIF for example:
This is the scene that plays out in my head:
The vessel rumbled and creaked as it settled after the horrible crash. A large tongue of flame burst from the wall dangerously close to where Zepheera had fallen off the Doctor’s shoulder. She shot up and scrambled away from the heat and had just wondered where the Time Lord had gone when–
“Zepheera!” The borrower jumped nearly a full inch as her giant friend’s face suddenly filled her vision. His breaths were short after all the excitement and his eyes darted distractedly around, observing the surrounding destruction before returning to his tiny companion in concern.
“Bloody hell, don’t sneak up on me like that!” she scolded, heart still racing from the scare.
“Sorry.”
I have a ton of ideas for this, and I can’t wait to get it going!
Borrowed Time and Space 