Rating: All Ages
Word Count: 11,001
Author's Summary: "The Tenth Doctor has known many Companions over the years, and thinks he's ready for almost anything. And then, God help him, he picks up Scarlett O'Hara."
Characters/Pairings: Martha Jones, Tenth Doctor, Scarlett O'Hara (from Gone With the Wind)
Warnings: I'm going to quote the author on this, so that no one's caught by surprise...
"There was no way of writing a story about Scarlett, Ten and Martha without confronting the fact that Scarlett's racial attitudes, and her language, are outdated and ugly. (Well, no, there was a way - but that would involve ignoring Scarlett's racism, which IMHO would be worse than tackling the issue.) I've tried to handle this in a way that could be true to Scarlett's voice but frank about her attitudes. Hope it works."
Recced because: I'll admit, crossovers are one of my weaknesses. As much as I love them, though, I'll be the first to admit that it's difficult to find one that really works. This is one that does. Set a few days after the end of Gone With the Wind, Scarlett O'Hare finds herself... well, to be perfectly honest, kidnapped by the Tenth Doctor and Martha.
Yahtzee doesn't sugarcoat Scarlett's character, and her voice is very true to the book. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, it's interesting to see her interactions with the Doctor and (especially) Martha shift as time passes. At the same time, it provides the reader with something that's been sorely lacking in the new school: a companion who's not from the contemporary world, one who's from a period in time where the idea of aliens and time travel was practically beyond comprehension.
From behind the blue shack stepped a man in an odd sort of brown suit and coat. Scarlett had never seen clothes cut in precisely such a manner before, but she understood instinctively that they were gentleman's attire, rather than tramp's rags. Though the man's hair was positively wild, he wore spectacles like a scholar, and Scarlett felt somewhat reassured.
He said, "Martha, there's no mistaking it. The energy is coming directly from her wagon — and, my word, from her as well."
"She's not an alien, is she?" A Negro girl in dungarees stepped out from behind him — his servant, no doubt.
The man waved a small metal tube in Scarlett's direction, then at her carriage. "Looks local."
"I beg your pardon?" Scarlett drew herself up as severely as she could. This man dressed like a gentleman, but he scarcely behaved like one. "Sir, you have not introduced yourself."
"Ah, yes. Rude of me." Was that an English accent? Scarlett had met some travelers from England when she visited Savannah, and the manner in which they spoke was similar, but she sensed that this man was somehow quite different. He grinned, suddenly boyish, and stepped toward her with his hand outstretched, as if he meant to shake her hand like he would a man's. "I'm the Doctor. This is Martha Jones. And you are —"
"I know the doctor in this county. You're a liar. You — you get away from me."
"It's okay, really." The Negro girl — Martha, he'd called her — stepped forward rather impertinently. "The Doctor needs your help, that's all."
"I don't care what he needs. You clear off this land right away, you hear me? I'll send some men over tonight with shotguns, so you better get."
The man sighed. "I hate kidnappings."
Blood riled, Scarlett swung the whip at him and took a fierce kind of pleasure when he leapt back, hissing in pain. Quickly she ran toward her buggy, cursing the corset that dug into her ribs and kept her catching her breath. If she could only reach the carriage! Then she could goad the horses on, reach Tara within ten minutes, and —
His hand closed around her upper arm, jerking her backward and making her stumble in the dust.
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