Right now, to business. I appear to have the exquisite pleasure of being the first reccer after the introduction of a new Doctor... (:-O). So, rather predictably, I've chosen one of the stories from the category with the least fics on the site: that of the Eleventh Doctor.
Rating: All Ages
Word Count: 42,722
Author's Summary: When a barely-conscious man in an ill-fitting suit barges in, burbling about a doctor, there’s only one place he could have come from, isn’t there? *NOTE* Epilogue contains End Of Time part 2 regeneration spoilers.
Characters/Pairings: Original Companions, The Doctor (11th).
Warnings: None, although it does get a little icky after chapter 10.
Recced because: Well. Hmm. Ah.
At first glance, Mortek is a weird, comedic look at an AU post-regen Doctor. Struggling to get to grips with his new self, our new hero collapses into the arms of our fantasy loving heroine. After our aforementioned new hero franticly explans that he doesn't do ambulances, aforementioned fantasy-loving heroine calls on gardening-loving other hero, armed with first hand evidence of post-regenerative trauma.
And then it gets brilliant.
Mortek is a semi-dark, serious story about the dangers of alien tech in the wrong hands. ValW's Eleven is almost perfect; a mix of Eleven's awkwardness and bounciness, and Ten's sharp wit and steely anger in the face of adversity, with a touch of Three's "seen-it-all-before" attitude. Whilst the plotline wouldn't look out of place as an Ian Fleming novel, the sheer Doctor-Whoiness of it sets it apart. Battling a secret organisation, and the underlying menace of manipulative aliens, while trying to cope with his -dare I say it- most traumatic regeneration yet, the Doctor shines in his new role as protector of Oxfordshire. An all-round great story, written by an up-and-coming, if unusual, author.
(Not many people reuse their companions!)
“Oh well, a nickname’s fine for now. I can’t complain, everyone calls me Spiny. So Doctor, how old are you?”
The Doctor waved his hand dismissively. “900... 1000... I don’t know... lost count.”
“Do you know what date it is?” Spiny continued.
“No, I ask you that. I remember that much. Let me see... the decor... any time since the late 20th century. But the phone... no-one’s used a dial-phone since 1980. Your outfits... oh goodness knows! Ah, but the speech patterns... now that’s the giveaway. Pure early 21st century... 2010-ish. Earth. England. Midlands.”
The strain of working all that out made the Doctor pass out again.
Hayley chipped in with her own diagnosis. “Totally off his tree.”