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tardis_library2018-09-07 09:26 pm
rec [fic]: Among Mad People by schrodinger
Title: Among Mad People
Characters/Pairings: Bernice Summerfield, Doctor (Author-Created), a whole host of wonderful original characters.
As you may have guessed by the longwinded childhood recap, 'Among Mad People' was one of these stories. (Yeah, now we're getting to the point! FINALLY!) It's a wonderfully longfic set in a universe of the author's devising, with a completely original (and ingeniously characterized) Doctor and companion and story arc. This particular story that I'm reccing is actually second in the series (which is overall titled 'Companion'), so it might be a good idea to go and read the first story first. Although both 'first' times I didn't even realize it was a series, and I think the second fic stands well on its own either way, so. Up to you, really. But honestly, schrodinger's writing is really REALLY good - it flows smoothly, the characters (original as they are) are intriguing and interesting, and you end up sympathizing with some of them even when you know you shouldn't.
Anyway, let's talk about the story itself. The main character (despite the Doctor and Alex being there) is Bernice Summerfield - a slightly older version, anyway - one who's no longer travelling with the Doctor and has a son and a life of her own. She's on an expedition on some alien planet with a whole cast of her students (who are wonderfully developed characters on their own, by the way, that you'll grow to love through the story) when problems, as they always tend to, begin to arise. And the Doctor turns up, although it's not quite the one she was expecting. To say anything else about the plot would be to spoil it, because it's a mystery on some level; one that unfolds through the course of the story in an organic and natural way, with a couple of really brilliant plot twists here and there.
But the thing that really carries the whole piece is the character interactions. I'm usually super skeptical about author-created Doctor, and author-created companions too, come to think of it. However, in the hands of a skilled author - I've come to learn - they can be pulled off admirably. And schrodinger is nothing if not a skilled author. Alex - the companion - is a poisonous, sharp-witted delight of a character, presenting a perfect foil for both Benny and the Doctor, neither of which are taking any of her nonsense. The Doctor is uniquely Doctorish in manner, but still somehow different from all other incarnations. All of his interactions with Benny were pitch-perfect, despite there... not really being a pitch to match where canon is concerned. But he is definitely the Doctor - kind, funny, sad, and has the perfect plan at the end to save everybody. And then there's Benny, who has been written ever so well in this. God. I've been trying to adequately describe how great she is for the last few minutes, and I can't come up with any coherent words to suit.
As one commenter said (and really, they've summed up my own thoughts on the story rather well): 'the whole story is worth it just for that last scene in the Library where they trade shots and Beatles lyrics'. Because oh my good god, the library scene is fantastic.
But the rest of it is great, too.
This story is (checks) over a decade old. Which is making me feel old too now. But it is definitely, one hundred percent worth a read, and I deeply encourage you to check it (and the rest of the Companion series) out - if my long-winded rambling, and the intimidating wordcount, hasn't scared you off yet! I devoured most of it over the course of two nights on my More Mature Reread, and I have no doubt that you will end up doing much the same. You will laugh. You will cry. You will whisper 'Alex, no' very softly into the hand that you have raised to your mouth to prevent yourself from gasping out loud. I know I did.
The gems dimmed to a gentler glow. After a moment, Benny picked the bracelet up.
It was light, as feather-light as a plastic. The surface that had been so singularly dull before now had a slight polish to it. When she tilted it slightly she could see a pattern chasing the surface, reminding her of a four-leaf clover or a double figure-eight, complex but delicate and repeated in a fluid chain all the way around. She stared at it, with a growing feeling of understanding, of running down some meaning that had eluded her.
Feeling suddenly dizzy, she sat down and put the bracelet on. It slipped over her knuckles with an easiness that brought a sour knot to her throat. Which successfully turned her attention from the bracelet to the bottles stuck in the sand beside her.
She pulled one up. The words bitter bastard were written in ink across the plain white label. “You and me both,” she told it.
Time passed, swallow by swallow. She lay on her back, head pillowed by one arm, and stared into the endless sky. After a while she began to hum, then to sing in an uncertain key. Not long after that, she heard the soft crunch of sand behind her.
“If you need help with the tune, I’ve got the White Album back at the ship.” No more Liverpool drawl, no Scottish burr.
“Just for that, I’ll sing another verse,” she said and sat up without turning around. “I thought you weren't going to come.”
“Did you really?”
“No, not really.” Benny became abruptly obsessed in peeling off the soggy label without a tear. “What I meant was … I guess after so long, I wasn’t sure you’d still want to.”
“Thanks for the confidence. Not to sound like a greeting card, but friends forever, you know.”
The label tore, leaving her holding one wet sticky half. “Sorry,” she said resentfully. “I forgot as a hairless anthropoid with a twelve-month calendar, I tend to live on a more ephemeral basis. Twenty-five years can mean different things to different people, I guess.”
Silence settled on them like fine, centuries-old dust. “It's been that long?”
She drank the last of her ale. “Yep.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You lost track of time.” Which was a nicely ironic thing to say to a Time Lord, she realized, and that set her giggling.
He waited until she had mostly dried up. “If I’d known you were going to avoid looking at me, I’d have worn the old coat.”
“Business must be slow if you’ve got time now to shop.”
“Not too slow. Are you afraid I’ve changed?”
Benny laughed again, a short choke. “I’m afraid you haven’t.” But she got to her feet, dusted herself down, squared her shoulders, and turned around.
He was not what she expected. He never would be. Even when he'd changed, acquired those lovely aquamarine eyes and curls, he had still existed someplace in her mind as a small man clutching a silly red umbrella. Now he was neither of those. The hair was still brown, but a little shorter and more of a neglected mess than a Byronic mane. And he was younger and thinner, and his face was wrong, all wrong.
“Holy shit,” she said, staring.
He smiled, and that was somehow the same as always, an open, sunny smile, a seven-year-old's grin. “Surprise,” he said, “Professor Bernice Surprise Summerfield. You saved one of those bottles for me, I hope.”