BSG/Doctor Who fic: Cylon Detection Made Charming and Easy (PG)
Title: Cylon Detection Made Charming and Easy
Fandoms: Battlestar Galactica/Dr. Who
Prompt: Doctor Who/BSG; the doctor is tracking a Cylon.
Rating: PG
Words: About 3300
Summary: She doesn't look like a robot.
Notes: Set during s2 of BSG (spoilers); s1 and s2 potential spoilers for Dr. Who (set before 2.12). Tenth Doctor. Couldn't quite make it Doctor/anyone, so no pairings. Many thanks to greycoupon for reassuring me that the voices work!

Written for the BSG/Crossover Ficathon


They materialize, and Rose half-listens as the Doctor tries – once again – to figure out where they've ended up.

"Odd," he mutters, checking screens and scratching his head.

Rose can't help but grin. Sometimes she thinks the TARDIS is only humouring them when they actually arrive where they planned to be. "So. Not the fabulous beach you keep promising me, then?"

"No. No." More switches flicked, more readings read, and more muttering. "Now?" and, "How odd." And then it's, "Galactica!" His tone is triumphant, and that's at least promising.

"Doctor?"

"Cylons!" He rubs his hands together. "It's been positively ages since I thought about them!"

By now, Rose is almost used to this – glee, excitement, the slightly wild look in his eyes. She knows what it means. By now it should scare her, but she just can't help it – the rush, the slight hitch of excitement, are starting already. "Cylons?"

He slings his arm around her shoulder. "Ah, Rose, Rose, you're going to love it."

She grins up at him, and yeah, she'll love it, she's sure of that, even though she's almost nervous to ask the question. She asks it anyway. Better to go in prepared. "What are cylons?"

Grin widening, he pushes open the door of the TARDIS. "Oh, they're a clever lot, the cylons. Tricky. The hiding in plain sight types, if you know what I mean. If I didn't know better, I'd say you could even be one."

"So you're saying cylons are beautiful, clever blondes who spend their time with mysterious men?"

He laughs. "Well, one of them is." He pauses, nods his head, and adds, "More than one, really, but it is complicated."

It always is.

*

Later, running down the corridor, trying not to glance behind her, Rose thinks maybe the Doctor has finally lost his mind.

"Faster," he yells. "Come on, Rose, put your back into it!"

She runs, ignoring the sound of metallic footprints close, too close. "You said blondes! Not this!" They're worse than the Cybermen. At least the Cybermen had been slower and more awkward. At least they'd been more predictable.

And cylons just make the Daleks look laughable.

"Yes, yes," he yells back, "I said some of them!"

Ducking around a corner, shutting a heavy door behind her, Rose tells herself she has to remember to listen to what the Doctor doesn't say.

*

"Remember," he'd whispered theatrically to her when they'd stepped out of the TARDIS and onto yet another spaceship – turns out that's what 'Galactica' meant – "we were with the Cylon Activity Monitoring Bureau, stationed on Picon."

"Picon." She'd nodded. Got it."

"And we're here to –"

"Track a Model Eleven infiltrator."

Now, they're waiting in a sparse, boring room, and he's almost beside himself with glee. "We're going to meet Laura Roslin, President of the Colonies." He does an almost dance as he says it, before settling back into his chair. "You know, I think I'm just going to love her. Heard about her, of course, who hasn't? But meeting her? Never thought it would happen. It's a happy day, Rose!"

Rose is about to ask what's so special about this particular president when the door opens. The Doctor stands smoothly, pulling her up with him. He grins at the woman who walks through the door. "Madame President," he says, holding out his hand.

"Please sit," the president says after a polite handshake. They do. "I understand you're here with information about a cylon agent. Please, tell me what you know."

There's something about her that makes Rose pause, wonder, but she can't put her finger on it. Instead, she listens to the Doctor.

"As you may have been told, my companion Rose and I were stationed on –"

"Picon. Cylon monitoring. Yes, I know. Please, get to the point, Doctor. I have a full schedule today."

"Of course. Well, it's come to our attention that your cylon detection method is problematic and difficult to implement full-scale." He grins at the president, and then winks quickly at Rose. "Rose and I were testing a method of our own devising, and we came across a cylon. We're reasonably sure. Am I right, Rose? A cylon?"

Rose nods quickly, keeping her face straight. "Yes, Doctor. Exactly right. I was shocked."

He claps his hands together, somehow grinning even more widely. "As you should be! As we all would be. And so I said, Rose, we'd best tell the president! Save the Fleet, be heroes, capture one of the baddies, all of that! And Madame President – Laura. May I call you Laura? And that, Laura, is why we're here!"

"Really." The president looks unimpressed, unflappable, and Rose is reminded again of something. Someone.

"Exactly!"

"Doctor, may I see your identification? I realize that you've shown it to my aides already, but," she leans in slightly, "I'm sure you understand that discussing cylon infiltrators is a confidential matter, and I can't simply reveal possibly important intelligence to just anyone."

Rose nearly laughs out loud. It's clear enough that Laura thinks that the Doctor is a little crazy. She wouldn't be the first.

"Of course." Psychic paper is handed over, frowned at, and returned with a tense smile.

"Thank you. Please, go on. Tell me, what exactly is this cylon detection method you've developed? And who is the cylon?"

"Oh," he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his old pair of 3-D glasses. They're starting to look worn around the edges. "I thought you'd never ask." He slips the glasses on, tapping one plastic lens gently. "Cylon detector."

Laura's frown deepens. "Is this your idea of a joke?"

Leaning forward, the Doctor's own expression turns serious. "Laura, I wish it were."

*

"Every time!" Rose yells at him as they turn another corner. "Every single bloody time with you! It's always the same! Running from something that wants to kill me!"

"But you love it! The adventure! The glory!"

Maybe she does love it, but once, just once, she'd like some rest and relaxation. A fabulous spa, somewhere that served fancy cakes and tea, maybe. Or she'd settle for a day at a beach with purple sand.

Behind her, the door blows open. Where the bloody hell are the soldiers?

*

Eyes narrow, Laura asks, "How does it work?"

He launches into an explanation, fast and complex, and Rose catches words like silica and rate of decay and transometer. She's pretty sure the last one is made up. Eventually, Laura holds up her hand and says, "Please, I'm not a scientist. I don't need the details. An overview will suffice."

"Ah, of course. Well, Rose and I have jimmied these little babies," he taps at the glasses again, "to use a radiation filter that allows me to see synthetic and organic life at different frequencies. Specifically, the cylons look red. Humans look blue."

"Radiation? Is it dangerous to wear them?"

"Dangerous?" He waves his hand dismissively. "No, no. Not at all."

Rose waits for it, counting the seconds, and when she reaches twelve, he glances at her and adds, "Well. Dangerous-ish. You could say that. Radiation, eyes, brain, long periods of exposure, yes, I'd say it's dangerous. Maybe."

"Yes or no, Doctor?"

"I'd have to say yes. Quite dangerous. But not for me, of course."

"You."

"I'm special."

Laura's mouth twitches into an almost smile, the first Rose has seen. For a moment, she actually looks like a Laura, not like the president of a refugee Fleet. "So it would seem."

The Doctor grins back, and then turns to Rose and mouths, "Remind you of anyone?" He mimes drinking tea.

And that's it. She's got it. "Harriet Jones, MP!"

Laura frowns at her, but the Doctor looks delighted. "Exactly! Exactly on the button." He leans back in his chair, hands behind his head. "Ah, Harriet Jones, MP. Those were the good old days. Different times, different body." He winks at her. "I was taller, back then, wasn't I?"

"Excuse me."

They both turn back to Laura, who clears her throat. "Perhaps I should ask Dr. Baltar to join us. I believe he may have some insights into this situation and your, ah, method."

"Oh, I don't think that would be such a good idea, Laura." Removing the glasses, the Doctor stands. "Terribly bad idea, you might say."

"Really. Why would that be?"

He frowns, abruptly serious again. "I think you already know. Some people, they just can't quite be –" He trails off.

There's a brief pause before Laura finishes with, "—trusted?"

"I was going to say can't quite be expected to grasp the enormity of a situation, but no, you're right, trusted works too." He claps his hands together, the grin returning to his face. "So, shall we get on with it, then? Track down this devious cylon?" Turning to Rose, he adds, "Sounds like a load of fun now, doesn't it?"

"Fun," she nods.

"Oh, and Laura? I think we'll need guns."

*

If Rose has to run for much longer, someone is going to get walloping. "We should have made her give us the guns!"

"Can't be expected, really." He isn't even gasping. "She doesn't know us from Adam. Notice I didn't make the obvious pun about Commander Adama just then, I think I showed quite a bit of restraint. At least she gave us the escort. They have guns."

"But they aren't here, are they? Fat lot of good they're doing!"

"Well, that's the military for you."

She wonders how he mixes that cynicism with his delight for just about everything and anyone. He even admires something about the cylons, she can tell. Not that it will stop him from killing every one of them that they find.

*

The Doctor gives Laura details of the cylon agent – physical particulars, last place spotted, and possible likely activities being undertaken. Laura gives them special authority, agrees to keep the details from the media – to avoid panic – and tells them not to waste time.

They don't get guns, but the do get given an escort of stern-faced soldiers who are heavily armed. "Doctor," one of them says. "I'm Lieutenant Thrace."

"Thrace, Thrace," he mutters. "I know that name." Snapping his fingers, he laughs. "Starbuck!" His tone says that his day is just getting better and better. Behind his hand he says, "Best pilot in the Fleet, Rose. Some argue it's Apollo, but my money's on the Lieutenant here."

Thrace looks back and forth between them, like she's wondering if she's supposed to take them seriously. "Call sign's Starbuck, that's right. So. You gonna find some cylons hiding among us?"

"I should think so, Lieutenant. I should very much think so." He rocks back on his heels and Rose suppresses a teasing laugh.

Thrace grins at them, wide and cocky, and there's a shark there, behind those white teeth. "Excellent. Let's get on with it. I hope your method is more reliable than Baltar's waste of frakking time."

Of course, it is. They track the cylon easily enough – she's hiding on another ship, a mining ship. Inside, it's cramped, it's smelly, and it's hot, making Rose immediately want sunshine and cool breezes. She can't imagine spending all of her days in a place like this.

When they find the cylon, she looks ordinary enough. Her hair is short, sensible. She wears the same work overalls as the other ship workers, and even from a slight distance, Rose can see that her fingernails are cracked and broken.

She doesn't look like a robot. She looks like a tired, overworked woman who lost her family in a war that wasn't a war.

She looks defeated.

The soldiers corner her, and Rose watches, almost sadly.

"Don't pity her," Thrace mutters as she holds her rifle steady, "they frak with your head. That's how they get to you. She brought this on herself. They all did."

*

As they pause to catch their breath, the Doctor says, "We brought this on ourselves." He's sealed heavy doors behind them, and they're safe for a time. But the cylons will break through, soon enough.

"Seems like a pattern." She leans back, letting the wall support her.

"Should've waited with the soldiers."

"The safe route." Rose nods once, the back of her head scraping along the cool metal.

"Exactly. Safe. Sensible." He glances at her, briefly, his expression perfectly serious. "You know what I always say. No use running risks."

They start laughing at the same time, and eventually, Rose gasps out, "There's no way I'm telling mum about this one."

*

They corner the cylon, but they don't move fast enough. She has a gun, she shoots, and suddenly, Rose sees that she's not a tired, overworked woman anymore. The cylon's expression is fixed, focused, and in the confusion and shots, she slips away. When the smoke clears, when things calm down, one of the soldiers has been shot – not fatally – and the Doctor is already following.

Rose runs after them, ignoring the shouts of the others. She runs, catching glimpses of the Doctor's coat as he – and she – turns corners. This seems to be her life, some days, running behind the Doctor, trying to keep up.

Behind her she can hear others running, gaining on them, and she turns, but she can't see anyone behind her. Turning back, she almost runs into the Doctor's back. "What –"

He's just standing there, hands loose at his sides, looking up.

Rose looks up too. Up, and up, and bites back a gasp. They're huge, they're armed, and their eyes glow red.

"I should have known this was what she was doing." He's backing away slowly, waving her back as well. "Mining ship, plenty of metal, Model Eleven. That model played a key role in developing the Resurrection Ships. I should have seen this coming." He pauses. "She looked so tired, did you see that? It was an obvious sign. Working in the refinery, then working on these."

"What are they?" Her voice sounds small, even to her own ears.

"Cylons," he says. "Centurions. Rose?"

"Yes, Doctor?"

"Run."

*

She runs. They follow. The Doctor does what he can to slow them down, but the ship is unfamiliar, the corridors seemingly endless. "If we get out of this," she yells, "you owe me a fabulous beach vacation. I mean it!"

"Sand?"

"Yes! And sun!"

"All that sand, it just gets in your swimsuit."

"I mean it, Doctor!"

They round another corner, and there's another heavy door in front of them. It's locked, but the sonic screwdriver opens it easily enough. Inside, there are guns and more guns, all pointing at her. Her heart sinks, fast as a stone, until she registers that these are the Galactica soldiers.

The Doctor says, "Excellent timing!" just as Thrace yells, "Get the frak down!" and pulls Rose out of the way of the open doors.

She gets down.

*

Afterwards, they return to the ugly room where they first met Laura. It's still sparse, but Rose has seen enough now to know that it isn't sparse because it's boring. This Fleet is scarce on everything. Everything is stretched thin, everything is wearing around the edges. This meeting room is just another one of those things.

When Laura walks into the room, she's official. She's a politician, and Rose can't think of her as Laura anymore. She's the president.

The president thanks them – unofficially, as the entire operation was classified. She shakes Rose's hand, and her grip is firm, her skin smooth.

When she's done thanking them, she says, "I checked our population census. You're not on it. Either of you."

The Doctor grins. "Can't fool you, can we?"

She doesn't smile back. "No." They stare at each other until she asks, "Are you cylons?"

"I think you know that we aren't, Madame President. And if we were –"

"You'd lie." Her tone is flat.

"I should think we would."

Leaning forward slightly, she says, "You know, I asked myself how you'd first arrived on board the Galactica. There were no records of a shuttle bringing two people who meet your description. No one remembers seeing you until you stumbled into the Hanger Deck, and you must admit that you two are rather – memorable. So I asked the Admiral to do a ship-wide search." She opens a file and brings out a photograph. "His people found this." She hands the picture over.

It's the TARDIS.

"Of course," she continues, "it has been seen before. There are records. We have some idea of what it means."

"So you know we're not cylons."

Impassive, the president says, "I don't know that at all. We don't know anything about the individual who travels in this – ship. We only know that when he comes, sometimes he causes havoc; less often he solves problems."

The Doctor's smile isn't quite right. It's tense, almost hurt. "You flatter me."

There's a moment of silence, complete and final, and then she pushes herself away from the desk where they're sitting. "No, Doctor, I don't. And although I appreciate your assistance, we all do, I think it would be best if you left us to our own devices."

"Right. So I suppose we'll just be –"

The president silences him with a raise of her hand. "There is the issue of your cylon detector, however."

"Ah," the Doctor says, hesitating.

"You said it was dangerous to use."

"I did."

"Sometimes danger to the individual is justified in the name of protecting the group." She says it with the finality of someone who has made too many hard choices.

He nods, once. "Sometimes it is."

"And I take it you don't see this as one of those times."

The Doctor stands, and Rose follows suit.

"I'm afraid I don't." His tone brooks no argument. And then he breaks into his slightly wild grin. "And sadly, it got squashed while we were on the run. Pity, really. Rose and I spent ages fine tuning that thing."

Rose has to bite her lip to stop from laughing. They'd spent a few seconds pulling it from an old comic book. A minute, at best. He'd proclaimed it was the accessory every stylish time traveler needed.

The president clearly isn't pleased, but by now Rose is used to annoying people in power. It's standard procedure with the Doctor. So she steps forward and says, "I suppose we'd best be going, Doctor. Things to do, you know." She can't quite resist, and lowers her voice to add, "And I suppose I'll be looking high and low for a new pair of glasses for you."

He looks blankly at her for a moment, and then nods. "Quite right, Rose. Madame President, thank you for your hospitality. Lovely meeting you – must say, you didn't disappoint. Not one bit." He holds out his arm. "Rose?"

Hooking her arm through his, she grins and they walk out of the door. Outside, the soldiers are waiting, and they escort them back to the TARDIS. Thrace half-waves as they step inside.

"What happens to them?" Rose asks, as soon as the door are shut.

He shrugs. "What doesn't happen to them?"

"Doctor." She should be used to these half-answers when he gets in a mood. But she isn't. And she wants to know what the future is like for these people and their ragged existence.

"Oh, there's betrayal, and love, and hope, and devastation. But don't worry. They find something of what they're looking for." He looks up from the controls. "Now, I believe someone made a deal about a fantastic beach?"

She grins. "My suit is already packed."

End.