The world spins. Time dilates. Kyle eats thirteen pounds of tuna salad... AND SO THE BLOCK IS BROKEN!!

Disclaimer: Roses are red and a variety of other colours, violets are blue or purple or this vague sort of indigo depending on the species, I own nothing of importance, so... er... er... PARSNIPS!!

Blame: My own slightly sick imagination. I'd been planning this pretty much from the beginning, you know. -grins-

SIAPNIAN: I was planning to use this several universes down the line, but with the advent of No Challenges Whatsoever and the firm belief that you don't quite understand what I mean when I say "GIVE ME A FRAKKING UNIVERSE TO PLAY WITH; I DON'T CARE WHAT IT IS", I shall sacrifice this frankly brilliant idea to POKE YOU PEOPLE. (Not-entirely-complete list of fandoms I will happily cross over will be at the bottom of the page.)

WARNING: I haven't watched Early Edition in years. And— you guessed it— this isn't betaed.


The TARDIS jerked to a stop, as was her wont. The Doctor managed to grab the console and thus avoided another death from a crash-landing; Kyle, of course, sniffed deprecatingly at the turbulence, her path barely swayed by the violent rocking of the timeship.

"Stupid cat," the Doctor muttered sulkily, disentangling himself from the console.

Kyle smirked over her shoulder as she waltzed to the door, giving him a look that smugly asked if he was coming.

"Of course I'm coming," he snapped, tripping over one of the other ginger cats who had started to mill about the room. Under normal circumstances, kittens would never have reached adulthood so quickly, but time did seem to get messed up in the TARDIS and travelling through the Void couldn't help. The Doctor guessed that the near-constant exposure to temporal radiation had sped up the growth process exponentially; Kyle thought he was just making that up to sound good. The TARDIS had not officially made her decision, but it seemed that she was distinctly in favour of the latter evaluation.

"So," he asked of the cat as they walked outside, "where have we landed this time?"

The TARDIS still hadn't quite got the hang of flying through the Void. She landed on Earth most of the time, but fine-tuning it beyond getting the right solar system at all— let alone the right planet— was difficult. Or, at least, so she insisted whenever he tried to "fix" whatever was "wrong". It was more like falling than flying, she informed him; it was like steering oneself to hit one particular egg sandwich hidden in a sea of nothingness and peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches while falling at terminal velocity from three feet in the air. The Doctor said that this evaluation meant that her perceptions were clearly flawed and had to be repaired. She said that if he tried it he would no longer have an arm. He said he could always just grow a new one; he'd always wanted to play with the heftier medical equipment, and such a little threat wouldn't stop him. She said that she meant it. He said he didn't care and tried to fix it. She took matters into her own hands. He stepped out of the space under the console one morning looking frizzy and blackened.

And so Time went on, and they were in Chicago, or so the newspaper claimed.

"Hmm," said the Doctor.

Kyle mrraowed contentedly and gazed about herself with calm green eyes.

In the time it took him to borrow someone's cell phone to see if Pete Tyler, Jackie Tyler, Mickey Smith or Rose had ever existed here, the TARDIS had cracked one of her doors enough for a specific member of Kyle's offspring to slip out, look at the box in silent conversation for a moment, and trot off down the street before vanishing into a self-made temporal anomaly. Kyle noticed, and she smiled at the TARDIS.

The Doctor, of course, didn't. In a fresh wave of disappointment at the fact that Jacqueline Andrea Suzette Prentice had never married Peter Alan Tyler, nor had a daughter of any sort, nor had she been alive for some years, he turned back to the ship and slipped inside.

He scolded her for leaving the door open for any idiot to get in; she smiled at him and dematerialised in a whirling shimmer of smug superiority.

And the next morning, that specific member of Kyle's offspring delivered the newspaper to Gary Hobson— one day early.


Heehee. I need to watch that show again; I loved it very much. Kyle Chandler was my first Sophia Loren (long story; in my family, the phrase "Sophia Loren" refers to an actor/actress/well-known or semi-well-known person who the subject thinks is just the most gorgeous creature out there), and yes, the dearly beloved feline who is the focus of these stories is named after him.

Semi-completed list of fandoms available for crossing-over: Castle, Dead Like Me, Monk, Stargate (any of it, but bear in mind I have not watched the whole series— far from it, actually), Twilight (Shut up.), Inuyasha, Gilmore Girls, Dr. Horrible, Heroes, Spaced, Star Wars, Pellinor (heehee.), The DragonKeeper Chronicles, The Inheritance Whatever-They're-Calling-It-Now, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, some of the Gail Carson Levine books... yeah. There are others I've heard of and would be willing to cross over, but I can't remember their names. -helpless shrug-


And Capemaynuts, this time I PROMISE I'll be writing these down. I know you had a couple of really good universes for me, but I don't know where I put them... :'(