The Obligatory Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own Doctor Who or any associated characters, creatures, features, gadgets, gizmos or TARDISes. Hopefully it'll be obvious that it's the fictional characters I'm messing around with, not the actors.

Chapter-for-chapter, this follows my long, serious Doctor Who fic "Time and Time Again" (ID 5887979) – if you haven't read that, this probably won't make much sense to you. It's not written for any particular reason, just me having fun, really. I therefore can't guarantee it'll be finished - it'll just update sporadically, when I've got the time. Still, I hope you enjoy it, and I hope it can give you a bit of a laugh.

Check the batteries in those vortex manipulators, everyone - here we go! :)


"Gallifrey falling..."

The sound technicians disconnected the Visionary's microphone and flashed her a thumbs up across the set, and she breathed a silent sigh of relief, brushing her straggling hair out of her eyes with claw-like nails. Rassilon and the Doctor were now engaged in their final confrontation, and the props engineers held their breath – and then had to restrain themselves from slapping each other high-fives as Rassilon's gauntlet glowed blue with no additional problems. They had nearly been vapourized that morning after the first take by a furious Rassilon, when someone (who still hadn't owned up) had forgotten to add the insulated lining to the gauntlet and the static electricity had caused Rassilon's hair to stand on end. At the lunch break, Wilf had confessed that he was still struggling to keep a straight face.

"Get out of the way." The Master came in right on cue, drawing back his hand and flinging the bolt of energy past the Doctor.

"Ow!"

The Master nearly quailed under the furious gaze of the Woman who knelt behind Rassilon, rubbing her shoulder.

"CUT!"

Cameras stopped rolling, and the camera crew raised their eyes heavenwards as they reloaded with new rolls of film.

"I thought you said you'd practiced that!" the Director bellowed across the hall to the Master, who groaned in exasperation.

"I'd like to see you try it!"

The camera crew signaled to the Director, who clapped his hands loudly.

"All right, from your line, Doctor. Everyone in place? And…action!"

Rassilon silently wished that the Master had missed again as the energy bolt met its target and he felt his hearts skip a beat.

"You did this to me! All of my life!"

Off to one side, the Director signaled to the lighting technicians, who turned up the power on the backlights, praying the fuses would hold.

"One...two...three...four..."

Now the Writer took over, gesturing to the Doctor who moved forwards towards the blinding light from the Time Lock. His foot came down on something hard and metal, which slipped out from underneath him on the tile floor. He toppled backwards with a curse, and the Writer and Director waved frantically to Wilf in the nuclear containment booth to cut the power, but it was too late.

"Sorry," the Doctor apologized, kicking the gun out of the way. "I did say these things are dangerous!"

"Well we need this scene the same as the original up until there," said the Director impatiently, replacing the gun by the Doctor's feet. "Now can we get someone over here to get that Time Lock back open? And Doctor, don't you give me that 'weakening the walls between dimensions' again," he added as the Doctor glanced at the ruins of the Immortality Gate with a troubled expression.

"Got them!" someone announced from over near the hastily repaired machine focusing the White Point Star, and the hall rumbled, heralding everyone to the return of Gallifrey to the sky outside. Silhouettes of the Time Lords faded into view – Rassilon appeared livid, and the Woman had to grab the back of his ceremonial robe to prevent him from rushing at the Doctor the moment the link was stable. The other two Time Lords were helping the Master to his feet.

"You O.K. over there?" the Director called, and the Master nodded, struggling to retain control of his life force as it flashed through his skin.

"Can we just get this over with?" he growled at the embarrassed Doctor as he passed him to return to his position at the back of the hall. "I'm not sure how much more of this I can take. And I'm starving!"

"Hear that?" said the Director to the Doctor. "Let's get it right this time – or you can foot the power bill for keeping that Time Lock open if the nuclear bolt fails! Places, everyone – and…action!"

Nervously, the Director chewed his nails, but to his utmost relief, the Doctor reached the Master in the nick of time, dragging him back out of the Time Lock. Miraculously – thankfully – the bolt of energy that he managed to keep flowing from his hand shattered the Vinvocci glass behind them without a hitch, and Wilf needed no cue to throw himself to the ground and shield his head from the deadly splinters.

"Thanks," the Director mouthed to Rassilon with a thumbs-up as, with the final link broken, the Time Lock was sealed and the Lord President vanished back into the Time War. The lighting technician gave up wrestling with the dimmer switch and kicked the plug out of the wall, and the blinding glare died.

Now it was the Writer's turn to anxiously gnaw her knuckles as the cameras rolled and the Doctor and Wilf moved from the original scene and into her own scripting. A props technician monitoring the nuclear bolt raised a finger to signal that it had begun to overload – Wilf took his cue, and the camera crew began donning radiation-proof overalls.

"Well I'm not letting you die with him…"

Caught off guard, the camera crew hadn't been expecting them to make it this far without a hitch, and jostled for position as the three characters headed towards the door. Outside in the courtyard, a props technician jumped up, startled, and dodged out of sight of the cameras.

"TARDIS! TARDIS!" the Director was mouthing frantically at him, flecks of sweat dripping from his brow as he hurried after the exhausted characters, and the technician scrambled to check the scanners and make sure the TARDIS hadn't moved further out of sync with their timelines. A notoriously unreliable prop, the blue box defied all their expectations and faded smoothly into sight when the Doctor aimed his sonic screwdriver. The Director and Writer waited just long enough to make sure the characters made it safely to the TARDIS before diving behind a lead-lined screen where the technician monitoring the nuclear bolt raised a fifth finger and the blast incinerated the rest of the set around them.

"No going back now," the Director breathed, and with a second to spare, he and the Writer followed the characters into the TARDIS. The relative timeline inside the capsule must have already moved on a few minutes, as the crew who had been waiting inside were already leaning against the console drinking coffee.

"That's a wrap everyone!" the Director cheered, nearly collapsing with relief. Wilf was rubbing his back with both hands.

"I'm getting too old for this," he muttered, and shot an envious look at the Doctor, who was grinning with exhilaration. "It's all right for you young'uns – you do this sort of stuff every day! And you are bloody heavy!" This last was directed at the Master, who was by now sitting up and rubbing his head. He shot Wilf a sour glare, but was still too dazed to retort. Why had he let himself be talked into doing fanfiction?