Hey everyone, welcome to the first part of The Crossover Collection, as I'm calling it now. For those of you that have no idea what I'm talking about, there's more information in the last chapter of The Crossover, and a little more information than that on my profile. I hope you enjoy this.

This part is (clearly) an Avengers/Doctor Who crossover. For our dear Marvel heroes, this is after the 2012 movie. And for the (Eleventh) Doctor, this is during his "farewell tour." Before Closing Time, but quite a ways after The God Complex. So the Ponds will not be in this story, unfortunately. Spoilers for both fandoms up to those points.

There are some explainations and descriptions in this story for those unfamiliar with either of these fandoms. You people - sorry if the descriptions and all that are unhelpful. My advice is: when in doubt, google it. There's plenty of information on the web, and google images is always good. So if you need that, please use it, it'll only enrich your reading experience.

For you that are unfamiliar with Doctor Who - just make sure that if you search up the interior of the TARDIS, you include "eleventh doctor" in the search bar. Otherwise you might get some confusing information.

And last of all, if you haven't watched one of these things, I strongly recommend you do, and not just so you can enjoy this story more - they're both fantastic things, and I love them.

So...enjoy. :)


The Doctor, the last of the Time Lords, ducked into the TARDIS, breathing hard as he slammed the doors shut. There were muffled thunks as arrows imbedded themselves in the wood, twanging furiously. The Doctor bounded up the steps to the console at the center of the brightly-lit room, and hurriedly set the coordinates for deep space, laughing madly the entire time. Fists began to bang on the doors as arrows were pulled out and replaced with swords. The Doctor was confident they wouldn't break though the seemingly-pliant material. It was only a disguise after all.

The customary wheezing, groaning sound echoed throughout the ship, and the shouts and cursing faded away. A few seconds later, the Doctor popped his head out of the door and met a glittering sea of stars.

"Ha!" he exclaimed. He pulled a leftover arrow out of the 'pull to open' sign of his ship. The surface sealed itself over as if it had never been damaged. The Doctor tossed the arrow out into space, as much as you could toss anything in zero gravity, and watched it float slowly away with a grin. "Old Lizzie the First's still mad at me, eh? Well!"

He spun away from the doors, leaving them gaping open as he waltzed around the console room. The TARDIS started up a Beatles song, and the Doctor plopped down in his handy swing below the console to do some repair work. The doors closed a moment later, seemingly of their own accord. A normal person, if they were unfamiliar with the Doctor's sentient ship, would look fearfully around to find the one who had closed them. The Doctor just started working, slipping his goggles on and swinging absently.

The console room was large, with glass steps leading up to the large glass platform where the console sat, covered in blinking lights and assorted controls that looked an awful lot like they'd been stuck there. There was a typewriter, a clock, and hot and cold water dispensers. The thing was sort of mushroom-shaped, with a large cylinder ascending from the main part, and another one below, where the Doctor was at work with the various wires and other bits that helped the TARDIS run.

"You're getting a big shaggy, old girl," he told her, patting the platfrom above his head. There was a hum from the ship, a bit indignant. "What did you want me to say? I am too, if that makes a difference." He brushed a bit of dark hair out of his face. "We're both getting on in years." There was a sad note to that, but he shook it off.

Things were quiet except for the music, which had now changed to a more rockish type of song. The Doctor wasn't sure what it was called. He would have to find out once he finished.

Then, everything shuddered, and it was almost as if the TARDIS had tipped sideways. The Doctor flew out of his swing and barely avoided smashing against the wall as the ship righted itself again. Instead, he thudded to the floor right beside it. The music, he noted as he scrambled to his feet, had not stopped. He dashed up to the console again, hearts racing. He had just pulled the monitor around to face him when the ship gave another shake, and he smashed his forehead against the console with a yelp.

"We're not entering an alternate universe again, are we, Sexy?" he shouted. There was a screech somewhere in the machinary, and the Doctor winced. "Okay, alright, we'll make it. Don't worry dear." Another tip, and his head collided painfully with the railing behind the console. "OW!" he yelled, and struggled to get back on his feet. But the ship was still shaking, and it took a few seconds before he could get a proper look at the monitor.

"Oh good," he said brightly, "not another universe again. What would this have been, the third time since the War? It was just getting-" the alien was cut off as the TARDIS screeched again. "Shut up!" he ordered, staggering around the console and pressing buttons. And then suddenly, everything stopped, including the music, and he banged his head again on the floor as he collapsed. "Ow."

He was still lying on there half an hour later, nursing his injured head and various bruises. He didn't bruise as easily as humans, but if he was unprepared for an extremely dangerous landing, it could get brutal. Finally, after he was certain he didn't have a concussion (and that, he thought, was a miracle in and of itself), he got to his feet and leaned against the console, sighing.

"At least we don't have to deal with an entirely new universe," he said. "That's always a pain." He rubbed his head and worked his jaw a little as he thought. "Well. What have you got for me this time?" And then, just as he was straightening his crimson bowtie and brushing his tweed jacket off, just about at the doors, he turned around, a very confused and indignantly look on his face, and demanded, "But what was with the rough landing? Have I done something to upset you again, because I wasn't the one shooting the arrows, alright, and-" he was cut off as a gust of wind sent him stumbling outside, and the doors shut before he could rush back in and insist on an answer.

The Doctor narrowed his eyes at the doors, made an, I'm watching you, gesture, and then spinned in a complete circle before facing forwards and stomping away.

He was in New York City, he noted, and the streets were crowded, as expected. No one had looked twice at the TARDIS landing, though, which was good. It meant, to the Doctor's relief, that the perception filter was still working. That was always a hard bit to repair. Not so much that a perception filter was extremely difficult, but that it wasn't necessarily easy to access. Needless to say, it was very hard to work on machinary when you were soaking wet and all the towels had mysteriously disappeared. The TARDIS could be unruly when she needed fixing.

He shook that off and glanced around. It was sometime in June, and it was pleasantly warm. 2012. Good year, 2012. Lots of new developments.

The Doctor hummed to himself as he walked, taking in all the details of the city. A good stop on his farewell tour, if he said so himself. At this, he felt a pang of suppressed sadness and horror, and for a moment let it fight past his carefully constructed walls and crawl its way to the front of his mind. He didn't have much time until he had to go and die in 2011 Utah. Until then, he'd decided to do whatever he could to finish up in the universe. Right whatever wrongs were the most pressing. Say goodbye to a few friends (or not-really-friends, like Elizabeth the First). See the greatest sights in the universe before his time was up. New York City certainly counted, especially with the Empire State Building finished and gleaming in the sunlight.

He pushed everything back down and resumed his cheerful humming, determined to wait until whatever problem there was in New York City was solved and he was alone to dwell on things. It wouldn't do to be in a puddle of tears if there was an evil alien overlord attempting to take over New York. Those were always tricky to do through the cloud of depression. He couldn't let his pending doom get him down, could he? At least he knew he probably wouldn't die here. That was always a plus.

"So why, exactly, are we all here?" Tony Stark drawled, his feet propped up on the conference table in Stark Tower. Around the table were the rest of the Avengers: Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Thor, and Steve Rogers. Everyone looked expectently to Nick Fury, awaiting his reply.

The man with the eyepatch met all of their eyes. "There are reports of an alien in New York, which is why we're in your tower, Stark. It appeared in a blue telephone box, in the middle of the city. Naturally, you understand S.H.E.I.L.D.'s interest." He gave a wry smile. "We want to detain it and make sure it's not a threat. Thor's here to help us with that, as well as figuring out its species."

"What do you want us to do?" Bruce Banner asked, not bothering to hide his irritation. "Are you expecting another battle?"

Fury frowned. "Not if we're careful," he said. "Dr. Banner, you and Mr. Stark need to have a room for our guest. Secure, easy to guard. Barton, Romanoff, and Rogers will catch the alien. Thor will determine its species and threat level. Is that acceptable?"

"Who's gonna guard the cell?" Tony inquired, idly tracing patterns on the table.

"I was thinking of bringing a few agents in," Fury said, a tad icily.

Tony looked mockingly affronted. "In my tower?" he exclaimed. "How rude!"

Fury was not impressed. "We won't touch your precious things, Stark," he growled. "And we're bringing in our own tech."

"I'm sure," Tony smirked, but got up and sauntered out the door, beckoning for Bruce to follow him. "Let's go build that high-security guest room, then, shall we?"

Used to his antics, the remaining heroes ignored the two geniuses as they left, still focusing on Fury.

"When do we move out?" Romanoff asked.

"Immediately," Fury said. "Your suits and equipment are down the hall. There's also a picture of your target for each of you." He motioned toward the door.

Romanoff, Barton, and Rogers exchanged looks before they stood and left the room, none of them speaking but all silently hoping the same thing - that this wouldn't turn out like Loki.


AN: I'm not really happy with this ending. It's too abrupt. Oh well. I am at least five chapters ahead of myself as of posting this, so no worries about that. I'll update in a couple of days. Also, Infiltration is still being worked on. I'm not yet ahead of myself on that, but soon, I promise. I'm having a bit of a block with Chapter 9...