That is wonderful stuff, Fay. I don't know Manny or Bernard, but they are so vivid here I find I don't mind not knowing the source material.

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Encouraged by this - and procrastinating with masochistic abandon (rather than running in to do REALLY URGENT THINGS at school), here is another one. Doctor Who/Black Books this time.

LOST IN SPACE (AND TIME)

“Where have you BEEN?” Bernard's voice is ragged and hoarse, but that's probably down to the fact that he was smoking three cigarettes simultaneously when they walked through the door. He bounces upright on the leather sofa and stubs all three fags out against the cover of a battered-looking Cliff Richard autobiography, then fixes Manny with a look of righteous indignation. “I have been subsisting on a diet of old teabags and nicotine! I had to roast that dead pigeon that's been lying in the garden for three months! I was reduced to licking the ink off old wine bottle labels! We ran out of WINE! I could have DIED!”

“You could have gone to Tesco,” counters Fran, looking unimpressed, before Manny can start apologising.

“Tesco is not for the likes of me! My kind are not welcome there!” Bernard proclaims, his lower lip wobbling piteously. “You deserted me! My own flesh and blood! Well, well, well I don't need you, either of you, I was getting on just fine without you! I've got new friends now! Better friends! True friends! Friends who won't say they're popping out to get a pizza and then never be seen again!” He slings a possessive arm around what looks suspiciously like a grimy pillow with a face scrawled on its front in magic marker. “This is Petey. Petey will never ever pop out to get pizza and leave me all alone for a whole week!”

“So you missed us, then?” says Fran.

“I'm sorry, Bernard!” Manny has been feeling vaguely guilty this whole time, and now that he sets eyes upon Bernard once again the guilt has swollen into a mighty tidal wave that threatens to drown him where he stands. “I'm really, truly, terribly sorry!” He has just had the most exciting experience of his life, but the whole time he kept thinking that it would be so much better if only Bernard could be there too. (Even though he was fairly sure Bernard would be scowling and making disparaging remarks the whole time.)

“And where is this bloody takes-a-week-to-cook-it pizza, then?” adds Bernard, in mounting indignation, looking from Manny to Fran and back again. “Petey and I thought you must have been grinding the wheat by hand to make the flour to make the pizza dough to make the stupid pizza. In Italy. But I'm not seeing any pizza. Do you see any pizza, Petey-old-pal-old-mate-old-chum?” He squeezes the pillow and makes it bob in what might, if you were feeling very generous, look faintly like a puppet-like motion. “No I don't, Mister Bernard,” he answers himself, in a squeaky voice.

“See, the thing is, we were only gone for a day, really,” says Manny. Bernard switches his glower up to eleven, and Manny hurriedly tries to explain. Fran perches on a table and lets him. “In our time line, it was only a day. Only, we were travelling in time and space, you see, and, and, and...you're not believing any of this, are you?”

“What, you were kidnapped by aliens?” Bernard pours all the withering scorn of which he is capable into this sentence. Fran and Manny exchange helpless glances, and then they both nod. Bernard snorts. “Did you hear that, Petey? They were kidnapped by ALIENS. On the way to the PIZZA PLACE. And then I suppose the dog ate your homework, did it? Did it? Eh? A-ha! Not so clever now, are you, my fine treacherous former friends? You have to get up pretty early to fool Bernard Black, and it's the early bird that catches the... thing that birds catch. Cold. Probably. Or possibly seed. Or something.” Bernard seems to sense that the sentence has run away with him. “So there!” he adds, for good measure.

“No, but he really was an alien, though,” says Manny. He frowns. “Although he was from the North. Which was a bit confusing.”

“An alien. From Yorkshire.”

“Or Manchester, maybe? He didn't say.”

“Gallifray,” says Fran helpfully. “I think it's near Huddersfield.”

“So your (continued...)

( continues...) story is – stop me if I've got this mixed up – your story is: an alien from Huddersfield kidnapped you on the way to collect a Jumbo Hawaiian Special with Extra Anchovies from The Leaning Tower Of Pizza? And forced you to travel through time and space? For a day, which turned into a week?” His eyes narrow. “Is there going to be anal probing in this story? I bet you loved it, you dirty bitch!”

There is a little pause, whilst both Fran and Manny try to figure out whether that last part is directed explicitly at them, and then Manny shakes his head as if trying to dislodge something from one of his ears. “No, no anal probing,” he says, and laughs nervously. “He wasn't that sort of alien.” He doesn't notice the way that Fran starts to blush, while her gaze skitters away from meeting Bernard's eyes. “Actually, it was all rather thrilling – you see, there were these space creatures posing as Italians, and they had this plot to take over Britain using mind-control garlic bread, only The Doctor found out about it and he saved the day! And we helped him!”

“You helped an alien GP from Huddersfield to stop space creatures from taking over Britain using garlic bread,” repeats Bernard, slowly.

“Yes!” agrees Manny brightly. Fran nods. “It was great!”

“Once they switched off their image distortion fields, they looked like giant prawns,” says Fran, giving a little shudder. “Giant space prawns, sort of a blue-grey colour. But with hair.”

“Fair play to them - it was in great condition,” says Manny.

“It was great hair,” concedes Fran. “But still – giant space prawns. With Italian accents. Bent on world domination. I thought we were drunk.”

“Well, we were drunk,” points out Manny, in the interests of full disclosure.

“We were drunk, yes. But not hallucinate-giant-space-prawns-drunk. Just, you know, fancy-some-pizza and oops-we've-run-out-of-fags drunk.” She sighs. “I really fancied that Marco, too. Before he was, you know, a prawn. He had a really nice arse. For a prawn.”

Bernard stares at them both in silent disgust.

“Anyway, we were just waiting for the pizza, and Marco said: 'Have some of this free garlic bread, it's delicious.'” Manny looks to Fran for confirmation and she nods. Bernard picks up one of the cigarettes he's just stubbed out, straightens it a little, and lights it once more.

“Special recipe from the old country, he said,” Fran chimes in. “It smelled great, actually.”

“Yeah. And we were just going to have some, because, you know – free garlic bread! - only there was this voomyvoomyvoomy noise,” Manny waves his arms in the air vaguely, “And then this big blue box appeared out of thin air!”

“A box.”

“Yeah! Sort of like a phone box!”

“But blue,” says Fran.

“Yes, okay, blue!”

“And wooden,” says Fran.

“Well, yes, and wooden!”

“And with no windows,” says Fran.

“And with no windows,” Manny agrees.

“So not very much like a phone box at all, then, really,” says Bernard.

“Well...no. But it said Police Call Box on it.”

Bernard looks at them both, and lights another cigarette, and proceeds to listen to the rest of their tale with one fag in each hand, taking alternate drags. “Go on,” he says grimly. “Let me hear the full, foul, spurious web of lies you've spun whilst you've been off on your little mini-break without me. Space prawns. Magical phone boxes that aren't phone boxes. Well, go on! Go on! Mush!”

“So we're all standing there, thinking, you know, blimey, this is a turn up for the books all right, and then this bloke with sort of sticky-out ears comes bursting out through the door of the box! Like a sort of angry Jack-in-a-box! With a Northern accent!”

“That was the Doctor,” Fran says.

“Doctor What?”

“....he never said, actually,” says Manny. “And you know how it's a bit embarrassing after you've been chatting with someone for a while, and then you realise you didn't actually catch their name? I didn't like to ask. Felt a bit silly.”

“That's the bit that made you feel silly?” asks Bernard. Manny nods. “Right. Right. Of course. Carry (continued...)

( continues...) on.”

“Anyway, he said something like 'Oh no you don't, you Space Crustaceans!'” says Manny, striking a heroic pose and pointing an invisible gun at an imaginary foe.

“No, no that's not what he said,” Fran interrupts. “He said 'Ciao!'”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure. I thought it was sort of sexy, actually. He'd got this leather jacket that sort of hugged his shoulders and a really nice smile, all wicked and...” she peters off, and glances from Manny to Bernard. “Sorry. Carry on.”

“So anyway, the Doctor jumps out and says...Ciao, possibly, or something, and all the waiters go crazy. And suddenly there's spinach tortellini flying through the air, and broken crockery, and people are screaming, and Marco is suddenly seven foot tall and blue, with extra legs and a crunchy shell.” In spite of himself, Bernard is getting caught up in their story. “And we were both just so gobsmacked -”

“Pissed,” says Fran.

“Well, maybe that too, but anyway, we were a bit slow to react – and then Marco GRABBED for me, with these pincers,” Manny makes giant-space-prawn-lunging-towards-you-with-pincers-of-doom gesticulations toward Bernard, and Bernard bounces on the sofa and gives a small shriek of terror as the invisible pincers loom down upon him. “And then Captain Jack smashed him over the head with one of those big pepper grinder things,” continues Manny, brandishing an invisible pepper grinder in a macho fashion. “And then he looked at the big pepper grinder, and then at me, and sort of wiggled his eyebrows suggestively...” Manny trails off for a moment, his eyes going a little unfocused as he basks in the memory.

“Ooooh, Captain Jack,” says Fran, and she gives a gleeful little wriggle.

“Captain Jack,” agrees Manny, sighing.

“Who the fuck's this Captain Jack, when he's at home?” demands Bernard, outraged.

“Oh, he's just this unbelievably hot, heroic time traveller with the most amazing smile...”

“American,” Manny says wistfully. “With those really expensive-looking teeth.”

“And legs that are just really...and these shoulders that...and his arse, oh, my God, the arse on him,” moans Fran. “Much better than Marco's, even before he got all prawnified. The voice on him, and those big strong hands, and his eyes, and, and, and...” Fran reaches over and snatches one of Bernard's cigarettes and takes a long, lustful drag. “Oooh, Jack!” she says again. “He's better than chocolate. Better than cigarettes dipped in chocolate. God.”

“WHO THE BUGGERING HELL IS THIS CAPTAIN JACK?!?” yells Bernard, crimson with wrath. “I forbid you to make those noises! Stop dribbling, the pair of you! This is pathetic! Pull yourselves together!”

“Sorry,” says Manny, sheepishly. “Um. He's a sort of friend of the Doctor's, I think.”

“Friend!” says Fran, in a meaningful voice, rolling her eyes. Manny looks confused. “I mean, you know, FRIEND!” she says pointedly. Manny continues to look confused. “Frie-end,” she says, waving her cigarette around and shedding ash all over the Complete Proust, and then making exaggerated kissy kissy noises.

“Er. Yes. Anyway, he's friends with the Doctor, and with Rose, and they're travelling around in this TARDIS – which is what he calls the blue box – and they sort of, you know, save the day. A lot. Professionally, I think. It's their job. Apparently there's a lot of call for it.”

“What?” says Bernard. “Can you even hear yourselves? What are TALKING about? And who's this Rose person? You didn't mention her before!”

“She's the Doctor's girlfriend. Or friend. I wasn't too clear on that point, actually,” Manny admits. “She's very nice. And she's friends with Captain Jack too.”

“Friends!” says Fran meaningfully, with another eye-roll and some more kissy noises.

“Yes, all right, all right, we get the point!” Bernard snaps. “You seem to think that this Captain Jack is some sort of sex god, and that all three of these nonexistant people you've made up are busy shagging like bunnies, which is decidedly unhealthy of you, if you ask me. Two men can be friends without getting all, all (continued...)

( continues...) groiny with each other, thank you very much, isn't that right, Manny?”

“What? Oh, er, yes! Yes!”

“And a man and a woman,” Bernard continues, waving his hands around to sketch a figure built along the same sort of heroic lines as Jessica Rabbit in the air. “A man and a woman can just be friends without shagging. It happens all the time! I've read about it in books! If I had a friend who was a woman, then I could be her friend, and not secretly getting up to rumpy pumpy with her!”

Fran stares at him. “If?” she says. “If?”

“Well, if I had a friend who was a woman. I'm just saying.” She sticks her chest out, pugnaciously. Bernard looks blank. “What?”

“Bernard. I am a woman.”

“Oh, don't be silly. I'm talking about a real woman. Like this Rose of yours. Well, okay, no, bad example, what with her NOT ACTUALLY EXISTING OUTSIDE YOUR FEVERED IMAGINATIONS. And anyway, you've still not explained why it took you a week to get back from The Leaning Tower of Pizza. Just because there was a bit of drama when you got there, that's no reason for you to take a week to get back. Without any pizza.”

“It was mind-control pizza,” points out Manny. “We didn't really fancy it any more.”

“Yes, yes, blah blah blah space prawn nonsense. Whatever. You still haven't explained what took you so long.” He drums his fingers on the leather arm rest. “I'm waiting!”

“Well, see, after they'd sent the foul blue space invaders running back to the Horse Head Nebula, Fran came over all faint, and she had to have a bit of a lie down,” explains Manny. Fran carefully concentrates on her cigarette at this point. “Luckily Captain Jack happened to be standing right next to her when she fainted, and he caught her in his strong, manly arms and carried her inside. And you know the funny thing? She managed to keep hold of both the litre bottles of Chianti she'd picked up, even though she was in a dead faint!”

“Really?” says Bernard, giving Fran a very level look which she refuses to meet.

“So anyway, I followed them inside, and it turns out that the TARDIS is huge on the inside!”

“What? How does that work?”

“Er, I wasn't too clear on that. Something to do with maths, I think. Really hard maths. But it's huge – rooms and rooms and rooms! Although The Doctor seems to spend most of his time in the main bit, the sort of steering wheel bit. But Captain Jack carried Fran through to his room and let her have a nice lie down to recover. Only The Doctor didn't know we were there, and he was busy jetting off to Ancient Egypt to show Rose the building of the pyramids! It was amazing! Although poor Fran was still feeling a bit under the weather, so she stayed in the TARDIS, and Jack looked after her. But I tagged along with Rose and the Doctor, and it was great! Bit slow, though. But still – pyramids! Big and pointy! Mind you, I didn't think about sun cream.” He points at the shiny top of his head, which is, indeed, looking distinctly burnt. “Oh, it was great, though. And then we came back – but the Doctor isn't really all that good at getting the precise right date, as it turns out. Still – he was only a week away, which is still pretty close, when you're dealing with millini, melony, milleni...centuries.”

“So you got into a space ship with random alien time travellers from Yorkshire?”

“Well...yes.”

“And they didn't even have to offer to show you their puppies, or give you any sweets?”

“Well...no.”

“You're just lucky they WEREN'T the anal probe kind of aliens, then, aren't you?” Fran's face is becoming really quite red at this point, but happily for her neither Bernard nor Manny seems to notice. “Not that I believe a single solitary word of this crap, of course.” Bernard turns to stare at Petey the Pillow, and then turns Petey the Pillow to fix them both with a fluffy gimlet gaze of disapproval. “Petey doesn't believe it either. You are both dead to Petey. And to me. Clearly you went off to the Isle of White or somewhere for a week of jollity and debauchery without me. Because you are a pair of total bastards.” He ignores the (continued...)

( continues...) sound of another bastard customer opening the door and fighting their way into the shop through the piles of unshelved books. “Henceforth, I will cross your names out of the family bible. There will be no more Christmas cards, no more intimate phone calls, no more picnics in the park, holding hands, picking strawberries in the sunshine or skipping barefoot down the beach. You are both YES, WHAT? WHAT DO YOU WANT?” He finally turns to glare at the customer who has had the temerity to come right up to the three of them, and is knocked back by the brilliant white thousand-megawat smile he finds suddenly directed at him by a great, strapping, corn-fed looking man with the chiselled good looks of a Boys' Own Hero. Bernard's jaw drops, and his cigarette dangles precariously from his moist bottom lip, threatening to land in his lap and lead to much smouldering and shrieking.

“Sorry to interrupt, guys - just wanted to bring Fran her bottles of wine.” He winks at Fran, and Fran gives a high-pitched little giggle. “We never did get around to drinking them, did we?” Bernard stares. Then he stares some more. Then, after that, he decides to try a little staring. “Well, it's been fun, folks – Manny, you take care of yourself, okay? Keep on playing that piano!”

“I will, Jack!” says Manny, adoringly. “I mean, Captain!”

“Manny, Manny! It's Jack to my friends, you know that! And you must be Bernard? Manny's told us all about you!” Bernard feels his limp hand enclosed in a ridiculously firm, dry, manly grip. He continues to stare, and the cigarette trembles gently but does not fall. “Well, goodbye, Fran. Don't be a stranger!” The figment of their collective imaginations pulls Fran towards him like, like, like something out of a Fred Astaire movie, bends her back over a table of books and delivers the kind of kiss that would make mothers go weak at the knees and cover their children's eyes. Bernard whimpers. “I'll miss your cheeky little laugh, Frances! Gotta go, though – planets to save, evil overlords to foil, all that. Busy busy busy! Bye, gang”

There is a very long silence in the shop after the door closes behind Captain Jack Harkness. The kind of silence that might have been filled with words like 'I told you so' or 'Good heavens, you appear to have been right all along, how very exciting, giant space prawns you say?' But wasn't.

Bernard, in the end, is the first one to speak. “Corkscrew,” he says to Manny, waving towards the kitchen. “Come on, you stupid little chimpanzee, do I have to do everything around here? Corkscrew! Now! And glasses! Chop chop!”

I want an audio file of you reading this, Fay.

Consider it the Buffista equivalent of Xander's "They should film this and show it every Christmas."

Because I can hear it in your voice, and it's bloody brilliant.

Hee! Well, I'm sufficiently self-indulgent that I likely will make it into audiofic...it just takes me the best part of forever to upload audiofiles. (And, God forgive me, I probably will do a Truly Dreadful Irish Accent for Bernard. Because the Truly Dreadful Irish Accent I did for Seamus Finnegan in Fearless Diva's Tissue of Silver still makes me laugh out loud in embarrassed horror.)

OMG, Fay! You should be writing scripts for this show! I'm chortling along with every sentence. Great stuff, great stuff.

Fay! Yes - audio file would be excellent!

Lovely.

So happy you discovered Black Books.