January 25th, 2009

ebol

Opposed Mirrors / Each Reflecting Each

AN: You must blame Richie of Crimitism for inspiring this by reversal; if he had never reposted the closing comment I would probably not have thought of this particular AU, or if I had, I would have dismissed it unwritten as too cracky even for fandom.



Dr. Jones, striding briskly across the shop-lined courtyard - deserted at this stark morning hour, still a little too early for even the hardiest tourists yet - away from the underground car park towards Oxford's center, was nevertheless not in too much of a hurry to keep a weather eye on the horizon at all times.

Even so, she was not prepared for the surprise that was about to ambush her on her way to the Medical Sciences Teaching Centre where the conference would shortly begin. (They had strongly suggested leaving all vehicles behind to take full advantage of Oxford's excellent public transportation, but she was unwilling to do without a getaway car in the event such should become necessary - the difficulty with buses and trains being that they went to such predictable places, at predictable times.)

--Then again, perhaps she was, after all.

Taking one look at the humanoid figure which had stepped out from behind the ornamental trees directly in front of her, she reached in silence for the likeliest of the improvisable weapon at hand, which happened to be a mossy terra cotta pot of moderate size holding a rather peaky and dessicated impatiens that had, until an instant ago, been ornamenting a wrought-iron table in front of a quaint and touristy pub. (There had also, until two instants ago, been a large marmalade cat perched beside, but that had vanished at the appearance of the too-familiar stranger.)

"No, no, don't -- it's me!" the doppleganger cried, with her voice and a frantic hand-flapping gesture which was not hers at all - but was all too familiar. "Really. --Me."

For a moment she was speechless. But only for a moment.

"You. --You?! You--" But she could not think of anything to say after that. Or, rather, too many things, and they all jammed up in the door. Collapse )