Fishing the Multiverse

Now that the TARDIS was underway, Jonas turned toward Patch and looked at him seriously.

"Although we've spent many years together, and I never brought it up, I have to admit something. If we're going to go traveling around, I can't help but imagine the kind of screams and terrified looks you're going to get from people, just based on your… strange body."

Patch looked down at himself, then up at Jonas.

"Captain, you may have a point."

"Have you maybe thought about making a change?" Jonas asked. "Something a little more… ordinary? Maybe a T-1000 or a TX-type body? An old Android version of your original design? Anything?"

Patch nodded slowly. "I have been planning to transition to a new frame. I thought to wait until we gathered more exotic materials. But, as you point out, it will likely be very difficult for me to walk among various species without drawing attention. I do, after all, have a threatening frame."

"So what's your plan?"

"I have a robotic body in mind that I would like to construct. However… I fear I may not finish it before our adventure begins."

Jonas turned to the TARDIS display. It showed 36 hours until landing.

"Well," he said thoughtfully, "maybe it's a good idea for me to try out an adventure on my own first. You know, test the waters. So long as I don't wind up anywhere too dangerous."

"I believe that's a good solution, sir," Patch replied. "Perhaps you should take R2 with you. In the new backpack mode?"

"That… yeah. Yeah, R2. Float over here and turn into a backpack. R2 was painted suspiciously in Red, white, and blue colors. Already looking kind of like a shield with his widened frame, and at the very top of his dome was a big 'A' in the middle of a blue circle."

The colors completely clashed with Jonas's current outfit.

He'd settled into something more swashbuckler, a look he was quite fond of. He wore a pair of yellow pants, brown boots, a frilly shirt, his signature Han Solo-style vest, and a long brown overcoat.

He looked a little like a modern-day pirate but of a noble breed.

His wardrobe had come together from the various clothes they'd found during cleanup. The Appraisers had cataloged his entire collection, dividing things by planet, style, and era. Jonas had gone through the options and picked his favorites—mostly from human fashion, naturally.

Of course, he wasn't going to be like the Doctor—wearing the same outfit every day for eternity. Jonas had variety.

Dozens of shirts, all frilly in similar styles but in different colors. Matching pants for each one. And the ever-present vest, although, after some consultation with Patch, he decided to vary the vest as well. And the overcoat, depending on what he wore.

He had even tried combining Time Lord technology with his overcoat, experimenting with ridiculously large internal pockets—bigger on the inside—but so far, no luck. It remained an unfinished personal project.

Patchwork simply didn't have time to help with it.

And so… Jonas tinkered with it on his own. Whenever he had a spare moment.

Patchwork excused himself, wasting no time. He immediately went to begin the process of upgrading and building his new body.

Jonas, on the other hand, lingered on the bridge for a moment before shrugging and wandering off. There wasn't much to do now but wait.

He flopped onto one of the nearby couches, then stood back up a few minutes later, restless.

He made his way to the cafeteria and grabbed something to eat, nothing too fancy. He sat there for a while, silently chewing, staring into the middle distance.

Still restless.

Eventually, he returned to his quarters and took a nap.

The TARDIS flew on through the endless fabric of reality.

Still bored, Jonas, after his little nap, got up and wandered down toward the Eye of Harmony room.

As he exited his quarters, the camera (if there was one) might linger on the plaque next to his door. It read:

Captain's QuartersThe Fisher

He carried a book he'd been working on—something dense and weird and old—and moseyed down the hall. Once he started coming to the Eye regularly, he'd set up a proper little reading nook for himself.

A comfortable chair, a couch, lamps, and even a bed—all positioned near the gentle glow of the Eye of Harmony.

He plopped into the chair, propped his feet up on the ottoman, cracked the book open, and began to read.

At some point… he drifted off to sleep.

That was unusual.

Jonas rarely slept much anymore. Over the years, he found himself needing less and less sleep. His body, whatever it had become, had grown past normal fatigue.

So when he suddenly woke to the faint hum of the Eye of Harmony—not its usual background thrum, but something more purposeful, almost like a subtle whisper—it startled him.

He stirred.

Then he remembered where he was.

Then—

"Oh no."

Jonas shot upright, practically launching out of the chair. Confusion. Worry. Sudden clarity.

He dashed from the room, bolting through the corridors toward the bridge.

When he arrived, the countdown was already active.

Five minutes until landing.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying to fully wake up.

His R2 backpack was right where he left it—leaning against the console. He picked it up and slung it on with a practiced motion.

His fishing pole, that sacred object, was never taken outside the Ark, outside the TARDIS. It always hung in a special place above the main entrance: easy to grab and always ready.

He paused for a moment, eyes on the console.

The TARDIS hum had changed. It was deep, rhythmic, and exciting.

He grinned.

Jonas had made sure it still made that sound when landing—the iconic wheezing groan of the Doctor's ship. He knew it might draw attention. Might be risky. But he didn't care. It was too much fun.

Even after all these years, he still occasionally rewatched the old TV shows, flipped through comics, and revisited the lore of a hundred different fandoms from his childhood.

And it wasn't just nostalgia, it was preparation.

After all, if he fished up something like Superman's rocket, he might land in a world where Superman existed. Or worse.

He had to be ready for anything.

The landing countdown hit zero.

The TARDIS shuddered—eager, graceful, powerful.

Jonas took the controls, guiding it through the final phase of descent. He'd learned, finally, to fly her on his own, something Patch had long urged him to do. He wasn't perfect, but he was competent. Now that he had that skill, he'd moved on to studying other subjects.

The humming settled. The landing is complete.

From an outsider's viewpoint, they would see a piece of leathery luggage materialize, blinking in and out of existence while hearing that call announcing its arrival.

Outside the TARDIS, through the main door, there was a dim corridor—narrow, cramped, and lined with pipes, cables, and flickering lights.

Popping his head out of the luggage, Jonas stealthily checked his environment. Seeing no danger, he climbed out of the open bag, closed it, and then picked it up with his left hand. 

Jonas approached the door out of the cramped room slowly, hand on the release.

He didn't know where he was.

He didn't know what was waiting.

But that was half the fun.

He took one deep breath and said to himself:

"Let's see what kind of adventure awaits."

Then he opened the door.

He slowly peered out into the hallway.

Nothing seemed amiss. Just a dim, narrow corridor, pipes hissing softly overhead, lights flickering but steady.

Just as he was starting to feel comfortable with this new landing…

The world shook.

Violently.

He staggered, nearly losing his footing. Pipes rattled. Light panels above flickered erratically. Somewhere close, something crashed.

And then—

A scream. A woman's scream.

No time to think.

Jonas bolted toward the sound, feet pounding against the grated floor.

He turned a corner and skidded to a stop.

A beautiful red-haired woman was pinned beneath a collapsed girder and a mess of pipes, her face contorted in pain and urgency. A man hunched over on his knees near her, trembling, growling, his muscles bulging grotesquely.

"Now, Dr. Banner," she said, trying to stay calm, "please. There's no need—"

"Uh-oh," Jonas muttered under his breath.

He sprinted toward her, grabbed the twisted wreckage trapping her legs, and—with a grunt—tossed it aside.

He extended his hand.

She didn't argue. She grabbed it, pulled herself up, and ran.

Faster than him.

Much faster.

He was amazed—she was just as nimble as he remembered. Practically gliding through the chaos.

Behind them, an enraged roar shook the corridor.

Jonas glanced back—the Hulk was barreling after them, eyes wild, rage boiling off his green frame like steam.

Thinking fast, Jonas fumbled with the luggage in his right hand, his TARDIS. With a quick swing, he tossed it behind him.

It hit the floor—and Hulk tripped.

The monster slammed face-first into the ground with a massive thud, sending up sparks and shattering nearby fixtures.

That bought them time.

The woman had already reached a ladder and was climbing—no, darting up it like a liquid shadow. She squeezed between rungs with impossible grace, like an octopus greased with oil.

Jonas, on the other hand, lumbered up quickly but clumsily.

He looked down—Hulk was glaring up at him, full of fury.

"Come on!" the woman called from above.

"Don't worry!" Jonas shouted back. "I've got this. Just go!"

She didn't hesitate.

He could tell she didn't know who he was, but he sounded confident, and she clearly had other things to handle.

Jonas reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a small pouch, barely larger than his hand. He dipped his fingers inside and pulled out a strange something red and squishy.

He tossed it.

Directly into the Hulk's roaring mouth.

The monster paused, startled, then—almost instinctively—chewed and swallowed it.

Everything froze.

The Hulk's furious face froze.

He blinked, chewing slowly, considering the strange thing that had just flown into his mouth.

It was…

Delicious.

Jonas, panting slightly, sat down on the crosswalk above the chaos.

"Here, Hulk," he said. "This is for you."

He tossed the bag of candy.

The Hulk caught it easily, peering down into the bag. Inside: a whole collection of squishy, multicolored little candies—some glowing, others slightly fuzzy, all weirdly appealing.

His furious expression melted into one of pure, childish joy.

A chubby, cheerful smile replaced the fury. Like a kid in a candy store, he reached in and carefully picked out another treat. This time, he held it delicately between two massive fingers and brought it to his lips with the reverence of a candy sommelier.

He took a tiny, precise bite.

"Aaaaahh…" the Hulk sighed, savoring it. Then grabbed another. And another.

Finally, he upended the bag into his mouth and began chewing like a happy mastodon.

Jonas watched, blinking. "Hulk… are we friends now?"

The Hulk looked at him, eyes full of simple warmth.

"Friends."

Then he sat down.

Or more accurately, he collapsed—gently, as the transformation began. Jonas watched, wide-eyed, as Hulk slowly shrank, his muscles receding, skin lightening, rage dissipating.

Bruce Banner was halfway back when—

WHAM.

Thor burst through a wall, hammer first, and smacked Banner in the chest, sending him flying.

Jonas blinked.

Thor stood tall, triumphant. "Aha! I've got the monster!"

Jonas, still seated on the catwalk, stared at him.

"Do stupid things, get stupid prizes," he said flatly. "Good luck, champ."

Then he stood, brushed himself off, and turned to follow Natasha's path.

Thor looked completely confused then heard a fresh roar as Hulk returned to full size once more.

"YES!" Thor bellowed, charging back into the chaos.

Jonas jogged forward, trying to follow Natasha's trail, but he had no idea where he was going.

Well, some idea.

"If I'm not mistaken," he muttered to himself, ducking under a fallen beam, "we're in the middle of the Helicarrier fight."

He looked up at the ceiling. "Which means… which way is up?"

He scanned the walls. Pipes. Always pipes. He followed their direction.

No more guessing where Natasha went, he just wanted to get out from under the lower decks.

Eventually, he climbed up a shaft and emerged into a new hallway, cleaner but unfamiliar.

And that's when he remembered something that stopped him cold.

He slapped his forehead.

"I have to go back later… I forgot my TARDIS."