The Christmas Invasion - Behind the Scenes [Part 12]
Excerpt from Benjamin Cook’s articles in Doctor Who Magazine #365
“Buckle down, folks,” calls out John Older [first assistant director], his voice resonating around the caves [representing the inside of the Sycorax ship], “cos it’s very difficult to work in here. Let’s go for a take…”
“The door!” screams Billie. “Close the door!”
Noel spins around. As the Sycorax grabs him, he manages to pull the TARDIS door shut just in time. Slam! Door closes. Well, not quite.
“Er - he didn’t close the door,” says Jon. “It’s swung back open.”
“Oh fiddlesticks,” cries Noel, frustrated. “That TARDIS door is such a naughty old thing.”
Actually, that’s not exactly what Noel said. I’m paraphrasing. But this is a family magazine, so let’s just leave it.
“Okay, Noel, you blew the plot,” laughs James [Hawes, director]. “If the door doesn’t close, we’re screwed.”
Meant to be sort of a follow-up to my last Rex related photo set post, since while the kid can be scary in a fight, it’s important to remember how much contact with others matters to him.
As the series progresses, he develops in such a way that he’s big on granting second chances, believing in the importance of free will and choice, and keeping his promises when it counts the absolute most, even if that promise is to a former foe. He also starts to let go of the idea of “playing it cool” in holding back on letting others know that he cares, going from telling Six to “get off the sap train” in season one to embracing his team mate/mentor/friend/father figure in season three. Rex seems to value his memories and personal experiences over material possessions, but more than anything else - even his own life and identity - he values his family, friends and allies. Nothing matters more to Rex than other people.
I cannot stop day dreaming about Olivers bday party. It prob going to be at the loft. Of course everyone else will leave first, 'giving them the room. When he finally goes to leave I NEED Felicity to get up on her tip toes and kiss him on the cheek whispering "Happy Birthday" and then I just want him to say fuck it and kiss her. REALLY kiss her. And scoop her up and go upstairs. And at some point, whisper the words, "I want to come home." Then I can die happy. Or just be dead. Whichever.
Anon, you beautiful soul!! Way to go guessing the loft! I don’t know what I did to deserve this, because I NEVER get messages like this one, so thank you. Ugh, my heart is so very full from the picture you’ve given me that I ended up writing a *short* spec fic about it. (Based on recent spoilers, I know most of what I have written here ain’t gonna happen; but alas, I started this fic last month and wanted to finish it anyway. My Oliver deserves a happy spec fic on his birthday.)
Here’s my new favorite photo to set the stage. LOOK HOW HAPPY THEY ARE. I’M FINE.
Felicity’s cry echoes across the expanse of the loft, her words bouncing off its high ceilings, sending all party guests into an unprecedented silence.
Oliver stills, every fiber in his body already tightening, already on edge, ready to pounce to protect her if need be– He relaxes a little when he realizes Felicity is not, in fact, reacting to any sort of danger. Instead, she stares with wide, horrified eyes at the knife he’s still gripping, hovering over the direct center of the cake. The cake he was just instructed to cut himself. The cake covered in exactly 32 little plastic arrows, all pointing towards the center to form a giant O.
Yet he knows that look means trouble of a different sort…a Felicity-sized and always important portion of concern.
Oliver quickly makes eye contact with the rest of the group, just in case anyone’s picked up on something he’s missed. But everyone appears just as confused as he is by Felicity’s new state of peril.
Felicity visibly swallows as she slowly tiptoes towards him. She licks her lips once, hesitating before meeting his gaze; and he can practically see the wheels spinning behind her eyes, as she calms herself down and tries to explain.
“I just mean…you should have the corner piece, you know? Because it has more frosting. You like frosting, right? Everyone loves frosting.”
“Felicity…” He has no idea what she’s hiding, but he can tell something’s off.
“You know what? I’ll just cut the cake. I mean, you already do so much, the least I can do is cut you a piece of cake.” She’s taking the knife from him and already cutting off a corner piece, before he can even try to stop her, all the while muttering something to herself. He leans in a bit to try to hear, but Curtis and Quentin have resumed their conversation across the table, so all he catches is something along the lines of “What was I thinking…”
God, if only he knew. He’s spent years learning to understand what Felicity Smoak says, let alone trying to make sense of what could possibly be going on inside that beautiful head of hers.