Ficlet: Finding Trouble
Hey, everyone. Something a bit different this time, my first complete Doctor Who story. Well, unless you count Seuss. This ficlet was written as a continuation of the last of these three drabbles byladychi. It takes place during the early events of Rose. I've included the last line of Chi's at the start (600 words exactly, otherwise. Hee.) so I think the ficlet will stand alone if you wish, but please do go read her work as well. Powerful stuff. In fact you may notice I started this in the comments at the time, but I thought about it again last night and the rest of the words finally came this morning.
So then, without further ado, here is the Doctor.
He steps out into the world, hands buried in his pockets, and tries to find trouble.
It doesn't take him long. But then, he's always been good that that-even when he didn't want to be.
He wanders the streets purposefully, face set, and people ignore him, turn aside, scurry out of the way. He has no destination in mind, but he doesn’t let that show. If there’s one thing he learned from the-
No.
Anyway, a bit of arrogance can come in handy. Look like you know where you’re going, and people assume you’ve got the right.
He isn’t entirely aimless. He’s prowling, scanning. Seeing what’s out there.
Something always is.
You could say he’s caught a faint smell, a whiff as something passes by, or a sound just on the edge of hearing range. Neither is true, but the comparison works. It is faint, on the edge, but he knows it’s there, and he’s getting closer. He tracks it all the way to a department store, of all places, but a corner of his mind has been working on familiarity, and when he sees the windows, he knows what he’s after.
The TARDIS had what he needed. She always does, and he’s knocked together quite a nice little welcome present. He moves even swifter now, coat flapping in his own breeze. It’s getting dark. He hasn’t heard any screams yet, so perhaps it’s going for a trial run. All the better.
The shop is emptying, and from what he can tell, concentration’s in the basement. Makes sense, that’s where the storage would be. The transmitter, though…hmm.
Basement first. We’ll see.
He should’ve known. There’s always at least one; humans get everywhere. It’s a rare time indeed he’s managed to solve a disaster without first having to shift some humans out of the way.
He tells her to run, of course, though it’s fairly clear she had that idea already. Sometimes they need a bit to shock them into action, though. A sudden bubble of mischief prompts him to add a few more sentences as she goes, both because he’d like to know, and to see the look on her face.
Humans. Curious little monkeys, they are; they love the mysterious. When, that is, they aren’t screaming and running away from it, but this one didn’t look that sort. She even had a plausible explanation. Completely wrong, of course, but a good idea. Still, at this point, best she’s out of it.
So, the basement’s out. That’s just a holding area, like he’d thought. Roof, then. There’s enough here it’ll take out half the building, anyway.
There’s a moment where he stays. It’d be fitting, wouldn’t it? The monsters go up and so does he, in a great big blazing fireball, just like-
But no. This is a trial run, a short-range testing transmitter, and though it was big enough down there, no sign of a real Nestene. If he’s going to be thwarting, best do the thing properly. Track down the real signal. Maybe he can talk it down. This self doesn’t seem as much for talking as he’s sometimes been, but he’s got experience at gab. He can do that. After all, who knows why it’s here?
(He does. But he can’t right now. Besides, couldn’t he be wrong?)
So, no. He sets it and runs. He’s always been good at running, right from the start. A good 600 years it’s been now, at the least. He even acknowledges most of it has been good. And if he leaves a part of himself behind in that fireball, no-one but him will ever know.
Even if there’s nothing else, he’s got work to do.
So then, without further ado, here is the Doctor.
He steps out into the world, hands buried in his pockets, and tries to find trouble.
It doesn't take him long. But then, he's always been good that that-even when he didn't want to be.
He wanders the streets purposefully, face set, and people ignore him, turn aside, scurry out of the way. He has no destination in mind, but he doesn’t let that show. If there’s one thing he learned from the-
No.
Anyway, a bit of arrogance can come in handy. Look like you know where you’re going, and people assume you’ve got the right.
He isn’t entirely aimless. He’s prowling, scanning. Seeing what’s out there.
Something always is.
You could say he’s caught a faint smell, a whiff as something passes by, or a sound just on the edge of hearing range. Neither is true, but the comparison works. It is faint, on the edge, but he knows it’s there, and he’s getting closer. He tracks it all the way to a department store, of all places, but a corner of his mind has been working on familiarity, and when he sees the windows, he knows what he’s after.
The TARDIS had what he needed. She always does, and he’s knocked together quite a nice little welcome present. He moves even swifter now, coat flapping in his own breeze. It’s getting dark. He hasn’t heard any screams yet, so perhaps it’s going for a trial run. All the better.
The shop is emptying, and from what he can tell, concentration’s in the basement. Makes sense, that’s where the storage would be. The transmitter, though…hmm.
Basement first. We’ll see.
He should’ve known. There’s always at least one; humans get everywhere. It’s a rare time indeed he’s managed to solve a disaster without first having to shift some humans out of the way.
He tells her to run, of course, though it’s fairly clear she had that idea already. Sometimes they need a bit to shock them into action, though. A sudden bubble of mischief prompts him to add a few more sentences as she goes, both because he’d like to know, and to see the look on her face.
Humans. Curious little monkeys, they are; they love the mysterious. When, that is, they aren’t screaming and running away from it, but this one didn’t look that sort. She even had a plausible explanation. Completely wrong, of course, but a good idea. Still, at this point, best she’s out of it.
So, the basement’s out. That’s just a holding area, like he’d thought. Roof, then. There’s enough here it’ll take out half the building, anyway.
There’s a moment where he stays. It’d be fitting, wouldn’t it? The monsters go up and so does he, in a great big blazing fireball, just like-
But no. This is a trial run, a short-range testing transmitter, and though it was big enough down there, no sign of a real Nestene. If he’s going to be thwarting, best do the thing properly. Track down the real signal. Maybe he can talk it down. This self doesn’t seem as much for talking as he’s sometimes been, but he’s got experience at gab. He can do that. After all, who knows why it’s here?
(He does. But he can’t right now. Besides, couldn’t he be wrong?)
So, no. He sets it and runs. He’s always been good at running, right from the start. A good 600 years it’s been now, at the least. He even acknowledges most of it has been good. And if he leaves a part of himself behind in that fireball, no-one but him will ever know.
Even if there’s nothing else, he’s got work to do.