Fic: On Mars, by Aietra, White Cortina, Gen Crossover
Title: On Mars
Rating: White Cortina
Word Count/Length: 1,300 words
Notes: The Doctor Who crossover you probably weren't expecting. Short and silly, major spoilers for "Trial of a Time Lord: The Ultimate Foe". (Also, cross-posted to Tumblr here.)
Summary: In which DCI Gene Hunt follows up on a tip-off.
“Fantasy Factory,” Gene Hunt snorted as he made his way across the dark, cobblestoned courtyard. “Do they think I can’t spot a drug pad when I see one?” At the top of the narrow, rickety staircase that hugged the side of the Victorian-esque building, he paused and took out the tip-off note. A name had been given in the neat handwriting, precisely underlined; with a nod to himself, Gene replaced the note in his pocket and shouldered open the door. It swung open, and he found himself in a small, lamp-lit office. The walls were lined with dusty bookshelves; dusty, bare floorboards creaked underfoot as he approached a dusty oak desk, where a portly, bespectacled and equally dusty-looking clerk sat, writing studiously with a quill pen on one of several scattered pieces of heavy old-fashioned paper.
“DCI Gene Hunt,” Gene announced, holding up his police badge. “I’m looking for a Mr. JJ Chambers.” He was somewhat put out when the clerk appeared to not even register his presence, and leaned forward with both hands on the desk. “Are you deaf?” Still without glancing up from his work, the clerk’s free hand reached forward to move a jar of quills out of the way of Gene’s hand and gave an almost imperceptible gesture to a silver strike-bell at the front of the desk. After a moment to choke out his incredulity, Gene obliged, seizing the strike bell and slamming it down in the middle of the clerk’s piece of paper, smudging the still-drying ink of the clerk’s looping scrawl.
“Yes?” the clerk inquired mildly, raising his head and tucking the quill behind one ear.
“Is your boss about?” Gene demanded.
“Do you have an appointment, sir?”
“You what?” Grinding his teeth with impatience, Gene raised his police badge again. “This is a police investigation. Would you like me to say it any louder?”
“That won’t be necessary, sir,” said the clerk, still apparently unperturbed. “But our proprietor never sees anyone without an appointment. I’m sure you understand, sir.”
“Right.” Gene flipped his wallet closed and planted both fists on the desk, leaning over to loom threateningly over the clerk. “And I expect you get yourself a nice little packet off the books for keeping your gob shut about who is making appointments with your ‘proprietor’.”
“The proprietor’s business is only of the most personal nature, sir.” This time, the clerk appeared somewhat affronted, but Gene had spied another door on the other side of the room and promptly decided to bypass the middle-man. Ignoring the clerk’s protests, he strode over and barged open the door, half-falling through into another tiny office.
The second office, he noticed immediately with some consternation, was identical to the first in every detail, from the jar of white quills on the desk, to the flickering lamp, to the bespectacled clerk behind the desk. This clerk looked up slowly and watched with open disinterest as Gene turned from one doppelganger to the other, eventually marching straight across the second office to the door opposite and kicking it open.
Again, he found himself in a perfect replica of that same cramped little office, with yet another clerk behind the desk, this one frowning in disapproval.
“I’ve had enough of this!” Gene bellowed. The clerk’s frown deepened, and through the door Gene had just come through, the previous clerk could be seen raising a finger to his lips. “This how you get your kicks, is it? Don’t get many birds come into the office, so you play hard to get with a copper? You have just made one very big mistake, crossing DCI Gene Hunt. Now where’s Chambers?”
“Are you expected, sir?” the frowning clerk asked, reaching for a sheaf of papers.
“Expected?” Gene spluttered. “Do you lot know the meaning of police investigation? If we’re expected, it’s as good as a confession, and I’ll be lining the lot of you up in a nice matching set of police cells. That ought to keep you happy.”
“I see you don’t appear to have an appointment,” the clerk observed, peering over the top of his spectacles at the paper. “If you are not expected, you must make an appointment. That is the procedure, sir.”
“Procedure? Bloody hell, Tyler - I’ve found you a boyfriend,” Gene muttered to himself. “Look, I don’t give an Ogron’s left bollock about your procedure, got it?”
“That is understood, sir. But procedure is very important in this establishment.” Even at the sight of Gene storming over towards him, the clerk continued unabated. “There are forms to be inscribed, stages of processing that you must pass through before you can-” His dry, droning voice was cut off abruptly when Gene, face red with exasperation, took hold of the front of his clothes in two meaty fists, hauled him out of the chair and shoved him back against the wall, towering menacingly over him. “Sir, I must protest - this is most irregular! This establishment prides itself on-”
“‘Irregular’ will be the nicest way to describe you in ten minutes if you don’t tell me where your boss is,” Gene snarled, shaking the clerk - and then he paused. Something beneath his hands felt…off. He gripped harder, bunching the clerk’s clothes in his fists, and pulled hard. The entire ensemble came away in his hands, and Gene was momentarily lost for words on finding himself now glaring at white-trimmed black robes and an angular collar on a much thinner and - somehow - much taller man. Raising his head slowly, he blinked in surprise to see that the man had removed what appeared to be a rubber mask, and was now surveying him with steely eyes in a pale, gaunt face.
“Who the flaming hell are you?”
“That is none of your concern,” the man replied coldly. “I suggest you remove yourself from my illusion before you regret ever having blundered in here.”
There was one thing that Gene’s utterly bewildered mind caught quite clearly; even amidst his confusion, the seasoned detective chief inspector knew from hard-won experience when he was being threatened. With one hand, he grabbed the edge of the broad collar; the other, he drew back and aimed a punch square at the man’s face. Moments later, he yelled out in pain as his knuckles collided with the bare, wooden wall - the man had disappeared before his eyes, leaving him clutching empty air. Red-faced and red-knuckled, he spun around to find the man standing a few paces behind him, calm and unruffled.
Gene was perturbed, he would admit that much, but the fight wasn’t over that easily. He lunged towards the dark-robed figure - and again, the man’s slender form blinked out like a light, and Gene stumbled forwards through the space where he had stood, to come up against the edge of the desk.
“That was foolish,” came a disdainful voice by his ear. Startled, Gene half-turned, bracing himself with one hand on the desk and upsetting the jar of white quills, which spilled across the desk and exploded like firecrackers around his hand. Over the chorus of resounding bangs, Gene bellowed like a wounded bull. He swung his free fist wildly around, and was fairly sure he felt it make contact…
At the door to the little clerk’s office, two curly-haired heads were peering around the doorframe, watching unnoticed.
“I think we’ve arrived at a bad time, don’t you, Glitz?” said the taller of the two onlookers, eyes twinkling in amusement. “Clearly, Mr. JJ Chambers is occupied. Let’s call back when he has a gap in his schedule, shall we?”
“Right you are, Doctor,” Glitz replied, without taking his eyes off the scene. “We’ll bring him a knuckle sandwich ourselves when he’s on his tea break.”
“Come along, Glitz…” The Doctor’s hand caught Glitz’s leather bandolier, and with a broad grin still plastered across his face, the mercenary was reluctantly dragged away.
Rating: White Cortina
Word Count/Length: 1,300 words
Notes: The Doctor Who crossover you probably weren't expecting. Short and silly, major spoilers for "Trial of a Time Lord: The Ultimate Foe". (Also, cross-posted to Tumblr here.)
Summary: In which DCI Gene Hunt follows up on a tip-off.
“Fantasy Factory,” Gene Hunt snorted as he made his way across the dark, cobblestoned courtyard. “Do they think I can’t spot a drug pad when I see one?” At the top of the narrow, rickety staircase that hugged the side of the Victorian-esque building, he paused and took out the tip-off note. A name had been given in the neat handwriting, precisely underlined; with a nod to himself, Gene replaced the note in his pocket and shouldered open the door. It swung open, and he found himself in a small, lamp-lit office. The walls were lined with dusty bookshelves; dusty, bare floorboards creaked underfoot as he approached a dusty oak desk, where a portly, bespectacled and equally dusty-looking clerk sat, writing studiously with a quill pen on one of several scattered pieces of heavy old-fashioned paper.
“DCI Gene Hunt,” Gene announced, holding up his police badge. “I’m looking for a Mr. JJ Chambers.” He was somewhat put out when the clerk appeared to not even register his presence, and leaned forward with both hands on the desk. “Are you deaf?” Still without glancing up from his work, the clerk’s free hand reached forward to move a jar of quills out of the way of Gene’s hand and gave an almost imperceptible gesture to a silver strike-bell at the front of the desk. After a moment to choke out his incredulity, Gene obliged, seizing the strike bell and slamming it down in the middle of the clerk’s piece of paper, smudging the still-drying ink of the clerk’s looping scrawl.
“Yes?” the clerk inquired mildly, raising his head and tucking the quill behind one ear.
“Is your boss about?” Gene demanded.
“Do you have an appointment, sir?”
“You what?” Grinding his teeth with impatience, Gene raised his police badge again. “This is a police investigation. Would you like me to say it any louder?”
“That won’t be necessary, sir,” said the clerk, still apparently unperturbed. “But our proprietor never sees anyone without an appointment. I’m sure you understand, sir.”
“Right.” Gene flipped his wallet closed and planted both fists on the desk, leaning over to loom threateningly over the clerk. “And I expect you get yourself a nice little packet off the books for keeping your gob shut about who is making appointments with your ‘proprietor’.”
“The proprietor’s business is only of the most personal nature, sir.” This time, the clerk appeared somewhat affronted, but Gene had spied another door on the other side of the room and promptly decided to bypass the middle-man. Ignoring the clerk’s protests, he strode over and barged open the door, half-falling through into another tiny office.
The second office, he noticed immediately with some consternation, was identical to the first in every detail, from the jar of white quills on the desk, to the flickering lamp, to the bespectacled clerk behind the desk. This clerk looked up slowly and watched with open disinterest as Gene turned from one doppelganger to the other, eventually marching straight across the second office to the door opposite and kicking it open.
Again, he found himself in a perfect replica of that same cramped little office, with yet another clerk behind the desk, this one frowning in disapproval.
“I’ve had enough of this!” Gene bellowed. The clerk’s frown deepened, and through the door Gene had just come through, the previous clerk could be seen raising a finger to his lips. “This how you get your kicks, is it? Don’t get many birds come into the office, so you play hard to get with a copper? You have just made one very big mistake, crossing DCI Gene Hunt. Now where’s Chambers?”
“Are you expected, sir?” the frowning clerk asked, reaching for a sheaf of papers.
“Expected?” Gene spluttered. “Do you lot know the meaning of police investigation? If we’re expected, it’s as good as a confession, and I’ll be lining the lot of you up in a nice matching set of police cells. That ought to keep you happy.”
“I see you don’t appear to have an appointment,” the clerk observed, peering over the top of his spectacles at the paper. “If you are not expected, you must make an appointment. That is the procedure, sir.”
“Procedure? Bloody hell, Tyler - I’ve found you a boyfriend,” Gene muttered to himself. “Look, I don’t give an Ogron’s left bollock about your procedure, got it?”
“That is understood, sir. But procedure is very important in this establishment.” Even at the sight of Gene storming over towards him, the clerk continued unabated. “There are forms to be inscribed, stages of processing that you must pass through before you can-” His dry, droning voice was cut off abruptly when Gene, face red with exasperation, took hold of the front of his clothes in two meaty fists, hauled him out of the chair and shoved him back against the wall, towering menacingly over him. “Sir, I must protest - this is most irregular! This establishment prides itself on-”
“‘Irregular’ will be the nicest way to describe you in ten minutes if you don’t tell me where your boss is,” Gene snarled, shaking the clerk - and then he paused. Something beneath his hands felt…off. He gripped harder, bunching the clerk’s clothes in his fists, and pulled hard. The entire ensemble came away in his hands, and Gene was momentarily lost for words on finding himself now glaring at white-trimmed black robes and an angular collar on a much thinner and - somehow - much taller man. Raising his head slowly, he blinked in surprise to see that the man had removed what appeared to be a rubber mask, and was now surveying him with steely eyes in a pale, gaunt face.
“Who the flaming hell are you?”
“That is none of your concern,” the man replied coldly. “I suggest you remove yourself from my illusion before you regret ever having blundered in here.”
There was one thing that Gene’s utterly bewildered mind caught quite clearly; even amidst his confusion, the seasoned detective chief inspector knew from hard-won experience when he was being threatened. With one hand, he grabbed the edge of the broad collar; the other, he drew back and aimed a punch square at the man’s face. Moments later, he yelled out in pain as his knuckles collided with the bare, wooden wall - the man had disappeared before his eyes, leaving him clutching empty air. Red-faced and red-knuckled, he spun around to find the man standing a few paces behind him, calm and unruffled.
Gene was perturbed, he would admit that much, but the fight wasn’t over that easily. He lunged towards the dark-robed figure - and again, the man’s slender form blinked out like a light, and Gene stumbled forwards through the space where he had stood, to come up against the edge of the desk.
“That was foolish,” came a disdainful voice by his ear. Startled, Gene half-turned, bracing himself with one hand on the desk and upsetting the jar of white quills, which spilled across the desk and exploded like firecrackers around his hand. Over the chorus of resounding bangs, Gene bellowed like a wounded bull. He swung his free fist wildly around, and was fairly sure he felt it make contact…
At the door to the little clerk’s office, two curly-haired heads were peering around the doorframe, watching unnoticed.
“I think we’ve arrived at a bad time, don’t you, Glitz?” said the taller of the two onlookers, eyes twinkling in amusement. “Clearly, Mr. JJ Chambers is occupied. Let’s call back when he has a gap in his schedule, shall we?”
“Right you are, Doctor,” Glitz replied, without taking his eyes off the scene. “We’ll bring him a knuckle sandwich ourselves when he’s on his tea break.”
“Come along, Glitz…” The Doctor’s hand caught Glitz’s leather bandolier, and with a broad grin still plastered across his face, the mercenary was reluctantly dragged away.