The Co-Pilot [fic] Chapter 1
Title: The Co-Pilot [1/?]
Show: Doctor Who
Rating: G
Genre: General, Adventure, Sci-Fi
Word Count: 1,100
Characters: 10th Doctor
Spoilers/Warnings: Up to Journey's End
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, I don't even own the kitty, although yacoba sees him around now and then. Not my park, I'm just playin' in it.
Summary: After "Journey's End", the Doctor faces the prospect of traveling alone. Can a small feline hitch-hiker change his opinion of cats, and ease the loneliness of a bachelor Timelord's ventures?
--
There are few things more unpleasant than a rainy day. One of these is, of course, a rainy day without shelter. I am crouched under an overhanging roof, but it does not offer much shelter. The wind blows the cold drops into my face and my ears flick in annoyance. It could be worse, of course; the addition of a dog to this (or any) situation would invariably add to my displeasure.
The door to my right opens, and a man emerges. He exchanges words with one inside, then steps out into the rain. I've smelled this man before, though he looked different back then. I know he has shelter, dry shelter. I decide that he will share it with me, and I follow him. The last time I saw his shelter, I learned that it is larger on the inside, and moves. The fact that it is larger on the inside does not bother me, but I would prefer if it did not move while I am taking shelter within. It did startle me last time with its loud noises and sudden appearance, but I know what it is this time. I do not think he sees me, not until he opens the door and I dash between his feet and inside.
Dry! And warm! I was right. I jump up onto the odd shelf in the center, looking for something important to sit on. I am not sure what is most important since this is a very odd shelf, not like those in other people's houses. I find something that does not look uncomfortable and sit on it, and begin cleaning the mud from my toes.
The man says something to me, and I look up at him as he sheds his wet outer layer. Sometimes I wish I could do that. I have never bothered to learn his language, beyond the important bits. The language he uses is far more complicated than necessary. I inform him that I will be staying here, where it is warm and dry. I do not know if he has learned my language either. Most do not, but I find that actions can convey messages quite well. To emphasize my point I continue about my work. You see, I tell him, I won't even get your floor dirty when this is done. Aren't I considerate?
He says something else, but I do not recognize any of the key words - such as "food" or "treat" or "hungry". I ignore him this time, even as he opens the door and continues speaking. I keep one ear pointed towards him, just in case he gets ideas about forcibly removing me. It seems he gets the point, as he closes the door again.
I watch as he plays with several of the strange things on his equally strange shelf. He says something else to me, and although I do not understand, I think it must be important. His shelter begins making its strange sound and I yell in alarm. Had I forgotten to tell him not to move? I had better commit what he just said to memory, so I can stop him next time. "You aren't going to like this," he had said.
When his larger-on-the-inside box moves, it rattles around. I've been in other moving shelters, and they did not shake this much. I can only think it is because they are not larger on the inside. Why would anyone make something that rattles so? He should have made it the same size on the inside and the outside, so that it would move more steadily! I cling onto one of the many strange protrusions of his shelf, telling him all of this with a slightly panicked voice. I will admit, I do not like being transported by any method other than my own feet. Any momentary loss of composure can be forgiven in such situations, I am sure.
He looks over at me, and says something. His voice sounds amused, and he is grinning. I consider attempting to remove one of his fingers as he pats me on the head, but I decide against it. I do not know how to stop this thing from moving on my own. Besides, I do think that cheerful look suits him better than the expression he wore earlier. He continues moving around his shelf erratically, playing with this and that, and occasionally he moves me so that I am clinging to something else for dear life.
Eventually, after what I feel must have been forever many times over, we stop moving. I attach myself to the front of his jacket, claws first, and attempt to stop shaking. This is the safest place to be; people do many strange things, but usually they do not endanger themselves willingly. He does not attempt to remove me, which I appreciate, but he does smooth my ruffled fur. "I don't like cats," he tells me, but I disagree. I have heard that many times. I know from experience that people can be separated into two categories: those who like cats, and those who do not know they like cats. I tell him this, adding with a purr that I will teach him. Once I am relaxed, he sets me down and pulls his outer layer back on. It had become dry while we were moving. He heads for the door and I follow him. As long as it is not raining outside, I will accompany him. Otherwise, I will wait here for his return. If he is to be long, however, I inform him that he has to put some food down before he goes anywhere.
As he opens the door, I see that it is no longer raining. The air smells rather different, though, which gives me cause to back up a step. I look up at him and ask him if it is okay. In response he steps outside and breathes deeply to show me that it is perfectly safe. He says something with another grin. I follow him out, looking around curiously and sniffing the air. There are many, many unfamiliar scents here. His scent should be easy to trail in comparison, if he were to wander out of my sight. He closes the door of his shelter behind me. Something tells me that I should stick to him in this unfamiliar setting. Since he brought me here, I am quite sure he can bring me back to the place I know and hunt in. He might even be the only one who can.
--
Next Chapter
Show: Doctor Who
Rating: G
Genre: General, Adventure, Sci-Fi
Word Count: 1,100
Characters: 10th Doctor
Spoilers/Warnings: Up to Journey's End
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, I don't even own the kitty, although yacoba sees him around now and then. Not my park, I'm just playin' in it.
Summary: After "Journey's End", the Doctor faces the prospect of traveling alone. Can a small feline hitch-hiker change his opinion of cats, and ease the loneliness of a bachelor Timelord's ventures?
--
There are few things more unpleasant than a rainy day. One of these is, of course, a rainy day without shelter. I am crouched under an overhanging roof, but it does not offer much shelter. The wind blows the cold drops into my face and my ears flick in annoyance. It could be worse, of course; the addition of a dog to this (or any) situation would invariably add to my displeasure.
The door to my right opens, and a man emerges. He exchanges words with one inside, then steps out into the rain. I've smelled this man before, though he looked different back then. I know he has shelter, dry shelter. I decide that he will share it with me, and I follow him. The last time I saw his shelter, I learned that it is larger on the inside, and moves. The fact that it is larger on the inside does not bother me, but I would prefer if it did not move while I am taking shelter within. It did startle me last time with its loud noises and sudden appearance, but I know what it is this time. I do not think he sees me, not until he opens the door and I dash between his feet and inside.
Dry! And warm! I was right. I jump up onto the odd shelf in the center, looking for something important to sit on. I am not sure what is most important since this is a very odd shelf, not like those in other people's houses. I find something that does not look uncomfortable and sit on it, and begin cleaning the mud from my toes.
The man says something to me, and I look up at him as he sheds his wet outer layer. Sometimes I wish I could do that. I have never bothered to learn his language, beyond the important bits. The language he uses is far more complicated than necessary. I inform him that I will be staying here, where it is warm and dry. I do not know if he has learned my language either. Most do not, but I find that actions can convey messages quite well. To emphasize my point I continue about my work. You see, I tell him, I won't even get your floor dirty when this is done. Aren't I considerate?
He says something else, but I do not recognize any of the key words - such as "food" or "treat" or "hungry". I ignore him this time, even as he opens the door and continues speaking. I keep one ear pointed towards him, just in case he gets ideas about forcibly removing me. It seems he gets the point, as he closes the door again.
I watch as he plays with several of the strange things on his equally strange shelf. He says something else to me, and although I do not understand, I think it must be important. His shelter begins making its strange sound and I yell in alarm. Had I forgotten to tell him not to move? I had better commit what he just said to memory, so I can stop him next time. "You aren't going to like this," he had said.
When his larger-on-the-inside box moves, it rattles around. I've been in other moving shelters, and they did not shake this much. I can only think it is because they are not larger on the inside. Why would anyone make something that rattles so? He should have made it the same size on the inside and the outside, so that it would move more steadily! I cling onto one of the many strange protrusions of his shelf, telling him all of this with a slightly panicked voice. I will admit, I do not like being transported by any method other than my own feet. Any momentary loss of composure can be forgiven in such situations, I am sure.
He looks over at me, and says something. His voice sounds amused, and he is grinning. I consider attempting to remove one of his fingers as he pats me on the head, but I decide against it. I do not know how to stop this thing from moving on my own. Besides, I do think that cheerful look suits him better than the expression he wore earlier. He continues moving around his shelf erratically, playing with this and that, and occasionally he moves me so that I am clinging to something else for dear life.
Eventually, after what I feel must have been forever many times over, we stop moving. I attach myself to the front of his jacket, claws first, and attempt to stop shaking. This is the safest place to be; people do many strange things, but usually they do not endanger themselves willingly. He does not attempt to remove me, which I appreciate, but he does smooth my ruffled fur. "I don't like cats," he tells me, but I disagree. I have heard that many times. I know from experience that people can be separated into two categories: those who like cats, and those who do not know they like cats. I tell him this, adding with a purr that I will teach him. Once I am relaxed, he sets me down and pulls his outer layer back on. It had become dry while we were moving. He heads for the door and I follow him. As long as it is not raining outside, I will accompany him. Otherwise, I will wait here for his return. If he is to be long, however, I inform him that he has to put some food down before he goes anywhere.
As he opens the door, I see that it is no longer raining. The air smells rather different, though, which gives me cause to back up a step. I look up at him and ask him if it is okay. In response he steps outside and breathes deeply to show me that it is perfectly safe. He says something with another grin. I follow him out, looking around curiously and sniffing the air. There are many, many unfamiliar scents here. His scent should be easy to trail in comparison, if he were to wander out of my sight. He closes the door of his shelter behind me. Something tells me that I should stick to him in this unfamiliar setting. Since he brought me here, I am quite sure he can bring me back to the place I know and hunt in. He might even be the only one who can.
--
Next Chapter