Fic: The Past Is Another Planet (Part 3)
Title: The Past Is Another Planet
Fandom(s): Life on Mars / Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This belongs to people much better than me and, one day in the future, will still belong to people much better than me.
Spoilers: Definitely the finale of Life on Mars and definitely for series three of Doctor Who. Set after both.
Summary: Sam is having all the usual problems; the test-card girl, mysterious murders, paperwork and Gene. Then the Doctor crash lands in 1973, where upon he meets someone very familiar, and gets caught up in a strange case that has been assigned to CID. The Doctor's appearance causes everything to become a lot more confusing, at least for Sam.
Summary for this part: Where Gene gets angry, the Doctor rambles on and Sam is left with more questions then answers. (I've officially accepted that my summaries are rubbish.)
Warnings: Swearing. (Is that even needed as a warning?)
A/N: My laptop magically fixed itself! So here is the next part!
Previous Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 |
Mr Smith sat on one of the hideous chairs that had been brought into lost and found, his feet boldly propped up on the interview table and his hands behind his head as he stared up at the grey ceiling, focused on watching the flickering of the light bulbs. He was clearly unaware that anyone had entered the room. Sam noted he was dressed smartly with a suit and tie, a large brown overcoat on over the top but the one point that shattered the well-dressed image was the fact he wore a pair of scuffed, dirty trainers on his feet. Sam looked at the man’s footwear; something about it was not quite right, but he could not place what it was. A loud cough from Gene caused Sam to jump and the man to look up quickly, startled.
“Mr Smith, is it?” Gene grunted, walking over to the table but not sitting down. The man swung his legs down casually as Sam sat in the chair opposite.
“DI Tyler!” Mr Smith ignored Gene, addressing Sam with a wide smile, holding out a hand for Sam to shake. Sam just stared at the hand being offered to him, a tight and uneasy feeling growing within his chest cavity. Sam did not have to worry about appearing rude, however, as Gene soon distracted the man by slamming his fists down onto the table.
“You gonna tell us why you’re here? Bet I can guess,” Gene growled. “Getting twitchy? Come to see how far we’re getting?” he asked in a remarkable show of subtlety. Sam inwardly groaned. The man looked at Gene with mild interest, cocking his head to the side before turning back to Sam.
“I might be able to help you out,” he said, crossing his legs and leaning back in the chair which soon began to creak ominously. “And, actually, I could probably help you solve it. I say ‘probably’ when I should say ‘more than likely’. Although, actually, probably more than likely.” The man paused, gathering his thoughts together, then after taking a deep breath continued. “More than likely you need my help to help you solve it quicker than you probably would under the circumstances. Although, I doubt you could solve-”
“But who the bloody ‘ell are you then,” Gene interrupted loudly, “you poncey git? Coming in ‘ere and telling us how to do our jobs? he snarled aggressively, his temper having intensified due to Mr Smith’s earlier blatant disregard of him.
The man shrugged. “Oh, just your local physician, thought I’d drop by to examine the, uh, apparently gruesome body-”
“Local physician?” Sam interrupted, curiosity ebbing through him as a faint flicker of understanding lit up in his mind. “You’re a doctor then?”
“That’s me,” the man said, grinning lazily at Sam. “Hello there!” He waved cheerily.
“Yeah, but,” Gene repeated, interrogatively, “Who. Are. You?” his voice getting considerably louder after each word.
“The Doctor,” came the man’s simple reply. Sam looked up so sharply he heard his neck click. Reflexively, he rubbed the crook of his neck, twisting his head side to side not just to relieve the ache in his neck but to clear the tirade of thoughts that were now assaulting him. The flicker of comprehension in Sam’s mind grew into a hot flame, the Doctor’s words like oxygen to it. His stomach tightened. No way, Sam thought, no way can this be true.
“And I’m The Detective, DCI Hunt, this ponce’s superior,” Gene snapped, nodding his head in Sam’s direction but Sam did not notice. The voice of the Doctor began to echo around Sam’s head, growing louder and louder until the resonant echo drowned out all other thoughts. This is the end of my blissful fake reality, Sam thought to himself, now I know I’m ultimately insane; I’m bringing characters to life.
The Doctor smiled, still leaning back in the chair. “I would say ‘nice to meet you’ but it’s really not, circumstances considered. Always fancied myself as a bit of a detective, though, actually,” the Doctor mused, rubbing his chin. “Thought it sounded fun; love detective novels, especially Poirot, but, well, I find the moustache a bit creepy, I’ve gotta say. Agatha Christie’s an amazing author though, isn’t she? And a lovely woman, in fact; surprisingly patient. Well, you have to be, I suppose, to write that many books…”
Sam tuned out the Doctor’s words, hoping that by ignoring the man he would simply vanish. He blinked. The man was still there. Sam shook his head, now quietly laughing. Hunching his shoulders, he held his head in his hands thereby hiding his face from view as the urge to burst into unrestrained hysterics bubbled up. Gene appeared increasingly irked and regarded Sam with a look that indicated he was not impressed by his DI’s erratic behaviour, which was odder than usual. Noticing nothing of the men in front of him, the Doctor continued talking, seemingly, just for the sake of talking.
“This is ridiculous,” Sam managed to mutter under his breath after subduing his giggles. The quiet words were muffled by the hands covering his face but Gene still somehow heard them.
“For once, Tyler, I bloody agree with you,” he said, his arms folded and his gaze unmoving from the Doctor’s face. The Doctor looked at Sam, then Gene, before turning back to Sam again, finally realising something was amiss as he no longer had a captivated audience.
“What the hell are you talkin’ about and what the hell are you doin’ here?” demanded Gene, slamming his palms down onto the table for a second time, hardly a positive sign, and leaning in to glare ferociously at the Doctor. “Now, I thought Tyler was bloody crazy. Tell me; am I a nutter magnet, or what?” he fumed.
The Doctor did not look perturbed at all by Gene’s aggressive behaviour, “Well, as I’m not a nutter I’d say ‘not’,” he said as helpfully as he could. “And, I’m here, well, because I thought I’d drop by: see the body you just got in; help out; share my fountain of knowledge,” He grinned widely.
“Drop by?” said Gene, incredulous. “What do you this is, ey, your Aunty Mabel’s? And if you don’t tell me ‘ow in the name of all tits you got this information I’ll rip off your scrotum faster than you can say ‘journo scum’,” he spat out at the bemused Doctor, who merely rubbed his head, fluffing up his hair.
“Don’t have an Aunty Mabel,” he said, looking wistfully up at nothing in particular before saying in a tone that implied he was vaguely hurt Gene had suggested it, “and, I’m certainly not a journalist. Never trust a journalist, especially if they write in The Sun. Well, here are my credentials, see?” he suddenly, with a theatrical flourish, pulled a black wallet out from his inside pocket and waved it in front of Gene’s face proudly. “All in order so there’ll be no need for any, erm, scrotum ripping. So, just point me in the direction of the morgue and I’ll be out of your way.”
“You think we’re gonna leave someone like you to make yeh own way there? I wouldn’t trust you to look after my bloody taxman, let alone putting you loose in my building,” Gene sneered. He clearly had not seen anything wrong with the Doctor’s credentials so had chosen to rile the Doctor up another way. Sam knew Gene’s attempts to aggravate the Doctor would not work; the Doctor was always a strangely calm presence who could simply rebuff all insults with an expert ease. An ease that Sam was incredibly jealous of. “Who knows where you’re gonna start snooping,” Gene said scornfully.
“I don’t snoop!” the Doctor exclaimed loudly. Sam had been wrong; Gene could irk the Doctor. Gene looked on smugly as if he knew what Sam had been thinking. Sam inwardly cursed his mind’s incapability of creating a good characterisation. “I just have an, err, inquisitive nature,” the Doctor said, tugging on his earlobe distractedly and frowning. “Besides, I was hoping DI Tyler here could lead me there,” he gestured towards Sam, who realised that he had been rather passive in this whole conversation. Sam opened his mouth to speak but Gene got there first.
“Did you now?” Gene asked. “Well, I’m the DCI here. I give the orders and I say that Tyler is not goin’ anywhere alone with you. We’ll both take you down there,” he said authoritatively.
“Fine, fine, certainly,” the Doctor nodded curtly in agreement, standing up and shoving his hands into his pinstriped trousers’ pockets. “Deffo. Spiffing, Tally-ho, then. Shall we go?” he beamed brightly at them. Gene stood up also, pushing his chair back slowly so it grated loudly on the floor. Sam winced as the noise caused a pulsating sharp pain in his head.
“I need…” Sam began to say as he stood up, stopping as he was unsure of what exactly he wanted to say he needed. He needed a bottle of aspirin. He needed the lights to cease their incessant flickering. He needed Gene to stop his headache-inducing shouting. He needed the Doctor to completely disappear out of his seventy-three forever. He needed answers, that much was certain, but would he get those answers from the Doctor or should he just walk away?
“You need what, Tyler?” Gene said gruffly. “’Cause I can think of at least a hundred things that you need, most involving sharp instruments and the frontal lobe of yeh brain, but I doubt you had any of them in mind.”
Sam made a decision. “I need a word with the Doctor, erm, I mean Doctor Smith,” he corrected himself. “In private. It, uh, involves a case I was working on in Hyde, Guv,” Sam added, thinking quickly and turning to face Gene, knowing how suspicious him needing a private word would seem to Gene, but deciding his Guv’s views no longer mattered in such a situation.
“Oh, Hyde is it? Oh, I’ll just leave you two alone then. I’ll just patiently wait outside, like, and when you’ve finished just give me a call,” Gene said, gesturing with his thumb to the door. Bemused, Sam stood there inanimate. Gene took a step towards the door before determinedly turning back, grabbing Sam’s collar and shoving him up against the shelves with a metallic clang that reverberated painfully in Sam’s eardrums. Sam pushed back with all the strength he could gather together, but Gene hardly moved position. Instead, he seized Sam’s lapels and used his momentum to forcibly drag Sam outside into the corridor.
“Get off, Gene,” Sam said angrily, shrugging Gene off him, as the door slammed shut behind them “What do you think you’re doing? I need to sort this out and you’re not fucking helping!”
“Sort what out?” Gene cried out, pushing Sam back against the wall and holding him there. “You think I’m just gonna stand ‘ere whilst you and your smart arse mate talk about Hyde?” Gene shouted, shaking Sam roughly after each word, causing the headache to get profoundly worse. Sam turned his head to stop Gene’s spittle from landing on his face. “Hyde and all the bastards in it don’t matter, Tyler. For all I know he’s some git that your great mate Morgan’s sent down ‘ere to finish the job that you fuckin’ started. And you want me to leave you alone?”
“Don’t be so bloody paranoid!” Sam pushed back at Gene, shouting himself now. “It’s nothing to do with you and you don’t bloody control me, Hunt. It doesn’t all revolve around you, y’know?”
“I suppose it revolves around you then, does it, princess?” Gene scoffed, pushing Sam further against the wall. Sam was not sure if it was his leather jacket or the old plaster he could hear cracking from the force.
“Maybe it does,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders as far as the pressure Gene was exerting on them would allow, “but I won’t know, will I? Not till I get to talk to him. Alone. ” Sam added.
“And what the hell, can I ask, will you be talking about?” Gene fumed. “Are you bloody deaf or just have selective hearing? I said Hyde doesn’t matter,” Gene said, but not as loudly as before.
“It matters to me!” Sam retorted. “Just let me have five minutes? That’s all I want; five minutes, Guv. There are some past things that I… need to know,” he finished lamely.
“About what? Hyde?” Gene said vexed, shaking Sam once more by the shoulders. “I can tell yeh all yeh need to know about Hyde: a load of white capped gits who don’t possess one single bloody ounce of human feeling among ‘em and go round destroyin’ people’s lives in the name of your matrimonial partner ‘proper procedure’. Tha’s all you need to know about bloody Hyde.”
“It isn’t though! Five minutes. Just five minutes and…” Sam repeated, nibbling on his bottom lip as he thought about what would convince Gene. “And I’ll never speak about Hyde ever again.” He bartered. Gene glared back but Sam could see he was wavering.
Gene studied Sam, sucking in his cheeks and he mulled it over. Sighing loudly, he stepped away from Sam. “Fine. Five minutes; that’s all you’re gettin’,” he said before lifting a finger and pointing it directly at Sam’s face. “But don’t think it’s ‘cause I’m goin’ soft. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you, Tyler, half the time, and I don’t really giv’ a toss, but if it makes you act more of a complete arse than usual- must be important,” he said grudgingly. “Now, bloody ‘urry up.”
Sam looked at the floor to hide his relieved smile as he stepped away from the wall. Nodding his thanks to Gene, who just watched him grimly, Sam walked back resolutely through the door, determined to get the answers he desperately wanted from the Doctor.
***
The officer stood before the mirror, staring ahead captivated as though he could see behind the dirty cubicles and cracked tiles that were reflected within it to something far more enthralling beyond. The jovial, yet rather proud, expression he had previously had whilst speaking with the Doctor had gone to be replaced by a sinister fierceness, the only indication that something within the officer had changed. His stance and general appearance remained the same to anyone who did not look closely enough.
“Is it working?” He asked aloud to the seemingly empty room. There was a pause as the officer stared intently at his own image, hands pressed firmly against the surface of the sink so he could lean in to watch, as if it was a window. However, the only apparent movement in the mirror was the rise and fall of the officer’s chest.
“I know that,” he said, though there had been no reply to his first question. “But we don’t seem to be getting any further.” Once more there was a pause before the officer spoke, his voice low and dangerous. His knuckles turning white as his grip on the sink’s rim tightened.
“It’s too difficult,” he said. “My energy is waning and these human bodies are too weak…” he stopped abruptly, as though he had just been interrupted.
“I have patience!” he shouted, raising a fist to the glass ready to strike it but his hand fell down limply before it made contact. “I just…Don’t have the time,” he snarled quietly, his breathing becoming harsher and far more ragged as he feebly flexed the fingers of his hand, watching the movement sorrowfully.
“But…How will we get time?” he suddenly asked, staring ahead once more. Staring ahead at a point beyond the reflection of his shoulder, a point beyond the mirror itself.
This time, the pause was longer.
“I understand. It’ll be done,” he spoke decisively. Turning sharply on his heel, he turned from swiftly away from the mirror, the distance between himself and the reflection growing until both disappeared through their respective doors.
And as the door to the toilets closed quickly behind him, the door to the end cubicle slowly opened up to reveal the scared and pale face of young P.C. Alfred Hopkins.
***
The Doctor had sat back down, cross-legged on the same plastic chair, his head resting in his hand and a weary expression on his face. He glanced up when Sam entered the room and his features immediately rearranged into a smile.
“So, you’re The Doctor?” Sam asked, throwing his hands wide. “Doctor Who?” He laughed, throwing his head back a little as he did so.
“Doctor Smith,” the Doctor answered, eyebrows raised.
“Yeah, right, gotcha,” Sam said, moving forwards and tapping his nose conspiratorially. “I know what’s going on.”
“Well, I’m glad someone round here knows what’s going on,” the Doctor said, sniffing slightly. “Because, right now, I’m not too sure. And I really don’t like not being sure; most of the time I am sure. Most of the time I’m more than sure.”
“I’ll fill you in, shall I?” Sam smiled. “See, this- you- can’t be happening. You can’t be real,” he said, brandishing his arms at the Doctor wildly.
“Hold on,” the Doctor said, rolling up his sleeve and pinching at his left arm with his fingernails. “Nope, totally, one-hundred percent reality right here.” He gestured to himself with a self-satisfied smile.
“You don’t pinch yourself! I’m meant to pinch me!” Sam cried out in exasperation before pausing, perplexed, then slowly sinking down into a nearby plastic chair. “Oh, God, this just proves it; I’m insane,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his forehead vigorously with both hands.
“Well, you might be, Sam, but why exactly do you think that?” the Doctor asked curiously, standing up and walking slowly over to Sam. Slipping his hands into his pockets and leaning up against the wall opposite Sam, the Doctor cast his gaze over the befuddled DI.
“Because- hah!” Sam began, pointing an accusing finger up at the Doctor. “I never told you my first name. Yet you know it, ergo you’re a figment of my deranged imagination. I know you. I know what you’re from. You’re not real,” Sam finished with a smug smile, now sitting up straight, his arms folded across his chest in his interrogative detective pose; the one he always assumed when he expected answers or after he had proved a point.
“Aw, come on!” the Doctor said. “Anyone could’ve told me your name. Where is it you think you know me from then?” The Doctor questioned, frowning ever so slightly. He lowered his head so he could stare directly into Sam’s face, scrutinising him carefully.
“The television,” Sam answered in a tone of voice that insinuated he believed the Doctor to be a complete moron. He spoke as if the answer should have been wholly obvious, his eyebrows raised in incredulity.
“Ah,” the Doctor groaned, running a hand wearily through his hair, “now that was an unforeseen problem.”
“What unforeseen problem?” Sam demanded, startled, glaring suspiciously at the Doctor who was no longer staring back at him.
“Did you give me a theme tune?” the Doctor suddenly spoke up inquisitively.
“What?” Sam asked, bewildered. “I- Look! I don’t know! I don’t remember!”
“Oh…” the Doctor said, looking a little disappointed. “Would’ve liked one. Something catchy. I just thought you might’ve created one just to make it seem more realistic.”
“What do you mean ‘more realistic’?” Sam questioned, squinting confusedly at the Doctor.
“Well, I think we’ve established that I’m real,” the Doctor smirked, “so this show you’ve, uh, created is obviously not real.” He smiled down at Sam reassuringly though to Sam it seemed more patronisngly pitiful than comforting.
“We haven’t established that,” said Sam, frustrated. “You’ve established that and for all I know, all that I think I know, my mind just popped you into existence. Maybe seventy-three wasn’t bloody exciting enough for me.”
“Nah, seventy-three might be primeval but that doesn’t make it boring,” the Doctor disagreed. “See, Sam, you can’t make logical sense of all this information that’s just been flooding your head, it’s all so jumbled up in your mind that you pretend you’ve made it up. Pretend you’re crazy just to make the world around you seem that little bit saner,” the Doctor explained; gesticulating enthusiastically as if by waving his arms around he could somehow help Sam to understand better.
“Now that is insane,” Sam conceded to himself.
“Exactly,” the Doctor said with a smile. “But you’re not.”
“Okay,” Sam said, moving forwards eagerly in his chair. “Let’s just pretend that I believe you for a second-”
“You do believe me,” interrupted the Doctor. “Deep down. Deep, deep, deep down,” he said, elongating the sound of the word, “you know I’m right. I’m always right. Nearly always right, that is; I’d say about, erm, ninety nine point nine, nine, nine, eight percent always right.” He looked up as if reading the number from off the ceiling. Sam got the distinct impression that the Doctor had just made it up.
“Oh,” Sam asked sarcastically, “that an accurately evaluated statistic?”
“By me, yeah.” The Doctor grinned. “And I’m nearly always right.”
Sam could not help but smile back at that. Then, remembering what the Doctor had just said, Sam continued the conversation to his agenda. “Anyway, say I believe you? What’s this unforeseen problem you spoke about?”
“Erm,” the Doctor screwed up his face, running a hand through his hair. “That I’m one difficult guy to erase from a memory,” he said in a rush so Sam had trouble differentiating each word.
“Huh? Erase?” Sam stared up at the Doctor who was no longer meeting his gaze. “What d’you mean?”
“Nothing,” the Doctor said quickly. “Okay, something but…” The Doctor grimaced, rubbing the nape of his neck and still not looking directly at Sam.
“But what?” Sam practically shouted.
“I need to know something first,” the Doctor replied, turning to face Sam. He walked over to where Sam sat, kneeling down before Sam so he was looking up at the DI. “This might feel uncomfortable, Sam, I’m sorry. It’s gotta be done though.” He raised his slender fingers to place them on the side of Sam’s forehead.
Sam flinched before the Doctor did so, readying himself to push the Doctor away from him but, as soon as the Doctor’s cool fingers touched his head, he felt paralysed. Indistinct and blurred images swam through his mind, like Sam was viewing them all through thick misted glass, of things he did not recognise yet felt he should remember.
Flashes of red that became gold, then orange then finally just an all-consuming blackness. Sam suddenly felt a strong fury sweep through him; a fury that numbed all other emotions as it coursed through him and all the while the burning throughout him grew in intensity.
Then the flames came.
The burning flames that brought ideas of darkness and decimation and destruction that began to lick pleasantly away at his thoughts; seeming to urge his thoughts forwards, pushing, probing, forcing him closer to some insight buried deep within himself, if only he could reach it, it was so very, very far down. The searing flames were warming the dark recesses of his mind, leading him down and down and down further. Further into the recesses Sam had never known to exist but wanted to explore now the flames lit the way, enticing him forwards…
The other man let go. The images faded away entirely till all but the fire in his mind remained. Sam sat back in shock, his throat dry, feeling perspiration along his back. A slight tingling warmth still residing along his spine.
“I-” Sam started, breathlessly, but he was cut off by the door to lost and found swinging open with a loud crash as Gene strode back in. The Doctor stood up hastily, sliding his hands back into his pockets, his face strangely sombre as he gazed over at Sam.
“Right, Tyler,” Gene’s words doused out the fire in Sam’s mind, bringing him back with a disconcerting jolt to the interview room. Gene clapped his hands together. “I’ve given you five minutes so you can stop your canoodling with lover boy and get back to the real men’s work. And you, sunshine,” Gene said, clapping a hand on the Doctor’s shoulder in a movement that was designed to be less friendly and more threatening. “Can show us what you’re made of.”
“Pure brilliance,” was the Doctor’s assured reply.
Fandom(s): Life on Mars / Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This belongs to people much better than me and, one day in the future, will still belong to people much better than me.
Spoilers: Definitely the finale of Life on Mars and definitely for series three of Doctor Who. Set after both.
Summary: Sam is having all the usual problems; the test-card girl, mysterious murders, paperwork and Gene. Then the Doctor crash lands in 1973, where upon he meets someone very familiar, and gets caught up in a strange case that has been assigned to CID. The Doctor's appearance causes everything to become a lot more confusing, at least for Sam.
Summary for this part: Where Gene gets angry, the Doctor rambles on and Sam is left with more questions then answers. (I've officially accepted that my summaries are rubbish.)
Warnings: Swearing. (Is that even needed as a warning?)
A/N: My laptop magically fixed itself! So here is the next part!
Previous Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 |
Mr Smith sat on one of the hideous chairs that had been brought into lost and found, his feet boldly propped up on the interview table and his hands behind his head as he stared up at the grey ceiling, focused on watching the flickering of the light bulbs. He was clearly unaware that anyone had entered the room. Sam noted he was dressed smartly with a suit and tie, a large brown overcoat on over the top but the one point that shattered the well-dressed image was the fact he wore a pair of scuffed, dirty trainers on his feet. Sam looked at the man’s footwear; something about it was not quite right, but he could not place what it was. A loud cough from Gene caused Sam to jump and the man to look up quickly, startled.
“Mr Smith, is it?” Gene grunted, walking over to the table but not sitting down. The man swung his legs down casually as Sam sat in the chair opposite.
“DI Tyler!” Mr Smith ignored Gene, addressing Sam with a wide smile, holding out a hand for Sam to shake. Sam just stared at the hand being offered to him, a tight and uneasy feeling growing within his chest cavity. Sam did not have to worry about appearing rude, however, as Gene soon distracted the man by slamming his fists down onto the table.
“You gonna tell us why you’re here? Bet I can guess,” Gene growled. “Getting twitchy? Come to see how far we’re getting?” he asked in a remarkable show of subtlety. Sam inwardly groaned. The man looked at Gene with mild interest, cocking his head to the side before turning back to Sam.
“I might be able to help you out,” he said, crossing his legs and leaning back in the chair which soon began to creak ominously. “And, actually, I could probably help you solve it. I say ‘probably’ when I should say ‘more than likely’. Although, actually, probably more than likely.” The man paused, gathering his thoughts together, then after taking a deep breath continued. “More than likely you need my help to help you solve it quicker than you probably would under the circumstances. Although, I doubt you could solve-”
“But who the bloody ‘ell are you then,” Gene interrupted loudly, “you poncey git? Coming in ‘ere and telling us how to do our jobs? he snarled aggressively, his temper having intensified due to Mr Smith’s earlier blatant disregard of him.
The man shrugged. “Oh, just your local physician, thought I’d drop by to examine the, uh, apparently gruesome body-”
“Local physician?” Sam interrupted, curiosity ebbing through him as a faint flicker of understanding lit up in his mind. “You’re a doctor then?”
“That’s me,” the man said, grinning lazily at Sam. “Hello there!” He waved cheerily.
“Yeah, but,” Gene repeated, interrogatively, “Who. Are. You?” his voice getting considerably louder after each word.
“The Doctor,” came the man’s simple reply. Sam looked up so sharply he heard his neck click. Reflexively, he rubbed the crook of his neck, twisting his head side to side not just to relieve the ache in his neck but to clear the tirade of thoughts that were now assaulting him. The flicker of comprehension in Sam’s mind grew into a hot flame, the Doctor’s words like oxygen to it. His stomach tightened. No way, Sam thought, no way can this be true.
“And I’m The Detective, DCI Hunt, this ponce’s superior,” Gene snapped, nodding his head in Sam’s direction but Sam did not notice. The voice of the Doctor began to echo around Sam’s head, growing louder and louder until the resonant echo drowned out all other thoughts. This is the end of my blissful fake reality, Sam thought to himself, now I know I’m ultimately insane; I’m bringing characters to life.
The Doctor smiled, still leaning back in the chair. “I would say ‘nice to meet you’ but it’s really not, circumstances considered. Always fancied myself as a bit of a detective, though, actually,” the Doctor mused, rubbing his chin. “Thought it sounded fun; love detective novels, especially Poirot, but, well, I find the moustache a bit creepy, I’ve gotta say. Agatha Christie’s an amazing author though, isn’t she? And a lovely woman, in fact; surprisingly patient. Well, you have to be, I suppose, to write that many books…”
Sam tuned out the Doctor’s words, hoping that by ignoring the man he would simply vanish. He blinked. The man was still there. Sam shook his head, now quietly laughing. Hunching his shoulders, he held his head in his hands thereby hiding his face from view as the urge to burst into unrestrained hysterics bubbled up. Gene appeared increasingly irked and regarded Sam with a look that indicated he was not impressed by his DI’s erratic behaviour, which was odder than usual. Noticing nothing of the men in front of him, the Doctor continued talking, seemingly, just for the sake of talking.
“This is ridiculous,” Sam managed to mutter under his breath after subduing his giggles. The quiet words were muffled by the hands covering his face but Gene still somehow heard them.
“For once, Tyler, I bloody agree with you,” he said, his arms folded and his gaze unmoving from the Doctor’s face. The Doctor looked at Sam, then Gene, before turning back to Sam again, finally realising something was amiss as he no longer had a captivated audience.
“What the hell are you talkin’ about and what the hell are you doin’ here?” demanded Gene, slamming his palms down onto the table for a second time, hardly a positive sign, and leaning in to glare ferociously at the Doctor. “Now, I thought Tyler was bloody crazy. Tell me; am I a nutter magnet, or what?” he fumed.
The Doctor did not look perturbed at all by Gene’s aggressive behaviour, “Well, as I’m not a nutter I’d say ‘not’,” he said as helpfully as he could. “And, I’m here, well, because I thought I’d drop by: see the body you just got in; help out; share my fountain of knowledge,” He grinned widely.
“Drop by?” said Gene, incredulous. “What do you this is, ey, your Aunty Mabel’s? And if you don’t tell me ‘ow in the name of all tits you got this information I’ll rip off your scrotum faster than you can say ‘journo scum’,” he spat out at the bemused Doctor, who merely rubbed his head, fluffing up his hair.
“Don’t have an Aunty Mabel,” he said, looking wistfully up at nothing in particular before saying in a tone that implied he was vaguely hurt Gene had suggested it, “and, I’m certainly not a journalist. Never trust a journalist, especially if they write in The Sun. Well, here are my credentials, see?” he suddenly, with a theatrical flourish, pulled a black wallet out from his inside pocket and waved it in front of Gene’s face proudly. “All in order so there’ll be no need for any, erm, scrotum ripping. So, just point me in the direction of the morgue and I’ll be out of your way.”
“You think we’re gonna leave someone like you to make yeh own way there? I wouldn’t trust you to look after my bloody taxman, let alone putting you loose in my building,” Gene sneered. He clearly had not seen anything wrong with the Doctor’s credentials so had chosen to rile the Doctor up another way. Sam knew Gene’s attempts to aggravate the Doctor would not work; the Doctor was always a strangely calm presence who could simply rebuff all insults with an expert ease. An ease that Sam was incredibly jealous of. “Who knows where you’re gonna start snooping,” Gene said scornfully.
“I don’t snoop!” the Doctor exclaimed loudly. Sam had been wrong; Gene could irk the Doctor. Gene looked on smugly as if he knew what Sam had been thinking. Sam inwardly cursed his mind’s incapability of creating a good characterisation. “I just have an, err, inquisitive nature,” the Doctor said, tugging on his earlobe distractedly and frowning. “Besides, I was hoping DI Tyler here could lead me there,” he gestured towards Sam, who realised that he had been rather passive in this whole conversation. Sam opened his mouth to speak but Gene got there first.
“Did you now?” Gene asked. “Well, I’m the DCI here. I give the orders and I say that Tyler is not goin’ anywhere alone with you. We’ll both take you down there,” he said authoritatively.
“Fine, fine, certainly,” the Doctor nodded curtly in agreement, standing up and shoving his hands into his pinstriped trousers’ pockets. “Deffo. Spiffing, Tally-ho, then. Shall we go?” he beamed brightly at them. Gene stood up also, pushing his chair back slowly so it grated loudly on the floor. Sam winced as the noise caused a pulsating sharp pain in his head.
“I need…” Sam began to say as he stood up, stopping as he was unsure of what exactly he wanted to say he needed. He needed a bottle of aspirin. He needed the lights to cease their incessant flickering. He needed Gene to stop his headache-inducing shouting. He needed the Doctor to completely disappear out of his seventy-three forever. He needed answers, that much was certain, but would he get those answers from the Doctor or should he just walk away?
“You need what, Tyler?” Gene said gruffly. “’Cause I can think of at least a hundred things that you need, most involving sharp instruments and the frontal lobe of yeh brain, but I doubt you had any of them in mind.”
Sam made a decision. “I need a word with the Doctor, erm, I mean Doctor Smith,” he corrected himself. “In private. It, uh, involves a case I was working on in Hyde, Guv,” Sam added, thinking quickly and turning to face Gene, knowing how suspicious him needing a private word would seem to Gene, but deciding his Guv’s views no longer mattered in such a situation.
“Oh, Hyde is it? Oh, I’ll just leave you two alone then. I’ll just patiently wait outside, like, and when you’ve finished just give me a call,” Gene said, gesturing with his thumb to the door. Bemused, Sam stood there inanimate. Gene took a step towards the door before determinedly turning back, grabbing Sam’s collar and shoving him up against the shelves with a metallic clang that reverberated painfully in Sam’s eardrums. Sam pushed back with all the strength he could gather together, but Gene hardly moved position. Instead, he seized Sam’s lapels and used his momentum to forcibly drag Sam outside into the corridor.
“Get off, Gene,” Sam said angrily, shrugging Gene off him, as the door slammed shut behind them “What do you think you’re doing? I need to sort this out and you’re not fucking helping!”
“Sort what out?” Gene cried out, pushing Sam back against the wall and holding him there. “You think I’m just gonna stand ‘ere whilst you and your smart arse mate talk about Hyde?” Gene shouted, shaking Sam roughly after each word, causing the headache to get profoundly worse. Sam turned his head to stop Gene’s spittle from landing on his face. “Hyde and all the bastards in it don’t matter, Tyler. For all I know he’s some git that your great mate Morgan’s sent down ‘ere to finish the job that you fuckin’ started. And you want me to leave you alone?”
“Don’t be so bloody paranoid!” Sam pushed back at Gene, shouting himself now. “It’s nothing to do with you and you don’t bloody control me, Hunt. It doesn’t all revolve around you, y’know?”
“I suppose it revolves around you then, does it, princess?” Gene scoffed, pushing Sam further against the wall. Sam was not sure if it was his leather jacket or the old plaster he could hear cracking from the force.
“Maybe it does,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders as far as the pressure Gene was exerting on them would allow, “but I won’t know, will I? Not till I get to talk to him. Alone. ” Sam added.
“And what the hell, can I ask, will you be talking about?” Gene fumed. “Are you bloody deaf or just have selective hearing? I said Hyde doesn’t matter,” Gene said, but not as loudly as before.
“It matters to me!” Sam retorted. “Just let me have five minutes? That’s all I want; five minutes, Guv. There are some past things that I… need to know,” he finished lamely.
“About what? Hyde?” Gene said vexed, shaking Sam once more by the shoulders. “I can tell yeh all yeh need to know about Hyde: a load of white capped gits who don’t possess one single bloody ounce of human feeling among ‘em and go round destroyin’ people’s lives in the name of your matrimonial partner ‘proper procedure’. Tha’s all you need to know about bloody Hyde.”
“It isn’t though! Five minutes. Just five minutes and…” Sam repeated, nibbling on his bottom lip as he thought about what would convince Gene. “And I’ll never speak about Hyde ever again.” He bartered. Gene glared back but Sam could see he was wavering.
Gene studied Sam, sucking in his cheeks and he mulled it over. Sighing loudly, he stepped away from Sam. “Fine. Five minutes; that’s all you’re gettin’,” he said before lifting a finger and pointing it directly at Sam’s face. “But don’t think it’s ‘cause I’m goin’ soft. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you, Tyler, half the time, and I don’t really giv’ a toss, but if it makes you act more of a complete arse than usual- must be important,” he said grudgingly. “Now, bloody ‘urry up.”
Sam looked at the floor to hide his relieved smile as he stepped away from the wall. Nodding his thanks to Gene, who just watched him grimly, Sam walked back resolutely through the door, determined to get the answers he desperately wanted from the Doctor.
***
The officer stood before the mirror, staring ahead captivated as though he could see behind the dirty cubicles and cracked tiles that were reflected within it to something far more enthralling beyond. The jovial, yet rather proud, expression he had previously had whilst speaking with the Doctor had gone to be replaced by a sinister fierceness, the only indication that something within the officer had changed. His stance and general appearance remained the same to anyone who did not look closely enough.
“Is it working?” He asked aloud to the seemingly empty room. There was a pause as the officer stared intently at his own image, hands pressed firmly against the surface of the sink so he could lean in to watch, as if it was a window. However, the only apparent movement in the mirror was the rise and fall of the officer’s chest.
“I know that,” he said, though there had been no reply to his first question. “But we don’t seem to be getting any further.” Once more there was a pause before the officer spoke, his voice low and dangerous. His knuckles turning white as his grip on the sink’s rim tightened.
“It’s too difficult,” he said. “My energy is waning and these human bodies are too weak…” he stopped abruptly, as though he had just been interrupted.
“I have patience!” he shouted, raising a fist to the glass ready to strike it but his hand fell down limply before it made contact. “I just…Don’t have the time,” he snarled quietly, his breathing becoming harsher and far more ragged as he feebly flexed the fingers of his hand, watching the movement sorrowfully.
“But…How will we get time?” he suddenly asked, staring ahead once more. Staring ahead at a point beyond the reflection of his shoulder, a point beyond the mirror itself.
This time, the pause was longer.
“I understand. It’ll be done,” he spoke decisively. Turning sharply on his heel, he turned from swiftly away from the mirror, the distance between himself and the reflection growing until both disappeared through their respective doors.
And as the door to the toilets closed quickly behind him, the door to the end cubicle slowly opened up to reveal the scared and pale face of young P.C. Alfred Hopkins.
***
The Doctor had sat back down, cross-legged on the same plastic chair, his head resting in his hand and a weary expression on his face. He glanced up when Sam entered the room and his features immediately rearranged into a smile.
“So, you’re The Doctor?” Sam asked, throwing his hands wide. “Doctor Who?” He laughed, throwing his head back a little as he did so.
“Doctor Smith,” the Doctor answered, eyebrows raised.
“Yeah, right, gotcha,” Sam said, moving forwards and tapping his nose conspiratorially. “I know what’s going on.”
“Well, I’m glad someone round here knows what’s going on,” the Doctor said, sniffing slightly. “Because, right now, I’m not too sure. And I really don’t like not being sure; most of the time I am sure. Most of the time I’m more than sure.”
“I’ll fill you in, shall I?” Sam smiled. “See, this- you- can’t be happening. You can’t be real,” he said, brandishing his arms at the Doctor wildly.
“Hold on,” the Doctor said, rolling up his sleeve and pinching at his left arm with his fingernails. “Nope, totally, one-hundred percent reality right here.” He gestured to himself with a self-satisfied smile.
“You don’t pinch yourself! I’m meant to pinch me!” Sam cried out in exasperation before pausing, perplexed, then slowly sinking down into a nearby plastic chair. “Oh, God, this just proves it; I’m insane,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his forehead vigorously with both hands.
“Well, you might be, Sam, but why exactly do you think that?” the Doctor asked curiously, standing up and walking slowly over to Sam. Slipping his hands into his pockets and leaning up against the wall opposite Sam, the Doctor cast his gaze over the befuddled DI.
“Because- hah!” Sam began, pointing an accusing finger up at the Doctor. “I never told you my first name. Yet you know it, ergo you’re a figment of my deranged imagination. I know you. I know what you’re from. You’re not real,” Sam finished with a smug smile, now sitting up straight, his arms folded across his chest in his interrogative detective pose; the one he always assumed when he expected answers or after he had proved a point.
“Aw, come on!” the Doctor said. “Anyone could’ve told me your name. Where is it you think you know me from then?” The Doctor questioned, frowning ever so slightly. He lowered his head so he could stare directly into Sam’s face, scrutinising him carefully.
“The television,” Sam answered in a tone of voice that insinuated he believed the Doctor to be a complete moron. He spoke as if the answer should have been wholly obvious, his eyebrows raised in incredulity.
“Ah,” the Doctor groaned, running a hand wearily through his hair, “now that was an unforeseen problem.”
“What unforeseen problem?” Sam demanded, startled, glaring suspiciously at the Doctor who was no longer staring back at him.
“Did you give me a theme tune?” the Doctor suddenly spoke up inquisitively.
“What?” Sam asked, bewildered. “I- Look! I don’t know! I don’t remember!”
“Oh…” the Doctor said, looking a little disappointed. “Would’ve liked one. Something catchy. I just thought you might’ve created one just to make it seem more realistic.”
“What do you mean ‘more realistic’?” Sam questioned, squinting confusedly at the Doctor.
“Well, I think we’ve established that I’m real,” the Doctor smirked, “so this show you’ve, uh, created is obviously not real.” He smiled down at Sam reassuringly though to Sam it seemed more patronisngly pitiful than comforting.
“We haven’t established that,” said Sam, frustrated. “You’ve established that and for all I know, all that I think I know, my mind just popped you into existence. Maybe seventy-three wasn’t bloody exciting enough for me.”
“Nah, seventy-three might be primeval but that doesn’t make it boring,” the Doctor disagreed. “See, Sam, you can’t make logical sense of all this information that’s just been flooding your head, it’s all so jumbled up in your mind that you pretend you’ve made it up. Pretend you’re crazy just to make the world around you seem that little bit saner,” the Doctor explained; gesticulating enthusiastically as if by waving his arms around he could somehow help Sam to understand better.
“Now that is insane,” Sam conceded to himself.
“Exactly,” the Doctor said with a smile. “But you’re not.”
“Okay,” Sam said, moving forwards eagerly in his chair. “Let’s just pretend that I believe you for a second-”
“You do believe me,” interrupted the Doctor. “Deep down. Deep, deep, deep down,” he said, elongating the sound of the word, “you know I’m right. I’m always right. Nearly always right, that is; I’d say about, erm, ninety nine point nine, nine, nine, eight percent always right.” He looked up as if reading the number from off the ceiling. Sam got the distinct impression that the Doctor had just made it up.
“Oh,” Sam asked sarcastically, “that an accurately evaluated statistic?”
“By me, yeah.” The Doctor grinned. “And I’m nearly always right.”
Sam could not help but smile back at that. Then, remembering what the Doctor had just said, Sam continued the conversation to his agenda. “Anyway, say I believe you? What’s this unforeseen problem you spoke about?”
“Erm,” the Doctor screwed up his face, running a hand through his hair. “That I’m one difficult guy to erase from a memory,” he said in a rush so Sam had trouble differentiating each word.
“Huh? Erase?” Sam stared up at the Doctor who was no longer meeting his gaze. “What d’you mean?”
“Nothing,” the Doctor said quickly. “Okay, something but…” The Doctor grimaced, rubbing the nape of his neck and still not looking directly at Sam.
“But what?” Sam practically shouted.
“I need to know something first,” the Doctor replied, turning to face Sam. He walked over to where Sam sat, kneeling down before Sam so he was looking up at the DI. “This might feel uncomfortable, Sam, I’m sorry. It’s gotta be done though.” He raised his slender fingers to place them on the side of Sam’s forehead.
Sam flinched before the Doctor did so, readying himself to push the Doctor away from him but, as soon as the Doctor’s cool fingers touched his head, he felt paralysed. Indistinct and blurred images swam through his mind, like Sam was viewing them all through thick misted glass, of things he did not recognise yet felt he should remember.
Flashes of red that became gold, then orange then finally just an all-consuming blackness. Sam suddenly felt a strong fury sweep through him; a fury that numbed all other emotions as it coursed through him and all the while the burning throughout him grew in intensity.
Then the flames came.
The burning flames that brought ideas of darkness and decimation and destruction that began to lick pleasantly away at his thoughts; seeming to urge his thoughts forwards, pushing, probing, forcing him closer to some insight buried deep within himself, if only he could reach it, it was so very, very far down. The searing flames were warming the dark recesses of his mind, leading him down and down and down further. Further into the recesses Sam had never known to exist but wanted to explore now the flames lit the way, enticing him forwards…
The other man let go. The images faded away entirely till all but the fire in his mind remained. Sam sat back in shock, his throat dry, feeling perspiration along his back. A slight tingling warmth still residing along his spine.
“I-” Sam started, breathlessly, but he was cut off by the door to lost and found swinging open with a loud crash as Gene strode back in. The Doctor stood up hastily, sliding his hands back into his pockets, his face strangely sombre as he gazed over at Sam.
“Right, Tyler,” Gene’s words doused out the fire in Sam’s mind, bringing him back with a disconcerting jolt to the interview room. Gene clapped his hands together. “I’ve given you five minutes so you can stop your canoodling with lover boy and get back to the real men’s work. And you, sunshine,” Gene said, clapping a hand on the Doctor’s shoulder in a movement that was designed to be less friendly and more threatening. “Can show us what you’re made of.”
“Pure brilliance,” was the Doctor’s assured reply.