plingo_kat: Hold Up (Ten/Jack) [PG] (SUMMER HOLIDAYS, PROMPT 13)
Title: Hold Up
Author: plingo_kat
Pairing: 10/Jack-ish. Gen, mostly.
Rating: PG
Spoilers/warnings: none
Challenge: Summer Holidays
Prompt group: 13: price to pay - selling oneself - traffic - bargain
Summary: Snippets of life. The Doctor is never stuck.
**
“Ow,” said Jack. “Ow ow ow. Doctor, I’m never letting you drive again.” He thought that over. “A car. I’m never letting you drive a car again.”
No answer.
“Doctor?”
Silence. That wasn’t good. The only silent times with the Doctor (chatterbox this new regeneration was) were when they had to be quiet or something would kill them, or the Doctor was gone or unconscious. Never a good thing.
“Oh, you’re awake. Good.”
Jack opened his eyes.
Ow. Bright.
“Ah, yes, sorry about that. Hospital regulation, unfortunately. Very bright, these lights.”
Did he say that out loud?
“Yes, well. You have a concussion, which scrambles your thinking a bit. Best not to move around too much until you’re healed.”
“The Doctor?” Jack croaked out. “Did you see a skinny guy with wild hair in a long brown coat?” He opened his eyes with determination, squinting against the harsh fluorescent lighting.
He was in a hospital bed (no surprise there), but with minimal equipment; only an IV and a monitor that blinked red with every beat of his heart. It was the twenty-first century, so he hoped that the hospital doctors just decided that it was just a problem with the equipment when his Doctor’s heart monitor showed more beats than it was supposed to. Then again, it would be even better if the Doctor wasn’t hurt at all and was figuring out a way to break Jack out of the hospital right now.
Jack hated hospitals.
“I’m your doctor,” confirmed the man in front of him, which confused Jack until he realized that the hospital doctor (not his Doctor) mistook Jack asking for the Doctor as a question of whether Jack thought that this doctor was a doctor was his doctor. What?
Yeah. Concussion, definitely. He sighed and begined to question the man in front of him (Dr. Bard).
000000000000
Meanwhile, the Doctor was otherwise occupied.
“Hello,” he smiled at the dirty, raggedy children crowded against the opposite wall. “I’m the Doctor.”
“That’s not a real name,” said a bold one, creeping closer.
“You’re right. It’s a nickname.” Expectant pause. “My real name is Theta. What about yours?” He crouched down, pants riding up to expose dark blue socks that clashed rather badly with his trainers. His coat had gotten lost somewhere between being clubbed unconscious and waking up only to be shoved in here. A few of the children dared to come closer, seeing how ridiculous he looked.
“I’m Tom.”
“Clara.”
“Ben.”
“Casey.”
“Where are you from?”
“How did they get you?”
“Are you going to stay?”
“Can you get out?”
“Yeah! And can we come with you?”
“Of course,” beamed the Doctor. “I’ll get you all out. But first, did you see a man in a long blue coat, black hair, blue eyes, very handsome? Well, when I say very handsome, you know, maybe not, but otherwise it’s a good description. Oh! And he’s American. Got an American accent and everything.”
The children exchanged a glance. “You’re funny,” said Tom, the bold one. “We haven’t seen anybody like that. You’re the only grown-up the bad men brought in.”
The Doctor seethed inwardly. Bad men. Hah. See what kind of men they were when the Doctor got through with this place. The Oncoming Storm didn’t tolerate slavers. Especially those who dealt in children.
“Ok then.” None of that anger showed itself in his voice. “Let’s get out of here then. Jack can take care of himself for a little while.”
0000000000000
“I’m fine. Really. I heal fast. No, seriously! Just let me out the bed, and I’ll go… Sign myself out or something. Really, I’m okay.” Dr. Bard was pissing Jack off.
“Young man, it is hospital policy to keep patients with a head injury 24 hours for observation. Now get down on that bed.”
Young man. Hah. He was three times that guy’s age.
“I’ve been here for four hours. Awake and arguing! I think I’m pretty much in good health, alright?”
Dr. Bard pursed his lips. “Fine. But if you feel any dizziness or disorientation, call in immediately, understand?”
Jack nodded, already sliding out of bed. He had a Doctor to find.
0000000000000
“This,” the Doctor whipped out something from his (luckily, infinitely deep) pockets, “is my sonic screwdriver! It’s sonic.”
“What d’you need a sonic screwdriver for?”
“How’s a screwdriver sonic?”
“Does it make noise?”
“What’s it do?”
“It does lots of things, including make noise, and to make it I sonic-ed up a screwdriver. With this little gadget,” he wiggled it gleefully, “we are going to get out of here. Come on, watch.”
The children crowded around, ooh-ing and ahh-ing appropriately as the tool glowed blue and buzzed, unlocking the door. The Doctor poked his head out.
“All clear! Let’s go.” He herded the (gaggle? Was that the right term?) of children out into the hall in front of him. “Now, all hold hands,” he ignored the face the boys made, “and yell if any of the bad men come, okay? Right, follow me.”
0000000000000
Boom.
Jack looked up. Doctor.
He broke into a sprint.
When he reached the warehouse where the explosion came from, Jack found the Doctor and four dirt-smeared, dust-covered children laughing (hysterically) in front of smoking rubble.
He rolled his eyes. Only the Doctor.
Author: plingo_kat
Pairing: 10/Jack-ish. Gen, mostly.
Rating: PG
Spoilers/warnings: none
Challenge: Summer Holidays
Prompt group: 13: price to pay - selling oneself - traffic - bargain
Summary: Snippets of life. The Doctor is never stuck.
**
“Ow,” said Jack. “Ow ow ow. Doctor, I’m never letting you drive again.” He thought that over. “A car. I’m never letting you drive a car again.”
No answer.
“Doctor?”
Silence. That wasn’t good. The only silent times with the Doctor (chatterbox this new regeneration was) were when they had to be quiet or something would kill them, or the Doctor was gone or unconscious. Never a good thing.
“Oh, you’re awake. Good.”
Jack opened his eyes.
Ow. Bright.
“Ah, yes, sorry about that. Hospital regulation, unfortunately. Very bright, these lights.”
Did he say that out loud?
“Yes, well. You have a concussion, which scrambles your thinking a bit. Best not to move around too much until you’re healed.”
“The Doctor?” Jack croaked out. “Did you see a skinny guy with wild hair in a long brown coat?” He opened his eyes with determination, squinting against the harsh fluorescent lighting.
He was in a hospital bed (no surprise there), but with minimal equipment; only an IV and a monitor that blinked red with every beat of his heart. It was the twenty-first century, so he hoped that the hospital doctors just decided that it was just a problem with the equipment when his Doctor’s heart monitor showed more beats than it was supposed to. Then again, it would be even better if the Doctor wasn’t hurt at all and was figuring out a way to break Jack out of the hospital right now.
Jack hated hospitals.
“I’m your doctor,” confirmed the man in front of him, which confused Jack until he realized that the hospital doctor (not his Doctor) mistook Jack asking for the Doctor as a question of whether Jack thought that this doctor was a doctor was his doctor. What?
Yeah. Concussion, definitely. He sighed and begined to question the man in front of him (Dr. Bard).
000000000000
Meanwhile, the Doctor was otherwise occupied.
“Hello,” he smiled at the dirty, raggedy children crowded against the opposite wall. “I’m the Doctor.”
“That’s not a real name,” said a bold one, creeping closer.
“You’re right. It’s a nickname.” Expectant pause. “My real name is Theta. What about yours?” He crouched down, pants riding up to expose dark blue socks that clashed rather badly with his trainers. His coat had gotten lost somewhere between being clubbed unconscious and waking up only to be shoved in here. A few of the children dared to come closer, seeing how ridiculous he looked.
“I’m Tom.”
“Clara.”
“Ben.”
“Casey.”
“Where are you from?”
“How did they get you?”
“Are you going to stay?”
“Can you get out?”
“Yeah! And can we come with you?”
“Of course,” beamed the Doctor. “I’ll get you all out. But first, did you see a man in a long blue coat, black hair, blue eyes, very handsome? Well, when I say very handsome, you know, maybe not, but otherwise it’s a good description. Oh! And he’s American. Got an American accent and everything.”
The children exchanged a glance. “You’re funny,” said Tom, the bold one. “We haven’t seen anybody like that. You’re the only grown-up the bad men brought in.”
The Doctor seethed inwardly. Bad men. Hah. See what kind of men they were when the Doctor got through with this place. The Oncoming Storm didn’t tolerate slavers. Especially those who dealt in children.
“Ok then.” None of that anger showed itself in his voice. “Let’s get out of here then. Jack can take care of himself for a little while.”
0000000000000
“I’m fine. Really. I heal fast. No, seriously! Just let me out the bed, and I’ll go… Sign myself out or something. Really, I’m okay.” Dr. Bard was pissing Jack off.
“Young man, it is hospital policy to keep patients with a head injury 24 hours for observation. Now get down on that bed.”
Young man. Hah. He was three times that guy’s age.
“I’ve been here for four hours. Awake and arguing! I think I’m pretty much in good health, alright?”
Dr. Bard pursed his lips. “Fine. But if you feel any dizziness or disorientation, call in immediately, understand?”
Jack nodded, already sliding out of bed. He had a Doctor to find.
0000000000000
“This,” the Doctor whipped out something from his (luckily, infinitely deep) pockets, “is my sonic screwdriver! It’s sonic.”
“What d’you need a sonic screwdriver for?”
“How’s a screwdriver sonic?”
“Does it make noise?”
“What’s it do?”
“It does lots of things, including make noise, and to make it I sonic-ed up a screwdriver. With this little gadget,” he wiggled it gleefully, “we are going to get out of here. Come on, watch.”
The children crowded around, ooh-ing and ahh-ing appropriately as the tool glowed blue and buzzed, unlocking the door. The Doctor poked his head out.
“All clear! Let’s go.” He herded the (gaggle? Was that the right term?) of children out into the hall in front of him. “Now, all hold hands,” he ignored the face the boys made, “and yell if any of the bad men come, okay? Right, follow me.”
0000000000000
Boom.
Jack looked up. Doctor.
He broke into a sprint.
When he reached the warehouse where the explosion came from, Jack found the Doctor and four dirt-smeared, dust-covered children laughing (hysterically) in front of smoking rubble.
He rolled his eyes. Only the Doctor.