Tyler & Tyer (Doctor Who/Queer as Folk UK)
Title: Tyler & Tyler
Author: thistlerose
Fandom: Doctor Who / Queer as Folk (UK)
Characters/Pairing: Jackie Tyler and Hazel Tyler
Summary: Hazel believes a young friend has gotten into some trouble in London. Naturally, when she goes to investigate, she drags her cousin Jackie along.
Rating: PG
A/N: Many thanks to just_ruth for looking this over. It's about 1,600 words. Set sometime after the end of QaF, early in David Tennant's stint as the Doctor.
Jackie nearly screamed when her mobile rang. "Oh, God." She pulled it out of her jeans pocket and sagged against the brick wall, her heart pounding.
Beside her, Hazel hissed, "Turn it off, turn it off!"
Jackie was about to do so, but she recognized the number. She held the mobile close to her ear. "Rose," she whispered, "now really isn't-"
"Mum!" Her daughter sounded jubilant. "You'll never guess where we are."
"I'm sure it's somewhere lovely, dear, but-"
Rose cut her off. "The Horsehead Nebula! It really looks like a big chess piece. I mean, it does in all the pictures, but up close-"
"Rose." Hazel was leaning close and could probably hear.
"It's even got sort of an eye. From the TARDIS, it looks like-"
Jackie cupped her hand around her mouth. "Rose."
Hazel snatched the phone. "Rose-love," she said quickly, "this is Cousin Hazel from Manchester. I haven't seen you since you were in nappies, so I don't expect you to remember me. I really need your mum right now, so if you don't mind…" She snapped the mobile shut, ending the call, and dropped it into her own handbag. "At least yours calls," she said dryly to Jackie. "All I ever get from Vince is a postcard every other month if I'm lucky. Paris, New York, LA, he always says the same thing: Having a fantastic time! I suppose he's too busy shagging to write a proper letter. Stuart Alan Jones." She shook her head. "When we're done with the breaking and entering, you're going to have to tell me all about this doctor your Rose has run off with."
Right, Jackie thought.
*
They climbed a fire escape that seemed to Jackie about as sturdy as the Barbie gymnastic set that Rose had played with as a child. Hazel appeared not to mind. She scurried up like a cat, leaving Jackie to follow and wonder just how she came to be so comfortable with this sort of thing. It occurred to her that she really didn't know very much about her late husband's Manchester relatives.
The flat was on the third floor. While Jackie clutched the railing and sucked air into her lungs, Hazel pawed through her handbag. She came up with something wrapped in a dishtowel, which turned out to be a crowbar.
"Ta da!"
"You're mad," Jackie said. "Absolutely barking mad. And so am I." She was tempted to ask, Why not call the police if you're so worried about this girl? But she suspected that Hazel's reply would be the same as it had been the first three times she'd asked, so she kept her mouth shut and stood in front of Hazel, hoping that anyone passing by would see only her and assume she'd stepped onto the fire escape for a breath of fresh air.
She heard Hazel apply the crowbar to the closed window. After a minute or two of struggling, Hazel said, "Well, this isn't working. Stand back, love."
"What?" said Jackie.
"And act casual."
Jackie barely had time to cross her arms protectively over her face before Hazel swung the crowbar like a baseball bat and smashed the window. She kicked the remaining shards away with her clunky leather boots.
"Come on, then. And watch out for the glass."
"I don't," Jackie started to protest, but Hazel was already halfway through the window. "What if someone catches us?"
"That's the other reason I brought this," said Hazel, brandishing the crowbar. "Come on. Where's your sense of adventure? Why should our children have all the fun?"
Rose, thought Jackie as stared at Hazel's eager brown eyes, is watching a nebula from a spaceship shaped like a police box. I can see how that would be fun. This, on the other hand…
"Look," Hazel said, as if she'd only just become aware of Jackie's misgivings. "I know we don't know each other that well, but breaking into dodgy flats isn't something I do on a regular basis. Believe me, I'd rather be following my boys around Canal Street. I wouldn't be here and I wouldn't have dragged you along if I didn't think that the girl who lives here could really use a mother or two right now. Her own is a bit useless, I'm afraid."
Later, Jackie would never be able to explain to anyone why she followed Hazel through the window. Eventually, she would give up trying. It was just something in her tone, something about the idea of someone's daughter - anyone's daughter - in need of a mum.
The flat certainly was dodgy-looking. It could not have been more than 150 square feet, with a kitchenette in one corner and a blanket-draped mattress in the other. The floor was covered in blue shag carpeting, and the olive wallpaper was peeling. There was a door in the wall opposite the window, which Jackie assumed led to the toilet. Jackie was glad the door was closed.
Hazel crossed the floor in four brisk strides, kicking aside piles of laundry, notebooks, and empty pizza boxes. She swooped on the mattress and yanked the blankets aside to reveal the limp body of a girl.
Jackie clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream, but Hazel shook her head. "She's sleeping, that's all. Very deeply." Messy black hair hid the girl's face. Hazel stroked it away gently. "Oh, Donna. I should've come sooner."
Jackie came closer. The room's only lamp didn't offer much light, but Donna appeared to be Rose's age. With her steep cheekbones, pointed chin, and small mouth, she was an unlikely Sleeping Beauty.
"Why won't she wake up?" Jackie asked. "When you smashed the window-"
"I don't know," Hazel said, not looking up. "A few weeks ago she wrote a letter to Nathan - one of my boys - saying how she was tired all the time. Couldn't keep her head up, could barely keep her eyes open. But she was full of ideas. She writes poetry. Not bad. Better than most teenage emo shite. Then we stopped hearing from her. The other day, Nathan comes to me with this magazine full of amateur poetry. One of his many boyfriends reads it. 'Read this,' he says. 'Doesn't that sound like Donna?' Buggered if I know, but he insists the poem's by her. Only, according to the magazine, the author's her roommate."
"Roommate?" Jackie took another glance around the room. She couldn't imagine two people living here; there was barely room for one.
"So, I decided to investigate."
"It's a good thing the roommate isn't here."
"There's an amateur poetry reading in some coffee house nearby," Hazel said with a shrug. "Figured that would be a good time to break in."
"You figured," said Jackie dryly.
"I was right, wasn't I? God, I sound like Stuart. All right, let's get her out of here."
"Shouldn't we wake her up first?"
Hazel gave Donna a shake. "Come on, love. Time to go."
The girl only sighed.
"Help me, would you?" Hazel said.
As Jackie started to walk around the mattress so she could loop Donna's right arm across her shoulders, she tripped over a shoe. As she went down, she flailed for something to clutch onto and that was how she happened to knock over the small grey statuette that had been resting on a pile of books. If the statuette had hit the carpet or the mattress, nothing might have changed. But it struck the edge of a jewelry box, and cracked as easily as an egg. A puff of purplish smoke came out of it and dissipated quickly.
Donna's eyes snapped open. "My poetry!" she exclaimed. "That bitch made me fall asleep and then she stole my poems. I could hear myself saying them in my sleep, but I couldn't wake up. She must've been some kind of witch or maybe some kind of alien. That would explain her taste in clothes. Hello, Hazel."
Hazel hugged her tightly. "Hello, lovey. Don't you worry. You're with Tylers now. Nobody screws with Tylers."
Jackie thought, I'd better talk to the Doctor.
*
"Say it again. Slowly."
He did, but Jackie still couldn't make her lips and tongue reproduce the word.
"Well, whatever it is, it's not going to come after us, is it?"
"Nah," said the Doctor. "They're notorious cowards. That's why they rely on drugs. Now that she knows Donna's got people watching out for her, I doubt any of you will be seeing her. And if you do, make a face and give her a good AAAARGH!"
Jackie almost dropped the phone.
"She'll be gone like…" She heard him snap his fingers.
"Well, that's good to know."
The Doctor continued. "They're also notoriously bad poets, though some of them have aspirations. They have no fashion sense whatsoever. You should see them when they're not disguised as humans. I mean, no one in his right mind, not even Mickey, would think of combining- Hey."
"Hello, Mum. I just grabbed the phone," Rose said unnecessarily. "He's one to talk, with his trainers."
"What's wrong with my trainers?" the Doctor asked.
"Most people don't wear them with suits."
"I'm not most people."
"How's the girl?" asked Rose.
"She's fine," Jackie said. Donna had awakened fully shortly after they'd gotten her back to Jackie's flat. She'd been properly indignant about the theft of her poetry, but decided, after some coaxing, that she'd eschew violence and find some other means of retaliation. Later. "She and Hazel went back to Manchester this morning." Jackie was tempted to tell Rose about introducing Mickey to Donna, but decided that it could wait. "They invited me to visit them. I think I might."
Rose laughed. "Good work, Mum. Up for another adventure, are you?"
"And what if I am?" said Jackie archly. "Why should you have all the fun?"
5/12/07
Author: thistlerose
Fandom: Doctor Who / Queer as Folk (UK)
Characters/Pairing: Jackie Tyler and Hazel Tyler
Summary: Hazel believes a young friend has gotten into some trouble in London. Naturally, when she goes to investigate, she drags her cousin Jackie along.
Rating: PG
A/N: Many thanks to just_ruth for looking this over. It's about 1,600 words. Set sometime after the end of QaF, early in David Tennant's stint as the Doctor.
Jackie nearly screamed when her mobile rang. "Oh, God." She pulled it out of her jeans pocket and sagged against the brick wall, her heart pounding.
Beside her, Hazel hissed, "Turn it off, turn it off!"
Jackie was about to do so, but she recognized the number. She held the mobile close to her ear. "Rose," she whispered, "now really isn't-"
"Mum!" Her daughter sounded jubilant. "You'll never guess where we are."
"I'm sure it's somewhere lovely, dear, but-"
Rose cut her off. "The Horsehead Nebula! It really looks like a big chess piece. I mean, it does in all the pictures, but up close-"
"Rose." Hazel was leaning close and could probably hear.
"It's even got sort of an eye. From the TARDIS, it looks like-"
Jackie cupped her hand around her mouth. "Rose."
Hazel snatched the phone. "Rose-love," she said quickly, "this is Cousin Hazel from Manchester. I haven't seen you since you were in nappies, so I don't expect you to remember me. I really need your mum right now, so if you don't mind…" She snapped the mobile shut, ending the call, and dropped it into her own handbag. "At least yours calls," she said dryly to Jackie. "All I ever get from Vince is a postcard every other month if I'm lucky. Paris, New York, LA, he always says the same thing: Having a fantastic time! I suppose he's too busy shagging to write a proper letter. Stuart Alan Jones." She shook her head. "When we're done with the breaking and entering, you're going to have to tell me all about this doctor your Rose has run off with."
Right, Jackie thought.
*
They climbed a fire escape that seemed to Jackie about as sturdy as the Barbie gymnastic set that Rose had played with as a child. Hazel appeared not to mind. She scurried up like a cat, leaving Jackie to follow and wonder just how she came to be so comfortable with this sort of thing. It occurred to her that she really didn't know very much about her late husband's Manchester relatives.
The flat was on the third floor. While Jackie clutched the railing and sucked air into her lungs, Hazel pawed through her handbag. She came up with something wrapped in a dishtowel, which turned out to be a crowbar.
"Ta da!"
"You're mad," Jackie said. "Absolutely barking mad. And so am I." She was tempted to ask, Why not call the police if you're so worried about this girl? But she suspected that Hazel's reply would be the same as it had been the first three times she'd asked, so she kept her mouth shut and stood in front of Hazel, hoping that anyone passing by would see only her and assume she'd stepped onto the fire escape for a breath of fresh air.
She heard Hazel apply the crowbar to the closed window. After a minute or two of struggling, Hazel said, "Well, this isn't working. Stand back, love."
"What?" said Jackie.
"And act casual."
Jackie barely had time to cross her arms protectively over her face before Hazel swung the crowbar like a baseball bat and smashed the window. She kicked the remaining shards away with her clunky leather boots.
"Come on, then. And watch out for the glass."
"I don't," Jackie started to protest, but Hazel was already halfway through the window. "What if someone catches us?"
"That's the other reason I brought this," said Hazel, brandishing the crowbar. "Come on. Where's your sense of adventure? Why should our children have all the fun?"
Rose, thought Jackie as stared at Hazel's eager brown eyes, is watching a nebula from a spaceship shaped like a police box. I can see how that would be fun. This, on the other hand…
"Look," Hazel said, as if she'd only just become aware of Jackie's misgivings. "I know we don't know each other that well, but breaking into dodgy flats isn't something I do on a regular basis. Believe me, I'd rather be following my boys around Canal Street. I wouldn't be here and I wouldn't have dragged you along if I didn't think that the girl who lives here could really use a mother or two right now. Her own is a bit useless, I'm afraid."
Later, Jackie would never be able to explain to anyone why she followed Hazel through the window. Eventually, she would give up trying. It was just something in her tone, something about the idea of someone's daughter - anyone's daughter - in need of a mum.
The flat certainly was dodgy-looking. It could not have been more than 150 square feet, with a kitchenette in one corner and a blanket-draped mattress in the other. The floor was covered in blue shag carpeting, and the olive wallpaper was peeling. There was a door in the wall opposite the window, which Jackie assumed led to the toilet. Jackie was glad the door was closed.
Hazel crossed the floor in four brisk strides, kicking aside piles of laundry, notebooks, and empty pizza boxes. She swooped on the mattress and yanked the blankets aside to reveal the limp body of a girl.
Jackie clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream, but Hazel shook her head. "She's sleeping, that's all. Very deeply." Messy black hair hid the girl's face. Hazel stroked it away gently. "Oh, Donna. I should've come sooner."
Jackie came closer. The room's only lamp didn't offer much light, but Donna appeared to be Rose's age. With her steep cheekbones, pointed chin, and small mouth, she was an unlikely Sleeping Beauty.
"Why won't she wake up?" Jackie asked. "When you smashed the window-"
"I don't know," Hazel said, not looking up. "A few weeks ago she wrote a letter to Nathan - one of my boys - saying how she was tired all the time. Couldn't keep her head up, could barely keep her eyes open. But she was full of ideas. She writes poetry. Not bad. Better than most teenage emo shite. Then we stopped hearing from her. The other day, Nathan comes to me with this magazine full of amateur poetry. One of his many boyfriends reads it. 'Read this,' he says. 'Doesn't that sound like Donna?' Buggered if I know, but he insists the poem's by her. Only, according to the magazine, the author's her roommate."
"Roommate?" Jackie took another glance around the room. She couldn't imagine two people living here; there was barely room for one.
"So, I decided to investigate."
"It's a good thing the roommate isn't here."
"There's an amateur poetry reading in some coffee house nearby," Hazel said with a shrug. "Figured that would be a good time to break in."
"You figured," said Jackie dryly.
"I was right, wasn't I? God, I sound like Stuart. All right, let's get her out of here."
"Shouldn't we wake her up first?"
Hazel gave Donna a shake. "Come on, love. Time to go."
The girl only sighed.
"Help me, would you?" Hazel said.
As Jackie started to walk around the mattress so she could loop Donna's right arm across her shoulders, she tripped over a shoe. As she went down, she flailed for something to clutch onto and that was how she happened to knock over the small grey statuette that had been resting on a pile of books. If the statuette had hit the carpet or the mattress, nothing might have changed. But it struck the edge of a jewelry box, and cracked as easily as an egg. A puff of purplish smoke came out of it and dissipated quickly.
Donna's eyes snapped open. "My poetry!" she exclaimed. "That bitch made me fall asleep and then she stole my poems. I could hear myself saying them in my sleep, but I couldn't wake up. She must've been some kind of witch or maybe some kind of alien. That would explain her taste in clothes. Hello, Hazel."
Hazel hugged her tightly. "Hello, lovey. Don't you worry. You're with Tylers now. Nobody screws with Tylers."
Jackie thought, I'd better talk to the Doctor.
*
"Say it again. Slowly."
He did, but Jackie still couldn't make her lips and tongue reproduce the word.
"Well, whatever it is, it's not going to come after us, is it?"
"Nah," said the Doctor. "They're notorious cowards. That's why they rely on drugs. Now that she knows Donna's got people watching out for her, I doubt any of you will be seeing her. And if you do, make a face and give her a good AAAARGH!"
Jackie almost dropped the phone.
"She'll be gone like…" She heard him snap his fingers.
"Well, that's good to know."
The Doctor continued. "They're also notoriously bad poets, though some of them have aspirations. They have no fashion sense whatsoever. You should see them when they're not disguised as humans. I mean, no one in his right mind, not even Mickey, would think of combining- Hey."
"Hello, Mum. I just grabbed the phone," Rose said unnecessarily. "He's one to talk, with his trainers."
"What's wrong with my trainers?" the Doctor asked.
"Most people don't wear them with suits."
"I'm not most people."
"How's the girl?" asked Rose.
"She's fine," Jackie said. Donna had awakened fully shortly after they'd gotten her back to Jackie's flat. She'd been properly indignant about the theft of her poetry, but decided, after some coaxing, that she'd eschew violence and find some other means of retaliation. Later. "She and Hazel went back to Manchester this morning." Jackie was tempted to tell Rose about introducing Mickey to Donna, but decided that it could wait. "They invited me to visit them. I think I might."
Rose laughed. "Good work, Mum. Up for another adventure, are you?"
"And what if I am?" said Jackie archly. "Why should you have all the fun?"
5/12/07