Fic: Therapeutic Shop
Title: Therapeutic Shop - part 1/3
Author:
tante_in_hp and Ladybug
Rating: PG
Characters: Rose, Ten, Fred & George Weasley
Spoilers: Through Doctor Who season 2: New Earth, Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince
Disclaimer:
Anything you recognize is quite definitely not mine, though I'm thankful that Mr Davies & Ms Rowling are kind enough to share their toys.
Author Notes:
Many thanks to Ladybug (of PhoenixSong.net) for her beta services and for co-authoring large chunks of this. Written for
wendymr and
dark_aegis' Rose Tyler Ficathon, specifically for
amandarex, who requested...
1. The Doctor (Nine or Ten) being wrong.
2. A wacky but well-meaning alien (other than the Doctor): no alien per se, but definitely not the kind of human with which Rose is familiar (changed with permission to reflect our joint love of both fandoms).
3. Rose denying that she dyes her hair.
Summary: (dialog from New Earth)
DOCTOR: Nice place. No shop, downstairs. I'd have a shop. Not a big one - just a shop. So people can - shop.
SISTER JATT: The hospital is a place of healing.
DOCTOR: A shop does some people the world of good.
We’re off. Narrowly avoided certain death, again. Saved the Earth, (well, New Earth) again. The whole possessed by Cassandra thing was more than a bit weird. I’m just trying to get my bearings. He’s fiddling absently with the TARDIS controls and still waffling on about hospital shops or the lack thereof.
“Definitely needed a shop,” his expression’s a contemplative scrunched look and his eyes dart about the room as he thinks. “Oh, Yes!” His eyes spring open in delight and now sets the controls with decided purpose. “Just the thing!”
“How d’you fancy a visit to my favourite shop?
“You have a favourite shop? Y- you shop?” That’s like just…like me having a favourite fishing hole. I can’t wrap my mind around the image.
“Of course.” He’s all bouncy excited now. This I have to see.
“Any chance of some chips while we’re there?”
“Um… no. Now you mention it, I’ve never seen a chippy in that part of the country. They must not be very keen.” He freezes for a minute suddenly lost in remembrance, tucks his arms in and gives them a slight bird-like flap. Shaking himself out of the memory he turns to face me. “Actually, I really wouldn’t advise eating anything you come across or are offered in this shop. Just a warning.”
“O. K. then.” What kind of shop is this? But I know better than to ask any questions until we get there.
~*~*~
“Here we are Rose. Earth, Scotland, year 2001. Shall we?” He’s almost skipping with anticipation as he leads me down the village street.
“Shall I ask what village this is or would that ruin your fun?” I smirk.
“Just up here,” he answers. Thought so.
For Scotland in my century, these people are certainly dressed oddly. Is it a Renaissance fete or something? Most of the teenagers are wearing normal clothes, but the adults are wearing a huge variety of long robes. Maybe it’s an Arthurian fan convention or some such. Merlin’s quite popular, evidently.
And, sadly, the Doctor’s right. Not a chip shop in sight. Nice looking pub a little way back, though. Maybe we can stop in there on our way out.
The Doctor stops suddenly and beams with affection. “Here it is, Rose. The most brilliant shop anywhere.”
“What, THIS? You’ve got to be joking.”
“Well, yeah, that’s rather the point. Coming in?” He pulls the door open and charges in, dragging me along by the hand.
~*~*~
I’m still adjusting to the physically manic part of this Doctor’s personality. “Kid in a candy store” doesn’t even come close to describing his behaviour while he peers into bin after bin of weird things.
“Hey, I used to wear a hat like this.” He pulls a sad battered fedora off a display shelf chock full of all sorts of hats. “Wore it when I first met the boys, actually. What d’ya think?”
Um. He can’t be serious. “Hope it wasn’t exactly like that one. S’not a good look for you.”
The fedora, floating above his headless shoulders, tilts to one side. I can’t see his expression, but I’m certain it’s a mock pout. The shoulders shrug. “No?” the Doctor’s head reappears and he tosses me the hat. “Well, I expect I’ve worn a lot of things you wouldn’t care for.” He winks cheekily.
I expect he knows full well the effect that wink has on me. I can’t help grinning at him before examining the hat in my hands.
“How’s this hat work, then?” I’m not entirely convinced that we are actually in Scotland. This whole place just feels a bit too strange.
The shop’s not terribly busy. So no one’s at the counter when the Doctor saunters up and calls out in his cheesiest bobby accent, “Allo, allo, allo. Wot’s all this then, eh?”
“DOCTOR?” a voice shouts excitedly from the back of the shop. A stocky redheaded man bolts out of a back room, vaults over the counter and gives the Doctor a bone-crushing hug. “Wow! You’ve changed again. Nice digs. George, get in here. The Doctor’s back!”
There’s a sloshing crash and an identical redhead stampedes up a staircase from the cellar. They’re too identical for twins. Clones? Wow, I’ve not met clones yet.
“Doctor!” the clone exclaims, “Brilliant to see you. I was just mentioning to Fred yesterday…”
“…that we could do with a bit of excitement,” Fred finishes.
“No major catastrophes…” begins George.
“…for months now.” This bouncing back and forth between them is making my head ache.
“So what’s it to be today?” George looks eager.
“Aliens …” Fred’s just as excited.
“…or monsters?”
“Or… alien monsters!” they finish in unison.
“Our storeroom is at your disposal…” offers Fred.
“…as always,” George bows with a flourish. I definitely have a headache.
“George, our manners!” they turn their attentions to me.
“Rose,” the Doctor takes my hand and pulls me into their midst, “meet the Weasley twins, Fred and George. Proud proprietors of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes - the best shop in the Galaxy.”
“Rose, pleasure to meet you, my dear,” George kisses my hand. Try again, mate. There’s no way you’re all proper manners.
“Rose by name, rose by nature,” Fred gives a deep bow. It’s such a cheesy line, but I like them instantly.
I smirk and banter back. “Charmed, I’m sure.” They are good-looking, and the mischievous and clever glint in their eyes tells me I’ll never be bored ‘round this lot. Wait a minute, too clever. “How did you know it was the Doctor if you’ve never seen him look like this?” He regenerated in front of me and even I didn’t know it was him.
“Ah,” George looks knowingly at his brother, “you’re a Muggle, then.”
“Um, no,” I say, feeling the need to distance myself from the term, even though I have no idea what a Muggle is.
“Afraid you are,” the Doctor interjects. “If you’re not a witch (and despite your mother, you’re not), then you’re definitely a Muggle.” And as if that were sufficient explanation, he walks off to examine the contents of a nearby bin. Drat the Doctor - he’s so profoundly annoying when he doesn’t tell me what’s going on.
We’ve reached the point where I want answers, but knowing the Doctor hasn’t had enough of his joke I turn to the twins. “Seriously, how did you know?”
“WOW!” The Doctor interrupts before they can get a word out. He’s picked up a knobly stick. “You’ve got vintage trick wands! I’ve wanted one of these for centuries.”
“What do you mean, ‘vintage’?” George rounds on him.
“That’s the latest model!” Fred finishes.
“Not for long,” he winks at the twins and their grins take on a menacing quality.
“Oh, Doctor-dear. Do come take a look ‘round our research lab.” Fred invites temptingly.
“We’d love your opinion on a few things, there’s a good chap.”
The Doctor avoids their attempts to wheedle information out of him as easily as he avoids mine. “Here, Rose, catch!” As that slender stick lands in my hands, it changes with a startling ‘POP’ into a very skittery mouse. It’s so completely unexpected that I drop it with a shriek.
“You’re not frightened of a harmless little mouse, surely.” There are times when I really can’t stand the Doctor’s cheeky wink and grin.
Rose glared, “I can wait outside until you’re finished.”
“No fun at all,” he muttered with another wink.
The twins zoom around the shop pointing out things to the Doctor so quickly that they look like six-year-olds pretending to be aeroplanes. He doesn’t miss a blink. Ok, then. I’ll just investigate the stool in this nice quiet corner over here. Where’s another exit in case I need to get him out of here fast.
After they've pointed out all their latest joke products, I discover that Fred and George are as difficult to send off course as I am.
“So, Doctor - “ begins Fred.
“… you were about to join us in the lab…,” George is steering the Doctor toward the cellar stairs.
“… for a little scientific exchange.”