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charleygirlAuthor: charleygirl
Rating: G
Type: Gen, humour, Christmas
Characters Involved/Pairing: The Eighth Doctor, Lucie Miller
Summary: There are some places even the Doctor won't go...
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and all associated characters and themes belongs to the BBC. Lucie Miller belongs to Big Finish Productions.
New short fic. :)
The better part of valour
The place was so busy that no one even noticed the arrival of a battered metropolitan police box by the bakery counter. Even the raucous wheezing and groaning that accompanied the box’s arrival caused no comment – everyone had no thought but their own particular goal, whether it be last minute vegetables, a cut-price cake or some chocolates for the child they’d forgotten to buy for. There was little time left – it was every man (or woman) for themselves.
After a few seconds the door of the police box opened, and a head of unruly chestnut brown curls popped out. The owner of the curls regarded the chaotic scene before him for a moment before his pale blues eyes blinked in astonishment, and he shook his head emphatically before disappearing back inside the box.
***
“What’s up?”
Lucie watched the Doctor hurry back across the console room from the door, hands flying to the controls with almost unseemly haste. She’d never seen him reject a destination so fast before – usually he’d pop outside, have a wander round, and get them accused of something before deciding that maybe sticking around hadn’t been such a good idea.
“Trouble. Big trouble,” was his response as he flicked switches and pulled levers, laying in a new course for the ship.
“What kind of trouble? Daleks? Cybermen? My cousin Nick after he’s had too much to drink on New Year’s Eve?”
“Worse. Much worse.”
Lucie folded her arms and watched him skitter round the console. “Must be if it’s got you jumping around like your socks are on fire. What’re you doing now?”
Finally the Doctor stood still, reaching for the dematerialisation lever that would send them barrelling back into the vortex. “Finding us a nice little corrupt regime to topple. It’ll be much safer. I’d rather face down a squad of Daleks and Cybermen combined than go out there.”
“Really?” Lucie whistled. “Is it worse than the Terrible Zodin?”
“Infinitely.”
“Must be bad then.”
“It is.” The Doctor pulled the lever sharply down and the noise of the TARDIS’s ancient engines reverberated through the console room. He threw the switch that activated the – in Lucie’s opinion – ridiculously ostentatious holographic ceiling and breathed a sigh of relief as the familiar swirling maelstrom of the time vortex shimmered overhead. “There. That’s better. Tea?”
“Yeah. Oi, Doctor,” Lucie added as he headed towards the door that led to the kitchen, “Where were we?”
The Doctor stopped between two stone columns. His face was serious. “A terrible place, full of noise and danger. A place running low on stocks of cranberry sauce and after dinner mints. A place where you’d run the risk of losing life and limb in the pursuit of Brussels sprouts.”
She stared at him. “You what?”
“Marks and Spencer’s food hall. On Christmas Eve.”
