Hiya. I got bored with the other stories I'd started and decided I'd better finish this one before uploading it. So, here's c hapter one of my AU story. A story I read, I think by Laura x Tennant or A Who Down in Whoville, caled Pink and Yellow and So Very Very Human (or something like that) inspired this. What if the Doctor (John Smith) were Rose's (the Doctor) companion? So, I wrote this. I may or may not upload the whole season, on one hand, I could do the more important episodes, or I could just do all of them. It'd take longer though.
If anyone's reading this, it'd be nice to have some input on that.
BTW, I don't own any of this; yeah, big surprise. I'm not RT Davies.
Let's Start at the Beginning…
Chapter One: John
John Smith woke, as he normally did so, at 7:30 in the morning. He completed his morning ritual by slamming his hand down on the snooze button and groaning a tired moan before shoving himself out of bed. He knew he needed to get up, but really, must he? Yes, he must, he decided reluctantly, and rolled out of bed tiredly.
A yawn split his jaw with a soft pop of his bones shifting, and he rubbed his bed-hair messily before stumbling out of his room and sleepwalking through making a pot of tea.
"You alrigh', mate?" his dorm-mate Mickey Smith (not any relation mind you, just coincidence) asked amusedly as he watched John fumble through his morning tasks.
"Eh…" he mumbled, squinting at the cabinet, as if wishing it would open at the press of a button instead of having to lift his arm up and open it.
"If ya drank coffee, ya wouldn't have this problem," Mickey laughed, raising a cup of the brown liquid to mark his point. John only frowned a little.
"I prefer tea," he only replied absentmindedly, opening the cupboard with another jaw-splitting yawn.
"Whatever, John," Mickey shook his head with a laugh as John poured out what seemed like half of the sugar bag into his tea before adding an extra helping of milk. "Ya gonna have tea with that sugared milk?" John mumbled back something unintelligible past the cup before throwing back a large gulp of the tea.
John blinked, eyes going from dull brown to electric in a flash.
"Ah, there we go!" he exclaimed, eyes opening wide and body jumping back to life. "Mickey! Mickity-Mickity-Mick!" John made a face and stared at him oddly. "How long have you been down here?"
"Since seven," Mickey replied, shaking his head at this bout of amnesia. John had to be forgiven, what with all the other much more high-tech stuff going on through his head Mickey was a tiny speck of triviality in the student's life.
"Huh," John took another swallow of his tea and shivered at the sugar rush. "Ah, that's the stuff." He closed his eyes a moment before transforming from a tired, decidedly un-morning person into a hyperactive chipmunk of disorder.
"Remember ya have to help me pick out a present for Lydia!" Mickey yelled after him. John signaled he had heard and remembered with an impatient wave of his hand before dropping into his car and driving off.
"He might have a degree in astrophysics," Mickey sighed, leaning against the door. "But how much help will 'e be in 'enricks?"
Not much, it seemed, as many hours later, John was staring confusedly a bit of women's clothing.
"How's that supposed to keep you warm or protect you in any way?" he muttered to himself, eyebrows crossed over bewildered eyes. Mickey glanced at it and sighed.
"Tha's no' somethin' ya needed to see, mate," Mickey rolled his eyes and dragged off the befuddled man. Even though John was technically older than Mickey, it didn't seem like it when John acted like a child – which was pretty much whenever he saw something shiny or vaguely interesting to a physicist-in-training – and didn't seem to have a clue about women. Not that Mickey often did either, but he did know some things, which was more than John.
"Nor is it likely yer gonna see it ever again," Mickey muttered to himself as the older man interested himself in the watches on the glass tables. Mickey couldn't imagine John with a girl; it was rather like thinking of those equations John easily used in his head and Mickey trying to figure them out by himself.
John's only girl was his complex formulae.
'This is a customer announcement: the store will be closing in five minutes. Thank you.' An announcement clearly echoed all over the store.
"Crap!" Mickey still hadn't picked out anything for his girlfriend, and John was talking rather animatedly to an amused security guard.
"Mickity-Mick! Lookit what I found!" and John held up a glittering silver and pink watch that looked just perfect.
"Perfect!" Mickey grinned.
"Oi, mate, d'ya mind takin' this down to a bloke called Wilson?" the security guard offered a plastic bag to John. "Down in the basement, if ya could." John nodded, taking the packet. "Thanks mate. I'll let ya out later."
"John, I gotta go," Mickey gestured at the doors of the shop after paying for the pretty watch. "Me and Lydia got a date soon."
"Go on," John said cheerfully. "I'll just find this Wilson-bloke." He turned on heel and swept off, his brown mole trench coat swinging just above his burgundy Converse, into a lift.
The doors of the lift opened and he stepped out into the slightly darkened basement, the cool air rushing over his face. The plastic bag rustled in his fingers as he looked around the corridor of the basement.
"Wilson?" he called out cautiously, bringing up the bag to look at the contents. "Em, Wilson? I've got your, er, lottery money…?" He glanced to his right and saw a door labeled with the name Wilson. He rapped smartly on it, bouncing back on his heels as he waited for reply.
"You there?" He called out cheerfully. There was no reply, and John frowned a little to himself. Whether the guard was letting him out or not, he did have some work he'd like to get to. "They're closing up shop, Wilsy-boy! Gotta go! Time's ticking!" John wished he had a watch to tap, but his wrist was bare, and there was no one to see anyways.
After another bout of silence, John tilted his head toward the door, just to see if he'd missed a sound, when a clattering noise came from his right. He squinted down the corridor.
"Oi, Wilson, that you?" he called, jogging down. "C'mon, old boy, can't leave without your lottery money, eh?" He followed the sound, opened the door, and let himself in, as he normally did: with little invitation. He poked his head in and about, looking in the dark room with an uneasy feeling growing in his stomach. He hated that feeling; it usually turned out to be correct in its fear.
John slipped fully into the room and flicked on the lights with the tip of his long finger before letting the door close behind him. The lights flickered on to reveal tall boxes, old clothing, and dummies just standing around all down the walls. He briskly walked past all the displays and found another door, which he tried, when the bang of a door shutting and locking echoed from his right.
"Uh oh," he murmured to himself, eyebrows high as he ran back and tested the door with a slight groan as they refused to open. "No, wait a minute…?" Another noise came from behind him, like there was someone else walking around.
"Is that someone mucking about?" he called doubtfully, feeling that same twist of unease spark once more in his throat. "Wilson, I hope that's you… who is it?" He thought he heard a grinding noise behind him, and turned. A plastic dummy lifted itself off its stand and shifted towards him as he stumbled back.
"Oh, hallo," he muttered nervously, tugging on his ear as he stared at the dummy in surprise. "Who's little prank was this?" he tried to keep it joking, in case it was all for a bullying laugh. "Eh? C'mon, I know ya got to be fake…" More figures were creaking towards him now, from all sides, and he half wondered what could possibly induce so many people to act so crazy.
John backed up, keeping his hands in his pockets as he anxiously scanned the crowd for a snicker or giggle, something to give away the dead silence which these figures crept in. The ones nearest him raised their hands, stiff like a salute, when something warm wrapped around his hand. He looked at the source of the warmth, a thin hand with tightly gripping fingers, than followed the leather-sleeved arm up to a pair of stormy blue eyes.
"Run," the girl next to him advised, eyes serious. And she pulled him off his feet as the pipe behind them broke at the karate chop of one of the plastic dummies. He dashed after her, hands still clenched tight, as they blasted through push doors out into a long corridor, ending in an elevator.
The girl pulled him into the back of the elevator and pressed a button, but not before one of the dummies managed to wriggle his arm into the opening between doors as they shut on it. The girl grabbed the arm and tugged fiercely at it, teeth clenched tight as she yanked it off the dummy and the doors slid shut.
"You pulled its arm off," John observed weakly.
"Yup," she sighed, tossing the arm back at him. John fumbled it for a moment before managing to hold it steady, staring at the completely solid plastic arm that this girl had just yanked off a living plastic dummy. "Plastic." How could she have just ripped it off him? The actor must've been armless. Or something.
"Very clever, nice trick," John snorted, still studying the arm with a strange look on his face. "Who're they, then, students? Is this a students' thing or what?"
"Why would they be students?" the girl gave him a look with sarcastic blue eyes, shifting in her black leather coat. Her gruff Northern accent only made her words harsher and more smirking.
"I dunno," John shrugged a little.
"Well you said it, why students?" she questioned, turning back to the elevator doors with arms crossed.
"'Cos… to get that many people dressed up and being silly... they gotta be students," John reasoned with another little shrug and matter-of-fact tone.
"That makes sense, well done," the girl gave him a smile that didn't quite reach her cold eyes, but how was he supposed to respond to that sort of answer?
"Thanks…?"
"They're not students," she looked at the door with a shake of her head.
"Whoever they are, that Wilson bloke's gonna find them and call the police."
"Who's Wilson?" the girl asked, head cocked.
"Er," John thought, seeing the plate on the door. "Chief electrician, I think."
"Wilson's dead," the girl replied flatly before stepping out of the lift and leaving John confused.
"That's just not funny, that's sick," John followed her out of the lift, wondering after her mental health and, at the same time, wondering why this strange, short-haired girl was here in the bottom of a basement and was acting so cold.
"Hold on, mind your eyes," she shoved him off to the side and pointed a buzzing stick at it, glowing a faint blue all over the elevator controls until it sparked.
"Who are you?" John meant to ask, but the girl seemed to ignore him, shoving past him once more with what seemed like an abnormally strong push. "Who's that lot down there?" The girl just kept walking at that brisk, decided jog. "Who are they?"
"They're made of plastic, living plastic creatures," the girl explained quickly, hardly making sense as they turned corners and went down halls. "They're being controlled by a relay device in the roof. Which would be a great big problem if," she lifted a strange, beeping electronic pad, "I didn't have this, so!" she ran up the steps to a door. "I'm going to go up there and blow them up, and I might well die in the process. But don't worry about me, no. Go home, go on! Go and have your lovely beans on toast." She smiled cheerfully for one who thought she was going to die soon.
She pushed him out the door and gave him one last warning, "Don't tell anyone about this, because if you do, you'll get them killed." And she shut the door, leaving John, gaping and blinking, wondering when time had stopped and when it had left him spinning in circles quite like this before.
Then the door opened again and John turned around to face the girl once more, feeling more bewildered than he ever had.
"I'm the Doctor by the way, what's yer name?" she waited a little, but John hardly had time to think, let alone come up with an answer he deemed appropriate, so his name spilled out of his mouth almost as quick as she had asked.
"John,"
"Nice to meet you, John," she held up the bomb with a delightfully mad grin. "Run for yer life!" And she ducked back in. John stood, plastic arm in one hand and a bag of lottery money in the other, as he stumbled down the dark street and wondered what had happened.
Meters away from the building, he watched as the roof of Henricks went up in flames, glass shattering and exploding out and he stumbled back. He hadn't expected her to actually… he wondered if she were dead. He wondered how she had escaped if she hadn't died.
"Hey, man, I was just watchin' some telly when I saw 'enricks blew up!" Mickey began ranting as soon as John opened the door.
"Yeah, I kinda saw it too," John grinned a little weakly before flopping into a chair and wishing he had a good cuppa.
"You could get compensation fer that, I'll bet," Mickey nodded. "Some sorta money deal, I mean ya were in the building an' all…"
"I was already out by then," John shook his head and got up to make tea with a sigh. "It doesn't matter, Mickey, alright?"
"Still, I bet they're takin' all sorts'a people off the streets t'interview," Mickey insisted. "And I mean, whatcha drinkin' tea fer? Nah, you need something stiffer…" Mickey's voice trailed off when he saw his friend wasn't paying the least attention; John's eyes were fixed on something else entirely.
"You and me, down to the pub, le's ge' a drink…"
"There's a match on, right?" John asked vaguely, eyes staring past Mickey and focused somewhere near the TV.
"Yeah, so?"
"Don't care for going out, you go," John waved him off, a cup of tea still gripped in his hand as he sat back down on the couch. "Go on, I'd rather stay home."
"Really, mate, 'cuz…"
"I'm fine, now go and focus your intensive possessiveness on your girlfriend, she'll like it a whole lot more than me," John grinned a little, weakly.
"Alright then," Mickey stood to leave.
"Oh, and bin that when you get out, eh?" John called after him, gesturing to the arm.
"Heh, bye!" Mickey waved the arm playfully, and John tried not to shudder when he recalled that arm coming very nearly close to chopping his head off. When Mickey put the hand over his throat and pretended to choke, John only looked away, feeling a little ill at the reminder.
Good so far? Kinda nervous here, I'm best at dialogue and word choice than descriptions and backgrounds, if you can't tell. So, reveiw, or not. Don't really care... sort of.