A/N: This was just a little "what if" kind of story based on a scenario given to my friend. We were discussing cool names, Stirling Nesbit came up, we decided it sounded like some sort of candy bar, then further decided it would be the Eleventh Doctor's favourite food. Like how the Tenth Doctor loved cookies and the Ninth Doctor loved bananas. Anyway, just a fluffy little bit of nothingness.
I DO NOT own Doctor Who. Nor do I own Stirling Nesbit bars…they're "Out of This Galaxy!"
The Doctor paced anxiously around the control room in the TARDIS, munching on some sort of candy bar, while trying to fix what seemed to be a loose circuit. He set down the candy bar and picked up his sonic screwdriver, aiming it at the zig-zag stabiliser before absently sticking the screwdriver in his mouth and chewing on it. The Time Lord made a face, spitting it out. Wiping it off on his shirt, he jogged over to the other side of the control room, tucking the sonic into his tweed jacket that was resting on the rail. Amy, watching from a perch on the stairs, stifled a laugh. The Doctor looked more flustered than normal, his brown hair flopping into his face, the cuffs on his shirt rolled up to his elbows, and his braces slipped off of his shoulders to dangle loosely at his waist.
His head swiveled at the sound of her laughter.
"What? I'm trying to get her to land on the right planet so we can get more Stirling Nesbit bars." he huffed, clearly agitated.
Amy pursed her lips, adjusting her skirt as she did so.
"I still don't see exactly why you're so upset," she started, in her lilting accent, "I mean, it's just candy."
His bright eyes grew wild and he strode over to her in that 'drunken giraffe' sort of gait that this regeneration's body had.
"Just candy? Just candy? Pond, this is a matter of life and death!" he cried, flapping his arms around like a flamingo on Ritalin, or, in this case, candy bars. The Doctor ran his hands through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes before dashing over to the control screen, which had begun to blink rapidly and emit a beeping noise. His face fell, and was that a tear that appeared in the corner of his eye?
"No!" he murmured, pounding softly on the control with clenched fists. "No!" he screamed, as people often do when they learn that their favourite chocolate has been sold out and discontinued due to possible hazards of hypnotemporal disturbance causing residue, the side effects being extreme hyperactivity, a funny feeling in the pit of your stomach, and, in some cases, death. The Doctor collapsed against the control panel, and drew his lanky legs up, resting his head on his knees. Amy traipsed over, crouching down so that her face was next to the Doctor's.
"I'll make you some fish custard." she told him, lightly pressing her lips to the top of his head.
The alien could only whimper in reply.
Rory, who was hiding in some long forgotten broom closet, looked up from the ancient magazine. When he realised it was only the Doctor ranting on about something, went back to reading about bloodletting practices in the early 2340's. As he did, he crumpled up the multicoloured wrapper he was holding, tossing it into the corner with a dozen others. A strange feeling was gurgling in the pit of his stomach. He chalked it up to getting reaccustomed to space travel. He reached into the three by four foot box next to him, pulled out another Stirling Nesbit bar, and began to eat it.