A/N: Okay, so the title is temporary, probably. I've been working on this for a while now and honestly, I'm not sure how well it went, but I thought I would share it, anyway. It was inspired by the 'Mr. and Mrs. Smith' manip of Rose and the Doctor on Deviantart (I believe the creator is rosechips?). Reviews are appreciated!
Disclaimers: I don't own Doctor Who or it's characters (and there are going to be a ton of characters making appearances in this).
Enjoy!
Shoulder length blonde hair, pale skin, bright red lips, and an awful lot of leg showing. Her dress, pitch black, was strapless. The left side dipped down to her ankle, meeting her black heel, while the right was split to her thigh; the cause of how much leg was available to be seen. On the mostly covered leg, there was a black strap around her thigh. John Smith swallowed, dragging his gaze away from the woman and instead sweeping it over the crowd of guests. He took a deep breath, beginning to brave the huddling drunks and not-so-drunks, carefully balancing a black waiters tray stacked with wine glasses in his right hand. He kept his other arm pressed painfully against his back.
He paused at the edge of the room, a sigh escaping his lips. Everything felt uncomfortable. His black suit was just a tad too tight and the white gloves on his hands were rubbing against his wrists and making it itch. To make it even worse, the fancy building he was currently in was crowded with people and it was horribly hot inside. Oh, he hated this job. He would take a different job any chance he got, without hesitation. Hell, he'd settle for being a garbage boy, if he had to. Problem was, he had an incredibly short attention span, so his previous jobs didn't really end well, and he doubted any future jobs would, either.
After a few moments, he realized he was staring at the woman again, and angrily made himself look away. He didn't understand what it was about the woman that kept stealing his attention. It wasn't the fact that she was impossibly gorgeous, although she was. No, there was something different about her. Like the other guests, she held her head high and spoke freely. However, she was almost a little too confident with herself. Not that that was bad, it was just... different. Unusual, considering the types of people who attended these parties. When she laughed, it was almost forced, and she didn't take any drinks - or, if she had, he hadn't seen her do so. All she did was stand off by herself, watching everyone, occasionally speaking with a dark haired man in the back of the room.
If someone tried to talk to her, or to flirt with her, she either waved them off or politely rejected them. After a year of working as a waiter and waiting at fancy, expensive parties, he'd learned how most people acted. They would wander around talking and drinking as much as they could until they were too drunk to form a correct sentence. Then, they would spend the rest of the night laughing and dancing and spending the night in the hotel rooms on the floor above with someone that they wouldn't even recognize when they woke up next to them the next morning, stripped of their clothing. Other times, sleeping with the other guests was the whole reason that people came. But John could tell, just by watching her, that this woman - this beautiful, confident, blonde woman - wasn't here for that. She hardly even looked as if she were here for a party.
He watched as she walked calmly towards the opposite end of the room, avoiding the dance pit and staying close to the gold pillars that towered down from the ceiling. A wolf whistle jerked him from his thoughts and he jumped, nearly sending his tray clattering to the floor. He whipped his head around, scowling. Eric, John's co-worker and best friend since Primary school, stood beside him, his nest of blonde hair spiking up in all directions on his head, much like John's thick brown hair. His wide, blue eyes sparkled. Eric's gaze was following the blonde woman as she walked around the room.
"You've certainly got you eye on a pretty woman," he smirked, winking. "Although, I don't think we're allowed to be chasing guests."
John felt blood rushing to his cheeks, and quickly tried to fight the blush, although he knew he had failed. "It isn't like that," he argued, shifting uncomfortably. Eric snorted, clearly not believing him.
"Who is she, anyway? I've never seen her before. I mean, aren't the people here usually famous, or whatever?"
John shrugged. "I'm not quite sure."
They both watched her cross the room, pausing as another waiter offered her a glass of wine. She shook her head and smiled, twirling a piece of hair between her fingers as she walked away, her other arm wrapped around her waist. It almost looked as if she was waiting for someone, or something, although he didn't voice his thoughts aloud. Eric bumped John's shoulder with his own, grinning.
"You should go talk to her. I'm sure it wouldn't hurt. Besides, I doubt it would take much. According to woman, you're attractive and nice, and apparently that's enough to get any drunken woman in bed."
John smiled and shook his head. "I'm not looking for that," he explained. He didn't mention the fact that not only was that not true, but the woman wasn't even drunk. Eric flashed him an odd look, although he didn't necessarily look surprised. John had never really been the one to go looking for one night stands. He wasn't even one to party. That was Eric's hobbies. The only reason he ever attended parties was because he was working. Never had he ever sneaked out of the house to attended some stupid teenage party that would only end up with everyone being arrested.
That wasn't to say that he didn't love the thrill of things like that. He loved getting in trouble; always had. He just didn't quite believe that getting high and drunk was the right way to go about it.
He would much rather be in a danger sort of trouble. Getting trapped in a pyramid or stuck on the top of a sky scrapper had always appealed to him. In fact, anything that included travelling anywhere appealed to him. He hated standing still for too long and he hated doing the same thing over and over again.
That was probably why he was always getting fired and why he hated his current job.
"Well," Eric straightened his back, snapping John from his thoughts once more. "If you won't, I will."
Before John could get another word in, Eric was crossing the room, winding around the dance pit, towards the woman. He watched, amused, as Eric approached her, a smirk on his face. He said something to her, and whatever it was much have offended her, because she glared at him and turned away as she spat out an insult at him, leaving him with a confused look on his face.
John chuckled and shook his head, directing his attention away from his friend. His eyes caught the gaze of an older man, probably in his eighties, sitting on a couch at the end of the room near the bar. The man had gray, thinning hair, which was slicked back over his head. He was slightly chubby and his skin was wrinkled. He wore a suit and a bow tie, much like the outfit of a waiter, yet something separated him from the staff. It was obvious he was a guest, and a rather important one at that. Feeling a little nervous, John started across the room, his heart pounding in his chest. He stood up straighter and tucked his arm behind his back again.
"Sir," he greeted, now standing in front of the guest. He lowered his arm so that he could take a glass off of the tray without having to stand up. The man simply laughed, and it seemed like forever before he stopped, making John feel rather uncomfortable.
"No, no," he said, his voice a little shaky from old age. He stood up, still chuckling. John took an uncertain step back, biting down on his lip. "I wanted to ask you a favor," the old man continued, smiling. John blinked, shocked. What? Guests never spoke to the staff. They just didn't. To the guests, the staff were just their alcohol providers, and nothing else. It was only on a rare occasion that they were even thanked for serving them. So, why on Earth was this man, presumably a celebrity or someone of high importance, speaking to him?
"My name is Alec," the man said slowly, looking lost in thought. John watched as 'Alec' began digging around in his pocket, his his eyebrows furrowing. After a minute or two of awkward silence between the two of them, he pulled something from his pocket. John studied it curiously, frowning. It was a silver key strung through a rusting, copper chain. The key had the word 'Mitch' inscribed in it in a simple font. Alec smiled. "Stick your hand out."
Hesitantly, John did as told, staring at Alec with a questioning gaze. Carefully, Alec lowered the key in the palm of John's gloved hand. The old man's hand curled John's fingers up and over the object, smiling and patting his fist. "Just hold on to that for me, will you?"
"Uh... I'm sorry, sir, but I'm... I'm afraid that I can't take this."
The old man smiled, but his eyes carried a touch of impatience. "I'm not giving it to you. I'm asking you to keep a hold on it. Who knows how many people here would love to get their hands on this." Alec's gaze darted across the room. John followed his gaze, and bit back a sniff of surprise. His eyes had landed on the blonde woman and she was watching them - or, more specifically, John - with an cold look on her face.
John shivered and snapped his gaze back to the man, swallowing. Was that woman one of the people who wanted the key? Why? What could be so important about it? What did it go to? He wanted answers more than anything, but he knew for a fact that he wasn't going to be getting any.
A couple minutes later, the woman left to go upstairs, taking the elevator. She didn't talk to him, and as soon as she had realized he had seen her staring, she had looked away and kept her distance from him. John was utterly confused, and not having answers was frustrating him. He loved not knowing things for the most part, but this was just annoying.
Alec had quickly abandoned him, forcing him to keep the key. When John had asked Eric's thoughts about it, Eric had simply laughed, called Alec a drunk, and continued to flirt with a brunette woman. John hadn't bothered him any further.
Nearly half an hour later, he was approached by a rather intimidating looking guard. He stood about four inches taller than John and he had square shoulders and a very serious looking face with small eyes. John felt rather awkward under his gaze.
"We are evacuating." He spoke with an almost robotic voice.
"What?" John frowned, putting his waiter tray down on a nearby table. He glanced around. Sure enough, people were beginning to leave, although they didn't look very happy about it. "Why?"
"Safety precautions," the guard grumbled, and before John could even begin to start moving, the guard had gripped his shoulders and was hauling him towards the exit, his face straight. John yelped in pain, struggling to free from his grip. He spat out several cuss words, twisting and turning. The guards hands dropped to grab him at his upper fore arms and he squeezed tight enough to cut off the blood circulation in his arms. Guests, both drunk and not, watched curiously as he was tossed outside, landing on the concrete outside with a loud thud when his head smacked against the pavement. Pain flooded his head for a few moment, but it faded quickly. A woman shuffled up to him uncertainly, asking him if he was alright. He waved her off, scowling and climbing to his feet.
Eric was by his side in an instant. He was laughing. "Why did he throw you out?"
"I don't know," John growled coldly, wiping off the dirt and gravel that was clinging onto his suit. When he looked up, he could see that several other people were being thrown out, too. People yelled angrily at the three men doing the deed. "What's going on?" John hissed under his breath. All three of the guards all looked almost dead when it came to their expressions. All three were emotionless, staring blankly ahead.
People were getting more restless and angrier by the minute. All around him, he could hear screaming as people tried to find out why they were being evacuated. John turned to ask Eric if he knew anything, but the blonde was gone. Frowning, he glanced behind him. Eric was flirting with a drunk brunette woman, and she seemed to be enjoying it, because pretty soon she had her lips jammed roughly against his and her fingers digging into his hair and people were actually encouraging them, laughing and watching. They didn't look like they were going to be breaking up anytime soon, either, unless someone stopped them. God, how drunk were these people?
Sighing, John started towards them, wanting to speak with Eric, but he stopped mid-step as an angry yowl filled the air. Nobody else seemed bothered by it, but somehow, he recognized it. He spun back around, his eyes narrowed, anger swirling through his veins. One of the guards had his arms wrapped around the blonde woman. Her hair was a mess and her brown eyes were filled with annoyance. Once they were on the porch, she shoved him away, stumbling forward and tumbling into the rich, green grass. He started to move forward, to help her to her feet, but she quickly stood back up by herself, her eyes darting in every direction.
John paused. She didn't looked embarrassed. She seemed to be looking for someone. Who? John watched curiously, slinking to the side to stay hidden by the crowd. Her gaze scanned the crowd of people, her lips pursed. She kept inching off to the side. He realized in a bit of confusion that she was checking to make sure no one was watching her. And, as far as she was concerned, no one who wasn't drunk was. Except for him, of course, but she didn't know that. Suddenly, she spun around, slowly walking to the side of the building. From where he was, he wasn't able to see what she was doing, so, as subtly as he could, he slunk through the crowd, dodging drunk idiots until he reached the edge. He watched, a small gasp of surprise escaping his lips, watching as she climbed through a window, into the building.
For a few moments, he stood, unmoving. What on Earth was she doing? Why was she going back inside? Certainly there was nothing inside that she needed to get? There was, of course, the chance that she was just being rebellious, but she didn't exactly look the type. John bit his lip uncertainly, his brow furrowed. Curiosity was beginning to burn in his chest. Where was she going? He glanced around at the people around him, rocking back on his heels. He wanted to follow her, more than anything. This was the kind of trouble that was appealing to him. Sneaking into a building. He ran a hand through his thick brown hair, scrunching up his nose and sighing.
What if he were to be caught? Would he be arrested? He couldn't afford to be arrested at the moment. He couldn't afford the fines of breaking into a building. Well... he smirked, slowly beginning to inch towards the open window that the blonde had gone through, his eyes darting back to make sure that nobody was watching. There was a simple resolution to his problem, if he really thought about it. He just wouldn't get caught.
It took him a bit longer to get inside of the building than he would have liked. The window was higher off the ground than he had previously thought. He ended up ripping the pants of his suit, and when he was finally over the window sill, he fell to the ground, narrowly missing a table. Groaning, he laid winded for a few moments, his head spinning. How had the woman gotten through so easily? She must have been used to sneaking into buildings. Pushing himself up off the ground, he stumbled to his feet, putting a hand to his head.
He took a deep breath and stood still for a few moments, examining the room. It was so much nicer when it wasn't flooded with people and music and party lights. All of the party lights had been turned off, so the area was just bathed in it's normal white light. Carefully, he started forward, tiptoeing through the ball-like room to avoid getting caught. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest, he almost wondered if someone would be able to hear it. He accidentally kicked a red party cup and he froze instantly, wincing. He wasn't used to this; he was a complete mess.
After a few minutes, no one came, so he started forward again, his eyes roaming the room. He had jumped down into the dance pit (which was only a step down from the rest of the room and had the floor painted brown instead of tan), which was probably a mistake, considering when he had landed, the sound echoed around room. Still, no one came. Where had those guards gone? And more importantly, where had the woman gone?
Chewing on his lower lip, he stopped walking, looking around with an arched eyebrow and his gloved hands stuffed into his pockets. Now that people weren't constantly moving around, the area was much colder and he shivered. This was odd. He started towards the staircase at the right side of the room. It was painted the same light tan color as the rest of the room and it was about two and a half yards wide. A duplicate of the staircase was at the opposite end of the room and they both followed the circular structure of the room until they joined about a mile high in the air and then led to the next level of the building. He quickly began hurrying up the steps, skipping one every once in a while. When he reached the top, he felt a little out of breath, but he ignored it, continuing to search through the building.
This floor was the first floor of hotel rooms. There were nearly one hundred rooms on each floor. Pursing his lips, he started through the first hallway, scanning the rooms. The walls of the hallways were brown, with lighter, vertical stripes, each about a foot apart. About three small chandeliers hung from the ceiling in each hallway. Each cherry brown colored door was framed with a gold-painted wood, which were all engraved with fancy designs. Some of the doors were left open and he chuckled, imagining the occupants being interrupted in their activity to be evacuated. Poor them. He searched several hallways, but still, he found nothing. It was as if they had all simply vanished. He wandered into another hallway, bored, until suddenly, a voice reached his ears, and he froze mid step, swallowing. It was definitely a female voice, and she sounded annoyed. Creeping forward, he started towards the room that the voice was coming from. When he stood in front of it, he could definitely tell that whoever it was was inside of this particular room. He glanced up at the sign on the cherry wood door. Room 10, Hallway 6.
For a moment, he thought about knocking, but figured that would be a pretty stupid move, considering he wasn't meant to be in the building in the first place. Carefully, he crouched down, slowly pulling the door open. It opened silently, thank God. However, what was on the inside of the room made him freeze.
The blonde woman was standing next to a man who had on a dark blue military coat. He had rich brown hair and his face was scrunched up in annoyance. That wasn't what had caught his attention, though. What had caught his attention was that fact that the two of them both had handguns, and they were pointed at a man dressed in a black suit. Blood was covering the man's scarred face and he was strapped to a chair, laughing. His mess of brown hair was slicked back with a touch too much hair gel.
"Tell us where it is!" Snapped the woman, her hand tightening on the gun. The man in the chair simply laughed again. Clearly, the woman was fed up with it, because without a second thought, she relaxed, pulled the trigger, and stepped back. The man's body jerked and then he fell still, blood pooling from the wound in his forehead and leaking from his mouth. The wall behind him had been splattered with blood. John couldn't hold back the horrified gasp that escaped his lips. At the sound, both the woman and the trench coated man whipped around to face him, both looking shocked. John snapped back to life after a few seconds of staring, jumping to his feet.
"O-oh my God," was all he could stutter out before bolting down the hallway, his ears ringing. What had he just seen? Well... that was obvious. He had just seen a murder. Oh God, oh God, oh God, I'm going to die, aren't I? he thought, stumbling down the hallway, tripping over the dark red carpet beneath his feet. He staggered sideways, his arms shooting out to the wall to keep himself upright. His legs were weak and were hardly supporting him - probably due to his shock. What was he going to do if he survived? Report it to the police? But wouldn't they ask him what he was doing in a building he wasn't meant to be in? He felt sick to his stomach and his mouth had gone dry. He shouldn't be thinking about that. He should be thinking about how he was going to escape.
Perhaps through a window? He could go into one of the rooms and leap out, but that was only if he wanted to break his legs. He couldn't possibly escape down the staircase; he'd be shot dead in no time flat, and he'd seen enough movies to know that going up to the roof wasn't the smartest idea. Right now, there didn't seem to be a way out, and that terrified him.
He could hear footsteps pounding after him, yelling at him to stop, but he didn't listen. Why should he? Why in the world did they think he would stop after he'd witnessed them murdering someone? The thought sent shivers down his spine and he groaned. His eyes caught the elevator and he scrambled towards it, but never got the chance as a rather familiar face stepped out from around the corner, an amused glint in his eyes. John stumbled to a stop, his mouth hanging open.
Alec titled his head, smiling a yellow-teethed grin, and John felt his heart sink. What had he gotten himself into? Even better question, what had he done to deserve this? This was terrifying! "Hello," Alec said. The shakiness in his voice had disappeared, replaced by a voice that was far too young to fit the old man's body. John shuddered, horrified, as the woman and the man rounded the corner, guns still in hands. He squeaked, his hands flying up as they pointed their guns at his back. "Oh, God," he choked out quietly, grinding his teeth together and squeezing his eyes shut tight.
This was a terrible way to die.
Alec, the woman, and the man were completely silent for a few moments. Then, slowly, the woman spoke, in a voice that shouldn't be as soothing as it was, considering the situation. "Just give as the key, and we won't shoot," she said slowly. John frowned, his breathing labored. Key? What... oh. He pursed his lips, his entire body shaking.
"They key," he repeated slowly, glancing at her over his shoulder. The blonde nodded slowly. Alec scowled.
"No!" He snapped, stepping forward, and John immediately stepped back, wincing. The old man closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He held his hand out, his muscles tense. "The key is mine. Give it to me."
Oh again. John's eyes flickered between the three people, confusing rifling through his thoughts. Who were the good people here? Slowly, his lowered his hand to his pocket to reach for the key. The trench coated man must have thought he was reaching for a weapon, because suddenly, his hands tightened on his gun, and before John could react, a loud, horrifying sound pierced the air, and he felt a pain drilling into his leg. He dropped to the ground almost immediately, his scream echoing through the halls. The key, which he had been grasping in his hand, fell to the ground, and Alec instantly snatched it up, then turned to run down the hall. The trench coated man yelled in frustration and moved to chase him, but the woman's hand gripped his upper forearm to stop him.
"Oh my God, Jack!" She spat. The brunette man, who was apparently named Jack, frowned.
"What? Rose? What did I do?"
Rose sighed in exasperation. "You shot him in the leg!" John groaned, clutching at his leg and gritting his teeth. Blood soaked through his black pants, dripping onto his hands and ruining his white gloves. It dripped to the ground, staining the carpet a deeper shade of red. He frowned, suddenly feeling dizzy.
Was it meant to bleed this much? Was it meant to feel as if someone was stabbing him repeatedly in the leg? Pain was flooding his body, and he felt rather helpless. He dug his fingers into the area around the wound, refusing to let himself cry. Slowly, the blonde - Rose - walked up to him, a cautious look on her face. Her eyes dropped to the wound, and the caution was replaced with worry. The last thing John heard was Rose telling off Jack, before his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he slumped backwards, unconscious.