Metacrisis, Not Alone
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who.
Chapter One
Rose Tyler wasn't picking up her phone. The apartment was mind-numbingly silent with her a thousand miles away on a mission. Rose did say he should be more social and interact more with the people in his department. At least that's what the Doctor aka John Smith, 35, kept reminding himself. Thus, here he was. At a bar on Halloween. Doing what supposedly "normal" humans do after work.
"I hung an effigy of Pete Tyler on my doorstep." Jules snickered as he slammed his drink on the wooden table and slapped John Smith on the back. John thinly smiled. He observed his other lab co-worker from the Alien Technology Department staring vacantly into his glass. Humans acted differently when they got drunk. Exhibit A: Jules Kirkpatrick, 42, the usual silent one with the sunken eyes that automatically made him look like a semi functional zombie on a regular day, now wouldn't stop blabbing one alien after after another. Exhibit B: Mark Cortez, 31, the comedian who made self-deprecating jokes about his short stature at work. He stopped making fun of the bar patrons' costumes an hour ago and now brooded into his glass of vodka.
The Doctor checked his flip phone for the thousandth time. No miss calls. No calls on voicemail.
"This is your night off, relax man." Jules rested his arm on John's shoulder, "I think she can survive one day without you." Mark continued staring into his drink.
"I'm supposed to be the expert on aliens, yeah? Why am I here?"
"The boss's just upset you blew up a couple of Gorjun ships. I mean they had it coming. No one messes with us. Three years torturing humans and the boss thinks they should go with a slap on the wrist. Heck, no." Jules scoffed and munched on an ice-cube.
"My daughter's friend was on one of those ships."" Mark looked up.
"Well, John did us a favor and he ended her suffering and countless others. More were going to come back. They're like roaches."
"Listen," both Jules and Mark glanced up at him as pointed a bony finger in their vague direction." I don't think I need any validation. From anyone. On me blowing up those Gorjun ships. Rose is out there alone-"
"She's got a Torchwood team with her, mate. Possibly trying to negotiate a peace resolution with the Mycoruv-"
"-and if it goes terribly bad, she has no one-"
"Torchwood is bloody reliable with alien invasions, if you ask me. Scaring off the alien scum of the universe, one bloody race at a time."
"Jules for pete's sake. Shut up." Mark glanced at John's subtle seething expression. His dark brown eyes, looking like bottomless black holes.
The Doctor ignored Jules."Out of how many alien invasions that occur on this world, how many leave Earth alone, hmm? How many?"
"Look, I know you think you're the Jesus of alien experts, John but…"
"What?"
"You're a genious. I get it. The whole Torchwood bloody gets it. And you're worried Rose is going to get hurt but she's been here for three bloody years without your glorified expertise. I think she can handle herself." Jules eyed a woman in a skimpy blue fuzzy tutu and a cropped top with the cookie monster's face on her chest. Mark's dour face briefly transformed into an upturned smirk. An old man in a chicken costume unsuccessfully clambered on the bar countertop. He made loud protestations in his Glaswegian accent as he got kicked out of the bar.
"Ah, Halloween. Where the freaks come out at night. Namely you two." Mark glared at the two of them, "Honestly, stop it. I'd like to spend one iota of my life, not moping about Torchwood. Yes, Torchwood tries to be the intergalactic UN and sometimes miserably fails but please I don't need to hear about it. Not now, not here until we get back into work tomorrow all right?"
"Rose is-"
"She'll be fine." Jules rolled his eyes.
"She's going to die." Mark said," Face it."
"What?" John was momentarily thrown off, "What?!"
"People... die, John."
"You're not helping, man. Keep brooding or whatever it is you're doing over there."
"She's jeopardy friendly. The last time-"
"You're just mad that you're out of the action and you're hanging out with us lab rats." Jules said.
John squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to wave away the memory of Jackie calling him that Rose had ended up in the hospital after one unsuccessful mission with the Gorjuns. Dehydration, tibia bone fracture, burnt marks...
The skinny man sighed in frustration, "She could at least tell me where she's going." He slapped his hands against the knotted table and stood up. "I'm going to try to call her."
Mark stared down at his drink and pinched his nose, "You do that." Jules shrugged and launched into a bad Weevil joke.
This is my first submitted Doctor Who story. I'd appreciate any constructive criticisms on characterizations, etc. Thanks.