Disclaimer: Doctor Who isn't mine =(
Characters: 11th Doctor, Amy Pond
Summary: The Doctor learns it's not just the mothers he has to look out for...
Notes: Written for a forum fic challenge, where you had to include the phrase 'very not good' somewhere. Also was written quite a while ago, so please forgive!
Very Not Good
"You sure you'll be okay?" he asked for the sixteenth time, turning to face her again.
"Doctor, I'll be fine," she intoned in her Scottish lilt, pushing him backwards through the door and into the TARDIS to emphasise her point. "Girly time shopping, without annoying comments from someone who looks like a professor from the 1800s..."
"Hey!"
"...what could be better?" She laughed at his indignant face, and flapped her hands at him in dismissal. "You go do whatever it is you want to do, and then you can come back and pick me up in time to pay for my stuff. And don't be late this time!"
As the door swung shut behind her, the Doctor turned his attentions to the controls of his time machine, and jiggled about with the various odds and ends, stamping his foot down on something looked like a piano pedal but which he had no idea what it actually did (it just made a nice 'ping!' sound when pressed).
"So..." he muttered as the rhythmic thrumming of the TARDIS machines whirred into life. "Time to put in an appearance in the Eastenders' live Christmas special?"
When the TARDIS landed, the Doctor leapt up from the console with a customary pat of the machinery and adjusted his bow tie.
"Albert Square!," he exclaimed, "here I come!"
He burst spectacularly out of the TARDIS, prepared for the onslaught of fake snow and Queen Vic locals.
Two and three-quarter seconds later, he was back inside the safety of his ship, leaning heavily against the doo.
That wasn't Albert Square! No, that was a far more familiar place. In fact, he had barely just left it in order to drop Amy off at the galactic-renowned fashion markets of the second-era Vespasians...
He peeked his head around the door hesitantly, before stepping out to check he hadn't been mistaken.
He hadn't.
"Leadworth?" he exclaimed in complete shock. "Leadworth?" He spun around, noticing that the rubber ducks someone had put into the pond as a joke had barely moved since the last time he was there. "Okay..." he muttered. "That's not good." It looked like he had arrived a couple of seconds after he and Amy had left here.
"That is very not good," he said, and made as if to return to the TARDIS quickly, but stopped short as he noticed a familiar face staring at the TARDIS. Properly staring at the TARDIS that is, not just staring the perception filter. This person was actually seeing the blue box.
"That is very not good," he said to himself, ducking behind a group of nearby ramblers and trying to blend in.
"Doctor?" came a voice.
He turned around.
Big mistake.
Before, he could have just carried on walking, and she would have been none the wiser as to which of the walkers was the owner of the wooden box her great-niece had dreamed of. And now he had marked himself out as prime target.
"That's extremely very not good."
He tried to walk away as though it was a mistake, but the damage was done.
He didn't even have time to duck.
:::
"I thought I told you not to be late!" Amy reprimanded, thrusting some bags into his arms and prodding him into the TARDIS.
"I took a detour," the Doctor said, staggering up the steps and dumping her bags on the floor.
"What could have been so important that you had to make me pay myself, hmm?"
"We-ell..." he began. "Basically, I had to jump start QE3's hovercraft, then I ran into Clint Eastwood, literally – I sent him flying – and I may have undone the European Union." He ran his hand through his hair, tousling it slightly. "And I'll probably have to go back and fix that."
"Why?" asked Amy. "Why not just let it be?"
"Big event in 2020," he replied seriously, before grinning. "President's birthday party. I get to name a theme park!"
"Err, Doctor?" Amy wasn't paying attention to his ramblings as she spotted a familiar item nearby. "Why d'you have my great-aunt's handbag...?" She looked at him carefully, spotting a small cut in his cheek that looked suspiciously like the fanged-clasp of...
"No!" she exhaled incredulously. "She didn't!"
"Oh yes she did!"
Amy staggered up to him, doubled over laughing. "My great-aunt attacked you with her handbag!"
He winced at how pathetic it sounded.
And I thought the mothers were bad!