Mickey
XI.
Mickey sips his tea pensively and regards the mystifying alien who's taking a toaster apart on his kitchen table.
Not that he's an alien at the moment: the latest craziness involves turning himself human, of all things, and forgetting all about his real self in the process. Just for a few months, he promised, just long enough for these mayfly-like Hunters to live out their short lives without any hope of finding him.
Now, Mickey has seen some very weird stuff, he has. He's lived in two universes – count 'em: two . He's chased – and been chased by – aliens of all sorts. He's travelled in the Tardis .
The Doctor's crazy explanation doesn't faze him, nor does his absolutely insane plan.
He finds himself wondering, though. Because this is the third 'him' he knows and for all the Time Lord's secretiveness and alien-ness, he's managed to learn a lot about the Doctor. Enough to realize that there are – there must be – other ways to deal with this particular threat.
Mickey suspects that this turning-human absurdity has more to do with the Doctor wishing he wasn't the Doctor for once, wishing the universe would take care of itself for a little while.
He won't say anything, though.
If there is one thing he's proud of, it's how much he's grown since he was that cowardly kid from the Powell Estate who couldn't see how special the stars are; and part of his hard-won open-mindedness is a tendency to live and let live.
Martha frets and grumbles – she wants to fix things, solve matters, get answers, she wants to act .
Mickey is content with keeping an eye on things.
He guesses this is why the Doctor came to him, of all people – hardly the first one you'd think of, Mickey the Idiot, is he? As Jake once joked, not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but... dependable. Reliable. Trustworthy.
And here the Doctor is, trusting him of all people with... well... himself.
He slips the ornate fob watch he's been given out of a pocket and turns it over and over in his hand, keeping it instinctively half-hidden. Amazing that such a small thing could hold one of the greatest being he's ever been fortunate enough to meet.
He nods to himself and puts his mug down, slipping the precious watch back into his pocket and preparing himself for yet another day of the charade he's promised to keep up for these three months.
"John, it's half nine. Do you plan to open today?"
Green eyes snap up to him, clouded with confusion; then they clear abruptly: "Hhm! Hmhhmmh!"
Shaking his head impatiently (and making that hair of his flop wildly), the human Doctor dumps a pile of random pieces onto the table and takes out of his lips the screws he'd stuck there to have them at hand. "Sorry," he mumbles quickly. "Sorry. Yeah, of course. Opening. Yeah. Forgot about that."
Mickey smiles and gets his coat while 'John Smith' bounces all over the small flat they've arranged for him in the attic of their house, collecting this and that and ooh, that too, and forgetting essentials like keys and wallet until Mickey hands them to him on their way out.
John launches into a tirade on a completely random topic as they walk – that's one thing that hasn't changed – and soon they're at the small curio shop that has somehow been set up for the human Doctor. Almost at once, John disappears into the dusty bowels of the storage room to do who knows what.
Imagine that, the Doctor working in a shop. Rose would have thought it a lark! He wishes she was here to laugh with them.
Mickey tidies and arranges a few things unhurriedly. There are never many customers, especially in the morning, so there's no reason to fret. That doesn't mean the little curio shop is ever boring, though. The amount of weird things that can be found on its shelves is simply astounding and Mickey spends most of his time perusing and wondering about the unusual objects. He's fairly certain at least some of them are aliens, whether John remembers it or not: surely humankind hasn't come up with all those oddities?
John himself is the oddest thing of all – no matter how human he is – and he charms their customers effortlessly with his wild tales and his peculiar knack for finding just what they didn't know they were looking for and his graceful clumsiness. Mickey vows to never tell him how much John reminds him of Gene Wilder's Willy Wonka.
In the evenings, they get back to dinner and Martha's anxious energy – she's using her UNIT contacts to research these Hunters, but without much success; she's running herself ragged, she is.
Mickey isn't entirely clear on why the situation is so distressing to her, but he has his work cut out for him, keeping her from confusing and worrying a thankfully oblivious John with her fretting. He makes a point to tease that agonizing frown away from her face every evening, mostly with kisses – keeping her lips occupied so she won't bite them so viciously in worry anymore.
He doesn't mind that last part too much.
He wonders why everybody else is so terribly worried by the whole situation. Haven't they faced much weirder – and more dangerous – stuff?
Mickey knows that once this parenthesis is over the Doctor will be back to himself in excellent shape and he knows that he can keep the fob watch – the real Doctor – safe in the meanwhile. What's to fret about?
X.
So there was a time when Mickey's life was normal, right? He thinks, if he puts his mind to the task, he might even remember what that was like.
'Course, that was before a bloody alien from outer space had landed heavily onto said normal life, dragging more aliens in his wake, not to mention exploding buildings, missiles, weird concoctions, conspiracy theories and whatnot. Oh, and sweeping off Mickey's girlfriend to lands unknown in the process. If lands was even the right word.
Now, Mickey is a good soul, everybody says that. He knows – can see it every time she comes back – that Rose is happier with the mad alien than she'd ever be with him. He's come to accept it, even, though it has taken him a while.
Same with the being an alien business – he isn't the fastest catcher, but he got there, eventually, and now he is perfectly comfortable discussing people from outer space and the various disasters they bring to Earth. He's even grown enough to admit that there is a chance humans might bring just as many disasters elsewhere in turn (Captain Cheesecake has certainly gone a way to convince him of this).
So all in all, Mickey could live with life how it is now, no matter how far from normal it is.
What he can seriously not figure out is how he's gone from having an alien drop by from time to time when his ex-girlfriend is in a mood to visit, to having said alien live in his bloody flat.
Mind you, said alien isn't an alien at all at the moment. Apparently. Mickey has some trouble wrapping his mind around the whole thing.
The not-an-alien-at-the-moment Doctor shuts Mickey's fridge with a bang and turns to him with a scowl, hair sticking up atop his head in a way Mickey would never, ever admit to envy.
"We're out of bananas," he says in displeasure. "Why are we out of bananas?"
Mickey rolls his eyes. "Dunno," he replies. "Maybe because you didn't buy them?"
The not-really-the-Doctor's scowl deepens and Mickey finds a little, petty satisfaction in that.
"Go buy some bananas, Mickey," his temporary flatmate orders dismissively.
Mickey rolls his eyes again and doesn't move from the couch, where he's busy beating his own record at Gran Turismo. The damn not-alien can buy his own bananas. Mickey's not his bloody servant!
The temporarily-a-human-Doctor makes an impatient sound of frustration and starts rummaging in the haphazard pile of files they've covered the table with.
"Where's the stuff on the Bromel case?" he demands.
"How should I know?" Mickey retorts, focus on the all-important fine tuning of his virtual car more than on his current flatmate's non-existent organizational skills.
The human Doctor huffs and Mickey grumbles – both feeling irritated. They can get on each other's nerves like pro, he reflects.
Maybe he should have just told the damn alien 'no', when he came into his flat like a hurricane, demanding that Mickey help him hide. Hide as a human , and as a watch . However that works.
Yeah, Mickey should probably have told him no. Surely Jackie could have handled the thing – kept the ornate fob watch safe, kept an eye on the Doctor-turned-human, all that. Ok, maybe she would have slapped him into changing his face again, for leaving Rose God knows where ("She'll be safe, there, I'm the one in trouble!" he'd cried – and Mickey really, really hopes it's true). Still. Why hasn't he sent the crazy alien to Jackie?
Then again, it's kind of neat, this: the Doctor needing his help. Mickey the Idiot to the rescue. Hah! So much for that bloody alien's so-called awesomeness.
He doesn't want to look too closely to why, things being as they are, the alien-in-need (turned human) still ended up being his boss.
Besides, that's the plus point of this whole, mad situation: they're now, officially, Private investigators of Paranormal Activities in London. 'Course, he loves being a mechanic, really, but... occult detectives – how cool is that?
Even if the not-alien thinks Mickey's just an assistant .
Some time later, the not-Doctor (and, alright, Mickey should probably start calling him John, no matter how absurd he finds the whole thing) comes up from his perusal of the papers and pictures with a triumphant "Ah-ha!"
That manages to drag Mickey away from his videogame at last.
"Mickey, I need you to obtain the phone records of the girlfriend, name's Rebecca Myers – I think we're onto something here!" he calls out with keenness. He grabs his coat on the way out, bouncing with energy. "I'm going to follow this other lead meanwhile - reported haunting in an abandoned dance hall, hah! I bet it's nothing but a prank. Have those records ready in a couple hours!"
Mickey doesn't want to admit it, but he's rather flattered that John seems convinced he's hired him for his excellent skills with computers.
'Residual awareness', the Doctor had called it: "I should have just enough residual awareness to let you in," he'd said. Well, the 'residual awareness' apparently includes Mickey's computer skills and he's rather pleased, because, well. It says the Doctor sort of admires him for it, right? Which is, yeah, it's good. Not that Mickey needs the bloody alien's approval... 'course not. But, yeah. It's good. He bets ol' Big Ears wouldn't have thought this much of him.
All the same...
"And buy some bananas!" comes the irritate shout from the stairs, just before the door slams shut after him.
Mickey clenches his teeth.
All the same, he can't wait for these three months to be over!
IX.
There have been a lot of times, in Mickey Smith's life, when he's wished that bloody alien serious harm with all his heart.
During the year Rose missed, for instance, it had been a daily occurrence. No, scratch that: it had happened several times a day.
After the whole blowing up 10 Downing Street to save the world thing, he'd sort of tried to get over his resentment, as best he could. After all, the alien had been decent enough to invite him along and he couldn't be blamed for Mickey being a spineless coward.
No wonder Rose left him behind so easily: she was born to fly, that amazing girl, and burn as brightly as the stars; and that bloody alien is the one who can help her do just that.
Of course, Mickey – steady, down-to-earth best mate that he is – will be the one to pick up the pieces when that bloody alien burns her wings, like he's bound to do, eventually, and she is forced to come back to Earth – literally and metaphorically.
He's been waiting patiently for just that.
Because of course she will come back.
Or so he'd firmly believed, at least, but perhaps it has been naive to trust that bloody alien to bring her home again; because here he is, and Rose's nowhere in sight.
Oh, yes: there have been plenty of times when Mickey has wished the Doctor harm: but now, now is the first time when he actually considers doing it (as opposed to just hoping he'll trip and break his neck or something).
He definitely feels furious enough to manage it, too. Especially since the bloody alien in question is now a bloody human. A human! How ridiculous is that?
But his absurd craziness isn't a problem (it's rather a given, after all). No, what Mickey can't – won't – forgive is that he's left Rose... somewhere. On an alien planet whose name Mickey's already forgotten.
He's left. Rose. On a freaking. Alien. Planet!
Mickey doesn't care one whit about his having to escape in a hurry (he'd bet the Doctor's provoked these Hunters somehow, that's the kind of thing he'd do), their being able to follow him through time (the explanation didn't make a lick of sense to him anyway), her being safer where she is (that really only means that London isn't safe, which doesn't sit well with Mickey at all) and he doesn't believe that bloody alien had the sense to leave her with enough money to live well, wherever she is (she's told him how the cheapskate hadn't even paid for chips on their bloody first date – even Mickey had never fallen so low, poor boyfriend though he might have been).
As for believing he'll be right back for her and she won't even notice he'd gone... yeah, right. Mickey'd heard that one before (and been brought up on charges for it!).
No, the bloody alien has really crossed the limit this time.
And the nerve to ask for Mickey's help!
He glowers silently at the jeans-clad legs sticking out of a gorgeous, 1930 Bentley Speed Six Mulliner drop head coupé, rather improbably arrived at their workshop that morning and which Mickey simply aches to get his hands on (but of course the bloody alien had got the once-in-a-lifetime-on-the-Estate job instead, regardless of the fact that he's the last hired mechanic in the place).
Really, the only thing stopping him from punching the bastard is the fact that he, quite clearly, remembers nothing of who he truly is.
But once the required three months are up… Oh, Mickey is going to demand answers. He will, just you watch him. He won't be intimidated by the bloody alien, nossir, not this time.
He wishes he didn't have to wait so long. He's actually had to leave the weird fob watch he's entrusted with hidden at home, to avoid the temptation of opening it too soon. He might resent the Doctor for putting him into this position (and leaving Rose on an alien planet!) but he doesn't dare risk the world just to give the bloody alien a piece of his mind.
There will be time later.
The loathed Manchester accent sounds from underneath the car of his dreams, demanding a torque wrench. Mickey's eye twitches in irritation, but he reluctantly moves to assist the alien pretending to be a mechanic. Not fast enough, obviously, as he's subjected to the all-too-familiar 'lazy ape' grumblings.
He is so going to punch him in the nose as soon as he's back to himself.