Okay, let's kick it up a notch! Clive Jones is in trouble, what does the Doctor do?

This chapter was quite fun to write - hope you enjoy it as I did!

Don't forget to leave me a review and let me know! Oh, and Happy New Year!


FOUR

The crowd, mostly men, were rubbernecking over a punch-up going on in the billiards area of the bar. A few people were just relishing in the violence, as people often do, and drinking. Others were saying things like "Yeah, you teach him, Matías, he's got it coming."

Much to the Doctor's horror, Clive Jones was on the floor, curled in a ball, getting his back beaten with the thick end of a pool cue by one drunken, unshaven man, and his stomach kicked by a second drunken, unshaven man.

Unable to hold back, the Doctor shouted, "Stop!" and he called Clive's name a couple of times. He wasn't sure why he did either of these things, other than, he was always keen to avoid witnessing further pugilism, and/or sinking to it himself.

A woman standing nearby, was whining, "Come on, Sebastián, this is ridiculous! It's two against one!"

A man with her, in a striking emerald-coloured shirt, said something to a similar effect. "Bastián, really? Let him up!"

"Oh, I'll let him up all right!" cried out one of the drunken brawlers, who was, apparently named Sebastián. With that, he grabbed Clive by the collar of his black dress shirt, and hauled him to his feet. When he let go, the Doctor could see that Clive already had a split lip, and he was clearly quite dazed by the whole fiasco.

Taking advantage of Clive's totally disarmed position, Matías threw his pool cue aside, and punched him in the jaw. This sent Clive reeling into a corner, stumbling against a bar-stool, his back against the seat. The two of them now began taking turns landing clumsy, drunken blows about Clive's face and chest.

The man in the emerald shirt protested again, "You are acting like barbarians! This is not a fair fight!"

This all happened in the space of about ten seconds, and the Doctor looked at the emerald-shirt man squarely. The two made eye-contact for another couple of seconds, during which it seemed they both wondered why the other didn't jump in and help.

"All right, fine!" the Doctor cried out, and he walked into the field of battle, aiming the sonic screwdriver at a lamp, swinging above the heads of Clive the other two brawlers. The exposed glass bulb exploded with a loud pop, and sparks flew as the sonic manipulation spread into the wiring above.

This surprised everyone, especially the three men in the corner. The crowd gave a surprised gasp, and the attackers ducked their heads down below their shoulders, shouting confused expletives. The Doctor seized the moment, pushed past them and grabbed Clive, who was hiding his eyes from the glass. He lifted the man under his arm, and stood him up.

As Matías and Sebastián came after him, he looked to his immediate left and noticed an emergency exit. He kicked it open, setting off the alarm, once again, vexing the spectators, and threw Clive through it. He then lifted the sonic screwdriver again, and augmented the pitch of the alarm so high, so loud, that no one in the room could keep from covering their ears, and attempting to flee.

He stepped out through the exit, and let the door slam behind him. He sonicked the lock, just for good measure.

He found Clive leaning against a tree, clearly unstable, about to fall over. He lifted Clive's arm again and put his own head underneath, supporting the other man's weight across his shoulders. It was awkward, as Clive was a couple inches shorter, but, the Doctor reckoned he could trudge back the half-mile or so this way, even though it wouldn't be easy. Briefly, he contemplated trying to find the emerald-shirt man, and asking him for help, but thought that might just make things messy.

"Oi, thanks, mate," Clive said, dazed.

"You're welcome, now let's get the hell out of here," said the Doctor. "The police were probably alerted by the alarm."

"Yeah," breathed Clive.

"Can you walk?"

"Yeah," Clive repeated, putting one foot in front of the other. "Maybe?"

Fortunately, there was nothing wrong with Clive's legs. As he got fresh air and shook off the rattling the hooligans in the bar had given him, he got stronger, was able to ward of the bit of shock and daze he felt. He was capable at least of moving forward, if not in a straight line. With the Doctor guiding him by the arm, they made their way up a pathway that led through a jungly, wooded area, up to the back of the resort. This way, they basically avoided any witnesses and law-enforcement. And in fact, after five minutes, they did hear sirens, and see lights flashing in the town.

"Blimey, what the hell happened in there?" the Doctor asked.

"We were playing pool."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, what else?"

"Mm," the Doctor commented, non-committally. Then, after a few long beats, he asked, "Did you maybe hustle them a bit?"

"A bit. Didn't really mean to, but… well, didn't try not to."

"You're a good pool-player, then?"

"Yeah," Clive admitted. "But those guys thought I wouldn't be able to beat them 'cause I look too posh."

"Ah."

"And probably too old," Clive chuckled. "But I can tell you, I spent my share of time in dusty old pubs like that, when I was their age."

"I'll bet you did," the Doctor said. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Too much. I might as well sleep right here on the grass, because that's where my wife will put me after she realises."

The Doctor smirked, but Clive didn't see.

They reached the edge of the resort's property, and there was a bench underneath a lamplight. Clive asked to stop and rest a moment. So, the Doctor all but dropped him onto the bench, then sat down himself, grateful for a breather.

The Doctor removed his baseball hat, mussed his hair, and tossed it into a bin on his right. He realised only then that he'd left his suit jacket, shirt and tie in a shopping bag in the pub when he'd gone off to follow Leo.

Oh, well, he thought. Good thing I've got thirty-seven of those suits.

Clive sat with his elbows on his knees for a few moments, looking down at the pavement.

"Are you going to be sick?" the Doctor asked.

"No, I don't think so. I just need a minute."

The Doctor gave him the time he needed, and eventually, Clive sat up straight, closed his eyes to will away the dizziness and headache, then turned and looked at him.

He blinked hard, a few times. Then, "Doctor?"

"Yep."

Clive seemed to try to shake off an hallucination. Then he tried again, looking at the man sitting beside him. "Doctor? Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Well blimey!" the man shouted, then leaned over to hug the Time Lord. "I didn't recognise you with that hat, and that shirt, and… wait, what are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know," the Doctor vamped awkwardly, a bit taken off-guard by the question. "Just tracking some anomalous… electromagnetic… stuff."

"And it happened to bring you here?"

"Yeah. Weird world, eh?"

"Fortunate world. Those guys might've killed me."

"Or at least might've broken a few ribs, or… wait, let me get a look at you." The Doctor took the man's head in both hands, and examined both eyes under the dim light. "You do have concussion."

"Great," Clive sighed. Then, he put his head in his own two hands again, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Oh, Doctor. What must you think of me?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, mate, you haven't exactly seen me at my best," Clive said, sitting upright again. "You've seen me chasing after my girlfriend – the one I had while I was still married. You've seen me getting captured, losing my temper, and shouting my lungs out. And now, you've seen me getting into a drunken punch-up in a pub because I hustled some younger blokes at a game of billiards."

Now, it was the Doctor's turn to sigh. "Well, Clive, your love life is none of my business. I don't judge people for stuff like that, as a rule. And you were being arrested for no good reason, by people you knew worked for a despotic politician, and screaming to protect your daughter. Your entire family, really. Anyone would have done the same. I know I would have. And the punch-up, well…"

"Don't tell me you've got in a whole bunch of 'em, Doctor, because your brawls save the universe. This is different. This is a grown man behaving like a university student."

"I've also seen you persevere with dignity," the Doctor offered. "I've seen you endure servitude and torture, without losing your cool, without losing hope."

"Not losing hope, that was down to you. And Martha."

"Still. That counts for a hell of a lot."

"See? That just shows I'm capable of more. Of better."

"You're human."

"I'm a father. And a grandfather! I own a business. I'm respectable, or at least I'm meant to be respectable!" he shouted, before burying his head in his hands again.

The Doctor put a comforting hand on the man's back, and gave him a couple of pats. "Well, you seem keen to beat yourself up over this, even worse than Matías and Sebastián have done. So, if you want to go down that road, I'll listen. But I won't help you."

"Sorry, Doctor," Clive said, through his hands. "I don't mean to be maudlin, it's just, I'm so appalled at myself."

"I can see that. But you know, you did get ganged-up upon. It wasn't a fair fight."

"I know, but I could have extracted myself from the situation earlier. I mean, I can't say I exactly provoked them, but when it became clear that they wanted a fight, I didn't back off, either."

The Doctor chuckled. "Welcome to my life."

"Did I maybe want the fight on some level?"

"Maybe. Can't fault you for that," the Doctor reassured him, understanding on a very deep level.

"I was just trying to have some fun," he said. "And show off a bit."

"Again, welcome to my life. Clive, you're a perfectly normal bloke," the Doctor continued to reassure. "You, of all people, needed to blow off some steam. I'd have preferred to see you go water-skiing or something, but I suppose, you play the cards you're dealt."

"Yeah."

"Isn't that why you're here, in Mallorca? Blowing off steam?"

"Yeah. It was a hell of a year."

"I know. Sorry."

"Oh God," Clive said quickly. "We don't blame you! No, not at all!"

"Thanks."

"Well, Francine might, just a tad," he conceded.

The Doctor smirked, in spite of himself. "Just a tad?"

Clive suddenly heaved himself onto his feet. In the few moments during which the Doctor looked at him straight-on, he could see that the man had a nasty-looking shiner, squarely landed on his right eye, and was reminded that his lip was fat and split.

"Speaking of whom," Clive was saying. "It's time I got back, and faced the…"

And he swooned, bending over to catch himself on the seat of the bench. The Doctor stood up to help, and said, "Yeah. Let's get you home. Or… wherever."

"It's okay," Clive said, trying to wave the Doctor away. "I can get there on my own. No need for you to fall prey to the wrath of Francine."

"Meh, I'm used to it," the Doctor quipped. "Plus, you are not anywhere near steady on your feet."

Clive didn't argue any further, and the two of them made their way back round to the front of the resort where they saw people still splashing about in the beautiful, multi-level pool where the Doctor and Donna had had their dinner. Clive reached into his pocket and produced a card-key that let them through the door that the Time Lord and his Companion had been surveilling just a few hours before.

"Which floor are you on?" the Doctor asked.

"Fifth."

The two of them rather stumbled into the lift and went up to floor five.

When the doors opened, the Doctor asked, "Which one is your room?"

"Erm… that one," Clive said, pointing at a door in the corner.

The Doctor led him there, took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever was to come. He reached up and knocked.

After about five seconds, he heard the latch go, and the door opened.

And he found himself face-to-face, once again, with Martha Jones.