Benefits of a Snog Box
Chapter 12
a/n: beta by Nerd Owl. Nope, the Doctor just cant seem to catch a break, can he?
Tendrils of what appeared to be steam but were really vapor streamed down like liquid over the windows, distorting the view of the landscape. Already the red sun kissed the horizon, transforming the fields of carbon dioxide snow to sheets of continuous pink. One of the skiers set out cards on a glass topped table, passing them to the man across from her.
A copy of the emergency operation manual sat next to the other items on the coffee table. On three sides a sectional sofa surrounded it, each segment occupied by one of the stranded patrons. Pieces of panelling on the walls revealed wires here and there.
Weary of playing cards or waiting for the regiment ship, the Time Lord had gone to looking over the nearby bits of circuitry within reach. Still his bottom lip pouched out in a perfect pout, but he still kept a few cards in front of him for the sake of participation. Thanks to a set of makeshift crutches he could just about get around, but barely.
"Doctor, can't you sit still?" Trevor scolded, glancing up from behind the fan of cards he held up.
"Sitting still is rubbish," the Doctor pouted, hauling himself to his feet as he hobbled on one leg. In contrast, Devon sprawled out on the sofa, all four limbs akimbo staring up at the ceiling.
"Look, we've done all the right things, except wait," Trevor tried to reassure him. "We've informed the regiment, checked the supplies..."
"Optimized the food and air rations, calibrated the environmental controls..." Added the Sirius female, in a bored done as she picked up her cards.
"Don't you want to know why this happened?" The Doctor asked, shaking his head. He brushed the pieces of wire off his snow suit, and threw down his cards. Scattered around his feet were small flakes of glass, metal and plastic.
"I just want to go home, actually. I need a vacation from this vacation," Devon whined, foot propped up on a stack of pillows. He tossed his hand down into the table in front of him.
"Cheater," muttered Trevor, letting his cards drop nearby.
"Winner takes all," laughed the Sirius female. She collected the translucent pieces of plastic, and integrated them once more into the deck.
"How many rounds does this make?" the Doctor asked, turning his attention back to the circuit panel he pulled out of the wall.
"8," said Trevor, glancing over at him. Rising to his feet he grasped the Time Lord's upper arms.
"Blimey, there's no need to be that upset that Devon's winning,.. Oi... What are you..." The Doctor spluttered.
"Now sit down... You should be off your feet, like him!" Trevor scolded, wagging his head towards the prone male cat.
"Doctor, you can fiddle with that stuff and I can fetch it," the Sirius female offered. "Told you that before..."
"But to put you to the trouble," the Doctor protested, only to have her wave her hands dismissively.
"Please. It's that or have you whine and Trevor yell at you. If it's a choice between the two..." She sighed, causing the Time Lord to flinch.
"Ah..." He chuckled ruefully, aware of the accusatory gleam in her eyes. Hanging around his waist was the top of his suit. Frowning he struggled to get out if it, almost toppling over.
"And you're a klutz," Trevor scolded, clutching hold of him. "So if you don't mind... Put your bottom on that seat, asap..."
"A-OK," the Doctor replied, letting them help him sit again, vaguely aware of something missing. Of course, it would be Clara scolding him about now. Most likely she was worried sick or rehearsing a speech about how he shouldn't have run off. At this point he would have welcomed the argument because of boredom, and concern.
He bent over and clawed off the rest of his protective outer suit to reveal black drainpipe pants, purple tweed coat, and usual boots. The others blinked at him suddenly wearing what he usually would. He said, "Now I've your attention, let's look at this situation again..."
"Doctor... We are safest here," Trevor warned him. "In a state of the art habitat and out there it's about to get below zero degrees Celsius as soon as the sun sets. Yes, I know it's horrible that the tour bus left but.."
"Don't you see it's not about the tour bus, or the radio silence? Why would a company that prides itself on patron safety get so sloppy suddenly?" The D octor demanded.
"I get your frustrated," said the Sirius female. "But the regiment..."
"Isn't always right," the Doctor muttered. About to roll his eyes Trevor noticed the flash of lights in the distance and the chime of the proximity alert.
"Incoming Regiment Patrol," the voice intoned . Snapping to a sitting position Devon, brushed himself down. Everyone else did much the same.
"Now what do you have to say?" Trevor asked the D octor, who gave him a slightly irritated look.
"I'm wondering if you'd be happier if there was an actual crisis," Devon asked him.
"Don't be silly," the Doctor replied, pointing to himself. He forced a half smile to his face that he hooped would melt the suddenly frosty reception the others gave him. One didn't have to be a thousand or so years old to know distrust so readily.
"Well how can we be sure you didn't sabotage the bus or do something just to create drama?" Devon wondered.
Shaking his head, the Doctor half laughed at the absurdity of it. He mimicked cleaning out his ear and said, "Pardon me? Could you just say that again?"
"Honestly Doctor , how do we know you didn't have something to do with this to create some situation you could solve?" Devon asked, frowning.
"He has a point," said the Sirius female, glancing out the window at the bulky figures trudging through the carbon dioxide snow. "You like tinkering , and [who's ] to say that you didn't cause this whole mess?"
A frustrated smile spread over the Doctor's face, filled with disbelief. He said in an irritation laced voice, "You seriously are accusing me of setting this whole accident thing up because I was bored?"
"More or less," Devon murmured, glaring at him before glancing back to the scene outside, dark silhouettes through the carbon dioxide mist eclipsing the floodlights. One of them waved, and Devon motioned them quickly with a paw held up.
"Including risking injury to myself?" the Doctor added, still laughing forcibly, shaking his head.
"You're a klutz," said Trevor. "And you had an argument with your significant other. What better way to force a make up then make her worry and forget your problems..."
Unable to form a sentence, the Doctor tugged at his hair, jaw clenched. He glanced among the three accusatory faces glaring at him and squirmed. Waggling a finger he snapped, "I have enough excitement in my life. I don't have to make up something on a vacation, I'll have you know..."
"What exactly are you a doctor of?" Trevor asked, arms folded over his chest. These questions and others pitched the Doctor into a sea of memories. Inside a bus with people scared out of their wits on a planet called Midnight. Where someone hauntingly repeated every word he or the others said. Worse yet, his voice was stolen by the being in order to trick the others into revealing the worst sides of humanity that reminded him of the ugliness that could exist among the stars.
"What is your name?" Devon asked, sitting more upright than he had for the past few hours. Blue and red lights flickered it through the vapor and the windows, painting them all in strange hues for a few seconds. For different reasons, the Doctor had lost his voice, but his jaw opened and shut like a fish gulping in water to pass it over its gills.
"Gentlemen, can this wait?" asked then sirius female, nodding towards the people entering the compound. Awkward charged silence settled among the males who exchanged clear glances that this conversation was far from over. Each of them pulled out their passes and hung them from their lapels, indicating their presence and participation in the ski trip.
Nobody spoke a word before the officers in their protective gear trudged into the sitting room. The one in the lead glanced around at the people frozen in place. Each of them wore a bright orange and green suit, streamlined but complete with supplemental oxygen tanks that ran to mouthpieces in their nose, and masks over their lower face.
"Well well, have we missed all the fun?" quipped the officer. "May I ask for your identification and for you to stand where I can see you?"
Reaching into his jacket the Doctor pulled out his psychic paper and held it up. The other three tourists pulled out their respective wallets or communicators with their credentials. Nodding in satisfaction, the officer murmured, "Trevor Simms, nurse practitioner... Resident of Enceladus colony... Hospital..."
Trevor nodded and cleared his throat. Next the officer moved to Devon, and murmured, "Devon Rex, retired regiment enlisted, currently an inhabitant of Proxima Centauri system planet 3, Lowell City, and account manager for Chameleon Cosmetics."
"Cosmetics?" mumbled Trevor, the corners of his lips twitching in an almost smile.
"Wife and I are official account representatives. Told you didn't I?" Devon murmured irritated.
Stopping before the Time Lord , the officer read from the psychic paper, "Doctor John Smith, resident of Earth currently, independent scientific consultant... Phd from Cambridge..."
All three patrons exchanged looks varying from surprise to acquiescence. Still suspicion lingered from the way their eyebrows twitched. Turning back the regiment officer murmured, "well, it seems you were the unfortunate victims of a strike..."
"Strike?" Devon asked amidst the other chorus of disbelieving noises.
"The resort workers for the ski trip went on strike. We are currently closing the chalet and sublimation slope, and pending an investigation..."
"The hell!" Trevor got out.
"Honestly! I told Marilla we should have stayed," Devon mumbled.
"Strike? And they left patrons here?" demanded the Doctor. "That is extremely very not nice!"
"Unfortunately you will have to spend the night here, because we have to gather evidence. But we will expect your full testimonies..." Began the officer.
"I want to speak to my wife!" Snapped Devon.
"Let them have full use of the communication systems," the officer said, sighing as the guests shifted from irritation to outrage. "And we will make sure to have full refunds..."
"Do you know who I am?" Devon huffed, pointing to himself with a clawed thumb.
"I do happen to know the owner of the resort," said the female. "And I intent on pressing charges..."
"We will evacuate you tomorrow, but let me extend my apologies for this situation..." said the officer with a sympathetic look. "But all of you are also under investigation to make certain you are healthy and that no damage was done to the resort..."
"Sabotage?" The Doctor asked. "I'm more than certain of that... In fact..."
"How do we know he didn't cause it," Devon muttered, nodding at him.
"Which is exactly why you're not going anywhere till we get some answers and figure out what was due to the strike and what was due to your being here," the regiment officer said. "Now have a seat and get comfy because we've a lot of questions."
"But I can get you answers!" The Doctor insisted, waving his hands like a conductor.
"And we will take you up on it once we have done our own. Now sit down Doctor," instructed the officer patiently as if dealing with a child.
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Back at the resort, the interrogation of the significant others continued. Though she had already pointed it out, it seemed worth persisting. Clara glanced at her legal representative and murmured, "but if we are in your custody... Wouldn't it be prudent to indeed commands a craft?"
Arms around Marilla, Zher nodded in approval, for she was anxious to rescue the others. Quentin murmured, "there is no harm..."
Despite the earlier excitement in the lobby, the guests were diverted by the resumption of trendy music. Only in the alcoves did the party find respite from the throbbing pulse.
Sighing, Sullivan looked at her, and relented, "Show me this craft. It seems you will not give up this foolhardy plan."
In full teacher mode, Clara had managed to wedge a truth into the door and pry it open to reason. Hopefully the progress would continue. Quentin nodded and murmured, "well may I suggest we all adopt more suitable clothes?"
"That is acceptable," said Sullivan. "Provided each of you stop at your room and take out clothes to change in my presence..."
"In case of weapons?" Marilla mumbled, glaring at her. Her respect for authority had tanked.
"You aren't helping by being hostile... It'll be alright. Trust me," Clara whispered to the feline.
Eyes narrowed to slits the feline mumbled something in her ear, "I trust you more then the regiment at this minute, and them far more than this hotel..."
"Your belongings unfortunately are being searched," Sullivan said quietly before she held up a hand to the chorus of protested gasps. Little by little their rights were eroding away like the carbon dioxide slope the Doctor had been so fond of.
"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" Snapped Quentin. His hair fluffed up around his head like a frizzy halo, not to mention the other three with similarly flyaway hairdos.
"It can be done with a mere x ray pulse scan," Sullivan said, keeping that same hand extended, while taking a step back. "I presumed you knew that was what the regiment did?"
Unimpressed Quentin snorted, "We are not criminals..."
"The regiment in other solar systems was not as strict," huffed Zher. "It must be that new General..."
Sullivan reached into the pouch at her hip to extract four slim plastic translucent bands. Each hotel guest except Clara flinched laying eyes on them. Marilla emitted a low throated hiss, Zher bared her teeth, and Quentin sighed. Clara masked her ignorance with a stoic glare, and a muttered, "Seriously?"
"Better than having someone with us every minute, I guess?" Zher relented, holding out her ankle. Even in this century the implication was clear to Clara who watched Sullivan put the band on her. Reluctantly Clara extended her leg next, followed by Quentin, then Marilla. Each felt the embarrassment of the frosted flexible plastic strip worked through with visible circuitry.
"Go to your respective rooms and change," instructed the officer. "Whilst I inspect this craft of yours, Miss Oswald."
"Actually it belongs to my boyfriend," she murmured, shivering at the usage of the word.
"How quaint," Sullivan commented, while the others gave Clara amused glances or questioning ones.
"Should I say lover?" Clara corrected herself before she saw Sullivan's nod. The others odd looks also confirmed this. At that point Clara wished she could sink into the floor. Was it a bad word?
"You two are so cute," cooed Quentin. "Boyfriend is such a sweet term..."
Irked by the comment she simply twitched an eyebrow, and snapped, "Would you prefer I say my gentleman friend?"
Just what was the issues? Zher shook her head. So did Marilla, teasing, "that's even more outdated than boyfriend..."
Amusement filled Sullivan's eyes when she followed Clara into their hotel room. She read the painted yellow words and saw the way the internally lit windows cast their glow into the suite. Raising a hand she reached up to touch the distinctively blue painted wood, or what appeared to be wood, something she hadn't seen in years outside of a museum, or on the desk of the Regiment commander.
"Is this a transwarp capsule?" she asked, glancing at Clara who gave her a confused tilt of the head.
"No, it's called the TARDIS. It belongs to the Doctor… my boyfriend… lover... " she blurted out, feeling the heat collecting in her cheeks at voicing the term aloud once more. It would take a lot of getting used to. She could almost hear her father assailing her with questions, and her stepmother with acrid statements.
Reaching around her neck she produced the key, and slid it into the lock. She turned it, and pushed. It stuck stubbornly. Clara banged on the door, hissing, "Come on you stupid cow! Don't do this to me now!"
"Does it have a voice coded entry?" Sullivan asked, hovering between amusement and irritation. The way her eyes glazed over made Clara fear she was rapidly losing her foot wedged into the door and it was about to slam shut on her hand.
"Please…" murmured Clara, smoothing her hand on the wood. "I'm sorry I called you a cow. Look, the Doctor needs you and I to get along. So please… just please…"
For a few minutes she felt the weight of Sullivan's judging gaze on her. She twisted the key in the lock, pushing and tugging on the doors. Bumping her head to the wood, she mumbled, "Please… please… please…"
"I remind you that it would be best if you changed into something more comfortable, and we rejoined the others. You've still a good deal of testimony to provide," Sullivan coughed, pointing to her chronometer on her palm.
A small choked noise escaped Clara's throat. For another long moment she jiggled the key in the lock before she heard a click. Her heart leapt into her throat almost clogging out her rapid breath when she tugged the door open to the TARDIS. Motioning to Sullivan she said, "Come in... "
Sullivan tentatively followed, hesitating placing her foot just inside though she saw the vast space inside. Grey metal and hexagonal panels on the walls with blue lights, and a huge column in the center that rose from a six sided panel ringed by other panels facing away from it. Clara had already stepped inside, kissing the central glass column pulsing with flashing lights.
"This… is impressive," Sullivan muttered, the whispers of old stories in her family coming to mind. Bigger on the inside than the outside.
"Are you going to say it?" Clara asked, hand resting on the console.
"Dimensionally transcendental," mumbled Sullivan, who then stepped inside as if she were crossing the threshold into another world. Though centuries separated her from Clara's technological know how, and her people now colonized other worlds, there was still room for wonder Clara realized.
"Yes… pretty much," Clara said quietly, feeling the door had been wedged wide open, and now Sullivan would listen loud and clear.
