Chapter Four: Jailbreak
Oh, times like this, I'm almost grateful there's no one left from home to see this. Humans, at least, have seen stranger. Hell, they make stranger than this a hobby.
To be honest, the Doctor had finally ceased to be surprised by any of this new reality when he went looking for a place to change and had found an old, unused Police Public Call Box sitting placid as could be on a street corner a few blocks from the police station, all solid and blue and achingly familiar. The police station where they'd recently, and very rudely (he was supposed to be the rude one, rude and not ginger, that was him, and it just didn't work if someone was ruder to him first!) and repeatedly thrown him out without letting him see Mini Doctor.
Ugh, I feel like a sausage in this!
Bumping his elbows painfully within the confines of the non-transcendental police box (he hadn't expected it to be otherwise, not really, and the pricking in his eyes had had nothing to do with his disappointment at its not being bigger inside) the Doctor stripped off his jacket, vest, first shirt, second shirt (I really do wear too many layers…) and tie, reluctantly revealing his spandexed torso in all its cornflower blue, rail-thin glory. The only bright spot was the discovery of a cape that unfurled neatly from his shoulders, leading to the delighted conclusion that unlike his pockets and this box, his shirt was, in fact, bigger on the inside. Sighing inwardly at the idea of having to see his lanky legs in blue tights, the Doctor shucked his slacks…
…and gazed down in complete and utter horror.
No.
No.
What kind of crazy fool wore bright red pants on the outside?
Blushing as scarlet as the spandex covering his unmentionables, the Doctor wadded up his suit, shoving it into the narrow lip at the roof of the police box. Then, feeling like the most complete fool who ever traveled the cosmos, the Doctor slipped out of the box and into the night. Please, please let this perception filter be working, he sent up the prayer to any nameless gods or goddesses who might be listening and inclined to take pity on a mortified Time Lord. If there was ever a time he didn't want to be seen, it was now.
Despite the challenge of hiding spandex bright enough to light half the galaxy, however, the perception filter did its job in keeping him unnoticed as he slipped into the police station, feeling like only a complete idiot creeping past the crowded water cooler in his cape and red Chucks.
Mini Doctor wasn't particularly difficult to find; he was being held, still in his glass jar with holes poked in the lid, in the property room with the rest of the evidence. Well, they could hardly put him into a jail cell, the Doctor reasoned, he could slip right through the bars. He was sitting dejectedly on the floor of his glass prison, sucking on one of the handful of jelly babies a pitying Rose had tipped in after bandaging his arm. Apparently, at least one police officer had also taken compassion, as there was a tiny paper Dixie cup of water (as big as the little thing's whole forearm) half a banana, and a soft hand towel in there with him.
Popping his specs onto his nose, the Doctor crept close, once more putting himself on eye level with his miniature counterpart. "Hello," he said softly.
"Hello," Mini Doctor replied perfectly coherently, much to Full-Sized Doctor's astonishment. "You're back, are you? Brilliant. You know I've recited the entire contents of The Full and Complete History of the Pickle Crusade of Febrottle Beta since they left me alone down here? Backwards." All this was said in perfectly English and an eerie mimic of his own current accent and inflections, if in a ridiculously high pitch from tiny lungs and eensy vocal cords. The gift of the TARDIS, the Doctor realized. Somehow, even though he had yet to find her, she was translating for him now that he wore this suit. And if looking like an escapee from an asylum was what it took to assure himself that his magnificent ship was still out there, well, it was worth it.
"I could get you out of here," the Doctor offered softly, watching as the little one stopped sucking on the jelly baby to listen. "I know someone is trying to take over this world. The same someone who created you, I'm thinking. Tell me who, help me, and I can get you your freedom." Which would be a bit trickier a proposition than he made out, but really, what were the police planning on doing with him anyway? Putting him in a cat carrier and throwing away the key? It wasn't as if they would be able to do much if the Doctor just happened to set the little one loose somewhere with promises to make no more harmful mischief.
Mini Doctor considered it, scratching at his wild hair with his wee hand. "What about—" He cut himself off, glaring fiercely up at his counterpart through the glass. "I don't go anywhere without my friend. Promise me she'll go free, too, and I'll help you."
"She?" Of course. A slow smile grew on the large Doctor's face. He'd figured there had to have been more than one miniature clone; who would have carried out the stolen tech when his own copy was injured and trapped inside the lab? And of course, of course it would be a copy of the only person Mini Doctor had been willing to let into his jar. Rose. "Goes without saying!" the Doctor promised merrily, reaching into the jar and plucking Mini Doctor out by his handkerchief-sized cape to set him up on his shoulder. "'Cmon then," he grinned, finding a miniature copy of the expression only inches from his face. "Allons-y! Off to rescue the very tiny damsel and save the world! This one, at any rate. Don't belong here, actually. Funny story…"