Chapter 6
"I never would have thought it was possible."
"Genius. Genius, I tell you."
"This is unbelievable."
"A veritable celebration of taste on my tongue."
Gene folded his arms and stared in horror as the team - plus their special guests - returned to the office, each of them clutching something green and icy.
"Shoebury!" he barked, "what in the name of all that's green and slimy is going on?"
Simon's expression reflected Gene's as he stomped in to the office, arms folded and brow creased with fury.
"The Doctor created a new recipe," he snapped.
"Oh, it was nothing, really," the doctor waved his hand with a smile, "a moment of culinary inspiration."
"Sprout sorbet!" Jake held up a bowl, "it's really good!"
"Do you want to try some, Guv?" Marci offered, a spoon of green gunk looming dangerously in his direction.
"I would rather sample one of Stringer's fry-ups," he scowled.
"Hey," an angry Kim cried out, "My fry-ups are fantastic!" she paused sheepishly, "it's just everything else I try to cook that goes wrong."
"Like soufflés?" Simon volunteered and got a thump for his trouble, "Ow!" he rubbed his arm crossly. "They were right about that dalek thing."
"Gene, it's really very good," Alex approached him with more sorbet.
"Bolly, I expected more from you," Gene admonished her, "you've bought into the whole icy sprout cult. I'm ashamed of you."
"It's really good though," Alex attempted to persuade him to try it but only ended up with a green ice mountain on the carpet. "Gene!" she cried, "I was enjoying that!"
"Don't worry, Ma'am," Marci began, "I was going to get some more. I'll bring you some up."
"Ohh, thanks Marci," Alex smiled gratefully.
"I'll come too," said Robin, "I want to get that recipe."
"I'll come with you," Clara said, rushing after them and crashing into a furious Gene. "Sorry!"
Gene growled crossly as she took off towards the door again and yelled after her,
"Walk, you stupid girl, and forget –" he paused and rolled his eyes as she disappeared from view, "forget about yer tastebuds because they'll be next to useless when you've downed another bowl of that green pus pudding!" he threw his arms in the air. "Is anyone even listening to me?"
"Not really," said Simon.
Gene glared.
"Thank you for your contribution, Shoebury!" he barked.
~xXx~
Gene sat in his office, glaring out through the glass, quietly fuming. He had taken to hiding away after third helpings of sprout sorbet had been consumed and the woman with the big backside from the canteen had arrived to present the Doctor with a commemorative colander to thank him for the recipe that had turned her fortunes around. The applause that followed was the final straw for Gene and he stomped away to safety.
"Bloody sprouts," he mumbled as he fished his flask from his pocket, "I'll show him. I'll invent me own dessert of the gods. Scotch Sorbet. That'll do it." The door flew open beside him, making him jump a mile as the Doctor jumped through. "Can't you knock?"
"Not really," frowned the Doctor, "the door already opened." He hesitated. "I could try knocking on air. Maybe alter the speed of the molecules so that they remain steady for a while –"
"Don't bother, flappy-trap," Gene told him, "just tell me what your bony backside wants and get out of my office before you get a second round with the filing cabinet."
The Doctor gulped.
"Right," he said, "well, I was just going to inform you that the Michelin people are on their way."
Gene rested his chin in his hands despondently.
"Need tyres on that portaloo of yours, do you?"
"No, to assess my sprout sorbet."
That was as much as Gene could take. He stood up and slowly walked across to his dart board, extracting the darts and taking a few steps back.
"Ever played darts, Doctor?" he asked.
The doctor hesitated.
"It's not one of my favourite pastimes, no."
"Pity," said Gene, "I quite fancy a round. Let's say… five points for the chin and ten for the bow tie?"
"What?" the doctor gulped as Gene began to aim, "Oh no –" he spun around and skidded out of the doorway before Gene could take his throw.
"Bugger," Gene mumbled, "I had that chin for certain."
~xXx~
Marci wasn't giving up on Clara. Well, who would? Pretty, clever, funny – it frustrated Marci that she couldn't work out whether Clara was already spoken for. She and the Doctor seemed very friendly. She had enquired about Jake's status… but there still seemed to be something going on.
"If only there were enough Claras for all of us…" she sighed.
"And what am I?" Shaz asked, "chopped liver?"
"You can't tell me you haven't been looking at her too," Marci raised an eyebrow.
"She's nice, I suppose," said Shaz.
"You suppose?" Marci repeated, "no suppose about it,"
"Actually," Shaz nodded towards the Doctor who was busy trying to fashion a chin and bowtie protector from Poirot's in-tray, "it's her friend that's got my eye."
"The Doctor?" Marci asked, smiling a little at the idea, "really?"
"He's sort of cute," Shaz shrugged, "in a… clumsy kind of way," she watched as his chin and bow tie protector fell apart, injuring Simon in the process.
"Sorry," the Doctor said.
"Is he… and Clara…?" Shaz mused.
Marci sighed.
"I don't know," she said, "I was trying to figure it out."
Shaz raised an eyebrow.
"We could double-team them," she suggested.
"That is a sly and underhanded suggestion," Marci told her, "and I love you for it."
"They can't stay here all night anyway," Shaz pointed out, "and if they stay much longer there's no telling how many limbs they'll lose when the Guv finally snaps.
"That's true," said Marci, "shall we take them somewhere?"
"Club opens early tonight," Shaz pointed out.
Marci nodded slowly.
"I like your way of thinking," she said, "Come on, let's get Rory Two on side!"
"I heard that," Jake spun around and narrowed his eyes, much to Shaz and Marci's amusement.
"Oh come on, Jake," Marci sighed as they walked towards him, "you have to admit it's a little bit funny."
"Yeah, well not for me," Jake said crossly, "I've got an opportunity here, Marci. This could be a dream come true but I want to be invited for who I am, not because I'm a shoddy knock-off replacement."
"Does that make Chief Inspector Thomas Amy?" Marci wondered.
"Not if you still want to have a best friend by the end of the day," Jake scowled.
Shaz didn't know who Amy was, nor who Rory was, but the whole thing was no stranger than… say, her ex-girlfriend coming back from the dead and mysteriously aging a decade in 18 months, or finding out that heaven was a pub. She had learnt to stop asking questions and just accept the insanity.
"Listen, Jake," she began, "we were thinking that the Doctor and Clara might like to get out of this place. You know, before the Guv actually learns how to kill people with his glare."
"Club opens in an hour," Marci pointed out, "early drinks for the work leavers."
"You want to take the Doctor… clubbing?" Jake asked incredulously.
"Take a look at that bum and tell me you don't want to see it wiggling on the dance floor," Shaz pointed to the Doctor who was climbing on a desk to avoid an angry Kim, rather like a cartoon housewife trying to escape a mouse.
"Thanks to you I've had three people trying to take me apart with screwdrivers of the regular variety!" she yelled.
"I was only theorising about your anger!" the Doctor protested, "like I said, you're immune!"
"Then tell that to the gits who keep skulking around with tools!" Kim cried.
"We should probably rescue him before Kim takes him apart," Marci pointed out.
Jake hesitated. As a companion it was his duty to try to help keep the doctor safe.
"Alright," he said, "clubbing it is."
"Yes!" Marci and Shaz beamed, hi-fiving one another. This was going to be a night out like no other.
~xXx~
Where it came from, Nelson had no idea.
How to get rid of it? He didn't even know where to start.
He was used to bolshie customers. Maybe not in heaven, but running the other side of the Railway Arms in Manchester. He'd served Gene often enough for a start. But this went above and beyond.
Very slowly he peered over the top of the bar.
It was still there.
With an uncharacteristically frantic yelp he ducked back below the bar and huddled up against it, heart pounding and brow sweating.
"Why did I ever want to run a pub?" he questioned, almost sobbing with distress.
It was still there.
He could hear it motoring up and down.
Very slowly he placed his fingertips on the edge of the bar. Then he pulled himself up to peer over again. Maybe if he could just get it to go closer to the door… then what? Nope, that was stupid, he was thinking about how to get rid of a fly. Somehow he suspected the same technique was not going to work for destructive mechanical menaces.
Why did he never invest in a 'No Daleks Allowed' sign?
He slid back to the floor and put his head in his hands as his unwanted patron continued to roll back and forth. What did it want? A beer? How was it going to drink it? Besides, a drunken dalek was something he didn't want to contemplate.
Nelson shook his head and gave a sigh of distress. This was definitely going to be a night like no other.