A/N: Hello! Here is a fic that I've been sitting on for a long time. How long? This was originally for A Pile of Good Things, a charity Eleventh Doctor fan zine from back in 2019. I said back then I'd never post this, but I also had no real concept of zine jail at the time. Let the zine out of zine jail.
As of this posting (29 August 2024), the website for digital copies of this zine is still up. According to the site: "The goal of rathzem publications is for creatives to come together to raise money for a variety of causes that they could not accomplish alone. The first zine of this project [rathzem] was The Hybrid, which raised over $2,000 for the One to One Children's Fund. The second zine, Moon Man, raised over $2,000 for the Glasgow School of Art. The third zine, A Pile of Good Things, raised over $1,000 for The Cancer Research Institute." Their most current project, Red Velvet, benefited The Humanitarian Aid Program for Venezuela and continued profits from past zines will go to them as well. Please consider supporting them if you can.
Staying Put
"I bet you can't sit still."
The Doctor looked over at Clara and attempted to raise what little eyebrow he had. She was sitting in a chair marking papers, her legs swung over the arm so that her feet were in the air.
"What do you mean?" he asked, slightly insulted. "I am excellent at staying put."
"You haven't been able to stand in one spot since I sat down," she noted. "You're dreadful at it."
"Liar."
"Prove it, then. You go off on all sorts of adventures while I'm not around. This week, keep the TARDIS in park. Take in Shoreditch for a few days. Something."
"I have stayed put in Shoreditch before," the Doctor claimed. Clara raised an eyebrow—she was much better at it—and scoffed. "You don't believe me!"
"It's hard to with you wiggling around like a Year Two in trouble."
"Fine! I will stay put this week, and I shall be excellent at it. I'll be so good, you won't believe how still I've been."
"...and no lying, not on this; I can check flight logs, you know."
The Doctor opened his mouth, closed it, and huffed in indignation. He straightened his bowtie, preening sourly. "I wouldn't do that."
"Mmmhmm."
"Honest!" He walked over to Clara's chair and stuck out his hand. "One week. No TARDIS, except in an emergency."
"As long as I can decide what constitute an emergency," she said. "Running out of Jammie Dodgers is not an emergency, by the way."
"For now."
After looking at him for a moment, Clara nodded and shook the Doctor's hand. "Deal."
"Excellent! Now where would you like to go?"
"We're going to the store to get something to eat," she said, putting down her papers. "The bet starts now."
"Ah. Should've known." He wrung his hands together and followed her out the door, into her flat. "What are we having then? A nice curry? Chips? Fish fingers?"
"I don't know yet—just let's go, you silly thing." Clara tossed him his helmet and grabbed her own, as well as her keys. "I'm driving."
First order of business was getting the Doctor something to occupy his time while Clara was at work.
Luckily, after a quick flash of the psychic paper regarding proper credentials, there was a temporary opening at Coal Hill for additional help while they were hosting a two week, short-stay exchange program. The dozen tweens, who were rather disinterested in the school part of things, all stared at him critically as he stood in front of the classroom with Mr. Coburn.
"If I wanted to be bored by some nerd, I would have stayed home," one child in particular groaned. Mr. Coburn frowned at that, not pleased by either the outburst or that it elicited a giggle from the remainder of the students.
"Now there, you should give Dr. Smith your respect," Mr. Coburn frowned.
"It might be easier if this wasn't such a bougie part of town," the tween said, making the rest of the group snicker. Mr. Coburn sputtered in an attempt to reply, completely unfamiliar with the slang, though the Doctor…
"It's not bad here, if that's what you're thinking," the Time Lord replied. "There are plenty of people who think otherwise."
"Yeah, like my weird aunt. She freaked out when she heard I was coming here."
That was when they lost the class. Conversations blossomed as any remaining interest in the day's itinerary waned into insignificant and miniscule amounts. The Doctor wanted to explain to the children that they were actually in a rather interesting part of London, though Mr. Coburn stepped in and intervened, using his position as headmaster to attempt to ease the class into something manageable. It wasn't going to work though, the Doctor knew, as Mr. Coburn was merely an adult. He was an adult who was very boring and dull and not at all the sort of person that the children were there to interact with. An idea formed in the Doctor's head as the headmaster continued his futile efforts:
He was going to prove them wrong and knock their socks off.
"I don't get it—Shoreditch is great," the Doctor said, pacing at the foot of Clara's bed. The woman in question was glaring at him from the edge of her blankets, unimpressed by the amount of work he was putting into his temporary job being what was currently threatening her circadian rhythm.
"Shoreditch has changed a lot over the years," she grumbled.
"It has…?"
"Very much so; didn't you tell me you first came here fifty years ago? Haven't you noticed how little of it has stayed the same since you landed?"
"I'm not entirely certain what you're talking about," he huffed.
"Just go to sleep, Doctor. We'll talk about it in the morning."
"I won't need sleep for another three years, at least; the time to think is now."
"Then go think in the sitting room and let me sleep!" she hissed, throwing a spare pillow his way. It hit him and he retreated, closing the bedroom door behind him.
Wait a moment… she was correct… he had been in Shoreditch for a while, hadn't he? It had been a long time in Earth years, yet to him, it was as though very little had changed. In fact, there was a place he knew that hadn't had much opportunity to change, despite Clara's cranky claims. A boyish grin crept across his face as he went to go make himself some food in the kitchen.
He knew now precisely what to do; those little Daleks were going to love it.
"We are almost there!" the Doctor announced cheerily. He had three kids along—two boys and a girl—as the group was broken up into smaller units for individual chaperones to handle. As predicted, he was given the most unimpressed of the lot, which was more than fine. Convince the ringleaders and the rest shall follow.
"Where are we going?" one of the lads asked. He was the one who had been so vocally bored the day before, which only made the Doctor extra-determined to impress them. "This is just walking around the neighborhood, which is boring."
"I know a place around here where we can have plenty of this 'fun' you speak of," the Doctor explained. "I used to live in the area, you see, about nine hundred or so years ago."
"Nine hundred…?"
"Yes, with my granddaughter. It was our home, so to speak, and I'm certain I left some things lying about."
"Doctor Smith," the girl groaned, "we're in Year Eight, not eight years old. We're not stupid."
"I never said anything of the sort," the Doctor huffed. "Maybe a bit heavy on the skepticism, you lot, but far from stupid. One more block and we'll be there."
"This better be good," the second boy said. The three tweens followed their temporary guardian, tilting their heads when he began to spin around, looking every which way he could.
"What is it now?" the girl asked.
"It was right here," the Doctor said. "I couldn't have misplaced it…" He turned; yes, there were the houses, the butcher, a grocer, but right where his junkyard used to be… "What is this?"
"Uhh, a Nando's," the first boy said.
"What is that?"
"It's a restaurant. My sister works part-time at one back home."
"Oh dear, this will never do," the Doctor frowned. "There's supposed to be a junkyard right here!"
"Well, you're not far off."
"Wait, you were taking us to a junkyard?" the second boy asked incredulously. "Uhh… guys… I don't know about Doctor Smith anymore."
"Then go inside and drink some peri-peri sauce, you piece of chicken," the girl quipped. The children all followed the Doctor as he went around the offending building to the alleyway, looking about for anything that could be perceived as "dangerous".
Dirty, yes; dangerous? Not necessarily.
"I put sensors up and everything—I'd know if that junkyard was torn down, not to mention the fact that the taxes are all filed up through The Great Flood—I wonder if the Zarbi are up to something…"
"See?" the first boy scoffed. He elbowed the second boy jokingly. "He's a responsible adult. What other adults do you know that grumble about security cameras and taxes that aren't responsible?"
"Uhh… my nana…? She's not responsible for anything."
"Guys, something tells me that Doctor Smith isn't an ordinary adult," the girl said.
"See? She agrees with me!"
"No, not like that," she frowned. The young lady stepped forwards and tapped the Doctor on the arm, pulling him out of his flurry of thoughts and mutterings. "Doctor Smith?"
"Oh? Yes?"
"Are you an alien?" The alleyway suddenly became deathly quiet, with the boys stopping their fighting and the Doctor staring at her curiously. "I mean, like Area 51 and Men in Black and stuff, except you're in disguise as a human."
"Now what brought you to that conclusion?"
"You're being honest," she explained. "I thought you were just trying to mess with us at first, but you actually mean the things you're saying. You're weird and honest enough for all that to point towards you being an alien from outer space."
A grin crept across the Doctor's face. "Aren't you clever? Put that to good use and you can do incredible things…"
"…when I'm older, right?"
"No… I think now is precisely the right time to begin." He sat down on a short and wobbly stack of wooden pallets and tried to think. "When I first landed on Earth in my timeline, this was an unused junkyard—empty, mostly. I was able to put up a perception filter to make it seem as though it was not only being used, but that it was a place that, to human beings, should normally be avoided at all costs. A couple teachers were able to get past it, but it was only out of a massive sense of concern and fear for someone else that they brushed the filter aside."
"A perception filter?" the first boy wondered. "You mean, like a spell in Harry Potter to keep Muggles away?"
"Precisely," the Doctor affirmed. "Now, the big mystery is what was able to get around the perception filters and alarm sensors and why? Why here and now?"
"I told you yesterday, Doctor Smith," the first boy frowned, "this is a bougie part of town. They probably tore down the junkyard and put this building here because of where it is and the restaurant got there first."
"Yes, but how did they?"
"It's another alien," the second boy said. The others looked at him and he shrugged. "It makes sense. How else would they be able to get past the whatever-filter? By not playing using the same rules as humans."
"…this is good, except I don't know who or what would want to undo my perception filter and get rid of the junkyard just based on London real estate pricing," the Doctor pondered. He stood and looked at the delivery door to the restaurant, peering at it as though he was attempting to see through the metal. Groaning, the first boy went and opened the door with ease, rolling his eyes at the alien.
"If it doesn't have employees going in and out by now, then it's probably closed," he stated. "We can just go in and not have to worry about running into anyone."
"Shouldn't it have been locked though?" the second boy asked. "I mean, it says that it's for employees only."
"I think this means we just have to figure out why it isn't," the Doctor said.
The four went inside the building and began to look around. The door had opened up directly into the kitchen, which was all stainless steel and tiles and looking impeccable. Everything was unlit and quiet, with the front dining area looking just as deserted as the back. The Doctor went over to one of the cash registers and began tapping on the ordering screen—nothing.
"Hmm… interesting," he muttered. "I wonder how long this has been sitting empty."
"A very long time," the girl said. She picked up an advertisement flyer from a neat stack on the counter. "This is dated for ten years ago."
"Uhh, you might want to see this, Doctor Smith," the first boy said. He was standing by a cupboard, holding the door open as he stared inside. The Doctor went over to him, seeing that it was not a cupboard by any means, but a metal staircase that led into something completely and entirely different than a chicken restaurant on Earth.
"Now we're getting somewhere," he said, eyes lighting up in excitement. He hopped up to the first step, only to turn around and wag his finger at the tweens. "Don't follow me, do you understand? I don't know what it is that's in here, or their ultimate objective, and I don't want you getting hurt. Is that clear?"
"Yes," the kids replied in unison.
Finding that satisfactory, the Doctor turned back around and pulled the sonic screwdriver from his pocket, using it to scan the area around and in front of him. Readings were coming up mostly blank, giving the Doctor very little to go off of as he pressed onwards. The only thing the sonic was able to confirm was that whatever he was in was definitely not Earth in make—no Human or Silurian made this.
Two flights of stairs and the staircase turned into a corridor, one that soon opened into a console room of sorts. There were many screens lining the walls—all turned off—along with plenty of seats in front of panels filled with varying controls. Some things passively beeped or blinked, though none of it seemed to be doing so in a threatening manner… yet. He scanned the room as he cautiously crept around; the sonic screwdriver's whirring stayed steady.
"Alright then," he thought aloud, "what secrets do you hold?" He pocketed the screwdriver and went over towards what appeared to be the main console, tapping some buttons and flipping switches. Eventually, a screen popped up and began displaying some text. It went untranslated, as the TARDIS's microbes were unable to decipher it, and he rubbed his chin at the notion. For the translator microbes to not work within moments was an interesting phenomenon and it only made him want to know why all the more.
"YOU ARE TERSPASSING," a voice said, causing the Doctor to jump. He turned around and saw a shiny grey robot, about four feet tall and cylindrical in shape. Jutting out from the sides and front were varying thin arms, all of which seemed to have a different task. It scooted over towards the Doctor and one of the arms produced a scanner, which he cringed at as it went over him. "SPECIES: TIME LORD. YOU ARE NOT NATIVE TO THIS PLANET."
"This is correct," he replied. "Neither are you."
"AFFIRMATIVE. WE HAVE LANDED HERE IN ORDER TO REPLENISH FUEL SUPPLIES. INTERGALACTIC FLIGHT REQUIRES MORE THAN WE INITIALLY ANTICIPATED. HOW DID YOU SEE PAST THE PRECEPTION FILTER?"
"Easy: it's the oldest trick in the book, mostly because I started it," the Doctor said. "What sort of fuel do you use?"
"CARBON."
"Well, plenty of that around here; I'm sure the people of Earth won't mind too terribly. There's just one major question left for me now."
"WHICH IS…?"
"How are you procuring this carbon?"
The robot went quiet and whizzed back and forth for a moment, its limbs clicking and clacking in indecision.
"I will repeat myself just once: how is it that you procure this carbon fueling?"
After spinning around in a small circle, the robot paused and beeped as it processed what it was about to do. "I SHALL SHOW YOU." It then began to scurry away, stopping after a few feet. "FOLLOW ME."
The Doctor took a couple steps and the robot began to lead the way. It brought him through another corridor, which opened into yet another room, this one sparse and devoid of any other technological instruments. He was about to cross the threshold of the doorway and stopped.
"WHY ARE YOU NO LONGER FOLLOWING?" the robot asked.
"Let me just say I have a certain hunch," the Doctor said. He took the sonic screwdriver from his pocket again and went around the door frame with it. As he did, flames erupted from the walls of the room the robot was in, causing him to pause in a mixture of rage and disgust.
"YOU ARE THE FIRST TO NOT BE COLLECTED," the robot stated. "THIS IS UNPRESCEDENTED."
"Those were living things," the Doctor spat angrily. "You killed people."
"CURIOSITY LED THEM TO US; WE DID NOT SEEK THEM."
"…but you did kill them! How many people did you kill?!"
"THEIR INTRUSION LED TO THEIR CARBONIFCATION," the robot reasoned. "IT IS JUSTIFIED."
"We'll see about that."
The Doctor turned around and began to go through the corridor, coming again upon the console room. He took a chair that was near one of the panels and picked it up, using it as a blunt weapon to begin bludgeoning the controls. Sparks flew and sensors went off—the screens all started to flicker on one by one and display brightly-colored warning messages, presumably regarding the damage being done to the ship.
"CEASE YOUR ACTIONS AT ONCE," the robot screeched. "YOU ARE DAMAGING THE SHIP."
"…and you have set up shop on this planet—that is not yours, by the way—and decided to kill its residents for fuel!" the Doctor fired back. He let the chair drop and he glared at the robot. "You said I am a Time Lord; is there anything in your systems about a Time Lord who calls himself 'the Doctor'?"
The robot whirred. "DATA IS FOUND."
"Well guess what? Today's your lucky day: I'm the Doctor, and this planet is under my protection."
Moving back in forth in a panic, the robot began to spout fire from one of its many limbs, the others retracting back into itself. It spun around before attempting to approach the Doctor, who was tensing, ready to fight back.
"YOU SHALL BE CARBONIZED AND COLLECTED FOR FUEL," it declared. Every time it attempted to advance on the Doctor, he went and swung the chair. It made a couple passes, yet failed each one. "YOU TRESPASSED AND THEREFORE SHALL BE CARBONIZED AND COLLECTED FOR FUEL."
"Doctor Smith!"
Both the Doctor's hearts skipped several beats as he saw the three tweens he had told to stay downstairs run across the console room to his side, brandishing mops and brooms as makeshift weapons. Soon as they reached him, the robot stopped shooting flames, retracting its arm into its outer casing.
"I thought I told you three to wait for me!"
"Well, it doesn't exactly look like you were on the way back," the first boy said. He looked at the robot and scoffed. "Not so tough now that there's more of us than you, are you?!"
"MOVE OUT OF THE WAY; HIS CARBONIZED FORM IS REQUIRED."
"Not if we have anything to say about it!" the girl shouted. "You can't kill the only interesting adult we've met since coming here! It wouldn't be fair!"
"MOVE OUT OF THE WAY; YOU ARE NOT SUBJECTS TO BE CARBONIZED."
"Neither is Doctor Smith!"
Synapses fired rapidly inside the Doctor's brain and he grinned triumphantly. "If you don't agree to leave this planet soon as we leave the ship, then I shall allow them to kick you around in the back alley like a discarded bean tin."
It did not take long for the robot to come to its decision. "I SHALL NOT MAKE IT TERRIBLY FAR. MY SYSTEMS NEED REPAIRS AND THE FUEL STORES ARE NOT YET AT OPTIMAL."
"That's your problem, not ours," the Doctor said, unable to help the fact he kept smiling. "We'll give you five minutes."
"Leave, and never return!" the second boy added, making a rude gesture as they all ran out of the now-badly sparking console room.
They rushed down the stairs and through the false restaurant, dropping their cleaning supplies and getting to the back door as the building began to rumble. The four ran around the building and across the street, watching as the restaurant building disappeared and the spaceship that had been resting just above the ground took off in a burst of light, sounding very much like a jet-airplane. The old junkyard was left in its place, which a couple walked by on the pavement without paying much heed at all.
"It's like it was never replaced," the second boy marveled. "No one noticed that a smelly old junkyard has replaced a Nando's."
"That's because they don't want to," the Doctor explained. "Humans, adult humans especially, are really good at forgetting when things like this happen. Even if someone watched it happen, they will forget by the end of the week."
"Why did it want to kill you, but not us?" the first boy wondered.
"…because, for all the bad it was doing, it recognized the fact that you three are children, and that its programming did not allow for it to carbonize children," the Doctor said. "Congratulations; you lot saved me."
"Doctor Smith?" the girl asked. "Can we please go back to the dorm? I think we've had enough for the day."
"You don't want to go to see where some old movies were made?" he offered. "The buildings aren't there anymore, but it's still not that far away."
The tweens took the offer and they continued their day out with further extraterrestrial events, not counting the fact that they now knew that their chaperone was an actual alien from outer space. Instead they walked towards the former location of some film studios, found some parks along the way, and debated on whether or not they were going to get chicken for lunch. No one was going to believe them anyhow if they said anything about how Doctor Smith had found an alien ship or that the robot inside had wanted to kill him.
At least they got to brag about having the coolest of the chaperones, because that was perfectly fine with them. It even freaked out the school's headmaster, which was merely bonus points in their book.
"Aren't you proud of me?" the Doctor beamed. "I have nearly gotten through one whole week without even so much as touching the TARDIS console."
"That still doesn't mean that you kept away from space-adventures," Clara noted. She put the takeaway bag on the table and went to go get some plates. "Don't think that I don't know."
"Know what?"
"…that you went and nearly got three of the exchange students vaporized," she clarified. He grimaced, knowing he was caught. "Ah-ha! So you do admit it!"
"It was entirely on accident," he defended. She put plates down and they both began piling them with rice. "It's nothing more deliberate than going and bringing them to get something to eat and instead witness a rear-end collision between two cars."
"You almost got those kids killed."
"An over-familiarity with chicken restaurants is what almost got them killed. In fact, they weren't even in any real danger due to some child-friendly programming. They wouldn't've been like that though had they not allowed the perception filter to take effect."
"…and your curiosity notwithstanding."
"My curiosity has nothing to do with it."
"You're an idiot," she scolded, vitriol increasingly being replaced by exasperation. Clara poured some curry next to her rice and began eating. "This is the last time I get you a job at Coal Hill, do you understand? Next time you have to go undercover or something like that, you are going to be on your own."
Something told the Doctor that he was going to be fine with that.
A/N: You can find this fic and more in A Pile of Good Things, a now-digital-only fanzine from rathzem productions.
rathzem dot com