Fic Tennis: Tardis, Cash Only II, Part 2/3
Here we are, going long and starting a second post, as usual! If you need to catch up, here’s the original Tardis, Cash Only I, and here’s the first part of this ongoing sequel fic. To skip the pub hijinks, savior ‘fic tennis.’
Things are positively frantic inside the pub. There’s a chaotic sort of efficiency in the way Donna and Mickey manage the tables, and the way Martha and Astrid keep a steady stream of bangers and mash, fish and chips, bread pudding and – of course – soul cakes, coming out of the kitchen. Jack’s dressed as James Bond and he’s doing what he does best, being the life of the party, flirting shamelessly with everything on two legs, somehow doubling alcohol sales just with his mere presence.
Rose and the Doctor are working behind the bar, moving with a practiced ease together, and it’s almost like a dance. The counter is completely packed out, two and even three deep in some places, people shouting orders and tossing pound notes as their order is filled. The Doctor seems to have a lot of orders that specially require the glasses located behind Rose, and he squeezes past her over and over again, hips brushing against hers as his eyes linger on her fitted pinstriped jacket, the tie knotted at her throat. He’s grinning, sweating just enough so the hair at the nape of his neck is curling beneath his fedora, and he’s got his shirtsleeves rolled up.
The pub is warm, even though it’s still brisk enough for a flurry outside, the warm press of humanity thick in the crowded space. And it’s fun, in the most manic sort of way – and in the back of her head, as she’s mixing drinks and pouring lager, Rose is cataloguing all the things she could do with that whip coiled on the Doctor’s hip, and the tie around her own neck, and whether or not they’ll make it upstairs after closing or if she’ll pounce on him right here, on top of the bar.
The Doctor’s fully occupied at the opposite end of the bar when Rose reaches out to deposit a drink in front of a patron, and another bloke snatches her hand.
Wiggling her hand away, she plasters a smile on her face and looks at him – slightly older, wrinkles and grey hair and grey eyes, to boot. “What can I get you, mate?”
“There’s an elderly gentleman in the alley, and he seems to be in distress!” the man says, raising his voice to be heard over the hubbub.
Rose glances behind her, sees the Doctor is facing the opposite direction, his hands completely full with customers. “Doctor, I’ll be right back!” she shouts. He half-turns, gives her a wave before opening the tap to fill a pint.
Ducking under the open end of the bar, Rose pushes through the crowd to the grey-haired bloke. He snags her elbow. “He’s this way!”
Rose yanks her elbow away, but follows after him toward the front door. They make it outside – it feels so good, cool and crisp and a few flakes of snow flitting down on the crowded sidewalk.
“Where is he?” Rose says, worry gnawing at her. If Wilf had stayed out all last night in the snow, he’s bound to be in rough shape. All she can focus on is getting him inside, maybe setting him up in the kitchen with some food.
The grey-haired bloke leads her to the entrance of the alley. Just around the corner is another bloke, younger and a bit burly. But there’s no Wilf.
“I suppose I ought to introduce myself,” the grey-haired bloke behind her says. She rounds on him, mouth open to demand some answers, but he cuts her off. “My name’s Samuel Davros, and I run the Dalek Arms Pub three blocks over. We’ve had a rivalry, of sorts, for a long time now, the Doctor and me.”
Davros snags Rose’s elbow again and starts hauling her along the crowded sidewalk, and the other bloke falls into step beside her. “And every year, that rivalry comes to a head on Halloween. Last year he stole my baby — my bulldog Caan — and decorated him with pink ribbons! That dog’s the mascot of my pub! Can you imagine the nerve!
“Now it’s my turn to take his mascot, and you — look at you in those pinstripes, he’s trussed you up for the taking! You fit the mascot bill, m’dear. I don’t know what kind of prank the Doctor’s got planned this year, but I’ll be damned if I don’t get the jump on him this time around!”
She’s weighing her options carefully, leaning heavily toward a knee to the groin of the younger bloke, because she’s sure if he she can get him out of the picture, she can outrun this Davros, but he seems to sense her intent.
“Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he says. “It may seem like a silly little game, but I assure you, I take the Doctor and his threat to my business seriously. I’m deadly serious about it, in fact.”
He forces her arm back toward his hip, brushing over something that could be a gun. It could also not be a gun, but there are so many families out on the street, small children running circles around their parents, and if this bloke is as mental as he seems, this is not the place to find out.
She straightens her shoulders as much as she can in the awkward hold, and continues walking.
Customers are stacking up behind the bar three deep by the time the Doctor starts to wonder where Rose is. If she’d needed the loo, or had to grab something from the kitchen, she’d definitely be back by now. A small part of him can’t help but hope that he’ll go looking for her and she’ll grab him, pull him into a cupboard, and snog him senseless, like she’d planned it all along.
Another part of him, a larger part, doesn’t like being yelled at by angry patrons, and he catches Mickey’s eye, shouting for him to check on Rose.
A few minutes later, Mickey has returned, slipping behind the bar to help pull a few pints, as he tells the Doctor he can’t find Rose.
“She’s nowhere,” he says. “Checked all over, the cellar, your flat, restrooms, alley, I don’t know where she is, but it’s not here.”
The Doctor’s alarmed, disappearing doesn’t sound like Rose, certainly not when they’re this busy. She seems to take as much pride in the pub as he does — something that makes him feel flushed when he thinks about it too much — and she wouldn’t just abandon the Tardis.
Or, he hopes, him.
“Stay here,” he tells Mickey. “I’m going to have a look.”
Mickey waves him off, turning to the crowd, and raising his voice, “All right, here’s what we’re going do. You want a pint, you queue on this side. You want something different, you queue over here.”
The crowd grumbles, but begins following his directions, and as the Doctor ducks back into the kitchen, he can just hear Mickey hollering to Jack to come help.
It’s disappointing, but ten minutes later, the Doctor has to admit Mickey had been right — there’s absolutely no sign of Rose. He pushes his way out on to the floor, locating Donna and waiting for her to finish with a table before pulling her off to a corner.
“Oi! What’s this? I don’t have time for your gob right now, it’s bonkers in here and that bloke at table 9 is looking like he could be my Gatsby.” Donna’s already edging out of the corner, but the Doctor reaches out for her arm.
“Donna. Rose is gone,” he says.
“What do you mean ‘Rose is gone?’ Rose has gone where? Go get her and get back to the bar.”
The Doctor’s frustrated and tries to run a hand through his hair, before remembering he’s wearing the hat. He yanks it from his head.
“Rose is gone,” he says. “No one can find her. She’s not anywhere.”
Donna’s face softens, he must look a little bit mental if she’s cutting him a break so soon.
“Did you try her mobile?”
He feels embarrassed — her mobile, of course.
“Thanks, Donna,” he says, ducking back out into the crowd as he pulls out his own phone.
A few taps of the screen and he’s got Rose dialed, her face smiling up at him from the glass as he tucks the phone to his ear.
Rose’s hip is vibrating. These trousers are tight – she’d specifically done them that way, because she’s noticed the Doctor staring at her bum when he doesn’t think she’s looking. She’d nearly left her mobile in her purse, because it was too bulky in this pocket. But the pub had gotten busy before she had time, so here it is – the mobile, buzzing against her hip.
The crowd on the sidewalk has thinned out, they’re two and a half blocks away from the Tardis at this point. Rose has never heard of the Dalek Arms, the Doctor’s certainly never mentioned it, but they must be getting close — if that’s even where they’re taking her.
And Rose doesn’t have any idea what these men plan to do once they get wherever they’re going, whether they’re going to put pink bows on her like the Doctor did to Davros’ bulldog, or if it’s something worse. The word prank seems like a happy, good-spirited sort of event, but with two men hustling her away from the Doctor and his Tardis, she’s feeling miles away from happy or good-spirited.
Rose isn’t cold, even though a light flurry is falling and she isn’t wearing an overcoat. She shivers anyway, rubs her arms and then shoves her hands into her trouser pockets, like she’s trying to keep them warm.
Her fingers slide along the mobile, searching for the button on the side that picks up the call even if the touchscreen isn’t activated. Her pinky finally finds it.
“So where are you taking me, then?” she says loudly, hoping that it’s the Doctor on the other end of the line. If it isn’t – if it’s her mum or Shareen or something – at least someone will hear this conversation.
“Rose?” The word comes softly through the tinny little speaker, and Rose clears her throat loudly, trying to cover the sound. Her heart thumps wildly – it is the Doctor on the other end.
“Where are we going?” Rose asks again, head swiveling between the men on each side of her.
“Da, we ought to tell her,” the younger man says, frowning at Davros, his gaze flickering to Rose’s eyes before it flickers away again. He’s not exactly comfortable with what’s happening here, she can tell. “There’s no need to scare the girl.”
“Shut your gob, Thay.”
“Are we going to the Dalek Arms? Is that where you’re taking me?” Rose says loudly, yanking her arm out of Thay’s grasp again. “Because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not a bulldog, and snatching me from my place of work and taking me somewhere against my will isn’t a Halloween prank, it’s called kidnapping!” The last word rings off the buildings around them.
There’s a loud beep from her pocket as the mobile connection cuts out. Davros draws back, staring down at her hip. Then his gaze lifts to her face, his right eyebrow lifting.
“Pray tell, my dear – what was that noise?”
The Doctor’s face has gone hot, his body cold, his fingers numb. The phone slides down from his ear and his jaw works for a silent moment, his mind racing as he pulls himself together.
He knows exactly who has Rose – and he knows why, although what sort of barmy idiot would imagine kidnapping a grown adult would qualify as a prank, he can’t begin to imagine.
His mouth is still moving, but sound finally comes out, ringing across the crowded, deafeningly loud pub: “Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!”
He watches as Jack’s head snaps up from the ginger bloke he’s chatting up, and the Doctor points to the kitchen. Jack nods, stopping to check with Mickey who shoos him away from the bar.
The Doctor pushes through the crowd, more than a few of the customers are staring at him, clearly expecting an explanation for his outburst, but he can’t be bothered just now.
Astrid and Martha look surprised as he thunders into the kitchen, and they seem even more confused as Jack follows on his heels.
“Davros has Rose,” he tells Jack.
“That son of a bitch,” Jack says.
“Apparently he’s still angry about our taking the dog last year. So, of course, it makes perfect sense to take a humaninstead,” the Doctor’s trying to keep the rage from his voice, but most of his energy is on formulating a plan to get Rose back.
“Saw that on an American TV show once,” Jack’s voice is forcibly light, like he’s trying to keep calm. “‘Saved by the Bell?’ You guys have that here?”
The Doctor doesn’t even try to stop from glaring at Jack.
“Right, right, of course not,” Jack says. “Well, let’s go get her. Martha, can you cover the bar with Mickey? Astrid, you’ll have to handle the kitchen by yourself, can you do that?”
The Doctor’s eyes shift to Astrid, it’s not really a question — he’s going to get Rose, and he’s taking Jack with him, but he’d rather not bring her back to a pub in the middle of a Halloween riot.
Astrid nods, eyes wide. “I can do that,” she says. It’s one tiny thing going right, but it’s a step in the right direction, and he’s so pleased with Astrid, he could kiss her.
He refrains, instead thanking both of them quickly and darting through the back door into the back alley. He can hear Jack following behind, whistling the Indiana Jones theme tune.
Rose had managed to convince Davros that the beep in her pants was, in fact, her mobile dying — or the battery, at least. She’d held down the power button as she pulled the phone from her pocket to prove it, and, unbelievably, it had worked.
He’d taken her phone and dragged her the rest of the way to his pub, shoving her roughly into a back office and slamming the door.
Now she can hear him and — Thay? Was that his name? — as they argue just outside the door.
When they reach a particularly loud volume, she tries the door handle, hoping their voices will muffle any rattling. Maybe she can get the drop on them.
But, no, it’s locked, apparently from the outside.
She takes a few moments to get her bearings. There are newspaper clippings lining a bulletin board on the back wall and when she walks over for a closer look, she can see they’re all about the Doctor.
There are dining reviews, interviews and cocktail guides, plus more than a few profile pieces, including one with a color picture of him. He’s wearing a green t-shirt, apparently it had been a St. Patrick’s Day edition, and she has to wonder at that — do they do these prank wars for every holiday? Do they always involve conflicted kidnappers?
She doubts the Doctor ever kidnapped Thay, or any other of Davros’s employees.
There’s a cricket bat leaning in a corner, and Rose’s hand moves toward it instinctively – it feels like something she should do, hold onto that bat, use it the next time someone walks in the door. But as her fingers brush the handle, she realizes that she doesn’t want to be the one responsible for escalating this situation. Whatever these people have planned, certainly it can’t be any worse than leaving her in this office overnight. Can it? The older bloke in particular seems a bit off his rocker, but hardly homicidal. And if she’s the one who starts swinging away, cracking peoples’ heads with a bat, they’d be much more likely to respond in kind.
Rose sits down on a crate and wonders about the pub itself – not a tenth as crowded as the Tardis today, she’d reckon from the glance she got as these men hustled her past the storefront and into the back alley, before they came in the back door and shoved her into this office. She could start shouting, but she doesn’t know that anyone would hear her, much less come to let her out.
Office. Offices have phones, Rose realizes. And it should’ve struck her earlier, but she chalks it up to her blind panic as she starts shoving papers out of the way, digging around on the desk and every other flat surface, looking for a landline of some sort. Hanging off one corner is a disconnected cord – whatever phone had been in here, has been removed.
Rose sits down again and crosses her arms, realizing that the best thing she can do now is listen. Because physical force most likely won’t get her out of here, but maybe reason will.
“Da, you didn’t tell me the girl wasn’t in on it! I don’t want to go to prison for kidnapping, I’ve got a trip to —”
“There’s more important things happening here than your bloody trip to America next month!” Davros hisses, and there’s a weird gurgle in the back of his throat as he speaks. It sends chills up Rose’s spine. “This is about family honor! This is about showing that man he can’t just waltz around doing whatever he wants, whenever he wants, and not expect consequences! There has to be a certain order to the universe, because if one looney runs around exterminating the right order of things, reality might very well collapse!”
There’s a deep sigh, followed by, “Da, why don’t you let me pour you a pint. The girl’s safe and sound in there for now, and I think we could both use a drink.”
Somewhere nearby, a dog barks.
“Doctor, just to play devil’s advocate here, because Donna will kill me if she finds out I didn’t say something,” Jack says beside the Doctor as they jog down the sidewalk, dodging drunken Halloween revelers, “shouldn’t we be calling the police?”
“It’s Halloween, the police have already got their hands full. Even if we put that call in now, it could be hours before they respond. If Rose was a missing child, they’d make this a priority; but she’s an adult, which means they’ll assume she’s gone off of her own free will for at least a few days, before they start to take this seriously.”
“Surely Davros wouldn’t keep her for days,” Jack says, shaking his head. “He’s a bit unbalanced, but he isn’t completelymad.”
“I don’t want to find out what Davros plans to do with her,” the Doctor retorts as they round the last corner to the Dalek Arms. “Do you remember when he sabotaged the locks and windows on Sarah Jane’s car doors? And Sarah was stuck in there, in the summer heat, for half an hour before anyone found her?” The frown on the Doctor’s face deepens, the determination in his chest hardening. “We’re going get Rose out of there, and back to my place where she’s safe.”
Jack nods, “Right, right — how are we going to do that? We can’t just go charging in there.”
The Doctor clenches his teeth, Jack is right, of course, but that had been exactly what he’d planned to do.
He ducks into the back alley behind the pub, thinking it over. He’s just about decided to go charging in anyway when a dog comes rocketing around the corner, stopping to bark at them.
He’s some sort of mutt, he looks like a cross between a German Shepherd and a beagle, and the Doctor ducks down to pat the dog’s head absent-mindedly. The animal wants nothing to do with petting though, he’s nosing his way across the Doctor’s lap toward his satchel — the one full of soul cakes that Martha had wrapped up special for him.
“I think, Jack, that we’re going to create a distraction. And then we’re going to go charging in.”
There’s no collar on the dog, and his fur is matted, bones visible at his sides. He’s clearly a stray, but seems well-behaved enough. Nothing like that fat, pampered bulldog he’d been dealing with last Halloween, the one that was apparently worth kidnapping Rose over.
The Doctor tries out a few names, walking to the far end of the alley and seeing if he’ll come when called. Boy doesn’t work, same for Dog, Rover, Rex, Dino. His ears lift at “K-9” and the Doctor gives himself a moment to smile at that, thinking of a different dog, a different time.
“All right, K-9, you want a treat?” The Doctor leads them back out of the alley as Jack catches on.
“Are you going to do what I think you’re going to do?” Jack’s voice is amused, and he’s smiling.
“What, you don’t think Caan would like a playmate? And some goodies, too,” the Doctor says, holding the front door to the Dalek Arms open with one hand as he reaches into his satchel with the other.
“You’re going to take that thing home when we’re done, aren’t you?” Jack’s shaking his head, still smiling as K-9 jumps at their heels.
“Maybe,” the Doctor says, mind already skipping ahead to nights curled on the sofa, Rose on one side, the dog on the other.
He has to get Rose back though, for that to happen, and he feels a fresh wave of anger over the situation.
K-9 darts into the pub, zeroing in on Caan where he sits on a plush pillow near the service well. The Doctor watches them, making sure there’s not going to be any bloodshed as he unwraps the soul cakes. Caan immediately submits to a thorough sniffing from K-9 and then they both catch the scent of the treats, barking loudly at the Doctor and Jack as patrons turn to watch the scene.
He breaks a cake in half and tosses one piece to the far end of the pub, K-9 yelping as he chases after it. The other piece is flung to the opposite wall and Caan lumbers off in that direction.
As expected, the customers watching have turned into customers reacting, screaming and shrieking as the dogs scramble about the pub. The Doctor ducks into a dark back corner as Jack stands proudly in the middle of the space, cheering the dogs on.
Davros comes tearing out of the office area, Thay right behind him, and they’re headed for Jack.
The Doctor uses the confusion to slip through the staff doors, eyes skittering up and down the hallway looking for a clue to Rose’s location, as the sounds of chaos filter through the pub.
Rose has her ear pressed to the door, because it sounds like World War III has broken out outside. There’s shouting and wild barking, and Davros’s distinctly gravelly voice screaming shrilly for Caan to heel. Using the noise as cover, Rose takes a step back, lifts her foot, and brings it down hard near the doorknob. The door shudders, but the rickety old lock doesn’t give. She repeats the process several times, thump! thump! thump! against the solid oak door, to no avail.
The last time she jumps into the air, putting every ounce of her weight behind the kick. Just as her foot’s about to land, the door opens outward. She can’t stop, she’s midair and her momentum’s too strong.
Her foot lands squarely on the Doctor’s stomach.
He goes down in a crumpled heap, making a strangled shout as the wind’s knocked out of him. Rose lands right on top of him, squealing in shock and surprise. She scrambles onto her knees, hunching over to throw her arms around him even as he gasps like a fish for breath.
“Oh my god, Doctor! I’m so sorry! Are you okay? Can you breathe? Am I glad you’re here, I haven’t seen you in ages!” she says in a rush, squeezing him.
He makes another strangled squeak, his fingers clenching convulsively on her jacket. His eyes are open wide, his hair sticking on end, and he’s lost a few buttons on his already tight oxford during the fall, it’s practically open to his bellybutton. He looks like an Indiana Jones who stuck his finger in a lightsocket.
“S’only been forty minutes,” he wheezes. His arms lock around her, too, pulling her down on top of him again, so they’re both on the floor. “But yeah, that was ages. You didn’t have to kick me for it, though.”
She laughs, relief washing over her in warm waves, because the Doctor’s here, and she feels safe, and things are going to be okay. Tears prick at the corner of her eyes, and Rose wants nothing more than to stay here for a while, wrapped up in the Doctor’s arms – she has every intention of spending the rest of the night that way, in point of fact. But doing so on the floor of the Dalek Arms doesn’t seem like the wisest plan.
He’s already pushing to his feet, drawing her along and wheezing softly as his breath comes back. His hand finds hers, fingers lacing together, and she looks up and down the hallway. “Which way?”
“Back alley’s that way,” the Doctor says, gesturing to the right. Then he points left, to the sound of the ruckus, which seems to gradually be quieting down. “But we’re going that way.”
“What, is the back exit blocked?” Rose asks, frowning down the hall.
“It’s wide open, in point of fact. But I need to have a word with Davros.”
“Doctorrrrr,” she protests in a whisper as he pulls her down the hall. “Can’t we just get out of here and call the police?”
“Jack’s in there, anyway,” the Doctor says. “Doing what he does, being the center of attention. I’ve got to make sure he doesn’t forget to bring along my dog when he leaves.”
“Your dog?”Rose says, incredulous and utterly confused, yanking on his arm again, but he doesn’t have time to answer.
The Doctor shoves open a door, and they step into the bar area itself. The room is empty of patrons at this point, and there’s a bulldog and a mangy stray in the center of the room, snarling at each other over cake crumbs. Jack’s got his back to the door, and he’s got his mouth open, mid-sentence on saying something to Thay, who’s advancing on him from across the room. Davros is holding a bottle of lager like a club, not far behind his son.
Everyone freezes as the Doctor swaggers through the door, his hand moving to his hip, closing around the handle of the coiled whip.
Rose eyes widen, and her hand shoots out to cover his on the whip.
He turns to her, grinning, “I’ve got it, it’s fine.”
She tightens her fingers, she’s got big plans for him tonight, and they don’t involve injury or answering questions in a police station. Well, not if he’s the one they’re asking her about.
“Rose, seriously,” he says. “It’ll be okay.”
She lifts her fingers, watching along with everyone else as he unholsters the whip.
He makes a wide loop, walking slowly over to the dogs as Davros finally lowers the bottle. Slipping the loop over the neck of the mutt, he ties a knot securing it in place.
He’s created a leash, and somehow it’s incredibly fitting. The Doctor doesn’t strike Rose as someone fond of using weapons, at least not for their intended purpose, and it’s adorable the way the dog shifts to sit at his heels.
“Rose, this is K-9,” he says. “K-9, Rose.”
Everyone is remaining still except for the two of them and Rose bends down to scratch the dog — K-9 — behind his ears.
“That’s enough of this,” Davros says, lunging toward the three of them, the bottle out in front of him.
K-9 wheels away from Rose and the Doctor, growling at Davros, teeth bared, and Davros recoils. Caan is still licking the crumbs from the floor, apparently unconcerned at the threat to his owner.
“You always did pick the loyal ones, Doc,” Jack says, moving to stand at Rose’s side.
Thay shifts closer to his father, and then they’re squaring off, the good guys and the bad, and Rose nearly giggles. Indiana Jones, indeed.
“Right,” the Doctor says. “You kidnapped Rose. You took her against her will, to a place she did not want to be, and then you kept her there.”
Davros raises the bottle again, still apparently keen on the strategy of the best defense being an offense, but the Doctor doesn’t blink.
“I can’t even tell you how angry that makes me,” the Doctor says.
And with that, he turns for the door, tugging gently at K-9’s leash to bring him along.
“We’re just going to leave?” Jack’s voice sounds as confused as Rose feels.
“Yep,” the Doctor says, popping the ‘p’ loudly. “Assuming, of course, that’s okay with you, Rose? You were the kidnap-ee, after all. The kidnapped?”
Rose feels herself nod, too stunned to do anything else. She’s not sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t this.
“To the police station, then? Don’t think I won’t fight the charges, Doctor,” Davros says.
“Oh, no,” the Doctor says. “We’re going home.”
“You’re just — running away?” Thay is gaping at him.
“I think you’ve misunderstood,” the Doctor pauses at the front door. “You’ve put in danger someone I lo— you’ve put Rose in danger. I am furious. And I want you to know that, I want you to conduct business every single day in this rotting, awful excuse for a pub, knowing that I’m there, three blocks away. I won’t sink to your level, you’ve taken a game and turned it into something else entirely, and I won’t be so forgiving — ever again.”
With that, he reaches for Rose’s hand, she gives it to him, knitting their fingers together, and they exit the Dalek Arms, K-9 at their heels and Jack right behind them.
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