Lost in Translation (Doctor Who, Twelfth Doctor)

[angora48]

I love playing with the TARDIS translation circuit. ;-) (Along with torturing Twelve, obviously!)

Here's Part 7.

The Doctor wouldn’t admit it to Clara for the world, but he had at least half of a suspicion that he was dying. He, who generally scoffed in the face of sleep, had conked out almost the instant his head had hit the pillow, and now, he woke hazily to a fresh new world of aches and dripping. His throat was painful, his nose was blocked, and his head was atrocious. Swallowing a groan, the Doctor sneezed – “Hihhh-uhhhh-SHOOOOO!” – into his pillow.

He sat up, a bit unsteady, and found Clara’s bed empty. Where had she gone? How long had he slept? Between the heavily-curtained room and his foggy head, he hadn’t a clue what time it was, and as a Time Lord, that was more than a bit embarrassing.

The room door slid open, and Clara breezed in. “Morning,” she called, popping the last bite of a muffin into her mouth.

“Thadk you for dot callig it ‘good,’” the Doctor told her. His voice was a mess, all scratchy and – what was it again? – stuffed up.

“Right – breakfast’s nearly over,” Clara said. In her arms, she was balancing a plate, a paper cup, and a bundle of what looked like clothes. “Considering the flash space-age hotel, it’s surprisingly ordinary. No foods I didn’t know the names of, even.” She deposited her load onto the bedside table and pushed the plate towards him; on it was a piece of toast, an apple, and some eggs.

“I’be dot huggry,” the Doctor replied dully. Did she always speak so loudly? He winced and brought a hand to his temple.

“Yeah, figured as much,” Clara admitted. “Have the apple, at least. It’s good for you.”

Clara sometimes got into the habit of acting like the Doctor was one of the pudding-brains she taught, assuming she could order him around. To prove otherwise, he picked up the toast, nibbling disinterestedly round the edges. “Hehhhh-CHIUHHHHH!” he sneezed, throwing his arm up to cover it.

“Bless,” Clara said. “How’d you sleep then?”

The Doctor ran his finger under his nose. “It was sleep; it was borig.”

“Uh huh,” Clara replied in that knowing way she sometimes had. For someone who couldn’t quite reconcile the man he was now with the man he used to be, she sure seemed to think she knew him better than he did. “I slept great, by the way.”

“Terrific,” the Doctor replied with a sullen sniffle.

“Yeah, listening to your friend snoring in the next bed is even better than a lullaby,” she added, really hammering home the sarcasm.

“I dod’t sdore,” the Doctor informed her.

“Oh, don’t you?” Clara asked. “Pretty sure I’m a better authority on that than you, at least as far as last night goes.”

The Doctor sighed, exasperated. “I. Dod’t. Sdore,” he repeated.

“Well, evidently you do when you’re stuffed up,” Clara told him. “Believe me.”

The Doctor threw his half-eaten toast back onto the plate and picked up the handheld screen on the table. Hastily shoving the pillow behind his back, he keyed clumsily and thumbed through various newsfeeds on the previous day’s events. “Duthig defiditive yet,” he observed. “Doh surprise, with Idspector Idiot od the case, but the prevailig theory seebs to be this ALBS group.”

Clara nodded thoughtfully. “So what are we going to do, find them?” she asked. “To pull off something like what happened at the stadium, they must have a pretty big organization.”

“Big add idtelligedt,” the Doctor added. “Dot just addywod could just electrify artificial turf.” He did a search of recent ALMS activity and came up with numerous articles on a handful of large-scale incidents. “High-tech slaughter seebs t… ehhhh-SHUHHHHH!” he sneezed wetly in his palm. “To be their thig,” he continued, trying keep hold of his momentum. “A few modths back, they disabled the adjusted gravity id the sky shield od ad expressway, causing twedty-sevved separate crashes. Sucked all the air out of a high-rise, too…”

“That’s horrible,” Clara said softly.

The Doctor covered his mouth to cough, then wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “I’be guessig that’s the poidt,” he told her. He skimmed a few more articles. “They’re big od televised execushuds, break straight idto the dews feeds. Idvestigators, a few reporters…” Back to yesterday. The Doctor blinked hard to make his tired eyes focus as he searched. Something wasn’t adding up, but he couldn’t see what it was. “Ah, our esteebed idspector is givig a press codferedce this bordig,” he announced. “All the boste up-to-date dews od the idvestigashud.”

“The top-brass-approved news,” Clara pointed out. “He won’t be telling everything he knows.”

“Which is why it’s ibportadt for us to be there,” the Doctor replied. “So we cad ask the probig questiods that bake hib spill bore thad he bent to.” A tickle rose up in his nostrils; he pressed the back of his hand to his nose. “Haaaahh-SHUUUHHHHH! Ehhhhh… uhhhhhh-CHIOOOOO!”

Wiping his nose with a groan, he rose to his feet, not quite as steadily as he’d have liked – his legs felt the slightest bit wobbly. “Try dot to look like you’ve slept id your clothes,” he instructed Clara, picking up his coat and digging through the pockets. “Although, I dod’t doh, baybe for a jourdalist, it’s appropriate…” He frowned, devoting himself more fully to his search. He started a pockets inventory on the bed.

“Looking for this?” Clara asked, holding up the psychic paper.

The Doctor snatched it back. “What were you doig with that?” he demanded irritably.

“I had to get to the transport center,” Clara explained, “and I didn’t have a transit pass or any Ajkereli money.”

“What did you deed to go to the tradsport cedter for?” the Doctor asked.

“TARDIS,” Clara told him. “For your information, I don’t look like I’ve slept in my clothes, because these are different clothes. I changed?”

“If you say so,” the Doctor replied dismissively.

“Plus,” Clara went on, “I was getting this!” She plucked something from her bundle on the table and tossed it to the Doctor. It was a hooded sweatshirt that zipped up the front. “Go on, then,” she instructed, business-like. “Maybe you don’t want to take the time to get over your Leopterasian head cold, but you still need to look after yourself.”

The Doctor was so surprised, he didn’t minding her ordering him about. It was the sort of thing Clara would’ve done before, before he changed. He scoffed a little, but as he shrugged into the sweatshirt and zipped it up, he couldn’t hold back the smallest of smiles.

“And,” Clara continued, “for the final touch…” She held out a gray knitted scarf. “You wouldn’t believe the time I had finding a scarf in your wardrobe that wasn’t insanely long,” she commented as she stepped forward, wrapping the scarf comfortably round his neck. “Did you used to travel with a giraffe, because they’re seriously that long.”

The Doctor indulged his ghost of a smile, feeling the corner of his mouth start to turn up. “Doh giraffes,” he assured her with a quiet sniffle.

“All right,” Clara said, taking a step back to look him over. “Good? Cozy?”

Strictly speaking, “cozy” wasn’t a word the Doctor found entirely necessary this regeneration. Still, so long as he didn’t make a habit of it… “If you like,” he replied. “Let’s go.”

[VoOs]

This fic puts me in such a happy place, you have no idea.

“And,” Clara continued, “for the final touch…” She held out a gray knitted scarf. “You wouldn’t believe the time I had finding a scarf in your wardrobe that wasn’t insanely long,” she commented as she stepped forward, wrapping the scarf comfortably round his neck. “Did you used to travel with a giraffe, because they’re seriously that long.”

I GIGGLED. <3 <3 <3

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

“And,” Clara continued, “for the final touch…” She held out a gray knitted scarf. “You wouldn’t believe the time I had finding a scarf in your wardrobe that wasn’t insanely long,” she commented as she stepped forward, wrapping the scarf comfortably round his neck. “Did you used to travel with a giraffe, because they’re seriously that long.”

The Doctor indulged his ghost of a smile, feeling the corner of his mouth start to turn up. “Doh giraffes,” he assured her with a quiet sniffle.

Did you just.......Was that meant to be a refference to a previous Doctor!?

Omg i'm loving this more with every word!

[NorthernLady]

The Doctor was so surprised, he didn’t minding her ordering him about. It was the sort of thing Clara would’ve done before, before he changed. He scoffed a little, but as he shrugged into the sweatshirt and zipped it up, he couldn’t hold back the smallest of smiles.

Yes Yes YES Reference to TWO previous doctor Matt is still my fave, sorry Capaldi fans.

I love bossy Clara btw

[angora48]

Yep - past Doctor references always make me happy! :-) And Northern Angel, I love Eleven, too. But with Doctors, I've discovered that there's no way I can fully rank them. All my favorites are just too good to chooose between them.

Part 8, at your service!

Clara frowned as the Doctor sniffled and wiped his nose for about the fourteenth time since they’d left the hotel. “Of course – you’ve not got a hankie on you,” she commented, rolling her eyes. “Why would you?”

“What’re you baggig od about?” the Doctor grumbled. His Leopterasian-head-cold-voice was deep, just shy of a rumble, and massively congested.

“Right – hang on,” Clara told him, stopping in front of what looked like a chemist’s. “Do you have Ajkereli money, or do I need the psychic paper again?”

“They ought to take yours,” the Doctor replied, coughing. “This area’s so Earth-oriedted, add there’s a bit of ad old-Earth dostalgia craze goig od at the bobedt – bost curredcy right dow is bade to look ‘vidtage.’”

“Won’t be a minute,” Clara called as she stepped into the shop. He didn’t follow her, just stood outside looking like the most uninviting doorman in history.

It was weird; she said outside, but it wasn’t quite, not really. The sky shield spanned the space between the buildings on either side of the road, so even on the sidewalk, they were in an Earth-norm bubble. It was like the whole city was a big series of hamster tubes. Not that Clara was in a hurry to bounce around in low gravity again – yesterday’s added threat of electrocution hadn’t exactly endeared the atmosphere to her – but it felt sterile, fake, and a bit eerie. Especially after what the Doctor had told her about those ALMS people targeting a sky shield; she shivered.

When Clara finished her errand and came out of the chemist’s, the Doctor glared dubiously at her. “What have you got all that for?” he demanded.

Clara held out her purchase, a six-pack of pocked-sized tissue packets. “Oh, I dunno – maybe your runny nose?” she suggested.

“Shut up,” the Doctor growled, stalking off down the sidewalk with his shoulders hunched and his hands shoved into his hoodie pockets.

“Wow, someone gets cross when he’s ill,” Clara observed, hurrying to keep up with him.

“I’be dot cross!” the Doctor snapped. Before Clara had the chance to burst out laughing, he hastily added, “About beig ill; I’be cross for edtirely differedt reasods!”

“Right – of course,” Clara agreed sardonically.

“Add addyway,” the Doctor went on, sniffling, “rubbish dose or… EHHHHH-shiuhhhhhh!” He sneezed, only about half into his shoulder. Clara ducked away, making a face. “…Or dot,” he continued, “what did you get six for? How ab I bedt to carry all that aroud?”

Clara rolled her eyes. “Stand still for a second, and I’ll show you.”

The Doctor slowed as her turned to her, a retort on his lips, but Clara got straight to work tucking the various tissue packets away, narrating as she did so. “Jacket pocket, jacket pocket, hoodie pocket, hoodie pocket, trouser pocket, trouser pocket. Any questions?” It was like she’d picked his pockets in reverse.

“Clara, we dod’t doh how dagerous this is,” the Doctor pointed out. “What if we have to rud?”

“Wouldn’t that be a shocker?” Clara muttered.

“You really wadt be to be weighed dowd?” the Doctor pressed.

Yeah, because tissues were known chiefly for their heaviness. “You’re a big boy,” Clara told him. “Pretty sure you’ll manage.” As they resumed their brisk walk, the Doctor threading his way through all the foot traffic, a thought occurred to Clara. “Do you not know how to use them?” she teased. “Is that what this is about?”

“I doh how to use a tissue,” the Doctor replied flatly. “What do you take be for?”

“Just a tip – that might not be the best question for you to be asking people,” Clara informed him. “Like, ever.”

He didn’t have a reply to that, just scowled and pressed on.

The press conference was at a posh-looking government building. Clara stood, taking in the sight of the flashy automated everything, while the Doctor gave the psychic paper a wave to the woman at the desk. Soon, they were being led to a large room filled with chairs pointed at an ornate-looking podium.

As Clara and the Doctor maneuvered through the crowded room, looking for seats, Clara heard the Doctor’s breath hitching. “Ahhh-hehhhh…” Out the corner of her eye, she saw his hand slipping into his jacket pocket. Yep – tissues are so useless, she thought, feeling vindicated.

However, the Doctor’s hand was still in his pocket when he brought the other to his mouth and sneezed a wet “Hihhhh-CHOOOOO-ehhhh!” into his fist, earning him dirty looks from the nearest journalists.

“You said you knew how to use them,” Clara pointed out pedantically as they shuffled along one of the rows of chairs, the Doctor rubbing his nose with his finger.

“I do,” the Doctor insisted to her in a low voice. “They happed to be wrapped id plastic, id case you hadded’t doticed.”

Clara sighed. “That’s why you open the packet before you need to sneeze?” The Doctor scoffed at that, but Clara saw his hand plunge into his pocket again as they sat down.

Movement at the front of the room caught her eye. The inspector from the stadium had entered through a side door, along with a trim younger man in a smart suit, with the look of a politician about him. It was the latter who positioned himself behind the podium. “Stavid Peldato,” the Doctor murmured in Clara’s ear. “Viceroy of the ibperial goverdbedt. Dedicated the last four years of his career to tryig to destroy ALBS.”

“How the hell do you know all that?” Clara asked.

“Sobe of us pay attedshud,” the Doctor replied, and suddenly, Clara remembered seeing the politician before. Last night, he’d appeared on several of the news broadcasts – stock footage of him giving speeches, eloquent polemics, that sort of thing. And the name, Stavin Peldato… She thought there’d been something about him working to push new anti-terrorism measures through the parliament.

“Hello to you all on this austere morning,” Viceroy Peldato began somberly. “After the tragic events that unfolded yesterday at what was meant to be a celebratory event, it’s needless to say that every department has been working through the night, both to find those responsible for this inhuman crime and to ensure the safety of our citizens, in this city, this country, and all over Ajkerel.”

“Ihhh-shhhhhh!” the Doctor sneezed, into a tissue this time. Still, he wasn’t being terribly polite about it. He sniffled loudly, coughing a bit as he dabbed at his nose with the tissue. The viceroy’s eyes flickered, just for an instant, in his direction.

“It is my privilege,” Peldato went on, “to introduce Inspector Garan Nolrich. Not that the inspector needs any introduction – we’re all acquainted with his dedication and heroism in the days following the terrible ALMS massacre of ’82. There isn’t a man on this planet that I would better trust to find some justice for yesterday’s victims, their families, and everyone on Ajkerel in this sorrowful time. Inspector?”

Inspector Nolrich, who’d been standing beside the viceroy, now stepped forward. Clara took a moment to get a better look at him. He was about 50, solidly built, and wore his dark suit with the air of a man who didn’t like the feel of it. Still, she couldn’t deny he had a commanding presence that made all the whispering reporters quiet down like English 9A when the head teacher dropped in unexpectedly.

“M.O.T.’s early investigation into the deaths at Bracken Stadium yesterday shows clear connections with ALMS,” the inspector said. He spoke intelligently, officially, but without ceremony. It was like he was sitting down in his office with someone to explain the matter one-on-one, not addressing a roomful of journalists. “The unusual method of using the pitch’s artificial turf as a vehicle for electrocution led us to the grounds staff. A few questions of note there, but this-” He tapped a button on the podium, and the image of a thin Ajkereli (Clara didn’t know if it was male or female) was projected before them. “-Is the one who caught our attention. Ilva Frantishko-emma-Jolep: secondary groundskeeper for the pitch. What’s interesting about Frantishko is that he has a background in electrics. Did electrical work for a private company for more than ten years, before being dismissed four months ago.”

“What – less than a day and they’ve solved it?” Clara murmured under her breath. How did that work?

“Don’t get me wrong,” Nolrich continued. “This isn’t the end, not by a long shot. Frantishko may have been the insurgent at the heart of this particular attack, but he’s the trigger, not the bomb. Further interrogation and investigation will be needed to discover his accomplices and deeper ALMS ties; so far, Frantishko has been very responsive to interrogation.”

By now, the reporters were clamoring. Viceroy Peldato stepped back to the forefront. “Thank you for that, inspector. We’ll open it up to questions now.”

The inquiries came steadily. Could there be more ALMS attacks on the horizon? Are we safe? What will it take to root out ALMS once and for all? What can ordinary citizens do to help? Clara was a little overwhelmed by it all. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to contribute. The Doctor was no help; he had his eyes closed, massaging his temples with both hands. Clara wracked her brain for the sort of probing question the Doctor had said they’d be posing.

She was so intent on following the Q & A and trying to come up with the optimal question that she didn’t realize the Doctor had been called on until he spoke beside her, making her jump nearly out of her skin.

And the big, illuminating, bust-this-case-wide-open question? “Why’re they called ALBS?” the Doctor asked.

Inspector Nolrich sputtered a bit, and even Viceroy Peldato looked thrown. “Excuse me?” the viceroy replied. “What paper do you represent?”

“The Priber,” the Doctor said, “for idiots. They haved’t a clue about addy of this, you see.”

“And you evidently don’t, either?” Peldato countered. He sounded just the slightest bit testy.

“Oh, I doh!” the Doctor assured him. “But I deed a quote. That’s part of beig ad idiot – they dod’t believe addythig’s true udless they hear it frob sobewod fabous.”

Viceroy Peldato was definitely annoyed. He was clenching the side of the podium, probably to keep his hand’s natural instinct to punch the Doctor from taking over. “ALMS – Ajkereli Liberation Movement,” he said, pronouncing each word with exaggerated care. He looked out over the crowd. “Now…”

“What about the ‘S’?” the Doctor prodded.

If he got much tenser, Peldato was going to snap in half. “…What?” he asked, his derision seeping through the unflappable politician persona.

“Ajkereli Liberashud Boovebedt – Ay-El-Eb,” the Doctor replied. “What does the ‘S’ stad for?”

“It’s plural,” Peldato told him curtly. “Unfortunately, it has rather a lot of members. Now, if we’re quite content with the spelling…”

“Well, that’s stupid,” the Doctor noted. “Whoever heard of ad acrodybed dabe pluralizig itself like that? If altogether, they’re ALBS, what do you call this Frantishko fellow, ad ALB?”

Viceroy Peldato nodded toward the edge of the room, and Clara sighed as she saw a pair of burly security types heading their way. “To answer that, you would have to ask a member of ALMS,” he informed the Doctor, “and I’m afraid Inspector Nolrich won’t be doing it for you, as he has slightly more pressing matters to discuss in his interrogation of the guilty party.”

By this time, the Doctor was halfway to being forcibly removed from the press conference, Clara trailing after him. “What was all that about?” Clara demanded once they’d been tossed out on their bums.

“It bothers be,” the Doctor told her.

“What does?”

He sniffed. “The dabe. There’s sobethig – cad’t put by figger od it.”

“Did you think that maybe this wasn’t the time to get into semantics?” Clara asked. “What about your probing questions? What happened to all of them?”

“I had questiods,” the Doctor replied. “I asked them.”

“Yeah, about acronyms!” Clara retorted. She sighed. “What are we supposed to do now? Any brilliant ideas?”

The Doctor sputtered a cough into the back of his hand. “I’ll thidk of sobethig,” he insisted. He pulled a tissue from his pocket and sneezed. “Ihhhh-shiihhh-OOOOO-uhhhh!” Noisily, he blew his nose.

“Well, then – good to know we’ve got our best man on it,” Clara muttered.

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Omg my god im bawling! The tissue thing is killing me!

And the fact that our lovely Twelve's sneezing is getting more frequent. So much to look forward too

[Vongola Undicesimo]

Ooohhhhh this is absolutely wonderful! It truly feels like an episode but still has lots of sick-y Twelve.

They're both so in-character and the Doctor is just adorable when he's sick. But really cranky too. Clara sure has a lot on her plate to take care of him.

[angora48]

Vongola Undicesimo, I don't know what it is about him, but his cantankerousness is so weirdly endearing, isn't it? You just KNOW he'd be extra cranky when he's sick. :-D

Here's Part 9!

“Hihhh-uhhhh-CHOOOO-ehhhhh!” The Doctor, halfway down an access hatch, his hands full of wires and sonic screwdriver, didn’t have the necessary digits or the space to cover his mouth. He grimaced as he sneezed on the complex inner workings of the pellion pitch. “Ooh, sorry about that,” he murmured huskily. Sniffling hard, he wriggled about enough to pull a tissue from his pocket and do his best to tidy up the electrics.

Outside the hatch, Clara gave his legs a light kick. “Doctor, what’s going on?” she asked. “What’ve you found?”

The Doctor sniffled again. “Out id a bidit!” he called to her.

“What?” Clara said. The Doctor sighed, and began quickly tapping his left foot. “Wait, what’re you… is that Morse code? Are you tapping your foot at me in Morse code?”

Pleased with himself, the Doctor tapped out, “Good, isn’t it?”

Even from his position wedged down in the hatch, the Doctor could hear Clara sighing. “You realize I don’t know Morse code, right?”

Of course not. The Doctor started scooting his way out of the hatch, grumbling to himself. “Right – let’s go,” he announced. As he emerged from the access hatch, the afternoon sun glinting off the sky shield hit him square in the eyes, sending a strong itch flooding through his senses. “Ahhhh… hehhh-CHIUHHHHH! Huhhhh-SHOOOO! Ihhhh… hehhh… ehhhhh-SHUHHHH!” Groaning, he lay on his back for a moment, eyes closed. Finally, rubbing his nose with his wrist, he flopped over so the sun wouldn’t set him off again when he opened his eyes.

“Bless you,” Clara said sympathetically. “You all right?”

“Brilliadt,” the Doctor replied drily. “What’re you waitig for? Let’s get out of here!”

Clara quickly followed after him. “Me? I was waiting for you to stop sneezing your head off!”

“That’s doh excuse,” the Doctor told her. “Beig here is very illegal. If addywod catches us roud here, they’ll throw away the key.”

“Gee, that’s the sort of thing that would’ve been great to know half an hour ago!” Clara pointed out.

“It’s cobbod sedse,” the Doctor countered. “Clara, this is the site of a terrorisib attack; doesd’t get buch bore serious thad that.”

As he strode swiftly and silently through the stadium’s lower complex toward the exit, the Doctor dug about in his pocket. “Dab,” he groused, slowing in the middle of the dimly-lit corridor.

“What’s the matter with you?” Clara asked.

The Doctor sniffed, holding up an empty plastic sleeve. “All out,” he told her. He tossed it in a nearby bin and reached into his left jacket pocket for the second tissue package, wrestling it open.

“Hmm – five hours to go through a pack of tissues?” Clara observed. “And you wondered why I bought so many.”

“Shut up,” the Doctor said.

“Oh, come on!” Clara started. “You-”

But the Doctor wasn’t playing around. “Clara!” he hissed, right in her ear. “Shut. Up.” Grabbing her round the waist, he pulled her into the shadows, and not a minute too soon; a uniformed guard was coming around the bend.

“Ehhhh…” The hitch was soft but involuntary; the Doctor’s nose tickled something fierce.

Clara, alarmed, looked up at him with humungous eyes. “Doctor,” she mouthed warningly.

The Doctor took in another sharp breath, a quiet gasp. The guard paused, peering around shrewdly. As the Doctor contemplated the utter rubbishness of incredible mental faculties if he couldn’t even stop a sneeze when he really needed to, Clara gave his sleeve a tug. It startled him, almost made him lose the shockingly tenuous command he had on the itch in his nose, but he turned to her. She brought her finger to her nose and then nodded to him.

Ah, that’s right. He’d done something like that before – to limited effect, as he recalled. Still, any port in a storm. He held his finger to his nose and tried not to breath.

The guard was still looking about her. The Doctor and Clara inched away from the light of her torch. After about a dog’s age, she finally seemed satisfied that she was alone and continued on her way down the corridor.

Clara breathed a silent sigh, but the Doctor waited, tensed, for a few more agonizingly-long seconds before giving into the sneeze, a stifled “Hhhhhh-kkknfffff!” into his hand. Wordlessly, he motioned for Clara to follow.

The Doctor waited until they were well away from the stadium and had ducked down an alley before he finally got himself a fresh tissue. His nose was in a right state, and he blew it more than a little miserably.

“What’d you find out?” Clara prompted.

The Doctor let out a quiet groan, giving his by-now-really-rather-sore nose a final dab. “This wasd’t just a batter of flippig a switch,” he told her. “It’s a whole detwork dowd there, detworks withid detworks.”

“So what’re you saying?” Clara asked. “You don’t think groundskeeper guy could’ve done it?”

“I’be saying you’d have deeded a roobful or gediuses, or, barrig that, be, to pull it off,” the Doctor explained. “ ‘Electrishud turd groudskeeper’ doesd’t begid to cover it.” He shook his head. “I dew there was sobethig off about this. Didded’t sbell right.”

“To be fair, most things probably don’t smell right to you at the moment,” Clara joked. The Doctor shot her a dark look, and she raised an eyebrow at him. “What was that you said earlier about not being cross?”

“Clara, I’be serious,” the Doctor replied. “Fradtishko, it’s dot hib.” He coughed roughly into his fist.

“Okay, I believe you!” Clara insisted. “So, what? Species profiling? The investigators are looking for staff who could potentially be with ALMS, and he fits the bill? Maybe there aren’t many Ajkereli working here.”

The Doctor rubbed the bridge of his nose, sniffling. “You’d have to be pretty blide to look at that setup add thidk Fradtishko could be behide it.”

“Prejudice can make people stupid,” Clara pointed out. “Stupid and scared, and with the attack, they were already scared. Wouldn’t be the first time an inspector got race-based tunnel vision.”

“Echh – I dod’t doh,” the Doctor replied. He sneezed a strong “Hihhh-SHUHHHH!” into yet another tissue.

“You think the inspector knows he has the wrong person?” Clara asked.

“Dot sure,” the Doctor told her, rubbing his throat as he cleared it. “It all feels a bit too pat. D’you doh what I bead?”

Clara nodded thoughtfully. “Unless there’s someone with a bomb strapped to their chest, what kind of terrorism case finds the culprit in under 24 hours?”

“Exactly,” the Doctor said. “Here’s this codvediedt Ajkereli fall guy, with this electrishud ‘coddectshud’ that’s ludicrous but just plausible eduff to hold up if everywod’s id a paddic add they’re dot lookig too closely.”

“So why say the groundskeeper’s behind it?” Clara pondered. She frowned in thought. “Maybe they’re stumped, and they’re just putting out the first name that sort-of works to keep the public calm?”

The Doctor considered this. “Could be, but id that case, it’d be a bit quick. Uhhh-IHHHH-shooooo!” He bent forward, sneezing into the crook of his arm. Sighing, he slowly straightened up. “I bead, wod day? Are people really expectig adswers that fast?”

“Maybe there’s a special reason they’re in a rush,” Clara suggested. “Like, an inquiry from the higher-ups at the, er…”

“Eb-Oh-Tee,” the Doctor provided.

“Right – M.O.T.,” Clara said. “Inspector Nolrich could be on thin ice or something.”

The Doctor shook his head. “The viceroy said he was a hero.”

“For something that happened a few years ago,” Clara pointed out. “What has he done for them lately, you know?”

The Doctor’s throbbing temple and painfully sore throat were taking up too much of his attention. It was hard to give anything a proper think. “It’s a thought,” he murmured. “Duddo…” He sniffled. “But if-” a hard cough interrupted him. “If they’re scrabblig for adother reasod…” He sauntered toward the other end of the alley, which opened onto a main road.

“What’s up?” Clara asked, trotting after him. “What’re you after?”

“Idforbashud,” the Doctor replied. Down the street, he saw what he was looking for – a vid screen – and walked toward it with purpose, pulling the sonic out of his pocket. He was about ten feet away when there was a sudden impact, and it exploded in a shower of sparks.

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

The congested talk is making my heart flutter! And the detail your putting in is astonishing. I don't want this to ever end

[VoOs]

I'm not sure what is making me squeal more - the expertly woven plot, the witty dialogue, or Twelve's worsening cold. And who can resist a good needing-to-sneeze-while-hiding scenario? Delicious.

And, um, I hope you don't mind me posting the link here, but your story inspired me to draw this.

[angora48]

Are you kidding, VoOs? That's fantastic - link to gorgeous sick-Doctor art anytime! (Also, I'm a firm believer that Doctor Who sneezefic pretty much needs a sneezing-while-hiding or near-sneezing-while-hiding scene.)

Part 10!

Before the Doctor had time to register what happened, his aching head was inundated with shouts and sirens. Clara was screaming his name, and there were more crashes – crunching impacts and shattering glass – and a chant going up of “Ajkerel for the empire! Ajkerel for the empire!”

It was too loud, and there was too much happening at once; the Doctor couldn’t focus. Clara reached him and yanked him back. Turning around, he realized they were outside an Ajkereli-run shop. The owner reached under the counter for a pellion bat as a swarm of angry humans descended.

All sorts of cries came from the mob. “Murderers!” “Monsters!” “Terrorists!” “Let’s see how you like it!” “Ajkereli filth!” “ALMS scum!”

“Doctor!” Clara yelled again, and the Doctor finally managed to pull himself together.

“Yes – right,” he said fumblingly. “Aggry bob. Rarely good.” He grabbed Clara’s hand and ran toward the now-broken front window of the shop.

“There is a door!!” Clara screamed as they barreled inside.

The owner, a short, nervous-looking Ajkereli man, raised the bat with what the Doctor suspected was more confidence than he felt. “It’s all right!” Clara assured him.

“We’re here to help,” the Doctor explained.

“Come on – let’s get you out of here,” Clara added.

But the owner was resolute. “I have to hold them off,” he told them. “My husband and children are in the flat upstairs.”

“Right,” the Doctor said. “Clara – kids! I’ll stay here.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, you’re not exactly action man right now!” Clara pointed out. “You get the kids.” She seized the sonic from him and tossed it back and forth anxiously between her hands. “We’ll be, you know… fine.”

There were few forces that could overpower the pounding in the Doctor’s head at the moment, but his irritation got pretty close. “Clara…”

“There’s no time!” Clara snapped. “Doctor, go!”

She was right. The Doctor turned to the owner. “Stairs?”

“In the back!” he replied, tightening his grip on the bat. The Doctor didn’t need telling twice. He raced to the back of the room and galloped up the staircase.

When he reached the second floor, the Doctor had a sharp stitch in his side. He pressed his hand to it, coughing, as he staggered to a door. In the midst of all the imminent danger and chaos, it occurred to a few stray synapses that Clara would never let him live it down if she found out that he’d gotten winded running up a flight of stairs. He was never going to Leopterasios again.

The Doctor knocked at the door, wheezing a bit. “No one gets in!” shouted a voice from inside, wavering only a little. “I’m warning you…”

“Do you thidk ad aggry bob would dock?” the Doctor asked. “Your husbad sedt be – I’be here to get you out.”

He heard the sound of furniture scraping across the floor, a makeshift barricade being disassembled. The door flew open; an Ajkereli man with one leg, his weight shifted to a single crutch so he could hold a gun in his other hand, stood before him. “Is Briayk all right?” he asked, pale.

“I dod’t doh,” the Doctor told him impatiently. “The sooder we get out of here, the sooder we cad fide out. Where’re the kids?”

The man pivoted dexterously. “Lera! Pipkuran! Come out, loves!”

Two trembling Ajkereli girls poked their heads out from the next room. “Okay,” the Doctor said, searching his brain for a strategy. He remembered what he could of the road in front of the shop and the alley behind it. Alley… “Fire escape,” he decided. “Cobe od.”

The man bent low so his younger daughter could climb onto his back, his ears curling around her hands as she gripped them. The Doctor grabbed the other girl by the hand and dragged her along as they followed the man through the flat.

The fire escape was so rusty, a good breeze would make it crumble away to nothing – of course. “Wod at a tibe,” the Doctor suggested.

The man nodded. “Girls first,” he added. He took the older one from the Doctor. “Come on, sweetie. You have to climb down.”

The child’s ears were quivering. “I don’t like this gravity,” she whimpered. “It’s too hard.”

The Doctor was struck with brilliance. “Of course – we’re udder the sky shield!” he exclaimed. “Adjust the artificial gravity – localized, of course, just id the alley – add we cad float dowd, easy as you like! Just deed to…” He reached into his jacket pocket and only found tissues. That’s right; Clara had the sonic. He muttered a curse and quickly changed course. “But you doh what? That’s borig! Addy old Ajkereli cad float dowd from a secod story id low gravity. Passé!”

He put his hands on the girls’ shoulders, looking at them both in turn. “But you two, you’re dot addy old addythig! You’re goig to be daredevils! You cad haddle that weird, Earthy gravity, doh probleb! You’re… ehhhhh…” Be-brave speeches weren’t an ideal time to sneeze, but the Doctor didn’t have much say in the matter. He turned and buried his face in his shoulder. “Hihhhhh-shiii-uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” he sneezed.

Where was he again? “Right,” he said, to clear his head. “Look, right dow, there’s a budch of cowards tryig to hurt you because they thidk you’re cowards who try to hurt people. They wadt this world to be theirs, add they twist it to bake it bore like what they doh, but you doh what? This isd’t their world – it’s yours. This is your hobe, which beads you’ve got the advadtage eved whed they buck aroud with your gravity add try to bake you feel like you dod’t belog od your owd pladdet. Dow, who’s ready to go dowd a fire escape!”

“Me!!” both girls cried, so keyed up that their dad had to hold the little one back while her sister scrambled down. The Doctor couldn’t help smiling, just a little, despite it all. Angry mob, Leopterasian head cold, and no screwdriver: not a bad job if he said so himself.

[silentdreamer789]

This is such an awesome fic!

[NorthernLady]

He reached into his jacket pocket and only found tissues. That’s right; Clara had the sonic. He muttered a curse and quickly changed course. “But you doh what? That’s borig! Addy old Ajkereli cad float dowd from a secod story id low gravity. Passé!”

He put his hands on the girls’ shoulders, looking at them both in turn. “But you two, you’re dot addy old addythig! You’re goig to be daredevils! You cad haddle that weird, Earthy gravity, doh probleb! You’re… ehhhhh…” Be-brave speeches weren’t an ideal time to sneeze, but the Doctor didn’t have much say in the matter. He turned and buried his face in his shoulder. “Hihhhhh-shiii-uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” he sneezed.

Where was he again? “Right,” he said, to clear his head. “Look, right dow, there’s a budch of cowards tryig to hurt you because they thidk you’re cowards who try to hurt people. They wadt this world to be theirs, add they twist it to bake it bore like what they doh, but you doh what? This isd’t their world – it’s yours. This is your hobe, which beads you’ve got the advadtage eved whed they buck aroud with your gravity add try to bake you feel like you dod’t belog od your owd pladdet. Dow, who’s ready to go dowd a fire escape!”

“Me!!” both girls cried, so keyed up that their dad had to hold the little one back while her sister scrambled down.

LOL Love that whole part... no sonic, only tissues And the whole... that's boring, let's have an adventure VoOs is right. Beyond the sneezes, this is really a nice story all around.

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

I'm probably laughing way too much at this story, but it's just something about The Doctor and his hyper self that just make me squeal

[matilda3948]

This is marvelous!!! I've only seen two episodes with Twelve but I already love him

[Vongola Undicesimo]

Woohoo more parts! This is the kind of fic I'm gonna have to remind myself isn't actually canon.

Aw poor Doctor, and by that I mean more suffering on his part please! I can imagine his contested voice just perfectly.

[VoOs]

Awwww, the be-brave speech! I could almost hear the hero music swelling in the background. Be still my heart.

[angora48]

Hehe, thanks, VoOs. I really like when Twelve gets moments like that, because they don't come around as much as they do for the other Doctors. Makes me appreciate them all the more. :-)

matilda3948, there's a lot to love about Twelve, isn't there? Happy watching! And Vongola Undicesimo - from your lips to the BBC's ears??? ;-)

Here's Part 11.

Clara stood beside Briayk, the Ajkereli shop owner, trying to figure out how the sonic was meant to stop a swarm of hate-filled people brandishing mostly non-techie found objects for weapons. A shocking number of gardening implements – spades, hoes, a rake or two – which she wouldn’t have guessed so many people would have in such an urban area, and a number of bricks; she didn’t know where they’d found those at all, considering the glass-and-steel look of most of the architecture. Did people keep these things handy for the sole purpose of committing violence in the streets, or what?

And more importantly, why did her head get crammed with pointless things when she was in danger?

In more than a bit of a panic, Clara pointed the sonic at a street light and gave a quick pulse. As she’d hoped, the light blew, showering glass down on the approaching crowd… slowing them down for about five seconds. Full marks for that one, Clara, she thought sarcastically.

Because it was of course the worst possible moment, Clara’s phone decided to start ringing. “No, no, not now!” she groaned.

Briayk had been babbling nervously, full-on involuntary word-vomit, but as Clara pulled the phone from her pocket and tapped the talk button, he exclaimed, “Are you serious?!”

“This really isn’t a good time!” Clara yelled into the phone.

“Uddode caller, add you still pick up id the biddle of a crisis.” This was the Doctor’s scratchy-voiced remark. “But you’re id luck! Today, your colossal lack of survival idstidct works id your favor.”

“I’m a little busy right now!” Clara shouted, taking out another street light.

“I doh – that’s why I’be callig!” the Doctor retorted. “Had ad idea I coulded’t use, so I tweaked it for you.”

“The point?!” Clara demanded. “Any time now, Doctor!”

“Right,” the Doctor replied. “Look outside the shop – alog where the first story beets the seccod, you’ll see a sball roud dode.”

Clara hopped up into the window display, poking her head out and looking up. “Got it. What do I do?” she asked.

“Three short chirrups, add thed… huhhhhhh… CHOOOOOO!” The Doctor sniffed. “Thed just hold dowd the buttod ‘till – well, you’ll see.”

“I don’t get it,” Clara protested. “What’s gonna happen?”

“You’ll doh it whed you see it!” the Doctor said. “Gotta go – deed to jupp out a widdow.” And he was gone.

Clara took a deep breath. “Doctor, you’d better be right about this,” she murmured. Holding the window frame to keep her balance, she leaned out far enough to get a decent angle. She aimed the sonic at the little node above her.

“What are you doing?” Briayk asked. “Get inside! They’re right on top of us!”

Three short chirrups, then hold down the button until…

To Clara’s astonishment, everyone heading toward them suddenly dropped to their knees, collapsing as if under a crippling weight. What had she just done? What had the Doctor made her do?

As she leant further out of the window, trying to see if they were going to be all right, she was suddenly yanked down to the ground. It was like she was covered in 100-pound weight belts; she wasn’t hurt, but she could hardly move.

Her phone jangled again. Through some miracle, Clara’s hand crawled to her pocket and managed to switch on the speaker phone. The Doctor again. “Forgot to bedshud, bake sure you’re idside whed you do it, or you’ll get caught id the higher gravity.”

“Yep,” Clara said. Even moving her mouth took tremendous effort. “Got it.”

“Great!” the Doctor enthused. “We’re roud the back; see you sood.” He hung up.

Clara sighed. “Briayk!” she called with difficulty.

Somehow, between the two of them, they were able to get her dragged back into the shop, an experience Clara was in no hurry to relive. She figured she now knew how laundry felt when it went through those old-fashioned wringer things. Still, she supposed, it could have been worse. The Doctor could have been there to see it.

Obviously, once they got Clara inside, they couldn’t just head out the front door to go round and meet the Doctor and Briayk’s family. “This way,” Briayk urged. On wobbly legs – she may as well have just finished a decathlon, she was so tired – Clara followed him to the storeroom, where there was a service door opening into the alley.

“Viddaram!” Briayk called with relief at the sight of his husband. He ran forward, and the two crashed together in an embrace, almost knocking Viddaram, who used crutches, clean over.

“Thadk you,” the Doctor said, plucking the sonic screwdriver from Clara’s hands. “Back id a bo.” And just like, he disappeared back into the shop.

“Be careful!” Clara shouted after him. One of these days, he’d be the death of one or both of them.

Of course, he may have just wanted to avoid the family reunion – the Doctor didn’t really go for things like that anymore. Clara, on the other hand, soaked it in. Now that Briayk and Viddaram had shared their thank-god-we-made-it moment, they’d both turned their attention to their two small children. The kids were so excited that their ears were fluttering, sort of like puppies wagging their tails. Through it all, both Ajkereli men continued to hold each other, as if neither could be sure the other was there unless they were touching.

The Doctor reemerged, panting. “What did you do?” Clara asked.

“Put the gravity regulator od a delay,” he explained. “It’ll reset id three bidits – eduff tibe to put sobe dista-” he broke off, coughing. “Ugh – sobe distadce betweed us add theb.” He turned to Briayk and Viddaram. “Is there sobewhere safe you cad go?”

Viddaram nodded. “We have plenty of friends in the Ajkereli quarter. Someone will take us in.”

“All right,” the Doctor replied. “Be safe.”

With a final farewell, Clara and the Doctor went their way, and the Ajkereli family went theirs. Clara and the Doctor ran to the other end of the alley and down the next few blocks. By the time they came to a bus stop, Clara’s legs felt like lead, and the Doctor was coughing almost too hard to run. Clara made the executive decision. “Come on,” she said.

On the bus, Clara’s indignation started to bubble over. “It’s all so horrible,” she said. “‘Ajkereli Liberation Movement’ – yeah, right! They’re not helping the other Ajkereli, they’re hurting them! You know how Viddaram lost his leg? Briayk told me. It was in an ALMS attack, a bombing last year! And you can’t tell me there were no Ajkereli driving on that expressway or living in that high-rise. And then, if they don’t wind up as collateral damage, the humans retaliate against them for what ALMS did! It’s all just a mess, an awful, horrific mess. God, and that groundskeeper! The inspector said interrogation, and you know what that means…”

She found that, once she got started, she couldn’t really stop. Everything she’d seen and experienced over the last few days – and everything that the people of Ajkerel had seen and experienced – suddenly hit her all at once, and she couldn’t make any real sense of any of it.

She was still at it when they made it back to the hotel to regroup. As they got out of the lift, “It’s this terrible cycle, you know? I mean, the humans push the Ajkereli around. Some of them get so angry and scared that they want to fight back. The humans get angry and scared, so they wanted to get even. So then, they just treat the Ajkereli even worse, and some of them probably get so angry and scared that they join ALMS, and it just keeps going and going! It’s – oh, god, Doctor, it’s a time loop! It’s like they’re all stuck in this time loop and can’t get out!”

“Uh huh,” the Doctor mumbled, his voice strained. As they stepped inside their room, he sank heavily into a chair, coughing hard into the back of his hand.

It suddenly occurred to Clara that she didn’t think the Doctor had ever gone so long without speaking. He sneezed a strong, wet “Huhhhh-CHOOOOOOO-uhhhhhh!” into his cupped hands, and for the first time since the attack on Briayk’s shop, Clara took a good look at him.

Whatever adrenaline had kept him going then had long since dissipated. The Doctor was white as a sheet, sweating and shaking at the same time. Even as he tugged off his scarf, he pulled his hoodie more tightly around him. “Are you all right?” Clara asked, her voice soft.

“Of course I’be all right,” the Doctor replied automatically. “Do you doh, you’re always askig be that?” He fumbled, first in his left jacket pocket, then his right hoodie pocket, for a tissue. He’d gone through the whole second packet – when did that happen? God, had he just been sneezing and miserably the entire time Clara had been talking on the bus? A slight wince darkened his face as he blew his nose; it must have been sore by now.

Clara used to be so good at being the Doctor’s friend. She used to know when something was up with him, know when he was upset, know what he needed. She griped sometimes about how this Doctor – no, one Doctor, still the same Doctor – how the Doctor now could be rude or cross or secretive, but what about her? What kind of a friend was she?

The Doctor, seeming a little self-conscious of her attention, had gotten up to grab the portable vid screen, which he was now tapping at furiously. “Doctor,” Clara began gently.

“It still bothers be,” he mumbled, more to himself than to her.

This statement jarred Clara. “Huh?”

“The dabe,” he said, with a long, listless sniffle.

And just like that, Clara was sighing. Why was she always getting so aggravated with him now? “Doctor, it’s a name,” she told him. “Just drop it.”

“Dabes are ibportadt,” the Doctor countered. Though he was plainly spent, it was as though he just kept putting one stubborn foot in front of the other. He could be so obstinate sometimes. “Words have power; a group l- ahhhhh-hihhh-EHHHHH-shooooo!” The sneeze was sudden and strong; he only sort-of threw his hand up to cover it. Sniffling, he coughed hoarsely. “A group like ALBS would doh that.”

“So they put an ‘S’ on the end – so what?” Clara asked. “They fudged it a bit so they could spell a word. On the list of terrible things they’ve done, that’s… nowhere near worth talking about.”

“Doh, you dod’t get it,” the Doctor argued. His usually rapid-fire cadence was sluggish, and the force behind his words was muted, but he wasn’t about to let up. “It’s dot just the ‘S,’ it’s that – it’s ‘albs.’ Why would they wadt it to be ‘albs?’”

“Because they’re all mad, and who knows why mad people do the things they do?” Clara offered. She was really losing her patience on the whole name thing.

“Doh!” the Doctor insisted, his hand fluttering to his throat as his voice broke slightly. He cleared his throat. “Doh. Lissed: what does it bead, the word ‘albs?’” And before Clara could answer, “Charity. A haddout, ‘give be sobethig I haved’t eard.’”

Clara wrinkled her nose. “That’s kind of a harsh way of putting it, Doctor. And anyway, the Ajkereli have had it rough. Their world’s been colonized, they’re not being treated fairly-”

“But ALBS isd’t sayig, ‘Pity us! Help us, poor thigs!’” the Doctor pointed out. His breath hitched, and he grabbed another tissue. “Aaaah… hehhhhhh… ahhhh-heh-CHIUHHHHH! Ehhhh-SHOOOO!”

“Bless-” Clara started to say.

“Hihhh-chi-UHHHHHH!” he sneezed again.

“Okay, I’m calling it,” Clara decided. “You need to get to-”

“Clara,” the Doctor broke in, weak but insistent, “ALBS is all about power: puttig the hubads id their ‘place’ add bakig theb the vulderable wods. So why would they pick a dabe that’s all about charity?”

Clara had to admit, she didn’t have the answer. “Yeah,” she conceded, “that is weird, but Doctor-”

“It doesd’t bake addy sedse,” the Doctor groused. “I cad’t-” He pressed the heel of his hand to his temple, coughing. “God, why cad’t I thidk?”

It was the lost, frustrated tone in his voice that reminded Clara what she needed to do. “Leave it for tonight, yeah?” she said. “Get some rest, and get back to it in the morning.”

“This is ibportadt, Clara; I’be bissig sobethig,” the Doctor retorted.

“Yeah, and it’ll still be there in the morning!” Clara informed her.

The Doctor shook his head. “You dod’t get it.”

Again with the dismissive routine. “You know what, Doctor?” Clara asked, feeling her temper rising. “No, I don’t get it. I don’t get why you insist on banging on about acronyms when you’re obviously feeling ill and need to be in bed. I mean, honestly, what’s the worst that could happen from taking a night off?”

“Bore people could die!” the Doctor snapped, and Clara was startled by the rawness of his words. In that moment, she thought about what it was like to be the Doctor, how it would feel to have that weight on her shoulders. No sick days for the last of the Time Lords…

But what if he really needed one?

She was quiet now, gentle. Her fingers were light on his shoulder. “Doctor, you’ll ill,” she reminded him softly. “Your body’s not working the way it ought to, and that includes your brain. If you want it to get better, you need to sleep.” He flinched, just a little, as she brushed a few sweaty silver locks off his forehead. “Please, Doctor. You’ll be able to think better in the morning, I promise.”

With a long sigh, the Doctor dragged his hands down his face. He coughed raggedly. “Baybe you’re right,” he admitted.

“That’s it,” Clara encouraged. When she tried to help him to his feet and he waved her off, she didn’t take it personally, but she did catch his hoodie as he shrugged out of it.

As the Doctor sat down on the bed and bent, sniffling, to remove his shoes, Clara got an idea. “Do they have orange juice on Ajkerel?” she asked. “Or oranges? Something with vitamin C?”

“Aroud here?” the Doctor said. “Ehhhhh-hihhhh… uhhhhh-SHUHHHHHH! Probably. Why?”

“Just what you need,” Clara told him. “Okay, new plan! I’ll be back in two ticks, we’ll get some fluids in you, and then sleep. All right?”

The Doctor nodded dully. “All right,” he acquiesced.

“Good!” Clara replied. Pulling the door open, she turned back to give him a final encouraging smile. “It’ll be okay, Doctor,” she assured him.

[NorthernLady]

With a long sigh, the Doctor dragged his hands down his face. He coughed raggedly. “Baybe you’re right,” he admitted.

And now he listens to what she says! That alone is a cause for concern.... And Yay for another wonderful post!

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Because it was of course the worst possible moment, Clara’s phone decided to start ringing. “No, no, not now!” she groaned.

Briayk had been babbling nervously, full-on involuntary word-vomit, but as Clara pulled the phone from her pocket and tapped the talk button, he exclaimed, “Are you serious?!”

“This really isn’t a good time!” Clara yelled into the phone.

“Uddode caller, add you still pick up id the biddle of a crisis.” This was the Doctor’s scratchy-voiced remark. “But you’re id luck! Today, your colossal lack of survival idstidct works id your favor.”

“I’m a little busy right now!” Clara shouted, taking out another street light.

“I doh – that’s why I’be callig!” the Doctor retorted. “Had ad idea I coulded’t use, so I tweaked it for you.”

“The point?!” Clara demanded. “Any time now, Doctor!”

“Right,” the Doctor replied. “Look outside the shop – alog where the first story beets the seccod, you’ll see a sball roud dode.”

Clara hopped up into the window display, poking her head out and looking up. “Got it. What do I do?” she asked.

“Three short chirrups, add thed… huhhhhhh… CHOOOOOO!” The Doctor sniffed. “Thed just hold dowd the buttod ‘till – well, you’ll see.”

“I don’t get it,” Clara protested. “What’s gonna happen?”

“You’ll doh it whed you see it!” the Doctor said. “Gotta go – deed to jupp out a widdow.” And he was gone.

This is KILLING me!

I'm seriously gonna run out of comments for this story. You've captured so much so perfectly that all I can think of saying is 'This is glorious!'

I'm bouncing in my seat for more!

[Hovercuke]

So I've only seen one episode of doctor who, and it wasn't the twelveth doctor, but this story is amazing, and written so well that I understand it and the characters perfectly! So.. Yeah! I love it!

[angora48]

Thanks, everybody! I'll keep 'em coming.

Here's Part 12!

The Doctor jerked awake, jolted, as if he’d just been transmatted. Had that wobbly, fuzzy transmat feeling, too. Where the hell was he? Coughing, he disentangled himself from, what he first assumed to be Plutonian strangle-ropes and later turned out to be his wildly confused bed sheet.

Hotel. Right. No transmat, then. “Haaaahh-SHUHHHHHHH!” he sneezed, his head snapping forward. The last thing he remembered was waiting for Clara. He’d felt dizzy and had laid down to stop the room from spinning. Had he nodded off for a minute or two?

Clara wasn’t back yet, so it couldn’t have been long. Wait… Despite being raggedly exhausted, the Doctor was suddenly alert. He stumbled to his feet, sniffling as he made his way unsteadily to the window. Light came from the surrounding buildings and billboards, but the sky itself was dark. It hadn’t been dark, not nearly dark, when they’d gotten back to the hotel. How long had he been asleep, and more importantly, why wasn’t Clara there?

The Doctor was slipping his clumsy arms into his coat when, hearing a knock at the door, he heaved a congested sigh of relief. “Dod’t tell be you lost your key,” he commented, walking to the door. “Your key is your thub, rebebber? You’ve dot lost your thub, have you? That would be pretty ebbarrassi-” As he opened the door, he cut off abruptly.

Koda-ren stood before him. “You’re dot Clara,” he mumbled under his breath.

The Vosherus looked terrible, like she’d spent the last 24 hours reliving the attack at the stadium. “I’m sorry to bother you,” she said. “I know it’s late…”

“Is it?” the Doctor asked, trying to stifle a cough into the back of his hand. That didn’t bode well.

Koda-ren continued, “But, you said if I remembered anything?”

“Right – yes, of course,” the Doctor replied. “I wadt to doh everythig. Cobe od, you cad tell be id the lift.”

This threw Koda-ren for a loop. “I… the lift?”

“Bulti-taskig,” the Doctor explained hastily. “It’s ibportadt, or I woulded’t ask.” He stepped into the corridor, throwing his arm up to cover an “IHHHHHH-shehhhhhhhh!” He sniffled, rubbing his nose as he pulled the door shut. “Go od – I’be all ears. Well, doh, I’be two parts ears, add they’re both a bit plugged up, to be hoddest, but they’re listedding. Really.”

Koda-ren, who’d fallen in line, rather stunned, behind him, made a stammering start. “I, er – all right. Well, today, I’ve been watching the news, and footage, you know, from yesterday?”

“Mmmb hbbb,” the Doctor replied. His head was pounding, and he needed his hand on the wall of the lift to keep his footing.

“And I saw a picture of that man, the Ajkereli they’ve arrested.”

The Doctor’s nose was itching. He rubbed it, hard, as his eyelids began to flutter shut. “Uh huh…” he said breathily. “Ehhhh-hihhhh-CHIOOOOOO! Ugh…”

Every hand that Koda-ren wasn’t currently standing on was fidgeting. “I saw him at the match, Doctor. I remember because he was the only Ajkereli working on the grounds. It’s so strange – hardly feels like Ajkerel, you know? I have an old schoolmate who homesteads in the hinterlands, and it’s almost all Ajkereli out there.”

“Okay – rebebber how I said I was listeddig?” the Doctor broke in. “That odly goes so far, so… try add stay od poidt.”

“Oh, sorry!” Koda-ren exclaimed. She took in a breath. “I think they have the wrong man.”

“Joid the queue,” the Doctor muttered. He grimaced, massaging his temple.

“I remember seeing him a few minutes before- before it happened,” she went on. “One of the stadium lights was out, and he was climbing the ladder up to it. Being silly about it, too – making like he was going to hit the ball, fanning his ears out like sails, that sort of thing.”

The Doctor shook his head. “You try tellig addywod that, they’ll just say it proves he dew it wasn’t safe to be od the groud.” The lift reached the ground floor, and the Doctor strode out into the lobby.

“But Doctor, it had to be massively complicated,” Koda-ren pointed out, hurrying after him. “I’ve played matches where there’ve been problems with the artificial turf – a patch gets too slippery or something – and it can stop play for hours while they fiddle with it. And this… It couldn’t have been rigged on a delay or triggered remotely. So, really…”

The Doctor halted. “It coulded’t have beed hib,” he agreed. “Good woobad.”

“Do you think it’ll help?” Koda-ren asked. “I want… Doctor, I want justice for my friends, but I want justice. I don’t want anyone but the ones behind it.”

The Doctor sniffed, wiped his nose, sniffed again. “It’ll help,” he said. “I’ll see to that. Thank you.”

The Vosherus took his hand in three of hers. “Thank you,” she echoed.

Gestures like this tended to unseat the Doctor. They didn’t feel right on him, didn’t seem deserved. “…I have to blow by dose,” he said, not-so-subtly extricating himself.

“Ah,” Koda-ren replied, dropping his hand. “Yes. I’ll leave you to it – thank you again.” She turned to go back up as the Doctor headed outside, rummaging through his pockets for a tissue. He didn’t understand how his nose could be running so badly; no matter how many times he mopped it up, it kept right on dripping. If he didn’t know better, he’d have said it was bigger on the inside…

The night air was chilly, and the Doctor shivered, coughing as he messily blew his nose. When he came up for air, his eyes were bleary, and he didn’t even know what he was looking for, not properly. Sniffling, he shoved his hands into his coat pockets and moved slowly down the street, looking for anything that seemed off.

Half a block later, he found it: a carton of orange juice, split open on the sidewalk. Immediately alert (relatively speaking – after all, his head was throbbing, his throat stung, and he felt a minute or two from total unconsciousness,) the Doctor turned in a slow circle, looking all about him.

“If you took her, I’be guessig you’re after be, too,” he said, as loudly as his hoarse voice could manage, to no one he could see. “You doh how it goes – always get bore if you have the cobplete set.”

If whoever had taken Clara was still in the area, they didn’t seem all that forthcoming. The Doctor couldn’t imagine they were intimidated. Though he talked a blustery game, he wasn’t kidding himself – he knew he was in no state to convince anyone he was a threat.

His teeth were starting to chatter. “This is ridiculous,” the Doctor grumbled, wrapping his arms around himself. “What does it take to get yourself abducted aroud he-?”

That was when he was cracked on the head from behind. “About tibe…” he murmured as he passed out.

[NorthernLady]

He didn’t understand how his nose could be running so badly; no matter how many times he mopped it up, it kept right on dripping. If he didn’t know better, he’d have said it was bigger on the inside…

Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!!! This quote has never been used so correctly

Sniffling, he shoved his hands into his coat pockets and moved slowly down the street, looking for anything that seemed off.

Half a block later, he found it: a carton of orange juice, split open on the sidewalk.

I had kind of forgot that Clara was gone to get orange juice before you got to the split carton on the sidewalk

His teeth were starting to chatter. “This is ridiculous,” the Doctor grumbled, wrapping his arms around himself. “What does it take to get yourself abducted aroud he-?”

That was when he was cracked on the head from behind. “About tibe…” he murmured as he passed out.

That's not gonna help with the throbbing head... or the others symptoms. Poor doctor...it's gonna be a very painful awakening :S

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

I just can't get over the amount of detail and quotes and characterization you use. Its incredibly amazing and it just pulls you in a vortex. I love every word of this story and I hope to Dalek it never ends! : D

[VoOs]

Single greatest way of using the "bigger on the inside" phrase EVER.

My Whovian fangirl heart is doing somersaults of excitement over this fic. I'm also running out of intelligent things to say about it other than "YES GOOD MORE PLEASE", but I hold you responsible for that, angora.