One day back on Earth, just one day, she’d told herself, for old time’s sake. She wasn’t going to pick any more stupid apes up for a quick nip out to outer space, she wasn’t going to meddle with any lives, she would just - have a look around, do some touristy things, maybe keep an eye out for some strange occurences and then pop right back into the TARDIS, off to other aventures. Solo adventures.
But there just had to have been something, of course. Bloody Earth. As charming as it was there was never a day’s peace on that bloody planet. So a day on Earth turns into two and three until she’s figured out the adversary - Nestence consciousness, easy - now, figuring out how to stop them? Not as easy,
She’s tried the classic approach, just…blowing it all up. Hoping that would be the end of it. But that little beeping dot on the monitor of the TARDIS picking up traces of living plastic still out and about in South London suggested otherwise. Bloody great.
Trusty sonic screwdriver in hand, the Doctor had managed to trace the signal down to a council flat on Powell Estate - odd choice for the Nestene to hide, wasn’t it - halfways through attempting a break and entry via cat flap when - hold on.
She jumps to her feet, greeting him with a confused look as he opensthe door. The bloke from the shop - the Doctor had had a feeling that that hadn’t been the last she’d be seeing of him.
“Forced entry, isn’t that obvious?” she aske puzzled, then, after another glance at the cat flap, says “And that’s not your door anyway. Unless you shapeshift into a cat before leavin’ and enterin’ - do you?”
A thought crosses her mind and she leans forward, looking him up and down inquisitively, before reaching out to give his forehead a good knock. “Nothin’ in there, pure bonehead. You’re off the hook. Go ‘ave your chips and tea. Bye bye now.”
“What? Hang on just a minute.” Jon stands and opens his door - he’s too old to be crouching on the ground for that long just to frown at this strange girl. “That doesn’t answer my -” But no, he gets he sense she’s not interested in answering questions. He knows kids can be cocky, but blimey, she takes it to another level. So he switches tacks.
“You’re the reason I’m out of a job,” he says. “And now you turn up at my flat. Am I going to have to start checking my door for explosive devices?” Even he doesn’t know if he’s joking or not. “If this is some kind of prank, it’s crossed a line - they’re saying on the telly that they found a body in the debris. And look, I’m not blaming you and I’m not saying we’ve got to go to the police, but I’d like some answers.”
Somewhere in his monologue, he finds himself shifting into the raised-eyebrows, crossed-arms, I’m-not-mad-I’m-just-disappointed stance he used to use on Katie. It shouldn’t be a surprise anymore; that part of him comes out often enough when dealing with Jackson Smith’s lad and his friends. Maybe it never goes away.
“You can come in if you’d like,” he adds as a courtesy, “but I’m happy talking out here.”
