-The Ninth Doctor & O-
O keeps the pigeons' batteries up, the Doctor calls into his cafe for pastries. It's a Rom Com.
The man in plaid is back. The Doctor has seen him before, they always seem to meet at the counter. O has been the only one to dig more than a few terse words out of the Doctor so far. Half of them about his name.
“Oscar,” says the Doctor. The man makes a face. “Not an Oliver, definitely not an ‘Orion’ either. Who chooses a letter for a name?”
“I could ask you a similar question, Doctor.”
“How do you know my name?” He asks quickly.
“Because,” says O, twizzling the takeaway cup round. “You asked me to write it on your cup.”
“Ah.”
The Doctor stops here sometimes, usually whilst waiting for Rose to finish at her mum’s. The whole area is a gentrified front for drug issues, only here they order theirs with a cappuccino on the side.
He’s worked out enough: the man on the counter is a spy, he keeps the batteries in the robotic pigeons topped up from the comfort of a bakery counter. The Doctor knows that O knows that he knows, it’s their little secret.
O arrives at the table, plates resting on his forearms. It’s more the Ritz than Powell estate. He’d feel bad about this sort of thing usually, but he gets the feeling the barista is someone to keep an eye on.
A chocolate swirl is placed in front of the Doctor. There’s a small ‘x’ dusted with icing sugar on top. O’s doing his job a little too well, he thinks.
The Doctor takes off a small clump with his cake fork and shoves it into his mouth. “The birds are getting a little sluggish. I’d pop in some double As.”
O raises his eyebrows and sits down in the chair opposite. “Orders. They’ve got to have at least eight hours between shifts, workers’ rights and that.”
The Doctor doesn’t ask.
“Tell me, O. If you could travel anywhere in the Universe, where would it be?”
O blinks for a few seconds, a little phased.
“Neptune.”
“Why?”
“Nobody ever says Neptune do they? It’s nearly always Mars.”
“S’pose so. Depends if you like cold breaks. Imagine the number of coats.”
O surveys the other tables- mid bite, mid conversation- and returns his gaze with soft eyes. “You’re an alien aren’t you?”
The Doctor’s sip of cappuccino catches at the top of his throat, he splutters. “Why’d you say that?”
“It’s a very alien thing to ask, don’t you think?” O fiddles with the napkin pile in the middle of the table. “Besides, ‘anywhere in the Universe’ kind of consists of uninhabitable rocks.”
“Not necessarily.” The Doctor says defensively.
O raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”
“The planet Vortuis. Waterfalls of pure amethyst. Wild, beaming sunsets, the sky is so far off the colour spectrum it can’t be seen with the human eye.” The Doctor beams, “Or Limatia. Snow as sweet as candyfloss, the locals catch it on their tongue and eat for a year.”
The man opposite stares intently at him, like you’d look at a particularly fascinating insect. The Doctor notes the way the top of his nose scrunches as he frowns
“Why am I sure that you’re not making this up?”
“I’ve got a very trusting face?”
“Not with those ears, you haven’t.”
The Doctor gasps in mock offense. “Careful O. I might turn my deadly alien acid talons on you.”
O raises an eyebrow. “You look more the type for venom sacs.”
“Got me.”
The secret agent smiles and takes a bite of cake. It’s altogether too dignified, he doesn’t get a spot of it anywhere. Thinking about it, all of him is spotless. From the fold of his collar to the cut of his trousers, there isn’t a spot, a blemish or a crease.
The Doctor suddenly feels an urge not to be surrounded by people.
“Want to get out of here?”
“Doctor, I’m on shift-“
“I’ll tell them you were called away.” The Doctor fishes the psychic paper from his pocket. “International Federation of uh- Rock n Roll.”
“Yeah man.” O says in a bad American accent. “I’ll get my coat.”
They never quite make it to the TARDIS, running into a bewildered Jackie instead. Something’s the problem- though he can’t quite decipher what through the jabbering and hysterics- and Rose needs him back right now. Jackie pauses to give O a quick once over before yanking him away.
He apologises to his latest companion as he’s dragged back to the Powell estate by his elbow.
O smiles and pops his collar as walks away. It’s very suave. He notes it down for later.
-
The Doctor meets O again a few years later. One or two in Earth time, he thinks. The spy has moved from café service to a desk in one of MI6’s biggest offices.
The Doctor had made a rule of not meeting people twice but one mishap had led to another and now, brewing in the tunnels of the London Underground was a killer wasp invasion waiting to happen. MI6 had classified the threat as ‘foreign interference’, though he supposes they’re not wrong.
He considers waltzing in. Rose tells him the secret service might mind a little bit and there’s probably undercover aliens in MI6 he’d scare half to death if he showed up.
So, the Doctor reasons, he’ll have to leave a note.
“I have to say, Doctor, when you said ‘out of the way’ I wasn’t thinking this way.”
O is sitting as much in the middle of the bench as he can, distinctly not looking at the Southbank descending below them. You can see the Houses of Parliament from here, the Doctor notes. Funny that, he probably could have stopped the Slitheen from a capsule in the London Eye.
“Totally soundproof.” The Doctor pats the glass on the side of the pod. O flinches. “Miles better than any old café- no offence.”
“None taken. Couldn’t stand the strudels.” O sighs, “Very James Bond, this. Though that would make me Blofeld.”
“Cat and ridiculous eyebrows not included in the package, unfortunately.”
The capsule judders to a halt, just in view of the OXO tower.
“I thought aliens didn’t turn up for second dates,” O smirks.
“Not a date,” says the Doctor, a little too quickly. “Just a warning.”
“Oh?” says O and then chuckles.
“You’ve got a massive invasion on your hands, and I mean big. These things aren’t just wasps, if they get a fix on you, you’re dead. They’re in hiding, just under Clapham Common. Your lot thinks it’s the Russians.”
“Don’t suppose they’ve escaped from an insectarium then. Mars?”
The Doctor frowns, opens his mouth and then closes it again. “Yes, actually.”
O hums. “I’ll send a note to Head Office, tell them it’s a personal mission.”
The Doctor finds himself a little disappointed. “That it?”
“They’re bureaucrats, Doctor. If it’s someone else’s paperwork, they’re not interested.”
They admire the view for a while whilst O talks about his new position as a desk analyst. Budget cuts mean no pigeons or cushy cafes for spies to hide in so now he lurks in admin instead. Very boring, plus wages are low and London living is expensive.
The capsule reaches the top. The Doctor can see all the pods below them, their inhabitants with noses pressed to the glass.
They’ve moved close together, he’s leaning forward now, only a few feet from the other man.
“I’ll give you a call.” O smiles. “About the wasps of course.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
The Doctor reaches into his pockets and pulls out a slip of parchment, his number written in elaborate swirls. Something he’d picked up from a psychic in 1410, turns out the mind reading wasn’t all platonic.
They stay for the extra rotation, O’s skint and the Doctor’s giddy. He gives O an up-in-the-air tour of all the best alien spots in London and the story of Yetis on the Tube.
O doesn’t say much but he’s smiling. And that, thinks the Doctor, is all that matters.
The pod comes to a stop beside the entry booth and the two of them clamber out onto solid ground.
O sways as he walks slowly off the platform. He’s about to reach the pavement when his whole body leans a little too much to the side.
The Doctor scrambles to catch him, hands flying to the other man’s waist as he crashes into him.
“Sorry. Mad head,” O groans. “Whatever you do, don’t put me on a spaceship.”
He sets himself upright, hair mussed and windswept from the fall.
The Doctor realises belatedly that his hands are still around O’s waist, it takes him an unreasonable amount of brain power to take them off again.
The spy looks up at him, eyes shining in the midday sun. “I’ll see you again then.”
“No promises. I’m classified ‘top secret’ you know?”
“Mmm, right. So conspicuous.”
“Oh, yes-“
O pulls out a plastic pink rectangle and flips it open. The Doctor thinks he sees the outline of Charlie from Charlie and Lola on the outside.
“It’s limited edition,” says O.
He taps out something on the phone’s keypad, it takes way too long to be civilised. The Doctor feels something buzz in his pocket. O beams. “There.”
“Call me.” The Doctor’s mouth blurts out.
“I will.”
“It’s a date.”
-
“You don’t remember it do you?” says O.
They’re gazing up at the shimmering outback sky, a thermal blanket wrapped around their shoulders. It’s freezing and there are animals hooting and cawing softly in the frosty night air.
“I suppose I don’t.” The Doctor admits. “Though I could never forget you.”
“Touché.”
“The killer hornets were an excuse, weren’t they?”
She takes a long sip of tea and shuffles closer into his shoulder. He’s so warm, it’s like sitting beside a furnace but not quite near enough to be burnt.
Yes. “Yes.”
“Knew it.”
She’d told her companions they’d met once, it’s not like they would know any better. None of her friends really know her but O… he feels like a holiday. That’s what she likes about the outback, no one to know her and only one person she wants to see. He’s just easy.
After a while, he breaks the silence.
“You’re northern again. I like it.”
“Got to reward meself sometimes, you know,” The Doctor remembers her two big ears. She’d be freezing out here with that hair.
“Not sure about the stripes though.”
“Oi!” She elbows him. He laughs and it’s so warm that she nearly forgets herself. The Doctor doesn’t look at people like this, not in this body anyway.
Oh.
There’s something she wanted to ask him.
He sighs. She doesn’t know what it means. “Badly Doctor. So badly.”
“We’ll win. We always do. Whoever’s responsible, they never last long. Then, I’ll take you anywhere you want. Time, space, the brightest, most beautiful stars.”
She looks at O. His eyes are shut and he’s smiling softly.
“A third date?”
The Doctor feels her face go red.
“I’d ah- yes, I suppose if you’d call it that.”
“I’d love to.”
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