A Chicago shaggy dog story
By Livia
G
humor, crossover
Author's note: Adapted from a snippet written for a prompt given by pearl-o. Dief's nickname owes something to Resonant's "A Modest Proposal."
Martha had been been tagging along faithfully for nearly two days now; it had been something of a whirlwind tour of the galaxy's most boring places. Paris in the late seventies, St. Summerfield's on Cantus IV, the Knowledge Repository on the asteroid Braxiatel-- oh, they were all very interesting in their own right, to be sure. Except that instead of encountering anything noteworthy or doing anything fun, it was just a lot of waiting around for appointments with stuffy old professors nesting in stuffy overstuffed offices, which all looked alike. And it always took hours and hours for them to sort through their papers and crystals and honeycomb thoughtwebs to find the particular link that would lead them on to the next mysterious clue, leaving Martha to sit in the corner and drink weak tea.
Anyway, whether or not the fate of the universe was at stake, Martha was beginning to drag a bit. When they hit mid-nineties Chicago, she told the Doctor to have fun, stole his psychic paper, and went off to go get lunch.
A block and a half away, she paused, glancing up and down the street curiously. The future looked a lot like the movies had always said it would. As did space, and spaceships, and aliens-- most of the time, anyway. America? Not so much. Weren't there supposed to be hot dog carts on every corner? Or some sort of diner with vinyl seats and a big neon sign. Or at least a McDonalds?
"Excuse me, miss. Are you looking for something?" said a voice from over her shoulder, and Martha started. At her side stood a man-- a Mountie, apparently, in the red uniform and the hat and all. Now he looked like he'd just stepped out of a movie. Better, actually.
Although if they were really in Canada, not Chicago, then the Doctor was off on a bit of a wild goose chase. Martha sighed. She was beginning to suspect that the Tardis didn't always take the Doctor exactly where he wanted to go.
The Mountie was regarding her patiently. Martha couldn't help but blush a bit. "Not lost, just-- wandering. I'm only in town for the afternoon, and I was looking for someplace to have lunch." She smiled and held out her hand. "Martha Jones."
The Mountie shook her hand politely. "Constable Benton Fraser. I'm afraid there aren't many dining establishments in this neighborhood, but there is an El station two blocks west, which will put you on the Loop. The Loop is quite easy to navigate as long as you recall that the Green line is the only through line, the Pink and Orange lines run clockwise, and the Brown and Purple lines run counter-clockwise. I advise working out a personally relevant mnemonic device before boarding, although others simply prefer to acquire a transit guide from one of the station offices."
"Oh, do they?" Martha said, relieved. The El, that was in Chicago, wasn't it? So they were in the right country after all.
"Unaccountably, yes," the Constable said, his puzzlement far too sincere to be... well, sincere. Martha regarded him suspiciously for a moment before deciding her reactions must be off-kilter from all the time she'd spent with the Doctor-- in the real world, people did occasionally stop pulling your leg.
"The El is actually something of a tourist attraction in itself," the Constable continued. "I believe it was once voted one of the seven wonders of Chicago-- garnering more votes than even the Museum of Science and Industry, as unlikely as that seems."
Martha blinked. "Right... I don't think I'd better go too far, though. I'm waiting on a friend, but I don't think his errand will take very long. Really I just wanted a quick bite, somewhere really American, you know."
"I see," Fraser said. "In that case, there's a certain-- the term is 'greasy spoon,' just down the block. I was--" He stammered again, fiddling with his hat. "I was just on my way there myself, if you'd-- Not that, I mean-- It's just that as long as we're both heading in the same direction--"
"We might as well head there together?" Martha said. "Oh, I quite agree. Lead on, Constable."
"This way, Ms. Jones," said Constable Fraser, and Martha assured him that he was entirely allowed to call her Martha, and as he led her back down the block, it appeared as if it was going to be the nicest afternoon Martha had spent in any time or space in quite a while, until of course they walked past the building that the Doctor had disappeared into earlier, and he chose just that moment to swing the doors wide and stick his head out onto the street.
"Martha! MARTHA! Oh, there you are. Martha, come listen to--"
Beside Martha, the Constable suddenly stiffened, taking a step onto the sidewalk. "Excuse me, sir, may I ask what you are doing?"
The sign on the cast-iron fence, Martha suddenly noted, read 'Canadian Consulate.' She sighed. Traveling with the Doctor, she had grown quite used to the difference between a friendly "Hey man, what's up?" and The Man demanding that you account for your actions immediately. With the Doctor, you generally heard more of the second than the first, and the Constable was definitely in authority-mode.
"I'm calling Martha, do you mind?" The Doctor gestured the Constable aside. Constable Fraser glanced at her, looking slightly betrayed, and Martha shrugged apologetically.
"Sir, I must ask how you gained access to the Consulate."
"Well, the front door. I assume that's how most people do it."
"But it's locked," the Constable said. "I distinctly remember that I set the alarm system and locked the doors as per Consulate regulations twenty-seven slash nine-- Well, the regulations aren't strictly germane at the moment. The point is that as of ten minutes ago those doors were locked."
Martha sighed and began to rummage in her pockets for the psychic paper, but the Doctor didn't seem concerned. He screwed up his face for a second, thinking, then shrugged. "Well, if you really want to know, I was consulting with a colleague, and I've got the information I need now, so I'll be on my way." He stepped out onto the sidewalk, and the Constable immediately moved to block his way. "I haven't stolen anything, I promise. You can ask the Professor."
"No, I don't think I could," Constable Fraser began, irritated. "As I just said, I left the Consulate entirely empty. There's no one--"
From inside the Consulate a dog barked, and then a big fluffy white dog stuck its head past the Doctor's knees and gave the Constable the oddest look.
The Constable stared back, mouth open. He started to say something. The dog barked again.
"See?" the Doctor said.
"I don't--" Constable Fraser said, and the dog made an impatient noise, a growly sort of whine, and turned around and went away again. "But that's--"
"Finish your sentences, now," the Doctor said, coming down the steps. He skirted carefully around the Constable on the path as though he were a very confused sort of statue. "Unfinished sentences are an early indication of a softening mind. Old Gallifreyan saying, that," he added as an aside in Martha's direction.
That made Constable Fraser turn sharply, but the Doctor had already got Martha by the hand and they were round the corner and hurrying towards the Tardis. The Constable stared after them for a bit, then shook his head hard and disappeared into the Consulate.
Martha sighed and faced forward. "Why is it that on Braxiatel, where I couldn't even get a biscuit, it took you hours to find what you were looking for... but when I'm suddenly about to have a nice lunch with a nice man, you're done in five minutes?"
"Oh, it took much longer than that, actually. There's a nice little self-contained seventh-dimensional warp inside the Consulate-- inside a closet, actually-- that leads to a Nevertime! Very rare these days, Nevertimes. The horizon is a sort of Moebius strip, except not really, and the Professor and I traveled--"
"Oh, forget it, sorry I asked!" Martha pulled her hand out of the Doctor's as they reached the Tardis, all the better to flail. Usually Martha really did love learning all about the secret mysteries and arcane histories of the universe, but at this point in their journey-- well, to be dead honest, she'd have entirely preferred a good meal.
Still. Later (over a plate of many-legged chartreuse shellfish and a glass of pink champagne at the Restaurant at the End of the Universe) her intellectual curiosity finally did get the better of her. "So that man's dog is a professor? A professor of what?"
"He's not a dog, he's a wolf. Half wolf, I should say. On his mother's side, so we have that in common," the Doctor answered, talking with his mouth full. He swallowed, then grinned. "And he doesn't belong to anyone, he's the Constable's companion... Or perhaps the Constable is his."
"And?"
"And? What?" the Doctor said, looking across the table hungrily. "Are you going to finish your fairy cake?"
"No, I don't like the wings." Martha pushed it across the table. "Never mind it, then. Where are we off to next?"
[end]