fic: the art of explodey-wodey (doctor who, eleven and young amelia)
Title: The Art of Explodey-Wodey
Word Count: 725
Characters/Pairings: Eleven and 7-year-old Amelia
Summary: Never argue with inanimate objects.
Warnings: Slight references to The Lodger. For the "Argument" theme at docwholand.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC and Steven Moffat. I am just playing around.
Previous: 1 | 2 | 3 (not required for context)
Also, in case it's news to anyone, I am also taking requests if there's anything in particular you guys want to see. :)
Craig Owens has always been a ‘go with the flow’ kind of guy, so long as that flow is kept solely to Colchester, his job, football and Sophie. He likes his life. He likes the normalcy of it, the repetition of it, the solidity of it. His life makes sense. It's in order, it's not chaotic, and the most disrupting thing that happens is when Sophie's more feminine friends phone in their so-called emergencies.
When he had put up his ad in the shop window he'd been expecting the slightly off-kilter prospective or two. He'd also been willing to let go of some of his safety nets if he had somebody to help pay the rent.
But he hadn't been expecting the Doctor, he certainly hadn't been expecting Amelia Pond, and he definitely hadn't expected his life is slowly begin to spiral out of his control.
Craig knows something is wrong when it's Amelia who greets him as he walks through the front door. He's used to the Doctor's exuberant greetings, his air kisses and his beaming face, but Amelia's always been the one to stay a bit back (he doesn't think she likes him very much).
Craig knows what this is the instant he sees her blocking the door: this... this is a peace offering.
"Craig--" Amelia starts, and he groans, hitting his forehead with his keys.
"Oh, lord, what's he done now?"
Craig moves past her and into the flat, coming to a standstill as he sees the Doctor's silhouette through the smoke trapped in his kitchen, Amelia hot on his heels.
"I'm sorry, Doctor, I tried to stall him, but he knew something was wrong!"
He sees the Doctor's hands first, popping out through the thick gray film like they pop out of graves in zombie flicks, and he almost seems to grip the smoke and move it aside like a tangible, solid object, coughing slightly and waving some excess out of his face.
"Ahhh... Craig! Hello!" He claps his hands together and rubs them in a mixture of excitement and nervousness, grinning from ear to ear. "How was your day?"
Craig is too baffled to respond at first. The walls are black. The stove’s destroyed. The side of his fridge is scorched.
"What-- You, you... you blew up my kitchen!"
"I can explain," the Doctor starts, but Craig is clearly not in a listening mood as he shoves past him and forces his way through the smoke, eyes stinging.
"You blew up my kitchen! I don't think it gets much clearer than that!"
"Actually, your stove self-destructed. We had a bit of a disagreement--"
"He argued with it for thirty minutes when it refused to go beyond the highest temperature," Amelia interjects, but the Doctor carries right on like she hasn't even spoken.
"--and it decided that it had finally hit its rebellious teenage years and BOOOOM!" The Doctor mimes it, spreading his arms wide. "Temper tantrum the size of Antarctica! Blimey, even she's," he jerks his thumb towards Amelia, "not that scary when angry. And she's been angry at me quite a lot, let me tell you."
"At least I don't have rows with inanimate objects!" she counters, frowning and crossing her arms with a bit of a huff.
"The stove wasn't inanimate, it was clearly fighting with me!"
"You were fighting with it, and it won!"
"You wanted to make the brownies!"
"You tried to do force it to bake them in point-four-five-three-nine--"
"Point-four-five-three-seven."
"--point-four-five-three-seven seconds by trying to turn up the heat to levels it couldn't reach! And you ruined them!"
The Doctor scowls and crosses his arms, and for a moment Craig wonders who the actual adult in this relationship is. "I could have made it work."
"Okay, okay," Craig massages his temples and throws out his arms. "Stop. Fine. Whatever. Just... I'll go out, or something, and when I get back have this place cleaned up, or at least have the smoke out of the flat and... just do something."
He eyes the room upstairs before leaving the flat, the lights flashing, the floor creaking, before he shakes his head and heads out and down the footpath, pulling out his mobile.
"Hey, Soph? Yeah, so, a night in won't really work..."
Word Count: 725
Characters/Pairings: Eleven and 7-year-old Amelia
Summary: Never argue with inanimate objects.
Warnings: Slight references to The Lodger. For the "Argument" theme at docwholand.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC and Steven Moffat. I am just playing around.
Previous: 1 | 2 | 3 (not required for context)
Also, in case it's news to anyone, I am also taking requests if there's anything in particular you guys want to see. :)
Craig Owens has always been a ‘go with the flow’ kind of guy, so long as that flow is kept solely to Colchester, his job, football and Sophie. He likes his life. He likes the normalcy of it, the repetition of it, the solidity of it. His life makes sense. It's in order, it's not chaotic, and the most disrupting thing that happens is when Sophie's more feminine friends phone in their so-called emergencies.
When he had put up his ad in the shop window he'd been expecting the slightly off-kilter prospective or two. He'd also been willing to let go of some of his safety nets if he had somebody to help pay the rent.
But he hadn't been expecting the Doctor, he certainly hadn't been expecting Amelia Pond, and he definitely hadn't expected his life is slowly begin to spiral out of his control.
Craig knows something is wrong when it's Amelia who greets him as he walks through the front door. He's used to the Doctor's exuberant greetings, his air kisses and his beaming face, but Amelia's always been the one to stay a bit back (he doesn't think she likes him very much).
Craig knows what this is the instant he sees her blocking the door: this... this is a peace offering.
"Craig--" Amelia starts, and he groans, hitting his forehead with his keys.
"Oh, lord, what's he done now?"
Craig moves past her and into the flat, coming to a standstill as he sees the Doctor's silhouette through the smoke trapped in his kitchen, Amelia hot on his heels.
"I'm sorry, Doctor, I tried to stall him, but he knew something was wrong!"
He sees the Doctor's hands first, popping out through the thick gray film like they pop out of graves in zombie flicks, and he almost seems to grip the smoke and move it aside like a tangible, solid object, coughing slightly and waving some excess out of his face.
"Ahhh... Craig! Hello!" He claps his hands together and rubs them in a mixture of excitement and nervousness, grinning from ear to ear. "How was your day?"
Craig is too baffled to respond at first. The walls are black. The stove’s destroyed. The side of his fridge is scorched.
"What-- You, you... you blew up my kitchen!"
"I can explain," the Doctor starts, but Craig is clearly not in a listening mood as he shoves past him and forces his way through the smoke, eyes stinging.
"You blew up my kitchen! I don't think it gets much clearer than that!"
"Actually, your stove self-destructed. We had a bit of a disagreement--"
"He argued with it for thirty minutes when it refused to go beyond the highest temperature," Amelia interjects, but the Doctor carries right on like she hasn't even spoken.
"--and it decided that it had finally hit its rebellious teenage years and BOOOOM!" The Doctor mimes it, spreading his arms wide. "Temper tantrum the size of Antarctica! Blimey, even she's," he jerks his thumb towards Amelia, "not that scary when angry. And she's been angry at me quite a lot, let me tell you."
"At least I don't have rows with inanimate objects!" she counters, frowning and crossing her arms with a bit of a huff.
"The stove wasn't inanimate, it was clearly fighting with me!"
"You were fighting with it, and it won!"
"You wanted to make the brownies!"
"You tried to do force it to bake them in point-four-five-three-nine--"
"Point-four-five-three-seven."
"--point-four-five-three-seven seconds by trying to turn up the heat to levels it couldn't reach! And you ruined them!"
The Doctor scowls and crosses his arms, and for a moment Craig wonders who the actual adult in this relationship is. "I could have made it work."
"Okay, okay," Craig massages his temples and throws out his arms. "Stop. Fine. Whatever. Just... I'll go out, or something, and when I get back have this place cleaned up, or at least have the smoke out of the flat and... just do something."
He eyes the room upstairs before leaving the flat, the lights flashing, the floor creaking, before he shakes his head and heads out and down the footpath, pulling out his mobile.
"Hey, Soph? Yeah, so, a night in won't really work..."