Somehow he wasn’t really surprised this was happening. A bit miffed, yes, but not surprised. The Doctor always managed to find something, and he shouldn’t be surprised that this something required breaking into a bank in the middle of the night and stealing some sort of alien doomsday device (Or toaster, he wasn’t sure. The Doctor seemed certain it was harmful and alien, but had been rather vague on the details) while he sat out in the front trying to look bored in a stolen car and not like he was waiting for someone to rob a bank.
Really, the Doctor made his life so incredibly and destructively interesting.
Not to mention he was on the wrong bloody side of both the road and the car, and the suit the Doctor had thrown in his direction was a size too big in the coat and a size too short in the trousers. And itched. Badly. The car was classic enough that his dad had probably burst into unashamed and inexplicable tears the moment the Doctor had Soniced it into cooperating with him. He was driving a Model T, of all things, really if it wasn’t spaceships it was prehistory, wasn’t it?
He should have been more worried that the Doctor, of all people, had decided they needed a getaway car.
But then, of course, Amy and the Doctor were hurtling towards him at a run, followed by men with guns who seemed rather intent on using them, with the alien doomsday device (or toaster) held in Amy’s arms, and they were very shortly racing for their lives in the general direction of where they had last parked the TARDIS (and they of course didn’t make it before they had to ditch the car, it was rather difficult to drive something that was trying its best to burst into flames.)
He learned that he was glad the trousers were a little short, as they’d somehow ended up in a sewer and the ‘20s in the Americas were apparently not the heyday of public sanitation, he’d lost the coat, discovered there really were alligators in the sewers (he could have lived without that), and managed to help keep the alien doomsday device (or toaster) from phoning home to the mother ship.
“You know, after careful consideration, I believe there are some decades we should just…you know, avoid. Eastern Europe during the black plague, the 1920s in New York, places we’ll probably live longer if we don’t make repeated attempts of visiting them.”
“You’re just grumpy because the alligator ate your coat.” Amy was looking forlornly at her shoes, wiggling muddy (he hoped it was muddy) toes while the Doctor muttered at the toaster.
“I’m glad it just ate the coat.” And not her.
“Eh, yeah. Worse things it could have eaten, I guess. Is it dangerous? That…box-y thing you’re poking at?”
“Only if we let it be.”
That was the least reassuring thing he’d ever heard about an alien toaster.
“Next time, how about you drive the getaway car and Amy and I try to resolve things without men with guns shooting at us?”
The Doctor peered at him, almost smiling, before going back to the toaster. “Rory, Rory, no sense of adventure. Where’s the fun in everything going off without a hitch?”
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Really, the Doctor made his life so incredibly and destructively interesting.
Not to mention he was on the wrong bloody side of both the road and the car, and the suit the Doctor had thrown in his direction was a size too big in the coat and a size too short in the trousers. And itched. Badly.
The car was classic enough that his dad had probably burst into unashamed and inexplicable tears the moment the Doctor had Soniced it into cooperating with him. He was driving a Model T, of all things, really if it wasn’t spaceships it was prehistory, wasn’t it?
He should have been more worried that the Doctor, of all people, had decided they needed a getaway car.
But then, of course, Amy and the Doctor were hurtling towards him at a run, followed by men with guns who seemed rather intent on using them, with the alien doomsday device (or toaster) held in Amy’s arms, and they were very shortly racing for their lives in the general direction of where they had last parked the TARDIS (and they of course didn’t make it before they had to ditch the car, it was rather difficult to drive something that was trying its best to burst into flames.)
He learned that he was glad the trousers were a little short, as they’d somehow ended up in a sewer and the ‘20s in the Americas were apparently not the heyday of public sanitation, he’d lost the coat, discovered there really were alligators in the sewers (he could have lived without that), and managed to help keep the alien doomsday device (or toaster) from phoning home to the mother ship.
“You know, after careful consideration, I believe there are some decades we should just…you know, avoid. Eastern Europe during the black plague, the 1920s in New York, places we’ll probably live longer if we don’t make repeated attempts of visiting them.”
“You’re just grumpy because the alligator ate your coat.” Amy was looking forlornly at her shoes, wiggling muddy (he hoped it was muddy) toes while the Doctor muttered at the toaster.
“I’m glad it just ate the coat.” And not her.
“Eh, yeah. Worse things it could have eaten, I guess. Is it dangerous? That…box-y thing you’re poking at?”
“Only if we let it be.”
That was the least reassuring thing he’d ever heard about an alien toaster.
“Next time, how about you drive the getaway car and Amy and I try to resolve things without men with guns shooting at us?”
The Doctor peered at him, almost smiling, before going back to the toaster. “Rory, Rory, no sense of adventure. Where’s the fun in everything going off without a hitch?”