Seeking the Sunrise ☽ Eleven x Reader

IV - The Messrs Bennett

'You're early.'

The Doctor didn't look as pleased at Captain Jack Harkness' arrival as you think he had hoped. His smirk dropped slowly into a frown as the Doctor eyed him suspiciously. He stepped forward and began encircling the Captain, his eyes burning with scepticism. His hand lingered in his inside pocket, ready to pull his sonic screwdriver from his tweed pocket if his suspicions became reality.

Captain Jack Harkness kept his feet firmly planted on the floor in his leather boots. His hands were gently rested upon his hips and his eyebrow was raised in a way that signalled to you that the suspicions the Doctor had towards him were reciprocated. He was wearing dark trousers with a holster hanging loosely over his left hip, equipped with a gun unlike any you'd ever seen before. His dark leather jacket rested gently on his shoulders and he removed his hand from his waist to adjust the collar around his neck.

'Come on, Doctor, you know it's me.' he reasoned.

His voice was thick; American, but you couldn't narrow down the location any further than that. When he caught your eye he winked at you, and as the Doctor stepped back and removed his hand from his pocket, he shot a threatening glare towards the traveller.

'Of course I know it's you, but you can never be too careful. There's an awfully large number of shapeshifters in 1920's London. This is [Y/N], Cyril and Dorothy.'

The Doctor indicates to each of you in turn, and at the mention of Dorothy the entirety of the group rushed to her side. Following the wire from the typewriter, Jack finally reached the other end that appeared to be fused into her skin. He traced it with his finger, and then looked up to the Doctor. 'How can we get her out of this, Doc, she's stuck right in there.'

'Well I have a few ideas. Actually I have two. Well, really it's more like one. Alright fine; I have no ideas.'

'The typewriter's still typing.' Cyril noted, craning his neck over the clicking keys and adjusting his glasses. 'It's just started a new page.'

You too turned your attention to the paper. As the first line of the new page reached completion and it ticked onto a second line, you read the text it wrote. It felt oddly familiar to you. 

'Doctor,' you ask, not removing your eyes from the page for a second. 'What year is it?'

'1890.' Jack answered. 'It's 1890.'

'How did you know that?' the Doctor whispers to Jack. 

'Vortex manipulator.'

'Cheap time travel.' the Doctor scoffed quietly in response. 

Your eyes continued to scan the page. It was apparent to you what was happening for quite a while before you mentioned anything to the Doctor. 

'I know this book.' you smiled, happy you had worked it out. 'It's not too hard to see. Look.'

You began to read aloud.

''I was born bad, and I have lived bad, and I shall die bad in all probability. But, upon my lost soul, I won't be bad towards you again, Tess.' This is from Tess of the d'Urbervilles. So why is it coming from Dorothy's head?'

No one in the room spoke. Out of the four, clever, conscious brains it held, the room could conjure no explanation for the circumstance. In the quiet, you could hear the footsteps better. 

There were two sets, both accompanied by the click of a cane. The couple spoke in hushed tones as they climbed the stairs, and the Doctor sprung into action quickly. He pulled a nearby curtain across the rail and ushered the three of you behind it. The TARDIS was hidden behind the cloth with you, and the Doctor quickly pointed his sonic at the light on top to stop it from glowing through the thin cloth and giving you away. The footsteps continued to grow closer, and the closer they got, the easier it became to distinguish the things they were saying.

'Mr Stevenson seemed quite happy with his purchase.' the first voice said. 'Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and My Hyde' has been a great success for him. He's bought quite a few novels from us.'

'Father,' the second voice replied. It was younger than the first. 'This can't be legal. It's not right to reap the benefits of this woman's knowledge.'

They had reached the room. From a small hole in the broken cloth, you managed to watch the scene unfold. The first man was tall, with a presence that filled the room only a little more than he did. A bowler hat rested upon his slightly balding head, and as he spoke he combed his mustache in a way you had only really ever seen cartoon villains do. The second was younger- his son. He was of about 20 years old, and evidently attempted to copy his father's stature by sticking his chest out as he walked. He followed behind the first man like a duckling waddling behind its mother. 

'Of course it isn't legal, boy. That's why we have her locked up in this ghastly building. Anyway, what does the legality of the situation matter? As long as the scheme is kept a secret, you and I can continue to bask in riches and no one need know of the woman.' He stood away from where Miss Dorothy lay, and pointed his cane into her face. It traced her forehead, and narrowly missed her closed eyelid. 'She's beginning to wrinkle again, Edward. We must lay her back in the freezer the second she has finished this manuscript. Mr Hardy has already paid for it. He's rather too trusting, I feel.'

'Father, forgive me for saying so, but how will this woman survive in a freezer? Surely she'll simply die of hypothermia. Then she's of no use to you at all.'

'She will survive as she did for my father, and his father before him, and his father before him. 'Bennett and Sons' has been one of the most successful publishing houses in London for centuries. This woman has been keeping our family afloat financially for almost 200 years. She's from the future, my dear boy. She knows success in a novel before it is even written. Her knowledge is fast, and her lifespan infinite. We just keep her... rejuvenated in the chamber.' He paused for a second, and then began scanning the piles of papers on the table beside the typewriter. 'Here. The Picture of Dorian Gray. Mr Wilde has paid us generously for this, Edward. He says he knows it to be a success already. You pick it up and take it to him tomorrow. Then come back here and see to the girl. Understand?'

The boy nodded as he was handed a thick wad of papers. He scurried after his father's clicking heels and the two of them were gone, leaving behind only the small cloud of dust that had been evidently disturbed by their canes and heels. You, on the other hand, were disturbed by their plot. You had to work out how to put an end to the scheme.