What's Wrong With Dangerous? (A Whouffle Fanfiction) [DISCONTINUED]

Chapter Eight

We are getting some VERY weird looks to say the least. The Doctor really doesn't get this thing about blending in, not standing out and not being noticed, does he?

"Doctor!" I hiss. He doesn't look up from the tree he's sonicing.

"Hey!" I say. "Chin Boy!"

That gets him to look up.

"What?" he asks.

"Well, we're in Victorian London and you're wearing a fez and a bow tie and you have a weird metal stick which makes a noise like a swarm of angry bees and shines a bright green light AND you look really interested in this tree! In other words you look kind of mad..."

"So what?" he says. "What's wrong with mad? I AM a mad man in a box!"

"SO," I tell him, "there's a policeman with a scary looking truncheon coming this way."

"Ah!" says the Doctor. "Okay, well, you're sensible Clara. What do you suggest we do?"

"Run?" I ask sarcastically. He looks over his shoulder at the scray policeman, who's frowning at us.

"Yep, good idea," he says, and takes off. I follow, trying not to slide on the snow or trip over my long skirt.

***********************

The Doctor and I stop to catch our breaths in a little back street. It's behind all the pubs and part of all the rat-filled alleyways which weave through London, and it's not the most pleasant place to be. It is, however, safe, so I sit down on a barrel and look around.

"What do we do now?" I ask the Doctor.

"Look for trouble, look for weird things, look for aliens...and try to stay safe!" he announces.

"And we're supposed to do all of those things at the same time?" I ask him, disbelieving. "Somehow that sounds like it's not going to work."

"Clara Clara Clara," he says, giving me a kiss on the forehead (which I enjoy a bit more than I let on). "We are here to have fun!"

"Uh-huh," I reply. "Which is why I'm anxious NOT to let myself get killed?" He smiles.

"You are SO much fun to be around," he says, and it sounds like he really means it. I glow.

"Have I mentioned that I've never met anyone like you before?" I ask, trying not to smile.

"Nope, but I think I can work that out by myself," he answers, grinning, and perches himself on the barrel next to me. He swings his legs.

"Come on, trouble," he murmurs. "Where have you gone? When I'm not looking for you you follow me everywhere, and when I am you pull a disappearing act. Make up your mind."

I snort and he looks hurt.

"You know," I say, "maybe it would be better to go looking for trouble in a less quiet place than this. I mean, there's no one here."

"Maybe you're right," he replies, and we stand up, brushing snow from our clothes.

"Doctor?" I say.

"What?"

"Try to keep a low profile." I give him a kiss on the cheek and he sticks his tongue out at me, before launching back into mad man in a box mode, pouncing everywhere like a hyperactive dog following a scent.

Then I spot something half hidden in snow. It doesn't look very Victorian.

"'Doctor," I say. "What's that?"