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16 June 2009 @ 09:55 pm
FIC: Ten Moments - Hunger (Dr. Who, 8/10)  
Title: Ten Moments - Hunger
Author: golden_orange 
Rating: All ages.
Characters: Eight
Authors Notes: My first attempt at Doctor Who fiction longer than 100 words for a while. Inspired by the 25moments  challenge, only adapted by yours truly. Ten Doctors, therefore ten moments. This is the sixth's. Feedback and comments welcome.
Disclaimer: I don't think there's anyone out there who seriously believes I own Doctor Who, including myself, but just in case someone does, and that someone happens to be litigious - I don't own Doctor Who.
Summary: This Doctor guy’s keeping Frankie and Stevie from dinner by needing to be whacked. Someone’s gonna pay.

“Let’s get this over with,” Big Frankie Gianelli rumbles as they pull the guy in the long green coat out of the back of the Daimler and manhandle him across the deserted bridge. “I gotta plate of cannoli waitin’ for me at Luigi’s, and this guy’s ruinin’ my appetite.”

“Yeah,” Stevie Maretti grumbles. “You’re hungry, I’m hungry, let’s just do this right, huh? Boss wants this guy dealt with right.”

The guy - doesn’t have a name, just called ‘The Doctor’ as far as Stevie’s been told - looks at them with a kind of mildly concerned expression. With his long hair and his fancy but out of date clothes, he looks like some kind of fruit, kinda like Oscar Wilde only forty years too late. He ain’t really struggling, which is kind of a blessing, since it’s hard enough to get a guy in concrete shoes and handcuffs (donated by the two off-duty NYPD flatfoots the Boss hired to come along and make sure no one interfered tonight) from a car to the edge of a bridge without them struggling as well. In the distance, the bright lights of New York twinkle and glitter as they reflect off the Hudson. This guy’s going for a long swim tonight.

“Look,” he says calmly-but-just-barely, in that snooty British accent that pisses Stevie right off, “I really think you’re making a mistake, here. You really should let me go. There’s something very very wrong happening in this city, it’s happening tonight, and I’ve a nasty feeling that if you don’t let me go now you’ll all be dead by morning.”

“Shaddap.” Frankie replies, giving him a clip across the back of the head. He’s hungry - hell, Frankie’s always hungry, but the Boss interrupted dinner to make them deal with this guy, so Stevie sees where he’s coming from. He’d been looking forward to the gnocchi at Luigi’s as well.

Worst thing is, this Doctor ain’t no fun at all. Usually when you’re disposing of people the Boss wants disposed of, you can at least get a bit of amusement from the begging and pleading. Stevie likes it when they start crying; the boys all fall over themselves when he imitates them afterwards. This guy ain’t like that; it’s almost like he ain’t even scared of them, which Stevie really doesn’t like. He’s antsy, okay, but it’s antsy in a kind of ‘I’m-late-for-a-very-important-date’ kind of thing rather than a ‘please-don’t-kill-me-I’ll-get-the-money-tomorrow’ kind of thing.

“Wait wait wait wait wait,” the Doctor says as they finally get him to the edge, sounding a bit more agitated, “Can’t we discuss this? Calmly, reasonably, like rational sentient beings? Maybe over a cup of a tea? I have teabags. Do you use teabags in this decade? Oh well, you’ll like them anyway - some of them are mango flavoured.”

“Jeez,” Frankie rumbles as he and Stevie try and lift him over the side, “This guy’s heavy. Hey, you, buddy,” he calls to one of the off-duty cops keeping an eye out on the bridge, “Give us a hand, huh?”

“Screw you,” the cop says, “I’m just paid to watch out. Boss didn’t say nothin’ about pitching in.”

“Hey, come on, pal - help a guy out, huh? I got dinner waitin’.”

“Hey,” the cop snaps. “I got my wife cooking for me too, right now. You want me to help you off this guy, I want a larger cut. As in now.”

“A man with an awareness of his rights as a worker,” The Doctor pipes up. “I approve. Although I must wonder; aren’t you supposed to be an officer of the law? And if so, shouldn’t you be doing something to, I don’t know, stop this or something?

“Hey, buddy,” the cop snaps, sounding as if this guy’s touched a nerve, “the city don’t pay me well enough to care about what happens to you, and the guy who wants you offed pays me more than enough to not care. You wanna snoop around warehouses that don’t concern you? That’s your problem, not mine - mine is getting food on the table.”

“Well argued,” the Doctor replies sarcastically. “But look; you wouldn’t fancy just this once maybe making an exception?”

“Jesus!” the other cop snaps. “Can’t you shut that guy up?”

“He’s right,” Frankie growls, pulling a .45 out of his pocket. “Maybe with a hole in his head he’ll be more cooperative.”

Stevie starts to object; he don’t like just shooting them and ending it before they drop them, since part of the fun is picturing them sinking, struggling for their last few breaths as the concrete takes them deeper into the Hudson. But it’s academic, since the Doctor suddenly sighs, loudly and irritably, as if they’ve just gotten on his last nerve.

“Fine.” he snaps, almost petulantly. “I’ve tried being reasonable with you gentlemen. I guess I’ll just have to do this the hard way.”

Suddenly, in one swift movement with his arms, the handcuffs are off his wrists, clattering to the pavement. He flicks his right wrist, and there’s suddenly some kind of long golden wand in his hand, which he touches on Frankie’s pistol before Frankie even knows what’s going on; there’s a loud, shrill sound, and suddenly the gun is falling to pieces, loose bullets scattering at Frankie’s feet. Then, he touches the wand to the concrete around his feet, the shrill noise gets even more high pitched, and suddenly the concrete is nothing more than a pile of dust around his shoes, blowing away in a gentle breeze. He calmly steps forward; as if by instinct, everyone else takes a step back.

The entire escape has taken less then ten seconds.

The Doctor smiles at the hoods and cops who are gaping at him in complete astonishment, unable to react. “Oh, sorry,” he says mildly. “Didn’t I mention I could do that?”

Then, he looks down at his concrete-stained feet, reacts, and when he looks back up at them, he looks a lot more annoyed.

“You’ve ruined my shoes,” he says accusingly, “I really liked those shoes. They fit perfectly.”

Suddenly, Stevie don’t feel so hungry no more.

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