Doctor Who_ Relative Dementias - Mark Michalowski [88]
‘Michael!’ she exclaimed, standing up. She moved as if to give him a hug, but read something in his body language, his rigid stance, and thought better of it. His eyes were fixed on the Doctor.
‘You’re looking better than the last time I saw you,’ he said without a trace of humour.
‘Doctor – this is Michael. If it hadn’t been for him, I’d never have got you out of Graystairs.’
The Doctor smiled up at Michael and held out his hand; but Michael’s hands remained resolutely in his pockets. Awkwardly, the Doctor looked at Ace and dropped his hand back to the table.
‘I came to check on Ace,’ Michael said pointedly.
‘What’s going on between you two?’ Ace said, getting fed up with the veiled hints at something in their past. ‘Have you two met before?’
The Doctor frowned and shook his head. ‘Not that I –’
‘No,’ Michael cut in. ‘We haven’t met. Like I said, your reputation goes before you, Doctor.’
‘I take it that isn’t a compliment.’
Michael milled humourlessly. ‘What do you think?’
‘Is it something to do with why you came all this way to look for your mum and then were too scared to come out in the open?’ asked the Doctor quietly, his eyes narrowing. ‘Running away from something, Michael?’
Michael snorted and turned away from them, heading for the door. The Doctor was suddenly on his feet.
‘You’re not going to get anything sorted out if you keep running away,’ the Doctor said softly. Ace winced. It was almost as if the Doctor were spoiling for a fight, trying to provoke him.
Michael turned slowly as the Doctor edged his way around the table until they stood not three feet apart. Ace looked over at Claire behind the bar, poised with a glass and a tea-towel in her hand. Her face was tense: she must have seen this sort of standoff a dozen times before.
‘Have we met before?’ asked the Doctor again. ‘Or have I yet to meet you again?’
Michael laughed – a harsh, barking laugh.
‘No, we haven’t. But I’ve heard a lot about you. And I’ve got something for you.’
The Doctor raised his eyebrows expectantly.
And without another word, Michael drew back his arm and punched the Doctor full in the face.
Chapter Fourteen
‘You bastard!’ Michael grunted, shaking his arm as the Doctor struggled to sit upright, sprawled amidst fallen furniture, glasses and ashtrays. ‘You bastard!’
Claire came hurtling around the bar, tea-towel still in hand.
In the far corner, Douglas and Scar-face looked on, clearly not sure whether they should intervene. The Doctor was trying to prop himself up on his elbows, blood all over his mouth and his chin, spattered down the front of his jumper; Michael, red-faced, was struggling to hold himself back from laying into the Doctor again.
‘Right!’ Claire bellowed. ‘That’s enough!’
But as Michael took a step towards the Doctor, Ace launched herself at him. She and Michael tumbled backwards, Michael’s arms thrown out.
‘Ace! No!’ sputtered the Doctor, as the two of them went down in an ungainly heap, Ace swearing like a trooper as she laid into Michael. The Doctor staggered to his feet, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He looked momentarily baffled at the copious amount of blood there, but hurried over and began pulling at the waistband of Ace’s jeans. Michael’s flailing leg caught him on the shin, and with a startled grunt, he hopped away.
Claire grabbed Ace’s jacket as Scar-face and Douglas rushed over, and began trying to drag Michael out from beneath the scrum.
‘Get off me, you gits!’ bellowed Ace, slapping at Claire’s arm.
But the combined efforts of Claire, Douglas and Scar-face eventually succeeded in separating them. They squared off against each other, panting, until Ace saw the blood drying on the Doctor’s face.
She turned to Michael, red-faced and sweating. ‘What was that for? You bully – try picking on someone your own size!’
Michael gave a snort of derision and shook Scar-face’s hand from his arm.
‘Ask him,’ he spat, jabbing a finger at the dishevelled Doctor.
‘Ask Doctor Death there!’
Ace began to launch herself at him again, but Claire and