Clean-Up on Aisle Three ... (G, 1/1)

[nonelvis]

I didn't expect this week to be all fic-spammy, but in between acknowledging a kinkmeme story of mine and unexpectedly writing an Eleven/Amy story in less than 24 hours, I discovered that my submission to Big Finish's Short Trips story collection wasn't accepted. Oh well. Thus: time to post my story online.

Title: Clean-Up on Aisle Three ...
Characters/Pairing(s): Eight, OC
Rating: G
Word count: 2,490
Spoilers: None
Summary: A grocery-store clerk's ordinary life takes an extraordinary turn.
Betas: CLM, columbina, platypus, soccerjude
Disclaimer: Not mine, obviously.

Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone who put up with all my whining about plot and how to edit a 3,300-word story down to 2,500 words. There were a lot of you, and I'm grateful for your support.

::xposted to who_like_giants and dwfiction, and archived at Teaspoon and AO3


Slide, scan, sort. Slide the conveyor, scan the eggs, sort to the side with the breakables. Scan the brown butcher's-paper packet of pork chops (£3.99/kilo), then the marrow bones for Mrs. Hardy's terrier, sort into her freezer bag, the one with the pink daisy pattern. Slide the conveyor belt.

My name is Sarah Finlay. I'm a cashier at Munroe's Market on Totter's Lane, and for the most part, this is my day. It might sound about as interesting as watching wool socks dry on the line, but I love my job. I love my customers, and my co-workers – I even love that faint scent of bleach when I mop up late in the evening.

And I love that every now and then, though you wouldn't think it, amazing things happen here.

* * *

Once some idiot from the local comprehensive tried to rob us. As if we wouldn't recognise those manky old trainers always scuffing up the sweets aisle! Bettina was out for a ciggie when she saw what he was up to – she tripped him when he tried to leg it with Matthew's till and literally sat on his bum until the police arrived.

Another time, Matthew and I were in early stocking shelves. Next thing I knew, I'd been hit in the head with a bag of marshmallows past their sell-by. I'm not one to take that sort of thing lying down: I threw marshmallows back at him, one by one, and he threw them at me, and when I stuffed some down his shirt, he kissed me, right there between the humbugs and the caramel toffees. It's nothing serious yet, but still, it's nice to have someone.

And then there was the time I saved the last Ivnian boar with a bunch of broccoli and a bucket of soapy water.

* * *

Munroe's has been here for sixty years, so we've got our share of regulars. There's Mrs. Hardy, who said Mr. Munroe's dad gave her cherry lollies when she came here as a little girl. Leah, who had French with me and brings her pigtailed two-year-old to help pick our shiniest apples. The man with scarves twice as tall as he is; he's always got a smile and time for a chat, but only buys Jelly Babies, as many boxes as he can carry.

Today I was helping Velvet Man – dressed like an extra from a Jane Austen movie, frock coat, cravat, and all – who was buying his usual litre of milk and tin of shortbread, along with a head of broccoli.

"Bit warmer than usual in here, isn't it?" he asked.

"Hadn't noticed," I replied, scanning his items. "Suppose you're right, though."

He waved goodbye cheerfully, and I moved on to Mr. Sinha, buying the tinned tuna and instant noodles I think he lives on, plus a bag of frozen broccoli. I'd never seen him buy veg before. Still, maybe his doctor had been on at him about his diet.

But the next three customers all had broccoli, frozen or fresh; even I was starting to crave it, and I despise the stuff. By mid-afternoon, when Mrs. Hardy complained all we had left was cauliflower, which plays havoc with her tummy, and by-the-way, couldn't we fix the central heating, I was starting to think today was one of the weirdest days I'd had at work yet.

I was wrong. The next two days were exactly the same, including the broccoli.

* * *

By Wednesday, we'd had two emergency shipments of broccoli. It seemed like every time we put a box in the walk-in, it disappeared before we could even get it out on the floor.

The heat was still on the fritz, too. The repairmen said everything was working fine, but it was the middle of February, and we were all wearing short sleeves.

I'd just finished serving a frizzy-haired ginger woman and a man in a patchwork coat – five bags of carrots, along with yet another head of broccoli the woman swore she'd make him eat – when I heard the unmistakable thump of boxes tumbling to the stockroom floor.

That wouldn't have been so bad, really, except that the next sound was Matthew screaming for help.

I found him lying by the walk-in with Mr. Munroe. Matthew's calves had two deep gashes; his jeans were soaked in blood. He was whimpering and crying, and all I wanted to do was hold him, tight as I could. Instead, I bunched up my smock and applied pressure to his wounds.

"The ambulance is on its way," Mr. Munroe said, his voice shaking.

"It'll be okay, Matthew," I said, though the way blood was seeping into his jeans and my smock, I honestly wasn't sure I was telling the truth.

"I was getting more broccoli from the walk-in," he gasped. "And this thing just attacked me!"

"Probably a stray dog sneaking in," Mr. Munroe grumbled.

"Ugliest dog I've ever seen. Looked more like some sort of flipping pig," said Matthew. His eyes closed for a moment. "Dammit, that hurts!"

I heard a siren getting closer. "Just hang on," I said, gulping down the lump in my throat.

After the paramedics carted Matthew away, I sat with my bloodied smock in my lap and sobbed myself silly. Stupid, getting hung up on a lad who threw marshmallows instead of buying me roses, like any normal bloke; and yet the marshmallows seemed so much sweeter.

Finally, I took a deep breath and got up to wash my face. But I was still so flustered when I left the storeroom I nearly knocked Velvet Man cold with the swinging door.

"I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

"No harm done," he answered. "A better question is, are you okay? I thought I heard crying."

I couldn't quite face him. "I'm fine. A friend got hurt, is all. Bitten by a stray, probably ... except it didn't really look like a bite."

"Is that so? What did it look like?"

"These two big gashes, like he'd been sliced open." I shuddered. "Look, I should get back to work. You find everything you're looking for, sir?"

He nodded. "Yes, of course. Take care, Sarah."

He went through Bettina's queue later with a kilo of broccoli. I told her about Matthew, and then I spent the rest of the day not saying much of anything at all.

* * *

Friday was the same as before: bad heat and a broccoli shortage. I was mopping up after closing when I heard several muffled thuds at the front door.

Velvet Man was pounding on the glass. "Sarah! Sarah, you've got to let me in!"

We aren't supposed to let anyone in after-hours, but Velvet Man didn't look like he wanted an emergency bottle of milk. "Come in," I said, locking the door behind him. "What is it?"

"I know why it's been so warm. Well, why it's seemed so warm; telepathic signals of warmth will have that effect. Oh! And I've worked out why you've been running out of broccoli."

"Some new all-broccoli fad diet, is it?"

"It's a broccoli diet, all right, but not for humans. Or anything else native to this planet."

"'This planet'?" I tightened my grip on the mop and backed away a step. Velvet Man had always seemed a bit eccentric, but I'd never taken him for delusional.

"My name's the Doctor, Sarah," he said. "And I'm here to help with that Ivnian boar living in your storeroom."

"Sure you are, mate." I dug into my pocket for my mobile. Maybe I could ring 999 before he did something truly lunatic.

'The Doctor,' assuming that was really his name – and what sort of a name is that, anyway? – held up his hands. "I'm telling the truth, Sarah. You know, deep down, what hurt Matthew wasn't a stray dog. He was gored, not bitten. That boar is the last of its kind. Please, help me save it."

I had one 9 dialled already, but the Doctor sounded so sincere. His story was absolutely mental, yet he had a point about Matthew's injuries – and more importantly, his story matched what Matthew had been saying all along.

"Prove you're not a complete nutter," I said.

He chuckled. "Now, that I can't prove. But I can prove I'm an alien. Give me your hand."

I leaned the mop against the magazine display – I wasn't about to let go of the mobile yet – and the Doctor placed my hand on the left side of his chest. His heart thumped, strong and steady.

Then he moved my hand to the right. Oh my God.

"You've got two hearts?"

"Yes, Sarah," he said. "Now do you believe me?"

I flipped the mobile shut. "Yeah, I suppose I do."

"Good." He smiled, radiant, and suddenly I realised he really was going to fix this. That if anyone could, it'd be him.

And then he pulled that kilo of broccoli out of an impossibly tiny pocket. "We'll start with this. Now, kitchen knives: aisle three, yes?"

"This way," I said, and we were off.

* * *

While we sliced the broccoli, which the Doctor said he'd pumped full of tranquilliser, he told me about the boar.

"I was walking past the junkyard, when I heard a Ivnian ship's engines misfiring. Very distinctive braat-a-braaaaaat-tat noise."

"A spaceship? In the junkyard down the lane?"

"Not as surprising as you'd think," he said, winking. "But the pilots didn't want help. Of course, if I'd realised they were hedgehog smugglers – completely amoral, that lot ..."

"Come on, you're making this up."

"Not in the least. Remind me to tell you about the Great Hedgehog Rebellion of Erinacea." He tossed his last floret into the bowl. "Anyway, the smugglers' ship was floor-to-ceiling with hedgehogs, all safe with the RSPCA now, thank you. But then I remembered your heating problem, and my unexpected broccoli craving."

We started scattering the broccoli. Meanwhile, the Doctor continued. "Ivnian boars were nearly hunted to death, and global warming claimed the rest. This poor creature was off to a research and cloning facility when the smugglers hijacked it. Hopefully the authorities will get the buyer's name out of them."

I dumped the last florets near the walk-in. "So, what do we do now?"

"We hope it's still keeping cool in the refrigerator ... which it probably is, since none of our broccoli's been touched."

"What? You mean it could have been after us all this time?" I glared at him.

"It's just as scared of us as we are of it, Sarah. It only attacked because Matthew was taking away its food." He gripped the walk-in's handle. "Ready?"

"Do it," I said.

The Doctor opened the door, taking care to stand behind it, and motioned me outside.

It was quiet for what felt like an eternity.But finally, we heard sniffles and grunts, and even through the grimy oval windows of the swinging doors, I could see the boar glowing yellowy-white under the fluorescents.

"When does the tranquilliser kick in?" I whispered.

"Hmm ... not sure, really."

"Not sure? I thought you had a plan!"

"More or less," he said. "Did you put out all the broccoli? I can't believe it's still standing."

"Of course I did! If that thing's still awake, it's because you're pulling this plan straight out of your ..."

"Hang on," said the Doctor, suddenly alarmed. "I think it's heard us. Time for the backup plan."

"Which is ...?"

"Well, it's not a plan so much as a rather sincere hope." He pulled a stalk of broccoli from his pocket and slammed open the doors. "Here, piggy, piggy!" he called, waving the vegetable down low where the boar could see it.

"I knew you were a loony!" I yelled.

"Never mind that! Just make sure the front door's unlocked – and run!"

As if I'd needed a reminder, what with a boar barrelling towards us at top speed and all.

The front doors had never seemed farther away. Behind me, I heard the Doctor calling to the boar, and the boar's huffing breaths, and its hooves clattering on the linoleum. Someone, pig or alien, was near enough that the aisle shelving shook when they collided with it, flinging cereal boxes into my path. I leapt over them and rounded the endcap, heading for the door. It was close. So close, and I was almost out of breath now, and I took one last look behind me –

– and tripped over the bucket of scummy water I'd left near the magazines. The bucket went flying, and so did I, landing hard and sliding in soap suds.

Even then, sore and soaking wet, I kept thinking, Have to open the door, have to open the door. I forced myself upright.

That's when it happened:

The Doctor, yelling "Gangway!" and running full-tilt towards me, then vaulting diagonally over the spill to land the next aisle over.

The boar, following the Doctor's broccoli bait, so intent on pursuit that it slipped straight into the puddle, lost its footing, and slid headfirst into the magazine display. Copies of Hello and OK fluttered to the floor, covering the boar's body.

The Doctor knelt beside the boar and stroked its flank. "Out cold. But it'll be all right."

I gingerly moved a magazine off the boar's face to get a better look at it. It was covered in long, matted hair that thinned around the snout, where two four-inch tusks emerged. It was hard to believe that the creature that now looked so peacefully asleep was responsible for injuring Matthew, and I tried to remind myself this was no one's fault: not Matthew, only doing his job, or the boar, only trying to survive.

The Doctor rested his hand on my shoulder. "I can take it from here, Sarah."

"You'd better. I can't carry that thing."

He laughed. "Neither can I, but I'll be back in a moment with something that can."

I unlocked the door for him and went to straighten up the cereal aisle. As I was replacing the last box of rice puffs, I heard a laboured wheezing, like a cold engine trying to turn over. But by the time I made it back up front, the noise was gone, and so was the boar.

* * *

The Doctor turned up again the following week. He didn't say anything about the boar, just nodded hello.

I handed him his milk and shortbread. "Have these on Matthew and me."

"There's no need to do that, Sarah."

"Yes, there is. Now, shut it and say 'thank you.'"

He smiled, as radiant as before, when I'd realised he really was there to help. "Thank you, then."

I watched him leave, then turned back to my register and greeted Mrs. Hardy. I knew the Doctor would be back someday. Until then, there was work to do.

Comments

[papilio-luna.livejournal.com]

Please forgive my tardiness. Oh, what a soft spot I have for this genre. I love your narrator, and I want to hear what wacky stuff surely happened when Four and Six were showing up!

[nonelvis]

No need to apologize for anything -- I'm just pleased you liked the story!