locker_monster | Doctor Who fic: Hands Free (1/1)

Title: Hands Free (1/1)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,686
Characters: Five, Tegan
Timeline: Post-"The Five Doctors"
Summary: There are advantages to having pockets bigger on the inside.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who has belonged to the BBC for 50 glorious years.
A/N: Written for

dw_50ficathon's 50th Anniversary Ficathon. Year claimed: 1983.

The Doctor fought to remain upright as he and Tegan were thrown into the industrial kitchen of Castle Werlocke. Their captors proved to be able-bodied men, though, and he fell, striking his knees on the hard stone surface of the floor. Tegan fared slightly better with just a stumble but she swayed like a bad ballet dancer before she found her balance again.

The heavy door to the kitchen closed with a mighty slam and the hollow clang that followed was obviously the locks engaging. Five minutes on this planet and they were already prisoners. The Doctor could tell this was going to be a trying day. At least Turlough had evaded capture.

"Do you want us to peel potatoes while we're here, too?" Tegan shouted at the door. She charged forward, seemingly intent on giving the door a piece of her mind.

Normally, the Doctor would have let her vent her frustrations, but something about the design of the floor caught his eye and he shot out and grabbed Tegan's ankle before she could take another step forward. "Tegan, wait!"

She glanced down at him. "What?" she snapped.

Though he was well aware that Tegan's annoyance was not directed at him personally, the Doctor still felt his patience waver. He got to his feet and he used the short pause to take a deep breath. "Look at the floor."

Tegan looked to where he indicated. A wide grey strip a few feet across was embedded in the floor in front of the door. Stretching the width of the room, there was nowhere you could stand along the wall without standing on the strip.

"It's an ugly design feature. So?"

"It looks like a pressure pad. Put any weight on it and you likely trigger an explosion."

Upon hearing this, Tegan took a large step backwards. "Who booby traps a kitchen?"

"Apparently Count Werlocke. The prison cells down below must be full." He hadn't intended to upset the monarch, but it seemed like the man was easily offended.

"Only you would get locked up in a kitchen," said Tegan. She moved further into the room, but she cast her gaze about warily, as if she expected to find more hidden surprises.

"Yes, it happens more often than I would like." The Doctor began his own survey of the room and immediately he noticed that there were no other exits and no windows. All they had were kitchen appliances and fairly basic ones at that. It looked more like a kitchen from the 20th century rather than from the 30th century. No doubt the low tech nature was meant to deter any escape attempts.

"Well, do you have a plan?" Tegan found a stool to sit on and she dragged it over to the counter in the middle of the room.

"The door is the only exit."

"I can see that," Tegan said with a sigh. "But how does that help us? Even if you could pick the lock, you can't get anywhere near it."

"Tegan!" The Doctor caught himself before he could snap at his companion. "I'll improvise," he added in a slightly calmer tone.

He dug into his voluminous pockets and started to pull out the various odds and ends he liked to keep handy. A length of twine. A handful of safety pins. A large elastic band. A crumpled paper bag. A fountain pen. A box of matches.

"You're worse than a magpie," said Tegan.

"I'll take that as a compliment." The Doctor took in his pile of supplies. They were small things, but small things could easily become bigger things.

He surveyed the kitchen again, taking in the individual pieces this time. Slowly, but surely, a plan began to form in his mind.

"Fill the kettle with water." The Doctor pointed to a cast iron kettle sitting on top of the stove.

"We're going to drink some tea while we contemplate our doom?" Despite her defeated tone, Tegan got up to do as the Doctor requested. The moment she was off of her stool, he picked it up in one hand and swiped up the length of twine with the other.

He headed over to the door and placed the stool down next to the explosive strip. He was still too far from the door to do anything about the lock, but he would soon remedy that. The Doctor climbed up onto the stool. With his long arms, he was able to tie one end of the twine around the nearby light fixture in the ceiling.

Tegan returned with the kettle and she handed it to him. Now completely full of water, it must have weighed a couple of pounds. "What are you doing?" she asked as the Doctor wound the free end of the twine around the handle of the kettle.

"I'm going to trigger the pressure pad. The explosion should be strong enough to damage the door."

"Forget the door. What about you?"

The Doctor tied off the end of the twine and then let go of the kettle. The twine held, allowing the kettle to hang freely a good five feet over the explosive strip. "I won't be standing here when it goes off. In fact, we'll be across the room." Stepping down from the stool, he guided Tegan back to the main section of the kitchen.

She glanced back dubiously at the set-up. "Your brilliant plan is to wait for the string to break?"

"Yes, we could do that, but I'm going to help it along."

The Doctor directed Tegan to the large wooden table at the other end of the kitchen. It was made of thick timbers and looked sturdy enough to stop any flying debris once they turned it on its side. "What if the explosion is too big and it takes out the entire room?"

It was a possibility the Doctor had considered, but he was wise enough not to bring it up. Leave it to Tegan to spot the potentially deadly flaw in his plan. In truth, he had no idea how big the explosion would be. It seemed safer to wait, but he didn't know what the Count had planned for them. Escaping now and causing as much chaos as possible was their best option.

He patted Tegan on shoulder. "Brave heart, Tegan."

She sighed. "You always say that."

The Doctor let out a sigh of his own. "Just get the table turned over," he said as he returned to the counter.

From his pile of odds and ends, he chose one safety pin, the crumpled paper bag, and the box of matches. As he made his way back to his improvised rig, he tore the paper bag in half. One half he put back in his coat pocket. The other half, he twisted up until it resembled a large wick. Stepping back up on the stool, he used the safety pin to attach the paper wick near the top of the twine. From the box of matches, he pulled out one match, but before he could strike it against the side of the box, the Doctor glanced back to make sure that Tegan was safely ensconced.

The table was now on its side, with the top surface pointed towards the door. Tegan peeked her head up to check on the Doctor's progress. She frowned as she took in the jerry-rigged arrangement.

He scraped the head of the match down the side of the box. There was a slight puff of smoke as the tip caught fire. "Stay down," the Doctor warned Tegan as he brought the match to the homemade wick.

The paper immediately caught fire. As the flames burned the paper to cinders, flecks of ash drifted down to the floor. Unsubstantial as they were, the Doctor still feared that even the slightest weight might trigger the pressure pad. He leapt off the stool and made a run for the table.

He didn't have to do a daring leap over the table to enter cover, but his hearts were still pounding by the time he hunkered down next to Tegan.

The wick continued to burn. From this side of the room, the smell of smoke was faint, but it became more noticeable as the paper was consumed by the fire. "How long do we have to wait?" Tegan asked in a whisper.

"Any second now..."

There was no sound when the twine gave way, but an almighty clang from the kettle sounded a millisecond before the explosion went off. A bloom of heat radiated out from the front of the kitchen and the table rattled as it was hit with the shockwave. The Doctor saw Tegan gasp in surprise, but the noise of the explosion drowned out everything. No doubt their ears would be ringing for some time after this adventure, but it was better than the alternative.

In such an enclosed space, the kitchen immediately filled with smoke, but even through the thick, noxious cloud the Doctor spotted small fires burning around them, likely from flying debris. He rose to his knees and looked over the side of the table. The surface of the wood sported numerous gouges and even a few pieces of shrapnel, but the thick timber had successfully stopped anything from injuring them.

"Thank goodness Count Werlocke doesn't buy substandard furniture," muttered the Doctor.

"What?" shouted Tegan.

The Doctor heaved his shoulders. "Never mind!" he shouted back as he helped Tegan to her feet.

The smoke swirled as a slight breeze stirred the stuffy confines of the kitchen and they both looked to the door. Or, at least, what remained of the door. The explosion had knocked it out of its frame and it leaned drunkenly into the corridor. A sizeable gap allowed light from outside to leak in. Their impending freedom beckoned.

"I think a hasty retreat is in order," said the Doctor.

He and Tegan dodged around the small fires that dotted the floor as they made a beeline for the exit. "Remind me never to complain about the rubbish in your pockets again," said Tegan.