Are there any Specials era fics where the 10th Doctor arrives in Victorian London, meets hardy amateur investigator Jenny Flint, and together they solve the mystery of the string of deaths on the newly constructed London underground by finding and placating a recently-emerged Madame Vastra
Because I’m in the mood for that specific origin story right now
I know him. I know the way he moves, the smell of this hair, the sound of his breathing when he’s asleep. I know every muscle of his body, I’ve felt them used against me in combat practice. I can just imagine the feeling of his arm, the tight muscles under his warm skin, as he throws it into the air and swaggers forward. The typical District 2 volunteer.
I watch him carefully through my squinted eyes as he makes his way onto the stage. Trying to detect any kind of chink in his armour, but I know I won’t see one. I know him better than anyone else in the entire world, and still I can’t tell what he’s thinking half the time. If I wasn’t so certain that he wouldn’t dare try and hurt me, I wouldn’t trust him as much as I do. But I do, of course. I trust him more than anyone, which is strange, because he’s the second most cold-blooded and violent person I know. But the first is me, you see. So we understand each other.
I wonder if he’ll win. As I watch him standing there, well over six foot and every inch of him taut and well muscled, as I recall the feeling of the muscles moving against my skin as we fought, I can’t imagine anyone being able to beat him in combat. He’s ruthless. Formidable. Unbeatable.
I watch as that stupid Capitol bitch dips her hand into the reaping bowl of girls names. There are usually far less female volunteers than male, and I doubt there’ll be any this year, with Cato to contend with. Unlike some of the other Districts, we don’t faff around and pretend that we’re friends, or companions. We are allies in the arena, until all of the weak ones are gone, and as many as the stronger ones as possible. Then it’s every man for themselves.
She picks up a slip delicately with her ridiculous fingernails. Opens it, shouts a name. I see Cato’s reaction before it fully registers with me. His expression falters, and for some inexplicable reason I feel a stab of victory. And then I hear the name she called, at least 20 seconds after everyone else.