No Business

AN: Written as a prize for dalekchung (formerly Doctor'sLittleDalek)

In an alleyway beside the Royal and General Bank, where nobody in at least a decade had bothered to wander, an antiquated police telephone box suddenly materialised. With a wheeze like a car trying and failing to start, its atoms assembled into molecules, molecules into macromolecules, and macromolecules into macro-macromolecules, until the whole thing was one giant Thing.

There was a thump. Then a voice.

"I can't – thump – open the door! There's something – thump – in the way."

Several more thumps.

A quieter voice. "Ah, let's try that again."

If the blue box had been difficult to assemble, then it had no problem at all disassembling – if it were as good at dissembling as it was at disassembling, no doubt some of the following could have been resolved rather more easily, although there would be no story (or, at least, not one worth relating). After wheezing out with considerably more gusto, it took a much longer time to reassemble facing the other way so that it was now obvious that the box had a door. Parking the blue box is like that; sometimes it's as easy as catching a fly with chicken wire, other times it's like finding a grain of salt in a pile of white crystals.

The door opened. Out stepped two.

"Ugh! Why do you always manage to land in the grottiest place around?"

Imagine Lady and the Tramp. Now imagine them in human form, or at least, humanoid. The people who stepped out looked like this: red, warm, shining; and skinny, pointy, animated. But not quite so Disney.

The Lady stepped out and peered at the building beside the TARDIS. "Royal… General… Bank," she said slowly, reading the two-foot-tall letters. "A bank! Of all things in London, you take me to a bank?!"

"Where else did you want to go?" asked her companion.

"Oh, I don't know, Thames House, maybe. What's the point of a super-duper-transporter if you don't go anywhere you normally wouldn't, Doctor? We could have been Mister-and-Mrs-Smith! We could have been-!" And here she stopped, abruptly, as if that were the end of it.

"Well," huffed the other, "It's the TARDIS who brought us here, Donna."

Donna rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up. Men! Always blaming someone else."

"Are you coming, or not?"

She rolled her eyes again, but smiled as she joined him in front of the front doors. With a well-practised flourish, he pushed the heavy door open. "Come on, then. Adventure awaits!"

ooeeoo

Since Alex's climactic class trip to Italy, followed by revelations that heaped upon revelations, and the subsequent near-death experience, journey from hospital, journey from planet Earth, journey back to planet Earth, specifically Australia, piled with even more revelations, and then final closure from Ash, life had been surprisingly quiet.

Alex wasn't yet sure how he felt about that, but he appreciated the respite, for he was now able to catch up in class and hang out with Tom. In the midst of a slew of detentions for Italy, football games, and homework, he felt almost normal.

Almost. Most of the world was blind to the dangers it constantly faced. Now Alex, too, was not privy to them, but – having experienced a few first-hand – he was certain they existed. A person born blind never pines for the stars as a person blinded might. The sensory deprivation was slowly driving him mad, and he was beginning to see conspiracies where he was mostly sure there were none.

To celebrate Alex's safe return, Jack had offered to take him to a free travel expo. "It'll be just like your missions, Mr Bond, except you won't worry about gathering intel or madmen with guns," she'd said.

He didn't know if he had the time for holiday, or she the money, but she'd seemed so earnest, and so hopeful to cheer him up after learning about Ash, that he'd agreed.

Most of the stalls at the exhibition were poster perfect: sapphire waters lapping at golden or white sand (depending on the tropical beach of choice), verdant green forests, fairy-tale-soft snow on fairy-tale houses for the scenic travellers, or skyscrapers, temples and cityscapes for those who favoured infrastructure. Jack gushed at every picture, but Alex knew that while following their recommendations might result in a perfectly lovely holiday, ultimately the coming experience of guidebooks, bus trips and avoiding 'dangerous' foods could not compare to the exhilaration of breathing different lives as Alex had with Ian. As he had on his missions.

It was a small presentation that drew his attention from the canapés. He wasn't sure why it stood out to him, when it was almost hidden away in the corner, surrounded by black curtains so the TV screen slideshow would be more visible.

The title on the poster beside the stall was simply Earth. There were brochures about blending in and evading authorities. One of the listed contact numbers was for Camden Iconic Aviation.

It was probably all just a coincidence. Surely there were legitimate businesses with the acronym CIA. Although, reading the passages… He was certain it wasn't normal to refer ominously to a place's local inhabitants as the humans. Now his interest was definitely piqued.

It was just like the unveiling of Damian Cray's game. Something was off.

The memory of the humiliation Alex had felt when he last tried to alert MI6 almost stopped him. This time, his suspicion was based on even flimsier evidence, and he didn't really want to go back to his employers because of the chance they'd, well, employ him again.

He was pretty certain that this was nothing, and, even if it was something, MI6 probably already knew about it, but the strange niggling feeling wouldn't leave him alone. He'd learnt by now that MI6 couldn't be completed trusted to spot all threats. At least Sabina wasn't here to witness this.

He texted Jack to let her know he was going somewhere else for a bit. He'd tell MI6, then wash his hands of the whole thing and rest easy.

This time, however, he'd be a bit more cautious in his accusations. Maybe bring some backup.

ooeeoo

On the inside, the bank building was exactly like a… like a bank building. A modern one, at least, without retro custard walls, but still, a bank. Cream walls, recessed downlights, and a faded blue carpet.

The Doctor and Donna walked up to the receptionist.

"Good morning, how may I be of service?" she greeted the duo with a perfunctory smile.

The Doctor grinned the grin he'd learned from Captain Jack. "Hello madam, I've come about the lifts. They aren't working."

The receptionist opened her mouth, but the Doctor cut her off, holding up his wallet with his precious psychic paper. "These are my credentials, and this is—" he said, gesturing to Donna with his other hand, "my assistant."

Donna gave him a Look.

"I mean, my partner."

Eyes narrowed.

"That is to say, my work partner. Colleague." He cleared his throat, shifting his gaze back to the receptionist. "We're lift-fixers."

Finally, the receptionist was able to answer. "The lifts aren't broken, sir."

"They are now," muttered the Doctor.

"I beg your pardon?"

The sonic whirred.

From the direction of the lifts came a muffled thunk. The doors opened, and out climbed a man with impeccable sartorial grace. He straightened his tie with a strangely long hand, and nodded to the receptionist. "Fix that, would you, my dear?"

The receptionist opened and closed her fish-like mouth, and smiled nervously. "Yes sir, right away sir, I hope you enjoyed your trip."

He nodded suavely and exited the bank, pausing only to give a short bow to Donna.

"Well, I – it seems I was wrong," managed the receptionist, and she waved them on.

"Come on," the Doctor said to Donna, who was staring out the door after the man, and he grabbed her arm to enter the lift.

Inside the lift – which looked like a lift, specifically a bank lift, and there's no real specification for what makes a bank lift, just that it Is – the Doctor examined the buttons with his sonic screwdriver. "He came from level eight," he said. "He used a keycard, but we've got something better than that!" With a grin, he gave another whir of the sonic screwdriver, and the lift rose smoothly.

When the lift arrived with a ding, Donnaand the Doctor stepped out and tread softly down the hallway, their whispers threatening to disturb the dullness – that is to say, the formal tranquillity.

"Where are we going?" asked Donna, surveying the bland – sorry, extremely minimalist walls.

"Exploring."

"Why can't we just leave?"

"Why? Leaving's boring."

"This whole place is boring!"

"There's always something. Remember the adipose? Remember ATMOS?"

"Those were new things. I bet this bank has been around since the Dark Ages. Longer."

"That just means they're very, very good at hiding."

Donna stopped and crossed her arms. "Oh, shut up. And I suppose you think the chippy on the corner is hiding an aquatic alien."

"Don't be silly. It'd have to be land-based."

"That was bad."

"I thought you liked 'em that way," he winked.

In the time it took Donna to process that statement and start her protestations, the Doctor took her by the arm and led her down the hallway. "Just around the corner, into this room here – mind the pot plant."

"Don't you tell me to – ohmygod."

On the brink of the office threshold, they stuttered to a stop.

In the middle of the room, crumpled on a desk, was a man. A very deflated man. Simultaneously, they realised the man was made of latex.

It was creepy nonetheless.

Another man of cartoonish large proportions looked up. "Ah! Hello, who are you?" he said.

The Doctor held his psychic paper up wordlessly.

"Oh, yes, of course, you're here to try out the new suit?"

"Yes," said Donna firmly.

"Well, I'm afraid it's not ready yet." He pursed his lips. "If you had told me you were coming two days from now, you see, it'd be ready for you to begin your travels, but since you came now…" He scratched his miniscule nose.

"Since we're here anyway," said the Doctor, "why don't we take a look at how everything's going?"

"Sure," said the man. "Just don't touch anything. The pluripotent cells are still differentiating into epiderm, and dermis. Your skins, by the way, are brilliant – who did you go to for that?"

The Doctor and Donna looked at each other. "Ordinary soap and water," said Donna.

"Soapenwater," mused the man. "I wonder where they were trained. Venus, maybe."

With the man watching, Donna and the Doctor couldn't do very much, and inspection of all the other rooms revealed pretty much the same thing. Eventually, they went back to the lifts.

"Let's check another floor." "I don't think this is just a bank anymore." The Doctor and Donna spoke at the same time.

They looked at each other, and Donna wordlessly pressed the Up button.

ooeeoo

"Today I found myself calling Eagle."

Alex was aghast. "Why would you – why would you willingly enter communications with him?"

Ben gave a despairing sigh. "I'm so bored! I thought it would provide a mental challenge."

"Bored? I should think you'd be glad at the respite."

"Respite," Ben scoffed. "It's been months, and I haven't been called in. I'd talk to my colleagues, but I don't know their details, and I'm not really meant to go to the Bank without being called in… I did try to call the Bank—"

"You have their number?"

"I kept a gadget from Smithers a while ago and used it to record their number the next time they called me. Don't tell. Anyway, I called, and all they'd tell me was some bollocks about changing directions for a sunnier outlook."

This revelation struck the two of them silent for a minute.

Alex recounted the story of the odd exhibition he'd seen.

Ben agreed that it sounded too strange and coincidental to be, well, a coincidence. "Have you told anyone else?"

Alex shook his head.

"Probably a good idea."

"So what should we do?"

The older spy scratched the back of his head. "Well, in the absence of more details like where they may be or how we can find them, the best we can do is just alert the Bank – assuming those contact details were correct and linked to the CIA and other agencies. Do you remember seeing the Bank's contact details on the brochure?"

Alex racked his mind. "No, I don't think so."

"Hmm, okay. We'll start there, anyway. I haven't been called in for a while."

"So you mentioned."

"I mean, I don't know if they'll let us in when we haven't been summoned."

The younger spy gave the elder a level look. "How about we just talk to the receptionist? You're bound to have more authority than me, especially if the receptionist recognises you. I'm not having a repeat of last time."

ooeeoo

Donna and the Doctor stepped out on the fifth floor, leaving behind a woman who had entered after them, speaking softly with a hand to her ear.

A quick check with the sonic screwdriver revealed the fifth floor was empty, leaving the duo free to waltz, mambo and foxtrot down the hallway.

"I don't understand, though," said the Doctor. "She was talking about travel."

"Who? How do you know that?"

"That woman in the lift. I intercepted her communications with the sonic screwdriver."

Donna stopped. "I didn't hear the screwdriver."

The Doctor smiled smugly. "I upgraded it. It has a silent function, now. It just takes a bit more oomph."

"Well, that's something," she grinned. "So what did she say?"

The Doctor shrugged. "Exclusive experiences, pristine landscapes, first class flights."

Donna pursed her lips and furrowed her brow. They were mere props to the actual thinking going on, but she felt like it helped her think better. "If this was a fancypants bank, then maybe they send their delegates… delegates? Bankers? Whatever… They send them around the world to fancypants banking conferences and meetings."

The Doctor nodded, but his hearts weren't in it. Neither could help but remember the latex man. "And they dress their delegates in full-body prosthetics?"

They started down the hallway once more.

The emptiness of the floor was strangely unnerving. There were no sounds of muted conversations, no tapping on keyboards. Not even the woosh and ding of lifts. The oppressive atmosphere of awkward silences and silent colleague feuds was absent, leaving only a strange barrenness.

"There's no glass," Donna noticed.

"Huh?"

"That's what's been bothering me. No glass to peek into the meeting rooms, no windows. If this is such a great bank, then where are the open spaces?"

The Doctor stared at her. "Is that so strange?"

"Yes! I've worked in offices before, and there's always some sort of natural lighting – good for the office plants, or something."

"Maybe bankers like their secrecy."

Donna scowled. "Oh, shut up. Bankers may like their privacy, but they love spying on their colleagues even more. There's no way they'd accept any sort of secrecy if it meant they had to pass up an opportunity for stealing a client."

"Huh," said the Doctor.

"And there's no watercooler to lie around."

Having explored what they could, they took a lift back to the ground floor. "And, I mean, what sort of a bank has wireless communication technology? My bank never even got to email!" She tossed her head dismissively as if that were the end of it.

As the doors opened once again, it was clear that in their rush to explore earlier, they had missed the key component of exploration: attention to details. Now, they noticed that though the bank was ostensibly a bank, it wasn't quite right, like a Nice biscuit without the sugar. People queued at the tellers, but snatches of conversation from people like the woman in the lift, hands to their ears, wafted on the air.

"Yes… tailored to their cultures… The same? No, no. It may seem that way, but they really are quite different … yes, we expect weather has something to do with it."

Before they could make a move to investigate further, there was a kerfuffle. Donna and the Doctor wandered over to the commotion.

"But I work here," insisted a man of common height with brown hair, a sullen blond teen slouching beside him. "I've always entered this way."

"I'm sorry," said the woman blocking their path. "But you may not have realised; there was a merger, and this bank had to change some of its practices."

"A merger? But – what—"

The woman gave a flinty smile. "Please come with me, sir, and we can sort this all out in privacy."

If anything, this made the man more panicked, though the teenager retained his grumpy demeanour. "I don't – I'm not coming with you!"

Beside him, Donna heard his blond companion mutter, "Keep going, I'll slip on in."

Smooth movement caught the Doctor's eyes, distracting him from the choppy gestures in front of him. The young, blond teenager strolled past the distracted watchers towards the lift.

Donna and the Doctor shared a glance.

"We're following him."

"Obviously."

They tailed the boy into the lifts, and the doors closed.

ooeeoo

Alex turned around. There was a man and a woman standing there, in the lift with him. They didn't look like workers of the Bank, but looks were deceiving. Blunt would never hire agents who looked like stereotypical spies. Unless he was double bluffing.

"Hello," he said before he confused himself further. "What floor are you going to?"

The man and woman looked at each other.

"You press first," said the woman.

That was rather suspicious. But Alex, who had spent much time around maniacs and mostly-sane people with terrible plans, got no feeling of danger from them. Actually, they reminded him of Smithers and Jack, both lovely warm people in his life.

He pressed the floor for Blunt's office. The two shared another look.

"Oh, that's our floor too!" The woman gave a strained smile.

They couldn't be spies, Alex mentally winced. "Who are you?"

The man held up a business card with a slight flourish. Alex squinted at it, and made out the very faint words: "The Doctor and Donna Noble… Definitely Not A Couple…"

The two before him reacted very differently. The woman, Donna, choked, and then glared at the man – the Doctor – who was trying very much not to laugh.

"Very nice, but that doesn't exactly answer my question."

Donna sighed. "We're investigating this bank. We're… we're freelance investigators of a sort. What are you doing here?"

Alex sensed she'd been honest, and felt he should reciprocate, and even if he didn't tell her the truth about the Bank, perhaps they could help in acquiring the information that would tell him what was going on. He wondered who had hired them. "My name's Alex. I work here sometimes."

"So it really is a bank?" the Doctor sounded almost disappointed. "I'm guessing that man back there is your colleague?"

"Yeah," Alex nodded. "But I don't know who any of the other people are. Things seem a bit different to normal at the moment."

"How so?"

And Alex told them everything. Well, except the spy parts.

ooeeoo

After hearing Alex's story, Donna shared what she and the Doctor had encountered earlier. But in the back of her mind, she was slightly disbelieving. Wasn't a teenager a bit young to work in a bank? His voice sounded only just broken. It felt as though he was hiding something, but she hadn't any idea what.

While she was mulling this over, the Doctor suggested they continue with Alex's plan to visit his boss, Blunt. Alex agreed, and so they went to Blunt's office.

"Come in," called a strangely melodic low voice.

Donna saw Alex stiffen and frown. She pushed around him and opened the door.

Behind the desk was clearly Blunt. The man lived up to his job description with a pathetic comb-over, boring suit and fat cat smile. In the corner… "Alex, who's that woman?" Donna hissed.

"Jones," said Alex, and he appeared to hold his breath as though anticipating a bad smell.

Donna sniffed discretely, but smelt nothing out of the ordinary. The woman was well put-together, with a stiff, pointed suit to match her hawk-like nose and shrewd gaze. Her coiffed hair was strangely reminiscent of a tulip.

Meanwhile, Blunt was smiling and flapping his hands at them and the chairs scattered around the room. "Come in, come in – and make yourselves comfortable. Get out of those sweltering suits – I've talked to… what was his name, Johnson? Was it… Smithie?" He picked up a stack of papers and shuffled them artlessly.

Jones-whose-real-name-was-Johnson-apparently nodded, but she had a slight pout. She walked over to the blinds and began purposefully opening them. "I think it was, sir."

"That's his name? 'Sir'?" Blunt withdrew a pen from his pocket and scribbled something down.

"No, I mean his name was Smithie, sir."

"Smithysur?"

Jones returned to the corner and brushed back her hair in a practiced manner. "Yes, and you don't have to call me sir, sir."

"I didn't call you sir-sir!"

"You did, sir."

Blunt's brow wrinkled in consternation. "What?"

"Yes?"

"Enough!" the Doctor broke in. Donna wondered how on earth these two could be the boss of what was clearly a very prestigious and powerful bank. Alex, who was now frowning just as much as his superiors.

"You're not Blunt and Mrs Jones," he said suddenly, his eyes narrowing.

"Silly, of course we're not," said Not-Blunt almost too calmly. "What's wrong with you, my boy?"

"That's Smithers' thing!"

"What is?"

"He always calls me 'my boy'."

"Your boy?"

"No, his."

Non-Jones spoke up. "Well that's stupid; you're your own boy, my son."

Alex stared and then took a breath to continue. He paused. Donna watched curiously as his face grew pale. "You don't smell of peppermint…"

"Well!" cried Not-Blunt, whom Donna was now calling 'Sharp', and he launched into a short rant that seemed almost prepared. "It's quite a barbaric human custom to reduce people to mere features such as their verbal tics, and their smell. Quite rude, in fact. It's a shame it seems to have rubbed off on you."

One moment Alex stood stock still beside Donna. A blink later and his hands were wrapped Sharp's neck, who closed his eyes dramatically. "Tell me who you are and what you've done with Blunt and Jones," he growled.

The Doctor stepped forward. "You're Thespians, aren't you?"

A beat.

"From the planet Thespos," said the Doctor.

ooeeoo

"You're not?" Non-Jones enquired, examining her nails decisively.

"I did wonder about their skin," croaked Sharp. Alex loosened his grip slightly.

Non-Jones was watching the Doctor now through hooded eyes. "How did you know?"

The Doctor waved his arms. "Oh, everything. Your costumes are impeccable, all your lines seem rehearsed, and you exude drama with your every move."

Sharp was smiling widely. "Come now, you flatter us," he said. He steepled his fingers in a banker sort-of way.

"Oh, no," said the Doctor, "but these questions remain: Why are you here? And where are the real Blunt and Jones?"

Under Alex's grip, the male alien shifted. "Alright, you've got us. We were hired as the Earth branch of the enterprise to help the clients blend in better."

"And the enterprise is…?"

"CATS. The Cosmic Adventure Travel Society."

"Intergalactic tourism, basically," the Doctor explained to the others. "Earth's a popular destination."

"And these intelligence agencies are such a good resource for us," said the female alien in a rising voice. "We're being paid by our hosts to travel to the most exotic, exciting locations!"

"What's more, by taking over all of the human intelligence agencies, wars die down, increasing safety for our clients," continued the male alien cheerfully.

"Wait – intelligence agencies?" Donna butted in.

Alex looked at the aliens, and the aliens looked at him. "Bank slang," he offered. "We like to joke that bankers are the geniuses of the world. Hahaha."

Donna looked at him strangely.

He shrugged weakly, and returned his focus back to the aliens. "What about, uh, financial wars waged by non-intelligence workers?"

"The Sontarans like to fight them," smiled the female.

"The Sontarans fight physically, not fiscally," frowned the Doctor.

"Brilliant," said Alex hastily. "Bankers hate any sort of physical threat."

"We don't let them completely rend the Earth, of course; 'sustainable tourism' and 'minimal alien interference' are our main tenets," sniffed the male proudly.

The Doctor seemed to agree with his words. "The Thespians may do many things, but they'd only harm another if it interrupted one of their plays."

"So that's what this is?" Donna asked. "A play?"

"Something like that," the Doctor nodded. "They're playing at being bankers."

Alex's frown hadn't abated. "What have you done with Blunt and Jones and all the rest?"

"They're in the costume cabinet, of course," the female Thespian shot back. "Don't worry," she said to Alex, "They're quite alright."

"What's the costume cabinet?"

Sharp launched into another speech he'd seemingly prepared earlier. "Oh, we just removed their memories of working here, confused them a little, and let them live their lives with regular payments from us. Mrs Jones is quite enjoying spending more time with her children. Smithers, as you call him, was actually our first delegate; he was always a Thespian."

Taken aback, Alex relaxed his grip further and let his hands drop by his sides. The male alien slumped. "You see, we're really not doing any harm. In fact, we'd be more than happy to remove your memories too when you leave."

As one, the humans in the room stiffened.

"I see that idea's not very popular with you."

They stared at each other for a moment. "So what now, then?" said Donna.

ooeeoo

The Doctor was quiet.

"I suppose we couldn't continue as we were?" the male alien simpered.

"Of course you can't," said Donna.

"But why?" said the female alien. "Our tourism brings awareness of humanity as a precious resource to be sustained and protected, and this even extends to protecting the humans from themselves. Earth life has never been better without us."

Logically, the argument sounded robust. But Donna couldn't help but feel that even so, there was something wrong in the aliens' business.

The room was silent.

Abruptly, Alex said, "But humanity doesn't mean creating a blissful utopia. The whole meaning of humanity is choices made by humans, whether good or bad. You can't just take our lives and smooth them over for the sake of sustaining what you think is 'human culture'.

The female opened her mouth but Alex continued without a pause. "Human culture is change. Yes, there are some bad people and terrible wars, but we learn from them. Better people rise from the ashes to fight them. It's not perfect, but we do our best." He fixed the two aliens with a glare. "Improving things as you are, however well-intentioned, is still a form of meddling – certainly not 'minimal alien interference'."

"But one day, you might end up destroying the earth in an accident."

"That will be a human event, perpetrated by humans," Alex responded firmly. "I'd like to hope that such a thing would never happen – I'll work to try and prevent it. But if you think that controlling our conflicts is protecting humanity, then you're wrong. You're just maintaining your ideal fantasy of humanity. Mrs Jones chose to work here – you took away her choice." He paused. "If you really want to help, then give us the information. Let us decide for ourselves, and let our cultures evolve naturally. Earth might not always be the wonderful tourist destination you want it to be, but anyone who wants a sanitised experience doesn't really want the experience at all. They might as well stay home."

If you had asked, Donna would have been the first person to say that young people weren't really the first place you should look for insight – she had been one of them, herself, before she met the Doctor. But this… boy, this – whatever he was – took her by surprise.

"He's right, you know," said the Doctor.

"We know," said the aliens, downcast.

"That doesn't mean to say you can't continue running your business."

They looked up.

"Just use a cover that's not in so influential a position as an international bank," the Doctor said.

"Like what?"

"Oh, I dunno – what do you think, Donna?"

"What, me?" Donna took a step back. "Oh, I don't know; you want to travel the world…" She blinked. "Why not just be a proper tourism business? One that caters specifically to intergalactic beings."

Everyone in the room stared at her.

"I don't know why we never thought of that," said the female alien.

"Like I said," beamed the Doctor, "Thespians: entirely too dramatic."

The Thespians seemed quite chuffed at that. "We'll withdraw within the week," they told Alex as the group began to leave the room. "We Thespians were never much good at pretending to be boring bankers – too serious," they said, looking straight at Alex. "Being a proper tourism business will be much more fun."

"It was nice meeting you," said Donna as they trooped out.

Taking the lift once again to the ground floor, the Doctor congratulated Alex for his adlibbed speech. "I couldn't have done it better myself," he said. "Well, I probably could, but—"

"Oh, shut up," said Donna.

And that was the end of it.