Post by Fitz Kreiner on Jul 2, 2008 14:52:21 GMT
The Brigadier looked from the two Time Lords before turning to Benton, eyebrow raised as if expecting an explanation.
“That would be the guy who’s responsible for us being here.” Tom said stepping round Benton.
“Well, perhaps you could explain it a bit more, Mr?” The Brigadier said, clearly frustrated and infuriated.
“Oi, can I have a bit of quiet, please?” The Doctor asked, turning his hard back to the Brigadier and Tom.
His eyes widening, the Brigadier opened his mouth to answer back but was silenced by Tom holding his hand up. “I think it’s probably best to actually be quiet.”
“Oi.” The Doctor shouted back. “Could do with a bit of quiet here.”
“Doctor, I do think-” The Brigadier started, before being silenced by the Doctor turning round, his face almost a picture of fury.
“I said, quiet!” The Doctor yelled, slamming the door. In a fluid movement, the Time Lord had pulled his sonic screwdriver from his pocket and locked the door.
Recognising the look on his commanding officers face, Benton carefully backed slightly down the corridor, subtly gesturing Steven and Tom to do the same.
“All the confounded cheek.” The Brigadier stammered.
“Well, I don’t quite know what your relationship is,” Tom said, still stood between the Brigadier and the door. “But I’m sure he didn’t mean offence. There’s something about this Doctor that’s darker and different to the other two I’ve met. I can’t quite read what it is, it’s like he’s closed himself from me.”
“I beg your pardon?” The Brigadier asked.
“Maybe if we go back to the lab, have a sit down and the coffee and we can talk it over as far as we know them.” Tom offered.
Silently, the Brigadier thought it over for a couple of seconds before nodding in agreement. “Yes, maybe you’re right. Each one of them has been different. Splendid fellows though.” He said.
Smiling, Tom offered the Brigadier his hand. “And it’s Rowan, Tom Rowan.”
Putting his sonic screwdriver back in his pocket, the Doctor turned to face the Father Mortimer, his face deadly serious. “So, Father Mortimer, or is it Brother Mortimus? Or shall I just call you Monk?”
“Any will do Doctor.” The Monk replied, straightening his black jacket. “Although, you were rather rude to your friends. Was that the young Mr Taylor I spotted outside?”
“You are aware of the danger that you’ve put me in? Four times over?” The Doctor said, the anger clearly evident on his face.
“Oh come, my son.” The Monk said, folding his hands again.
“And stop with the holy man performance.” The Doctor said sliding his hands in his pockets and walking round the Monk. “Why are you carrying it on? You’ve got rid of the silly monks outfit.”
“It suits my purposes, Doctor.” The Monk replied. “You’d be surprised the influence that a man of religion can have upon the lower civilisations.”
“And what are you trying to influence now?” The Doctor asked. “The Cold War? The Three day week? The miners strikes? Stopping Margaret Thatcher becoming Prime Minister?”
“Margaret Thatcher?” The Monks eyes widened and twinkled. “Why thank you Doctor, that’s quite the idea.”
“Now don’t you get any of those ideas, you hear me?” The Doctor was suddenly leaning across the Brigadiers desk, pointing a warning finger at the Monk.
Chuckling, the Monk sat back down. “You know now how the Daleks pursued me through time and space.”
“As they have me before.” The Doctor said, darkly. “You think that’s a reason to launch a vendetta against me. Do you know what the Time Lords would do if they knew that I was here?”
“Oh, would they though, Doctor?” The Monk chuckled. “They’re such bores. You know we have more fun freelancing.”
“With one difference.” The Doctor said sitting in the Brigadiers chair and swinging his feet up onto the desk. “We can both see where and how things are supposed to go, but you use them for your own amusement and twist them to suit yourself.”
“I help people, Doctor. Just as you do.” The Monks said “I just give them the technological help that they wouldn’t otherwise have access too.”
“You meddle.” The Doctor said.
“And you don’t, Doctor?”
“We can both see what is fixed and what is in flux. I make sure that everything that is fixed happens as it should.” The Doctor countered, reaching across the desk and moving a file out of the Monks reach. “Despite what the Time Lords thought.”
“Have I touched a nerve, Doctor?” The Monk chuckled.
“Don’t.” The Doctor warned.
“A sore point, maybe?”
“Do not push me, Mortimus.” The Doctor almost shouted, getting to his feet and leaning over the desk, his face close to the Monks. “I am so old now and I do not have the time or patience for your childish games.”
“Childish games? My dear Doctor, you offend me.” The Monk said, sitting back and holding his hands up.
“You’ve sprung your trap and pulled four of me into this mess you engineered.” The Doctor said keeping his eyes fixed firmly into the Monks. “So why are you still about, eh?”
“Oh, Doctor.” The Monks face turned to a serious edge. “By no means would I want to kill you. You don’t really think I’m at the same low levels as the Master do you?”
“Then why do all this?” The Doctor asked again. “And don’t give me that revenge line again.”
“Amusement, Doctor. Will that do?” The Monk asked. “Apparently not!” He added briskly, noting the look on the Doctors face.
“I’ve told you I’m not in the mood for games, Mortimus.” The Doctor growled. “One call on this phone and I can get Alistair to have you locked away somewhere for you to spend the rest of your lives.”
“Now why would you do that?” The Monk asked. “And a man of the cloth? Who would agree to it?”
“Oh, I know Alistair and I can be very persuasive.” The Doctor said rounding the desk and leaning with his face mere inches from the Monks.
“Could you live with yourself knowing that you’d done that, Doctor?” The Monk said after a few seconds silence. “Knowing that you’d condemned me to imprisonment for life, and for what? I’ve helped this world as have you.”
“You meddle. I help.” The Doctor said, straightening up.
“You left me trapped in ten sixty-six, Doctor.” The Monk retorted. “Then stole my directional unit and left me to be hunted by Daleks.”
“How many times have you spun me that line?” The Doctor asked rhetorically. “We can go round and round here, but the point is, I shouldn’t be here and neither should you.”
“Then what do you suggest we do?” The Monk asked leaning back in the chair.
“Well, I talk to Alistair, he keeps you here while me and my other selves sort this mess out that you’ve got us all in and then, well, you leave Earth, and leave it alone.” The Doctor said, before he spun round on the spot and gripped the arms of the chair the Monk was sitting in. “Otherwise I’ll come back and make sure you leave it alone for good.”
“Well, I’m sure you’re not talking about killing me, Doctor?” The Monk asked a glimmer of uncertainty in his eye.
The Doctor held the Monks look for several long seconds, his face frozen in fury, his mind closed to the Monks probing. “No.” He said finally, looking away. “I’d never stoop to that.”
“Then how could you be assured that I’d leave Earth alone.”
“I’d turn you over to the Time Lords if I had to.” The Doctor said, keeping his back to the Monk.
“Somehow I doubt that, Doctor.”
“If not me, then another of my selves would.” The Doctor replied turning round. “Anything to stop your meddling. The events already in flux are unstable enough.”
“You will risk revealing yourself to the Time Lords?” The Monk scoffed, unbelieving. “We both know the reasons you left.”
“That was a long time ago.” The Doctor snapped. “I’ve paid for that. Several times over. I don’t think you realise just how far into my future I am from your time. I can tell you that we will at one point stand together against-”
“And you call me a meddler.” The Monk interrupted. “What my future holds, I don’t need to know, and you know that.”
“Please, I’m asking you properly.” The Doctor said, turning to face the Monk. “You’ve had your fun. Things have changed.”
Standing, the Monk looked at his wrist watch before looking back at the Doctor. “That’s enough time.” He said looking at the Doctor and smiling. “I’ll think about it.” He said as a beep sounded from his watch. “Ah, that’s my lift. Goodbye.” Waving, the Monk faded out of being.
“That would be the guy who’s responsible for us being here.” Tom said stepping round Benton.
“Well, perhaps you could explain it a bit more, Mr?” The Brigadier said, clearly frustrated and infuriated.
“Oi, can I have a bit of quiet, please?” The Doctor asked, turning his hard back to the Brigadier and Tom.
His eyes widening, the Brigadier opened his mouth to answer back but was silenced by Tom holding his hand up. “I think it’s probably best to actually be quiet.”
“Oi.” The Doctor shouted back. “Could do with a bit of quiet here.”
“Doctor, I do think-” The Brigadier started, before being silenced by the Doctor turning round, his face almost a picture of fury.
“I said, quiet!” The Doctor yelled, slamming the door. In a fluid movement, the Time Lord had pulled his sonic screwdriver from his pocket and locked the door.
Recognising the look on his commanding officers face, Benton carefully backed slightly down the corridor, subtly gesturing Steven and Tom to do the same.
“All the confounded cheek.” The Brigadier stammered.
“Well, I don’t quite know what your relationship is,” Tom said, still stood between the Brigadier and the door. “But I’m sure he didn’t mean offence. There’s something about this Doctor that’s darker and different to the other two I’ve met. I can’t quite read what it is, it’s like he’s closed himself from me.”
“I beg your pardon?” The Brigadier asked.
“Maybe if we go back to the lab, have a sit down and the coffee and we can talk it over as far as we know them.” Tom offered.
Silently, the Brigadier thought it over for a couple of seconds before nodding in agreement. “Yes, maybe you’re right. Each one of them has been different. Splendid fellows though.” He said.
Smiling, Tom offered the Brigadier his hand. “And it’s Rowan, Tom Rowan.”
*
Putting his sonic screwdriver back in his pocket, the Doctor turned to face the Father Mortimer, his face deadly serious. “So, Father Mortimer, or is it Brother Mortimus? Or shall I just call you Monk?”
“Any will do Doctor.” The Monk replied, straightening his black jacket. “Although, you were rather rude to your friends. Was that the young Mr Taylor I spotted outside?”
“You are aware of the danger that you’ve put me in? Four times over?” The Doctor said, the anger clearly evident on his face.
“Oh come, my son.” The Monk said, folding his hands again.
“And stop with the holy man performance.” The Doctor said sliding his hands in his pockets and walking round the Monk. “Why are you carrying it on? You’ve got rid of the silly monks outfit.”
“It suits my purposes, Doctor.” The Monk replied. “You’d be surprised the influence that a man of religion can have upon the lower civilisations.”
“And what are you trying to influence now?” The Doctor asked. “The Cold War? The Three day week? The miners strikes? Stopping Margaret Thatcher becoming Prime Minister?”
“Margaret Thatcher?” The Monks eyes widened and twinkled. “Why thank you Doctor, that’s quite the idea.”
“Now don’t you get any of those ideas, you hear me?” The Doctor was suddenly leaning across the Brigadiers desk, pointing a warning finger at the Monk.
Chuckling, the Monk sat back down. “You know now how the Daleks pursued me through time and space.”
“As they have me before.” The Doctor said, darkly. “You think that’s a reason to launch a vendetta against me. Do you know what the Time Lords would do if they knew that I was here?”
“Oh, would they though, Doctor?” The Monk chuckled. “They’re such bores. You know we have more fun freelancing.”
“With one difference.” The Doctor said sitting in the Brigadiers chair and swinging his feet up onto the desk. “We can both see where and how things are supposed to go, but you use them for your own amusement and twist them to suit yourself.”
“I help people, Doctor. Just as you do.” The Monks said “I just give them the technological help that they wouldn’t otherwise have access too.”
“You meddle.” The Doctor said.
“And you don’t, Doctor?”
“We can both see what is fixed and what is in flux. I make sure that everything that is fixed happens as it should.” The Doctor countered, reaching across the desk and moving a file out of the Monks reach. “Despite what the Time Lords thought.”
“Have I touched a nerve, Doctor?” The Monk chuckled.
“Don’t.” The Doctor warned.
“A sore point, maybe?”
“Do not push me, Mortimus.” The Doctor almost shouted, getting to his feet and leaning over the desk, his face close to the Monks. “I am so old now and I do not have the time or patience for your childish games.”
“Childish games? My dear Doctor, you offend me.” The Monk said, sitting back and holding his hands up.
“You’ve sprung your trap and pulled four of me into this mess you engineered.” The Doctor said keeping his eyes fixed firmly into the Monks. “So why are you still about, eh?”
“Oh, Doctor.” The Monks face turned to a serious edge. “By no means would I want to kill you. You don’t really think I’m at the same low levels as the Master do you?”
“Then why do all this?” The Doctor asked again. “And don’t give me that revenge line again.”
“Amusement, Doctor. Will that do?” The Monk asked. “Apparently not!” He added briskly, noting the look on the Doctors face.
“I’ve told you I’m not in the mood for games, Mortimus.” The Doctor growled. “One call on this phone and I can get Alistair to have you locked away somewhere for you to spend the rest of your lives.”
“Now why would you do that?” The Monk asked. “And a man of the cloth? Who would agree to it?”
“Oh, I know Alistair and I can be very persuasive.” The Doctor said rounding the desk and leaning with his face mere inches from the Monks.
“Could you live with yourself knowing that you’d done that, Doctor?” The Monk said after a few seconds silence. “Knowing that you’d condemned me to imprisonment for life, and for what? I’ve helped this world as have you.”
“You meddle. I help.” The Doctor said, straightening up.
“You left me trapped in ten sixty-six, Doctor.” The Monk retorted. “Then stole my directional unit and left me to be hunted by Daleks.”
“How many times have you spun me that line?” The Doctor asked rhetorically. “We can go round and round here, but the point is, I shouldn’t be here and neither should you.”
“Then what do you suggest we do?” The Monk asked leaning back in the chair.
“Well, I talk to Alistair, he keeps you here while me and my other selves sort this mess out that you’ve got us all in and then, well, you leave Earth, and leave it alone.” The Doctor said, before he spun round on the spot and gripped the arms of the chair the Monk was sitting in. “Otherwise I’ll come back and make sure you leave it alone for good.”
“Well, I’m sure you’re not talking about killing me, Doctor?” The Monk asked a glimmer of uncertainty in his eye.
The Doctor held the Monks look for several long seconds, his face frozen in fury, his mind closed to the Monks probing. “No.” He said finally, looking away. “I’d never stoop to that.”
“Then how could you be assured that I’d leave Earth alone.”
“I’d turn you over to the Time Lords if I had to.” The Doctor said, keeping his back to the Monk.
“Somehow I doubt that, Doctor.”
“If not me, then another of my selves would.” The Doctor replied turning round. “Anything to stop your meddling. The events already in flux are unstable enough.”
“You will risk revealing yourself to the Time Lords?” The Monk scoffed, unbelieving. “We both know the reasons you left.”
“That was a long time ago.” The Doctor snapped. “I’ve paid for that. Several times over. I don’t think you realise just how far into my future I am from your time. I can tell you that we will at one point stand together against-”
“And you call me a meddler.” The Monk interrupted. “What my future holds, I don’t need to know, and you know that.”
“Please, I’m asking you properly.” The Doctor said, turning to face the Monk. “You’ve had your fun. Things have changed.”
Standing, the Monk looked at his wrist watch before looking back at the Doctor. “That’s enough time.” He said looking at the Doctor and smiling. “I’ll think about it.” He said as a beep sounded from his watch. “Ah, that’s my lift. Goodbye.” Waving, the Monk faded out of being.
