The Doctor and Clara have sent Malcolm Tucker back to his appointed place and time. Now it is their task to search for the Time Anomalies and hunt for the perpetrators, it is their next big adventure...
This story continues directly from All Our Tomorrow's. It draws on the Torchwood story, The Children of Earth.
(This particular story is a toughie for me, for two reasons...I found the whole concept of taking the children and the cold, calculated way the Government dealt with that, very disturbing. The character of John Frobisher was also hard for me to reconcile myself with. Peter played him with his usual consummate skill, but some of his scenes were very distressing, particularly when he screams at his own chanting children...I cannot watch it, I have to fast forward! )
I will explain other aspects of the story as it unfolds.
I am writing in scene form again as I did with the last story, as is it a format that suits my style.
The first scenes by way of an introduction.
I hope you enjoy it as much as you've told me you liked the previous one.
I estimate there will be 15 or so chapters, maybe more, depending on drafting.
OLD FRIEND, OLD ENEMY.
Scene 1
Several days had passed since The Doctor and Clara had returned Malcolm to his appointed place and time.
The Doctor had been occupied with the time anomalies. Attempting to follow the trail backwards to the point of origin.
So far he had failed miserably.
He was very frustrated.
"No luck?" Clara hardly dared ask.
His reply was a scowl, from underneath those fearsome eyebrows.
"Imagine trying to find one particular grain of sand...on a beach." He huffed.
"That's how difficult it is."
Clara frowned, and came behind him, threading her arms around his middle, and laying her head against his back. She loved the curve of his shoulder blades. How tall he was. The scent of him.
She sighed against the fabric of his coat.
"Maybe it's like when people try desperately to have a baby, and are unsuccessful, then they give up trying...and it just happens...maybe you should just stop looking."
"Humph!" He scoffed.
He turned himself in her embrace, until he was facing her.
"Or maybe I'm going about it in entirely the wrong way."
Suddenly a puff of smoke and sparks erupted just behind him. Throwing him forwards, almost knocking Clara flying.
"Ye God's! " He cried, "now what?"
An acrid smell of burning wires reached their nostrils.
After half an hour of examination, where she again could only see the soles of his boots, as he lay on his back underneath the offending panel, he emerged.
His face a thundercloud.
"Drat it!"
"What's happened?" She enquired, " I assume something's blown?"
"You could say that," he replied, wiping his blackened fingers on a towel.
"I'm going to have to switch off all the guidance and safety systems."
"Is that wise?" Clara arched a brow.
"Well, it's either that, or risk the Tardis being permanently out of action. I can't understand it...and I hate that...it's like the Old Girl's playing me up on purpose."
He flung the towel aside.
"Well, Doctor...dare I say it? But what could possibly go wrong?!"
He glowered at her, and moved around the console panels, flicking switches to 'off'.
The Tardis seemed to sigh around them, as if grateful for the respite, lights dimming, the hum of her heartbeat stilling.
"We'll just have to float here, in stasis, while she sorts herself out and reboots."
He huffed again, hands on his hips.
"I shall be bored, it could take as long as a couple of days."
Clara moved closer to him again,
"I can think of one or two things we could do...to keep you occupied..."
She smiled seductively, as she watched his pupils dilate.
He licked his lips unconsciously.
A tearing sound, ripped through and around them at that moment.
The Tardis groaned and lurched, and pitched forwards, throwing them both together.
"What the...?"
"Doctor...what's happening?"
"It appears we are travelling...fast..." He cried, frantically pressing buttons.
"Where are we going...?"
"No idea!...isn't it exciting?"
Scene 2
Flashback:
JohnFrobisher, Permanent Secretary to the Home Office, had more than enough of this day. He was very glad it was over.
Packing his briefcase, he closed down his computer.
Reaching for his jacket, and searching the pockets for his mobile, keys, wallet, he prepared to leave.
He pressed the intercom. His PA, Bridget Spears, answered.
"Send the car round please Bridget."
"Right away, Sir."
Minutes later he was on the road.
The sleek black Mercedes swept along. John stared, unseeing, out of the window, as the world raced by.
What was he doing here? Where had it all gone wrong?
He'd worked so hard. Kept his head down. He was a good man...wasn't he?
A good and loving husband and father. Almost.
A small cog, in a big wheel.
Now, suddenly he was being asked to do things he was not comfortable with.
Things that didn't sit well.
Worse still, he had the feeling the powers that be were not being entirely honest with him.
Not telling him the whole story.
He was making informed decisions...without really being informed.
He'd read the 1965 file. Such as it was. All highly classified.
There wasn't much there.
He'd been asked to call for a blanket assassination, of all involved. But he only knew half the story, of that he was sure.
He felt sick.
These people had lives, families...like himself. Who was he to say who should live and who should die?
Home. His oasis.
He kissed his wife, hugged his girls.
She was busy preparing dinner. They, at the kitchen table doing their homework.
Domestic haven...and out there...out there people were in fear.
Wandering through to his study, he closed the door behind him.
Poured himself a large Scotch.
Sat at his desk, and took out his papers. He would work for an hour before dinner.
In the background he could hear the voices of his family. Laughing, talking. Blissfully unaware of what their beloved spouse and Dad, had done that day.
He took a slug of the amber liquid, let it burn his throat before swallowing. He wished he could get completely smashed...numb it all away.
But he couldn't, he had to stay in control.
There was one more kill yet to be organised, the most difficult and the most important.
The one person who could bring the whole house of cards crashing down.
Captain Jack Harkness.