Doctor Who: The Fourteenth Silence

by Valeyard's Vendetta

Phew. Re-edited. A pensive and reformed Valeyard travels back to the year 2014 to settle a few scores with his old "friends" the Silence. Aided by Torchwood Agent Adam Lord, who is a curiously close companion; this self styled Fourteenth Doctor is looking for more than just trouble. He wants to save the soul of one he once corrupted.

1. Chapter 1

Doctor Who:

The Fourteenth Silence

Chapter One

Reception

Date: December 14, 2014

Time: 17:00 hundred hours, or there about

Location: 122 Leaden Hall Street, London, England

"Good God I'm late!" Rosaline McCrimmon said to herself as she stepped out of the hackney carriage. Her first temp job since moving from Glasgow two weeks ago and she was tardy. Oh this is a bloody great way to make a first impression, she thought. She quickly checked her handbag to ensure all of her belongings were accounted for, "Phone, makeup, soup and crackers, change for the vending machine, umbrella…Ok we're set." She'd said aloud, and began to make her way up the stairs to the newly completed Leadenhall Building. The voice of the driver stopped her in her tracks.

"Excuse me miss?" The man said in a thick Nigerian accent," Aren't you forgetting something?"

Rosaline rolled her eyes and sighed, "I am so, so, sorry." She said as she pulled a few stray bank notes from her bag, "I've been in such a rush today what with finishing up with my new flat, and getting my kid's school transfer strengthened out…"

The driver smiled. "I understand miss." He said, "Stranger in a strange land, sometimes it takes some getting used too."

"That obvious is it?" She said with a tilt of her head.

"Only ever so slightly." He responded with an empathetic laugh. "Keep the change." Rosaline barked as she half walked, half ran up the concrete stairs.

"But Miss…" The driver started, she'd shorted him by about five pounds or so. Oh well, this one can be on me, he thought.

Rosie McCrimmon was an uncommonly tall young woman, at a whopping 6'3 she practically towered over the rest of her clan. Her mother used to joke that before entering a room she always had to announce herself for fear that Rosaline might step on her. Her height never bothered her before; on the contrary, when she modeled in her earlier years it was one of her most valuable assets. In contrast to the sea of people leaving the "Cheesegrater", as the newly completed skyscraper was nicknamed, she felt like a mammoth among minnows. She didn't want to attract attention here, she didn't want to stand out; she just wanted to get this first night over with, go home, and try to settle into her new life such as it was. As she passed through the glass entry doors she quickly ran her hands through her short cut brown hair, it had been raining earlier, and it had made a right mess of her tresses. Brought my umbrella, she thought to herself, it would have been nice if I'd actually remembered to use it. Inside the lobby Rosaline looked to her left and spied her destination, a grand reception desk decked out in white marble and brass. The plump grey haired woman currently manning it looked over to Rosie, and subtly, almost unnoticeably, scowled. Rosaline moved forward quickly to say her hellos; she smiled and then held out her hand, which remained in the air for quite a number of moments before she understood that the other woman had no intention of responding in kind. Cow, Rosaline said to herself flatly. The bovine in question then nodded to a security guard standing by the doors, he promptly locked them, and then made his way to the lift, disappearing behind the self closing gates.

"It's ten past five Mrs. McCrimmon. You should have been here exactly at five pm, got caught up in traffic did we?" The woman named Margaret Carter said. At least that's what Rosaline thought her name was since it was the only one on the small plate by the reception desk's phone, and since the lady had failed to introduce herself.

"I left almost an hour early, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize the kind of jam's they'd have in London this time of day. It won't happen again I promise."

"Traffic tends to be like that anytime of day in London Mrs. McCrimmon, and you should be…" "It's Ms. McCrimmon," Rosaline said, cutting her off midstream, "though I prefer Rosaline, or Rosie, if it's all the same to you."

"As I was saying… Ms. McCrimmon, you should bare in mind the vehicular onslaughts when punctually is in question."

"…Right." Rosie answered, and then tried to conceive of a number of likely ways to dispose of a plump English woman's body.

"At any rate," Mrs. Carter rose from her chair, and began to gather her things, "I assume they went over everything with you during your orientation. You'll man the phones until 10pm; you and the security guards are the last ones out."

"Of course, I transfer calls to the respective offices. What about…"

"Here's your name plate." She handed it to Rosie; it read Roseline, with an "e" not an "a". "If you need anything," Margaret continued, "call Benjamin upstairs, he's manning the cameras tonight."

"Alright, but what about…"

"Goodnight, Mrs. McCrimmon." Margaret Carter said, then made her way to the lift and depressed the button that read Parking Garage.

"Its Ms. McC…ah never mind." Alone and mildly put off, Rosie put her handbag down on the desk, looked at her misspelled name plate, and said aloud, "Cow."

8pm. Two hours and fifty minutes down, and two hours to go, Rosie told herself. The rain was really starting to come down now. She had answered a total of three calls since she'd gotten in and two of them had been wrong numbers, this place was one of the slowest office buildings the Scott had ever worked in. She wasn't even exactly sure what they did here, not that it really applied to her; she was just a receptionist, and a temp at that. Two weeks here and she'd be gone most likely. While sitting alone and in infinite boredom Rosaline tried to occupy her thoughts. She'd used what was left in her savings to pay up the rent on the flat for at least three months in advance, after that she wasn't sure what she would do. She needed to find a steady job. She was only twenty-four and still in good shape despite having had a kid…and not having seen the inside of a gym in about a million years. Maybe she could get a modeling agency in London to pick her up for a few ads or something. She took out a photo of Cameron, her little boy, well at six he's not really so much a little boy any more, she thought. She'd had him when she was barely eighteen years old, and was fool enough to actually marry his father, long story short the only good thing she got out of the whole ordeal was Cam. All of a sudden Rosaline felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end; she could sense something behind her, something watching her. She heard a low hiss in the air. She spun around in her chair to investigate. "Nothing there?" She said astonished, she was sure that...well maybe she shouldn't have had that fourth cup of coffee.

9pm. Three hours and fifty minutes down, and one hour to go. The telephone rang and Rosaline instinctively picked it up, "This is Rosaline how may I help you this evening." She said. A deep but congenial sounding voice on the other end responded.

"Hullo, I hate to be a bother my dear…at least I think I do, but could you be so kind as to tell me the time?"

Rosaline was slightly taken aback, "Umm," she began, "It's five past nine." There was a brief pause.

"Lovely." The voice said, "I'm right on time, as usual."

"Well that's good, I suppose." Rosaline said, unsure of what else to say, "Uh can I help you sir?"

"I believe you just did, did you not?" The person on the line responded. He had a gentlemanly quality to his voice, aristocratic even, if not slightly condescending.

"Did I?" Rosaline asked.

"Of course you did." he said reassuringly, "You told me the time, I always find it useful to know when you are."

"Right," said Rosie, "Sure."

"Sure." The gentleman said. "I'll be along shortly."

"Uh sir, the complex is closed to the public after five." Rosaline stated.

"Then why are you there?" He asked pointedly enough.

"Well, because I work here." Rosaline was beginning this was a prank call.

"I doubt that very much." The voice said in all seriousness.

"Why would you doubt that?" Rosie asked with a slight sigh.

"Because aside from being blatantly Scottish…" he said frankly, "you seem to be a perfectly fine, perfectly polite, perfectly non-psychotic young lady."

"Err thank…you?" Rosie wasn't sure if she was just complemented or insulted.

"Your very welcome…you should leave now." He said this as if it wasn't an option.

"What?" McCrimmon asked half amused, "Why should I leave now?"

"Because I'll be along shortly and because you're not alone when you think you are. You need to go Rosaline…now." He hung up the phone.

"No, wait, sir are you there…hello?" Rosaline McCrimmon tried in vein to get a response.

Chapter Two

The Doctor Is In

Ok, that was weird, Rosie thought to herself. Being a veteran of the switchboard she was well versed in dealing with all manner odd ball characters, but that was probably the most personal impersonal call she'd ever gotten. What the strange voice had said, "Not alone when you think you are…" half of it made no sense of course, but there was something in the voice's tone that was compelling, alarmingly compelling…and urgent, the voice was worried for her. Rosie looked around; there was no one else there. She sensed that something was wrong here, very wrong, even if this building was closed to the masses there should have been more than just her and some stone faced looking security guard on the support staff. "The first call, not the wrong numbers but the FIRST call," she spoke a loud, "who was it for again…why can't I remember." Instinctively Rosaline somehow knew she was in danger, she began to franticly rummage through her things on the desk, calling them out, as was her habit. "Handbag, phone, umbrella, makeup…I have to go, oh no… I don't have the key to the doors!" Rosaline thought about calling Benjamin, the security guard, and then thought better of it. I don't know what to do now, she thought. Then she heard something rather odd. It sounded like some of sort whistling noise, no she thought; it was a hum, something electronic maybe? Just then, maybe fifteen feet or so away from her, the doors to the complex slowly opened.

The man who stepped forward was someone that Rosie could only describe as mildly "Edwardian" in spectacle. He wore a grey bowler hat with an ace of spades tucked neatly into the black band. He had on a pair of grey and white pinstriped trousers with a matching waistcoat, there was a red handkerchief stuffed squarely into his right breast pocket, and an odd glyph on the left, it vaguely resembled a question mark. The black satin shirt he wore beneath the waistcoat was clasped neatly at the neck by a white and charcoal coloured tie, and over his shoulders rested a heavy looking, leather like, great coat. He idly twirled a serpentine looking cane in his left hand as he strode about. He's completely dry, she thought, it's pouring out there and he's not even damp. He then looked around the length of the room as if he were studying it, "Hmmm…" Rosie heard him mutter. From within the left pocket of his coat he produced an odd pair of coke bottle glasses which he then placed on the bridge of his nose. The lens on the right eye was clear; the other however was black as pitch.

"There were three here earlier…" he said smoothly, "but they left before I called, most excellent."

Rosaline watched reservedly as the gentleman proceeded to randomly sniff the air, touch various plants in the lobby, and then lick the leather sofa close to the lift. Ok, Rosie thought, this is so not happening. "Excuse me", she began and started to approach him "are you the man…"

He quickly put his right index finger to his lips and softly said, "Shush."

Rosaline was taken aback, not simply because this man from the set of the Forsythe Saga had just shushed her, but because she did as she was told…she couldn't help herself actually. He then held out his cane in front of him. The shaft of the thing was a rich almond colour, the base and apex of it was brass, or maybe gold. He flicked an almost unnoticeable switch, the bright orb which served as the head of the walking stick popped open into four distinct, claw-like structures. A deep red gem hidden within became illuminated and produced a soft "humming" sound. That's what I heard earlier, Rosaline thought to herself, who is this bloke? He gently moved the cane around the perimeter of the lobby, seemingly oblivious to the woman's presence.

After a few moments of doing…whatever it was he was doing, he turned his attention back to Ms. McCrimmon. "I'm terribly sorry," the man said as he approached Rosaline, "I'm afraid I didn't make proper introductions did I? Being polite is…good, yes, good." He mused to himself, and then closed the head of his cane and tossed it to the floor; it wobbled on its pointed base for a moment, then stood straight up vertically. He lightly hit the back of his bowler with his right hand, causing it to leap off of his head. Before the grey thing could hit the floor he'd bent down low in a grand and exaggerated bow, and then swiftly caught the hat nonchalantly in his left hand. "Hullo," he said, "I'm the Doctor, usually the Doctor at any rate."

Rosaline then attempted to ask, "Doctor Who, exactly?" Unfortunately she still seemed to be under the spell of the strange man's Shush. As he stood there Rosaline noted that he had thick black hair which seemed to curl naturally on the back of his neck, there were a few refined looking streaks of grey around his temples and at the crown of his head. When he looked into her eyes, he actually LOOKED right into her eyes, he was at least as tall as she was, which was unusual in most; though for some reason Rosaline got the strange impression that he towered over her in an uncanny way. He smiled, and when he did so she could see the deeply edged laugh lines around his mouth and eyes; or maybe those were scowl lines… she wasn't sure. He was old, older anyways, McCrimmon thought, but there was an energy, a vitality inside of him that made him seem infinitely younger. Then, when he took his glasses off and his eyes came fully into view, the breath in her body stilled. They were green, but an unnatural shade, almost alien. Wow, Rosaline said to herself, and then she observed a deep, jagged scar across the bridge of his nose. In some this might have detracted from one's over all appearance, but in his case, it actually seemed to accentuate his magnetic pull.

"Cat got your tongue? Wicked things cats, they'll take anything given the chance." As the Doctor said this he replaced the bowler on his scalp. Rosaline tried to speak but still could not, she simply gestured to her throat with a slightly agitated expression. "What?" The Doctor said, and then raised his right eyebrow, "Oh that's right, very sorry." He put his index finger to his lips again and said "Un-Shush. Better now?"

"Who ARE you?" Rosie exhaled and spoke simultaneously. "An' what the HELL is going on here?"

"I'm the Doctor." He stated as a matter of fact. "I thought we'd already been over that bit…or did we?" He scratched the stubble on his chin. "It's hard to keep track of before and after sometimes, who are you might I ask?"

"I'm angry and unfoundedly frightened out of my wits is what I am!" Rosaline balled her fists and shouted.

"Angry? That's apparent…Scottish after all, but you're not unfoundedly frightened." The Doctor's face then turned into hard granite as he looked about the lobby. "But," his expression lightened somewhat, "you being new to this obviously, I suppose I should let you know that things generally work this way, I say hullo I'm the Doctor, and you say hullo I'mmmmm…"

"Rosaline McCrimmon." She said, oddly set at ease by the man's candor. "Most call me Rosie."

The Doctor paused and bobbled his head to the left and then to the right. "Seriously?Really?" He finally said.

"Uh yes, really." Rosie responded, as if she wasn't quiet sure if that's who she herself was at the moment.

"Rosaline, Rosie, a variation of Rose." His face beamed as he said this. "And you're a McCrimmon of Alba no less! Ha! Don't tell me you play the pipes too?" His eyes began to dart right to left, up and down, front to back…and then a few directions no human should be able to point their eyes.

"Are you…" Rosaline started to say ok, but what came out was "normal?"

"That would depend on who you ask my girl." He said, "I was just looking about for anything that might happen to read BAD WOLF."

"That a bad thing?" Rosaline asked. "I guess it would be, what with the whole bad part and all."

"Not always actually, but under the circumstances it would be a trifle…inconvenient." The Doctor said, and then looked at the thick, leather banded watch on his left wrist. "I only have about a forty five minute window left to do this. I'm afraid I don't have time for…complications Rosaline. Do you understand?"

"No." Ms. McCrimmon said flatly. "No, not really, not at all."

"Mores the better for you my Scottish Rose." As the Doctor said this he produced a red rose from one of the various pockets of his great coat…that and a diamond the size of Rosaline's fist. "Here take these, I do hope they make up for whatever wages you'll be missing as a result of having to be…expedited from your employer."

"Yes…" Rosaline started, dumbfounded at the size of the stone he placed in her hand, "I...I, think that'll do…uh fine."

"Good." The Doctor said in finality. "Now Rosaline McCrimmon, go." He gestured towards the exit doors. "Don't look back…or do look back I suppose, if you really feel the need. Wouldn't make much difference in the end, you'd probably just forget whatever you saw at any rate."

"Ok, this is me going." Rosaline stated, but she didn't move, she was too busy holding the gem up to the light for further examination. She'd completely forgotten about the rose.

"Rosaline?" The Doctor said, trying to break her interest in the rock, which point of fact held no practical value to him at all.

"Oh right, sorry." She said, and moved towards the door, then stopped. Why exactly am I walking away from an eccentrically handsome man who just so happened to carry around boulder sized diamonds in his jacket again? "Doctor? It is Doctor isn't it?" She asked.

He sighed, "Yes Ms. McCrimmon?"

"Are you going to be alright?" There was genuine concern in her voice, "I don't know exactly what's going on here but…there's something" she paused searching for the right words, "there's something evil in this place, I can feel it."

"You're very astute Rosie." The Doctor said with a smile. "I'll be fine, cross my hearts. I do this kind of thing all the time."

"Do you need me to help you?!" She blurted out, not really understanding why she'd said it.

"No!" He half shouted, and then promptly regained his composure. "I have a debt that's weighed on my soul for some time now dear girl and it concerns only myself and one other. I cannot, I will not, bring anyone else into this. You need to understand; in the next few moments… this place is going to make hell look rather like a theme park. "

Rosaline McCrimmon turned and made pace to leave, somehow she knew it wasn't the right course of action, but this old, mad, and…inherently kind man seemed adamant. I know he's kind, she thought, kind and lonely. As she placed her hand on the door to open it he called back to her. She turned around expectantly.

"Another thing Rosaline, I'm a man who's accustomed to being on the move, and as such I've become adept at spotting a fellow runaway." Rosaline was visibly shocked. How did he know? "Stop running Rosaline." He said, "Take it from me there's only so far you can go before you run out of pavement." With that Rosaline McCrimmon walked out the door, and out of the Doctor's life.

The Doctor exhaled and then put the off tented spectacles back on his face. "I'm a bit behind." He said to himself, and then pushed a tiny button on his wrist watch, "but I still have time, I can make the time!" All around him the Time Lord could fell the chronon particles; the particles that made time…well time, and not cheesecake for example, slow their pace, and finally halt. He made his way to the lift, activating his sonic cane he opened the doors and stepped in, but not before waiving to a momentarily useless security camera. As the doors to the elevator closed, the Doctor smiled and said "Tempus fugit."

Chapter Three

Security!

At age twenty three Benjamin Barker had accrued a well earned reputation for being a purveyor of broken limbs, random violence, and all manner of skullduggery. It's little wonder that his street cred as a bruiser, and sometime enforcer for the various local criminal elements, had attracted the attention of the Silence. Two years prior one Ms. Emily Templar had approached the well dressed young brute with an offer he couldn't refuse.

"With such absolute dedication and precision in violence," she'd then said, "A man like you could go quite far in my organization. Why not put your skills to better use, with a cause more worthy of your particular… talents."

With her sharp mode of dress and silver tongue, and along with the promise of a more extravagant level of pay, she'd easily swayed Barker to her side. He then thought that he'd be her head man, commander and chief of her supposed legions of devoted. Instead he'd found himself placed in the position of a glorified watchdog, spending long hours standing in front of this or that random office or sitting idly behind the desk of some such security station, much like this evening. This wasn't exactly the life Benjamin Barker had envisioned in his thick, shaven headed skull. Where was all the excitement I was promised, he thought to himself? Barker would soon be reminded of the old adage "Be carful what you wish for."

At exactly five minutes past nine Benjamin Barker spied something rather strange in the lobby's security camera. A tall, well dressed man in a grey bowler hat had entered the Leaden Hall Building, unannounced and potentially uninvited. Now this wasn't exactly an out of the norm thing, Barker was used to seeing various odd and end persons enter the facility at different hours of the night, Ms. Templar always seemed to have meetings scheduled at unusual times, but she was always meticulous in informing him of her expected appointments. He watched intently as the gentleman in question strode about the lobby in a very peculiar fashion, touching things, even licking the random pieces of furniture. "Ok" Barker said aloud "looks like I've got a nut job on me hands." Benjamin rose from his chair behind the monitoring station and straightened his brown security uniform, and then as he was reaching for his hat and club he spotted something else abnormal on the screen. "The cane!" Barker said aloud, the top of the man's cane had opened up to revel some kind of hidden device, and he was using it to…well the security chief wasn't quite sure what he was using it for, but Ms. Templar's words rang out from his memory.

"Foreign and unusual technology; you MUST always be on the look out for foreign and seemingly alien technology." She'd seemed adamant on this last part.

Benjamin Barker sat back down in his chair and hurriedly ran the gene scanning program all Silence facilities had been equipped with. Expectantly he waited as the screen bleeped and biped. His palms were sweating, though if it was from excitement or fear or a combination of both he wasn't yet sure. A visual rendition of the female temp's DNA appeared promptly beside her real time image on screen, a double helix. Not unexpected, Barker thought to himself; she would have been automatically scanned during her interview anyways. The stranger's diagnostic took somewhat longer however, "Come on, Come on." Benjamin said impatiently. If he was who Barker thought he was than this was the day, the day the dim witted, ham fisted, low rent guard could finally pit himself against the legendary Doctor he'd heard so much about in hushed tones.

Finally the program completed its work, "Three…a triple helix" Benjamin said with a mild grin on his face. He reached for the telephone to his right and attempted to ring his security staff. When he'd placed the phone to his head a series of high pitched sonic pulses deafened him in his right ear. "Agghhh" he yelped. Then from behind him, not even a foot away he heard a deep but pleasant voice resound.

"Terribly sorry about that my young josser," the Doctor said politely "but I can't have you announcing my arrival prematurely; I've found subtlety to be beneficial in these kinds of scenarios'."

Barker was frozen stiff, he didn't even hear the door open, allowing himself a moment to collect his cool he turned to face the insurgent…it was the man from the lobby. "You?!" Barker said puzzled, then looked back to the monitoring screen, they were still there together, the temp and the stranger. "But how did you…"

The Doctor raised his left wrist and waived it about, "Time Stop Watch, paten pending." He said with a devilish grin. "It creates a null temporal field within a given radius for about 7.7 seconds, give or take that is. Makes it terribly difficult for you're rather, and pardon me for being so blunt, throw back cameras to keep up. What you are seeing on the screen now is me in the very recent past."

Benjamin was fuming at being caught unawares, "You're him aren't you!" he said, "You're the Doctor, I'd heard you were dead!"

The man before him didn't respond, he looked past the security chief to the monitoring station behind him, there were multiple viewing screens linked to a vast array of cameras giving visuals to both internal and external viewpoints of the building. There was also a complex communications system present. "Yes," the Doctor said, though more to himself rather than Barker, "this should do nicely." Benjamin then quickly removed a concealed revolver from beneath the desk behind him, aimed it point blank at the invaders face, and fired, BLAM! What the guard saw then dumbfounded him…though in truth it wasn't such a difficult thing to do. His target had, with uncommon grace and speed removed the bowler from his head and caught his assailants' bullet with…the inside of his hat? "Micro Singularity Bowler Hat, also paten pending. Do you always shoot at your guests? You must not have many friends." He said sarcastically. At this point any other man might have sensibly dropped the piece and asked for clemency, but Barker was as stubborn as he was stupid, he aimed for the Doctor's shoulder and fired, BLAM. Again the bombastic bullet was intercepted by the hat. Barker aimed for his chest BLAM, he aimed for his stomach, and then his right knee, working his way down the frame of the man, BLAM, BLAM. All volleys were devoured by the hungry grey monster.

"Are you quite finished, because I'm running low on time and your running out of bullets." The Doctor asked with an irritated timber in his voice, Barker considered switching to brute force, then promptly reconsidered "I'll grant you this, you are a tenacious one Benjamin Barker" the Time Lord said, "and I really, really, hate that." As he said this, the Doctor flashed a broad toothed smile at Barker that froze the blood in his veins. Suddenly the chief was reminded of all of the childhood stories he'd heard about boogie men under the bed, and demons in the closet. For some reason Benjamin felt the sudden urge to urinate…which he promptly did, on himself.

"What, what do you want?" Barker squeaked, oblivious to the warm puddle of fluid forming at his feet.

"What does any man want?" The Doctor queried, "A tall ship and a star to steer her by." The grey garbed stranger looked up dreamily at the ceiling; the security chief also mimicked the gesture, perhaps half expecting to see either a star or a ship appear in midair at the impossible mans beckoning. "For now however," the Time Lord said "I'll settle for you getting out of my way and getting out of this building."

Barker continued to hold his gun out in front of him, as if it were some sort of charm or talisman meant to ward off the devil, "Ok, ok" he said "I'm just going to have you back up and then I'll move to the door and…"

The Doctor pursed his lips and exhaled strongly, the sound of which was reminiscent of horse's whinny, this was a sure sign he was loosing all patience. "Oh for pity's sake!" He said, "LEAVE NOW OR I'LL FEED YOU TO MY HAT!" The space hermit could barely follow Barkers visage as he hurriedly retreated out the door. "Ninnyhammer." The Doc said offhandedly, he then sat down at the monitoring station, taking care to avoid Barkers bodily excretion, "Now," he said as he interwove his fingers out before him and cracked his joints, "time to get to work." He looked down at his watch for a moment, "No scratch that." He said, and then made a count of three in his mind, "Now it's time to get to work."

Chapter Four

The Meeting

"Five past nine." Emily Templar said. "Mr. Grey is rarely late for a scheduled meeting." As she said this, she tapped her fingers on the crescent shaped ebony desk at which she sat. The middle aged man to her right, one Mr. Patrick Hollingsworth replied.

"I'm sure it's nothing to worry about," he straightened his overpriced silk tie "you know their type; they love to keep us middle men waiting."

Ms. Templar never much liked Hollingsworth, more of a glorified personal assistant than a lawyer, and more a lawyer than she cared for. "In the space of five minutes entire empires have been built Mr. Hollingsworth, or destroyed." Templar said flippantly, if there was one thing she never considered herself to be it was a middle man, and she proved it by berating most of her underlings. "I'd advise you to remember that the next time you have something useless to say with regards to time." She continued.

Patrick bit down the urge to bash the woman over the head with the closest blunt object, apparently he thought as much of her condescension as she did his candor. "Yes mum, quite right." He replied, and then mentally placed her, her perfectly pressed white suit, and her salon bleached hair all under a speeding bus.

Emily could well imagine what he was thinking, point of fact she rather enjoyed the daggers people kept sharp for her in their minds, it kept her savvy, it kept her vigilant. She needed both attributes to play her dangerous games, especially since loyalty bought by the pound was questionable at best; you never knew who would be willing to climb the ladder the…creative way.

Truth be told however, fat, spoiled, and all too privileged men like Hollingsworth were no real threat to Emily Templar. She knew this of course, he had no spine, no real killer instinct, he wasn't like her. Less than three years ago she was Major Emily Templar, of the Unified Intelligence Taskforce; head of their wet works division, she'd seen things that would make men like Patrick shriek like grade school girls. When she was wrongly discharged from her duties due to certain unsavory acts in the line of duty, the Silence approached her and offered prestige and position once again. She accepted without hesitation. Templar looked back to Patrick Hollingsworth who was again fidgeting with his tie, he returned her gaze with a meek smile. She observed a sauce stain on his left lapel; bulbous slob, Emily thought to herself.

The only being in the grand scaled and finely decorated office Emily actually respected, other than herself of course, was the gentleman on her left; Sir Arlington Ashton Alexander Dashwood III. An impressively built man for his advancing years, Dashwood like Templar had also served with U.N.I.T., as well as MI-5 and even Torchwood in it's heyday. Though Dashwood had been discharged from this final post for…varied and unknown reasons, no professional in any of the said institutions ever doubted his skills. If a site needed to be infiltrated Dashwood could do it, if there was information that needed to be found Dashwood could find it, and if mouths needed to be loosened or shut, Dashwood could do that too. All of this, with a touch of style that rivaled an Ian Flemming character as well. Dashing Dashwood, that's what they'd called him, and she could see why, he looked rather fetching in his grey BDU's and black barrette.

"I wouldn't worry about Mr. Grey mum." Dashwood spoke up, "If the gentleman and his entourage have happened upon any trouble, well, we could always send in Hollingsworth here as reinforcements."

Emily Templar glanced up at Dashwood from her seated position, a bemused look painted itself across her face. "And what exactly would you expect Mr. Hollingsworth to do in case of said trouble Captain?"

Arlington looked to Patrick, then giggled in a boyish way that betrayed the silver in his hair and the lines across his face, "Well if nothing else mum, a man of his ah… robust size would make a rather effective human shield, ha, ha."

Ms. Templar said nothing in response; it would have been unprofessional, though inside she was reeling. Hollingsworth simply leered at Dashwood,

"Your very funny." Patrick said sardonically, to which Arlington responded, "Yes I know, its part of what I get my wages for."

A few moments of silence passed, and then Ms. Templar heard the subtle and characteristic hiss in the air that heralded the arrival of her employers. She reached into her desk and produced the familiar eye drive which allowed her to perceive their presence. "Gentlemen", she said to Hollingsworth and Dashwood respectively, "our guests have arrived."

The two men then placed their own eye drives on their faces, and then out of the corner of his left peripheral Dashwood spied three grey figures dressed in sleek black business suits; they were less than three feet from his position. They stood there beside him… and glowered, at least he thought they were glowering, he could never really tell. They always seemed to take an interest in him when he was present for these little meetings, he was never sure if that was good or bad. Either way he didn't like it.

These beings were the force behind the Silence, the orchestrators of hundreds of thousands of years of human advancement, all for the destruction of one man. Determined buggers if nothing else, Arlington Dashwood thought. They unnerved him, what with their great ashen heads and menacingly beady yellow eyes; he found their voices however, to be the most disconcerting part of their anatomy. "Don't you fellows believe in using doors where you're from?" Dashwood said with a refined and courtly British accent.

The creature in the center of the trinity slowly tilted his head to the right and responded, "We did use the door Arlington Ashton Alexander Dashwood, you simply do not remember." Its sickly droning was reminiscent of curdled milk drenched with bubbling battery acid.

"Well you could at least buzz in or something old man, it's only polite." Dash said offhandedly.

The thing in the middle turned its massive head to the right and then the left hissing at his companion monsters. They then turned their attention to Emily Templar and gazed at her intently, she got the message, reign in your surfs.

"That's quite enough Captain Dashwood". She'd said softly, and with that Arlington simply took his gaze from the one called Mister Grey and stared idly at the air before him.

Moving in unison the trio of alien things moved away from Dashwood and took their place in front of Ms. Templar's desk. "Gentleman, to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit." Emily said pleasantly to Mister Grey; at least she thought the one in the middle was Mister Grey, they all looked alike to her, and they all answered to the name Grey just to confuse the issue more.

The Silent half exhaled, half hissed, "The Doctor."

If Templar dared risk it she might have rolled her eyes at this. The Doctor was a point of contention with her, in the past year alone their organization had reached the apex of power, more money than God, and more power than parliament. Even the vaunted Shadow Cabinet, their chief rival seemed to now turn a blind eye to their machinations. The fact that their benefactors seemed so intent on continuing to worry about one lone vagabond, one lone dead vagabond was beyond her.

"Ahem." Ms. Templar cleared her throat. "Forgive me gentlemen, but if I'm not mistaken the Doctor was reported…deceased, as of 2011. Killed in Utah, if I remember correctly."

"Hhhhaaaaaaaa, you do not remember correctly." The Grey thing seemed agitated at having itself challenged, however politely. Its body swayed slightly to the right in a marionette like fashion, the electric lights in the office dramatically dimmed. "You do not remember anything save what we allow you to remember, woman creature. There have been sightings of future regenerations of the Time Lord throughout causality, we have seen this."

"If what you say is true," Templar began, seemingly undaunted by the light show, "then I see no reason to concern ourselves with him at present." She kept her eye, both naked and covered by the cumbersome piece of tech, firmly locked on Mister Grey's. Perhaps she thought they respected strength?

"State your meaning." The Grey thing said. It almost seemed perplexed, or perhaps amused by her statement.

"Consider this gentlemen," She stood up and walked past Dashwood to face her target. "If the Doctor has in fact survived your, forgive me, I mean our most recent attempt to "expel him from the stage" as it were, than he has apparently spent an unknown amount of time and an unknown allotment of regenerations doing…absolutely nothing with regards to us."

The beast's clicked and chirped to one another, and then Mister Grey responded, "Inconsequential, the question must not be asked, the answer never revealed."

Emily began to pick at a random piece of lent on her white jacket and then asked nonchalantly, "Yes right, right, and why is that exactly? I mean you've obviously gone to a great deal of trouble just to stop a man from introducing himself. Do you honestly expect the world to end just because a bloke walks up to you and says, "Hello my name is John" forgive me if I find that a trifle unlikely." The Silent creatures were… well silent; apparently they weren't used to their subordinates launching a volley of such ballistic sarcasm at them.

Mister Grey pointed a long and gangly finger at Templar, and then opened the fleshy hole in his face that passed for a mouth, "You are the Voice of the Silence. Yours is but to speak when told, to act when instructed, and not to question the motives or mission of our holy order."

She cocked an eyebrow and parted her lips with a witty retort already prepped, just then however the office was bombarded with static emanating from the overhead speakers. It stops.

"What was that?" The recently un-muted Hollingsworth asked. A calm and smooth voice issued from the speaker system…

"Hullo." It exclaimed.

Chapter Five

Hullo my name is…

"It isn't John actually, the name to which you were referring; translated rather roughly though it's not that far off the mark." The voice from above stated.

"What is the meaning of thisssssss." Mister Grey asked.

"Meaning, meaning, meaning" the voice responded "does everything with you religiously zealous types have to have a meaning? It does of course, have a meaning that is. But do you always have to know the meaning? That borders on hubris my fellows…and it's been said that the gods punish hubris."

Emily Templar rushed to the com box on her desk and depressed the button, "Barker! Barker!" she exclaimed rather urgently, "Where are you? Who's on the over head?"

The voice laughed hardily, but the tone was distant, cold; as if it were more of a reflex than something genuinely felt. "I'm afraid Mister Barker has taken a rather inconvenient leave of absence." The Doctor said, "If you want to confer with him though, well…I'd estimate he's probably in Essex by now at the speed he was going. As to "Who" is on the over head? I think you've just answered your own question."

Arlington Dashwood, the only man seemingly keeping pace at this point; had deduced the identity of their little hacker the moment he entered into his philosophical rant on "meaning". As both a key operative of Torchwood and UNIT, Dash was well versed in the Time Lords habits of speech and general mode of thought, varied thought they may be. "Doctor," Dashwood said rather happily, "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, might I inquire as to the ah… meaning shall we say, of your visit this evening? Or would that be a trifle hubristic of me?"

The voice above was quite for a few moments, and then it spoke with an equal measure of glee and admiration." Dash, Dash, Dash, you always were a clever old man, and always so keen to impress as I recall." The Doctor said. "Well, colour me impressed by your uncanny powers of deduction sir."

"I always aim to impress my good man, though you'll forgive me but I don't believe I've had the pleasure before tonight." Sir Arlington subtly flicked the switch on a device hidden in his cargo belt. "Now forgive my impertinence, but I don't believe you answered my question. What do you want?" Dashwood said more authoritatively.

"Surely a man as clever as the great Sir Arlington Ashton Alexander Dashwood III, as if that were your real name, can wager a guess on it." The voice retorted.

"I tend to deal in facts, not guess work sirrah, and I never gamble unless I'm sure to win. Rather like yourself if I'm not mistaken." Dashwood was mildly perplexed by the man's knowledge of his identity. How much did he know? He quietly pondered.

"If you ladies are done chattering," Ms. Templar broke into the dialogue, obviously annoyed by the gentlemen's exchange, "maybe you could do me a favor Captain, and, oh I don't know, call a security team to the monitoring station…NOW!"

"He already sent the signal to engage Emily," the Doctor said with disappointment. "That of course is why he was trying to keep me occupied with conversation; didn't think I'd notice? Nice try Arl."

Captain Dashwood kept his wits and his quiet; he was strategizing, plotting. Suddenly the lights in the office went out; Dash quickly produced a torch.

"He wants revenge!" Hollingsworth quickly became frantic, and started wondering if the fastest route out of the place would be the door or the window.

"Don't be stupid you dribbling prat." Templar exclaimed, disgusted by her aides nervous display, "The Doctor doesn't do revenge, read your profiles sometime. Captain get me some power in here!" She barked to Arlington.

Hollingsworth ignored her. "He wants revenge for what we, what YOU did to the Pond girl and her kid, that Song person!"

The Doctor spoke in a low and almost ominous tone, "Don't mention their names mister…what was your name again small round man?" He asked.

"Hollingsworth, sir, Patrick Hollingsworth. I want you to know that I had nothing to do with…"

The Doctor interrupted the lawyers attempt at a plea bargain. "As I was saying Hollingsworth, Patrick Hollingsworth, don't speak their names, you don't have the right. By the way, you seem to have a sauce stain on your jacket there."

"Listen here Oh Great and Powerful Oz, Templar said angrily, "I don't know how you got into this building, and at this point I don't really care; but in exactly three point five minutes I'm going to have four UNIT trained security teams at your location, and then I'll be taking your alien carcass out of here in a body bag!"

"Three point two minutes." The Doctor said frigidly.

"What?" Said Templar, slightly confused.

"I detracted three seconds from your rather grossly simplistic estimation; they won't make it past the lifts." He responded.

"That is not the Doctor." Said Mr. Grey, who had been listening to the body of conversation with some interest. "That is the Valeya…"

"No." said the Time Lord, cutting him off. "Not anymore, still you should all be very frightened right now I'm sure. By the way don't run please, I'm old and easily agitated; if I have to take the time to track you down I might get humm…quite cross."

Chapter Six

Unpleasant surprise

At fifteen minutes past nine pm, the formerly quiet corridors of the Leaden Hall building's seventh floor were now abuzz with the sound of military issue boots. "Four teams of five." Lt. Will Caldwell shouted through his radio, ten heavily armed soldiers of fortune were trailing closely behind him. "Two teams with me, two on the stairs taking separate routes, we'll rendezvous on the 27th floor at the security hub…the Doctors location." As he said this Lt. Caldwell's voice subtly cracked, he regained his composure. "Clarke", he said to the senior most man to his left, "your team will take the lifts with mine." The grunt next to him simply nodded to his commanding officer, and then gestured for his group to take point. "Turner", he called to the team leader stationed on the 35th floor. "Your group will take the stairs down to the 27th ."

Sub Lieutenant Turner slid a clip into his 9mm Browning, "Understood sir." he said, and mobilized his people.

"Green, being on the 20th your people are the closest," Continued Caldwell. "Move in and set up a perimeter; do not engage until the rest of us arrive."

Edward Green depressed the button of his comm. then hesitated before responding, "Sir, with so many men in such a tight space wont we run the risk of tripping each other up?" Wouldn't it be best if my team attempt to subdue the target first and use the other squads as back up in case…"

Caldwell cut Green off promptly, "No, I repeat do not engage, I've seen the Doctor's work first hand during that Slitheen incident nine years back, this could take all of us; and if you do manage to get the target in line of sight, whatever you do don't listen to him if he starts yammering, understood?"

Sub Lieutenant Green did a final check on his equipment and responded, "Copy that sir."

As Caldwell and his people approached Sub Lieutenant Clarke's group by the two internal lifts, a voice on the overhead beamed out.

"I wouldn't do that Will." It said in a kind of morbid sing song.

Clarke looked over to his commanding officer, "Ignore it." Said Caldwell, pressing the button to bring the lift down to him, he then nodded at Clarke to do the same.

"It's your choice Peter, I won't try to stop you," the Doctor continued, "I'm just wondering how much the Silence is paying you, and if it's enough to compensate for what you're about to put yourselves through. This is by the way the traditional final warning. Traditions are…good I think, yes good."

The doors to the respective lifts opened wide for the militia men, beckoning them in a familiar fashion to enter, if a lift could be familiar with anyone that is, or if a lift could beckon anyone in anyway for that matter. Regardless Lieutenants Caldwell, Clark, and company quickly stepped through their respective portals and… failed to notice their own reflections staring back at them when they blindly bolted into the uncertainty that is a Time Lord's playground. Rule number forty seven "Always expect the unexpected where the Doctor's concerned." The others on the stairs would soon learn the same lesson.

Sub Lieutenant Turner's cadre of commandos were making exemplary time down the grey, unadorned, and winding staircase. To the onlooker they must have seemed the very model soldierly efficiency. That is of course until the overeager enforcers failed to notice a series of haphazardly placed marbles tossed about the steps leading to the 27th floor. Like a pack of vaudevillian varlets they each fell hard upon the cold concrete, and still being propelled by the marbles, they slid towards the door marked 27. The door opened, and to his credit good Turner spied something strange before being literally taken out of this world. Is that a mirror? He'd said silently to himself. Then he was gone.

Sub Lieutenant Green, on the other hand, while not being as seasoned as his peers was at least twice as cautious, because it had in effect taken him twice as long to reach his destination as it had Turner's people . He gestured for his entourage to keep their distance as he crept towards the grey door leading to the main hall on twenty seven. Casually, yet attentively he looked up the ascending staircase to his right. There was no sign of Turner or his men to be had, no sound of foot falls to be heard, no change of plans issued over his radio, something was wrong. Where were the others, he thought. He then glanced down at his feet and spied a simple, solitary, red hued marble. The kind children used to play with prior to Xboxes and YouTube and the like.

One of Green's men spoke up behind him. "No show from Turner sir?"

Green ignored the statement and continued to investigate his new find. There was nothing special or suspicious about it, it was just a toy. Then again, he mused to himself, what was a V2 rocket but a toy to a madman. The other four to the rear began to converse amongst themselves.

"Should we try to raise Lt. Caldwell?" A gruff voiced grunt queried.

"I already did." Another answered, "No response."

"Maybe they got taken out by someone…or something else." A toe headed Private named Rusty spoke out. "Reports say that the Doctor doesn't work alone."

"Oh sure, right," gruff grunt number one retorted. "Like Caldwell and his men could be overpowered by what? A redheaded kiss-o-graham in a short skirt? Doubtful." He then hoped he could be the one overpowered by the redheaded kiss-o-graham in the short skirt.

"Well what about the girl who fancied explosives?" Said Rusty, "Duce was her name I think."

"No it's Ace." Another Private responded.

"Then there was that blonde one, wasn't she a werewolf or something!" Rusty was becoming increasingly panicked by the idea of being chomped on by a dog woman.

"That's Bad Wolf not werewolf stupid!" Mr. Gruff exclaimed.

Green pocketed his toy and quickly turned to face his men, "We're leaving. Now!" He said. The others looked confused; their eyes darted back and forth between Lt. Green and the door behind him.

"Excuse me sir," said Mr. Gruff, "but shouldn't we continue on with our assignment? Our mandate stipulates that…"

Green rolled his eye's and interrupted Gruff's droll recitation of thou shalts and thou shalt not's. "Look if you want to go on ahead that's fine, but you're going without me. I dunno what's happened here, but what I DO know is that Caldwell, Turner, and Clarke aren't here and something tells me we shouldn't be either." The troops mumbled their collective objections and agreements. A disembodied voice from on high then chimed in.

"Good on you Tommy Green, I always knew you'd turn out to be a bright one. Like the marble? You loaned it to me once when you were a little boy. I'd lost a good friend then, and I remember you'd said it might bring me luck in finding her, it did in an odd sort of way. I thought it only fair to return it."

Good God it was him, Thomas Green thought to himself. He then looked to a small security camera above him and spoke, "If me and my men leave now without incident, will you assure our safe passage?" The 3.2 seconds of quiet that passed before the Doctor's response were probably the longest in Tommy Greens life.

"Scout's honor." The old man spoke simply. A few minutes passed and the Doctor watched as Green and his men took their leave of the place with some relief. "Ah synchronicity you are a strange and fickle mistress." The Doc said aloud to himself, or maybe to synchronicity whoever she was. "He's a good lad that Tommy" he continued, "I think Clara would have liked him very much."

Chapter Seven

A strange land

"What? Where? What?" Lt. Caldwell said, obviously shaken by his new surroundings. He could hear groaning issuing up from the lush green grass beneath his feet, apparently time travel didn't agree with some of his men.

"What the hell was that?" A solider Caldwell wasn't well acquainted with spoke out as he tried to stand up on rubbery legs; he then changed his mind and promptly fell back down again.

"I'm not…" Caldwell began, but instead of finishing his sentence he allowed his training to take over. Alright, gage your surroundings, he thought. We're in a jungle; no scratch that forest, subtropical by the feel of it too, seems to be mountainous terrain to the left and right of us. He looked up, one satellite, earths moon by all appearances' so I know were not off planet. Sounds in the brush, local wildlife, possibly predators, need to stay sharp. Off in the distance, barely a mile perhaps two, Caldwell spotted a large object. It had the appearance of another mountain, or maybe a mesa, but it wasn't roughhewed enough to be something forged by nature, it looked man made.

"Sir, you need to see this!" A Private named Griffin call out to Caldwell.

If he heard him he paid no heed, Caldwell removed a pair of binoculars from the pack on his hip and looked in the direction of the grand object ahead of him. "It's a bloody pyramid." Said Caldwell almost in awe, "Were in South America…this can't be…this can't be good."

As Caldwell was trying to adjust to the idea of being a continent away from home, Private Griffin grabbed the officer by the shoulder and gestured behind him,

"Lieutenant! You really need to look at this." He insisted.

Caldwell followed Griffin's finger to the location of what appeared to be a large, reflective surface, approximately five paces from where they landed. The thing looked to be a mirror, but with an odd sort of metallic frame around the border.

"Did you see where it came from?" He asked his subordinate.

"It was here when we arrived, I think we, I think we came out of it sir." Griffin responded with an unsure voice.

The Lieutenant approached the thing and examined it. It was about seven or eight feet in height, and had a bright and seemingly polished surface. The frame did seem to be made of metal, and had embedded in its surface a number of circuit boards and blinking lights. "This isn't a mirror." Spat Caldwell, he circled around to the rear of the strange object and found a number of wires and cables attached to a hefty power pack.

A now familiar voice spoke to the cadre "It's called a Looking Glass. Cheap and dodgy time travel, but effective none the less."

Caldwell could hear the sound of his men prepping weapons and he hurried to their position. They all had pistols and P90 submachine guns pointed at the object, ready to open fire at the mildest sign of hostility. When Caldwell looked into the mirror's surface, rather than seeing his own reflection, he spied the visage of stately looking man in grey and black, his expression was cold and focused. He stared at the troop with reserved interest, rather how a scientist might observe a cluster of bacteria or some strange new animal he'd discovered.

"Doctor!" Lt. Caldwell said accusingly. "What have you done?"

"That is a question you should be asking yourself Will." The Doctor said as he twirled his cane. "It is, after all, your own decisions and course of action that lead you to this predicament; but long story short I've sent you and your fellows on a merry little jaunt of your own."

"What do you mean?" Caldwell said slowly with a murderous look on his face.

"Isn't it obvious…I mean seriously how thick are you?" The Doctor put aside his cane and glanced at his watch. "You were in my way and I took you and your knights off of the board. Simple chess, beat that one Alexei Shirov."

"An' just how long do plan to keep us here hmmm? You can't just leave us here on a foreign continent in a foreign time to die!" Caldwell looked to his men who were just now becoming aware enough to be alarmed. The Doctor gazed at the Lieutenant; he seemed unmoved by his plea.

The rustling in the trees behind the troop became louder; eventually Griffin could make out a string of odd words issuing from blood thirsty mouths.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow and lightly smiled. "Ah", he said, "It seems our guests of honor have arrived."

A small group of warriors draped in jaguar skins and carrying obsidian edged clubs emerged from the brush; they had a rather sour expression on their faces.

"Lt. Caldwell, behind us!" Griffin yelled as he raised his weapon.

The Doctor continued, "Gentleman I'd like to introduce you to the Aztec army of Tenochtitlan, or what's left of it that is, they've recently had a run in with a rather odious man named Cortez, so their not too keen on the pail faces at the moment."

Caldwell's men backed up towards their commanding officer.

"What ever you do," said the Doctor, "I highly advise against…" but it was too late, a nervous Corporal fired off a wild shot wounding one of the natives. One of the Aztec's let out a loud war cry and charged the foreigners. "Lt. Caldwell now would be a good time for you to exercise your cardio I think." Said the Time Lord, Will Caldwell and company quickly beat feet into the adjacent forest, closely followed by the enraged Aztecs.

"Doctor! Doctor!" Caldwell shouted again and again whilst running through the trees. He heard no response from the Reclusive Physician.

Chapter Eight

I Forgot Something

The Doctor sat comfortably at the monitoring station in the Leaden Hall Building. Propping his feet up on the desk before him he removed the ace of spades from his bowler and spun it up and down between the fingers of his left hand. Glancing over the three screens in front of him, the "Last" of the Time Lords began to admire his own handy work. On the central computer monitor he spied the familiar image of Caldwell and his fellows dashing through a forest primeval. "Heh, heh." He laughed a bit under his breath. On the screen to his right there was a visual of Lt. Clark and his men trapped on the planet Skarro at the height of its power. He watched as the soldiers clumsily, yet with surprising nimbleness of limb dodge and avoid a barrage of Dalek death beams. "Bwahahaha." He let out with greater enthusiasm, then regained his composure. Then on the screen to his left was Turner and his people, who at the moment were all rather engaged with a madcap clown called Bobo the Great on the Nightmare World of Talakensoth. When Bobo began to transform the militant mongrels into balloons…and then subsequently reshape them into a charming host of animalia, the Old Man could no longer contain himself. "Tssshahahaha. PtttfhahahahahHAHAHAHAHA...um, ahem. Steady on Doctor." He admonished himself as he straightened his tie. He then rose and replaced the playing card in the band of his hat, grabbing his cane, he activated its sonic function directing the pulse at the computer array. There was a mild groaning noise as the system powered down, followed by a few arrant sparks that shot out from now impotent modems. "There." He said with a satisfied tone. "That should do nicely, now all we have to…" The Hermit paused midsentence, a confused look crossed his face. He glanced about and began fidgeting with the hem of his coat. "Wait a moment, I'm forgetting something, what was it?" He said, then something odd began to occur. Though the upper portion of the man stood as solid and as motionless as an oak, his legs and feet started to flail about wildly in a sort of haphazard jig or river dance. After a few moments of this odd display the Doctor shouted, "Aha, yes I still have to…" There was sharp pain in the back of his neck. "Ouch?" He said, then moved his hand back to investigate the source of the agitation. When he brought his limb back into line of sight he saw a small, well crafted, dart of unusual design resting in his palm. His vision began to blur and his knees buckled. "Flibbertigibbet!" He cursed at himself as he tried in vein to stabilize his frame against the computer desk. Just before passing into unconsciousness, the Doctor turned to see the now hazy image of Arlington Dashwood, standing in the doorway with a tranquilizer pistol in hand. "Yes of course," he said, "you." Thud, the Mad Doctor hit the cold, unsympathetic floor.

"Sweet dreams Doctor." Dashwood said as he replaced his side arm. "I don't envy you what happens next." Fade to black.

Chapter Nine

Captured

While in the deep, uninvited grip of Hypnos the Doctor did dream. He dreamt of the Crimson Fire Fields of Ouroborias on Gallifrey; in his mind he saw himself a child playing amongst the tall red reeds by the Cadonflood River. Was I ever that young? He thought to himself. As his field of vision expanded, he saw the Time Lord who would one day be called the Master hanging from the limb of a silver barked tree.

"Thete, Thete!" He cried out in excitement. "Come quick, I found a nest of Kucokorettes!"

The eggs of the mercurial birds were considered a delicacy amongst the Gallifreian gentry. As the Doctor began to approach his childhood playmate he heard a familiar voice in the distance behind him. As he turned he caught the image of Lungbarrow, the great house of his family, woven into the side of a majestic range of mountains. The voice echoed again, it was a warm, safe, and inviting. It sang to him.

"Little Lord so far from home, come into the halls of Lungbarrow…

Little Lord at peace or at play, come away, come away into the halls of

Lungbarrow. Little Lord who toys with stars, in eons near or minutes far,

Come away; come away into the halls of Lungbarrow."

Then he saw her, her hair was a thick and lustrous white that hung low at her waist in a large braid. Her arms, draped in orange and red satin, were held out before her in a loving gesture, her face was indelibly kind. "Mother", the Doctor uttered as he ran towards her and embraced her visage. The scent she carried about her never changed in all the years he'd known her; it was like a mixture of the rich sweetbreads consumed by the children of Gallifrey during the festival of Otherside, that and some exotic, heavy bodied incense. She pressed her forehead to his and began to stroke his face. I had forgotten, the Doctor thought, I'd forgotten how truly…kind she was then. She then began to stroke his face more vigorously. It was rather harsh actually. No this really hurt. Why is my mother slapping me? The Doctor thought. Then as the back of his mother's hand edged its way across his cheek again, he came to. The features of Emily Templar then came into focus, "Oh," the Doctor said with a sigh, "Hullo Emily."

"Finally." Templar said exasperated. "Anymore of that and I might have broken my hand." She produced a white linen handkerchief from inside her coat and began to rub at a dark red icor on her palm.

The Doctor tasted blood, a single crimson dot trickled out of the corner of his mouth, he tried to move his hand to wipe it away, but both of them were held firmly behind his back by some sort of contraption. His lower appendages seemed to be in the same predicament. Tied to a chair, how very novel, he thought. Of course it wasn't novel at all, at one time he couldn't seem to get through a week without being tied up to something.

"Well", the Doctor replied to her previous statement, "I would so hate to have inconvenienced you, still you do have another good hand you could use for bowling, or beating orphans, or whatever it is you like to do in your spare time. Nice touch by the way, the tungsten steel shackles, very chic."

Emily Templar smiled her best bank teller smile "Only the finest for our most esteemed guest." She said, and dabbed the white cloth on the Doctors wound absorbing the blood. "We do hope you'll enjoy our hospitality for quite some time, at least until your of no further use."

He quickly surveyed his predicament; he was in a large and gaudily decorated office, filled with every sort of opulence. There were two levels to the place, a downstairs meeting area, in which they currently resided, and an upstairs of sorts connected by two stairwells; one to the right of his field of vision, and one to his left. At the apex of the ebony steps he could make out two grand doors on either side. One more than likely lead to her private rooms. But the other? A personal armory perhaps? The Doctor pondered gazing at the heavy looking portal. Then he spied five additional soldiers he hadn't accounted for prior. No, it's a secondary communications bunker. Apparently Emily felt she needed extra support, she was right; could be more on the way though, hummm. As Ms. Templar handed her soiled hanky to a large bodied gentleman, which the Doctor recalled as being Hollingsworth, Patrick Hollingsworth, he also noted the triumvirate of Silence things he had chided earlier, along with two of the Order of Headless Monks, Sir Arlington Dashwood, and a Partridge in a pear tree. No, really she had a Partridge in a pear tree. "Cruel and tasteless." He said under his breath.

"What was that?" Ms. Templar exclaimed.

"Oh nothing, I was just remarking on how glad I was you were able to restore power to this level, not that I don't mind conversation by candle light mind you but ah...oh you wouldn't happen to have the time would you? I seem to have misplaced my watch." The Doctor tilted his head to the side, there was a puckish look to his mug.

"The time?" She queried, and then looked back towards her grey employers; they said nothing. "Are you waiting on someone Doctor? Well you'll be waiting awhile I'm afraid." She said, then grasped the Doctors face in her talon like hand and squeezed. "Not to worry… sweetie," there was a mocking tone to her voice,"I've made certain we're not going to be disturbed. My good Dashwood here has ensured all communications either too or from this instillation are now on black. No one will be coming to save you. I have you all to myself." She then gave the Gallant Gallifreian another stern smack for good measure.

The Doctor pursed his lips and whinnied, "Madam would you please refrain from flirting with me, it's inappropriate." He said in all earnestness.

"Flirting! Flirting! Are you mad?" Templar said angrily.

"Yes flirting, its blatantly obvious." He said in monotone. "Now if you would please indulge me and give me the time, I assure you all my dastardly little secrets, or what have you, will soon be yours."

Emily was slightly taken aback despite the cool exterior she projected; she knew he was up to something, regardless… "Its nine forty-five."

"Spot on." The Doctor said with a grin. "Now we can get down to business."

Chapter Ten

Adam

Date: December 14th, 2014

Time: 21:45 hundred hours

Location: Cardiff Bay, Whales

In Cardiff winter evenings were typically marked by two constants, these being the cold and the wet. This night, though being blissfully free of frigid precipitation was racked by winds coming in off of the bay; this caused a sort of chilly dampness in the air that seemed to seep into the pores of every surface it touched. Including one surface named Adam Lord, and Adam hated the cold and hated the wet even more. "Kabe née ka tazalak!" The twenty something looking man swore in an alien tongue; all the while trying to keep the hood of his jacket from being ripped off of his head by the gale. Go to Mermaid Quay for a drink before work, Adam thought skulking, sure, of course, why not...and freeze my rump off. Of course by this time he'd grown accustomed to the weather in Wales, it was really only a minor inconvenience. After all, in the past he'd travelled to worlds where all matter was composed of living ice and on other worlds still where vulcanized ash would have killed a normal person. He was used to extreme environments; the body of his life at times could be considered an extreme environment in and of itself.

What Adam really had a problem with were the people. Tonight everyone seemed to have the same idea he did, a quick pint and a hot meal to stave off the cold. Sound logic, Adam thought, but why do there have to be so dammed many of them! As Adam moved through the sea of humanity on the boardwalk he tried very carefully to not allow any stitch of his bare skin, no matter how minuet, to touch any of the other pedestrians. This would prove somewhat difficult however. Adam's right hand brushed up against a thin, gangly looking woman's; she's dying of cancer, could I help her, he pondered, should I? Before he could even finish his train of thought his left hand scrapped a stout old Welshman's. His daughter was killed two days ago, no parent should have to bury their child, if Adam could have wept with him he just might have.

Tactile data retrieval you see, or psychometry to the layman, might be a pretty nifty trick at parties but in public it was a bit of a nuisance. With minimal concentration Adam had learned early on how to manage this "gift", even use it to his advantage in a number of instances. However after the battle royal he'd endured last week with that "evil" Adam from an alternate universe, all of the psychic shenanigans had left him highly sensitized; his control was lacking. There were very few people Lord would allow to touch him, and none of them were currently about. He needed to get out of here. He needed to get to work. He needed to leave before…something happened.

A moment before he'd resolved to put his hands in his pockets he'd accidently ran into a rough looking fellow with a heavy scent of scotch about him,

"Oi watch where you're going!" He said to Adam.

The ginger haired psychic began to mutter an apology then stopped. He saw her, a brunette girl with a sweet and pleading face covered in blood at his feet. He beat his wife tonight, and he was going home now, probably to finish where he'd left off. Adam grabbed the mans right arm.

"What's your problem mate?" The drunkard said almost comically, at 5'5 he doubted the redhead posed much of a threat.

"You are, you're my problem!" Adam replied with gritted teeth and then planted his right fist firmly into the other mans face. The wife beater was laid out on his back for the entire world to see. There was sanguineous kind of snot leaking from his nose; that's a pretty picture Adam Lord thought. He was strong you see, abnormally strong for a man of his build, and he used that strength at times with little discretion. Adam leaned over his half dazed opponent and shook his fist in his face, "Try that with me!" he said, with a marked Brooklyn accent, "Why don't you just try to do what you did to her on me!"

The coward then produced a knife from his pocket and still in his prone position flourished it at Adam, "You bastard!" he shouted as he swung at his attacker. Adam quickly stepped back avoiding a cut to the face, his foe tired as quickly as possible in his inebriated state to scramble to his feet.

How slow these people are, Lord thought. In another time and with fewer onlookers he could have probably tied the man into a pretzel or something. "Are you crazy? Look at where you are you idiot, cut it out. Get it, cut it out. It's funny!" Adam touted with a laugh as he moved past another ill aimed slash, but the bully was filled with anger and drink and would have none of it. Why do you always have to cause a scene Adam? He could hear the Captain's voice ring in his head as he parried an attempted stab. Adam looked about himself, too many people around, he thought, quarters too tight, can't have any civvies getting cut. "Fine!" He shouted at the boozer, and then grabbed his attacker's knife wielding hand and shoved it into his own smaller frame. The blade of the knife snapped and fell at their feet. Torchwood Ballistics' Jacket, Kevlar with a Dalekanium weave, very handy.

The crude and grizzly man looked at the blade of his broken knife for a moment, then at Adam's chest, in his alcohol infused haze he could barely make out the white "digi T" symbol marked on the breast of Lord's coat. "Oh…bloody Torchwood." He said with a grunt.

A local, great, too bad he couldn't have noticed the coat earlier, Adam Lord thought to himself. Being a part of one of the UK's most secretive and well known alien investigating organizations had its pitfalls, but even more advantages, like now.

Mister Torchwood had spied two policemen making a B line to their location, before giving them the chance to speak Adam produced his ID badge and flashed it at them, "Operative Lord of her Majesty's Special Investigations…something, something, etcetera." He said quickly changing his accent into something akin to a brogue. The two Welsh officers scanned Adams credentials with their eyes. "You don't have to…," he told them but it was too late, they both brought there hands to their foreheads in a crisp salute.

"Ok, whatever." Adam said as he rolled his eyes.

"What seems to be the trouble here sir?" Asked one of the officers, apparently named Smith, or so his badge stated.

"This man assaulted me for no good reason." Adam said briskly and nodded his head at the bloody nosed baboon.

"No I did not! He hit me first!" He retorted.

"Uh umm, no I didn't?" Said Adam unsure of himself, lying was never his strong suit and he really didn't like doing it anyways.

"Yes you DID!" The bully said.

"No, no I didn't." Said Adam, with only a touch more conviction.

"Yes, yes you did everyone here saw it!" Shouted the man as officer number two produced a pair of handcuffs.

"I think I got some retcon here somewhere…" Adam started to rummage through his pockets and count the number of heads around him.

"What's that sir?" Smith asked.

"Err ah nothing." He gave up on finding the retcon. "Long story short this bloke pulled a knife on me. He's violent, stinking drunk, and if you check his back ground I'm sure you'll find more than a few infractions or crimes or whatever you people call them. I suggest you lock him up and let him sleep it off. I really, really suggest you do that." Adam tried his best Doctor voice.

"Yes sir, very good, right." Said Officer Smith, he then nodded to his compatriot who proceeded to cuff and hall off the arrestee, with more than a bit of protest on his part.

"Will that be all then sir?" Smith asked.

"Yes, uh sure, that'll do fine." Adam liked having authority, authority is cool, he thought. "No wait; there is something else you can do." He reconsidered.

"What's that Mister Lord?" Smith turned back to Adam.

"He's got a wife. Could you send someone by their flat to check on her…please?" That came out a bit meeker than he intended. He wasn't used to asking for favors.

"Course sir," said Smith congenially, "by the way are you…uh, that is…"

"Am I…what?" Adam arched his brow.

"Are you hiring?" Smith lowered his voice.

"Hiring? I don't understand?" Said Lord.

"You know sir, for Torchwood."

"Torch what?"

"Torchwood, under Roald Dahl Plass."

"You feeling well copper?" Adam placed his palm on Smith's forehead in a mock attempt to take his temperature. He scanned him a bit, a good man Adam thought, and another Smith couldn't be so bad.

"Oh I get." Said Smith. "Secrets, right?"

"Yeah, I hate secrets." Adam had then switched to his natural accent; he handed Officer Smith a card. "Here, call this number and ask for the Captain, drop my name and he'll sort you."

"Thanks." Smith smiled, and then raised his hand.

"No, no, don't salute; I'm not a soli…." He paused, and looked away for a moment. "I'm not a solider." Adam continued, then put his hood back over his head, and walked off.

Chapter Eleven

Chains

Adam made his way on foot towards the invisible lift that lead to the more recently reconstructed and refurbished Torchwood Cardiff, as he did so his mind wandered in myriad different directions. I hope those two policemen have sense enough not to mention theT word in any of their reports tonight, he thought. If they did two things were certain to happen. One, someone would be dropping by the Cardiff Bay police station and adding something other than creamer to their coffee, and two, he'd be reprimanded again. Maybe if he had the time later he'd hack their system and delete any relevant entries. Adam never really comprehended the need for all of the hush, hush, surrounding the Institute. Most of the residents of Cardiff were well aware, if not at least highly suspicious of what went on under Roald Dahl Plass; shouldn't the people of this planet have the right to know how horribly and terribly imperiled they always are? Why not just tell them, he mused to himself. Yes, aliens exist, zombies are real, well sort of, and the thing that kept stealing food out of your icebox at night probably wasn't your spouse. Icebox, is that word dated? Do people call them that anymore? Lord wasn't really sure. At any rate, keeping quiet about such issues was tantamount to lying in his mind and…Adam's rule #1: I never lie.

As he walked on Adam spotted a streak of light rocket through the northernmost sky. He stopped for a moment and depressed a button on his wristwatch; Menoptera, the word etched itself in blue light across the time piece's face. "They've started to intrude on our air space again." He sighed, he knew he'd have to file a report as soon as he punched in; he hated reports on "Alien sightings". If he had to fill out a paper every time he saw a so-called alien he'd have to keep a pen and pad with him every instant he looked in a mirror to brush his teeth! That was another thing, what was with the whole "Alien" bit anyways? Weren't we all citizens of the universe after all? Besides being an alien meant being something foreign, something other, and Adam had always considered himself a denizen of the Earth, if not at all human…dodged the bullet on that one. But perhaps he was still sore about the species classification listed in his Torchwood file; it had originally stated Alien in bold print. He recalled the conversation he'd had with Harkness that day.

"You're a little sensitive about this aren't you?" The Captain said, whilst pawing at some time displaced artifact on his desk.

"No I'm not sensitive!" Lord stated as a matter of fact, albeit in a slightly sensitive manner. "Look I was born on this planet…or at least engineered on it, I'm not an alien."

"Listen Adam," Jack responded while shaking his new toy, "you tend to read people by touch, we don't have any kind of standardized test to measure your IQ potential, and sometimes you turn invisible. What would you call yourself?"

"I don't turn invisible!" He corrected his commanding officer, "I de-luminate."

"This light shouldn't be flashing like this," Harkness tended to get engrossed with new finds. "I think it's a kind of Laserson probe, haven't seen a design like it though."

"Oh for the love of…it's a ruddy can opener!" Adam grabbed the thing from his hands and threw it on the floor.

Jack didn't say anything, he just gave Adam the look, it's the same look anyone over one hundred years old could give a volatile youth. It's a look that makes one fill incalculably small. The Doctor was a master of the look. Adam said nothing after that, he simply turned and walked out. Later he changed the file himself to read "Terrestrial Variant", though in truth it was pretty much the same thing as alien.

As Adam Lord was about to place his foot on the concrete slab that lead to the Torchwood Hub, he was suddenly stricken with a sharp pain in his head. As if someone had shoved a white hot spike in his brains and stirred things up a bit. "Ow, Pythia's Chain?" he cried out, it was the Doctor, but which one? In his mind he was transported over a great distance, he spotted Hyde Park, the Westminster Bridge, and then the gherkin shaped building in St. Mary Axe. He was in London obviously, and then he saw him, tied to a chair… of course, in some weird looking skyscraper. Adam remembered it was called the "Cheesegrater" or something. "Need to see your face." He said aloud, and he did. It was the Doctor, the Doctor Doctor, his Doctor, he thought. "Not possible," he said, "it can't be you." Then he heard the haughty and familiar voice in his mind,

"Come along Solider, carpe deum, and do try to make an entrance."

No, Adam thought, no more ghosts. He looked back to the invisible lift, then looked in the direction of London. "Kabe nee' ka tazalak! I'm gonna need my bike."

Chapter Twelve

Meanwhile

"The TARDIS, or Time And Relative Dimension In Space capsule…so I suppose it should be TARDISC really, no that sounds rubbish, is a TT Type 40 Mark 1, multidimensional/trans-temporal being composed of organic, technological, and quantum components. When functioning at optimal levels, or not, a TARDIS is capable of transporting any given number of organic or inorganic objects through time and space via a specialized wormhole generally referred to as the Time Vortex…which is very shinny." The Doctor said all of this with the mirth and enthusiasm of cold porridge.

Emily Templar sitting at her desk opposite the Doctor, put her hand on the side of her head, and sighed, "All I asked was where the blasted thing was." She had been at this for the better part of twenty minutes and all she'd gotten was a lot of technical jargon, well that and a dissertation on the unreliability of the Time Lord public transit system.

"He did answer the question." Mister Grey hissed behind her, the Silence trio was uncannily quite regarding their prisoner; they seemed almost hesitant to interact with him directly…as if they feared this Doctor more than his eleventh version.

"Quite right mum," Arlington Dashwood echoed in the background, "multidimensional/trans-temporal, in effect he's stated that the TARDIS is…well everywhere."

The Doctor seemed pleased at this, of course he expected the Silence to catch on to his legerdemain lingo, but was curious to see if this younger Dashwood was as quick on the take. "You got it right on the nose Dash, as usual." Said the Doc.

Sir Arlington had ignored the complement and continued to survey the array of gadgets they'd pilfered off of the alien; he'd carefully placed each one on the examination table as far from the invaders reach as possible. He noted the bowler hat that seemed to absorb anything placed inside it, including one of the Headless Monks; there were three present initially. A wristwatch that Dashwood suspected was more than just a timepiece, though he couldn't figure the more subtle aspects of its working. The Doctor's coat whose pockets were markedly bigger on the inside, and the atypical sonic cane. It was elegant, sleek, a gentleman's accessory to be sure, Dashwood thought appreciatively. Then he twisted the uppermost portion of the shaft and drew a concealed sword.

"Good eye," said the Doctor, "careful though, she bites."

The blade was a sort of Damascus steel, when he held it to the light Dash could make out tiny pinpricks of luminescence, "Beautiful." He said, and then did a mock parry followed by quick thrust.

"It has a layer of diamond shavings folded into the metal to make it more durable," the Doctor spoke, "I learned the secret from a Persian blacksmith around the 17th century, cost me my best pair of Loake's too; but I think it was a sound investment."

"The Doctor." one of the Silence things spat mockingly, "The pacifist who never carries a weapon. That is the ultimate symbol of your hypocrisy," he pointed to the blade, "and the very reasoning for our existence. The Doctor, his works, and the sum total of his legacy are a threat to the entire known universe." The sound of its voice could only be equated with pure malice and disdain. "However," it paused for a moment, "you are not truly the Doctor, are you?"

The Time Lord scowled, "I am as much the Doctor as the Doctor is apt to be!" For the first time since entering the scene he seemed agitated, even angry. "As for that," he nodded to the sword, "it's a tool, not a weapon you ninny!" He quickly composed himself and regained his regal demeanor. "If I am a threat to anything, anything at all…it is you and those like you, you pompous, self-righteous, cruel natured parasites. You tread on the collective backs of humanity while at the same time turning up your noises at them, or whatever those things on your faces are. And your all so terribly scary aren't you, with all of your armies and now you see me now you don'ts, and your Headless Hooligans. Trust me you don't know what scary is. The sad part of it all is that you have the knowledge and technology to raise mankind up if you so chose, and there by elevating yourselves as well, but you just go on plotting and screaming my, my downfall, Ha! How simple, how very small, when you could all be so much more. But perhaps I'm giving you too much credit; perhaps you simply seemed greater in the memories of my youth. That's all you are to me you see, a memory, and a foggy one at that." The Doctor sighed, he suddenly seemed exhausted, tired. "Cup of tea anyone?" He said halfheartedly.

"Now there's the Doctor I've heard so much about." Emily Templar rose from her chair and approached him. "The traveler, filled with words…and weariness." She put her hand to his face, she was half tempted to slap him again, but something in his eyes stopped her. "How old are you now?" She asked simply. "What number in the line of Doctors do you represent?"

He smiled at her; it was neither cunning nor snide, just a smile. "I've lived long enough to see three Rome's rise and fall Emily, that and a few of other smaller kingdoms as well. As for numbers, if such things are important to you, I guess you could say I'm the Fourteenth Doctor, or Fifteenth…though truth be told Sixteenth could equally apply, but I like Fourteen, it's a good number."

"I've never heard of you before." She said, her interest was peaked. "If we, that is the Silence, is only a distant memory of your past as you say, what do you want with us? Why are you even here?"

"Emily Templar," the Doctor stated, "the late Madam Kovarian's protégé, the Voice of the Silence…bit of an oxymoron, don't you think? Voice of the Silence." He winked at her, she allowed herself a smirk. "That is the million pound question, the only question worth asking for the time being. What I'm here for is the man that captured me, my old friend and companion…Sir Arlington Ashton Alexander Dashwood III.

Chapter Thirteen

The Confession of Dashwood

"As I've said," Dashwood stated as he replaced the cane on the table, "I've never encountered you before today sir."

"True, true Jimmy," the Doctor responded with a cocked eyebrow, "but I'm a time traveler don't forget. I can remember tomorrow as easily as yesterday…well most of the time at any rate."

"What did you call me?" He said.

"Jimmy, that is your real name after all. James Hickman of Oxfordshire, correct?"

"It most certainly is not!" Dashwood stated almost defensively.

"Come now old man, has it been so long you've forgotten yourself…I can relate."

"What is he talking about Captain?" Ms. Templar inquired.

"It's nothing, he's mad." Dashwood shook his finger at the Time Lord, "We should just get rid of him now and be done with it."

"That is not a possssability at thisss juncture." Mister Grey jeered.

"Why bloody not?" Dash cried confounded.

"Don't swear! It's bad manners." The Doctor spoke up.

"You seem scared "Sir Arlington", what's wrong?" Like piranha that smelled blood, Patrick Hollingsworth became emboldened by Dashwood's obvious unease. He despised the man and now saw a potential opportunity to strike at him. "You have a few skeletons in you closet you don't want us to see?"

"This is none of your concern Hollingsworth." Templar spoke, but she herself seemed intrigued by the Doctor's insinuations'.

"I disagree," said Patrick, "I'd like to hear all about Jimmy here." His tone was chiding.

"Now listen here you greasy pimple…" Dash moved towards Hollingsworth, but was cut short by the Doctor's words.

"I see a Traveler child named James Hickman of Oxfordshire, whose father was old enough to still remember what is was like to live in a gypsy vardo, rather than a tin shack. James here was one of the first of his tribe to actually go to a proper school, at which he excelled; but children can be cruel can they not? What was it they used to call you, Jimmy the Gypo? Crass, and not terribly creative that. It must have been painful for you James, to have always been told you were second class, second best, it's no wonder you turned out the way you did."

"Yes." Dashwood said after a moment, "Yes, as I recall it was...painful, enraging."

"A gypsy? Ha!" Patrick exclaimed. "Oh that is rich and a far, far cry from a knight."

"I am knight you porous blowfish!" He fired back. "Made so by Queen Elizabeth herself, for outstanding service to my country!"

"Yes." Said the Doctor, "That was however before all of the incidents came to light."

"Incidents? Oh I really want to hear this bit." Said Patrick excitedly.

"No you really don't." The Doctor remarked, if there was one thing he couldn't stand it was a conversation masher.

"But you just…" Hollingsworth started.

"Shut up!" He was quieted by the triune voices of the Doctor, Templar, and Dashwood.

For a time they all just glared at one another. Dashwood seemed to have been stripped of his confidence; old wounds were reopened and laid bare for all to see. Hollingsworth lost all of his bluster, and Emily Templar was left with a vague and questioning expression on her face. The Doctor and the Silence creatures simply bided their time.

"Why are you so interested in…" Emily finally began but then trailed off, she wasn't sure of what to call her most trusted associate anymore.

"Sir Arlington?" The Doctor smiled. "That's who he really is Emily make no mistake about it, the names we take for ourselves are sometimes truer than the ones we're given. Personally I think he could have picked a better model than Francis Dashwood, but he's always liked the idea of playing the rouge, the womanizer, the brigand. Right Arl?"

"Yes," James Hickman spoke mildly, "Yes I did, and I excelled at it too." His mind drifted off, reliving all of his past exploits, adventures…and sins. "I'm an old man now, almost used up. Why are you doing this to me? Why are you trying to take away the only thing I've left to me…my pride, my name?"

It was Mister Grey not the Doctor who answered. "In seven years, four months, and three hours time, he will come to you, this man, and offer you a place at his table. With him you will topple interstellar governments, set puppet kings high on tin thrones, and even bend universal criminality to your wills. You will create unspeakable havoc."

Chapter Fourteen

The Valeyard Unveiled

"You mean he'll travel with the Doctor?" Asked Templar

"He is not the Doctor." Mister Grey responded. "He is the Valeyard."

"There is no difference between the Doctor and the Valeyard.," said the Time Lord pointedly, "The Doctor is just the Valeyard on a bad day…a bad day that lasted for a few hundred years."

As the Doctor, the Silence, and Templar continued to trade verbatim, Arlington Dashwood stood confused and bewildered, in an instant the life he knew, the identity he'd tried so hard to craft, had been wiped away like chalk off of a blackboard. The past thirty years of his existence had never truly been his really, and the future… well it already seemed to be written for him. He was no longer the author and editor of his own story, he was completely powerless it seemed. Yet still, Mister Grey's statements had interested him, Dash had always had a naturally keen and inquisitive mind.

"What does it mean?" All other conversation stopped at this, "What does it mean this Valeyard thing?" James asked.

The Doctor looked to Dashwood, "I've not always called myself the Doctor. There have been other names, other titles I've taken for myself, the Trickster, the Emperor, etcetera and so on. The Valeyard is just one of many, but if it's a definition you want, well, in my language it translates as The Accuser."

"The devil you say." Arlington said with a smirk, he appreciated the reference.

"You understand the symbolism." The Doctor said with a nod, "Good, then you understand the type of personage you've been dealing with."

"And all of the things Mister Grey claimed, the toppling governments, the criminal stuff?"

"All true," said the Doctor blankly, "though he'd colour details to suit his own agendas I am sure."

Mister Grey rallied at this "SSSSHHHAAA It is you who changes facts to fictions not we-"

"Sush!" The Doctor exclaimed, and Mister Grey did so. "That trick never gets old." He said in an amused fashion. "Listen long story short Dash, I did, that is we did terrible things for terrible reasons; which I then believed, in my somewhat confused and bitter state, were noble. We did take worlds…sometimes in less that ten minuites flat. We did subjugate crime cartels. We did bring sorrow to others, all in the pursuit of pure and complete control over all of known reality; it seemed like a good idea at the time. I guess I just thought I knew better than the universe, though in retrospect it all seems a bit childish really."

"You don't sound overtly pensive about it." Dashwood stated.

The Doctor shrugged his shoulders, at least as much as he could in his restricted state. "I can't deny who I've been in the past. To do so would run the risk of me repeating my errors. Besides I've found that if one is to be a complete and whole being, one must be honest about, and embrace all of the hues of ones character, light and dark, good and…what some call evil."

"So you can simply, what? Sweep all of that under the preverbal rug of your conscious!" Templar said.

"No, not at all Emily." He responded calmly. "I do try to make amends where I can, but all of that is moot, nothing can make up for what I've done. All I can do is try to find and explore the better parts of myself, and perhaps help others do the same along the way. Besides you're just, well…nasty. I don't think you have the right to point the finger at me or anyone for that matter…pointing is rude after all."

He was right of course, Emily thought. She knew she had no right to pass judgment on this man. Years ago when she'd served with UNIT a meteor strike occurred in the north of Brittan, close to Tyne and Wear. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing unusual about it, or so it seemed; but the rock that touched down that day wasn't alone, it carried passengers. A hive of sentient microorganisms living in the core of the meteor had infected the local populace, causing rampant biological mutations in the citizens of a local village; it was aggressive and highly contagious. Emily, being in charge of the initial team sent to survey the scene, did the only thing she knew to do, the only thing she'd been trained to do, the humane course of action. She had the entire village sterilized.

After the debriefing her superiors had suggested that she could have taken a "less aggressive" stance on the matter, that she should have deferred command to a more seasoned officer, one more experienced with these types of alien incursions. Basically they were looking for a scapegoat to take the fall, one that would look attractive on paper and fit neatly into some such file on some such general's desk. She was honorably discharged shortly after, that's when Madam Kovarian approached her. Openly she'd always maintained that she was in the right, but in the late hours, in the quiet moments when sleep was elusive, she allowed herself to doubt.

Now here was this man, this foreigner before her, bound and seemly helpless; who at once, or so its clamed, strode the stars like some colossal titan grinding empires beneath his boot heel; he showed no open signs of guilt, there was no great weight bearing down on his shoulders. Point of fact his manner was light, his mind seemed focused and tranquil… for the most part at any rate. How could a man who'd lived those kinds of sins simply…have a change of heart? "Explore the better parts of myself…" Templar whispered under her breath, mimicking the Doctor's words. What better parts did she have left inside of her she wondered? The Silence trinity was currently discussing the possibility of incarcerating the Time Lord until such time as they could safely dispose of him, you can't be too careful paradoxes after all. Again, he said nothing; he simply sat there and took everything in. His eyes suddenly shifted to Emily, she couldn't meet them.

Chapter Fifteen

Get that gun outta my face

At twenty after ten, a yellow Harley-Davidson MT350E drove up to the front of the Leadenhall Building. A gaggle of brown uniformed security guards noted the black coated driver as he pulled off his helmet and walked up to the front entrance.

"Good evenin' sir how can we help you?" One of them asked the biker, Adam Lord didn't acknowledge their presence, he simply walked past them towards the door. A befuddled look stretched across their collective faces', were they just ignored?

"Excuse me fella'", the guard continued a bit taken aback, "who are you exactly."

Adam tried the handle, locked; he'd expected as much. "I'm Prince Harry," he said with an American accent, "check the hairdo." Standard locking mechanism, he thought to himself, simple to bypass with a sonic, I would have thought they'd have some security around or something. The guard behind him grabbed Adam by the shoulder and gingerly spun him around.

"Hey, hey watch the hands slick." Lord slapped away the other man's digits.

"Who are you? Where you here earlier?" Said Adam.

"I'm Webb, part of the private security detachment here." The guard said plainly.

"Ok." Lord stared at him for a moment, and then went back to examining the door.

"Oi you…" Webb started.

"Hello you." Adam retorted then pulled a silver plated Zippo from his pocket.

"Excuse me…"

Adam turned to Webb. "Your excused, but Oi aint a word ace its slang, you should have said "Hello you" instead. Your English, I mean you could at least speak the language. Jeez I thought Americans were bad." Lord rolled his eyes and turned away again.

"Like I said mate I'm security here," Webb grabbed the younger man's shoulder again, "so why don't you do me a favor and…Ouch!" Before Webb could finish Adam trapped the guards hand, spun around to his six, and placed his assailant in a complex wrist lock.

"Like I said, hands." Adam applied a bit more pressure, then let go before doing permanent damage. "I don't like being grabbed by strangers...though the Captain speaks highly of it for some reason"

The three other guards drew pistols and aimed them at the Torchwood operative. "Oi! Err, that is, hello." Adam corrected himself. "You said you were private security? Why do you have guns? Most police don't even carry firearms."

The one called Webb briefly rubbed his wrist, and then gestured for his men to stand down. "Your fast, are you one of their lot?"

. Adam scratched the back of his head, he wasn't sure what "lot" Webb was talking about, but he had a pretty good idea. "I'm operative Lord," he said as he pulled his ID from his jacket, Special Investigations Alpha."

Webb eyed the badge, and scratched at his chin a bit. "Never heard of it." He said simply.

Not surprised, Adam thought; he wasn't in Whales anymore after all. "Were a subsection of MI5...or is that MI6, or are they a subsection of us. I never really paid much attention to the specifics. Anyways I need to get inside this building so if you could just uh." Webb was giving him the once over, looking him up and down, Adam didn't like it.

"Is there a problem here friend?" He asked in defensive manner.

"You're a Yank." Webb stated bluntly.

"Oh yeah that…well it's a long story." Damn, he thought. He'd forgotten to change accents; he found it more useful when dealing with locals to actually sound local.

"Bugger off lad." The security officer stated briskly, then darted his thumb over his shoulder.

"Bugger?" Adam was confused for a moment, he wasn't sure if Webb was telling him to go look for some insects; which he actually enjoyed doing, or if he was telling him to go and do something…uncomfortable to himself. After a few moments of introspection he decided it was the latter.

"Been having a few too many?" Webb asked.

"Huh?" Again, Adam was confused.

"I get it, I do." Webb scratched his chin again and smiled a bit. "What are you a student or something? New York by the sound of you. I bet your on holiday, a few of your mates put you up to having a bit of fun with the Brits. It's all well and good but this facility's closed. Go find somewhere else to get your kicks."

"I'm a legalized citizen!" Adam protested.

"Course you are." He replied patronizingly. "Like I said run along lad."

"Like I said," Lord's temper began to show, it was an irrational thing but he found it useful every now and then. "I'm Section Alpha, bloody Torchwood, and I aint leaving until I get into this bloody building!" He moved towards Webb with a clenched fist.

"I think you need to go." Webb then drew his sidearm, "Now!"

"Get that gun outta my face Webb!" Adam narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "Do you even know who you're working for?"

"I work for bloody paycheck mate! And I don't want to have to complicate matters at the office by plugging a sauced Yank!"

"This office of yours," Adam smirked "Would it happen to be owned by a Silent partner?" Webb's face fell. He knew who pulled his strings, Adam thought, or at least he had some inkling.

"Shove off." Webb repeated.

"You know," the ginger whispered, then took a step forward, the barrel of the guard's gun now rested on his chest, "I could probably take that thing from you and make you eat it before you could get a round off."

"Really?" Stated one of the others behind their friend, "What about these?" The men behind Webb all trained their weapons on Lord.

"Maybe not so much, no." He admitted, well it was a possibility at this range. Adam backed away. Webb shook his pistol to his right, signaling it was time for the Yank to leave. He did so.

As he walked away Adam glanced back, all of the floors were completely dark save one, that's the one the Doc showed me, he thought. I could call Gwen; have her rally the local police. No that would take too long; Jeeves would be royally ticked if I wasted anymore time. Hell he's probably fuming now, he mused to himself. He then looked down at his motorbike, he laughed a little. "Oh well," he said, "he did tell me to make an entrance."

Chapter Sixteen

Change of Heart

"So, just you and I," Dash said as he griped the lapels of his camo jacket, "best chums travelling across the universe, making trouble, rabblerousing, heh. It all rather sounds like a school boy's holiday." The Doctor didn't reply at first, he seemed distracted, fidgety even. He tried to turn his head behind him, and then quickly bent over for a fraction of a second.

"You will not be able to break thosssse." Said Mr. Grey, as a matter of fact.

"Yes, yes, sure, sure." The Doctor countered, and then tilted his body to the left a hair.

"Who else?" Quarried Arlington.

"Beg your pardon?" The Doctor spoke as he looked up at the ceiling.

"Forgive me old boy but your not well know for travelling with blokes for any extended period of time, at least not alone." Dash gave a sly smile. "Who was she?"

"She…" the Doctor paused; he seemed genuinely caught off guard for a moment. He'd forgotten how clever Dashwood was, for a human at any rate. He always knew the right questions to ask, and in what instance to ask them, he spotted his distraction and used it to ply for more information.

"Come along Doctor," he strode towards the Time Lord, some of his arrogance returning. "No use in playing coy now. Colour me interested."

"Her name was Kitelyn Azvald DeStryfe; she was a beautiful young woman." His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Beautiful? No surprise there." Emily chimed in. "Men, how predictable."

"It wasn't like that." Said the Physician.

"A foster daughter then? Interesting, thought still predictable by your standards as I understand them." Arlington thought he saw the faintest glimmer of pain cross the Doctor's face; he savored it.

"I raised her, yes" the Gallifreyian steeled his expressions, "but as an instrument of my will, of the Valeyard's will. If I could change things now…"

"You'd do what?" Said Dash.

"I would do for her what I'm trying to do for you James." The Doctor's tone became earnest. "Come with me today, now, don't wait seven years. Travel with me now, leave all of this and change your history."

"Why? Why now and not later? Why exactly am I so important?" Said the Captain.

"This is irrelevant. We must prepare the Time Lord for stasisssss." Said one of the Greys'.

"Because James," The Doctor ignored the Grey thing, "I believe underneath all of that cunning and sadism there is a good man trying to claw his way out, a man who never got the chance to truly see the world except through the blinders of Arlington Dashwood. Because you now have an opportunity that I've rarely had, the chance to defy your fate, and because…you were my friend. At least insomuch as madmen can be friends." He smiles. "What do you say old fellow? Second star to the right and straight on till morning?"

"I'll come with you." A meek voice responded, but it wasn't Dashwood's, it was Templar's. All eyes now turned to her, astonished expressions gleaming from the ensembles faces. The Doctor himself seemed uncharacteristically stunned.

"What did you sssaay?" Chimed one of the Grey things.

"I think I understand Doctor," she continued. "I think I understand you, somewhat. You'd said earlier you did terrible things for reasons you thought were noble. I've been there." She laughed to herself a bit. "Maybe you even had dialogs with yourself late into the night, constantly trying to justify you actions, telling yourself over and over again that you were right, and all else be damned. Sometimes you probably even believed it; but you knew you always knew in your deepest heart that you were wrong. How am I doing?"

The Doctor examined her expression, so he wasn't the only one with a past after all. Sometimes he forgot that a young soul can accrue stains just as easily as an old one. "Something like that, yes." He said simply.

"When I first joined UNIT I'd felt like all of the pieces of my life had finally come together, all the long hours of books and coffee, and logistics, and military training. Then when I was appointed to my first command, all of my instructors were so proud, but no one of course was prouder of me than me. I was a General's daughter who had done one better than her old man. I wasn't just a common Tommy Atkins; I was Major Templar of the Unified Intelligence Taskforce. Then that was taken from me, maybe for right or wrong I don't know anymore. All I know is I'd fallen in with this lot because I was lost and angry. I don't want to be that woman anymore Doctor, I want to…as you said, find the better parts of myself. I'm ready, if you'll have me."

The corners of the Doctor's mount drooped and his brow furrowed in an almost comical expression. "Well, and I don't say this often but, I definitely didn't see this one coming."

"I won't go with you." Dashwood spoke up with a mild taint of disgust.

"Unfortunately I did see that." The Doctor stated, then whinnied. "Why James?"

"Because they're right about you Doctor." He pointed to the Silence, "You are dangerous. Not because you walked in here all willy nilly with out so much as bell or a whistle going off, not because you took out some of my best men while having tea and biscuits…

"I didn't have biscuits." The Doctor interjected.

"You're dangerous because you change people." He said while looking to Templar. "Less than ten minutes ago this woman was a tower of granite and steel, now look at her, you've reduced her to a blubbering sentimental fool!"

"If that's what you see Dashwood, then you are truly blind." The Doctor shakes his head.

"Gentleman," Dashwood said to the Silent trinity, "I think a change in management is in order here!" A sly grin moved across his lips. "Yes, I do believe you could do with a new Voice. Agreed?"

The three Grays looked to one another, they chirped, and cackled in their language briefly. "Yesssss." They chimed in unison.

Emily Templar understood instantly what was going to happen next. She had worked for them long enough to know how failures were dealt with. Instinctively she reached into her jacket to retrieve her sidearm. "No, no, dear lady." Dash said with a snap of his fingers. The five soldiers immediately aimed their automatic weapons at the Doctor. She looked at Dashwood, and then to the Time Lord, he shook his head. "Disarm!" Said the new Voice of the Silence. Templar slowly removed her pistol and tossed it to the floor.

"First order of business sirs?" Dash said to his new masters.

"Remove your predecessor." Hissed the middle Grey.

"Very good, but first…" He tapped one of the Headless Monks on the shoulder and gestured towards Hollingsworth. The Monk raised his hand, energy began to dance and pulsate between its fingers.

"No, no!" Patrick cried out pleadingly, "I'm not with her! I never liked her anyways!" The monk let loose a bolt of amber hued light that killed the lawyer instantly.

"Good God Arlington!" Templar screamed aloud, surprised at her own outrage. "He was a craven low life, but even he didn't disserve that!"

Dashwood straightened his barrette, "That's one woman's opinion." He smirked coldly. Then as he moved towards Templar he nonchalantly took a sword from the hand of the other Monk. "As for you old girl," he did a few flourishes in the air with the blade, a sickening look of joy beamed from his eyes, "something a bit more visceral I think."

Templar instinctively stepped back into a fighting posture; she wouldn't go quietly into that good night. "You keep the hell away from me!" she warned.

"I'd do what she says Arl." Spoke the Doctor calmly, "Your in enough trouble as it stands, best to quit while you're ahead."

The Voice rolled his eyes and looked to the Intergalactic Gent, "Oh would you just shut up and enjoy the show already."

The Doctor gave a Cheshire cat grin that, for some reason, threw Dashwood off momentarily. "Oh I will Dash, I will." Quickly the Gallefreian bent forward as far as his restraints would allow him. In his mind he cried out. Now Adam! Now!

All of a sudden, there was a bright light shinning through the grand office window which momentarily blinded the assembled party. "What the hell!" Dashwood cried out. He tried to peer past the glare to its source and what he saw was shocking, even to a man of his experience.

"What issss happening! What isss that!" Chimed Mr. Grey.

"It's a…it's a motorbike. In the air?" But before Sir Arlington could fully process he heard the roar of the engine as it barreled forwards.

"Emily to the corner of the room quickly!" Cried the Doctor still in his semi prone position. She flew to her left as fast as she could. In an instant there were glass shards flying in all directions about the area as the pilot made a sharp left, causing the vehicle to land on its side skimming across the glossy marble floor, but not before this new foe cart wheeled off of his mount in an almost uncanny display of agility. As the bike continued to slide unchecked it rammed hard against two of the Papal troops instantly knocking them unconscious, if not worse, the Silence behind them were sent to ground.

"Open fire!" Rallied Dashwood, who had barely avoided the onslaught himself. The troops trained their weapons, but before they could let loose with their volleys this new attacker untied a red and black stripped sash from around his waist. He lashed it out like a snare disarming one of the men then spun and arched the ribbon like thing above his head, and then with two loud cracks, lashed the end of the tasseled cloth into the eyes of the other soldiers, blinding them. The pilot removed his helmet and threw it at his first target, striking him directly on skull; he fell flat without so much as a wimpier. The ginger haired man stepped forward and pointed at the host of baddies. "Torchwood! You're under arrest!"

Chapter Seventeen

The Lord Soldier

Date: December 14, 2014

Time: 22:27pm

Location: 122 Leaden Hall Street, London, England

Amidst the scene of broken glass, and unconscious and wounded zealots, Adam Lord quickly, yet in a surprisingly composed manner, grabbed the back of the Doctor's chair and dragged it behind Templar's grand desk. As he glanced back he surveyed his own handiwork with a marked sense of approval. Three militia men down, two stifled, the Silence stunned, and oh, he missed the Monks. Ah well, all in all not bad for a half baked, Die Hard-ish plan of action, he thought to himself.

"You're arresting Torchwood?" The Doctor asked inquisitively.

"What? No I'm not arresting Torchwood, I am Torchwood." Said Lord, while rubbing the base of his spine, "Jeez you're kind of heavy."

"Really? Since when?" Stated the Doctor, mildly alarmed that his former associate was now, seemingly working for the organization initially created to subdue him. "And I'm not heavy."

"I've been working for them for about two years and..." Shut up Adam, he thought. "And yes, you're heavy."

"Humph, regardless you could have been a little more explicit on your previous statement Adam."

"Whaddya mean?" He said as he dramatically jumped onto the office desk. The bad guys were in the midst of gathering their wits about them.

"Well," continued the Mad Scientist, "instead of saying, Torchwood, you're under arrest! You should have said, By the authority of the Torchwood institute and her majesty Queen Elizabeth II, I hear by place you all under arrest. Or some such."

Adam groans. "Seriously? Really? Your gonna do this now?" Adam noted one of the ashen grey Silence stood up and pointed a thin, wiry digit in his direction, electricity crackled in the air. "Hey, hey!" Lord touted, then with a flourish of his right had he produced a playing card and, like a dart lobed it at the alien. Amazingly a Queen of Diamonds now found herself embedded between the creature's two thick fingers, It cried out in pain. "I got my eye on you ET! All of you!"

Not all, the Doctor noted quietly. One of the Silence had fled amidst the fray, and Arlington was missing too. "And you're still using that rough American accent I see."

"I didn't come here for a lesson in grammar and elocution ok?"

"Well, why did you come here?" Quizzed the Doctor earnestly.

"Because you called me! You needed help remember?"

"Oh, yes, yes. Sure, sure. I needed help." He said in a bemused manner, "By the way Adam this is Emily, Emily say hullo to Adam."

Crouching in the left corner of the room Emily Templar raised a shaky hand. "Hello." She chirped in a high pitched voice.

"Yo. Nice to meet ya. You should probably leave now." Adam stated as he brought his fists out in front of him.

"Quite right Emily." Said the Doctor, "And if you still have any friends in UNIT you may want to give them a call. Just a passing thought."

"Right, of course." As Templar raced towards the door one of the Monks moved to intercept her.

"Adam?" Said the Doctor.

He loosed the sash in his left had and cracked it in a whip like fashion at the Monks foot. "Really, don't! Trust me I'm faster than you air head…or air headless…or whatever." She passed undaunted.

"Very good Solider." Said the Gallefreian, "Now if you would be so kind as to…"

Adam exhaled loudly, turned and tossed his ballistics' jacket over the Time Lords head, then promptly kicked the chair behind the desk over on it's side, the Doctor let out a muffled *ouch*. "Shut up you." The Solider said, "I'm workn' here." He turned his attention back to his opponents, "Ok fella's" he said with a smirk. "I advise anyone not already laid out or out cold to stay that way." The humans in residence seemed intent on licking their wounds for the time being. "Good, as for the rest of you…what else you got?"

Chapter Eighteen

Carnage

"Kill himmm." Spat one of the two remaining Grey things. The Monks moved forward, blades griped in steadied hands, they somehow began to intone an ominous hymn, pretty miraculous really, what with not having heads and all. The one to Adam Lord's right took the lead, dashing forward he began to move his sword repeatedly in a figure eight pattern, cutting the air loudly as he advanced. Adam leapt to side, whilst simultaneously striking out with his sash. The woolen like cord hit the Monk's hood causing it to fall away, but did no more than that. Meanwhile the other Headless Horror speedily lunged forward on one knee beneath his twin's blade, stabbing at Lord's lower appendages.

"Whoa!" He cried out, as he jumped high into the air and brought both of knees to his side, barely avoiding a nasty wound to his femoral artery. Just as he found his feet the first Monk let fly with a fierce horizontal slash, attempting to remove Adam's own head. The Torchwood operative ducked low narrowly avoiding the powerful strike, and then with a series of fluid movements, he performed a trio of back flips in an attempt to gain some much needed distance. The Monks however, seemed quicker than Lord had initially surmised, they moved over him like the shadow of death, and just as he had righted himself after his gymnastic display, they crossed their blades right over left in a scissor like formation, aiming for his throat. Taken by surprise he had no choice but to fall to his back or become a Cranial-less Clergyman himself, as his attackers raised their duel swords overhead Adam fiercely lashed out with both his of feet striking, and momentarily stunning his antagonists'. He rolled to the side and in an uncharacteristically clumsy fashion leapt up and renewed his combat stance.

Stupid, stupid, stupid boy! He thought to himself, I've never actually fought one of these things before let alone two, they worked well together, just like…damn it, I should have freed the Doctor rather than try to showboat. He began to flourish his sash repeatedly in front of him in an x pattern, bringing it down again and again to the floor in a variation of the first Monk's attack, in effect creating a kind of barrier between himself and his foes. The Monks were forced to keep their distance or run the risk of being cut to ribbons by the swift moving tether of cloth.

This gambit only proved to be a temporary reprieve however; Adam's opponents were nothing else if not adaptive. One Monk would make a mock charge on Lord, distracting him, allowing the other to circle to his flak, forcing Adam to adjust his angle and fend off a series of well placed bladed jabs. Simultaneously the first assailant would then move in towards Adam's exposed side, attempting a finishing blow. The Engineered Man's enhanced reaction time allowed him to recover in each instance, but the continuous and repetitive onslaught prevented him from switching tactics and going on the offensive. It seemed this stalemate would go on ad nauseam, but then a powerful electrical current passed through Adam's body causing him to loose his mock weapon. The two remaining Silence in the background had advanced and decided to join the fray; Adam bent low, quickly trying to recover his sash, but the glowing blade of a Monk came down vertically onto the ground and over the thing, dually preventing its recovery, and nearly taking off Lord's hand. He franticly backpedaled, Damn it! What do I do now! He thought. I could try to de-luminate but those Monk's can see me fine without heads, let alone eyes, doubt it would make much difference. If I still had that connection to the Time Vortex I could…

"Slow down, think." A warm thought hand entered his mind; it was the Doctor's, the Doctor still lying on his side behind a desk, "Bessie…" the disembodied voice intoned.

Lord looked to his scarred and dented mount on the other side of the room.

"Use the blasted bike Adam!" He shouted.

"Oh yeah, duh." Lord responded telepathically.

Endangered and with no other options in sight Adam brought his thumb and middle finger to his lips and let out a sharp whistle, "Yo Bessie!" He shouted. The motorbike on the other side of the room sputtered for a moment. Then, at her master's call initiated her antigravity systems and levitated gracefully into the air. "Good girl," he said affectionately "now why don't you come on over and say hello." The yellow beast charged forward with a loud petrol filled cry.

Before they realized what was happening the vehicle jetted in-between the two standing Silence things. "Twelve to twelve Bess." Lord stated as he moved his index finger in the air in a clockwise fashion. On command the metal creature, which now seemed more alive than not mimicked the gesture turning rapidly in the air in a circular pattern, the not so little grey men were sent flying to and fro. "Ha! Gonzo Flippin' Ace!" Adam shouted ecstatically. Just then, the remaining two black clad villains charged the Torchwoodie, seemingly oblivious to their master's plight. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," cried Lord as he desperately moved past their wild barrage. "Road kill, Bess, road kill, road kill!" The bike shot forward like a bullet savagely smashing into one of the attacking Monks backs, then just as quickly turned to its left and rammed her rider's remaining assailant into the adjacent wall. As she threw herself in reverse, the clergyman went limp. Bessie, almost as if concerned, gently moved towards Adam. "Who's my pretty pretty?" Said Lord, as he placed his hand on her cracked headlight. The thing practically purred in response.

"Good, brilliant," the Doctor said sardonically in Adam's mind, "now that you've had your fill of wanton and superfluous mayhem…"

"Right, right," he replied verbally, "come on Bess, lets help the Old Toff out." Adam and the mindful motorbike moved towards the Doctor's location, as he leaned over the desk, he spotted the Crow still keeled over and half wrapped in his body armor. He laughed, "Check you Jeeves, you look like a time travelling, bitter mouthed, foul tempered, burrito."

"For the love of the Six do NOT call me Jeeves," he responded impatiently, "would you just…Adam, behind you."

"What now?" He said flustered and then spun around.

Monk number two had detached himself from the wall and was now standing about fifteen paces or so from their location. It staggered forward seemingly intent on finishing what it began. "Oh come on!" Adam cried, and then spat on the floor. "Take a look at yourself Sleepy Hollow, your injured, your disarmed, you've got no backup, just roll over, and play dead would ya? Assuming your not technically dead anyways that is." The hooded man extended a shaky palm towards Adam; a sparking, vaporous, sort of energy fills his hand. "So that's what your gonna do?" Lord said mockingly. "Your gonna shoot that orange junk at me? Well go ahead because I…oh damn!" He barely had time to flip the desk over before the Monk let fly.

Though the sturdily crafted desk provided some semblance of cover, the Headless Monk's bolts sent splinters exploding right and left past Lord's head. Over the hail of destruction Adam could hear Bessie maneuvering herself in-between her master and the maddened Monk; attempting to provide more of a buffer zone. My baby! He thought frantically.

"I can assume we are now being shot at!" The Doctor fired a wild thought at Lord.

"…Maybe." Lord responded mildly and in like manner.

"Well of all the addlebrained! Impulsive! Dunderheaded! Stupid plans…"

"Ouch! Would you quit yelling in my head for a second?" Lord barked aloud. "Inside brain voice! I've told you, use your inside brain!"

Behind him Adam could almost feel the energy discharges scorching and cutting their way through Bessie's metal chassis. I guess I should try a new tactic, he thought. Reason? Sure reason, that's new. "Um excuse me, Mr. Monk man? Could you stop that for a second? I mean I hate to point out the obvious but I just took you lot out with a flying Harley. If you should, I don't know, hit the fuel line with one of those orby deathball things you could…" Too late. Bang.

Chapter Nineteen

Out of the Frying Pan…

I can't feel anything, Adam thought. Why can't I feel anything? My ears are throbbing, where am I? Am I dreaming? In the hazy space of his subconscious Lord's mind conjured images of a past, perhaps not so long ago, but what seemed literally ages away. He watched Davros, father of the Daleks, tear into his flesh with a surgical knife, he screams. He see's a woman with golden hair, no not a woman, a goddess; she smiles warmly and cruelly as she takes his wrist and snaps it with a casual turn of her own. And there, there is the Good Man, wrong not him; it's the other him the Black Physician, the Valeyard. His expression could freeze vodka, his smile can forge fear. It hurts, he thought, why does it always have to hurt?

"I'm here Adam." A gentle voice sounds. "I will always be here, to help you shoulder these memories, so bound as we are by Pythia's Chain, but I have no time for hyperemotional dalliances'. You need to wake up! Wake up now!"

Lord's eyes flashed open. "Not dreaming, falling! We're falling!" The force of Bess's explosion created a shockwave that threw Adam, the remnants of the hefty desk, and the entangled Doctor, forward and out of the newly shattered plate-glass window. Adam's little trip down memory lane must have taken less than a microsecond as he could see the enflamed office in front of him as he flew back perilously into the night sky. He flailed his arms madly, trying to reach for something, anything to hold onto. What he found was the edge of the shattered window, and while the broken glass was less than inviting, it was better than thin air! "Doctor!" He shouted, as he reached out with his free hand, and as fortune would have it, he found one of the legs of the accosted Doctor's chair. Adam watched as his ballistics' jacket floated gingerly off of the Time Lord and down to the world below. Shards form the broken window frame dug their way into his right palm. "This is nothing." He sounded with gritted teeth, though internally it was more like ow, ow, ow.

"Just out of curiosity," questioned the upside down Doc, "why exactly did you invite him to shoot at us!"

"Well, urrrgh, I didn't actually think he would!"

"Their Headless Monks Adam. Headless! Which implies brainless, which is what I'm starting to think you are…"

He was briefly interrupted by the sensation of freefalling, as Adam momentarily loosened his grip; he then quickly recovered it, with a smile.

"You did that on purpose!" He said with a sour note.

"No I didn't you just weight a ton!" Lord said, with obvious strain. "What have you been eating?"

"It isn't me, it's this apparatus they've got me hooked into!" He said, offended.

"Whatever, porkpies is all I'm saying."

"I am not fat! Now pull me up!"

Chapter Twenty

Into the Fire

"Ok." Adam braced his feet against the glass panel below and steeled himself, with a powerful effort he lifted his left arm and tossed the Doctor and accompanying chair into the embattled office above. He felt a sharp pop in his bicep. "Ow, that's totally going to hurt worse in the morning." As he tried to pull himself up with a lacerated palm and an injured arm, he heard the Doctor call out yet again.

"Adam! Up here now! Velox! Velox, nunc!" He liked to exclaim things in Latin when all was going to pot.

"Quit Adaming me would ya? I'm moving as fast as I…shit!" A large chunk of the area was now engulfed in flames.

"Language!" Puff. "Watch your language!" Puff. "Swearing is," Puff. "Unprofessional!" The Doctor admonished in-between breaths, as he attempted to extinguish a pile of burning debris in his face with his own exhalations'. Adam stomped on the enflamed rubbish, putting it out before it could char his taskmaster. "My coat!" The Doctor exclaimed. "It's on the other side of the room!"

"Right." Responded Lord. "You stay here." The Buffer stared blankly at his assistant from his supine vantage point. "Sorry that's right, tied up." Stated Adam, and then he bolted towards the right side of the room. There were flames licking and biting at his flesh and clothing all the while. "I should have gone to work, ouch, ouch, hot, hot, hot!"

"The table closest to the wall Adam. Can you see it?"

"I think so!" Though the smoke obscured his view he could clearly make out the glint from the golden head of the Doctor's cane as it reflected the surrounding fire. The table had been tossed about by the blast and all of the Time Travelers' impedimenta were equally disheveled. "Cane, watch, that evil bloody hat! Here it is!" Franticly he rummaged through the countless and seemingly bottomless pockets of the Victorian era relic.

"The fire's spreading, hurry!" Cried the Doctor, "Why haven't the sprinklers gone off! Oh, that's right I must have soniced off them when I initially cut the power hmmm. Well, bit of cold coffee that."

"Flame retardant, flame retardant, flame retardant." Adam chanted as he pulled a vast array of yo-yo's, stylographs', chess pieces', Bunsen burners', and a spyglass or two from the coat of wonders. "Blimey Doc do you have to keep all of this junk? Where is it?"

"Bottom left pocket!" He shouted as he struggled with his restraints.

"It's not HERE!"

"No, no, no, you're left, your other left!" said the Doctor as he freed an arm.

"Gonzo!" Adam shouted with jubilation as he raised the clear glass bottle into the air.

"Smash it now boy!" The Time Lord liberates a foot.

The ging tossed the container to the ground and a swarm of crimson coloured insects scoured the area. They darted from right to left in a dizzying pattern, examining the room before at last throwing themselves into the inferno. After a few brief moments the flames began to abate and at last were extinguished. Pyrovillian fire eating fireflies, Adam thought, I guess some of the Toff's knickknacks are handy. The swarm then moved towards Lord and hovered in the air for a moment. "Thanks fella's." He said." You can hang around on this planet if you want, there are tons of flash fires, wild fires, and well, all kinds pyrotechnics for you to snack on, I'm sure there are lots of city's that'd be grateful to have you." The insects chirped their gratitude and flew out the adjacent window and into sprawling horizon of London. "Now!" he stated definitively "I guess I can finally get you outta that thing you great useless…" Suddenly he felt an air pressure change behind his head; instinctively he turned his torso to his left, apparently avoiding a high caliber bullet to the base of his skull. "Can I not get a second here?" He howled.

Chapter Twenty-one

Old Scores

Gallifreians, especially those of the so-called Old Blood, were what the Doctor referred to as Time Sensitive's. This meant that their brains functioned slightly out of sink with the rest of the ebb and flow of past, present, and future, of action and reaction. Some Time Lords could sense anomalies in the Web of Time; some could feel the weight and shape of chronon particles, and others still were veritable prophets.

While the man called Adam wasn't born of Gallifrey, he himself was mildly Time Sensitive. This allowed him to intrinsically comprehend the rudiments of time travel, sense those who had navigated the currents of the Vortex, and with the Doctor's instruction, adjust his internal atomic chronometer in some very unique ways. Take this moment for example. There is a man standing atop a staircase laying waist to the floor below with a submachine gun, now the average person would have the good sense to run for cover, or at least bite the preverbal bullet as it were and die; but Adam opts instead to speed up his reaction time thereby causing all things around him to seemingly slow down. In effect, Arlington Dashwood can't touch him.

Adam somersaulted; cart wheeled, and whirled like a dervish in a dumbfounding display of speed and agility. All the while narrowly escaping the rapid moving projectiles being launched at him. Sounds like an MP5 on full auto, he thought to himself, whilst trying to keep the shooters sights on him and away from what he believed was the Doctor's location. That's a nice old gun, he reflected. If you're into that kind of thing of course, but that magazine's only good for about fifteen rounds and this is child's play. The Doctor may be able to walk past spinning fan blades of doom and on occasion catch an arrow or two, but he's never been able to dodge a bullet! That's at lest one I've got on you old boy. He heard the last shell from the clip hit the marble floor with a light clink. "Ha, Ha!" He chimed victoriously and placed his hands on his hips, "Don't you nimrod's get it now? You ain't got nothing that can touch…me?"

Instead of standing stupefied on the stairwell the gunner charged downwards and towards Lord, he pulled two pistols from his cargo belt and began to fire them in rapid and varied directions. Shocked by the man's lack of shock, Adam attempted to renew his aerodynamic acrobatics, this time however something was off. As he darted left a projectile stopped him short, forcing him to go right. When he moved right another bullet nearly found him, causing him to step back and out of sync with his normal pattern of evasion. He studied me, he thought, that's what the machine gun was for it was a ploy. He wanted to see what I could do and he caught all my moves in less than what? Ten seconds. Who is this guy? While spinning in midair he felt a sharp pain pass into his scalp and hip. He fell hard.

Flesh wounds, Adam noted as he lay there on the floor, he wiped away the reddish fluid from his head and side. "You know you're a really good shot." He said aloud, still nursing his injuries. "What are those Luger's?" When he finally looked up he saw the younger visage of a man who had, at once, kidnapped and psychologically tortured the girl who was Adam's first, best, and at times only friend. "Arlington Dashwood?!" He spat, his voice filled with hate.

"Oh dear God, does everyone know me?" Spoke Dash, his guns still trained on Lord. "One does at least try to keep a low profile."

"Yes I know you!" Adam hissed. "You're a lecherous, sadistic, hoity-toity, wanna be Tory, closet psychopath!"

"Ah, well I see we have been acquainted then." Sir Arlington smiles. "I am sure it's been very nice to meet you again Torchwood operative…whoever. I'll see to it Captain Harkness receives your goodbyes." He readies his weapons to fire.

Suddenly the familiar hum of a sonic device filled the room, and Arlington's Luger's were sent spiraling to the floor. "That will be quite enough of that." Stated a newly unfettered Doctor as he straightened his reclaimed bowler. Sir Arlington attempted to make his way down the steps and towards the exit. "No." The Doctor said simply with a wag of his finger, the old Tory stood stiff.

The Doctor made his way to an injured and ailing Adam Lord; if he felt any gratitude towards the other man for all of his efforts he showed no external signs of it. He simply extends a sure and powerfully built hand. Adam glances at it for a moment with reservation, and then looks back to Dashwood before finally accepting the older man's aide.

"You could have gotten out of that thing anytime you wanted, couldn't you?" He said rising to his feet.

"It was only a bit of tungsten steel Adam." He said with a raised eyebrow, almost as if to say duh. "Harry Houdini could have gotten out in less time…probably. But no, I required a diversion to give me a few extra moments to work my way out of it."

"You used me as a distraction!" Lord said offended.

"Yes and you were very distracting." He patted the shorter man on the head, "Good on you; I had timed this whole operation around your arrival, unfortunately you were late…as usual. Now for all of the loose ends you've left." At random he began to move about the circumference of the room, sonicing the floors and ceilings.

"What are you doing? What loose ends are you squawking about?" Queried Lord, as he crossed his arms and scowled at Dashwood.

"Are you referring to the loose ends you left before or after you blew up half of this floor? You allowed one of the Mister Grey's to escape after you crashed my motorbike through the window. I have to make sure the emergency power's been cut from the lifts, if were lucky he'll be stuck in one for the time being" After moving his cane about for a bit, he then placed his off tented glasses back on his face and looked intently at the red, luminous crystal. "Ah ha, got you." He said in the affirmative. "Lets see how you like being trapped for awhile."

"She was my motorbike." Adam insisted. "Oh Bessie, poor old girl." He stooped down and began to rummage through what was left of his friend. "And your exact words were make an entrance."

"I said an entrance, not a natural disaster." Smarted the Doctor.

"Err ah, pardon me gentlemen, I can see you've both got a lot on your respective plates." Spoke Sir Arlington, "So I think it would behoove us to expedite matters." He extends his wrists, "In short, I surrender."

"Surrender? You surrender?" Lord says mockingly. "You hurt my friend! You hurt Abby, I'm gonna make you pay for that." He moves towards Dash oozing with ill intent.

"Ah, Abby you say?" Arlington takes a number of steps back, quick time. "Well I'm sure I'm terribly sorry about that."

"No you are not you scummy louse! Oh this is better than Christmas, Otherside, and Mardi Gras. This time I'm going to knock the jammie dodgers out of you!"

"Adam calm yourself!" Said the Doctor as he moved to Lord and grabbed him by the back of his shirt. "He doesn't even know what your talking about, he hasn't done it yet."

"Does it matter?!" he cried with indignation. "She wasn't the only one this cuckoo's messed up. And what's with you? Why do you even care about this guy, even when he worked for you…I mean the Valeyard you, he was always on the lookout to betray you."

"No." Said the Time Lord. "He was a loyal creature for some time, so long as I feed his ambition and ego. I simply had to be sure. Sure that the beast he was, the beast he will be, was one of his own making and not my own. He's still one of my companions you see." He paused for a moment and looked to Dashwood, his old friend, disappointedly. "But I knew from the moment I saw that look exhilaration in his eye as he was about to cut down the Templar woman. I knew that I didn't make him this thing, he did it to himself. "

"Excuse me…" Dash began.

"Shush!" He was quieted by the duel shushing's of the Doctor and Lord.

"What about Kitelyn?" Asked Adam. "She wasn't sick; she was just loyal to you, and she had honor no less. You couldn't try to save her? Because that's what this whole thing is about isn't it? It's not the Silence; your trying to save the unsalvageable again aren't you?"

"I can't help Kitelyn." The Doctor spoke simply, "She was only a child when I found her, her life is too heavily entrenched with mine. First law of time you know. I can't go back on my own immediate timeline." Even though the Doctor was physically present his mind was light-years away. He saw the young woman, Kitelyn Azvald DeStryfe, the girl who at one time he could have loved as a daughter, the girl he should have loved as a daughter, if only he would have allowed himself. Instead he turned her into his enforcer, the perfect weapon for the man who never carried a weapon. The Valeyard's chief aide.

Adam understood that the Doctor's cold demeanor was little more than a well crafted mask, one used to hide and hold back the great current of emotion that flowed underneath. He sensed that his statement's regarding DeStryfe had wounded him deeply, though of course the Tinker Doctor would never admit to such. "Aw Theta." He said, stroking the Doctor lightly on the cheek. "I'm here, bound as we are by Pythia's Chain." he said lightly, mimicking the Doctor's earlier sentiment's as they were plummeting to their deaths. He smiled at the Ancient Aristocrat… almost lovingly. "You left this door behind you a long time ago, don't go back through it, don't hurt yourself anymore. You're better than that."

The Doctor looked as if he were about to say something, then his eyes darted quickly to Adam's left hand, still held to his face. "Interesting," he said, and then grabbed the other fellow by the wrist, "that's new." He examined it.

"What's new?" Asked Lord, but he'd already registered his mistake. He got too close and the Doctor began to notice some slight discrepancies. He was initially banking on the fact that the Old Toff rarely if ever actually paid attention to his features. But the Dashing Detective seemed to be out in full force.

"This scar on your wrist, you didn't have it before." The Hermit said squinting his eyes. The faded, cross shaped tissue was white and old, not pink and swollen like a freshly healed abrasion would be. "And when did you develop such a gentle mien." He rolled up the sleeve of Lord's knit weaved cotton shirt and spotted another oddity; there was a large black caduceus tattooed across his forearm. "Who are you?" He said deadly serious.

"You know who I am." Adam retorted.

"That remains to be scene." He responded coolly, and let go of Lord's arm. "You watch him." He pointed to Arlington, and then began to walk away.

"Where are you going?" Questioned Adam.

"Loose ends, as I told you before. Or do you even care." There was a mild bit of condescension in the Doctor's voice.

"You called, I came. What do you think?" Said the Engineered Man.

"No!" Replied the Time Lord while gesturing ahead of himself. "That isn't what I was referring to."

Following the Doctor's hand Adam made out the image of five humans sprawled about the room. They were battered, burned, and barely alive more than likely. The troopers, Lord had completely forgotten about them. Why would I do that? The Torchwood Agent thought. Why wouldn't I have at least tried to get them out of harms way. I was so caught up with everything else I…his train of thought was interrupted.

"Do you even care that you could have killed these men?" Theta Sigma asked pointedly.

"…Yes." Adam was surprised. He wasn't sure if he was attempting to lie to the Doctor, or to himself.

The Doc whinnied, "Desist with the verbal jiggery-pokery would you? You were never good at it anyway."

"Yet you say that like it's a bad thing." He responded halfheartedly, his mind still wracked with guilt.

"It is not." Said the Doctor. "But Adam, the Adam I knew may have been reckless with his own life at times, but never with the lives of others. Your new, I don't know you. This was a mistake."

Weird, Adam thought to himself. I've survived torture by masters of the trade, Dalek beams, crazed Eternals, and even Rassilon. So why did what he'd just said, hurt worse than any of that?

Chapter Twenty-two

Bound as we are…

Pythia's Chain. Imagine if you will a quantum entanglement, a phenomenon in which groups of particles interact in ways as such that the quantum state of each particle cannot be described independently. That each particle of two seemingly separate structures were literally in synch/nearly identical to one another. This is the meaning of Pythia's Chain…sort of, but not exactly.

On Gallefrey, in the times before the Doctor, or even Rassilon, these Chains were forged between the ancient, almost mythical Time Lords of the Old Blood. When two of the red haired race intended to willingly share their existences' with one another, they would craft these delicate bonds; connecting them through all of time and space, through all of their myriad lives and regenerations, perhaps even beyond death, if such a thing were possible. Whenever, wherever one was, the other would surly find their opposite, it was like magnetism. And once forged these chains could never be broken.

This link would allow the two souls to know each others thoughts, when in the same relative point in time that is. To sense the emotive states of their counterpart. To even read/experience the history of the other. The two minds, the two sets of particles could even become so attuned that the recipients of the bond were capable of sharing particular skills between the other, dream states, and in some odd instances, even exchange bodies.

Like all things however, such a bond cannot by its nature be perfect. Minds, hearts, identities themselves are willful and constantly, rightly, seek to retain their state of independence. They can block out this connection with a feet of willpower, or utilize some obscure forms of technology to alter the pattern of the chain, seemingly disrupting it. And for the Doctor and Adam Lord, who never truly intended to be entangled in such a way, keeping each other's thoughts and intentions from their opposite was not simply a matter of acquiring some measure of personal privacy, but also of retaining sanity. Nothing living should be so bound to another. Perhaps that's why the Old Blood lineage on Gallefrey eventually died out; Adam would ponder this to himself at times.

Adam was not a Time Lord, not truly. Point of fact there was nothing else in the universe quite like him. He was concocted in a laboratory by a group of despots, dilettantes, and demigods who wanted to be more than what they were, and they were going to use Adam to reach their aims. He was crafted using forbidden technology last utilized by a madman ages ago. In effect they purified, refined, and spliced together five distinctly separate and independent sets of genetic material. In short Adam Lord was the only man in the known universe to have pentahelix DNA. Part human for their vast adaptability, part Dalek for their aggression and survival instinct, part Eternal for their capacity for brilliance and power, part Dagonhim for their predatory and psychokinetic potential. And lastly, perhaps most importantly, Time Lord, for their intrinsic understanding of the Web of Time. It was this last fractal of Lord that unconsciously bound itself to the Doctor those years ago; and as much as this Chain proved to be a comfort and source of strength to the two, more often than not…it could simply be a bloody heavy weight to bare.