Soli Deo gloria

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Doctor Who. :)

The old man had his lips in a very thin line. He was very old underneath his nice dark cap, but he was also very perplexed. Before him was one of the strangest sights he had ever laid eyes on, and he wasn't sure what to make of it.

"Ya know, I wasn't exactly thinking this was the plan you were goin' ta do when you said you'd watch my sheep if you could experiment with some of their wool," the old man said, his Scottish accent very enunciated, as he was annoyed at the two Ponds standing before them; both looked very guilty and sheepish, pardon the pun, as there was dozens of sheep around them, several of them spotted with different florescent colors.

"That—well, that was the agreement, Mr. Perkins," Rory said, waving his hand from his sides and wishing that he could disappear. He sighed. This idea of asking people if they could watch their sheep for a day and color them to signal the Doctor to some new mysterious disease he and Amy had thought they could spark was rather pathetic, when he really thought it through. He wished he had done that before he and Amy had driven into Scotland and taken the first job.

"Yeah. We watch your sheep while you go the village for the day, probably have a pint with your buds and enjoy yourself, and we get to experiment a bit with healthy, non-toxic products." Amy had resumed her composure and was talking like she was sure of herself, her hands on her hips as she looked at the old man, who did not look amused in the slightest. She turned back to look at the sheep in their pen. Some were pink; some were purple, and others blue. And they had thought it such a good plan, too . . .

"It's supposed to be a shampoo, too," Amy said, reaching down and petting a sheep, as if she was its best friend. She gave a quick smile; she hoped it didn't come across as forced. Mr. Perkins with the cane looked like he wanted to chase the two Ponds off his property. "So it'll wash out nice and get rid of the fleas and ticks and bugs and all that—"

"My sheep's wool does not have any fleas or ticks or bugs," said the old man.

Rory stepped forward, rubbing his hands together nervously. "Of course not, sir. Never said they did—"

"It'll probably keep them a—away," Amy said brightly.

"They never had them," the old man said.

"—it'll be a guarantee, then," Amy said, going to stand by her husband with a faked smile. They exchanged looks and felt the exact same way at the other: like they wanted to bolt. She gulped. "That they won't get that sort of stuff. Ever."

A minute passed.

"Get off my property," Mr. Perkins said, glaring at them from underneath his bushy white eyebrows.

"Yeah, we should probably do that," Rory said quickly, beginning to walk backward. He was eying the old man's cane.

"We're real, real sorry about the misunderstanding with that," Amy said. "So sorry," and she and Rory walked backward as far as they could, Mr. Perkins still glaring at them. But when he turned away from them to his sheep, they bolted to their car.

They fell into their seats.

"We are NEVER doing that again," Rory said as Amy quickly buckled herself.

"I hope the Doctor realizes just what we're putting ourselves through to talk to him," Amy said, leaning against her seat as Rory buckled himself and turned himself to look out as he backed up.

"Next time we see him, when we see him, we're getting his mobile number. Deal?" Rory said, turning to look at Amy.

She quickly nodded. "Deal."

Because they were not going to go through something like that again.

Lies.

Of course they would.

DOCTOR GIVE US YOUR PHONE NUMBER.

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