A/N: Now with summer I am able to write freely, so I hope my creative gears get a clue and stop with the writers block . Thanks for reading this! Reviews are cool y'know…just a thought. Like JelloFrog! Gracias! So read on!


It took Captain Herlark a solid twenty minutes to dig through his limited wardrobe to find a pair of pants that the Doctor could wear without worrying about them falling about his ankles. As his waist band was nearly double what the Doctor's was, he had to resort letting him borrow his pajama bottoms that had an adjustable drawstring. The Doctor was close to pulling the drawstring twice around his waist.

"Where you're from Mr. Smith," Captain Herlark conversed, "Do they feed you often?"

"Yes," he affirmed after their laughter died down. "Can't say I'm not famished now, though. When was the last time we ate, Rose?"

"Oh! Feels like years," Rose said, holding her empty stomach, smiling knowingly at the Doctor. He smirked at her from the side.

"It'd only take me a few seconds to cook up some dry packs for you," Esther offered. "Let me get these clothes to the washroom then I can put it together." Taking up the Doctor's soiled trousers and the stained trench coat, Ester turned to head down a hallway that branched off from the dining room.

"Save something for me," the Captain called back, passing into a different hallway and hiking up a stairway. "I need to finish checking the financial boggart." A metal door clapped behind him, leaving Esther to huff at the absent Captain.

"I guess I'm making dinner for everyone then," she muttered not too energetically, pausing in the doorway.

"If you need some help," Rose began, hoping to ease the tension between her and Esther, "I wouldn't mind. I mean, everything looks manageable." She turned to inspect the kitchen once more. Metal cabinets lined the far walls, hanging over the countertop and what looked to be a large refrigerator, big enough to walk into. It looked earthly enough, at least.

Esther glanced between Rose and the Doctor, unsure. "I'd grab four packs of the stroganoff from the fridge. Set a pot of water on the stove to boil." Trying a quick glance at the Doctor, Esther spun around and left down the hallway.

The trench coat and the soiled pants hung heavily in Esther's arms. She never liked it when strangers lingered about the ship. Those two especially tweeked her; Esther couldn't quiet place him, but Mr. Smith seemed so out of the ordinary. But he fit into this moment perfectly to the inch. Hardly any of it made sense to her. How was she both captivated and withdrawn by the spindly inspector?

She turned another corner and entered into the washroom, tossing his burdensome clothes onto a rough board made to be a table. It didn't take her long to see through his lies on being an inspector. From what she remembered of the Inspection Brigade, Mr. Smith was much too nice however his credentials suggested. Inspectors spit on you. They laugh when the livestock are prodded to death. Mr. Smith foiled an inspector, but why was he lying in the first place? For the cow?

"Hardly," Esther caught herself saying aloud.

"What's in his pockets?" she hummed to herself, letting the water warm before she tossed the clothes into the wash. Her hands dug into the pant's pockets first, finding many assorted wrappers and bits of old sweets. Her nose curled and she gagged slightly when she pulled out a very moldy banana peel. "Slob!" she scolded him, tossing the banana peel into the waste bin.

With the pant's pockets empty of rotting fruit, Esther turned to the trench coat. Not crossing her mind, she believed that the clothes were so heavy because of the thick material the trench coat was made out of. Rummaging through his pockets, though, she found why she felt as if she was carrying a bag of bricks before.

"How is that possible?" Her hand slide into the right front pocket, into loads of pokey, slimy, prying objects, trying to find the pocket's end. The rest of her forearm followed, reaching deeper inside, her eyes wide with amazement. Just as her elbow was blinking out of view, her fingers felt the hem of the pocket, barely grazing the end of the pocket.

She checked if all the trench coat pockets were like this. The left front pocket. The breast pocket. The two inner pockets. They all reached deeper than what they looked.

"Bigger on the inside," she gawped, flipping over the trench coat, trying to make out a reasonable explanation for the giant pockets. She raised the coat to her face, intently looking for clues. She paused, setting the coat down, her brow furrowing. "And I have to empty all these?"

She reasoned there was at least ten stones worth of wrappers, trinkets, and other odd objects weighing the trench coat pockets. It would take her a good hour to dump everything out, not counting sorting out the wrappers and valuables.

Not enlightened by this new chore, she brought her arm through one of the front pockets, reaching for its hem. She grabbed the hem at the bottom and pulled, spilling out the contents onto the board top. Most the things were covered in a cumulative layer of lint, mushing half pieces of apple cores and scraps of written on paper together.

The other pockets followed suit, everything hiding inside them coming out in a dirty film of lint. She found at least a dozen old banana peels hunkering inside the confines of the lint.

"Someone has a thing for bananas," she snorted, tossing another peel into the bin.

Slipping her fingers back into the mound, she touched something long and metallic. Esther pulled it out, recognizing right away as the instrument had used earlier on the cow. Up close the instrument was much more intricate than she had realized. With a small dial and set of buttons fitted just underneath a blue bulb, her calloused hand wrapped tenderly around the grip, feeling the worn grooves where his hand would be. She recalled him using it as a scanner.

Pointing the device at a scorch mark on the wood board, she pressed a button, turning the blue light on and making a whizzing sound. It shut off almost immediately.

"Just my luck to break it." Her eyes trained the room for something else to light up. In the far corner where the soap was kept was a vase filled with dried flowers. Clicking the button, she tried her luck a second time.

Esther nearly dropped the device. By it's blue light the flowers brightened, springing back to life with green leaves and fiery red petals. She turned it off, shocked. She turned the device in her hands.

It was a sonic screwdriver. She remembered this so meticulously from her childhood, but she never dreamed she would ever see one again. She remembered the big-nosed Doctor having one, entertaining her by opening and closing the flowers in the garden with it.

That Doctor was long gone, though. Promising by his departure to never be seen again by little Esther Jones whom he had coined as the bravest little girl he'd ever come across. But how could John Smith have a screwdriver just like the big-nosed Doctor?

Her face flushed, Esther brought the screwdriver to eye level, inspecting it, looking for any details that could give Mr. Smith away. Maybe they were of the same species, or brothers. The thought smite itself; the Doctor had told her specifically he was the last of his kind. Any relations to him were lost in "The Great War."

Esther pounded her head for an answer to all these questions. Maybe John Smith stole it, maybe they were great enemies in the war…Her grip tightened around the screwdriver, frustrated and upset.

A thought struck her. Bringing her head up, she raised the screwdriver again, close enough to her face so it nearly met her lips.

"Where is the Doctor?" she whispered to the sonic screwdriver. She clicked the button down. Like a projector the screwdriver began beaming images, starting with several old faces of men she had never met. Three, five, seven different pictures of men she didn't recognize went by.

"That's him, the Doctor!" she whispered loudly at the screwdriver at the ninth image. The image switched. A girl stood next to the Doctor, golden light pouring out of her eyes. It was Rose. The Doctor came closer to her and kissed her.

Again the image changed. The Doctor stood next to a large control panel, looking sad and pained. Suddenly the same golden light poured out of him, consuming his face and hands. When it stopped he no longer looked like the Doctor, but had a new face.

Esther lifted her finger off the button, dropping the screwdriver on the table and clapping a hand over her mouth. "Oh captain, my captain!" she cursed, her eyes beginning to well.


"Doctor, why does everything look like packaged bricks in here?" Rose called out from the walk-in refrigerator.

"Like Esther said, they're dry packs. They remove all the moisture from a meal then block it so it's uniformed," he replied, picking at lint on the striped pajama bottoms he wore. "Kind of like astronaut food."

"There's just so much in here! Why though?"

"Haven't you seen a cargo ship before, miss?" Rose hadn't realized the metal door where the Captain had gone through had opened, Herlark standing in the doorway.

Rose stared sheepishly for a moment at him. "Sorry. More of a city girl."

"I wouldn't blame you," he chuckled, taking a seat next to the Doctor. "Whatever they teach in those schools they're academically driven. Book smart. You don't learn anything about the planets outside your own. Too bad.

"On average it takes a cargo ship seven months to pick up the products then another seven to return to their port where they sell the product. And there aren't any pit stops along the way usually."

"So this is all the food for a fourteen month journey?"

Captain Herlark shrugged. "It's actually a little low back there. All that by itself could last…what, eight months I'd guess."

"I thought all ships in this century were required to have a warp drive," the Doctor wondered aloud, itching his chin.

"If it's got an engine that can withstand the galaxies it can fly. Now those Craaz ships they can withstand one-hundred meteor showers before they shake."

The Doctor sat up rigidly, leaning forward curiously. "Oh? Tell me about Craaz. He seems to be the big name in these parts."

"Well, of course he's the big name. He owns half the division," Herlark chuckled, unsure. The smile dropped. Hesitantly, he leaned forward. "You don't monitor this division usually, do you?"

"Erm, no. Not really," the Doctor conceded. "We usually…stick to ship sales. Lot nicer here, though."

Herlark agreed. "Never a nice bloke in those parts."

"So this Craaz," the Doctor continued, bored with playing with the pajama bottoms, "What's his story?"

"I don't really know how much truth there is to it, but I guess he started on the bottom like most his kind. There isn't much respect for the native Chalians."

"He was born here?"

"Yeah. He started in the markets young then before anyone realized," Captain Herlark sighed, "he was at the top. He has a ship just for his corporation that monitor all his sales. They call his personal ship Olympus of the division; it's the size of a mountain!" Herlark paused. "Inspector, why are you so curious about Craaz? Anyone could have told you about him."

"Actually, never really felt the need until now. Where did Esther wander off to?"

"Doesn't usually take her this long. And what on your partner in crime?" Herlark leaned back in his seat towards the refrigerator doors. "Did you get lost in there?" he yelled jokingly to Rose.

"No, I'm fine. I think I found the stroganoff." Rose stepped out of the fridge, a thin layer of frost hanging onto her clothes, two packaged bricks in her hands. "Frigid in there. Are the pans under the sink?"

"Should be. But speak of her, there's Esther."

Looming into the room, Esther's eyes hastened to Captain Herlark, her gaze still distracted. Now looking over Rose's clumsy hands trying to unwrap the food pack and the too-slim-for-his-own-good Doctor, Esther didn't feel any resentment. Honestly, she felt more like hugging them than anything. But she buried the gurgling urge, turning her upturned smile to Herlark.

"Sorry I took awhile. You wouldn't believe what I found emptying his pockets." Briefly locking her eyes with the Doctor, Esther turned to help Rose with the meal instead, wanting to come up with a plan of action before she told the Doctor.

Not even fifteen minutes passed before the food pack had hydrated and formed into a hearty meal. With fresh foods from the market mixed in with the space blocks, the aroma the stroganoff caused everyone's stomachs to growl.

"So is it just you two then?" The Doctor paused when Esther and Herlark glanced at him. "Are there any other crew members?"

Captain Herlark and Esther exchanged quick, uneasy looks, unsure how to respond. "No, the rest are milling about in the market right now," Herlark replied before Esther could. "There are three others. Bit of a treat coming into an ITC port." His eyes averted clumsily to the plate in front of him, the steam curling into his grizzly beard.

"Would you mind if I say grace?" Esther asked, mostly directed at Rose who nearly bitten off a forkful of the stroganoff. Her cheeks lightening sheepishly, Rose set down the fork. Around the table they took each others hands, bowing their heads.

"Lover divine and perfect Comrade,

Waiting content, invisible yet, but certain,

Be thou my God.

All great ideas, the races' aspirations,

All heroisms, deeds of rapt enthusiasts,

Be ye my Gods.

Or Time and Space,

Or shape of Earth divine and wondrous,

Or some fair shape I viewing, worship,

Or lustrous orb of sun or star by night,

Be ye my Gods*."

Esther loosened her hands from Herlark's and the Doctor's, her eyes glancing over to the Doctor. His brow was furrowed in confusion.

"Amen. That was very nice, Esther. Did you learn that recently?" Captain Herlark conversed, not wasting a moment to put his knife and fork to work.

"Um, Esther," Rose hesitated, feeling she was going to upset Esther's suddenly bright mood, "What exactly is your religion?" She could feel the daggers of the Doctor's eyes upon her. Even while knowing it was an impolite question, Rose held her ground, not returning the look.

Esther seemed surprised. "We're Christians."

"I was just asking because- cuz I never heard that prayer before." An awkward pause lilted between them.

Her smile gone, Esther's lips tightened. "It's hard to find Bibles. So we live by biblical allusions in other writings."

"What do you read?" the Doctor asked quickly, trying to reverse the chill of touchy subjects into lighter things. He reached for his napkin.

She opened her mouth slightly, but shook her head, looking down at her food. "It doesn't matter. Food's alright?" Everyone nodded, trying to overcome the chill of touchy subjects.

Not a full minute, Esther cleared her throat, staring at the Doctor. He looked up from his knife and fork. "You've got a bit there, Mr. Smith," she said with well-practiced words, pointing to her upper lip.

The Doctor picked up his napkin, unfolding the napkin, pausing as he lifted it to his mouth. A light pen was written inside the fold.

I remember you, Doctor.


A/N: A slow chapter, I know. I'd rather be writing all the death and angsty scenes too! In due time, though. Character development! Thanks sooo much for reading

*An edited version of Walt Whitman's poem, Gods.