Living on the Powell Estate meant that there was never a dull New Year's Eve, especially after a spaceship carrying menacing monsters from outer space dominated the Christmas skies. People had moved on in the following days, as they so often did, but he could still hear whispers in some parts of the estate, and indeed the country. They'd all witnessed a monumental event in history, and that preyed on everybody's mind in some shape or form.
Celebrations were loud and raucous when Brendan awoke that morning. People on the estate were always keen to get a head's start for the new year, drinking and shouting to their heart's content, regardless of the time of day, and this year was no different. He could hear music blaring at deafening volumes, competing with every other song on the estate. Neighbours were screaming platitudes at each other from balconies, and a few crotchety naysayers yelled at them to shut up.
Brendan tuned out the outside cheer with an amused smile, and heaved out of his bed, rubbing at his bleary eyes as he stumbled out of the bedroom. Nathan, as usual, was plopped in front of his new Xbox 360 with a packet of crisps and a discarded bowl of cereal, playing a game of Fifa. His mother was hunched over the coffee table, reading glasses perched on her nose as she pored over some documents.
"Yes! Get in!" Nathan cried suddenly, jolting Brendan out of his ruminations. Incensed, he stalked over to his cheering brother and kicked him in the back. Nathan whipped around furiously. "Oi!"
"Shut up," Brendan hissed. "And clean your stuff up."
"You shut up," Nathan said petulantly.
"Both of you shut up!" their father's muffled voice yelled from his bedroom, as he banged on the wall to illustrate his order.
"Boys," their mother said firmly, accusingly pointing a paper in their direction. "Start a fight and I'll chuck you out for the day."
"That's illegal," Nathan crowed snottily. "I'm telling Mr Saxon."
"Oh, Mr Saxon," Sofia huffed, bitterly cursing in Italian under her breath. "If I never see that man again, it'll be too soon."
"Thought you and Dad loved him," Nathan pointed out.
"We do, caro," Sofia sighed. "But he is a very frustrating man to plan for."
Brendan hopped onto the sofa beside her, peering at the papers with a frown. "You managing an event for him?"
Sofia made a noncommittal hum of confirmation. "Right now, it feels more like he's managing me."
"Usually what politicians do," Nathan sniped. Brendan plucked a spoon from the table and chucked it at his head, smirking at the outraged look on his face.
"You'll be alright, Mum," he said reassuringly. "You're great at planning and stuff."
"I know I am," Sofia said proudly. "But there's just so much to account for."
"Event's ages away," Nathan said with surprising grace, even if his attention was solely focused on the screen.
"Exactly," Brendan agreed. "There's loads of time."
Sofia took a breath. "You're right," she conceded, giving Brendan a kiss on his forehead. "Now, stop sitting here and make yourself some breakfast."
Brendan smiled obligingly and hopped off the sofa, cuffing Nathan over the back of his head as he passed. "You're still stupid," he said over his shoulder.
"So are you," Nathan called out. "And you're meant to be the older one."
Brendan rolled his eyes as he stuffed some bread into the toaster, leaning thoughtfully against the counter as he waited for it to sprout up. It had been a few days since the incident with the Sycorax, and he found himself unable to move on like everybody else had. When he'd woken up on the rooftop after his talk with the Doctor, alone with only a funny wheezing sound for company, he felt like a door had been shut in his face. A door he'd declined.
Suddenly he was constantly looking over his shoulder, seeking out adventure in the grimy estate shadows, and every other nook and cranny he knew off by heart, but it was all pointlessly boring now that an entire world had been opened up for him.
He lifted himself onto the counter with a heavy sigh, reminding himself of the reasons he had chosen to decline: his family, who had been through so much in such a short space of time, were going about their lives as if they hadn't been shaken to the core, and his exams, a fleeting but anxiety-inducing period of his life that would be over before he knew it. What would he do after they were over? Get a job? Where? The thought of going to work, killing time and then coming home like clockwork was wholly unattractive.
He'd considered taking a gap year to travel after A Levels were completed ever since he started GCSEs, dreaming wistfully of days in sunny Australia instead of completing his maths questions, but problems started to arise, as they so often did. Where would he go? How much did he need to save up? Where would he get the money?
In the end, it all circled back to getting a job and being like everybody else.
The sound of the toaster snapped him from his ruminations, and Brendan leaped off the counter, shaking himself for his despondency. It was New Year's Eve, the numbing existential questions could wait another day.
He started rummaging through the cupboards for Nutella, dimly aware of the knocking at the front door.
"Is no one going to get that?" Sofia called out exasperatedly. Brendan smiled to himself as he rattled a cupboard to signal his indifference, and listened idly as his mother rose from the sofa, once again muttering a string of Italian curse words under her breath.
He kept one ear on the door as he sifted through the drawer for a butter knife, spreading the chocolate over his toasted bread as he listened to his mother's shameless gossiping with a recognisably brash, loud girl.
"Nathan, babes," the girl said suddenly, midway through a racy story involving Tina the cleaner and the market vendor. "You're doing my head in with those voice cracks."
"Get lost, Shareen," Nathan grumbled absentmindedly. Brendan rolled his eyes at the exchange and stepped out of the kitchen, deciding to make his presence known.
Shareen homed in on him instantly. "Alright, cutie?" Her smirk faded, and she ran her eyes along his skinny frame assessingly. Brendan simply bit into his toast, waiting for her to say whatever she needed to say. "Babes," she started slowly. "I get the estate's rough and all, but most people actually make an effort this late in the day."
"What?" Brendan furrowed his brow and looked down at himself, belatedly realising he was dressed in nothing but his boxers. "Oh," he said quietly.
Shareen's ruby red lips curled into a smirk once again. "You trying to come onto me, 'merican?"
Brendan's eyes bulged at the implication. "No!"
"I dunno," Shareen said with exaggerated doubt. "That's what Dave said 'fore he tried to jump me at the club."
Sofia playfully slapped her shoulder. "Don't wind him up!" she clucked. "You know how easily he blushes."
Shareen grinned at her. "Exactly. Get over yourself, babes," she said airily, holding up her left hand to show off a flashy diamond ring. "I sure as hell did."
Brendan flopped onto the sofa and indulged in his toast, but his mother gasped. "Shareen! Are you…?"
"No chance!" Shareen snorted, waggling the ring. "Just a gift from Jay-Jay."
"So why d'you keep it on your ring finger?" Brendan said critically.
"So topless guys like you leave me alone," Shareen retorted. "How d'you know about ring fingers anyway? Something you're not telling us?"
"Shareen!" Sofia tutted disapprovingly.
"I'm only messing," Shareen laughed. "What girl'd want to marry him, anyway?"
Hopefully none, Brendan thought wryly. "Why are you here again?"
Now Sofia turned on him. "Brendan!" she chided.
"I wanted to see you," Shareen said to Sofia, the smile softening into a frown. "I need a favour."
Sofia looked curious. "I'm listening."
Shareen pursed her lips thoughtfully, perching on the coffee table. "I need a job."
"I thought you had H&M now," Sofia frowned, taking a seat on the table beside her. Brendan watched them for a moment, toying with the notion of reminding his mother that she was always haring about how fragile their coffee table was. In the end, Nathan beat him to it, and was rewarded with a light slap over the head.
"I did," Shareen said gloomily. "But me and the girls got cut, didn't we?"
"Why?" Sofia probed gently.
"Cos Keisha had her hand in the till, didn't she," Shareen grumbled, and then she muttered something else under her breath. It was so quiet that Brendan found himself leaning forward curiously, as did his mother and brother.
"You called him what?" Nathan demanded with a frown. Shareen loudly repeated her statement with gusto, and everyone in the living room burst into laughter.
"Oi, it's not funny!" Shareen huffed. "I'm out of a job!" She turned to Sofia hopefully. "So, got anything on? Nothing much, just to tide me over."
"Of course you can have a job, sweetheart," Sofia assured her. "I've got something upcoming, and I'll need the staff. I could do with someone to help with ordering the supplies in the meantime."
Shareen brightened considerably. "I can do that!"
"Any of your friends need jobs too? I can get them on as staff."
"You're the best, Sof," Shareen declared, pulling Sofia into a tight hug. Brendan smiled softly at the display. His mother had made a name for herself running the local venue opposite the pub as an independent events business, hiring anybody with a good head off the estate as catering or planning staff if they needed a job. It was her benevolent acts of kindness that had earned them a good reputation and — most importantly — free food from the chippy. The estate dubbed her the 'Wonder Sof', which Brendan found to be a cheesy but accurate nickname.
Shareen left soon after that, with a playful slap to Brendan's cheek and a boisterous 'Happy New Year', vowing to see them all later at Jackie's annual party. Brendan settled into the sofa, sighing in contentment as he enjoyed his toast and watched his brother fail epically at his game, providing snide commentary and earning a middle finger as a result.
Five minutes after Shareen left, there was another knock on the door.
Brendan rolled his eyes, but again made no move to answer it. His mother glared at him incredulously, and then at the back of Nathan's head, before abandoning her papers and trudging to the front door again.
"Why didn't you answer it?" he asked Nathan. "Instead of just sitting down for no reason."
"Shut up. You're just sitting, too," Nathan pointed out sourly.
"I'm older," Brendan proclaimed languidly.
"You're ancient," retorted Nathan. Brendan chucked the bread crust at his head.
"Oh!" their mother abruptly exclaimed."Mickey!"
Brendan and Nathan stared at each other in shock, registering Mickey's reply to their mother, "You alright, Sof?"
"What's he doing here?" Nathan hissed accusingly, as if the whole thing was his brother's fault. "He's gonna shank us!"
"He's not even a murderer, you idiot," Brendan said shortly.
"Dad said he was," Nathan replied smugly.
"He was wrong, like always," Brendan whispered furiously. "Rose is still alive, you moron. You went to her party, remember?"
Nathan paused then, his eyes widening in realisation. "Oh, yeah."
Brendan rolled his eyes and slumped back onto the sofa, fully prepared to eavesdrop on the conversation to sate his curiosity, when his mother and Mickey walked into the room.
"Mickey! What you doing here?" Nathan gasped as if he hadn't just been gossiping about the man a moment earlier.
"Idiot," Brendan muttered lowly under his breath.
"Alright, lads?" Mickey said awkwardly, as if he knew that they'd been discussing his presence. The tension didn't last long, as Mickey soon turned to Brendan with a smile. "Run out of shirts?" he asked jokingly.
"He's a tramp," Nathan said bluntly, and was quickly silenced by a withering glare from their mother.
"Takes one to know one," Brendan quipped. "I forgot to grab one," he added for Mickey's benefit.
Mickey quirked a brow. "Aren't you cold?"
"Not really," Brendan shrugged.
"Well, you should probably grab one," Mickey suggested. "Jackie wants to see you."
Brendan frowned, sharing a puzzled look with his mum and brother. "Me?" Mickey only offered him a helpless shrug. Brendan sighed. "Alright, I'll grab a t-shirt and meet you up there?" he suggested. Mickey nodded and dutifully stepped outside, always mindful of never overstaying his welcome. It struck Brendan how hard the year of harassment and whispers might have affected him.
"I wonder why she didn't just call," Sofia mused.
"Murderers don't leave any traces!" Nathan crowed flippantly. This time, Brendan lobbed a cushion at him.
Once he'd managed to make himself semi-respectable, Brendan hurried upstairs to 48 Bucknall House. The door was left open, seemingly to grant him passage, but he tentatively knocked anyway.
"Hello?" he called out nervously.
To his relief, Jackie poked her head out of the living room a second later. "Hi, sweetheart," she said warmly. "Come in!"
Brendan obliged, shutting the door behind him and padding over to the sofa, perching on the armrest.
"How are you doing?" Jackie asked him softly.
Brendan shrugged. "Alright. Happy to be out of school."
"Ha!" Jackie laughed. "Cheers to that."
"Yeah, I know the feeling and all," Mickey chimed in as he stepped out of the kitchen, peeling off a pair of gloves.
"You came for that assembly before Christmas, though," Brendan frowned. "You and the band."
"Nah, that was business."
Brendan pulled a face. "I wouldn't call it that."
"It was our best performance," Mickey said defensively.
"It definitely put the 'bad' in Bad Wolf band," Brendan murmured, cringing at the ill-fated end-of-year performance.
"Yeah, yeah," Mickey said with an eye-roll, and Brendan grinned at him.
"How are the guys?"
"Good, yeah," Mickey said simply. Brendan nodded, and the pair lapsed into a slightly awkward silence.
"Micks is fixing up my washing machine," Jackie revealed offhandedly, drawing their attention. "Stupid thing never works."
"Nothing I couldn't fix," Mickey said confidently.
"Nice," Brendan said appraisingly.
"D'you want anything, Brendan?" Jackie spoke up. "Tea? Coffee? Water? A sandwich?"
"No, thanks," Brendan quickly interjected. Once Jackie got rolling, there wasn't much that could stop her. "I gotta ask, though — how come I'm here?"
Jackie slumped back into the sofa thoughtfully. "Me and Mickey were chatting, and he told me about how you were on that spaceship with them. The one on Christmas?"
"Haven't been on any others," Brendan pointed out.
"Still, how you holding up?"
Brendan blinked, taken aback by the sudden question. "Fine," he said a moment later. "I mean, it's… different. Everything's different."
"Scarier?" Mickey prompted.
"Yeah, but also kinda… exciting, I guess?" Brendan struggled, unable to string together his words in a manner that suitably conveyed his thoughts and feelings.
"It's all so strange, isn't it?" Jackie hummed. "And mad. And the worst part is that you feel like you can't talk to anyone about it."
"Yeah," Brendan murmured. That was exactly how he felt.
"Well, you're right," Jackie said bluntly. "No one else will understand what it's like. How could they? It's flipping aliens."
"I suppose," Brendan shrugged glumly. It was true that he couldn't discuss the Sycorax with his mother, there was no way she could ever empathise. Besides, he was pretty sure she'd lock him up forever if she ever found out.
"But we do," Jackie continued. "Me and Micks, we get it. We've seen the Doctor, we know what he does. Got attacked by the big green monsters and all."
"Twice," Mickey said glumly. "And Montadeans."
"What?" Brendan looked between them strangely.
"Look, all I'm saying is that I get how lonely it gets," Jackie said. "I felt it for a long time, when Rose went missing, d'you remember? But Mickey gets it now, and you do too. So we can rely on each other, when nobody else gets it, d'you hear? Anytime you wanna talk about it, come to your Aunt Jackie."
Brendan considered it all for a moment, thinking about how stifling it had been to see everybody else move on from the Christmas invasion while he'd been locked in place, constantly looking over his shoulder. Even though some of them whispered about it in the shadows, he'd felt tremendously alone. But as he looked between Jackie and Mickey's warm expressions, he realised that they truly did understand.
Finally, Brendan nodded in confirmation.
"Good." Jackie smiled at that. She rose from the sofa. "Now come on, away with the pair of ya. I've gotta get this place ready for the party. And don't think either of you're getting out of it. It's a new year. Everyone should celebrate together."
Brendan and Mickey shared an eye-roll at Jackie's antics. Beneath all the danger and isolation brought on by her daughter and her mysterious friend, she was always unfailingly true to herself. The thought was reassuring to Brendan.
Mickey stalked out of the door without complaint, and Brendan followed suit, pausing briefly to cast a look back at Jackie, who suddenly seemed to cave in on herself now that she stood alone. She caught his gaze, and shooed him away with a smile.
Brendan smiled sadly in return as he gently closed the front door. She was always unfailingly true to herself, but it was clear that the danger and isolation had taken their toll on Jackie Tyler.
There were very few people on the Powell Estate that were lauded for throwing the most outrageous parties, but it was universally agreed that one of them was 48 Bucknall House's Jackie Tyler. The entire living room was packed to the brim with people, from Shareen and Keisha, to Mickey and his roommates Mook, Sally and Patrique, to old lady Dilys. Brendan's own family were spread out around the area; his mum was laughing with Jackie and her friends, Nathan was by the crisp bowl with Mickey, debating some game, and his dad was lounging in a chair, a bottle of beer loosely clasped in his hand, being generally unsociable, yet charming the ladies without raising a sluggish hand. It was eye-roll worthy.
Brendan was sat cross-legged on the floor beside the living room entrance, watching the festivities with a blend of curiosity and irritation. He didn't hate the celebrations, but he didn't necessarily enjoy them, either. There was something about a room full of people that unsettled him, and the longer he sat there, the more that creeping feeling seeped into his gut.
He would never begrudge anyone their celebration, except maybe his father, depending on how spiteful he was feeling, so Brendan stood up and quietly left the flat when everybody converged to dance in the centre of the living room, hoping he didn't draw too much attention as he did so. Feeling immensely better once the cool air brushed against his face, he slowly travelled up to the rooftop, mulling on the possibility that he was more introverted than he initially thought.
Upon reaching the roof entrance, Brendan stooped down to grab the key from its hiding place, pausing halfway when he realised that the door was hanging slightly ajar. Frowning, he stood up, and gently pushed it open, feeling a strong sense of déjà vu wash over him.
He was surprised by his own disappointment at seeing a man that wasn't the Doctor perched on the plateau.
The man turned to him, a curious, almost knowing glint in his eyes. "Hello there," he said, waving animatedly. "Come to enjoy the fireworks?"
Brendan frowned. "It's not for another twenty minutes."
The man shrugged. "Time's relative in this dump. Come to sit?"
"Er," Brendan hesitated, surprised at himself. He was usually never so ruffled by the sight of a strange person on the roof, it was far too frequent an occurrence. But a lot had changed since he'd been given a glimpse of the bigger picture, and there was no telling what species the man was, even if he looked strangely familiar.
"Come on," the man said confidently. "I don't bite. Much." He smiled charmingly then, and Brendan relaxed, offering him a small smile in return as he hopped onto the ledge beside him.
"Never seen you around before. You new?" Brendan said conversationally, making note of the man's pristine suit and dress shoes. He looked far too formal for a man knocking about the Powell Estate, and his mother would have rattled on ceaselessly about a newcomer. He still recalled when the Pyes first moved onto the estate, and his mother had crowed about safety measures around the now-deceased troublemaker Darren Pye, often to the point that Brendan just tuned her out.
The man snorted derisively. "This dump?" he said seethingly. "Never."
"It's not that bad," Brendan defended.
"A young, handsome boy like yourself?" the man firmly pressed a strong hand to Brendan's shoulder. "You're worth more than this."
"Thanks," Brendan mumbled, hoping his embarrassed flush didn't show too much. He was normally far better at receiving and brushing off compliments, but there was a manner about the man that made him uncomfortably tense.
"Why are you up here?" the man asked him, and Brendan seized on the topic change.
"Just needed some space," he revealed. "There's a party downstairs."
"Not a fan of people," the man deduced.
Brendan shook his head. "I don't mind them," he corrected. "I just… don't like being in large groups when they've had a few to drink."
The man nodded in agreement. "It's only natural," he said assuringly, lips twisting into a sneer. "Who wants to be stuck in a room of stinking, stupid idiots when you're not the centre of attention?"
"I don't want to be the centre of attention," Brendan said immediately, the very thought making his stomach twist into knots.
The man looked to him, the harsh sneer softening into something warmer. "You should be," he said with tremendous certainty. "You should be king of it all."
Brendan smiled shyly at him, taking in the man's combed brown hair and sharp, angular features. There was something in the man's striking brown eyes that dredged up the familiarity that he'd felt before, and his smile turned into a thoughtful frown. "Have we met?"
The man grinned. The very gesture was like an exploding supernova. "What makes you say that?"
"I feel like I've seen you somewhere," Brendan admitted.
The man leaned into Brendan's side, angling his lips towards the boy's ear as if to whisper a dirty little secret. "Perhaps on the television?" he suggested helpfully. "I am the Minister of Defence, after all."
Brendan jumped back as if he'd been jolted, staring at the smug man with wide eyes. "You're Harold Saxon," he breathed in disbelief. "Holy crap, you're Harold Saxon!"
Saxon's grin broadened. He waved his hands in a showman gesture. "It's me!" he proclaimed with gusto. "But don't tell anyone."
"What are you doing here?" Brendan blurted out, before quickly backtracking. "I mean, it's nice to meet you, but you just called this place a dump. It's not exactly a political hotspot."
"I'm reviewing the property," Saxon said grandly. "It's the next on my list."
Brendan perked up considerably. "No way!" He tilted his head, perplexed. "You work during the holidays?"
"I'm the Minister of Defence," Saxon said with the barest hint of acrimony. "I don't get holidays."
Brendan winced, suddenly feeling very stupid. "Oh yeah, that makes sense."
"It's a good thing," Saxon said assuredly. "I think I'd get bored. There's not much to satisfy me, though I'm sure I've found an exception." He smirked coquettishly at Brendan, and there was something about that look that made the boy's pulse quicken.
"You know my dad," Brendan coughed awkwardly, trying to snap himself out of his daze. "And my mum. She's running an event for you."
"Ah, yes," Saxon said knowingly. "Kevin and Sofia. You must be Brendan. I've heard about you."
"Yeah?" Brendan blinked, surprised that his father mentioned something other than the opinion that he was an ungrateful child.
Saxon assessed him for a moment. "I see it now. You've got the best parts of their features."
"I wouldn't say that," Brendan said modestly. "Used to look like a half-Italian camel. It wasn't very pretty."
"Nonsense," Saxon scoffed. "You're gorgeous."
"Not so bad yourself," Brendan complimented, enjoying the way the man's face lit up with amusement. "So, Powell's the next on your list? That's great. We need it."
"I'd raze this place to the ground if I could," Saxon muttered. "Suppose I'll make do with renovating it instead."
Brendan laughed politely. "You've got weird jokes for a politician."
"Oh, but I'm the only sensible one," Saxon cooed, leaning into his side with a charismatic smirk. "Every other bureaucrat is miserable and repressed. I do who and what I want, whenever I want."
A rush of warmth spread through Brendan's entire being, pooling around his face, and he quickly cleared his throat. "You got any family waiting for you?" he diverted clumsily.
"Oh no," Saxon's lips curled in distaste. "Not for a long time."
Brendan frowned. "Don't you miss them?"
"Not in the slightest," he replied automatically. "But there is someone waiting for me. I promised him a midnight rendezvous." He winked at Brendan. "I won't tell anyone if you don't."
"Sorry?" Brendan said tensely.
"Your secret is safe with me," Saxon cackled as Brendan spied around the roof, an irrational fear gripping at his chest, in case someone was present to catch Saxon's surprising insight. There were things nobody knew about Brendan, things he didn't want them to know, lest he get chased out like the last unfortunate guy.
The man rose from the plateau, distracting Brendan as he cracked the kinks out of his neck, and looked down at him. "Brendan Ambrosi," he drawled, rolling the name off his tongue, pressing a hand to Brendan's cheek and rubbing the underside of his jaw. "Happy New Year."
Brendan nodded numbly, so captivated by this strange politician that he didn't bother correcting his surname. "Yeah," he murmured softly. "Happy New Year."
With an incline of his head, Harold Saxon turned away and strode out of the exit. Brendan watched him go in silent amazement, pondering over the mysterious politician. He was still mulling over the man when the fireworks started streaming into the sky a few minutes later, casting it aglow with a plethora of shapes and bright colours.
People cheered and screamed at the top of their lungs, and Brendan admired the fireworks, tapping his fingers to a persisting rhythm in his head.
He hoped that he'd meet Harold Saxon again one day.
A/N: A short interlude to provide a little more insight into the life of the Ambrosi-Jackman clan, and their dynamics with other residents on the Powell Estate. We'll be revisiting this family a lot over the course of the story, in line with the RTD era's stressed importance on family dynamics, but as teased by the appearance of Mr Saxon himself, we'll be moving on with adventures in the next chapter!
As an aside, Mickey's mates Sally, Mook and Patrique are all featured characters from RTD's novelisation of Rose, and Dilys is an elderly widow from the New Series Adventures novel Winner Takes All.
Thank you to everyone who reviewed and followed the story, I greatly appreciate every one of you, and it pleases me beyond words that you enjoy Brendan's character. I've worked hard on making sure he stands out from the rest, and he has a long journey ahead of him.
Sayitaintgray: Glad you're enjoying the story so far! I do agree that some fanfiction tend to go the easy route and throw in OCs without inherent character traits and flaws. It's part of the reason I strived to make Brendan distinctive with his own backstory and family, rather than making him a carbon copy self-insert. I do have to credit the influences of LiteratusAO3's Zoe Tyler and Sonny13's Hartley Daniels, though, because they are some of the best characters and writers out there.
22wolfgirl: I suppose the general public's ignorance towards the true nature of the snow could be attributed to the fact that the public weren't actually told what the Torchwood energy beams were. So if everybody went home that night after a snowball fight, like the Ambrosi-Jackmans were… I dread to think, haha. As for the Doctor's previous boyfriend, spoilers!
Puppy24610: Here it is! I hope you enjoy.
Sam: Glad you're enjoying the story. Jack and Brendan's meeting is something that I highly anticipate as well. I hope I do it justice.
Jedi Master Albus: Thank you! I certainly do have plans for post-Tennant eras, but it all depends on time constraints and how well this story is received! I hope we do reach there, though, the Moffat era is my favourite.
Next up: School Reunion! I hope to see you all there.
