FAST UPDATES! SUPER FAST!
I've had a couple questions about the Doc/OC nature of this story and, to settle any further inquiries, there will be eventual Doctor/Poet. WHICH MEANS CANON RULES ARE GOING TO BE BROKEN! HARD! So any hardcore fans of River/Doctor may want to find the exit, located at the end of the labyrinth behind the Minotaur. Thank you, and read on!
W'P
"If you press me to say why I loved him, I can say no more than because he was he, and I was I." -Michel de Montaigne
-o-
Thunder boomed overhead, following a bolt of lightning that blasted the front step of the Greystark Hall Orphanage, and the three people standing there, one hanging back, simply there to supervise. A nervous-looking man opened the door, staring at them with large, scared eyes. He was balding and shaking minutely, clutching a handkerchief.
"Hello?" He greeted quietly.
Canton held up his ID. "FBI. You must be Dr Renfrew. Can we come in?"
"The children are asleep . . ." Renfrew protested shakily.
"We'll be very quiet." Amy said reassuringly.
"Is there a problem?" The orphanage owner asked.
"It's about a missing child." Canton answered.
"What are you . . . yes, yes, come in." Renfrew opened the door and shuffled back, letting them inside. The house was in even worse shape inside. The wallpaper was peeling off in great strips, and water dripped through the ceiling from the rain. It had clearly once been a very beautiful building, but the damp and rot had dilapidated the gorgeous architecture. The stairs creaked as they stepped up, following Renfrew. On the wall, written in what looked like red paint, were the words: "GET OUT LEAVE NOW", which had been partially washed away.
"This way," Renfrew said, beckoning. "Please excuse the writing. It keeps happening. I try to clean it up."
"It's the kids, yeah?" Amy asked. "They do that?"
"Yes, the children." Renfrew muttered. "It must be, yes."
The Poet reached out and dabbed some of the paint, touching her tongue. "I don't think so." She said under her breath.
Renfrew reached out and rubbed some of the paint away with his handkerchief, and his sleeve pulled back to reveal the words "Get out" written on his wrist. "Anyway, my office is this way."
"We nearly didn't come to this place." Canton told him as they continued up the stairs, walking across a landing and up another staircase. "I understood Greystark Hall was closed in '67."
"That's the plan, yes." Renfrew said, voice still quiet and almost whimpering.
"The plan?" Amy asked.
"Not long now."
"It's 1969." Canton corrected. The Poet looked at Renfrew, frowning. His demeanor was raising some red flags for her, and she kept an eye on him and why he would be acting as such.
"No, no," Renfrew denied. "We close in '67. That's the plan, yes."
"You misunderstood me, sir." Canton reiterated. "It's 1969 now."
"Why are you saying that? Of course it isn't." Renfrew frowned at them, though his eyes were still weirdly large, like he was perpetually scared.
"July."
"My office is this way, this way." Renfrew muttered, turning down to walk up a smaller staircase. The "agents" stopped on the landing and looked at each other.
"Listen, you two," The Poet said quietly. "Something doesn't smell right. Investigate if you wish, but be careful and remember your nano recorder." She pointed at each of them. "I'm going downstairs. Yell if you get in trouble."
"I'm going to check upstairs." Amy started off to the next staircase up, and Canton turned to follow Renfrew.
The Poet started down the stairs, grimacing as she turned her ankle in her shoes, slipping on the wood stairs shiny with water. She plucked an earpiece from her jacket and secured it, pulling out her sonic as she walked. "Doctor, you there?"
There was a pause, some crackling, and then the Doctor spoke. "Yes, hello, Poet. Where are you?"
"An orphanage. This is definitely where that little girl was." The Poet opened a door to a bedroom on the ground floor, and it creaked open. Bed frames and a couple dirty mattresses were along the walls. A couple torn teddy bears or broken toys lay about.
"How can you tell?" The Doctor asked. There was a faint clanking in the background.
"The aliens have definitely been here, but it's deserted. The owner has seen them so many times, his mind is completely fried." The Poet looked around the room, pressed a hand on a mattress and sonicing the wall.
"Okay, find out what you can, but don't hang around." The Doctor told her. There were more clanking noises, and then the sound of footsteps.
"Doctor, where are you?" The Poet straightened up and listened to the other end for a moment. "Are you stealing something?"
"Gotta go! Got company!" The Doctor exclaimed, and the line went out. The Poet rolled her eyes and turned off her earpiece. She looked around the room a bit, but seeing nothing important, turned around to walk out. As she did, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in one of the few windows. There were a few tally marks on her neck.
Her hand tightened around her sonic, and she looked down to her arms. They were covered in the little black lines. Looking to her hand, she saw the light flashing, and played the recording. "Poet," She whispered to herself. "Don't look up. Just do an about-turn and walk right out of here, get Amy and Canton, and—Oh, hell, they've seen me!"
The Poet sighed, clenched her teeth, and willed herself not to look up as she marched to the door and walked out. As she took the doorknob, a flashing light reflected on the rusty bronze. Eyebrows raised, the Poet stopped and touched her palm. "Run, you idiot!" She cried over the recording.
She couldn't resist now. The Poet turned around and saw a tall, thin alien with a bulbous white head and tiny eyes reaching out to her. It made a clicking noise and tilted its head. The place where its mouth should have been began sucking in. Without thinking a second more, the Poet turned and ran out of the room, tearing up the stairs to get Canton.
Before she could even start up the stairs, she stopped and blinked. "Huh. Okay . . . damn, I bet it was one of those—" From upstairs, Amy screamed. "Creatures. Amy!"
The Poet ran up the staircase to Renfrew's office, now holding her bothersome shoes and getting her feet wet through the stockings. She ran into Canton, who was holding his gun. "What happened? Why are you holding your gun?"
"I'm going to assume I shot something. Now let's move!" Canton took off up the stairs, the Poet sliding around after him.
They reached the hallway on the top floor, and Amy was yelling from one of the doors. "Help me! Please, I can't-I can't see! Somebody help me!"
Canton threw himself into the door, trying to shoulder it down. However, the door seemed to be made of iron and was probably a couple inches thick. "Amy! Amy, can you hear me?" He tossed himself at the door again. "Amy, I'm going to try to blow the lock. I need you to stand back."
Just as Canton pulled out his gun, two Time Lords pushed him away and both tried to sonic the lock, and the hall was suddenly crammed with people from Alistair to River. The door was open twice as fast and they crushed inside, looking around the room. It was a young girl's bedroom, though clearly abandoned. Stuffed animals were strewn about, the evidence of a struggle all around. An astronaut suit was lying on the floor, crushing a cradle.
The Poet scanned the suit as River knelt and opened the visor. "It's empty." She said.
"It's dark, it's so dark. I don't know where I am. Please, can anybody hear me?" The sobbing came from a tiny, flashing red light on the rug. Rory knelt and carefully picked it up, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. They watched him grimly, as he held the voice of his wife in his hand.
"They took this out of her." Rory said quietly. "How did they do that, Doctor?" Amy continued her weeping. "Why can I still hear her?"
"Is it a recording?" River asked.
The Doctor soniced it for a moment, his face solemn. "It defaults to live. This is current." He muttered. "Wherever she is now, this is what she's saying."
Rory held the recorder to his mouth. "Amy, can you hear me? We're coming for you, wherever you are, I swear, we're coming."
"She can't hear you." The Doctor said morosely. "I'm so sorry, it's one-way."
"She can always hear me, Doctor. Always, wherever she is. She always knows that I am coming for her, do you understand me? Always." Rory glared at the Time Lord, eyes steely.
Amy's next words, however, made Rory's heart almost visibly break. "Doctor, are you out there?" Rory stared in shock at the recorder, and the Doctor bit his lip. "Can you hear me? Doctor? Oh god. Please, please just get me out of this."
Rory and the Doctor stared each other down for a minute, before Rory brought the recorder to his mouth again. "He's coming. I'll bring him, I swear." It was not a promise to Amy, more than it was a demand of the Doctor.
"Hello, is someone in there?" A timid voice called, and the party swiveled to face the door, Canton aiming his gun, but he put it down upon seeing Dr Renfrew. "Who . . . I think someone has been shot. I think we should help. We . . . I-I can't remember." He turned and started leading them out.
A dresser with several framed pictures on it caught the Poet eye as they walked out, and she hurried over to have a quick look. They were all of a girl at different stages in life, up until she looked to be about six or seven. The Poet stepped forward to observe one further back, and heard glass crunching under her foot. She jumped away, still having no shoes on. She bent and picked up a picture, the glass in the frame broken. It was of the girl being held by her smiling mother; her mother, who was undeniably Amy Pond.
"What . . ." She breathed, staring at the photo.
"Poet, you coming?" Alistair peeked through the door, and the Poet hurriedly set the picture down.
"Ah, yes, coming." The Poet jammed her shoes on her feet and clopped down the hall. "Following Renfrew, yes? And where have you been, mister?"
"I guess. And for your information, Poet, I've been hanging out with President Nixon." They arrived at Renfrew's office, where an alien was lying bleeding on the floor. It pushed itself away from them as the Doctor stepped forward, hand outstretched.
"Okay." He said. "Who and what are you?"
"Silence, Doctor." The thing said. Its voice was gravelly and strange. "We are the Silence." The Poet flashed back to her parting with Sh on Minerine, and his final warning. As if hearing her thoughts, the Silent went on to say, "And silence will fall."
-o-
They had taken the space suit back to the warehouse. Canton was back in 1969 with the President, helping plan the next step. River and the Doctor were dissecting and inspecting the suit on the operating table. There was a small, black-and-white television on one of the crates, displaying the live preparations for the launch of Apollo 11. The Poet was sitting and watching it, moderately interested, but letting her thoughts wander. Rory was sitting away from them, listening to Amy cry over the recorder.
Metal scraped on metal as Alistair pulled a chair up next to the Poet. She glanced at him, nodding a little in greeting. "How're you doing, Poet?" He asked gently.
She looked to her companion with a slight frown. "What do you mean? I'm fine. Just watching telly." She gestured to the TV.
"Oh, don't even do that." Alistair scoffed, leaning back. "I know you're not fine. Trust me, I know."
"Do you?" The Poet shot over, her tone slightly more cold than she meant it to be. She sighed and put her hand over her face, resting her elbows on her knees. "What's wrong with me, Alistair? I haven't felt this angry in so long and I don't know why . . ."
"You're in love."
"What!" The Poet straightened up, staring at him with a mix of amusement and surprise. "How in the world did you come to that conclusion?"
"I've been around long enough to know. Not as long as you, but you have a tendency to overlook the obvious." Alistair smirked, as though her reaction proved his point. "I see how you look at him." He jerked his head back at where the Doctor and River were standing over the space suit. "And don't forget, I was there right after you snogged him at Amy's wedding."
"Well, so what?" The Poet said defensively, and a bit too fast. "People snog people all the time, sometimes no reason, what of it? And you were drunk, your judgment was all off, and I had been drinking too."
"Exactly." Alistair laughed, became more serious. "Poet, I don't know how relationships work on Gallifrey; but you need to talk to the Doctor about this regardless."
"There's nothing to talk about." The Time Lady crossed her arms and fell back in her chair. "When you're as old as I am, Alistair, you learn that you can't always win. Look at that pair." She shrugged back at the operating table. "Peas in a pod. I'm not going to come between that. I've had to make this decision before, Alistair, and it never gets any better." She sighed and ran her hand down her face, and for a moment, she let that mask slip. The one where she was always happy and interested in new things. For a second, she looked immensely sad, and old, and tired. And most of all, in that moment, pained.
"I pray you never have to do what I'm doing, Alistair." The Poet finally muttered. "Being the good guy is a sacrifice to your own happiness."
"Then don't be the good guy." Alistair said simply. "Let yourself be happy for once."
"And do what?" The Poet snapped. "Just confront him? I'm the biggest coward in the universe, from the day I was born. It isn't that simple for me. I couldn't be brave for my planet, I couldn't be brave for my loved ones, and I often can't be brave for those I need to help."
"Then be brave for him." Alistair stated bluntly, watching her seriously. The Poet hung her head, taking off her hat and running a hand through her hair.
"This is Houston, do you read? Over." The TV crackled out.
"Why does it look like a NASA space suit?" Rory asked. The Poet decided to tune into the conversation, listening now.
"Because that's what the Silence do. Think about it." The Doctor paced around, getting on a train of realisations. "They don't make anything themselves. They don't have to. They get other life forms to do it for them."
"So they're parasites then?" River piped up.
"Super parasites. Standing in the shadows of human history since the very beginning. We know they can influence human behaviour any way they want. So if they've been doing that on a global scale for thousands of years . . ."
"Then what?" Rory asked.
The Poet looked over as the Doctor stepped over to watch the television. "Then why did humans suddenly decide to go to the moon?"
"Ten, nine, ignition sequence start, six, five, four . . ." They watched Apollo 11 getting ready for takeoff.
The Doctor finished his own thought. "Because the Silence needed a space suit."
". . . one, zero. All engines on. Lift off. We have lift off." The rocket soared into a sky, the very mascot for human expansion around the universe. "32 minutes past the hour, lift off on Apollo 11."
The Poet watched the TV, as Apollo 11 made a trail of smoke in the sky, and people who were there looked on in awe, shielding their eyes from the sun. She smiled at the hopeful expressions on their faces, thinking to her encounters of humans across the universe in the future, and how this one small rocket made using less technology than her sonic screwdriver would pave the way for explorers across the stars.
"Inspiring, isn't it?" She murmured, smiling slightly at the television.
"Yeah." Alistair responded, staring in wonder to rival the people on screen. "Kinda surreal to be here, watching it."
"Mm, this is one time I haven't been yet." The Poet mused, placing her hands on her hat in her lap. "Quite the . . ." She trailed off as the camera changed to another shot of the people present at the launch. A woman in a dark sundress, the colour of which was hard to tell from the black and white TV, was watching the rocket with a hand over her eyes to block the sun. A choker necklace in a style reminiscent of the 1920's hugged her neck, and her hair was done up in a bun. She looked to the camera and did a double take, staring in shock and worry. In the blink of an eye she vanished in the gathered crowd. The camera changed back to the scientists monitoring the Apollo.
"Poet?" Alistair leaned forward and waved a hand in front of her face, snapping the Poet away from her staring. "You still with us?"
"Ah, yeah, still here." She shook her head, but still thought about the odd woman. "I just saw someone . . . she looked familiar."
"Well, who was she?"
"I don't know." The Poet rubbed her chin. "There was something vaguely familiar about her, I can't quite place it. Where have I seen her before? Oh, this is just going to kill me . . ."
They turned as a rasping voice sneered from behind them, "You should kill us all on sight." The pair in front of the TV turned and saw the Doctor holding River's scanner, watching a short video clip of the injured Silence scoffing at Canton.
"This suit, it seems to be repairing itself." River said from across the room. "How is it doing that?" The Doctor pocketed the device and walked back to the table, and the Poet and Alistair turned back. The Time Lady was still thinking of the woman on TV, getting bugged like nothing else.
"Argh!" She groaned, clutching her hat. "Where have I seen her before?!"
"Calm down, Poet, probably just a doppelganger." Alistair patted her shoulder wryly. "Happens all the time, nothing to worry about."
"It looked like she needed to say something." The Poet thought furiously, rifling through her memory. "It wasn't like I really recognised her, more like she seemed vaguely familiar, like how you know someone's relative by their eyes or nose or ears."
"I'm sure you'll figure it out. Déjà vu, I get it all the time." Alistair grinned. "Like you lost a life and restarted at the last checkpoint!"
"Oh my god." The Poet breathed, the pieces clicking together. "No. No, no, no, no, no, and three times no!" She stood and started pacing, agitated now, but keeping her eyes on the screen. "I don't understand. This is no less than a road trip, a plane ride and several long jumps from sense."
"Poet, what is wrong with you?" Alistair stood and clapped his hands on her shoulders. "Do you know her?"
"Oh, yes. Yes, I know that woman very well." The Poet shoved her hat on, jaw clenched. "And I want to know why she was there. Because she's—"
"Time to go!" The Doctor announced urgently, waving to the TARDIS. "Poet, could grab the television for me please, we'll be needing that. River, armed and ready. Alistair, Rory, have your guard up. Come on, everyone, we have a planet to liberate!"
Alistair made a little whining noise, still not knowing why the Poet had her dander up. She grabbed the TV and headed toward the blue box with Alistair just behind, pouting. The TARDIS took off the second the doors were closed, shaking and landing at its destination. The Poet handed the TV off to the Doctor and took out her sonic as they piled out into a dark room that looked similar to another she had been in. Several of the Silence stood around, one directly in front of Amy, who was strapped to an operating table.
"Oh! Interesting. Very Aickman Road, seen one of these before. Abandoned, wonder how that happened." The Doctor walked casually into the room with the TV, stepping past the Silence. "Oh, well! You lot from the TARDIS, keep one Silent in eyeshot at all times. Oh, hello, sorry." He just seemed to notice the Silence there, and spoke to the one in front of Amy. "You're in the middle of something. Just had to say though, have you seen what's on the telly? Hello, Amy, you all right? Want to watch some television?"
The Doctor set the TV on the console facing Amy and the Silent in front of her, who for some reason, despite being identical, seemed to have some level of authority. "Ah, now, stay where you are." He held out a hand as the Silent stepped forward. "Look at me, I'm confident. You want to watch that, me, when I'm confident. Oh, this is my friend, the Poet. Great hat, quick as a whip, has a sonic screwdriver and, like me, could probably scare you all off single-handedly."
The Poet waved her sonic like a weapon as she stepped over to the Doctor. "Well, I don't like to brag, but yeah, probably."
"I know you're all team players and everything, but she'll definitely clear out at least a planet full of you." The Doctor went on.
"Oh, at least two." The Poet flipped the sonic around and caught it.
"Two planets, really?"
"Three for you, love."
"Stop it."
"Make me."
"Yeah, well, maybe I will."
"Is this really important, flirting?" Amy snapped, leaning out a little so the Time Lords could see her. "I feel like I should be higher on the list right now."
"Yes, right, sorry." The Doctor got back on track. "As I was saying, my fellow Time Lord here will help me clear out Earth of you lot and any planets besides. So maybe you should get an escape pod ready, or set a finish line." The Doctor began to walk around the console. "Or maybe you could just listen a minute, because all I really want to do is accept your total surrender, and then I'll let you go in peace. You've been interfering in human history for thousands of years. People have suffered and died. But what's the point in two hearts, if you can't be a bit forgiving now and then."
He walked around full circle and came back to stare at the leader's distorted face, as though waiting for an answer. "Ooh! The Silence. You guys take that seriously, don't you? OK, you got me, I'm lying. I'm not really going to let you go that easily. Nice thought, but it's not Christmas. First," He turned on the TV to show the lunar lander. "You tell me about the girl. Who is she? Why is she important? What's she for? Guys, sorry. But you're way out of time. Now, come on, a bit of history for you. Aren't you proud, because you helped?" He extended the comically long antennae. "Do you know how many people are watching this live on the telly? Half a billion, and that's nothing, because the human race will spread out among the stars, you just watch them fly. Billions and billions of them, for billions and billions of years. And every single one of them, at some point in their lives, will look back at this man, taking that very first step, and they will never, ever forget it."
They stopped and watched for a moment, just before Lance Arm/strong stepped foot on the moon for the first time. The Doctor seemed to remember something. "Oh." He pulled a mobile from his pocket. "But they'll forget this bit. Ready?"
"It's one small step for man . . ." Armstrong began to say, but was cut off by a video clip of the injured Silent in the Doctor's old prison cell with Canton.
"You should kill us all on sight." It hissed, and continued repeated on a loop for a minute or two.
"You've given the order for your own execution," The Doctor said. "And the whole planet just heard you."
The TV went back to the broadcast of the landing. "One giant leap for mankind."
"And one whacking kick up the backside for the Silence!" The Doctor cried triumphantly, throwing up an arm. The lead Silent tilted its head as it realised what had happened, making that angry, quiet clicking. "You raised an army against yourself, and for a thousand generations, you're going to be ordering them to destroy you every day. How fast can you run? Because today is the day the human race throw you off their planet." The Silent began to advance on the Doctor, who took a step back. "I think the word you're looking for is 'Oops!' Run! Guys, I mean us! Run!"
The Silence in the room opened fire, mouths now stretched open as electricity shot around the room. River began shooting back, killing several in the first few seconds. The Doctor and Poet began waving their sonics, holding back the Silence and blasting some of the tech to distract them. Alistair made a run for the TARDIS and accidentally kicked the Poet, who was diving for cover from sparks and a bolt of lightning. And yet, the Silence still seemed to be building their power up to full.
"Gah! Sorry!" Alistair went to help the Poet up but she had already rolled away, her sonic whirring loudly as she held off a Silent.
"Don't worry about it!"
"Are you okay!"
"Yeah!" The Poet swung a leg up to kick a Silent in the gut. "I needed to get some anger out somehow!" She slammed the end of her sonic into the hunched Silent's soft head and it crumpled.
"Oh my god, did you just kill something?" Alistair cried as he ran to the TARDIS.
"Quite possibly!" They both made a break for the police box, ducking under River as she spun, shooting the Silence as she went. They hurried into the TARDIS, Alistair sitting down with a gasp of relief and the Poet running up to the console. A few moments later, River joined them by the console, pushing the Doctor out of the way to help fly.
"You can let me fly it!" He protested loudly.
"Or we can go where we're supposed to." River countered smoothly.
"Thank you!" The Poet leaned around the console to point and nod at River. "Always off track, this one."
"Hey!" The Doctor looked over at her.
"Oh, you know I'm only teasing. Ouch." The Poet gingerly touched her torso, grimacing. "Donovan!"
"Oh, god, did I hurt you?" The ginger looked up, panicked.
"I'm fairly certain you broke something." She tested out each of her ribs, and gritted her teeth as she touched one just below her left heart. "Ooh, ow, yeah, that's broken. Excuse me a moment, Doctor." She walked down to her plump little wardrobe TARDIS, sitting off to the side. Alistair following anxiously behind, she hobbled inside, walked down a short flight of steps and turned a few corners before coming to a sickbay, clean and white and sterile.
"Are you okay? What happened? Can I help? Can't you heal yourself? What are you doing?" Alistair clenched and unclenched his hands, clearly worried sick, which touched the Poet.
"I'm fine, you broke two of my ribs, no, only around my regeneration cycle, and right now I'm . . ." The Poet reached into a cabinet and looked through a few boxes before reaching into one and taking out a syringe filled with tinted green liquid. "Going to heal my ribs." She took off the plastic cap and stuck the needle into her arm, quickly injecting the serum into her blood. The syringe clattered to the white countertop as the Poet convulsed slightly, grinding her teeth together and gripping the edge of the counter until her knuckles threatened to break skin.
After a few minutes of grimacing and sweating, she sighed and relaxed. "Oh, that's much better." She patted her middle. "All good now." Smiling, she strode happily out of the sickbay and back through her console room.
"So, that's it? You just stick that in you and you're all better?" Alistair asked incredulously as they stepped back into the Doctor's TARDIS.
"Well, yes, but you can only take so much of it at a time. Not good for the immune system, you see. I won't be able to have any more for another year or two." The Poet left her door open. "It's very handy, that stuff, but a tad dangerous. And very painful to take, as well."
The TARDIS came to a stop, and they walked to the door, opening it to once again see the Oval Office, in daytime now. Canton and Nixon were both there, along with a handful of suited agents. The Doctor walked out to shake hands with Nixon.
"So we're safe again?" The President asked him, smiling.
"Safe? No, of course you're not safe. There's a billion other things out there, waiting to burn your whole world. But if you want to pretend you're safe, just so you can sleep at night, OK, you're safe. But you're not really." The Doctor turned from the now confused Nixon to Canton. "Canton. Till the next one, eh?" They shook hands.
"Looking forward to it." Canton nodded, smiling widely.
The Doctor turned back to Nixon. "Canton just wants to get married. Hell of a reason to kick him out of the FBI."
"I'm sure something can be arranged." Nixon agreed.
"I'm counting on you." The Doctor turned back to the TARDIS.
"Er, Doctor . . ." Nixon said uncertainly. "Canton here tells me you and . . ." He nodded to the Poet. "Your gal, are . . . from the future. Hardly seems possible, but I was wondering . . ."
"Should warn you, I don't answer a lot of questions."
"But I'm a President at the beginning of his time. Dare I ask? Will I be remembered?"
The Doctor smirked a little. "Oh, Dickie. Tricky Dickie. They're never going to forget you." He turned back to the TARDIS. "Say hi to David Frost for me."
The next stop was Stormcage Prison, to drop River back off to continue serving time. The Doctor went out to see her off, leaving the other four inside to burn some time. The Poet tapped her foot and checked her watch. She was itching to go, and decided that she was going to go off with Alistair for an adventure or two themselves; however, she didn't want to leave without saying goodbye to the Doctor.
He hustled in the door a minute later, looking a bit flustered and slightly pink in the face. He walked quickly up to the console and started to pilot it away. "Doctor?" The Poet leaned over. "I'm off with Alistair for a bit, I'll be back soon."
"Oh, you leaving?" He asked, turning. "We were about to go on some adventures, you know, all around the universe and stuff."
"And I know we have the best adventures, but I think Alistair deserves a day off after everything with the Silence." The Poet smiled at him. "I'll be back before you can say ''The brakes are still on'." She turned and hopped down to her TARDIS, jumping into the fluffy coats. "Come on, Alistair!"
-o-
Alistair watched the Poet warily until she disappeared into her TARDIS, and then jogged up to the Doctor, giving his shoulder a little push to get his attention. "Oi, you Time Lord. Doctor." He said sternly.
"Ow, yes, what?" The Doctor turned, now a bit grumpy from the small shove.
"What are your intentions with the Poet?" Alistair nodded to the wardrobe.
"What do you mean, 'my intentions'? They're perfectly honourable, if that's what you mean."
"I hope they are, for your sake."
"Donovan!" The Poet yelled from the TARDIS, her voice distant.
"Just a moment, Poet!" Alistair called, and turned back to the Doctor. "I hope you know that she . . . er . . ." He stopped, not sure if that was something he was at liberty to say. The Doctor gave him a look that very clearly said, "Go on." Alistair sighed, biting his tongue nervously. Oh, the Poet would absolutely murder him for this . . . "I hope you know that the Poet loves you, okay? Oh, I'm so dead."
The Doctor couldn't have been more surprised if he'd been slapped, but frankly, Alistair figured he should have seen this coming after Amy's wedding. "She—wait, what? Really?"
"Yes, really!" Alistair hissed, waving his arms in a 'keep it down' kind of motion. "She's going to be so mad, but she basically admitted it to me earlier at the warehouse. She really cares for you, okay? She seems very confused about it. But she's all edgy about getting in the way of whatever weird thing you have going with River, and, Doctor," Here Alistair paused to look seriously at the Time Lord. "I don't want her hurt, and I don't care about how many planets you've been to, or how old you are: if you hurt the Poet, I am going to hurt you back. Got it?"
The Doctor nodded, seeming to be taking in this information. "Yes. Trust me, Alistair, I have no intentions of being cruel."
"Alistair Mackenzie Donovan!" The Poet yelled, louder now. Alistair winced at his full name being used; he was doomed.
"You guys are brilliant friends. Just . . . think about it, okay?" He nodded to the Doctor and hurried to the wardrobe. "Coming, Poet! And, um, don't be mad, but . . ."