I am (somewhat) happy to report that I have officially finished season 6 of Doctor Who!

And as a result, my fellow Whovian LightBender and I have started a joint story called The Doctor's Army. It's posted through my account.

Now I know you're all anxious to hear about the Tool so read on and find out!

Songs for this chapter: After the Chase (Series 3) and Seeking the Doctor (Series 1 and 2)

The Time of Learning

"You're doing it again."

He blinked. "Doing what?"

The girl shuffled her feet. "Staring at me."

He glared. "No, you just seem to like sitting in my line of vision."

She ducked her head. "Sorry." She returned to her current task of studying Time Lord physiology.

Several tense moments passed.

He sighed. "Did you have a reason for interrupting me?"

She nervously brushed a long lock of hair behind her ear. "I just had a question." She said timidly.

"Well go on then."

She paused, her finger stuck to a spot on the page. "It says here… Time Lords have two hearts?"

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes."

"Oh." She was silent after that. What kind of a question was that?

The Architect tried to return to his work: blueprints for an aerial deployment mechanism of plasma grenades but something was nagging him. He glanced back at her. She had one hand pressed to her chest, as if she was feeling for something. He recognized the look in her eyes.

"Is it too much?"

She jumped a little and turned back to him. "No… No I'm fine." But her face was pale. Her pupils were completely dilated.

He stood and crossed the distance between their desks in a few long strides. "Come here."

She obeyed, laying the book to the side as she slid off her chair to meet him. She was still so short that he had to crouch to be at her eye level. With well practiced ease, she pulled her hair away from her face and presented her temples to him. He gripped her head between his hands and closed his eyes.

He sensed the question in her mind before it fell from her lips. "Is there any way you could..?"

"Growing an entire organ is difficult and complicated, not to mention messy." He replied, completely focused on his activities in her head. "Also your chest cavity is too narrow."

"Right…"

She flinched as he touched a sensitive spot. He immediately slowed his probing.

"If I were a Time Lord." She began. "A proper Time Lord. Would I be able to handle it?"

He gently left her mind and lowered his hands. "It would be easier to contain. But not necessarily easier to handle." He stood and walked back to his desk.

"Thank you." She mumbled.

He didn't acknowledge that he had heard her. But presently, as they both settled back to their work, his eyes were once again drawn to her.

The Tool sat at a spare desk in the corner of the workshop opposite his own. Her legs dangled a full foot off the ground. She leaned forward slightly over the enormous book balanced on the desk, peering intently at words she traced slowly with her finger. At least she had finally learned to read New Gallfreian and didn't have to annoy him by moving her lips or asking him to translate a word every minute. Apparently there was still room in her tiny head to learn.

He knew he should have let her die. Gallifrey had no place for a weak Time Lord, let alone a weak, fake one. She should have died. She was meant to die.

But he couldn't just let her die. She had looked into the schism and survived. Collapsed but survived. She had seen something. Something no Time Lord would have seen.

She shifted and a flicker of pain briefly passed through her eyes. But it didn't linger so he left her alone. Her screams still woke him some nights. But she never said a word. Never mentioned anything she feared, any nightmare that plagued her still from whatever she had seen. Whatever was still rattling around inside her head. He'd managed to contain the worst of it, enough to save her from bursting into flames. But he couldn't hide it all away, the mental blockade would've been like a siren to all surrounding Time Lords and that would be worse than letting her head split open.

So the blockade was fluid. It moved and things slipped through. Even after nearly a year, she still needed him around to hold her mind together.

He caught her sometimes, lost in her thoughts, wringing her hands, always that same look in her eyes: a look of pain and confusion, of knowledge and fear. He'd learned to watch for the warning signs before she passed out or screamed from the pain. But it was getting more and more tedious with each passing day.

He fiddled with a pen in his hand. "It is possible to make things easier to handle." He commented, turning his gaze away from her.

She looked up. He shuffled his papers around until he found a little black book buried underneath them.

"We just have to find a way of letting it out without making your head explode."

She blinked in confusion. "How?"

He smiled. You'd think she'd trust his brilliant plans by now.

He crossed to her desk and placed the book in front of her. She looked down at it and back up at him.

"I want you to try something for me."

She nodded obediently. He crouched so he was at her eye level and held the pen out to her. "Write it. All the things you see in your head, put them down as words."

She regarded the pen with a kind of fearful reverence. "But I don't even…"

He pushed the pen into her hand and closed her fingers around it. "It's alright. It'll help you manage the visions and feelings until I can work out something better. The things you see will make sense one day…" He'd meant it to be a lie but as the words slipped from his tongue, they became true. One day she would understand. He saw it in her eyes, the same way he had seen the golden staircase the day he'd met her. One day, her entire head would be full of the voices of the universe, dancing along the time-streams, touching the furthest stars…

"Architect?" Her voice pulled him from her future.

He stared searchingly into her clear eyes. "What did you see in there?"

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door and a familiar but entirely unwelcome metal probe. He abruptly closed his mind off.

"I know you're in there, open the door." He ignored the call. Maybe he'd just go away.

"This doesn't have to be difficult. Either your door stays on its hinges or not."

The Architect rolled his eyes as he walked to the door and yanked it open.

"Well if it isn't my little brother. What do you need from me this time?"

The slightly shorter man with hair that curled over his forehead and around his face regarded him evenly with hazel eyes. A new regeneration. The Architect felt a slight twinge of envy. None of his bodies had ever had hazel eyes. He wondered what they'd be like.

The Architect's brother adjusted his cravat as he stepped inside. "Why must you assume I need something every time I come around?"

The Architect closed the door behind him with a snap. "You still rattling about in that stolen TARDIS?" He inquired as he pushed past the man to lead the way to the sitting room.

"Borrowed." His brother replied sharply as he followed. "And I've been travelling, yes. Unfortunately that's on hold at the moment."

"You fried the chameleon circuit again, didn't you?" For the third time this century. "I told you, boxes are a difficult shape to assume and even more difficult for the circuit to break. If you like boxes so much why not just choose a box and leave it that way?"

They had crossed into the sitting room which could hardly even be called that. All that was in it were several hard chairs and a dusty tabletop. Not much company passed through these days. The Architect's brother waved the question away. "Never mind the circuit. That's not why I'm here." He settled rather stiffly into a hard, wooden chair.

The Architect leaned on the door frame, unwilling to sit just yet. "But that is part of why you came." His brother fidgeted nervously.

"…. Yes but that's not the reason."

He smirked in triumph. Foolish brother. He was going to enjoy this.

The man ignored his condescending smile. "Something's going on." He began seriously.

"So I gathered. You're on my doorstep."

His brother straightened up, seeming a little surprised. "You really don't care, do you?"

The Architect fingered the scar on his left arm, the only battle-scar this body had to its name. "You'll find there's not much worth caring about in my life these days."

"Please brother, can you just listen without commenting for once? This could be vital."

He acquiesced but not happily. He thought of it like a game: how long he could go without talking.

His brother took a deep breath. "I think something big is going to happen. Very soon."

"Oh? What makes you think that?" Ten seconds apparently.

His brother ignored the broken promise. "Why else would we all suddenly be called home?" He asked, leaning forward again.

He shrugged. "Class reunions, old battalions returning for a refresher, bi-centennial vote?"

His brother shook his head. "It really doesn't bother you?"

He pushed off the wall and walked around to the chair opposite his brother's. "You've been travelling too long." He told him as he sat down. "When people stay in one place for a long time, they get sentimental, they establish relationships with people and they occasionally gather and celebrate."

His brother stiffened. "Not me."

The corner of his mouth twisted. "Well, you never did care much for family did you?"

"Well neither did you."

The two brothers regarded each other in silence for a long while, their gazes and thoughts both hard and reserved.

"What do you want from me?" He finally asked when the silence was too much to bear.

His brother sat back. "I need your help getting into the High Council records."

"No."

"You haven't even heard why yet!"

"And you just insulted me, tell me why should I help?"

The other man rose to his feet, towering over the Architect's seated form. This regeneration was taller than the last one. "Something is going on. Something huge and all-encompassing. It could be disastrous. I'm just trying to help. Why is it so hard for you to see that?"

He sighed. He could see where this was going. Just like his brother, playing the 'good Samaritan' card. "So what's the problem?" He asked, trying to keep the sardonic edge out of his voice. "And why do you need my help?"

His brother settled down a bit but remained standing. "Everyone's been called home." He reiterated.

He settled back in his chair. Repetition was not going to prove the point. "Nothing wrong with that."

His brother shook his head. "No, you don't understand. Everyone's been called home." He said it very deliberately, with a pointed look towards the empty spot on the wall.

He sat forward very suddenly, both his hearts racing. "Everyone?"

His brother nodded. The Architect's eyes were involuntarily drawn to the empty spot. "Even…?"

His brother nodded, a sad smile curving up his face. "Knew that would get your attention."

He whipped around to stare at his brother. "How did you..?"

"I scanned the signal when I received it." He explained, sitting back down. "It wasn't unique to me, it was being sent to everyone."

The Architect couldn't help a glance at the spot again. "Have you seen her?" He asked, trying not to sound desperate.

His brother took a deep breath. "No. No I haven't. But I've only just arrived, she could be back…"

The Architect stood and started pacing the length of the room. "When did it start?"

His brother looked on with a sad expression that he ignored. "The recall only began last month, but the signs have been around for awhile. The Council has been meeting more and more often. Ever since that night nearly a year ago, they've been on edge."

He scoffed. "They're always on edge."

His brother paused. "They've started taking children to the schism at six." He said bitterly.

He stopped pacing and faced his brother. "And this is a cause for concern?"

"It's getting worse, whatever they see." His brother said, a hint of anger creeping into his voice. "They say there was a girl who collapsed at the schism about a year ago and she was of age."

He tried not to flinch.

"Whatever she saw was so bad her mind could not bear it. She completely sealed herself off."

He stared out the window at the large tree. His brother was silent but he didn't dare turn around to face him.

"Anything else?" He asked.

"The Visionary. She spoke."

He turned back to his brother, surprised. "When?"

"About two months ago."His brother informed him. "Hasn't shut up since."

The ancient Time Lady had not spoken in over a century. Now he was genuinely curious.

He crossed back to the chairs. "What did she say?"

His brother shrugged. "Usual stuff, bunch of nonsense. But she drew this." He traced a spiral in the dust on the table, starting at the center and circling clockwise outward several times. "And she said: 'It is coming, it is here, it is starting, and it is ending.'"

He stared down at the symbol. Something about it was familiar. "What is that supposed to mean?"

His brother shrugged. "No idea. That's why I came to ask you."

The Architect narrowed his gaze. "What makes you think I know anything about prophecies and riddles?"

His brother smirked. "You don't." He sat back and looked up at the Architect. "But you understand soldiers. You understand politics. And you can get me inside the system."

"Why would I do that?"

His brother gazed at him evenly. "I just told you."

"Not interested." He didn't even hesitate.

His brother stood, one fist clenched. "After all that? You can't possibly expect me to believe that you're not even the tiniest bit concerned?"

He stood as well, but more casually. "Caught me on a bad day, sorry." He turned to walk away but his brother grabbed him by the arm and glared.

"Well would it interest you to know that I managed to hack some of the communications before I was blocked?"

He shook his arm free. "See you don't need me. Look at my clever brother all grown up and poking his nose where it doesn't belong."

The other man ignored the jab. "Well I found something quite surprising." He stepped in front of his brother as if to stop him.

The Architect sighed exasperatedly. "You and I differ greatly on our definitions of surprising."

His brother raised an eyebrow. It wasn't fair that all his regenerations seemed to be able to do that without looking ridiculous. Well, except maybe that one he'd seen over two hundred years ago, the last time his brother had been home. "Oh really? Tell me, is this surprising? Why would the High Council be receiving communications from the dalek emperor?"

Before his statement could really sink in, his brother suddenly fell silent and peered around him at the entrance to the room. He turned to follow his gaze.

The child was poking her head around the door. There was no way of telling how long she had been there. She still clutched the pen in her fingers but the book was nowhere in sight.

His brother stepped around him towards the girl. "Well this is new. You're not one to keep young company."

He stepped in front of his brother to stop his advance. He couldn't let him get too close, what if she had a relapse? "This is the Tool."

The other man raised both his eyebrows. "The Tool? That's an unfortunate name."

"She chose it." He replied defensively. The girl shifted slightly behind him.

His brother examined her a little too carefully for his liking. "She looks more like a Scribe if you ask me." He stated, indicating the pen in her hand.

He stiffened. "I didn't ask you." He replied through his teeth.

His brother ignored him and offered the child a friendly smile and probably a gentle mental touch. "Hello there."

She didn't respond, she just stared at him with those wide, clear eyes like an animal watching a predator. Then she ducked back behind the doorframe into the workshop.

His brother frowned. "Is she always that strange?"

He shrugged noncommittally. "You'd be surprised."

His brother looked at him carefully for a long while then sighed in defeat. "You really won't help me?"

He took up position against the door frame again. "I'm no longer a soldier brother. My influence counts for very little now. I can't help you."

"Can't or won't?"

He didn't answer that question.

The man nodded once, his gaze hard. "I'll see you then brother." He stalked past the Architect and towards the door. After a moment, he pushed off the wall and followed, crossing back into the workshop just as the door slammed behind his brother's retreating form.

The Tool was standing next to her desk, frowning at the closed door. "I don't like him…" She stated.

He glanced down at her. That was odd. Usually his brother was the likable type. "Why not?" He asked her.

She stared unblinkingly at the door, like she could see through it. "He's dark. All darkness and anger and pain…"

Surprised, he knelt in front of her again, trying to look into her eyes. They remained fixed on the door. "How can you see that?" He asked.

She blinked and didn't answer but her grip on the pen in her hand tightened. Her other hand rested near her collar.

He snatched the book from the tabletop. She'd only had it for ten minutes or so but already the back and front of the first two pages were covered with her scribbles. She wrote in her native Earth language of course, he'd have to train that out of her. But that was not his concern right now. His eyes flew across her writing until they found the impossible. Scrawled across the page, hidden among the detached, childish script she had been writing in before was a single line of tight, neat penmanship in Old High Gallfreian runes as if something else had taken hold of the pen and crafted the words themselves:

The Time War will end when the Bad Wolf howls to the Oncoming Storm.