“Well, I would stay and have a bite, but that Guinea Hen, lovely as it is, well… for some reason it reminds me of a rat in a plastic bag, see?”
Mickey Smith sucks in a gasp as he stares at the pregnant young man sitting in his kitchen, with his favorite mug full of hot tea held in both hands.
“But, you weren’t there, with me and Rose and the boss, you… you’re… you can’t be, he’s… you’re supposed to be…”
“I can’t answer that. The whole of Creation could depend on my not answering that question, Mister Smith, so please… don’t ask me it again. Besides, my clothes are rubbish- I’ve been wandering the stellar streets for a month.”
“Oh shut it, Mickey! But, let me get this right- ‘Benjamin’, you’re a Time Lord? But, I thought…”says Martha Jones, her dark eyes grinning at their visitor. As she pulls up a chair beside Benjamin’s, she tries to head her husband off at the pass with a kick at his shin under the iron tabletop.
“I know, I know, ‘all the Time Lords were turned into incredibly brainy goulash by the Doctor’.” Benjamin laughs, holding his head after a moment. “Well, some of us survived, mostly good ones, some bad. But that’s not here or there. Or even today. What is important now is that none of you say anything of what you suspect to our dear Captain Jack. Do not let on. Do not interfere. The whole of Creation could depend on…”