“Infernal is right. Even the Daleks fear her, after what she did.” Jack mutters under his breath. His lungs are constricting, like crumpled oxygen bags; they feel old and used. The man’s time capsule is right there. He came out of her. Green Coat must be a Time Lord… but, which faction? It won’t detract from his revenge to watch this particular side show play out. He laughs to himself; he didn’t used to be so unattached. He used to be…
“Ignore him, Eight.” Benjamin quips with a wince as he reaches under Jack’s foot to rub his stomach. He looks up, and his peridot eyes are dark on Green Coat’s face. “How… how long since…?”
Green Coat’s youngish, roundish, thinnish, sharpish, owlish face drops suddenly at that, grey-blue eyes staring like ghost lights, but then a red-nailed hand pops out of his pagoda-shaped ship’s double doors with a robin’s egg blue teacup on a saucer for him. Without turning, he spins an arm about to take it, in a whirl of greenish bluish velvet coat flaps.
Benjamin, still on the floor, is dragged away from Jack and up into a chair by Martha while Mickey grabs the mug of tea and holds it to his lips, minus the rug burn he got through the tear in his trousers, which is already healing. “So, old friend, the tea is drunk, the beds are warm, and we are again without a paddle. Par for the course. Do be nice to that one, will you? He’s a favorite of mine.”