I did write a bit of the Doctor trying to lead Team Torchwood. It was fun. Probably a lot more fun for me than for him.
He started by gathering the team together for a briefing. It had never occurred to him that they wouldn’t appreciate a clear chain of command.
“I’m the Doctor,” he began.
“Yeah, we know,” said Owen, “that guy Jack’s been having wet dreams about for the last three years.”
“Fortunately for you,” he replied, with his most Gallifreyan frown. “I’m going to treat that remark with the contempt that it deserves. Now, I’m a Time Lord……”
“The kind that enslaves the human race?” Owen came back to him, completely undaunted, and frankly he wasn’t used to that. What exactly was the bloke’s problem – a mild case of Tourette’s Syndrome, or an ego the size of the Master’s?
“I’m not asking you to like me,” he told him. “I am asking you to be polite to me, and work with me. My priorities, in order are these. To make this universe safe again. To find out what happened to Jack and get him home. And to keep this team together until that happens. Any problem with that?”
“Look, mate,” said Owen. “I don’t care who you bloody well are - nobody cleared this with any of us and I’m the second-in-command to Jack. And if you don’t like that, Doctor, you can fuck off.”
Nobody argued with him. He’d forgotten how scary a bunch of grim-faced humans in suits and leather jackets could be.
“Right,” began the Doctor. “When you know how to seal deep temporal breaches and prevent another Canary Wharf – or worse – then you can do my job.”
“He doesn’t want to do your job, Sir,” said Ianto, making the title sound like an insult. “He wants to do his own. As do all of us.”
“Fine!” replied the Doctor, controlling himself with an effort. “So, Owen Harper, is that throwing your weight around doing Jack’s job or getting on with your own? Because I was under the impression you were a medic.”
“That’s none of your fucking business,” Owen snapped.
“Yes it is, because you have to work with me.” He managed to stop himself, in the nick of time, from claiming to be the boss. They had a point – that had never been part of the arrangement with Jack. “If you’re running this outfit, who’s doing the medical stuff?”
Tosh spoke for the first time. “Owen’s assistant starts today, doesn’t she?”
“And who’s she? Some student fresh out of med school who wants to change the world by lunchtime?” the Doctor demanded.
“Her name’s Martha Jones, Sir,” said Ianto.
Oh great. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse.
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Date: 2008-01-17 07:19 pm (UTC)I did write a bit of the Doctor trying to lead Team Torchwood. It was fun. Probably a lot more fun for me than for him.
He started by gathering the team together for a briefing. It had never occurred to him that they wouldn’t appreciate a clear chain of command.
“I’m the Doctor,” he began.
“Yeah, we know,” said Owen, “that guy Jack’s been having wet dreams about for the last three years.”
“Fortunately for you,” he replied, with his most Gallifreyan frown. “I’m going to treat that remark with the contempt that it deserves. Now, I’m a Time Lord……”
“The kind that enslaves the human race?” Owen came back to him, completely undaunted, and frankly he wasn’t used to that. What exactly was the bloke’s problem – a mild case of Tourette’s Syndrome, or an ego the size of the Master’s?
“I’m not asking you to like me,” he told him. “I am asking you to be polite to me, and work with me. My priorities, in order are these. To make this universe safe again. To find out what happened to Jack and get him home. And to keep this team together until that happens. Any problem with that?”
“Look, mate,” said Owen. “I don’t care who you bloody well are - nobody cleared this with any of us and I’m the second-in-command to Jack. And if you don’t like that, Doctor, you can fuck off.”
Nobody argued with him. He’d forgotten how scary a bunch of grim-faced humans in suits and leather jackets could be.
“Right,” began the Doctor. “When you know how to seal deep temporal breaches and prevent another Canary Wharf – or worse – then you can do my job.”
“He doesn’t want to do your job, Sir,” said Ianto, making the title sound like an insult. “He wants to do his own. As do all of us.”
“Fine!” replied the Doctor, controlling himself with an effort. “So, Owen Harper, is that throwing your weight around doing Jack’s job or getting on with your own? Because I was under the impression you were a medic.”
“That’s none of your fucking business,” Owen snapped.
“Yes it is, because you have to work with me.” He managed to stop himself, in the nick of time, from claiming to be the boss. They had a point – that had never been part of the arrangement with Jack. “If you’re running this outfit, who’s doing the medical stuff?”
Tosh spoke for the first time. “Owen’s assistant starts today, doesn’t she?”
“And who’s she? Some student fresh out of med school who wants to change the world by lunchtime?” the Doctor demanded.
“Her name’s Martha Jones, Sir,” said Ianto.
Oh great. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse.