-
“Well, Sergeant, I’ll put it this way: there isn’t much of a lab left. Do you think you could get the door open at all?”
“I certainly hope so.”
He takes a few steps back.
“Here goes nothing…”
As he’s always found before, flinging his shoulder into the door is an effective, if somewhat painful, method of getting it open. He stumbles a little at the sudden lack of resistance, but stays on his feet.
“Blimey, sir, I see what you mean about the lab.”
“Yes, well…” Mike had barely had time to move away from the door before it burst open. Something drips into the corner of his eye, and he wipes it away. It was blood. Perfect.
“Listen, Benton,” he says, stumbling a little over the debris as he approaches, “I think Jo and the Doc were in here when the explosion went off. We need to find them.”
Benton takes in the Captain’s dishevelled appearance with a measure of consternation, which only increases at the mention of the Doctor and Jo.
“Right, sir.”
He picks his way over to the closest of the large piles of rubble that have taken over the floor and begins to shift the debris. Ideally, he’d like to clean up that wound on the Captain’s head, but missing people are more urgent as things stand. Still, he keeps an eye on the other man as he works.
Mike moved away from Benton, conscious of the Sergeant’s eyes on him. It made him uncomfortable. Instead, he moved over to the TARDIS, and knocked on the door.
“Jo? Doctor? Are you in there?”
There was no reply. He tried the handle, but it was locked. Maybe not, then.
Nothing. Absolutely bloody nothing. Benton can feel his eyebrows drawing together in frustration, and squashes a wince as he slices his palm on what looks like it might have been a test-tube before the explosion. He takes hold of it again, more carefully, and resumes shifting rubble. He allows himself a tiny half-smile as an idea occurs to him.
“I’m probably being daft, sir, but mightn’t the Doc keep a spare key? You know, the way most of the lads do, in case they get themselves locked out?” Admittedly, he thinks it somewhat unlikely, but stranger things have happened, and he’d rather their friends were in the TARDIS than buried under this lot.
-
Mike gave a hollow laugh, but cut it off with a wince. “I think you might be right… How do things look out there?”
Benton gave the corridor a cursory glance. “Messy, more than anything. I think we have a few new cracks in the ceiling, but it’s not so bad. Would I be right in thinking the lab got the worst of it?”
“Well, Sergeant, I’ll put it this way: there isn’t much of a lab left. Do you think you could get the door open at all?”
“I certainly hope so.”
He takes a few steps back.
“Here goes nothing…”
As he’s always found before, flinging his shoulder into the door is an effective, if somewhat painful, method of getting it open. He stumbles a little at the sudden lack of resistance, but stays on his feet.
“Blimey, sir, I see what you mean about the lab.”
“Yes, well…” Mike had barely had time to move away from the door before it burst open. Something drips into the corner of his eye, and he wipes it away. It was blood. Perfect.
“Listen, Benton,” he says, stumbling a little over the debris as he approaches, “I think Jo and the Doc were in here when the explosion went off. We need to find them.”
Benton takes in the Captain’s dishevelled appearance with a measure of consternation, which only increases at the mention of the Doctor and Jo.
“Right, sir.”
He picks his way over to the closest of the large piles of rubble that have taken over the floor and begins to shift the debris. Ideally, he’d like to clean up that wound on the Captain’s head, but missing people are more urgent as things stand. Still, he keeps an eye on the other man as he works.
-
Mike gave a hollow laugh, but cut it off with a wince. “I think you might be right… How do things look out there?”
Benton gave the corridor a cursory glance. “Messy, more than anything. I think we have a few new cracks in the ceiling, but it’s not so bad. Would I be right in thinking the lab got the worst of it?”
“Well, Sergeant, I’ll put it this way: there isn’t much of a lab left. Do you think you could get the door open at all?”
“I certainly hope so.”
He takes a few steps back.
“Here goes nothing…”
As he’s always found before, flinging his shoulder into the door is an effective, if somewhat painful, method of getting it open. He stumbles a little at the sudden lack of resistance, but stays on his feet.
“Blimey, sir, I see what you mean about the lab.”
-
“To be quite honest with you, Sergeant, I’m not entirely sure. Look, do you have any idea what’s happened?”
He looked over at the room behind him, but he still couldn’t make out any familiar shapes. Maybe because his vision was vaguely blurred.
“Some kind of explosion, as far as I can make out, sir. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost wonder if one of the Doc’s experiments finally turned out to be as delicate as he always tells the Brigadier they are.”
It’s a weak attempt at humour, perhaps, but he’s not quite sure how else to deal with the general lack of things that are at least vaguely under control.
Mike gave a hollow laugh, but cut it off with a wince. “I think you might be right… How do things look out there?”
Benton gave the corridor a cursory glance. “Messy, more than anything. I think we have a few new cracks in the ceiling, but it’s not so bad. Would I be right in thinking the lab got the worst of it?”
-
There was a crash somewhere to his right, followed by a voice which he recognised even when muffled. He turned his head to see the door, shut tight. He pulled himself to his feet and leant against it.
“Benton? Is that you?”
“Yes. Are you alright, sir?”
He was beginning to suspect the door had become important to the lab’s structural integrity, and that really wasn’t a pleasant thought. Nor was the fact that he’d only managed to locate one other person so far…
“To be quite honest with you, Sergeant, I’m not entirely sure. Look, do you have any idea what’s happened?”
He looked over at the room behind him, but he still couldn’t make out any familiar shapes. Maybe because his vision was vaguely blurred.
“Some kind of explosion, as far as I can make out, sir. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost wonder if one of the Doc’s experiments finally turned out to be as delicate as he always tells the Brigadier they are.”
It’s a weak attempt at humour, perhaps, but he’s not quite sure how else to deal with the general lack of things that are at least vaguely under control.
-
Mike’s head rolled from his shoulder to his chest, causing dust and rubble to cascade into his lap. There was dust, too, in his eyelashes, which now fluttered open, and powdering his face and jacket. Slowly, painfully, he raised his head. He blinked. Screwed up his eyes. His head hurt. Everything was coated a greyish white. What on Earth had happened?
He forced his eyes to focus. He was surrounded by rubble. That was odd. He had been in the Doctor’s room of UNIT HQ talking with Jo, but now he was… he… was…
Oh.
“Jo?”
He crawled forward, forcing his limbs to move. “Doctor? Brigadier?”
His movement caused the dust to move again, and he coughed hard. “Is anyone around?”
Back on his feet now, Benton jumped at the Captain’s voice, wincing slightly as his shoulder jarred. It wasn’t bleeding, so it could wait.
“Sir?”
Even outside the Doc’s lab, the place looked like a bombsite - which was probably a fairly accurate description of what it was. He frowned, and hastened his navigation of the rubble-strewn corridor. Somehow, the door seemed to have just about survived, but it refused to open, even when encouraged with a sharp kick in the bottom corner that was usually reserved for the slightly-warped door that acted as a shortcut to the parade ground when he was running late.
“Damn it all…”
There was a crash somewhere to his right, followed by a voice which he recognised even when muffled. He turned his head to see the door, shut tight. He pulled himself to his feet and leant against it.
“Benton? Is that you?”
“Yes. Are you alright, sir?”
He was beginning to suspect the door had become important to the lab’s structural integrity, and that really wasn’t a pleasant thought. Nor was the fact that he’d only managed to locate one other person so far…
-
Mike’s head rolled from his shoulder to his chest, causing dust and rubble to cascade into his lap. There was dust, too, in his eyelashes, which now fluttered open, and powdering his face and jacket. Slowly, painfully, he raised his head. He blinked. Screwed up his eyes. His head hurt. Everything was coated a greyish white. What on Earth had happened?
He forced his eyes to focus. He was surrounded by rubble. That was odd. He had been in the Doctor’s room of UNIT HQ talking with Jo, but now… he… was…
Oh.
“Jo?”
He crawled forward, forcing his limbs to move. “Doctor? Brigadier?”
His movement caused the dust to move again, and he coughed hard. “Is anyone around?”
Back on his feet now, Benton jumped at the Captain’s voice, wincing slightly as his shoulder jarred. It wasn’t bleeding, so it could wait.
“Sir?”
Even outside the Doc’s lab, the place looked like a bombsite - which was probably a fairly accurate description of what it was. He frowned, and hastened his navigation of the rubble-strewn corridor. Somehow, the door seemed to have just about survived, but it refused to open, even when encouraged with a sharp kick in the bottom corner that was usually reserved for the slightly-warped door that acted as a shortcut to the parade ground when he was running late.
“Damn it all…”
-
D’you ever wonder, sir, what it’s all about? Life, I mean…
He smiles, bemused. “That’s something of an odd question, Benton.”
He inhales through his nose, thinking. “I suppose… I suppose it’s about doing what’s right, isn’t it? Take the Doctor. Going all around the universe just to save lives. And here, at UNIT, we protect the Earth. That’s our job. And I think… I think that our job is everyone’s.”
“You know, sir, I reckon that’s probably the best answer anyone’s managed to give me.” He gives a melancholy half-smile, “If everyone thought of things that way, the world might well be a rather nicer place. Of course, we’d probably be out of a job, but still, wouldn’t it be nice?”
-
ooc: If anybody wants to get hold of me in the next few days, please don’t take it personally if I take a while to get back to you - I’m attempting to get my head around the fact that I am suspected of having schizotypal personality disorder…
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Anonymous asked: What do you think of Sarah Jane? Would you take her out on a date and all that?
I don’t see why not - I certainly enjoy her company. Although, I do rather wonder if I mightn’t have the same trouble Captain Yates often did with Miss Grant: no matter what you do, it’s impossible to be more impressive than the Doctor…
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