I got fanart :O lenniethefish .deviantart .com/art/Through-Time-and-Space-Ch1P1-91589073 it's a comic of my first chapter :D I feel all loved =]

I'm sure you, my lovely readers are feeling uber UBER neglected, no doubt to the point where you've actually forgotten what this story was about and will have to go back and read it again (if you can be bothered), I know I did :s As for the absence of over a year, I can blame nothing other than education and my procrastination, I'm afraid. I now find myself at Sheffield Hallam University studying Biomedical Science, a course very unrelated to either of the subjects I write about here ;)

Nevertheless, I'm determined to get this thing finished and I feel incredibly guilty for leaving you guys on such a nasty cliff-hanger :(

So, I say enough to the word mincing and draw your attentions to the conclusions jumped to after the previous chapter... Stay alert my pretties ^^

Almost every 'guest' had left the Nabootique for fear of their own lives. There was no sign of skinny indie boys or Camden dollies and the Flighty Zeus had left with odd bulges under their shirts. The two unknown Shaman had stayed for their own reasons and the Hitcher and Crack fox were leering at Bob Fossil, now sat trembling on the hairdresser's chair by the window.

"Well, looks like no one wanted to stay for the real party eh, Fossil?" the Hitcher said with a sadistic leer, "Pity really, this could'a been quite the show…"

In response, Fossil shuffled back in his chair and glanced desperately at the two shaman, problematically they weren't paying him the slightest bit of notice.

"Waddawe do with the sucker, Hitchy?" jeered the Crack Fox, taking care to flex his needle fingers appropriately.

"'Ow abou' we gut 'im like an eel?" The Hitcher's mouth widened to form a malicious grin, revealing horribly yellow, crocked teeth.

"I always got me best guttin' knife wiv me."

And so the two advanced. The Hitcher brandishing said culinary tool and the Fox snarling and waving his needles. Desperate for freedom, Fossil shrunk back in his chair, whimpering and glancing about for an exit. But he was cornered. The shop was to cramped, his surroundings too cluttered, the murderous strangers too close... This would be it, the end of the Fossil legacy, he'd have to let his Mom know, she'd still be sending him care packages...

The knife was close now, way too close, maybe he should have let her know he wasn't in Vietnam after all, now the weapon was raised, Fossil shut his eye tightly, not wanting to watch, he could practically hear the executioner's drum roll, then--

"Hold it!"

The two evil doers froze on the spot. The Hitcher turned first, then the Crack Fox, and finally Bob Fossil decided it safe to look towards the source of the yell; all three had identical surprised expressions.

The two shaman had apparently finished their own engagement and were now staring at the scene by the hair dresser's chair, the green-faced witch's arm outstretched and her index finger pointing towards them. Apparently she was the one who shouted.

"What you after, wench?" The Hitcher growled.

"Are you sure you want to kill this man?" The witch replied with another question.

Slightly baffled by her question response, the villains glanced at each other, sharing the same thought.

"Yes."

They began to turn but were interrupted again.

"Wait!" This time it was the old man with the elaborate feathered headpiece and yellow painted face who spoke, "But we have a much better idea."

The Hitcher narrowed his eyes, "What idea could possibly be better 'an guttin' this lard arse like an eel?"

"We've received a distress signal from our comrades," The witch spoke again, "and we've decided it'd make much more sense to send someone disposable like him to answer it then risk our own magical skins."

"Chances are," the man piped in, "that he'll probably die anyway, meaning you'll get what you want."

"And besides, gutting him would be messy."

The cockney considered this for a while, the Crack Fox watched him impatiently. Suddenly a crooked smile crept across his green features.

"I've an objection, I'm afraid, wench; I like the mess."

Matching evil grins, the Hitcher and Crack Fox turned back to Fossil, but the shaman were not fazed. The green-faced witch let out a smirk.

"Not to worry," she said, taking a small sack from under her hat, "I can get him there even without your consent."

With that, she grabbed a handful of powder and whilst yelling "Take that!", threw it so it landed on Fossil.

He disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Furious, the two would-be Fossil-killers rounded on the shaman, ready to tear them limb from limb.

But they were already gone.

o o o o o

Still clutching the alien device he didn't know anything about, the only living man in Howard's cell swallowed thickly. One of the blue aliens lay unconscious on the floor, the barred door of the cell still on top of him from when it had flown off its hinges with a press of the Sonic Screwdriver's button. The other had disappeared in a familiar beam of blue light and the body they had dragged with them lay behind on the floor, obscured by the shadows and lack of light. The man looked about the cell again, his eyes falling on the chain that had previously bound his right arm to the wall and then on the pair of legs that were the only visible part of the body.

Catching his breath, the man turned his back on the body and moved towards the unconscious Mrroooogian. He crouched down beside the alien and pulled a thick black band from its wrist. The band had dials on and was identical to the one the other alien had used to teleport away. With one last look at the body in the cell, the man fastened the strap around his wrist and pressed the button.

He just couldn't seem to shake the very uncomfortable feeling that those corduroy slacks had given him.

o o o o o

The two men were silent. A sure-fire sign something was wrong. A few attempts had been made since the Doctor's initial awakening to begin a conversation, but all had fallen short. Due mostly to the Time Lord's still very painful skull and partly to his lack of knowledge as to what actually interested Vince.

"Wanna play I Spy?" Vince said absently.

Taken off guard slightly by Vince's spontaneity, the Doctor allowed a small laugh.

"And spy what exactly?" He said, a somewhat wistful smile upon his face, "There aren't a great deal of exciting things to look at here."

"Nah, who needs to look at something for I Spy?" Vince grinned, "Imaginary I Spy is even more fun."

The Doctor blinked at him a couple of times and allowed a small smile to creep onto his face.

"Alright," he said, "but I must warn you, I've seen sights that could very well put me at a great advantage."

Surprisingly, however, it didn't. This Vince had an intriguingly wild and vivid imagination, and some of the things he was coming up with were beyond even the Doctor's guesses. He'd be an interesting subject for a psychiatrist, that's for sure.

They played for a while, taking it in turns and not really keeping score, busily distracting themselves from their currently dire predicament. They were practically on the verge of enjoying themselves.

...Then there was a commotion.

So... did anyone notice the 'subtle' Phoenix Wright reference?

I hope you folks enjoyed it and I really hope you haven't got bored in my absence

As always, constructive criticism gets the big thumbs up =]

I will write the next chapter! I just wish we had more time with Mr Tennent, I think if we'd had a full series, I would've updated sooner.

Positive Doctor Who note: JOHN SIMM! 3 ^^