Amy held a canvas precariously under my arm as she walked alongside Vincent. I walked with The Doctor, and felt the strange urge to reach over and hold his hand. However, when he touched my hand, I jerked away. After a moment of listening to Amy and Vincent's conversation, The Doctor spoke to me.
"Are you cold?" He questioned quietly. I blinked.
"No," I said sternly.
He looked at the ground, and muttered, "I don't believe you."
"You don't have to."
He didn't respond. Alrighty then. That went nowhere at all. He then finally piped up for all to hear.
"Okay. Okay. So, now, we must have a plan. When the creature returns-"
"Then we shall fight him again!" Vincent hollered, stopping and turning to look at us.
"Well, yes, tick," The Doctor says cautiously. "But last night we were lucky. Amy could have been killed. So this time, for a start, we have to make sure I can see him too."
"And how are we meant to do that, suddenly?" Amy demanded.
"The answer's in this box. I had an excellent, if smelly, godmother."
Ah. Because that makes perfect sense. I rolled my eyes, but didn't object as we continued on. A way down the road, we ran across a funeral procession heading in the opposite direction.
"Oh no, it's that poor girl from the village," Vincent said, removing his hat. We all stepped aside and stood with our heads tilted down respectfully.
As the people and wooden coffin with a bouquet of sunflowers atop it passed, I saw it in the mother's eyes that she blamed us; Vincent in particular.
"You do have a plan, don't you?" Amy murmured to The Doctor when the procession had passed.
"No. It's a thing. It's like a plan, but with more greatness."
That probably meant this "plan of greatness" was going to get us all killed.
***
We set up in in the church yard. Vincent sat down on his stool and The Doctor turned into a nervous wreck.
"And you'll be sure to tell me if you see any, you know, monsters?" He reminded Van Gogh.
"Yes. While I may be mad, I'm not stupid," Vincent assured him.
"No. Quite. And, to be honest, I'm not sure about mad either." He crouched down by Vincent and looked up at him thoughtfully. Oh my god. This was nether the time, nor the place. "It seems to me depression is a very complex-"
"Shush," Vincent said. "I'm working."
"Well, yes. Paint. Do painting!" He backed away. I sat down on the grass and raised an eyebrow when The Doctor started talking again. "I remember watching Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel. Wow! What a whinger. I kept saying to him, look, if you're scared of heights, you shouldn't have taken the job then."
I wanted to point out that Michelangelo didn't actually want to "take the job". He wanted to do sculpting instead of painting, and put up a good fight, but was forced to by Julius II, who was the pope at the time and ruled over pretty much everything and everyone in the country, such made it impossible for Michelangelo to win out in her end, but I didn't.
Yeah. I know stuff.
"Shush," Amy ordered curtly.
***
I stood on my tiptoes to watch the vividly orange sunset over the treetops. The Doctor, still unable to sit still, was ranting again.
"And Picasso. What a ghastly old goat! I kept telling him, concentrate, Pablo. It's one eye, either side of the face."
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Checkmate (Doctor Who fanfiction)
Fanfiction**Currently being rewritten under the name Fight or Flight** "So, what do Time Lords pray to?" Amy asked reluctantly. Well? Do you know? Because he did. And in that moment, his eyes may have fallen on someone to his left, who was a little taller tha...
