This is a short, hastily-written tribute to Nicholas Courtney, who passed away on the 22nd. He was best known as the Brigadier from Doctor Who. Rest in peace, sir. *Five rounds rapid in salute*
Here we go.
The four Time Lords entered the room, each one in various states of disheveled disrepair. The Ninth brushed at his leather jacket, sending up clouds of dust. “Did you have to use so much nitro nine?” he asked, an air of irritation around him.
The Tenth Doctor shrugged, mouth quirking. “Hey, we didn't have enough time to rustle up Bobby Fischer and Ace. I'm not used to dealing with heavy explosives.” He looked to the other two. “Like they could've done any better? Mister bad fashion and half out of his mind there were lost without me!”
The Eleventh tugged at his bow tie. “Bow ties. Are. Cool.” He reached out, trying to muss with the Tenth's hairstyle but being stymied. “Come on, it's a rat's nest up there!”
The Tenth waved him off. “Oi, don't diss the hair!”
The Eighth Doctor rolled his eyes. “I see senility will be setting in soon.”
A voice caught all four Doctor's attention. “Are you all done? We've got a right awful mess here.”
The Doctors all turned to him, smiles brightening their faces. “Oh, this is nothing compared to what you'll be seeing-”
“Hey, spoilers!” the Eleventh shouted. He jostled around, grabbing onto the Eleventh and wrapping a hand around his mouth. He looked to the other occupants of the room and chuckled nervously. “Sorry, so-so sooooOUCH!” he half-shouted as the Eighth bit down on his hand. “What are you, a masochist?!”
There was another clearing of a throat and the Doctors turned their attention back to Brigadier Sir Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart and Colonel Mace. The Brigadier leaned heavily against a desk, age battering his eighty-one year old body but not overwhelming him. “I guess you four will be flying off in four different blue boxes while Mace and I clean up the mess?”
The Eleventh shrugged. “Well, kind of a tradition with us.” His smile fell away and he stepped up, extending his hand. “Good to see you again, sir.”
The Tenth merely straightened up, saluting properly before shaking the Brigadier's hand. The Ninth and Eighth followed before turning and leaving.
The Brigadier turned to Mace and sat down at the desk, smiling. “Splendid fellow, all of them,” he said, smiling.
As the Doctors made their way to their TARDIS' parked outside, they looked to one another. “He's a really splendid fellow,” the Eighth said.
“One of the best.”
Please read, review and reminiscence.