A/N: This story is based on "World War Three", the fifth episode of the first season of Doctor Who. The Slitheen (the malevolent aliens in that episode) infiltrate British government with plans to turn Earth into a radioactive slab by triggering a world-wide nuclear war. I hope you enjoy~
Arthur stood before the council. The United Nations met at Alfred's house on Arthur's request, and now sat, eerily solemn, as Arthur made his plea. Even Francis, who could usually not control himself to insult and infuriate Arthur, did not speak a word. Perhaps it was Arthur's eyes.
It was different with the pictonians. When all the countries faced the same danger, and each nation's pride clashed against everyone else's, it was easy to argue. But it was not the same this time. Arthur stood before them, looking desperate. His hair was frizzy and looked windswept. His uniform seemed more frayed and faded since the last time the UN had met, as if the many years of his history were finally catching up to him. The aged uniform pulled heavily on his shoulders, making them slouch weakly. And his eyes. His green eyes looked strangely blank, as if he was trying too hard not to connect with the current situation. Something behind them flickered, but no change came over the worn expression on his face. Arthur addressed the council.
"There are extraterrestrial ships surrounding us all," he stated flatly, pausing while the conference room filled with the sounds of shifting and murmurs. The nations stilled, and he continued. "I have proof. These are from our sweeps." Arthur tossed a folder onto the table. In it, the nations would see conclusive evidence backing his claims. Arthur continued.
"The mother ship is directly above me. If we shoot that down, the threat will be eliminated, and all of our nations will be safe." The flickering behind his eyes was more noticeable now, and his voice escalated passionately. "Give me the codes for our weapons. Allow me to protect myself and our planet." Arthur paused, then closed quietly. "Because it is my misfortune to tell you, nations—Earth is at war."
Arthur's gaze swept around the room. Roderich, Natalya, Bella, Matthew, Yao, Mathais, Tino, Francis, Ludwig, Heracles, Elizabeta, Emil, Feliciano, Kiku, Ravis, Lili, Toris, Lucas, Feliks, Ivan, Antonio, Berwald, Vash, Sadiq, Katyusha—and Alfred. Arthur paused on each of their faces, and begged silently.
The Doctor leaned on the table, staring intensely at Rose. Jackie Tyler's plea for her daughter's safety floated in the air and spun itself around the Doctor, digging into his conscious. The young daughter in question stared back at him from across the table with determination, but he could still see the fear flickering in her eyes. She trusted him completely—trusted the plan he was about to suggest. But he didn't. The Doctor could save the world, but he couldn't guarantee Rose's safety.
Harriet Jones stood near the end of the long table, hovering nervously. This alien specialist had proven himself to her, and she would trust his decision. Harriet stayed silent, and waited for the Doctor to act. But he continued staring, conflicted, until it was too late.
The message from New York arrived at Downing Street. The UN agreed. The Slitheen cooed over the incoming codes, and congratulated each other roundly on their success. The aliens plugged in some coordinates, and fired.
Ivan was still in New York when his boss called him. He listened silently to his cell for a few moments, then allowed silence to fill the line. "Well," he began, "this sounds like war. Counterattack."
The Doctor rushed over to the wall and unsealed the doors. The hallways were empty.
"No!" he exclaimed, running towards the elevator. Rose and Harriet ran after him, asking him where the Slitheen went.
"They aren't here because we don't matter anymore! They've already won! Right now, British troops are attacking with nuclear power. And I was too slow to stop it!" he yelled, his voice filled with fury. Rose and Harriet were silent at that.
US scanners saw the attack, but did not want to. Alfred stood frozen in a dark room, while flashing lights from various military machines alternated casting shadows on his face. His boss detailed the situation to him, then began commanding the personnel that were purposefully buzzing around the room. Alfred ignored them, and continued staring at the main screen.
"Why would he do this?" Alfred asked the room, shock and confusion mingling on his face.
A neatly-dressed brunette militant placed her hand comfortingly on Alfred's shoulder. "I am sorry, sir," she whispered, "but the aliens were a hoax. He tricked you."
The Doctor found a computer, and pointed his sonic screwdriver at it impatiently until it showed him the readings of the Russian attack. "And now you stupid humans are going to immediately react by killing more people." He pounded the computer desk angrily, causing Rose and Harriet to jump slightly."The British attack didn't even hit yet, and they're already retaliating!"
"But Doctor, the Slitheen attacked them first. It's self-defense." Harriet began, looking from the Doctor's face to the screen and back.
"That self-defense is about to bomb Great Britain." The Doctor spit bitterly.
Ivan cornered Arthur before he left the building. Arthur was staring out a large window overlooking New York City, his sword hanging limply in his hand. Without looking at Ivan, he spoke.
"Look at all of those puny humans with no idea of what is about to happen," Arthur cooed, a definite tone of insanity present in his voice. He turned on his heel and faced Ivan.
Arthur looked deranged. His hair was twisted and matted, and his clothes seemed to hang limply off him. His face seemed sunken, his skin sallow. He had blood under his fingernails from where he scratched at his face, and the wound now trickled blood down his chin. His eyes—once bright green—were muted and glazed over; they were bloodshot and opened uncomfortably wide. Whatever had flickered behind them during the meeting now danced with an open glee, egging Arthur to attack.
Before Ivan finished processing Arthur's radically changed appearance, Arthur lunged. He plunged his blade into Ivan's right shoulder and pulled it out with a nauseating squelching sound. Ivan stumbled and collapsed, his eyes wide with shock.
The Doctor continued glaring at the screen. "The Slitheen hit Kazan," he spat, then answered his companions' unspoken question. "The Slitheen want to guarantee that Russia will retaliate, but they don't want it unable to. So they aim for a big city, but not the capital. The most deaths without risking the plan."
"Ivan!" a voice yelled in alarm. Alfred rushed into the scene, aiming his pistol solidly between Arthur's eyes. The flickering in them flared in excitement at the sight of the weapon.
Ivan managed a tortured breath in greeting, his expanding chest sending fresh waves of pain jolting through his torso. Alfred glanced at Ivan worryingly, trying to gauge how badly he'd been injured.
The glance was all Arthur needed. He jumped toward Alfred with his sword above his head, slashing downward. Alfred reacted, shielding his face with his forearms in the time it took Arthur to swing. The sword tore through the flesh and muscle of Alfred's arms, ripping through veins and arteries. Alfred screamed.
"Chicago, gone. Two-point-seven million people murdered over money."
Alfred collapsed to his knees, and struggled to keep Arthur in focus. The blood loss muddled his brain, and he had to fight to stay conscious while a shadow moved incoherently behind Arthur's silhouette.
Despite the pain, it was not his injury that brought to tears to Alfred's eyes. This scene, Alfred noticed dryly, was a mockery of one of the saddest days of his life.
Alfred remembered with unrealistic clarity the end of his revolutionary war. The way the mud sucked at his boots where he stood. The way the rain made his hair stick to his scalp. The way his rough uniform felt soaked. The way the rain droplets bounced off the hunched back of his older brother: the one who raised him. How all he could do was look down silently, knowing that his betrayal would never be forgotten, never fully forgiven.
And now the favor was returned; Alfred's trust was snatched up and stabbed into his heart. Even with his blood soaking his bomber jacket and the black haziness in his vision growing, Alfred still couldn't accept what happened.
"Why?" Alfred managed in a weak voice, staring upwards at Arthur. Arthur's blood-spattered face contorted into a cruel grin, and the shadow in his eyes flashed with pleasure.
"Because I hate you," he responded simply, relishing Alfred's broken expression.
The Doctor seized Rose's hand aggressively, then began running down the corridor. Harriet Jones followed quickly in their wake. "We need to get back to the TARDIS. England is about to be bombed."
A pipe—seeming to have materialized from the air—came swinging downward with a worrying amount of force onto Arthur's skull. It impacted with a nauseating thump. Arthur's eyes, now flickering with absolute ecstasy, immediately rolled upwards and Arthur collapsed.
Ivan stood over the limp form, his now-red scarf tied sloppily over his wound. He flourished the pipe in his left hand, then addressed the stunned-looking Alfred.
"I can't kill him with just one arm," Ivan explained cooly, "you'll have to finish the job."
Alfred stared up at Ivan blankly for a few seconds, not comprehending. Then he answered in a confused voice. "Kill … him?"
Ivan rolled his eyes slightly, seemingly unphased by his injury or the unconscious man in front of them. "Almost kill him. You know what I meant," Ivan responded slightly irritably, assuming Alfred was pointing out that nations cannot die.
Alfred stared down at Arthur blankly. Although he was unconscious, his eyes appeared to flicker minutely under his eyelids. "He attacked us," Alfred assured himself aloud, his voice sounding empty. "He deserves it."
Ivan was ripping his shirt into strips with his teeth and left hand, but nodded encouragingly toward Alfred's gun, which now laid a few paces away from Alfred.
Alfred blinked at it, then lurched upright. The floor tilted threateningly, but Alfred stumbled to his weapon and picked it up slowly. He stared dully at the side of its barrel, then glanced back at Arthur's still-limp body.
Ivan stepped smoothly over Arthur to Alfred. He tied his ruined shirt around Alfred's forearms, watching the strips become almost immediately soaked. Alfred mumbled a numb thanks, then loomed over Arthur, pistol pointed firmly.
Alfred voiced his thoughts aloud, uncertainty evident in his tone. "Arthur raised me, you know."
"And then he betrayed you. Betrayed both of us," Ivan responded in a coldly hateful voice. "It is for the defense of our people."
Alfred gazed down at Arthur. After a few moments of tense silence, his fist tightened painfully around the gun. He swung it up and away from Arthur, and aimed it directly at Ivan.
"Stay away from him," Alfred warned, his face mangled with panic and fury.
Ivan blinked in surprise, then his face matched Alfred's in anger. "He betrayed us! He came begging for our help, and then turned against us! He murdered my people! Our people! He deserves to die!" Ivan screeched.
Alfred responded in a controlled voice, his pistol still aimed at Ivan. "There's something wrong with him. That thing behind his eyes. Arthur would never do this."
"Oh, but yet he has." A distorted version of Arthur's voice answered from Arthur's mouth. He was lying on his back, propped up on his elbows. His skull was weeping with blood from where the pipe hit, and it dribbled into his hair. His eyes were no longer green at all, but grey. "Look at the humans, fighting exactly as planned. How cooperative you are."
Alfred glanced at Arthur in worry, then returned his attention to Ivan. Ivan hissed, then swung his pipe threateningly in his left hand.
"If I can't count on you as an ally, then you shall be my enemy."
Ivan swung. Alfred fired.
The Doctor stood in the TARDIS, leaning against her center console and staring at a monitor without seeing it. Warnings about American and Russian attacks flashed urgently on the screen, but he ignored them. He just stood there.
Harriet Jones stood near the door, silently gawking at the box's interior. After mentally resolving to worry about it later, she addressed the Doctor. "What do we do now?"
The Doctor made no effort to move. Rose walked up behind him, and rested her hand hesitantly on his shoulder.
"Doctor? We can fix this, right? Time can be rewritten?" Rose offered, scrutinizing his face for a reaction.
The Doctor continued staring past the monitor, then blinked and looked at Rose. "Time can be rewritten," he confirmed. He jumped at the controls. "Harriet, where do you live?"
The TARDIS wheezed, and brought them to Harriet's address five hours prior. The three of them hopped out, and the Doctor immediately asked for Harriet's computer. She handed her laptop over, and practically before it left her hands, the Doctor sent a missile to Downing Street.
The Doctor leaned on the table, staring intensely at Rose. Jackie Tyler's plea for her daughter's safety floated in the air and spun itself around the Doctor, digging into his conscious. The young daughter in question stared back at him from across the table with determination, but he could still see the fear flickering in her eyes.
Mickey's voice crackled over the speaker. "Doctor, there's a missile heading right toward you."
The Doctor started, then blinked at the speaker, his mind chugging away possibilities. Rose opened a closet, voiced her reasoning of it being safer, and hurried the others inside.
The missile hit, totaling Number 10 and blowing up the Slitheen. Rose, Harriet, and the Doctor crawled out of their closet and blinked up at the sky.