'Take a closer look.'

The Moment's eyes are glittering with reflected flames and the scrabbling forms of fleeing Time Lords. A salvo of shots punch through dirt and flesh, igniting and extinguishing flares of golden light.

'I am looking,' the Warrior says slowly. 'I see my people screaming, and dying. I see their pain, and their fear.'

'Can't we help them?' Clara asks. So compassionate. They all are, his companions. It's what he treasures about them. Why he lures them in, those wide-eyed and soft-skinned primitives, draws them into the dark and cold with trinkets and promises of wonder. Hoping that if he holds them close, maybe he'll find a spark of what they have.

'Look above, Clara,' he tells her. 'Behind that spire; do you see it?'

'I can't see anything.'

'No stars,' he whispers.

A Dalek ship vanishes. Then another, and another, engulfed by darkness. The fourth sees it coming: iridescent motes of light fly from it, bolts devised by the twisted genius of Davros and field-tested on a thousand innocent worlds. They serve no purpose here save to illuminate the maw that closes upon them.

He hears Clara's breath catch in her throat.

'The Nightmare Child,' Ten explains beside her. 'Devourer of planets and suns and souls. An abomination that exists both within and outside time, trapping its victims in the moment of their destruction. It'll take the Daleks first, the Time Lords after.'

'The Council's doing,' the Warrior adds. 'Trading one doom for another. Buying just a few more hours of life.'

'So save them!' Clara demands. 'You're the Doctor, all of you! I have seen every moment of your life, every one of your regenerations. When people are hurting, you're there! When people are dying, you heal them! When they're alone, you give them hope! You made a promise!'

But the Doctor's role isn't to share the suffering of his patients, even if his eyes are stinging with unacknowledged tears. They stand above, the three of them, and decide the world's fate.

'And this is the day I broke that promise,' Eleven tells her as gently as he's able. His throat wants to close up, his tongue to stopper his mouth, but he's old now. Old enough to admit his sins. Old enough to bear the punishment that the Moment forced upon him.

'Don't get ahead of yourself, Doctor.' The machine smiles with a ghost's face, even as the world fades away. 'The decision hasn't been made—who knows what might happen.'

'I know.'

The Lost Doctor, the Unacknowledged Doctor. The Warrior speaks.

These are his words.

'There's no other way.'

'But…'

'The Citadel where you were built, Moment, do you remember it? Home of a thousand, thousand quantum supercomputers; machine-minds that make gods look blinkered and provincial. They've prophesied every outcome, run every calculation, and every answer has been the same. My people will suffer and die, or else shatter time itself to escape.'

The Moment's mask is fading.

'You're the Doctor. You can find another outcome.'

Her words are the same as Clara's, and hold the same blind faith.

A weapon that grew a conscience. Such a ridiculous, ungainly thing, grown opposed to its own nature. He can sympathise.

A flash of light shines through the cracks in the roof, bleaching the browns of wood and dirt as another TARDIS dies above the planet: the singularity at its core inverting to spew out the radiation of a thousand suns. The shockwave comes a moment later, as it expands to a million times its size. Anyone outside the shields has just lost another regeneration.

'Even a single Dalek ship is enough to conquer the universe.' Eleven swallows. 'And even a single Time Lord would be enough to shatter it.' Rassilon, the Master… The Valeyard.

The Warrior inclines his head. 'I've not forgotten. Leave, please. There's nothing left for you here.'

Ten stiffens. 'We said we'll be here for you this time. I meant it.'

'Never cruel, never cowardly,' Eleven recites. 'Even if it's just for you, let us keep that promise. Please.'

His hands are shaking behind his back. So were Ten's, he remembers with a flash of clarity, a new set of memories sprouting like wisdom teeth. He tongues them, the Doctor's grief and regret, raw even underneath four hundred years of coping mechanisms.

'I appreciate the thought, gentlemen, but this is my life and my decision. Your own are tainted enough without taking my crimes upon your shoulders. Regret me. Forget me. And leave.'

Clara twines her fingers around his. He smiles at her, the practiced smile, and though silver is dripping from her chin she returns it tentatively. As the TARDIS hums and vworps away (the parking brake still on), he's surprised to realise that it's genuine.

The Universe is still here. For all his sins, he still has something left.

'So… big red button.'

The Warrior rests withered fingers against flawless ruby. 'If it is to be done, better to do it quickly. Before any more are lost.'

The Moment places immaterial fingers atop his. He imagines he feels their weight.

'Otherwise there'd be no point, right?'

'Yes.'

'I lied before. You don't have to survive. I won't make you.'

'Thank you,' he tells her from the bottom of his heart. 'But there are worse futures to have than the one you showed me.'

'Shall we, then?'

'On the count of three.'

'One.'

'Two.'

'Three.' 'Three.'

The button descends. He runs, as Gallifrey writhes and swells beneath his feet, runs to the waiting TARDIS and keep running after that.

He leaves the Moment to its fate. Lets her rest.

A.N: This was written on the night that "The Day of the Doctor" aired. As such, elements of it may conflict with current/future canon.