Canary in the Coal Mine
Rating: "Teen", but only for language, really
Disclaimer: I own no rights to Doctor Who. If I had even the slightest rights to it, you could tell, I assure you, because the newest incarnation would not be so perfectly designed to annoy the hell out of me. Every button I possess. I didn't even bother with watching GitF, I didn't want to hate him any more fervently than I already did. Never does any good, hanging on. You've got to let 'em go.
(See? Everything I write turns into an anti-Ten rant. QED.)
Summary: This probably didn't happen. But the only one who knows for sure isn't talking. What would the Doctor do to convince the Time Lords that the threat of the Daleks was real?...
Notes: Cato the Elder was a Roman senator; he ended every speech he made with the phrase 'Carthago delenda est'-- Carthage must be destroyed. Soon enough, it was.
The "Age of Iron" bit is a paraphrase of Hesiod. Everyone thinks their age is the worst the world has seen. Eventually, someone's got to be right.
Mainly, I did this for the symmetry...
(-)
It turns out the end of the world sneaks up on you.
It doesn't matter how many times you've seen it, how many reasons you have to know better, how big the world is that's ending-- it comes up quietly, like the wave they call tsunami on one of her favorite backwater planets, a tiny cyclical ripple that's going to rear up to a towering, world-breaking wave when the rocks get higher.
She thought she was wiser than this by now, but she only saw one of the waves coming. And the other... It may just be an aftershock compared to the end of the universe, but in its way, it's just as devastating.
The smell of charred flesh in the air, shards of mirrored glass on the ground, war finally beginning outside. An ache she hadn't expected in her chest as she placed the box on the console.
So this was the end of the world.
(-)
The part that hurt the most was, they'd been warned. Oh, had they been warned. So many times.
It began one afternoon when the Doctor burst into the Council of Extra-City Affairs' bi-weekly meeting, veritably crackling with urgency, as he often did. "The Daleks must be destroyed," he announced portentiously.
She coughed discreetly. "I believe you're looking for the next hallway over."
"Ah. Probably so. Thank you." He smiled, waved, and departed, muttering curses against all Gallifreyan architects in the history of time before the door was even half closed behind him.
She'd stared after him for a moment. After all, he'd sworn oaths never to return to this place; she'd heard them. He had, in fact, made it abundantly clear that one of his goals in life was to stay as far removed from the planet of his birth as was semi-mortally possible. It was a thing he was very serious about.
So what could possibly have brought him back?
(-)
"You are the last person in the universe I expected to see here," she said, over the drink she'd cajoled him into accepting. He seemed distracted-- not that he was all there even at the best of times, but usually at least half of his attention was devoted to the here-and-now. Tonight... if his eyes were any indication, he was in another world entirely.
"I-- oh yes. Given that I've sworn several times-- in several different cultural paradigms-- never to have anything to do with this planet's government again, I can see how it might have come as a bit of a shock." Now there was his smile, almost completely normal. That was better. "But what exactly were you doing in the-- what was it? The Council of People We Can't Legally Expel From the Building, at any rate. I thought I'd heard you were President."
She shrugged. "So were you," she pointed out. "At least twice."
"Three and a half," he said, with an exaggerated grimace. "Don't ask what the half was. Those are days I don't like to relive."
"Yes. Well, things happen." She took a pull of her drink. It was water, actually, but no one else had to know that. "Anyway, you've done a remarkable job of evading the question. Care to give it another go?"
"Well, like I said," he answered, carefully lighthearted, with a painstakingly constructed yet utterly transparent artifice of cheer. "The Daleks must be destroyed."
"Yes, I know that. Why particularly now?"
"Because they're trying to destroy all other life-forms in the universe. More vigorously than usual, I mean. And their understanding of temporal mechanics is getting far too acute for my taste. And we all knew it would happen eventually. It just happens to be today. And for some reason there's quite a resistance to that idea."
"You mean they're ignoring you?" She shook her head. "Even for them, this is..."
"No, it's par for the course, really. Yes. Can you help me?"
She let out a breath. "I can try."
That earned her another smile, as intoxicating as ever. "Thank you. That's all I could ever ask..."
(-)
She took him at his word, and plunged back into the soap opera that was Gallifreyan politics. Given that she'd managed to slight nearly everybody in some way (real or imagined, usually imagined) over the course of her career, it was rather slow going-- but she had advanced sufficiently to be on the outskirts of the next council meeting he barged into.
It was actually a relief, as it happened; he appeared right in the middle of a tedious dispute that had begun as a matter of inter-house textile exportation and had degenerated (painfully slowly) into two councilmen insulting each other's ancestors. All very subtly, of course. Which just meant it wasn't even exciting.
And then the door flew open, and he was there.
"Hello," he said. "The Daleks must be destroyed."
"Yes, you've mentioned that," the President said, irritably. "Would you mind going outside and making an actual appointment with--?"
"Yes, actually, I would. Because when I said 'the Daleks must be destroyed', I meant the Daleks must be destroyed now. I do apologize; I should've made that clearer. Could we get on with the destroying, then?"
"You expect us to go to war? Have you lost whatever faint vestige of sanity you occasionally used to have?"
"I'll admit it is ludicrous to expect us to actually do anything useful, yes, but if I had any other options in the universe, I assure you, I would have gone to them. Sadly, the fate of the known universe rests with us. So will you listen to reason, or should I just go shoot myself in the head a few times now and avoid the rush?"
"Isn't there a warrant out for your arrest somewhere?"
"Oh, several, I'm sure. The Daleks are working on time-travel technology. They have stepped up their offensive and are destroying more civilizations even as we speak. This is not a joke. This is not an exaggeration. This is death. And if we act right now, there's half a chance we can stop it."
"Someone get him out of here."
"Don't you understand?! This is serious! People are dying out there, and you lot are too busy arguing over who gets to sell you your lacy underthings to have any idea what's going on in the real world!"
"This is the real world, Doctor! Someone get him out of here!"
"The real world is larger than Gallifrey!" Now someone actually was dragging him out of the room. It was probably the first time that had happened in thousands of years.
She had a feeling it wouldn't be the last.
"Wake up, you self-absorbed fools! Or you'll only see the truth when it's too late!"
"Take him away," the President directed the guard again-- which was foolish, she thought, because the poor man was clearly dragging him out as quickly as he could.
"The Daleks must be destroyed!" The guard had gotten him past the doorway, now, and the sound of his voice was beginning to fade."Watch where you put your hands, young man, before I have to demand a betrothal!"
That left her in a fix; after all, it would be terrible of her to undermine the Doctor's serious mission by laughing her head off. Fortunately, she managed to stifle it to a small squeak, just barely within the bounds of propriety.
"Now, to serious matters," said the President. "As to the theft of government silverware..."
(-)
"Do you really think he's serious?" asked someone who might become her friend.
"Of course I think he's serious. Has he ever led us wrong?"
"He never actually led us anywhere, that I recall..."
"Well, yes, he eschewed the office... not that I can blame him, at this point... But even though he has his quirks and his frivolities, he's never wrong about danger. He wouldn't lie about such a thing, either."
"But it doesn't seem possible... that such primitive things could ever be such a threat that we'd need to get involved..."
"The Daleks are deceptive. And very dangerous. Look throughout their history; you'll find four or three or even one of them arriving on a planet; then convincing everyone they're perfectly harmless; then getting the government to chase around the strange little man who suddenly showed up and started yelling something about these creatures being evil; and subsequently wreaking utter havoc on the population. It isn't wise to disbelieve him on these matters. He's... what's the word... the canary in the coal-mine, the first warning signal. And if there's anything he knows, it's trouble."
"Well, that he's an expert in trouble is indisputable; I'd go so far as to say he's an artist in it..."
"It's just that he's the border-patrol-- you see? He's the one who's out there, at the outskirts of things, doing things and seeing places and mingling with the natives. When something happens, he's the first to know-- of us, at any rate. And trouble has an inexplicable way of finding him."
"In this sort of universe, though... even our personal seven-sugar tempest in a teacup... wouldn't it be statistically impossible for him not to?"
"Yes. Precisely."
"...I'm with you."
(-)
The next time he showed up at a council meeting, he brought a pervasive smell of smoke with him.
In fact, it was the smoke they noticed first; just as they were wondering whether something might be on fire and what they should do about it, he came in, looking... rather the worse for wear. His clothes were slightly singed and torn in places; there was a cut still bleeding on his forehead; there was a shaken, feral look in his eyes that struck her to her heart as wrong.
She wasn't surprised that the guards had let him through.
"The Daleks must be destroyed," he said.
"...Not even a hello?"
"Hello. The Daleks must be destroyed. May we please go and do something about it now?"
"Doctor, there are reasons we don't get involved in the affairs of lesser species."
"One of which is that they'd probably hurt you very severely after you continually called them 'lesser species'. Nobody likes to be condescended to. Including me. So any time you'd like to try to quit it cold-turkey..."
"Doctor, they're fighting with conventional weaponry. Are we supposed to get involved in every little interplanetary war in the universe? We can't be the universe's policemen. It's been proven many times that it can't be done."
"First of all, they won't be fighting with conventional weapons for much longer. Second, they are well on their way to decimating this galaxy. I believe it's one in seventeen they've managed at the moment. It won't take them that much longer to get to one in ten."
"Then why don't the other civilizations do something about it?"
"They are. They've been decimated by now as well. We're the only ones left out of it, but mark my words: the Daleks have not forgotten us. When they perfect their technology, they will find Gallifrey, and they will destroy it."
"First of all," the President said mockingly, "they cannot find Gallifrey. Secondly, I believe every other civilization in the galaxy will be sufficient to defeat them. These are material creatures, Doctor, not nightmares. They are not immortal."
"And neither are we."
"We are creatures of peace, Doctor. We will not become entangled in this war. Now, if you would be so gracious as to go quietly, I have summoned a guard to escort you out of the building."
"You seriously believe I don't have every possible route out of this place extensively mapped in my head?"
"Of course you do. Now please, by all means-- use that knowledge for good."
"The Daleks must be destroyed! They grow stronger every second, and soon they will be strong enough to kill us all! Watch your hands, young man! What kind of manners did your mother teach you, to get so fresh on the second date?"
It was a little easier this time, she found, to restrain her laughter.
The thought of the Daleks on Gallifrey...
Surely, surely, it was impossible.
(-)
"It worked for that senator, after all-- is, I presume, your logic," she said, sipping her wine. The Doctor was on his second glass, and took no notice of his plate at all. "What was his name again?"
"Cato. The Elder."
"Carthago delenda est. Hardly even true, but it worked."
"It isn't working now."
"It's a good plan, though."
"What would it take to get through to them, I wonder?" he said, staring at the wall. "Other than the Daleks appearing in their council-room... What would it take to convince them even that danger exists as a concept, and the greatest danger our planet's ever faced is at the door?"
She sighed. "I don't know. What did you do all the other times? After all, no one ever expects the Dalek massacres."
"All the other times, they ignored me too."
"That is the way it goes, isn't it? You're always the first to know. The canary in the coal mine." She poked at her food forlornly.
He shot her a sharp glance. "I wouldn't have thought to put it that way."
"Oh?"
"No, it hadn't occured to me. But... you may be right. That may be..."
"As long as it's just happening to 'lesser species', I don't think they'll understand it."
"If I could show it to them somehow, bring them-- I don't know-- pictures--"
"You think you could manage to not get thrown out of the council room long enough to pass them out?"
"I don't know. Maybe." He stared at the wall, his eyes dark, because
the hallway was dark and filled with smoke, when it wasn't lit up with the flashes of Dalek guns. He's behind a makeshift barricade, Anna's head in his lap, staring at the makeshift soldiers reloading their guns. They still have bullets, the poor buggers. They can't possibly stand a chance-- and they know it, it's in their eyes.
Someone's humming, and he realizes it's Anna when he looks down. Her eyes are closed, and she's humming-- out of shock? Or has she decided to be the one to comfort him
There's no telling with people, he's learned. Particularly not females-- not like this girl, whom he'd picked up in 1950's America, for god's sake, and then dragged into an intergalactic war. He would burn for that. Probably sooner rather than later.
"We'll meet again," she's humming. "Don't know where, don't know when..."
The screams are getting closer, and the humming is fading away.
"Where's your ship?" says Qornan, edging toward him, attention fixed on the barricade.
"I-- it's--"
"Can you get to it?"
"Possibly, if--"
"Then go."
"What, and leave you?"
"What the hell can you do here but die?"
"But--"
"We can't fight this thing. This is-- more than we ever imagined. We can't fight it. But there's gotta be someone out there who can. And you've gotta be able to get to them. Go and do that. Go and get someone who can beat 'em over here. It doesn't even matter if they save us, they have to beat those things. Or everything's gonna die. Get out of here and fix this."
He looks down. "Anna--"
"Leave her here. Unless you've got some magic thing in your ship that brings dead people to life and makes 'em new arms, you can't get away if you're carrying her. Probably beat the crap out of her while you were trying to run away, too. Leave her here. It's a good enough place for us to die, it's good enough for her too."
For a second, all he can do is stare down at her--
"Idiot! Go!"
And he did; he ran away from the screaming, from the renewed sound of gunfire, down the stairs and out of the building, into the blackened wreckage of a city in flames.
"What can I do to show them that it's real?" he asked.
She let out a breath. "I don't know."
He drank the rest of his wine and held his glass toward her for a refill.
He'd come up with something, she knew, as she reluctantly poured him another glass. He always did.
(-)
The next time he showed up at a council meeting, they didn't have any warning at all; the door flew open, and he was there.
"The Daleks must be destroyed," he said. "They have destroyed three empires and are well on their way to destroying four more. They have mastered a great deal of temporal physics and are losing no time in implementing its practical mechanics. They are already looking for us. They will find us. And then shall you know death."
She shuddered, in spite of herself; a faint murmur passed through the hall. With the sheer dark certainty of ages that flavoured his words-- who could possibly disregard him?
"Firstly," said the President, sounding supremely annoyed, "you are utterly paranoid, and have proven said fact in front of this council numerous times in the past month alone."
"So my speaking of threats is proof of my paranoia? So the fact that I express threats to you means they are unfounded? What in the hell has polluted our gene-pool?"
"Second," cried the President, "if the Daleks are interested in this planet, it is because you were out there calling attention to us!"
"That is utterly ridiculous and you know it! You would hide our existence from the entire universe?"
"Yes! Because if we don't, every trivial little border-dispute--"
"Every trivial little genocide--"
"--will be placed at our doorstep, and it will be our duty to fight it, and among all of those primitives-- then would we know death!"
"You selfish, narcissistic, self-righteous son of a bitch. WE CANNOT SECEDE FROM THE UNIVERSE!"
"You will not tell this Council what it can and cannot do! Take him out of here!"
"The Daleks must be destroyed!" he screamed, and no one was in the mood for laughing when the guard came in to drag him out. "The Daleks are coming! They must be destroyed!"
"Isn't he a little young for a mid-life crisis?" the President said, shaking his head.
"Sir," she said, "may I respectfully request we address the issue of--"
"No."
"Sir?"
"You may not request anything, and particularly not that. Sit down and be quiet. Now as to the matter of this estate settlement..."
She found she couldn't hear the rest; the blood was roaring in her ears, and the lights seemed unnaturally hot and bright. This cannot be happening. Surely this cannot be happening.
But she knew it was.
(-)
He was standing in the hallway outside her room when she finally tired of searching for him, a bottle of wine in her hand.
"They're actually going to sit there and fiddle while the universe burns, aren't they?" she said, still feeling numb.
"As always. Until the fire reaches their front door." He was shaking; it terrified her that he was shaking. Time Lords didn't shake, this one in particular. "Would that I had died earlier or been born later. For this is the Age of Iron. And when men are born with the hair of their temples already gray, then Zeus shall strike this race down too."
She swallowed. "You'll come up with something. You always do."
"You know that isn't true."
"There's a way. There's got to be. Haven't you thought of a way?"
"It's..." he whispered, eyes haunted. "Impossible. It can't happen. I can't do it."
"Well, you're going to have to, because nothing but a direct attack is going to wake these fools up. And when the Daleks do that... they'll be committed."
"The whole planet... to the sword." He was still shaking.
"Isn't there something?"
"I... I don't know how."
"You'll find a way."
"You don't understand. If they prepared for war this instant... if we sent trained troops into battle next nanosecond... if we sent every single person we had... it might not be enough."
"It's never too late."
"Maybe not." He didn't sound like he believed it, though; he didn't sound like he believed anything but death.
"It's never too late."
"I have to leave."
"Good luck."
She stood there, watching him, as he left.
She wasn't shaking, she realized. Because she believed in him.
And because she was numb.
(-)
She had brought it up every time she could since then; as a result, she was perilously close to being booted to the Extra-City Affairs desk again. Still, there was murmuring; he was, at the least, worrying them, and that had to be a good sign.
The last time he came to a council-meeting, there was a strange burnt odor that preceeded him, which no one but her recognized. When she did recognize it, she went pale; surely this new horror would convince them. Surely.
When the door burst open, it revealed a dark-haired man, with a black leather jacket and darker eyes.
Half the council-members jumped; they could see the significance at once, and his appearance-- short-cropped hair, simple clothes, so strangely plain-- shocked them.
Not enough, though.
"Hello," he said-- and his voice was different now. He wasn't speaking with the highborn accent he'd always had, had always worked to cultivate, that marked that this aristocracy was where he belonged-- he was using the city-accent, terribly vulgar, terribly curt and rude. "The Daleks must be destroyed."
Even the President needed a moment to recover from that. "Hello, Doctor," he said. "If you could just wait outside until--"
"No." A smile, utterly without mirth. "I don't have the patience anymore to deal with your stupid games."
"I hardly think you are one to accuse another of game-playing, Doctor," the President said dryly. "Your theatrics this past year alone--"
"Cut the crap; we don't have time," the Doctor said, tersely. "The Daleks know where we live. They are coming. If we act now, we may be able to take them down with us."
"Excuse me?"
"I said, the Daleks know where we are. They have figured it out. It wasn't even very difficult for them. There were trails. They are assembling their forces. They are coming, because when we are gone, they can wreak whatever havoc in Time they want. We can't stop them; it's too late for that. This planet will burn like the others did. But we can burn them with us, if you get off your lazy arses and realize you're not immortal."
"Get him out of here," the President ordered.
"The guard can't hear you. He's somehow managed to get himself locked in the broom closet. I am not leaving until you see the truth."
"The truth is, you're insane!" cried the President. "What harm could the Daleks possibly do us? The shields--"
"They already know how to circumvent them."
"Our TARDISes--"
"They already know how to destroy them."
"Our numbers--"
"The Daleks have trillions more."
"Our knowledge--"
"The Daleks have already deciphered everything we've forgotten."
"They can't possibly--"
"Let me explain something to you," the Doctor said, slipping his hands in his jacket pockets. "What's been happening to all those lesser planets out there is about to happen to us. Do you know what's been happening on those lesser planets?"
"Yes."
"Do you understand what death is?"
"Who doesn't?"
The Doctor raised his eyes to the ceiling with a strangled laugh. "If he existed, even the most wrathful of gods would forgive me for this."
"What are you on about now?"
The Doctor slipped his hands out of his pockets. Because the mind has a tendency to fill in what it expects to see, she would reason later, it took her several seconds to see the gun.
"See, that's the trouble," he said calmly. "You don't understand death. You've never faced it-- not a one of you. Never had anything to fear. You use your regenerations when you're bored. And when we are actually dying, the old slink away-- or else are pushed there. Not a single one of you has any idea what the word 'suffering' means."
"You are being ridiculous," said the President. "You've lost your mind. Put that silly thing away!"
"And so," he continued, "when anyone else is suffering, you can't understand why it's a big deal. Oh, maybe intellectually, but you can't feel it, it doesn't carry any conviction whatsoever. You've been living a charmed life; you've been living the most sterilized of fairy tales. Maybe it's time you saw death for yourselves."
"Oh, put that thing away, you damned psychotic liar," the President scoffed. "How many times have you bragged about being a 'pacifist'?"
"How many times have I warned you the end was coming? Here's something else you need to know about death--" He pressed the safety button on the side of the gun. "It has a tendency to change you. Particularly the more messy varieties. Would you like to hear how I died last time? It wasn't very pleasant."
"Oh, for Rassilon's sake..." The President put his head in his hands. "Don't tell me. You were captured by Daleks and tortured to death."
"Close. I was captured by Daleks, tortured almost to death, then had to run through a burning room to escape. It wasn't pleasant-- not at all. Ask any mortal what type of death they most fear. Burning will probably top the list. I think, given my vast experience in the field, it deserves that position. Bullets are nothing. Bullets are practically bloody merciful. Dalek guns are not. Dalek guns kill you. And, no matter what you are, you stay dead."
"Put that damned thing away!"
"I'd love to. This isn't how I want to spend the last few weeks of my life. But you haven't given me a choice. Everything I am, you've made me. And I can't be patient anymore."
"Doctor, you paranoid schitzophrenic--!"
The Doctor fired.
For several seconds, the only sounds in the room were the echoes of the shot against the walls. She would've sworn that even her own hearts stopped beating for that time.
Then someone screamed, and breath came back to her in a shuddery gasp as half the council rushed to the President's side.
"Canary-- in the coal-mine, you said--" said her only friend, a hand pressed to her chest.
Why that had come into the woman's head at a time like this, she'd no idea-- but there was the new body of the President, sitting up, pushing the concerned masses away, staring at the Doctor like he was Death himself.
"It's a little like that," he said. "Except most people don't sit up afterward."
"I..." whispered the President.
"You have the data. Everyone's been telling you. You know it's true. What are you going to do about it?"
"I..." The President licked his lips. "I... Call the CIA. Tell them it's an emergency. Tell them it's a council of war."
"Like you said," her friend whispered in her ear, as several people rushed out to obey. "Canary in the coal-mine--"
"What?"
"Think about it. What you said..."
She stared at the stranger in the middle of the room, who was slipping his gun back into his pocket, a grim look of infinite sorrow in his eyes. Everything he used to stand for...It was all gone now. The whole planet might be, soon enough.
Everything he used to stand for.
The cliche 'canary in the coal mine' arose from the actual use of canaries or other such birds to detect poisonous gases that might be in a mine-shaft.
The canary gave its warning signal by being the first to die.
And the end of the world snuck up on you, didn't it...?
(-)
"Doctor..."
"I didn't have a choice," he said, leaning against the wall, staring at nothing. "You understand that, right? I didn't have a choice?"
"No."
"Because they wouldn't listen-- they just wouldn't listen-- and it wasn't even just me who was telling them, an'-- numbers on a page, you can ignore. Recommendations, explanations, wild men coming into the council chambers and screaming about the end of the world-- those things you can ignore. So-- I had to find somethin' they wouldn't ignore. You understand that, don't you?"
"Yes," she said.
"An' it's not like I meant to-- I didn't go out sayin' 'I think I'll get myself killed today! And then I'll go crazy!' No, it just happened, and..."
"You're not crazy."
"Yeah-- I am. An' you know what it's like. You sit there, and you've got all this time to think-- you see it all in front a' you, and you think, this is the mistake I made. This was the stupidest thing I did. This is the thing that got me killed. I swear this time I'm gonna change it. And you do. Usually too much. An' I had to be someone they'd listen to. I had to be someone who could..."
A shiver ran through her. "What are you planning?"
"I wasn't lying, in there. I think burning is the worst. Daleks aren't a bed of roses either, but whatever it feels like, it isn't as slow. I'm gonna make a note to avoid that next time. If I can. The whole universe is burning, these days. It'll be a hard thing to avoid."
"You're planning something."
"It won't be enough. What we're doing-- it won't be enough. Maybe it never would've been. We're not exactly renowned for our military prowess. Did I ever tell you about the time they dumped me on Skaros and said, 'Hullo, Doctor. Be a dear an' go kill the Daleks for us. They ought to be showing up here at some point. Here's your panic button. Cheerio, now!' and just left?"
"Yes, several times."
"Utter lack of intelligence, in both senses of the word. Not even a, 'Oh, I think the main city's that way'. A matter of hours before they turned the first one on. The old Earth acronym is 'snafu'. And now I can never go back."
"Earth... is it...?"
"Strangely enough, no. It's still there. They haven't touched it. That's how they got us... False intelligence they were going to attack there. They knew I'd have to come... They knew they could catch me when I did. They knew they could..."
"Did you... tell them something?"
"I didn't have to. All I did was confirm it. They knew. So many trails of breadcrumbs in so many myths... not to mention they now have scientific instruments that can detect our distortions of the space-time continuum..."
"You're kidding me."
"No. It was over. They just wanted to hear me say it, I think. They just wanted to kill me and make absolutely certain I was dead. Apparently I'm practically a devil to them. The 'Oncoming Storm', I've heard. I don't think you'd find anyone to disagree with that one."
"You're causing trouble for them? Even now?"
"There are ways... even on a fairly primitive planet... to strike them down."
"And you're so gloomy?"
"The trouble is... it always takes the few remaining survivors with them. Destroy the whole planet. It's all I've seen work." He stared up into the light.
Two things we can't look at directly... went through her head, as she watched him watch the sky. Death and the sun...
And he just sat there, staring up, not even blinking...
"...What are you planning?" she asked, her voice sounding strange in her own ears.
"Nothing further than five days in the future."
"You're planning something."
"Yes! All right? I'm planning. I'm strategizing. But there isn't any way to win this thing. I'm not gonna be alive five days from now-- none of us are. Which is fine with me. I've only been me for a few hours and I'm already sick of me. I've started by killing and I'm gonna end by killing and-- everything's gonna burn. The most we can hope for..."
"Yes?"
"The most we can hope for is to take them with us."
And from the moment she'd asked what he was planning, she'd known that was the answer. And although even that seemed impossible at the moment...
If anyone could snatch mutually assured destruction from the jaws of defeat...
"Let me help," she said.
"You'll help kill us all?"
"If you will. And it's not like that."
"Yes it is."
"Stop hurting yourself like that. There isn't any choice. To let the entire universe face this scourge because we were too cowardly to end it..."
"We're a race of cowards, aren't we?"
"Stop that. If this is the choice--"
"Murder or suicide--"
"--if this is the choice, then we don't have one. For our sake. For everyone's sake."
"I know."
"I just wish... I wish this hadn't had to happen to you... I wish..."
"No point in wishing," he said, pushing himself upright and dusting off his jacket. "I need to go figure out what my plan is. I'll tell you when I know."
"All right," she sad, and watched him leave.
And he had sacrificed himself for the universe, hadn't he?
Maybe... maybe it was time for the universe to give something back.
If she could find a way...
(-)
The TARDIS was dark, and looked treacherous to her, all metal and edgy-- but that was to be expected. They'd always had some strange, ineffable connection; she knew it well; she was counting on it as the cornerstone of her plan.
It might be more a cruelty than a kindness, saving that tortured soul as the last witness of their world. But if she had to trust anyone as a witness... if she had to send any representative... she couldn't think of anyone more worthy.
And she couldn't watch him die like that. The monster he'd persuaded himself he'd become-- she couldn't let him die believing that.
She couldn't deprive Time of its wandering champion, Serendipity himself, either. What would a universe like that look like?
Even this version of him. Who had broken this defenseless mirror and not even stayed to pick up the pieces.
Who had died in here; right in that corner; the smell of smoke and char might never go away.
And the war was finally beginning outside, because of him; and it might be something more than slaughter, only because of him.
It might be wrong to save him from the death he was almost looking forward to... But sometimes, your only choice is between wrong and marginally less wrong.
There was an ache she hadn't quite expected in her chest as she placed the box on the console. So this was the end of the world.
She sighed, and used all her strength to pull herself upright, and returned to her place in armageddon.
(-)