"Why is there never a big red button?" The man in the worn leather coat muttered to himself, fussing over the clockwork box, running his fingers over the cogs. A noise caught his attention and he stood, crossing to the door of the sad little shack he'd hid away in. "Hello? Is somebody there?"
"It's nothing. It's just a wolf." The voice was feminine, unfamiliar and slightly ethereal. The man whipped around, staring at the young blonde woman perched on the most dangerous weapon in the universe as if it were nothing more than a settee. There was something in her eyes that gave him pause, but not enough to keep him from dragging her off the Moment.
"Don't sit on that!"
"Why not?"
"Because it's not a chair! It's the most dangerous weapon in the universe!" With that, he pushed her out the door, leaning heavily against the latch.
"Why can't it be both?" He started, turned to see her casually reclining as if the last few seconds had never occurred. "Why'd you park so far away? Didn't you want her to see it?" He considered her, accepted that he was going to have a conversation with this pseudo-Time moppet.
"Want who to see?"
"The TARDIS." She breathed the last word, stretching it out into infinity. It sent a shiver through him. "You walked for miles..." She got up, began stumping around. "I heard you.'No more.'" The woman repeated the words, marching, imitating a soldier. Imitating him. He closed his eyes-'no more'-explosions-'no more'-children dying-'no more'-daleks-exterminate-'nomorenomoreno-'
"Stop it!" He barked. She ceased, appraising him coolly. "Who are you?" A sudden click and a ratcheting drew his attention. "It's activated. Get out of here!" He touched the Moment, then jerked his hand back. "Ow!"
"What's wrong?"
"The interface is hot." He nursed his hand.
"Well. I do my best." He could hear the smirk in her voice, the self-affected humility in her laugh. He turned slowly round. "They must've told you the Moment had a conscience." She waved her hand at him cheerily. "Hello! Oh, look at you. Stuck between a girl and a box. Story of your life, eh, Doctor?"
"You know me?" He gazed at her in disbelief.
"I hear you! All of you." She stood up suddenly. "Jangling around in that dusty old head of yours. I chose this face and form especially for you. It's from your past. Or possibly your future. I always get those two mixed up. Hmm. Given your less-than-thrilled reaction to seeing me, I'd say it's from your future. Perhaps you'd like someone from your past better. How's this," she flickered, features distorting, "Grandfather?"
He stared at the slim, black-haired girl before him, feeling that old familiar ache rise up in his hearts once again. "No. Don't do this to me."
Susan-no, the interface that was the spitting image of his beloved granddaughter-considered. "You're right. This form is from too far in your past. You've internalized all that guilt quite neatly. Hold on a second. Let me change." The interface blurred again, briefly solidifying into a young man in a kilt, before lilting to a smartly-dressed military man. "No, not them." Now the conscience took the form of a boy with a star pinned to his tunic. "This one?"
Mutely, he shook his head.
"Pity. I'll never know if I'm right at this rate. Eh, Professor?" A girl in a ponytail and a black bomber jacket leered at him. "Am I getting closer? Oh, why bother asking. It's not like you ever told the truth anyway."
"No." He found he was still shaking his head and turned around. "Don't do this. Leave me be."
"Come off it, Doc."
The voice made him freeze. No. "No," he whispered.
"Ah, this one's a good one! From your last incarnation. The boy you-no, sorry. I forgot you're pretending you're not the Doctor. The boy he loved."
He turned around, stared the tall, lanky man in the eye, leveled a finger at him. "No. Go back. Go back to your original form. Pick someone else. Not him."
"But I like this face." The interface grinned, a familiar crooked smile. "And look! We're wearing the same jacket." The smile dropped. "Literally. Took it off my dead body, did you?"
He looked away, refused to answer.
"Doesn't matter, I suppose." The interface gave a shrug of thin shoulders. "He means something to you. Meant. I'm always getting my tenses confused, sorry." He paused, considering. "What's my name now? Oh, yes, I've got it. F-"
"No." He cut him off, voice cold and hard. "No. Don't say his name. You're not him."
"Fine, then. Call me Kode." The man grinned again. That smile used to warm his hearts.
Now it froze them. "What do you want?"
"The war."
"If you have been inside my head, then you know what I've seen. The suffering. Every moment in time and space is burning. It must end. And I intend to end it the only way I can."
The interface sighed. "Haven't we done this all before? I seem to recall you destroying Gallifrey already. Fixed it, did you, only to go and blow it all to bits again?"
"Yes." His voice sounded bitter, even to him.
"I was there."
"No. You weren't."
"I saw what happened to you. Oh, this is annoying."
"What?"
"Your memories. I don't just take on forms, you know. I assume personalities as well. And I'm trying so very hard to be cryptic but it's difficult. I'm too soft-hearted now." The interface looked at him, suddenly feeling much more familiar. "Must you go through that again?" If he didn't know better he'd think the concern in the interface's voice was real. He glanced at the man's gray eyes, took in the worry and the frown on his face. So much like-no, don't go there.
"I have no desire to survive this."
"Then that's your punishment. If you do this–if you kill them all–then that's the consequence. You live." The man reached out, hesitantly, and took his hand, not looking at him. Guitar calluses. This was ridiculous; it was only the Moment, not his friend. He looked down at his own hands. They were so much rougher now, not the smooth-skinned ones he'd used to hold this man's hand with. "Gallifrey, you're going to burn it."
"I know."
"And all those Daleks with it."
"I know." "
But all those children too. How many children on Gallifrey right now?"
"I don't know."
"One day you will count them. One terrible night." The interface's voice was sad, and he instinctively tightened his grip, desperate for some semblance of comfort. There were dark days ahead of him, lifetimes of agony. He was going to destroy Gallifrey, again; only this time he wouldn't have the mercy of amnesia. So for now, he could just close his eyes and pretend that the hand he was holding really belonged to the boy he'd used to love.
"It's fitting, in a way." The interface mused.
"Hmm?"
"That this is the form I ended up with. Bookends. The companion you can't destroy planets without."
"Mmm."
They stood in silence for a while, the conscience of the most dangerous weapon in the universe and an old, broken-down Time Lord, holding hands in the middle of a desert.
"You can still change it, you know." The interface said suddenly.
"Fitz, you know I can't-" He'd forgotten. The interface went on, though, as if he hadn't noticed his slip of the tongue.
"Come on. Aren't you curious?" The man nudged him in the side as a rift erupted in the air above them, spiraling with golden light. "I'm opening windows on your future. A tangle in time through the days to come...anything could happen." A fez landed at their feet and he glanced down, frowning. "Okay. I wasn't expecting that."
"What?"
The interface rolled his eyes. "One of your future selves has taken quite a liking to fezzes. It was probably him that tossed it in there. So..." The man glanced at him, arching an eyebrow.
"What?"
"If you go through the portal you'll meet him. Or possibly several versions of yourself. I'm not sure how many of you are running around at the moment." He laughed. "Which is ironic, because I'm the Moment, see-"
"Fitz."
"Okay. Sorry. Look, what I'm saying is go meet yourself. You'll come up with a better idea."
He cast a dubious glance at the interface, who smiled back innocently. So much like his companion. "I"m not sure..."
"Just do it, Doctor."
"I'm not the Doctor. Not anymore."
"You are to me." The interface looked at him earnestly, eyes wide and vulnerable. "You've always been." Then he coughed, as if embarrassed. "Now get in there."
He let go of the interface's hand and smiled for what felt like the first time in years. Might've been. "Okay." He squared up to the portal, then paused and looked back. The interface wasn't the real Fitz, but then again, the boy he'd fallen in love with hadn't been the real Fitz either. "Thank you."
"For what?" The man blinked.
"Choosing that form. I...I needed to see him again."
"Yeah, well, this isn't the last you'll be seeing of me." The interface shuffled his feet. " I'll probably have to bust you out of prison or something. Now get going, already."
He turned back to the rent in the air, chin held high. He could do this. He'd meet his future selves and they'd find another way.
He stepped through the portal.