A/N: If you recognize it, I don't own it. Since we never get any details about the destruction of Gallifrey, except that it burned, well... You never know. It could happen.
Thorough
Rassilon sighed. "Explain it to me again."
"Eh…" The builder – a portly little Time Lord with more hair on his chin than his head – coughed sheepishly. "Well, sir, you know… it pays to be thorough."
"Thorough, yes, I can understand thorough. We want the citadel to be perfect in every way. It is, after all, the center of Gallifrey. In every way that matters, it is the center of the universe."
"Not… as such, sir, not as such, the center of the universe is a few million – "
"The center in that it will be the most important place."
"Ah. Ah, yes, that it will be, sir, that it will be. Most definitely. Absolutely."
"Thorough is one thing. This… This is another."
"Well, you never know sir. It could come in useful one day. It pays to be thorough."
"What use could there possibly be for something like that?"
"Well… you never know, sir. It pays to be thorough..."
And with that, Rassilon gave up. He waved a hand and sent the builder away, then went back to contemplating the befuddling anomaly located so conveniently in the main chamber of the citadel, the place where the council of Time Lords would someday soon convene.
It was a button. There was no other word for it, really. It was… a big, red button. Specifically, he supposed, it was a Big Red Button Which Must Not Be Pressed Under Any Circumstances. And there was a sign hung on the wall above it, the paint still drying.
GALLIFREYAN SELF-DESTRUCT
And below that, in smaller and – it had to be said – more sheepish letters were the much less dramatic words,
just in case.
There was no other word for it… that was thorough.