Title: Whispers In Time
Author: tromana
Rating: T
Characters: Doctor/Romana
Spoilers: None
Summary: Upon the planetary surface, she smiled a small trace of a smile. Doctor/Romana.
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. Otherwise, Romana would be back and everyone would die of fluff. Angsty Fluff, probably.
Notes: Character Death. FANFIC:100. Prompt: Death
Whispers In Time
The planet screamed. Her pain echoed through the universe and there was nothing anyone could do. She burned, tearing a hole in the fabric of reality, swallowing Daleks, Time Lords and lesser species alike.
Upon the planetary surface, she smiled the smallest trace of a smile.
He'd done it then. He'd put her plan into action. Half of her doubted he would; regardless of it being for the greater good, she didn't think he'd be able to carry out double genocide. But he had. Her faith hadn't been misplaced.
She tried lifting a twig-like, blackened limb. Failing to do so, she rested it beside her, savouring the senses of the dirt beneath her fingertips. There was so much she wouldn't feel any longer. The customary tap of the cool metal of K9's head, the gentle fabrics she chose to wear, his hair running through those now charcoal fingers.
Her breathing is laboured, her hearts are slowing. She can sense the apoptosis of cells in her necrotic body. Cells, tissues may be dying, but it's not killing the memories quite yet.
The deaths of innocent students - her fault. She brought them here.
Innocent civilians lead to war. She was blind, inept. The Daleks are like machines, built for war.
Her bodyguard. She died so old yet far too soon. To a planet where her dust does not belong.
Oh and him. It was her fault. She was the main player in this cause of double genocide. It would be on his mind for the rest of his lives. He'd forget that she had anything to do with it. Simply remember her for the haughty graduate, the jackdaw meanderings, for being the President who changed Gallifrey.
As the noblest Romana of them all.
She wonders, in the dying seconds, if the planet will be remembered. If she will be remembered. As whispers in time. She's never been that egotistical before, but maybe dying does that to you.
One of her hearts has stopped. She cannot feel her peripheral tissues any more. She stares at the orange sky of the condemned planet, a fireworks display that no one can appreciate, that no one will remember. A solitary tear slides down a ravaged cheek.
She hopes death will come soon.
She imagines it will be like a peaceful sleep.
End.