The Destroyer:
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who. No profit is being made from the writing of this fanfic.
Author's Note: References are to The Christmas Invasion (when this is set) and Remembrance of the Daleks.
This sounds really awkward, but oh well. It'll suffice, I suppose. Reviews welcomed.
The Sycorax ship is leaving. Crisis averted. Everything is well.
And then they blow the ship up. In this moment, the Doctor isn't actually seeing it. He is staring at nothing and remembering the feeling.
It is by no means the first thing he's seen blow up, and the phantoms of past explosions are breaking free from behind his eyes. He can see a lot of things, and everybody else is clueless.
He can see himself, but not himself. He's setting off his trap, and Skaro is gone. The mothership is gone. Davros is gone, though he doesn't think it's in the same way.
When you're so many men, with so many different personalities, it's so easy to regret everything that you've ever done. It wasn't you.
But you know that it was really.
The Doctor is angry. He knows what's morally right, and blowing up retreating enemies is certainly not.
He's blown races up before. There were the Daleks. He can't compare them; the Sycorax are completely different, and they were retreating. This is the part that irks him the most.
In his mind, Daleks never retreat.
He's seen other things blow up, too, but he can't think about it. Not now. He has something to do.
The Doctor is seething. He walks up to the Prime Minister, and he knows what he needs to do. He doesn't have to like it. He doesn't like things he's done in his past, after all, but everybody has to suffer the consequences of their own decisions.
He's being a catalyst to that.
At one point, he supposes, this would have been too much interfering – but like it or not, the Time Lords are gone. Gallifrey is gone. His decisions are his own to make, and a part of that is very daunting, but he knows this is the right decision. It has to be.
So he turns to her and drops a bombshell of his own.