And then one metal hand. One metal hand is what does it all.

Large thick strong, cyberman obviously and a misplaced flail as it is sucked through the portal, and I think, that's it...I'm going through with them, except then there's a hard slam against my back and side, and heat, and pressure and pain and wetness, and a lot of weight, a lot of weight around my middle and tearing, is that my flesh tearing? and I realize, other than OWWWWWWW, this really sucks. It hurts. That's pain. Ow. But the wind has stopped, the sucking motion I'm not being pulled anywhere. I can't see anything. Is that what the void is like? Just black nothing, and nowhere. No wind. No heat. No...

...I realize my eyes are closed.

I open them.

I'm looking down. There's metal. More metal. It shouldn't be there.

My hands move reflexively to grab it, to touch it, to make sure it's really there. Metal. Sticking out of my chest. Blood spurting and pooling out of it. I realize my legs, my hands they're starting to feel really, really cold. Everything. My teeth wanting to chatter.

My feet aren't quite touching the floor. I can move my feet and my toes touch just before they go point like a ballerina, and he's next to me, looking mortified, shocked, upset, anguished, despairing. He can't do anything about this. He wants to, but he can't. He couldnt' for his people. He can't for me, just like we couldn't for Dad, or his people, or that psychic maid, or any of the people we encountered. So, many times we've been close to death and missed, just like we've seen so many wonderful things. Well, maybe now I don't have to worry about that whole growing old with...

"I'm sorry..." he says, "I'm so sorry, I..." he puts his hands to my face, and his hand feels so hot.

I put my hand up to his, and I leave a sticky red mark, I can smell and taste copper. It's really not so much fun, but there's something...something I remember from before.

That bright yellow and white light, touching all around me setting every nerve of my body on fire. Me. TARDIS. Both of us, together, in one space, in one body, and she was talking about fixing things. We meant fixing the Daleks right? fixing that. They were broken. They weren't supposed to be there. They...but it'll be okay.

I can feel myself telling him this, disjointed, separate, listening to TARDIS they talk about replaying life but that's the only part I'm replaying.

I remember that. We have to fix things. The universe it needs the Time Lords. it needs all of them, and everything all of this. They have to be here, so that things like the Daleks breaking reality doesn't happen again. So that things like this, Cybermen and Daleks hiding in the void between worlds doesn't happen again, unnoticed flipping from one side to another. Without the Time Lords more of this will happen.

The Doctor he said trans-time-line travel wasn't supposed to happen and it's not. He was right about that. If there were more Time Lords it would have been seen. They may no everything and be in so many places at once, but before there were more, and things were easier. I remember now how TARDIS told it, at the time there was too much information. So much of it flowing through my brain. The Bad Wolf. The pain. The pain for the TARDIS at everything that had happen. She's the last one of her kind as well, and the Doctor the last of his. They've been together so long, and now they're the only ones. She wanted to help, but she's never really been able to do things like this before, and I did too. I didn't want to leave him. I don't now. I don't. I don't. This isn't fair.

You're not listening.

She's right. I'm not.

I have to remember what we did. Why things have been going the way they have. I looked into the Eye. I looked into the Eye and she talked to me. I begged. I pleaded. We have to help him. There has to be something. He sent me away because he knew things weren't going to work out. She said. She showed me, all the ways that things could be then. How if he made the wave it would destroy everything, and we both know that he's not going to do that, and if he didn't make the way the Daleks would destroy everything, which would not be good. The Emperor, nuts...and not supposed to be there. None of it. TARDIS, the time vortex, bristling, in pain. Things were wrong. Together, we could fix it. Together we can fix everything.

The Time Lords, because there are other places to watch, and immortal or no you can't go from one end of everywhere to the other and keep an eye on everything without more own path crossings and breaks and lines and cock-ups until finally everything just goes kerphlooooeeey. And. That. Would. Be. Bad.

But we can't do anything while there's a big piece of metal lever stuck through your chest.

"Out." This part I realize. I try to lift my hands up but everything's puppet with their strings cut.

"You're not making sense..." he says, "I'm so sorry. I failed you. I promised Jackie, I promised you, that you'd be okay, and look what I've done..."

"No. I did it. I'm stubborn and I don't listen. Mum always said that, and you didn't break the lever and impale me, that was the cyberma-ow," I'm agitated, trying to talk with my hands and the movement, jarring "But now you..." I point at him. This time it works a little better but I feel almost like I'm drunk, my hand kinda flops and flails, "You listen to us. It will be okay. As long as we get this out. I try to grab and pull it, but my hands are slick with blood and so is that part of the lever, "Pull it out. If you can't wrap your hyper-brain around the reason, just look it as I don't want to die stuck to a wall in Canary Wharf, would you please?"

Finally he moves and pulls, and jumps to try and help me as I stumble and more blood, lots more blood, and falling and sliding, and now we're on the floor, together, in a painful heap. Knowing, because of what it did, where it punctured, ambulance, not worth it, never get here, so much other stuff they're dealing with. Lots of blood, but okay, so okay, it'll be okay.

He shifts under me, around me, so we're in bloody mess, leaning against the wall. Me in his lap, my head, soft, things are soft and squishy.

Ice cream. Like ice cream or soggy chips. I find myself laughing at this, and he looks down.

"Do I have something on my face?"

"Only your nose..." I find myself giggling.

"My nose? That's it? I must look really odd then. I'm sorry."

"No. I mean your nose is, and my head feels like soggy chips. Everything's gooshy."

He touches my nose, "I am sorry..." he says.

"I know. You keep going on like that. It's not your fault."

His face clouds, and I vaguely remember the war, his war, not our war, or the other war. That war, and the Daleks, and whatever happened, whatever he did, well the other him, the one with the coat. U-Boat captain, and I reach up to his face, "the only reason you're taking responsibility..." and I realize the words are not entirely mine now they're hers too, she's reaching out, we still have that link, but a blue box no matter how big, it doesn't have arms, "...is because you have survivor's guilt. You're the only one who survived. The only one left, but we can fix that, not you and I, she and I and we will. It's just been so long since you've seen this from the other side..." and I realize for a moment, while this is talking. I can let go. I can let go just for now and in another moment I will be back, because what does such a short time mean now when things, things will be that much longer, and going on together.

So, I do.

And it's warm, and it's lovely, just like when I looked into her heart, and her eye and we agreed to help. Detached and miles away I feel my skin, every atom of my being tingling again. Everything on fire, and prickling. All that energy. Everything spiraling down into blackness, and brightness all at the same time, and then I see him. He's walking towards me out of the brightness, but it's not him, it's her, it's...

"Rose.." they say, "You get to choose."

"I...what?" all I can think of is that stupid kids show with the pocket balls, "What do you mean I get to choose?"