Contains quotes from "The Ballad of Reading Gaol". And a song, but more on that later.


/"A darkness will block out the sun…"/

.

The earth is suffocating even though she doesn't really need to breathe.

Her mind unwillingly flashes back to an adventure with Silurians so long, long ago. Earth swallowing her. The first time she lost him.

(Raggedy Man, help.)

She has to get out.

The metal parts the dirt easily.

Every single zombie movie she has ever seen runs through her head. And she would laugh if she could laugh and if she wasn't this close to screaming.

.

He stumbles out, up and out.

"In loving memory…"

He drags his gaze away from the headstone and he catches a glimpse of silver.

Oh. Well, this makes sense, I suppose.

.

She is terrified.

She was right, of course she was right, and nobody's coming to save them this time.

And Hell is real too, apparently.

Still, he's here. At least she has that.

.

He can't bear to look at her like this.

Look anywhere, look at your hands.

Oh, oh help.

Don't panic. Deep breaths (you are not really breathing), close your eyes (you don't have eyes to close).

Think only of her.

.

His eyes are long since gone, -hers too no doubt- and still she hates, she wants to rip off the oppressive metal that hides, (she can imagine that it hides) that stubbornly beautiful green-blue.

How dare you, whoever you are.

How dare you.

.

Every second of not-breathing is agony.

And she's feeling it too.

Blissful, blissful oblivion is but a button away, and he can't do it, no matter how much he wants to.

How can he want that?

Say something to her, anything.

"Hey".

His own voice shocks him, ugly and utterly alien.

Of course he doesn't have vocal chords anymore.

.

"You look awful, stupidface"

She is not supposed to sound like that.

(Anything to stop this, anything.)

(Can't.)

Don't talk, reach out a hand.

.

He reaches back.

.

She can't feel his fingers. She can't feel anything, really.

Pain is all there is.

Some distraction, some comfort –she looks frantically around- please, something, anything…

There is a small, slender, beautiful tree right beside their upturned grave.

.

The colors are mesmerizing now that everything is grey, and starved, he lurches, stumbles, still unsteady, towards it.

Focus on that for a while.

.

It has a strange, smooth, light-colored bark, almost approaching gold. Dozens of small, twisting branches reach for the sky.

(Out of his mouth a red, red rose! Out of his heart a white!)

She didn't plant this. Who?

Flowers a dazzling shade of white, others purple. The leaves are orange.

It's like it's not of this world.

Oh.

Why, why can't she cry?

.

He understands.

Oh, thank you…

And something swells in the heart that he doesn't have any more, a soothing caress of light:

.

My experience is that there is, you know, surprisingly always hope.