ABOMINATION
THIRTYSEVEN
The Doctor sat on the floor cross-legged and tried to put his mind back into order as he looked at Wil, her eyes closed, her face unreadable. He wasn't exactly sure what was going on at present, but it did not bother him overmuch. He was positive he'd figure it out soon enough.
He had entrusted Wil with the necessary tools, and trusted her to use them effectively if necessary. There would be no second-guessing that particular decision, regardless of its long-term consequences. As he'd seen it, there'd been little choice, all things considered. And it had been a chancy hand he'd been forced to play, in no small part in order to get his former companion Donna Noble to safety. That, now that he looked around, appeared to be exactly what had happened. It had also been a calculated but necessary risk to expose himself to extreme danger – or worse! – as he'd done. But again, his options had been limited and he had enormous confidence in Wil.
What he couldn't trust was this thing, this entity, this barely conscious TARDIS, which clearly had not yet learned that with great power comes great responsibility. And he wasn't convinced it would ever learn that simplest but most sacred of truths. Its creation had simply been too off, too immoral, too wrong. He felt it in his bones. It was a perversion, an abomination. How could one right a wrong like that?
He had no experience growing or raising a TARDIS. In all of his lives he'd only ever been close to, known intimately, one TARDIS, and she'd been fully mature when they'd met. But, despite this lack of experience he understood very well this new ship was anything but normal. Quite the opposite: it was aberrant and malformed.
In this Wil spoke truly: The Doctor hadn't liked it at first blush, didn't like it now, and he would certainly not give it a second chance. There was no leniency in his hearts for it, and no forgiveness for its too many transgressions, regardless of its predicament or motivations. Its actions were simply unacceptable and indefensible. If nothing else it would learn cause and effect from him as he put it out of its wretched misery.
Such was the power and wrath of the Time Lord.
On the other hand… it seemed just as clear Wil apparently had given it the benefit of the doubt; for some reason she had decided to not put the abomination out of its wretched misery. For the first time The Doctor found himself in vehement disagreement with the woman who would be, could be, his equal. This lack of consensus didn't cause him to respect Wil any less, but nothing she could do or say would change his mind. They would have to agree to disagree… as long as he got his way.
He mentally pinged her and was acknowledged but not as fully as he expected or would've wished. With a start he realized he had been so engrossed in his own internal dialog that he'd totally lost track of what was going on around him. That was inexcusable and it was also, to be truthful, impossible. He'd been intentionally manipulated and excluded. He'd been purposefully shut out. It stunned and mortified him.
And it frightened him.
The Doctor stood slowly, stuck his hands in his coat pockets, and blinked at Wil. "Hello!" he chirped as he smiled disarmingly. "What's happening?"
She looked at him with her green-gold eyes, smiled back and raised a hand, her arm extended, as if in greeting. It was an oddly theatrical gesture. But it was no greeting. "Not again," he had just enough time to think before, in a flash of painfully intense light, his world went black and he crumpled to the floor once more.