The Curator had a small smile on his face as he observed the shocked looks of everyone else in the room with his large, hypnotising eyes. Oh, he loved to be the centre of attention, even after all of this time. It was as if being away from the limelight for decades had given him a renewed hunger for it. He wasn't going to waste his chance. Wilf had moved back over to the others, Clara wrapping an arm around him in an effort to comfort the shaken man. When he had offered to take on the Dromulus, which he'd been told on the way there that that was what it actually was called, so that his friends could have a better chance of escaping, he'd initially been fuelled by pure adrenaline and a false sense of bravery. He'd seen it as his calling, making the largest of sacrifices when the universe needed him to do so. But then he had looked the monster in its cold, dark eyes, seen the snarl that had sent spittle right at him, and all of the courage had left him. He was ashamed to think that he'd regretted it as they stepped closer to him, wishing that someone else had done it. Thankfully, the strange duo had arrived just in time and he didn't have to voice those concerns with anyone. They'd never know about his disgusting cowardice, which he strongly saw this as. Clara, though, seemed to be picking up on his internal monologue, rubbing her hand on top of his.

"You're okay now," she whispered quietly, not wanting to detract from the Doctor's apparent stand off with the other man. "You were foolish and stupid and brave." Wilf wondered how those characteristics went together so well before realising that it made perfect sense. "But you're safe now. Well...as safe as we can be with what's going on." They turned their attention back onto the Doctor, who was still processing this added development. He didn't know who the man next to him was, who appeared just as dazed as the rest of them. But the Curator's face had been instantly recognisable, not just because he'd met him once before. He'd worn that face for centuries. It was a particular favourite of his, if he was being honest. He wanted to figure out this mystery and would have been able to focus on it more if the universe hadn't been crumbling around them. It was always so inconvenient in its bad timing.

"What...are you doing here?" he asked, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

"Did I always gesticulate so much in my youth?" the Curator shot back with a dismissive roll of his eyes. Clara looked at him in shock, glancing at her Doctor.

"He's...you?" she hissed, balking in disbelief.

"Apparently so. I have no clue how. I have no idea how he fits into my future. But could he really be anyone else other than me?"

"We do have a certain taste for...extravagance and flair, shall we say." Clara knew what that meant. Niche and peculiar clothing. "As to why I am here...where else would I be?"

"You're infuriating," the Doctor moaned.

"I never thought you were one for such compliments. My memory must be poorer than I first thought!" The Doctor glowered. He would also end up being his own worst enemy. He'd had nightmares about this happening.

"Are you going to introduce your friend here?" he wondered aloud. "Or did you just pick up someone on the street who you thought would be useful?"

"You do realise that that is what you normally do, right?" Kate butted in with a condescending smirk. "You just have to look at Mr O'Brien and Miss Khan for evidence."

"Shush it."

"It was the strangest of circumstances," the Curator said theatrically. "One moment I was alone and the next I was not. Who am I to dismiss such a curiosity." Clive didn't particularly like how they were all talking about him as if he wasn't actually there, prompting him to work up the courage to speak, despite it being a fairly intimidating bunch of people. And a rhino, which he currently was trying really hard not to comment on. He'd sworn that it had glared at him when it noticed him staring at it.

"The name's Clive Finch," he said. Mickey's eyes lit up in recognition and he walked over to him as he thought about how he knew that name. It had been a very long time since he'd heard it, before his life had taken the craziest of turns.

"No way," he muttered. "I know you!"

"I don't think I know you though."

"You wouldn't. I never went in with her. I was reluctant to take her in the first place but she insisted. She was always so stubborn."

"What are you going on about?" Martha asked, worried that her husband had finally lost the plot.

"It was just after Rose had met the Doctor. When he was all leather jackets and big ears." That made the Time Lord raise his eyebrows, ignoring the insults as his mind wandered back to that point. He'd been new to that body, a stranger to himself. He'd tried to forget about her but, just like when it came to the other people he ended up travelling with, he always knew that he wouldn't be able to leave her behind. "She kept trying to find stuff about you so that she could find you." He'd never known this and a flicker of a smile appeared on his face. A sad smile. "And Cliff was the one person who seemed to believe in the same absurd stuff as her. Visited his house and whatever he said must have convinced her that you were worth pursuing. I don't really know...at that point I was...uh...attacked by a bin." They all looked at him as he finished quietly, embarrassed by the memory of being out-foxed by plastic from space. "Doctor, he's the only reason why she chose to go with you." The Time Lord stepped to the dumbstruck man, who realised that he couldn't step back any further when his back ended up pressed against the wall. The Doctor was confused as to why he seemed so scared of him.

"I guess I should be thanking you," he said with his best attempt at a warm smile. He only normally did such a thing for Clara. "She meant a great deal to me." His latest companion, already knowing about that portion of history, was still sad to see him acting this way, especially when it concerned another woman. She didn't want to say that she was jealous but she was only human after all.

"You're him!" Clive sputtered.

"Sorry to disappoint you. I normally struggle to live up to my reputation. People don't normally envisage...me when they think about what I've accomplished."

"But he said he was you!" he said as he pointed to the Curator.

"Confusing, isn't it? This whole event has meant I've had to do this conversation far too many times now. I'm actually getting bored of introducing myself and that's usually one of my hobbies."

"I still have no clue what any of you are talking about," Clive admitted.

"2004," the Curator pointed out. "His current year. I've tried explaining to the best of my abilities how this is at all possible. I'm sure you've reasoned that it's something to do with the rift. Since it's the obvious cause."

"We have," the Doctor answered.

"And you haven't done anything about it yet? Dearie me, you really are lackadaisical, aren't you?"

"I'm working on it!" he grumbled. "It's not that simple."

"Yet it truly is when you think about it. The choice you're presented with...there really was never going to be any competition between the two." Clara looked between the two incarnations in fear and alarm, wanting to know what they were talking about, what choice he was being forced to make. She thought he had been more open with her but it just looked like he was reverting back to his old self.

"Oh no," Mickey murmured, more to himself than the rest of them but he still found their curious eyes staring at him.

"What is it?" the Doctor was the first to ask.

"I just realised something. I can't say…"

"You can't say 'oh no' then tell us you can't follow up such an outburst. It's rude more than anything else."

"But...it's about...Clive." The man in question was now even more interested. "After Rose came back briefly, when we'd thought she'd disappeared for a year...she went to check up on him. To see that he was okay."

"And?"

"He...wasn't."

"What do you mean?" Clive asked, his voice slightly breaking. Mickey didn't want to finish what he was saying now. "What do you mean?" he repeated more strongly. "You are talking about my life! My life! No one else's. I deserve to know what happened." The Curator tried to put a comforting hand on his shoulder but he shrugged it off. Mickey glanced at the Doctor who nodded his head imperceptibly.

"If he can get back, he won't remember any of this. You could tell him." He'd already figured out what must have happened. He could tell that Clive had reached the same conclusion although he was trying to deny what his heart was telling him.

"Your wife told her that...you were killed shortly after she met you. There was an invasion and…" He didn't think he needed to continue as he saw the other man lower himself onto a chair, his head in his hands. They all felt sorry for him, which probably made him feel worse.

"My wife told her that," he mumbled. "Then she survived?"

"She must have done."

"Then at least that's something I can be happy about. It's comforting actually." He looked at the two men who he could tell were the ones who had all the answers. "So this is why I got brought here? So I can be told that I'm fated to...die."

"We're all fated to die," the Doctor pointed out. "There's nothing remotely special about that."

"Like I said to him, I'm nothing special."

"Oh, but that's not true. If Mickey is right in what he says, then you're one of the most important people to have existed. When it comes to my life anyway. Without you, I doubt I'd have such a strong connection with this planet. I probably wouldn't have met all of these people. Just think…" he said as he looked at each of them. "All of the people we saved together and all the monsters we defeated. All the great things you accomplished by my side. None of those would have likely happened if it wasn't for this man right here. No wonder the rift targeted you! A crucial fixed point in time!"

"I'm a person! Not an event to happen to serve your purposes."

"I know, I know. But just think how powerful a person must be to be both. You're more than special. You're a phenomenon." Clive was shocked by his words, never having been described in such a flattering way before. An awkward smile briefly appeared on his face and Clara grabbed the Doctor's hand in a silent way of telling him he'd done something good. Maybe he was learning after all. He sent her a small quick smile in response, the others wondering how they could so easily communicate between themselves with no words spoken, before he started stalking around the room. "But now what I want to know is how an old man and a fixed point in time managed to save Wilfred from time-hungry monsters."

"They blew great big holes in them!" Wilfred answered in awe, a less eloquent response than the Doctor had been hoping for. Martha shook her head.

"That's impossible," she argued. "I'm sorry but we saw plenty of people out there trying to shoot at them to no avail. Either with normal guns or even the weapons we had!"

"Was this before or after you left him so that you could run away?" Clara asked with venom. She got a glare in response, Martha not willing to take the bait.

"Even the Judoon couldn't hurt them. Isn't that right?" She glanced at the commander, who nodded her head.

"Correct. Judoon blasters were not effective. Priority now is to take this up with the Council. Recommendation is now to create better weapons to serve justice more easily." It surprised them how much it sounded like the process of government on Earth. They guessed that things weren't as totally different on other planets as they'd first assumed. Apart from the...rhino aspect. They doubted that their politicians were secretly like them although it would make a lot of sense.

"Every blast they got hit by," Nardole added, "they just...absorbed. Didn't make them pause or anything!"

"Well, these two obviously have something up their sleeves that we don't know about," the Doctor reasoned. "Something that has the capability that every other weapon doesn't have." The Curator had a sly smile on his face as he reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out the golden tube from before. He handed it over to the Doctor, who inspected it closely, rolling it in his hands. It was surprisingly warm to touch, a feeling that he had grown to know.

"These haven't been around for centuries."

"It's a good job then that, to me, centuries are nothing more than a day," he quipped.

"What is it, Doctor?" Clara asked curiously as he handed it over to her. He didn't used to trust her with handling supposedly deadly things when they first started travelling but he hadn't fairly quickly how she would moan for ages if he didn't relent. Sometimes it was best to take the easy option.

"A time gun, to put it in colloquial terms. It fires a beam of pure temporal energy at your enemy. Usually this means that they age exponentially. In fact, the Master used one or, I guess, still is using one. I was on the receiving end of it once and let me tell you, it is not very pleasant." Clara looked at him as he grimaced, hoping that he would tell her that story at one point.

"But they definitely didn't age," Wilf countered. "I saw it with my own eyes. They just died."

"Ah, there's a reason for that," the Curator noted. "You see, a Dromulus is a creature that feeds on the very time energy that this rather nifty device utilises and weaponises. You'd think that then it would be rendered ineffective, nothing more than a spoon to hand feed them. But a direct blast contains too much for one creature to handle. Have you ever seen something eat so much that it literally explodes?" Everyone was either too confused to respond or shook their head in the negative. "It isn't a pretty sight. The same concept applies to the Dromulus. You didn't see me...um...to use your phrase, 'blow a great big hole in them', dear Wilfred. You saw them burst!" Wilf's eyes widened and Clara was worried that he was going to be sick at the thought.

"They were used quite a lot in the Time War," the Doctor said. "Have pretty much been outlawed across the universe because of how nasty they are. So I'm confused as to how you got your hands on one."

"I have a lot of friends in high places. My work is to manage creations even worse than this. It was only natural that someone would see me as the perfect person to take care of it. They just don't realise that I'm a fully fledged rule breaker."

"Yeah, that's true," Clara joked with a grin.

"Don't encourage him," the Doctor moaned. "You have no idea what he gets like."

"Of course I do. I encourage you all the time. I doubt you've changed that much in however many years there are between the two of you."

"I'm starting to get a headache just from thinking about it," Sarah Jane said. It was the first thing she had said since the arrival of the Curator. She'd been shocked at his appearance, seeing that familiar face after so many years. She didn't know how it was at all possible that he was standing in front of them. She was made both happy and sad as old memories resurfaced in her mind, the mad adventures she'd been on by the side of that face. Not her first but definitely her favourite. It still seemed to carry the same amount of energy that it used to, the same giddiness at doing and learning something new. It was something that was a trait in all of his incarnations she reckoned, especially the ones she had interacted with, but it was more pronounced in this one. She really wanted to talk to him when there was an opportunity to do so.

"Do you have just the one?" the Doctor queried, hoping he'd say no.

"Two." Clive waved the one he had been given when the Curator pointedly looked at him. He'd been lost in thought, having not paid much attention to what they were all saying since the focus had shifted away from him. It was a lot to process for anyone. "But that's it. Like you said, they're banned. I've done well to get as many as I have." The Doctor appeared disappointed at that.

"What's wrong?" Clara wondered with a sympathetic expression.

"There's a whole army of them outside! We can't deal with them with just two guns." He sighed. "I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of this pointless war. I have seen and been through too many in my lifetime for my own liking. There is only one way to stop this one. To prevent the Earth from being decimated. To stop the Dromulus from taking over. To stop the invasions from taking place once again. To stop the Time Lords before it's too late."

"And what's that?"

"The only way wars have ever been brought to an end. When people make the active choice to do what is right and sensible. That rare occasion when people see the madness they're apart of and decide to take a different route. To sit down and talk! Wars only end through negotiations."

"You want to negotiate with your people?" Kate pondered sceptically, thinking that it was an almighty long shot.

"It's the only way I can see us getting out of this."

"And how are you planning on doing that?"

"I don't know. I normally end up thinking of something."

"What if they don't want to negotiate?" Clara worried. "Or simply refuse the terms that you put forward?"

"Then I won't allow that burden to weigh too heavily on my soul." She looked at him in a concerned fashion, wondering what that actually meant. She was about to ask that very question when a breeze swept through the room, the sound of the Tardis' engines meeting their ears. But it was different. That familiar groaning and wheezing noise wasn't on its own. It was partnered by another version as two of the blue boxes appeared in front of them, either side of the one that was already there. The Doctor looked on in alarm and resignation.

"I had a feeling this was going to happen," he muttered darkly. "I can never allow myself to do things on my own." As the time machines settled, now perfectly solid and realised, the doors opened at the same time, as if they'd actually been planning this. He reckoned he would be good at synchronised swimming based on this. One Doctor, not wearing his usual long brown coat but a striped suit, glanced at his older self, taking in the tweed jacket and ridiculous bow tie. Still as if they were in sync, they turned their attention onto the grumpy one who was glaring daggers at them. They knew that he was them from their brief video call but it still came as a slight surprise. The people who had been helping them slowly made their way out of the Tardises too, noticing that the focus was definitely not on them. The three doctors slowly stalked around themselves in a circle, eyeing one another closely, picking up on the more minute details. The Tenth was thinking about the complexities this entailed and how damaged time must be if this was possible. The Eleventh was actually quite giddy about this, having always been a fan of talking to himself. This was just a more literal version than usual. The Twelfth just wore a sour expression on his face, focusing not on them as much as they thought but instead Clara, who had started shaking by his side. The sight of him, with his floppy hair and daft grin was almost too much to bear, the thought that he had no clue who she was hurting her even more. She was taking strength from the Doctor's soft but firm grasp of her hand.

"That's got to be one of our best landings, don't you think?" Ten asked in greeting. There was no need for pleasantries when you were meeting yourself after all.

"Yes!" Eleven agreed enthusiastically. "I'm actually quite surprised that the old girl...or girls...cooperated so well. You know what she's normally like. It's a miracle."

"My Tardis must have created a time corridor," Twelve reasoned, dismissing any notion that divine fate was involved in this. "It struggled to get here, what with everything that is going on. The effort would have caused a sort of column to form through time, opening the UNIT base to the two of you. Otherwise, three Tardises landing right next to each other would have caused some pretty intense fractures to Time, since it's in such disarray at the moment."

"Oh, so this is what I'm like now, is it? Taking all the fun out of things to make it all make sense."

"To be fair, we've always been like, using reason to explain extraordinary things," Ten counterered reasonably. "It's just the way he delivers it that sucks all the excitement out of this."

"This isn't supposed to be fun! The world is burning!" Twelve argued.

"Yes, but it's not every day that this happens," he said, pointing at the three of them. "You've got to enjoy the little things."

"I can't enjoy this. You're both nuisances."

"You know you're just insulting yourself, right?" Eleven asked.

"Yes! And do you know how annoying that is?"

"I think it's time for you all to put your egos to the side," the Curator recommended sagely. "You have bigger things to ponder other than which version of yourself is best. Because that's an easy question to answer and he's not here at the moment. Or...is he?" The new arrivals looked at him in shock, the Tenth Doctor walking around him as he peered at him.

"No!" he whispered in awe. "I always remember a face. How is that...possible?"

"He's just another paradox to deal with," the Twelfth Doctor said. "I don't even know why he's come."

"I'm trying to remember that myself. Your memories of this event are still forming in real time, which means mine are as well. I'm sure I'll figure it out sooner rather than later. If we're lucky." Everyone was having difficulty keeping up with this strange conversation, those who didn't know the Doctor as well as others even more so. Graham had to nudge Yaz to make sure he was following correctly.

"So...they're all the Doc?" he asked in a hushed tone, not wanting their ire to be on him when they noticed him talking.

"Mmhmm," came the nervous reply.

"The one who brought us into this mess, the one who we've been helping, and that young looking one?"

"I think so."

"What about that old guy? He's acting like he's one of them too!"

"Because I think he is. Or he's just strange. I guess they're all pretty strange. We all are if we're taking this in our stride."

"Blimey." His thoughts drifted to Grace and what she would have made of all of this. She probably would have loved it and would have complained to him that he wasn't embracing it enough.

"So, you said that we've got a decision to make," the Eleventh Doctor pointed out to the Curator.

"In a sense, yes."

"And what is that decision? Are you going to tell us?"

"Do I really have to? I would be ever so disappointed in myself if I had to." Eleven glanced at Ten and Twelve.

"Do you two have any idea of what he's on about?"

"I'm sure you've realised that there's one simple way out of this," Twelve answered solemnly, his years seemingly catching up to him. Ten nodded his head.

"I had hoped that the Time Lords wouldn't put their plan into action so soon," he said sadly. "They've always been an impatient bunch though."

"You can't seriously be considering this," Eleven blurted out heatedly. "After all that we worked towards." He looked at Twelve's old eyes. "I've been told what we managed to achieve that dark day. How Gallifrey even has a chance of returning. And you want us to do...what? Reverse everything? Take that hope we had and watch it burn in front of our very eyes?"

"I don't want us to do anything! There is no element of want in this, in any decision I've made about this. All I know is that we need to do something otherwise too many people will suffer. I'm not standing by and letting that happen. Too many people have died in my name over the years. How heavy do our souls have to get with the burden of grief before we accept what our duty is."

"Duty? We believe in duty now, do we? I thought we usually ran away from our problems, hoping that they would never catch up to us."

"Yet they always do. Every choice we make always makes itself known in the end. Running, no matter how much we enjoy doing it...no matter how much it has become a part of our existence and essence...can't be the answer forever." Clara was worried about what he was insinuating, always hating when his eyes got like that.

"I don't intend to change the topic too much," the Curator said, obviously wanting to do exactly that. "But how did the trouble with the Sontarans go?"

"How did you know about that?" Ten retorted with his eyes suspiciously peering at the other man. The other him. "I was led to believe that this was your first involvement in this whole mess."

"I can remember things. Some things are coming back to me. Rather entertaining things. Others that are quite terrifying. Now, be a good chap and answer my question."

"We drove them off. Well, they got a bit distracted. Thanks for that, by the way," he said as he nodded his head in the direction of Twelve.

"No problem. The Ice Warriors only started properly listening when Clara took control." She gave a small wave, not wanting to meet Eleven's eyes. How they gazed at her unknowing, as if she were someone entirely new to him. It still hurt how Ten looked at her the same but she'd only met him once properly. She'd travelled with Eleven and now he was standing there with that customary grin of his, the grin that had been hers for so long. It was a miracle that she hadn't broken down into tears already, which would have probably taken a lot of awkward explaining.

"Well, of course they did. I'd rather listen to her than you. She actually smiles. She doesn't look like she's currently planning on how to kill me in the most gruesome way imaginable. You're not, are you?"

"Not yet," she quickly replied, smirking at his wide eyes and raised eyebrows.

"Be careful," Eleven said. "She might have been influenced by him. This Clara might be just as secretly grumpy as he is." He was talking about her in such a detached fashion. She wanted to scream out how it had actually been him who influenced her. It was him that had shaped her life so massively. But she kept her mouth shut even if it took a lot of effort to keep the smile on her face. The man holding her hand could tell it was fake and forced.

"Can we just stop with the insulting one another?" he barked. "We have to work together. The only way we can do that is by putting our differences aside." Ten looked at him as if he'd grown a second head.

"Who would have thought that it would have been you to suggest that."

"Although, when you think about it, it is strange how different we are. Seeing as we're...you know...technically the same," Eleven sheepishly admitted.

"Exactly. Let's embrace the similarities. How we want to do the right thing," Twelve concluded, the other two nodding their heads to show their agreement.

"I feel like I keep being put on the back burner," the Curator spoke up, moving to stand in the middle of them. Everyone else was standing around the edges of the room, watching and savouring this strange moment, apart from Clara, who hadn't left the Twelfth Doctor's side. "What were the Sontarans doing exactly?"

"Blowing up buildings," Graham answered for him, happy that he could be of help. Ten winced at his rather crude description of events.

"Not precisely. They were using these devices to remove the primary structure of the buildings, from what I could tell. It was like the main beam would simply disintegrate slowly, eventually making them collapse."

"It gave people enough time to get out though. Because you said that they wanted to hunt people for sport," Jenny added, her father (oh god, it was fathers) giving her an appreciative look.

"Do you happen to know what these devices were?"

"I'd never seen them before. But I managed to salvage one that they left behind." He pulled it out from his coat pocket, moving over to a table to put it down so that everyone could see it, shoving a few pieces of paper out of the way.

"How fortuitous. Yes, I know what this is called. This, my dear colleagues, is a Nebulous weapon. Very powerful. They didn't originate with the Sontarans. They must have bartered for it or, more likely, stolen it from another species."

"Maybe they got it from the Alliance," Eleven suggested.

"That's a possibility."

"How do you even know what it's called?" Twelve asked the Curator.

"Because I just told you. I have the memory of myself telling you what it is called at this very moment so I therefore know what it is called because you remembered me telling you." It was too much for some people to follow. Brian looked at his son for answers, who just shrugged in response. Wilf and Graham were both sporting confused expressions too.

"A Bootstrap paradox."

"Precisely. I would like to know a bit more about its inner workings though. Maybe if we tried getting into it?"

"That sounds like a plan," Ten agreed.

"Perkins and Malcolm can help you to get it open if you require their services," Twelve told him. As they began working on doing just that, he pulled Clara to one side, whose face was devoid of all emotion. "How are you coping with this?"

"Fine." Her response was distant, like it was nothing more than an automatic response.

"I know you're not fine."

"Then why ask in the first place if you already know?" He was surprised by the anger in her voice this time.

"Because it's the nice thing to do! Because I care about you. Because I'm worried about you." Now she felt guilty and her eyes pointed at the ground in shame.

"You don't need to worry about me. I have you to help me get through this, don't I?"

"Of course you do."

"I'm more concerned about you." He frowned at that.

"Why?"

"What are you planning to do to stop all of this?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Don't...do not play games with me right now. Just tell me or I will slap you so hard that you'll regenerate."

"You know you've used that threat before, right?"

"And it worked the last time. So tell me."

"There is only one way to stop whatever machine the Masters are using to keep the rift open. We can't get to the machine itself because it will be too heavily guarded. But we can get to the planet. At least, I hope we can."

"Which means what?"

"We can destroy the weapon. By destroying Gallifrey."