Chapter 7: Vive la Révolution
No!
It wasn't supposed to go like this. He knew it wasn't. They were supposed to be free and safe and back in the TARDIS by now. Oh, he knew Rose wouldn't let the other prisoners die. Same with the Doctor. They were both predictable that way. And, admittedly, he would've probably done the same.
But that need to rescue the others had led them to this. Not death by beheading. Death by something that looked like a cross between a shotgun and a Star Trek phaser.
Damn it all anyway. His hands clenched into fists as he stole a glance, then another, at Rose and the Doctor. Rose's jaw was tight and, from that tiny movement, he could tell that she was blaming herself for this particular mess. The Doctor was his usual inscrutable self, but something about the way he held his body told him that he was feeling just as guilty.
He needed to do something. Rose had saved them from one fire. Maybe it was his turn.
He was about to start forward, to try and reason with the guards - especially now that he'd be able to hear their replies - or with Diktar LeMoreau. Maybe he could convince them that it wasn't their fault? Or that the Doctor and Rose had nothing to do with this, that they were innocent bystanders, and that he was the one they needed to focus on? But, no, that wouldn't work. Diktar had heard the Doctor's words, knew that he was a rebel element and proud of it.
Just when he had turned into a hero?
Once upon a time, he would've scoffed at those people who willingly gave their lives for others. He'd been convinced that he was nothing more than a coward. But he wasn't, was he? Because Rose had been right. So long ago, in a chip shop, just before she had disappeared and brought back the new Doctor, she'd been right.
The Doctor showed me a better way of living your life… That you don't just give up. You don't just let things happen. You make a stand. You say no. You have the guts to do what's right when everyone else just runs away…
He straightened his posture, staring down the barrel of the nearest guard's weapon.
Diktar LeMoreau was visible only through a slight gap between the men, but he knew what was about to come next as the man opened his mouth.
"No," Rose said in a fierce voice. "Not like this!"
Hope fled. He could see no way out. Nothing he could do, they could do, to stop this. Serenity would come for them no matter what.
God, not like this, he thought, mentally repeating her words.
He'd almost missed it at first. A low roar filled his ears and he thought it was caused by the frantic beating of his heart. However, the guards noticed it too.
That was when he recognised what he was hearing. And, as the guards turned toward the crumbled remains of the wall, he saw the confirmation.
The prisoners were out, they were free, and they were angry.
"Vive la révolution," he thought he heard the Doctor say from beside him.
She'd seen fights before, but nothing like this. This was war of a calibre never seen in the movies. But she couldn't do anything here. Not now. Not with the wave of anger that propelled the prisoners into attacking their oppressors. She knew that Dorothée had had something to do with this, but she couldn't see her friend amongst the crowd. A flicker of movement near the wall, just inside the gaol, revealed a brief glimpse of dark armour but the other woman did not show herself.
Shouts, screams, punches, the sound of flesh hitting flesh, groans of pain, yells of triumph, and the pounding of feet against the hard ground echoed and reverberated through the courtyard.
"Freedom!" the prisoners roared.
She backed away slowly, seeing the Doctor and Mickey do the same. This was the prisoners' battle, not theirs.
The Doctor grabbed her hand, entwining their fingers as they stood in the shadow cast by the guillotine. They couldn't leave the courtyard - the riot had encompassed most of the area. They'd be pulled into the fight should they try. Their best bet was to wait. However, despite her earlier anger with the Doctor, she couldn't deny that just holding his hand raised her spirits.
She winced as a guard was knocked to the ground by a particularly vicious punch, but someone - a tall, gangly prisoner - prevented the attacker from making a killing blow.
"Not like this!" She could barely hear the words over the sound of the fighting, but the man had to shout in order to be heard. "Disable them, keep them from following us, but don't kill. They're as much victims as we are!"
The attacker shook his head violently.
"To show them a better way, we have to be better ourselves." Though the words were spoken, they carried all the power of a shout.
She was impressed. After everything that had happened to them. After everything that had been done to them during their captivity, they were still willing to show mercy. When she turned toward the Doctor, she could see him grinning fiercely. Yes. This was how it should go.
This was what should happen.
Slowly, the fighting began to quiet down save for a few pockets of struggle between guards and prisoners. Soon, even those died out.
Only the prisoners and some of the paid mourners remained standing. A mixture of former convicts and guards lay on the ground. Some of the men were probably dead judging from the amount of blood surrounding them and their motionless bodies. However, the majority of those on the courtyard floor were still alive, merely injured or unconscious.
"FREEDOM!" The apparent leader of the prisoners - the tall, gangly man - shouted.
"FREEDOM!" The words were echoed, reverberating across the courtyard. "FREEDOM! FREEDOM! FREEDOM!"
Somehow through the shouts, through the fists thrust into the air in victory, through the actions of the prisoners' leader, she could see possibilities expand before her. Where in one future, the regime remained, she could see others. More prevalent, more powerful, more true than the others.
All that could be…
She could see Nova Paris. The regime had fallen years ago. Statues had been erected in the memory of those who had lost their lives in the battle for the future, the battle for their dreams.
She could read the plaque on one of those statues, a figure of a man - the prisoners' leader? - reaching toward the stars.
'To live is to dream. To dream is to live. - Jean-Louis Vignes'
I think you need a...
"Rose, can you hear me? Rose!"
The Doctor. She could hear the Doctor, but why did he sound so frantic? And when had she closed her eyes?
"Doctor? What's wrong with her?" Mickey, she identified.
Awareness returned to her in a rush of sight and sound as she opened her eyes. The prisoners were still shouting, still crying out in joy for their tiny victory. A battle won, but not the war. Not yet.
But soon…
No. She blinked, mentally forcing away the words. What was happening to her?
The Doctor. His face was close to hers, his worried brown eyes staring intently into her own. At the edge of her vision she could see his hands, outstretched for a moment before dropping, almost as if he'd been caught in the act of trying to cradle her face between them.
"What-?" She paused, licked her lips, and tried again. "What 'appened?"
"Why don't you tell me?" the Time Lord asked, and in his expression she could see fear.
"There was..." She stopped and then shook her head. This wasn't the place. Not here in this courtyard in Nova Paris, and not in front of Mickey. Not for what she wanted to say, for what she remembered. "No. Not here. Not yet. When we get back home."
The Doctor frowned, obviously unhappy with her words. "Okay. Are you sure you're all right?"
She smiled grimly. "I'm always all right." That she was echoing back his words after Madame du Pompadour dawned on her only after she caught his reflexive wince.
"Sorry," she whispered, but he seemed not to have heard her.
"Doctor, Rose, they're moving." Mickey's voice called their attention to the prisoners.
And they were. The men were moving toward the gates and, from there, she supposed that their destination would be the centre of government. Wherever the dictator lived or worked, would be her guess. Judging from the mood of the city, the tension that she'd witnessed as an undercurrent - the same tension that had brought the wrongness of the society to her attention - the men would be joined by ordinary citizens.
"It's a revolution," she said.
"It is," the Doctor agreed. "It's been building for a long time. Without dreams, without something to strive for, they're stuck. This is it, nothing more, so they start to rebel. Oh, it starts quietly. A few whispers in the streets. A thought at the back of people's minds. What if? What if something was different? What if this isn't how life is supposed to be? Then someone starts to speak out, but they're taken into custody quickly. Can't let the unrest spread, after all. Only thing is, once it starts it can never, ever stop. Never, ever. It just grows bigger and bigger. Sure, some don't act on it. But they think it. And thoughts are power. So, maybe a few more speak up, and a few more. The Constables are busy picking up the pieces of their slowly eroding society. Taking in the 'rebel' elements, sentencing them to 'serenity'. Yet, still, it spreads. Whispers in the streets, discussions in homes and businesses. What if? What if there's something more?"
She nodded. It made sense, really. So much sense. And she'd seen it happening. And now it was here. Revolution.
"'If' is the most powerful word in the universe. When one starts to dream, to imagine the possibilities, the 'ifs', this is the result. A rebellion against an oppressive regime. A rebellion that can't stop, can never stop, not until the society can dream again." He cast her a warm glance. "You helped start that. Found some rebels to help you, released some prisoners, and started the wheel rolling. That's what you did, Rose."
She blinked. "What I did?" How could she have done that? She'd had help from Dorothée, of course. But how could she've done that? All of that on her shoulders? Started the wheel rolling? Impossible.
"Yeah. You and your rebel friends returned dreams of the future to this society. History'll reset, take into account these actions and go back to the way it should be. That's what you did."
"Oh." So this was what being a Time Lord - no, what being the Doctor - was like. A rush of accomplishment, of joy, flowed through her and she smiled. She had done it.
Rose Tyler.
Not the Doctor. Not Mickey.
Rose Tyler.
With, of course, a little help from a friend.
He'd seen a flicker of gold in her eyes.
For just a moment, a brief, agonising moment, he'd seen gold. After she'd stood there, frozen, her eyes closed as the prisoners celebrated their victory, time had coalesced around her. The future and all its possibilities had been an open book, and he was certain that she'd been perusing its pages. Then it'd been gone, almost as if it had been nothing more than a dream.
He'd agreed to let it drop until they were back at the TARDIS, but the fear was still with him. It still caused his hearts to pound a staccato beat within his chest. What if he'd miscalculated?
What if, all this time, he hadn't withdrawn the entire Vortex from Rose's body? What if something had been left behind? What if his sacrifice had been for naught?
He shook himself. No. That wasn't possible. He wouldn't let it be possible. It was just a side-effect, perhaps. Looking into the heart of the TARDIS was something that no one had been meant to do, but she'd done it. She'd managed to control the Vortex through the TARDIS. Managed to save him by warping space and time to do her will.
He doubted that he could've done that in her place. But, for the love of a friend - for the love of Rose - he would've tried.
But that choice had had consequences. He'd regenerated and Rose…well, she'd forgotten everything about the Vortex - as she should. But he'd seen something else besides the gold in her eyes.
He'd seen knowledge. The same knowledge that burned within him. The exact same.
Shaking himself out of his contemplations, he gestured for his companions to follow him. "Back to the TARDIS."
Now that the revolution had started, it couldn't stop until it was through. Change was coming to Nova Paris. Change for the better.
They were there for the start. He didn't want to be here for the ending.
Rose looked back toward the crumbled wall, her face a mask of indecision. She shrugged for a moment and turned back to him, smiling faintly.
"Yeah," she said. "But we can't leave. Not yet. I want to say goodbye to my friend."
He must've looked confused because she explained. "That explosion. It wasn't me, it was a friend. I just want to say goodbye."
Goodbye. Of course she wanted to say goodbye. "Will your friend be able to find you by the TARDIS?"
She smiled. "Yeah."
"Okay," he replied. Maybe it was another allowance, another apology. A 'sorry I changed you so much', 'sorry I left you and Mickey in the fifty-first century', 'sorry you've been affected so badly by the Vortex'. His jaw clenched as the last thought occurred to him.
What if he'd misjudged the effect the Vortex could have on a human girl? What if he'd been blinded by his success? Blinded by the fact he'd apparently saved her, even at the cost of his ninth life?
He suddenly realised a possible truth. She wasn't just Rose Tyler. Not anymore.
And it was entirely his fault.
To be continued...
