Us

The harder we looked for physical form, the further away it became.

We are the intelligence, and this is our melody, a sad and morbid tale of strife for reality in a reality that neither asked for us nor has any real use for us. We are a jumble, a mesh, a vast and endless selection of ideas with only one idea; survival.

The Time Lord represents a chance, for now his brain is carved with our initials, his every thought and feeling putty in our dreams, we hope to inhabit him and live on, perhaps enslaving an empire or two, perhaps more, a joyride of delight through time itself.

If only we were afforded the time, this could be so, though the Time Lord resists even now, little though he's aware of doing it. Worse yet, his friends have penetrated the ventilation shafts, and from here they shall no longer be fooled by the deception, the mantra of a castle in the 1500's. Not that they were ever much fooled by us, loathe we are to admit it; they saw ill intents on our part long before they knew what they were, long before they could place a name, an identity or even a plan upon us.

It seems a given that they'll now penetrate to the upper levels, and visit our web once more, and if they do this then we shall fight to the death, and delight in our doing so. A physical form of any sort can always be killed, though being here and there, we think perhaps we might outlive our body, a vague hope perhaps, but not one without foundation. More likely, we suppose, the shock wave would send a bolt of death to our very core, and if that happens, we think that the universe might as well hang up it's coat and turn the light off, for a universe without the Intelligence is a dismal universe in which to live - we shall make sure of it. And imagine! Invasions at every turn, death each day, a reality of horror, blood, war and famine, from which there is no let up, not truly, for with every second that passes someone is imperilled...

That would make us happy, but fear, we don't believe it could be so, not really, however much we might want it. What if, for each bad we do, there's a figure who does the good to counter it? Just a bloke? A bloke in a box, who's sometimes a woman, and who maybe (just maybe) means more to the universe than he could ever imagine, has lived more lives than he can ever count...some, they'd call him the Doctor. But us, we'd call him the reaper. The demon, the ghast, the bringer of death.

Oh, come to us, Jack Harkness and Rose Tyler. Come in, don't be shy, and be truly lost, whilst we take the man...

Jack

"Hmm? Oh, good gracious me!" the old man bustled over and lifted Jack from the floor, pressing a hand to his chest and frowning up at him. He was a short man with long white hair, and he wore checked beige trousers and a matching waistcoat.

"I..." he looked over his shoulder, expecting to see Rose crawling through the tunnel and into the empty storage bay alongside him. He saw neither Rose, nor any sign of the worms following him.

"Where is she?" he demanded, taking an instinctive step away from the man.

"Oh, come now!" he snapped. "You mustn't be frightened of me, dear boy. No, indeed! Goodness me no. Now pull yourself together, hmm? Take a few deep breaths."

He examined the old man closely and saw no red frills, no chalk-white features, nothing to indicate anything of the Znya about him. He relaxed somewhat, and realised for the first time that he knew the man.

"Haven't we met?" he demanded.

"Met? Hmm?" the old man glanced him up and down and shook his head, clutching the lapels of his black coat. "Why no, young man. I don't think so."

"Weren't you once a doctor? From back home?"

"A doctor, eh?" the old man chuckled. "No, I'm afraid not. A longstanding fantasy of mine, I confess, but no I'm no such thing. Not yet."

Jack scoffed, and rubbed his eyes, half hoping that the man would be gone when he opened them. "Buddy...you were a doctor. I know ya. I grew up visiting ya, whenever I got sick."

"Never cruel, and never cowardly." the old man replied tersely, taking Jack by the shoulder. "Never give up, and never give in...are these principles you strive to live by, my boy?"

"Always." Jack said at once. "Always...now. Not so much before."

"Oh, why, we're so alike!" the old man beamed, walking from the storage chamber with Jack. They rounded a corner and came, inexplicably, to a short corridor that he recognised all too well, with a stout locked door at the end..

Rose

She blinked. "How are you here?" she demanded, having just lost sight of Jack and come spilling out of the vent shafts into some form of repair workshop.

The wild-haired man flashed his frightening grin. "Good evening!" he purred in a deep voice. "And goodness, how you've grown!"

"Yeah..." she replied, noting that she saw no red frills on him, and taking limited comfort from that. "When did we last meet?"

"Oh, you've mixed me with somebody else. I'm afraid we've not met before, much to my regret."

"Then why did you say I've grown?"

"I assume you have grown, or were you born that size?"

She scoffed. "You were always weird, doc. Don't get me wrong, I liked you. We all did. Best of the lot, down at the surgery...but still weird."

"Doctor?" he shook his head frantically, his wild brown curls flopping around like creatures in their own right. "No! No doctors here, miss."

Rose could think of no reply, and hung her head. She felt suddenly exhausted. Utterly exhausted. She didn't know where she was, didn't know it to be castle, base, or something else entirely, and had no idea where to go, nor which directions (if any) were at all safe.

"What do I do?" she whispered, blinking back tears. "How can I save him?"

"I...can't answer that." he told her solemnly, rummaging around in his pocket and producing a crumpled bag of sweets. "Would you like a jelly baby?"

In a fit of frustration, insulted to have her woes ignored, she went to slap the bag from his hand, but he grabbed her wrist mid swing.

"But then maybe..." he purred. "Maybe me being here means something. Possibly - just possibly, mind you - there's still a chance? Have you thought of that?"

"Then tell me!" she exclaimed. "Tell me what to do!"

"You know what to do!" he replied. "You've always known, for why else would he have chosen you? You've got to take a stand, and say no. You go to that chamber, girl, and you do what you were born to do, and kill that damned spider whilst your at it! The spider flees before the big bad wolf, for when she looks at you, I mean really looks at you, then she'll flee into the light years, and take him with her. You've got to stop that happening."

And, taking her by the shoulder, he led her out of the workshop and promptly vanished. She found herself standing in the corridor to the Web Tower, and embraced Jack, who was standing ashen-faced beside the door.

"Did you see something?" she whispered. "Something that can't have been?"

"I saw it." he nodded. "Forget it. We're here..."

They gazed at the door with racing hearts, and linked hands.

"She'll try to run," Rose said distantly, her voice a faraway drumbeat in her ears. "When she knows us as we really are, she'll try to run and take the Doctor away with her."

"Then we'll stop her." Jack said simply. "And if we don't..."

"Yeah?"

Jack chuckled. "Then it's been proper good to know you, Rose Tyler!"

They exchanged a final smile, and holding her breath, Rose placed her hand on the latch of the door, and swung it open, stepping into the spider's lair for the final time...