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Love, Laugh, Die
And here you have it. Chapter 10, in which the author attempts to write a final showdown.
Wow! Believe it or not, this story is actually coming to a close, as this marks the penultimate chapter. I can't believe it's going to be over soon – it's been a real ride with a whole lot of suffering and with my own weird imagination at play. My favourite kind of ride… at any rate, I'd love to hear all your thoughts, as ever, and any feedback on how I can improve – namely in my writing for Nine, Rose, and my characterisation of Maria, but any feedback at all really – means the world to me. Not that that's a hint or anything. I'm very iffy about the way Nine comes off in this chapter because he doesn't completely feel like Nine to me, and I think I gave him a bit too much of an Eleven vibe. Writing this stuff is hard.
Chapter 10
…
The Doctor came to by degrees.
A mind-splitting headache. (Sore, so sore, then he realised it was his entire body that ached terribly).
A tight feeling in his chest.
Then, warmth; and something soft beneath him.
It took a moment for these pieces to come together in his confused mind. Where was he? He groped, but couldn't quite work it out, couldn't quite remember. He knew something had happened to him, something of significance. He thought it had been something of significance anyway. He opened his eyes.
Light, piercing light. He immediately squeezed his lids shut with an involuntary groan of pain.
Fingers, soft and gentle, stroked his brow, brushed through his short-cropped hair. "Mornin', sleepyhead." The Doctor allowed his eyes to drift open again, slowly this time. It took a few seconds to adjust to the light, but when he did it was to register Rose's face, just inches from his. Her expression was tender, but even in his bleary-minded state there was no missing the worry etched into those soft features.
He was in his cabin room, he realised, lying under the covers. He was still fully dressed, though his shoes were off. Why was he dressed? He always slept shirtless. Rose seemed to be kneeling on the floor next to him. She had pulled her hand away, and now rested her elbows on the edge of the bed, chin in hand.
She looked tired.
"What - ?" he began to ask, propping himself up slightly on his elbows, but she shushed him.
"Hshhh. Jus' relax. Hold on."
"But what hap- ?"
"Shh. Shh. Jus' relax."
He tried to, tried to lower himself back down onto the bed. Then, just seconds later, it all came back to him in a rush: the Dyrfain. The engine room. Maria.
Oh, by every star in the sky, Maria.
The Doctor sat bolt upright. At once, Rose had a hand pressed to his chest, easing him back down. He jerked away, kicking furiously at the blankets until they fell to the floor in a tangled heap. Rose reached up a hand again, this time seemingly to try and subdue him, but he would have none of it. One arm shot outwards, shoving her away. Rose recoiled, but there was nothing frightened in her expression.
"Doctor." Her tone was low and forceful. "You've been out for almost a day. Your head's not gonna be workin' right, and after – at least sit still and listen to what happened."
They locked eyes. Rose had a strange look on her face, one she'd never seen before. It was similar to the expression one might wear while attempting to console a raging bull. A moment taut with tension, and then the Doctor bowed his head and nodded once, averting his gaze.
"Okay," she said. "Okay. Jus' – stay sitting down, yeah?" She stood slowly, and backed up until she hit the desk. She pulled herself to sit on top of it, legs dangling.
"So, what happened, then?" he asked tonelessly.
Silence.
"Rose."
She opened her mouth, and then he noticed her red-rimmed eyes; she'd been crying. She sucked in a deep breath before answering, and her voice was uncharacteristically quiet when she spoke.
"The second digit changed, and me and Maria weren't sure what to do. You weren't answering your phone, so we… I was gonna do it, it should've been me, but she insisted on headin' down herself to check on ya. Left me with the whatsit device. I dunno how long it was, five minutes maybe, and then the third digit changed so I decided to head down there myself. Got to the engine room, and the place is all brightly lit and weird-like, and there ain't a sound, not a Dyrfain in sight. And then I saw you lyin' there, totally unconscious, and Maria – "
"Dead."
She swallowed and nodded. "Dead," she whispered. "Her body. I couldn't carry both of ya up." A long pause, an almost childlike whimper. "'m sorry."
Maria, dead.
"Doctor?" Her words came to him as if his head were underwater.
He'd known, of course, but hearing the words said out loud made it all the more real.
His thoughts made way for his feelings. The Doctor surged to his feet and made a dive for the door; the charging bull faced with a flash of red fabric.
"Doctor." Her voice was low. "Listen. For God's sake, just listen. Remember, remember what you always say – hey. I'm the one that's supposed to be jeopardy friendly, not you, yeah? I'm the one with the stupid ape mind. So, so jus' listen – this is – you've gotta stop and think – give yourself a moment to recover, you're not thinkin' straight – "
"You're right." He grinned at her, snatched up the access card lying on the desk. Maria's access card. "'m not." He made for the door and began to head down the passageway.
"Doctor - !" She surged after him, but even her own little jog was no match for his long, brisk strides, and she lagged just behind. She followed him all the way down the stairs as far as Deck D, then down its passageway as they exited the main stairwell. She called and cursed after him all the way, and her words washed past him as he strode determinedly on.
"Doctor, you're being bloody stupid – " Rose hissed for the nth time as he reached the door to the staff stairwell. He ignored her, producing the sonic, which he used to open the door. When she realised that it was he who had the access card, she made a grab for his jacket. He shoved her off, more roughly than he'd intended, and she nearly toppled to the floor, catching herself just in time.
Just in time for him to shove the door shut. She dove, but it was too late – it clicked shut as her fingers brushed the handle, accompanied by a small beep that indicated it had effectively locked. Rose was left to pound her fists against the door and shout his name.
"Doctor! Doctor! Doctor, if you don't open this bloody door right now – "
No response.
She kicked with all her might. "DOCTOR!"
Still there was no answer.
Of course there wasn't.
Rose released a huff of frustration, punching the door one last time. Her mind raced. There had to be something, something she could do. There was always something.
She began to pace – a habit she'd picked up from the Doctor – and took to tugging at clumps of her hair. "Think," she muttered to herself. "Think, Rose, think."
Thinking. That had never been her forte, unless it was thinking on her feet. And if she'd had a means for thinking on her feet right now, of using the items around her, she would have. Instead she was stuck behind a heavy locked door. A useless little ape, as the Doctor might have said.
She let out a frustrated yell and punched the access card panel on the wall next to the door, hard. Then she brought her knuckles to her mouth.
If only she'd had a mind for tinkering, for technology. But she was almost as useless as her mum when it came to that sort of thing – almost. She knew how to operate the VHS player, thank you very much.
Mickey. He was good with cars, mechanics, anything electronic. If Mickey were here, she thought, he'd have been able to come up with some way to get this door open.
Mickey.
God, she was desperate.
And she missed him.
She wondered how many minutes had gone by since he'd shut the door. It seemed an eternity ago, just as much as it seemed mere seconds had passed. She wasn't. Bloody. Thinking straight.
Rose chewed at her lip. The Doctor had lifted the access card Maria had given her, and she wasn't about to go and beg the staff for admittance.
And he had the sonic screwdriver, of course.
Bloody alien and his bits of space junk.
Space junk.
Rose stopped mid-pace, breath wavering. That old device of his was still going, she was sure. And if it was…
It wasn't much. But it was something. And at least she would have the vaguest idea of what was going on. At least she'd be able to determine whether or not he was still alive.
She turned on her heel and raced for the cabin.
…
For the third time in just a few days, the Doctor headed down to the engine room of the SS Bad Wolf.
"Third time's the charm," he said to himself, with a dry chuckle.
The engines were humming as they always did, and the air was sharp with that same coppery taste, and he could sense himself being watched, but for once the Doctor scarcely noticed. There was only him, and the watertight door at the end of Deck A's passageway. And she who awaited him on the other side, too, he supposed.
The door, as ever, was open and waiting.
He continued towards it.
Suddenly, a hand slipped into his – small and soft and far too warm. He snatched his hand back and looked down to see her staring up at him. Her expression was unsettlingly solemn. "Hello, Doctor. Welcome back."
"Where the hell did you spring from, then?"
"Doctor. Really, now. You might like to brush up on those observation skills. You never even noticed me. That can hardly serve you well in the future." She reached for his hand again.
He glowered at her but said nothing, and stuffed both of his own into his pockets. He carried on towards the watertight door, his already brisk pace picking up. The Dyrfain skipped alongside him to keep up, bare feet slapping rhythmically against the concrete floor.
"Why have you come this time? You're always changing your mind. It's very confusing."
Having reached the end of the passageway, he ducked into the engine room. "I don't know," he admitted. "But you probably already knew that, didn't you?"
She laughed. "Of course."
It, he tried to remind himself, but as he tried to grasp firm hold of the thought, it passed through his hands like water. It was nearly impossible to remember the truth when she was standing there in front of him, girlish as ever. Her presence, the voices of her kin, pressed in on the edges of his mind; her essence obscured his thought and reached out to his.
He touched a hand to one engine. It was quite cool. The Dyrfain joined him, stroking the corroding metal almost lovingly. "We're so close now, you know. A breath away from establishing our new home on Earth."
"Yeah, I think we made it pretty clear I wasn't gonna let you do that."
"And didn't we make it clear your opinion matters little to us?" She dropped the hand that had been pressed against the engine and balled it into a small fist. Almost instantly, he felt it, that same tight, choking feeling in his chest. A feeling like all the air was being sucked from his lungs, wrung out like a wet towel. He gasped despite himself and staggered – and then, a moment later, it was over. He breathed heavily, raising a hand to clutch at himself, and the Dyrfain smiled cheerfully, folding her hands behind her back and rocking back and forth on her heels.
"As you can see," she said, and this time her tone was measured and forceful despite the expression on her face, "we have always had the upper hand, Doctor. It would be too easy for us. And you know as well as we do that you wouldn't mind helping us out so very badly. We're talking about the coward who fled Gallifrey as it fell to ash, after all, aren't we?"
He didn't answer, and she hummed absently.
"But your thoughts are different now. I can taste them. Different even from the first time. That's all very interesting. I could claim you anytime I pleased. But first, we ought to talk. We still want to enjoy ourselves, after all." He opened his mouth to offer an acidic retort, and she raised a finger to cut him off, smiling smugly and victoriously. "Come now, Doctor. You want to talk to us, don't you? Know what we're like? So little energy, so little zeal, all that life stamped out of you, but still, there remains a burning curiosity that you'll never be able to satisfy."
He raised his chin. "Suppose. You're a fascinating bunch, you lot. But see, then there's that wee issue about the crimes you've committed, the people you've killed, and all of a sudden I want to spend a lot less time in your company. But okay, just for a bit. I'll bite. What do you want?"
She rolled her eyes. "You know the answer. I've given it to you many times. We miss the golden days. But now they are gone, we want to go on living on Earth as we once did on your planet, and leave it at that. That's all we care about. Your essence will be priceless to us, Doctor. You are the only missing piece, the only missing cog, and then our vessel will be ready. You are so valuable. And – " a giggle – "like I said, sweet, too. Really, you haven't the faintest idea."
"Yeah? Well, tough." It struck him he was negotiating, as he'd originally planned to do. Before everything had gone wrong. Before they'd killed Maria. Ha. Things always happened to him in the wrong order, didn't they?
"Hmm."
He titled his head, appraising her. "You're not the only member of the noble families here, are you?"
The Dyrfain seemed proud. "No. We are two. Myself, and an elder. Still his rank is lower than mine. We are not of the same clan, and still he thinks it his place – no, his job, his duty – to mentor and guide me and tell me what to do." She scoffed and her lower lip stuck out in a classic pout. It made the cracks nearest her mouth seem to deepen and spread slightly. Then her expression changed into something more passive again, and the cracks settled. "Even so, we are not such a class-driven race." She wrapped her arms around herself and studied him pointedly. "We are family, all of us, and we are all we have left." She looked down at her toes, and for a moment the Doctor thought he sensed actual sadness. For a moment he thought he felt actual pity for this being. Then he told himself it was just her child form playing with his emotions. The Dyrfain were few, and alone, but…
Some crimes were irredeemable.
"Where're the rest of you, then?"
"Still curious." She played with a lock of her hair. "Around. Scattered across this ship. In their true forms, mostly. Not even you would not understand them if you were to see them."
"Okay. New question. You seem to be enjoying this chatting game, so I don't mind playing a bit more. I got time. Why'd you try to – take me then? You're not doin' it now."
"I believe I already answered that question, Doctor."
"Wanna explain it better? Bit thick, me."
"It was the best move then. And now it is not."
"Why not?"
"I told you – your taste. Your feelings. It suited us to act immediately. Now, not so much." She shrugged. "It all evened out very nicely in the end, though. Your dear human friend, rich and filling, so much more than a regular human – by the way, thank you for telling her the truth about yourself, Time Lord – came down, and offered us quite the supply. We'd been aiming for you and nothing more, and now, once we gain your essence, we shall have both. It's nearly twice as much as we'd planned, or dared to anticipate. Yes, what a human. The best."
His stomach lurched. He said nothing. Idly he wondered where her body was.
"… Maria, wasn't it?"
No. Hearing her name, hearing it wielded by this – this creature, he thought with finality, was wrong. It was all he needed. Something resonated within the Doctor, a sudden whip-crack of emotion making him spin on her, making him grab her by the collar of her gossamer nightdress.
"No. You don't get to say that. You don't get to use the names of the people you killed." His voice was low.
"Oh? And why shouldn't I? My people and I have always honoured those whose essences we consume."
The Doctor stared at her, tightening his grip on her collar. She hung there, almost lazily, feet dangling a few inches off the ground. Her expression was calm, he supposed. That was the term he'd have settled on, were he to use a word to describe it. Her stared into the childish face that was not childish, cracked as it was with those long spiderwebbing fissures, stared into the dark, bottomless eyes.
He stared at her, at the creature who had killed half a dozen innocent people, who had killed Maria, and in his mind, where there had once been a murky, bleary haze of confused thoughts and ambitions, the Doctor saw but one distinct, rage-induced goal.
It had been a long time since he'd wanted something dead.
Or had it been? The Dalek in Van Staten's underground base came to the forefront of his mind, briefly, quite out of nowhere. There was enough of him left to see at least a scrap of reason – or enough of Rose, he supposed. She'd been the one who instilled this… mercy into him.
And there was nothing he hated in the universe, not even the Dyrfain, more than the Daleks of Skaro.
He was about to let go of the Dyrfain, let her drop to the ground, however roughly, when he realised he was no longer clutching the fabric of her nightdress. His fist opened and closed and he stared at his hand in confusion, when her voice sounded from behind him. He spun around.
"Something's changed, I see," she singsonged.
"Yup. Wonder what that might be?"
"The Time Lord has a goal. About time, I'd think."
The Doctor studied her a moment, as long as he dared. Her face wore that same innocently mocking expression, and there was no reading her eyes, but he sensed something else rolling off her too – fear. Just the tiniest trace of it. Fear.
He smiled to himself just a little. "Yup."
She laughed lightly, but now that he'd latched onto it, there it was, unmistakeable: the smallest seed of unease, and it was growing. "You mean to do away with us."
"Yup." He removed the sonic from his pocket, tossing it idly in the air and then catching it. It would do nothing in this situation, of course, but it rounded off the tone he was trying to evoke quite nicely. "That's exactly right. And guess who wants to do away with you?"
"… You, Doctor."
"Nope. But the man who put an end to the Time War does. Neither side won, did they? Nobody did. But somebody still survived."
A rustle of voices. A slight disturbance, one might say. The Dyrfain were unsettled.
The Doctor slapped one of the defaced engines. "Couldn't help but admire your handiwork, by the way. Very impressive. Very clever. Integrating your machinery with that of the ship, amalgamating two technologies to suit your purposes. Brilliant, really. Advanced thinking."
"We have always been an advanced civilisation."
"Really? The rulers of your planet don't seem to think so. Perhaps you ought to pay 'em another visit. Bet they miss you."
The expression on that little face darkened. "Just what is it you wish upon us, then? Death? My kin were executed upon their return after the golden days were gone."
The Doctor shrugged. "Not my problem. You're the advanced psychics. You figure it out." He slapped the engine again. "You interrupted me, by the way. Rude, that. But as I was saying. Couldn't help but admire your handiwork. Lot of effort went into all this, didn't it? Be a right shame if it were to be undone and destroyed."
The Doctor learned something in that moment: even bottomless chasms of eyes could flash in alarm.
"So I'm offerin' you a choice." He held out both fists and opened one. "Either you leave, now, in whatever vessel you used to get here, and head to your own home planet, let the rulers deal with you. Or – " he opened the other – "you stick around, and I destroy all this lovely handiwork, and give you the opportunity to head home again. Because you're really not gonna want to be find out just what I can do if you encourage me."
"But you'll destroy all our machinery regardless. We are no fools."
He shrugged. "Sure. But you've worked bits of your own essences in this technology, haven't you? Fantastic, really, the link it forms. Delivers a constant stream of your victims' energy, directly to you. It's bound to you, to this ship, and you detach your essences from the system soon as you leave. I don't know much about it, but I reckon if I undo your technology while you lot stick around, it'll hurt a mite, won't it?"
Rustling cries of distress. Oh, but they were afraid. It was nearly enough to make him break into a great big grin.
"We are tired of being ordered about by ruling races." The Dyrfain stuck out her chin with the stubbornness of every child. "And just what is it you plan on doing to us if we refuse?"
He gave an easy shrug. "You're the advanced psychic – the gifted one, too. Going inside, you call it if I'm not mistaken. Which I'm usually not, by the way. You tell me."
She studied him a moment. And then took the tiniest of steps back.
From the corner of his eye, a flash of movement. The Doctor turned his head sharply. What he saw was little more than a streak of shadow, but it was a shadow that moved with purpose. The Dyrfain frowned, but then other forms followed the first, all of them headed in the same direction.
The Doctor smirked. "Frightened the little ones, have I?"
"Our ship is connected to this one as well."
"So I can expect a bit o' turbulence as you take off then, then? All right. Thanks for the warning."
As if on cue, there came a great rumbling, the shrill shriek of engines. The room quaked, and he had to brace himself against the nearest engine to keep from toppling over. He supposed those first few Dyrfain were starting their ship up, and the one before him did not seem especially keen on stopping them of a sudden.
"And what do you get out of all, Time Lord? If we leave this ship be?"
"I get a whole lot of innocent people's lives spared. I get Earth, and Rose, safe. And I get to see you lot run, and know it was cos of yours truly. Does wonders for the self-esteem, that. Not bad on my end, wouldn't you agree?"
"Doctor."
"Looks like some of your precious kin've already made their decision. Care to join 'em?" The engine room trembled again. "I'm guessin' that'd be the turbulence you were so kind as to warn me of. Thanks for that, by the way. Sounds like your ship's firin' up. I expect people're a little worried up there. But by the time you lot are gone, the crew will regain control of the ship. All this'll be theirs again."
His ears began to ring, as though a bomb had just gone off.
"You're not fond of that idea, are you? But I'd wager it's better'n what you'll get if you decide to deal with me. And frankly I'm not over fond of getting my hands dirtier'n than they need to get."
He fell to his knees this time as the room trembled again, more violently than before, and the rumbling was deep enough and loud enough to make his head pound. But still, his eyes were alight with a determination he had not felt in years. He picked himself up and dusted himself off, then, sticking his hands in his pockets, he loomed over the Dyrfain and grinned at her.
"So go on. Run home, kid."
The voices around him rose, grew more frantic, like a cacophony of fluttering insect wings.
The Dyrfain looked wildly around her. Her kin were fleeing, streaks of shadow making way for their own small vessel, wherever it was they had parked it. "You wouldn't do it, Doctor, not really. I've – been inside you, I would know – you would never really… "
He grinned. "Yeah? Try me."
She took another step back, her empty eyes widening. Fear was always so visible in children. He continued staring at her as her fellow Dyrfain continued to race towards their vessel. Amidst all those crackling voices he could make out what sounded like cries. She pressed herself against an engine, seemingly intent on matching his stare even as her people panicked and fled for their ship; even as the high, shrill shriek of metal on metal joined the orchestra of rumbling engines, as if a structure was being torn apart. Then again, perhaps one was. She held his stare for nearly a minute. Then she turned on her heel and ran.
He crossed his arms and waited. He wanted to see it. He wanted to see them disappear.
The rumbling and trembling continued, and the Dyrfain stumbled and fell. She picked herself up, but then she stood, she stopped, and turned to look at him. Her hair fell in her face. "So there you have it, Time Lord. Your victory. Another little battle won."
"Yup." The word came out curtly, with a popped p.
The Dyrfain folded her hands in front of her. "And yet," she said, her voice low, "you came here for a reason, didn't you, Doctor? We just followed."
"I came here on a whim."
"Oh, of course you did." She grinned. "But there's a reason you chose this ship. The SS Bad Wolf. Not that you know it, yet, of course. But we do. Oh, it's such fun to be the most knowledgeable one in the room, isn't it? You'd know about that, Doctor, ancient and clever as you are." She spread out her hands and backed away.
The engines screamed and again, the room was filled with a great rumbling sound that nearly drowned her words out. The Doctor nearly lost his balance as the floor trembled, and fumbled to lean against a tall support beam. He frowned despite himself. "No, I didn't. Nothing more'n an idle choice. How d'you mean, reason?"
"I thought you wanted us gone," was the light reply. "We're going." She was backing away, her form seemingly flickering in and out until he could scarcely identify it, like a poor radio signal. He couldn't make out what was behind the static. "Respecting the wishes of the greater Time Lord, at the end of the day – just as we have always done. Farewell, Time Lord."
The air swelled.
"What reason?!"
She only smiled. There was a blinding flash of light – he had to shield his eyes – and then a rumbling, followed by a sharp, slightly warped sound like all the air had suddenly been sucked from the room.
The Doctor cracked open one eye, then the other.
The engine room was still, and empty. The only sounds were the hum of the engines, low and rumbling and normal, and his own heavy breathing.
He discovered he was trembling, and he slid down to sit on the floor.
It was over. Finished.
He'd won. He'd won. He'd won and he was exhausted.
Leaning against the rusted, mutilated old engine, he buried his face in his hands. He stayed that way for a long time.