oOo Doctor, oOo
Amy's face is blank for a second, and then she seems to recognize the name. "You mean, where you grew up?"
"That's the place," you say. "Come on."
You lead them up the stairs to the left of the console, through a narrow hallway or two, and into a kitchen. It's warm and crowded, the cupboards on the wall piling, with no rhyme or reason, toward the ceiling. You make tea, and sit with the Ponds at the chipped table, cradling the heated porcelain of the mug in cold hands.
"We'll go when Theta gets up," you say, blowing the burn out of the drink. "If you're still sure you want to come."
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Amy says, teacup, already half-empty, suspended from its handle by her fingers. "It's nice, isn't it, your planet?"
You give a stiff smile, hiding it as soon as possible with the rim of your mug. "A little."
"It's perfect, you once said."
"Has its faults," you mutter vaguely.
"But we won't run into anything bad," she assures you and Rory. "I mean, you said there were only a few rotten Time Lords, near the end."
"A couple more than a few," you say to the tea.
"Is it dangerous?" Rory asks.
"We have to get out of there quick," you say, "Once Theta's cured."
"Can't we-" Amy starts.
"There's a reason there's a Time Lock around that place," you snap, then immediately regret it. "Sorry."
"It's fine," she says, voice small.
You dip a finger in the tea, then spread it over the table in the shape of a circle. Dipping again, like a pen in ink, you bring the rough shape of the Citadel of the Time Lords to shining life.
"We can land somewhere around here… and as far as I know, this is where we're going… oh, I don't …" you wipe the wood clean again. "I don't…"
You rest your head in your hands for a moment, and once your eyes close, you know they're going to rebel and not let you open them again, and you'll have to fight against giving in to exhaustion. It's been months since you last slept, but it's not that. You're scared. Scared to go back and scared that this won't work and you will be caught.
"Doctor?" Rory says.
"Oh," you moan. "Yeah, I'm here." But your eyes stay shut.
"Come on," you hear Rory say. After a handful of minutes, in which Amy rubs your shoulder and (judging by the sound) Rory puts away their teacups, the door squeaks open and closed again, and you're left alone in the dark of your own burnout.
It's just a second, but in that moment, you'd rather stay away from Gallifrey than save your baby. But then it's over and the shame is so great that crying isn't enough. You hate yourself too much for tears - the ache of years has dug so deep it went past that centuries ago. You were so frightened … only a second ago … that you were willing to put another (your own son) in the firing line of death, so you could avoid the corrosive effect of days-gone-by-and-yet-to-come. How could you?
And yet... it's Gallifrey.
Don't want to talk - don't want to think - leave me alone.
It all drains into misery, and you drift off.
.
Nightmares.
.
When you wake up, you have no idea how much time has passed. But the tea's cold, and when you stumble back to the console room, Theta's there, awake, in Amy's arms.
"Doctor," Amy greets you.
"Hi," you say, walking over and holding out your hands. Amy passes Theta to you. "Thanks," you say, "I don't know what I'd do without you to help me with him."
She laughs a bit, then looks over your face. "Are you okay?"
"I'm the king of okay," you say.
"You still look tired."
"Where's Rory?"
"He went looking for you a while ago."
"What? I was in the kitchen the whole time."
"I know. But I'm not sure the kitchen stayed as still as you did. Are you sure you're alright?"
"Just a little bit sleepy," you say, not even considering the possibility of mentioning the distorted dreamscapes you just wandered through.
"So, how is he?" Amy looks down at Theta, who has reached for your bowtie.
"He's clever," you say. "Look at that. How many days old is he? One? Two? And he's going for colours!" And even though you know you're being ridiculous, you whisper "Red," to him.
"So what, he likes your tie?"
"Do you know anything about babies?" You say. "Humans never have this much control over their own body when they're this young. Oh, who is smart?"
"Doctor?" Rory walks in. "There you are!"
You clear your throat. "Hello. Oh, can you get my stethoscope?" You indicate Theta.
Rory rummages in one of your bigger-on-the-inside coat pockets, which is hanging over the rail of the flight deck, then hands the stethoscope to you. You nod your thanks, put it on, and hesitantly move the end over your son's chest.
Swallow, put it down and pull the other ends out of your ears.
"Well?" Rory questions.
"He'll be fine, alright?" You put your lips to the top of the child's head.
And suddenly, it's not even a question anymore. You'd do anything for him. River would want it. You want it more. The fright can be conquered. Or at least, you'll give it a go and die trying. The guilt that you felt a few minutes ago - how could you ever, ever be so selfish? - rises again in your throat, and it comes out as a question.
"Shall we go?"
Rory and Amy nod.
"Hold him," you say to Amy, "And whatever you do, don't let him get hurt."
"Of course not." Amy presses Theta against her jumper gently, supporting his head (little green eyes peeping over her shoulder) with a fond, firm touch.
Toss the stethoscope away. Flip switches, gears and levers, then stop.
"We're orbiting just outside the Time Lock right now. Are you ready?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"Doctor," Amy says, "Get on with it."
"Okay."
You put your hand on the console - pause for a second - this is mad, this is crazy, this is insane - and then you let one go - Another You that was hiding back there.
Oh, it hurts so badly. You squeeze your eyes shut, but you doubt you'd be able to see anything if they were open: you're vaguely aware of pain ripping across the back of your head, of your body slamming against the floor, of the air leaving your chest along with the life you were saving. Breathing burns your lungs. You are tossing about - no stabilizers would work here - and somebody's screaming (it might be you), hurting your ears (as if there wasn't enough agony right now).
And it costs more than one. You never thought - oh, you can feel the bright shining potential of each man inside you. They're lightning strikes hitting you and flashing away, leaving you blind. The hungry, desperate soul of the TARDIS fighting the energy the Time Lock requires, sucking them all unconsciously away.
A fragmented thought gathers in your mind - it's not working, it's not enough, and this is what dying, dying for real is like.
Goodbye.
.
And it's gone.
You lie there, adrenaline searing in your stomach. Work up the courage to open your eyes. And there it is. That light. Oh, that light, seeping through the TARDIS windows. The warm apricot of daytime on …
Stumble up to your knees, rubbing the back of your head. It's cut open, bleeding quite badly. You must have hit it on something. Turn around, and sure enough, the nearest little lever on the console has a sharp edge. What luck.
Your vision is still blurry, but blinking brings the shapes of Amy, Rory, and Theta into better focus. "Are you alright?" you say, moving over to them, touching a hand, fingering a curl of hair.
You scoop the child up, and Amy jumps, before her eyes open, too, and she sees you. "Okay?" she asks.
"I'm fine," you say, inspecting Theta's head, looking for injuries and finding none. "Theta, too. Knocked around a bit, all of us -" you look over at Rory, who is still unconscious, but neither bleeding nor badly brused - "But nothing permanent."
You both sit there for a moment, not trusting yourselves to move, minds fuzzy. You catch your breath staring into your son's eyes, tracing the ridge of his little nose with your finger.
Amy breaks the silence. "But you're hurt," she says, seeing the blood dripping from your hair.
"Not really," you say.
She turns your head, and you let her fuss over you for a second, dabbing the red away, before shaking her off. She resists - "Doctor, honestly, it looks ghastly!" but you ignore her.
Time to inspect your spent lives. There are so many that it doesn't make sense - you count the empty spaces inside. How -
Oh, River, thank you thank you thank you thank you for your regenerations. At Berlin, remember that? I've put them to good use.
"Are you alright?" You ask Amy again.
"Yeah," she says. "Rory?"
She shakes his shoulder, and he sits up groggily.
"Rory, can you do something about the Doctor's head?" Amy says, and you stand up. "No, it's all right. Just leave it," you say.
And then you realize. How will you break the Time Lock again? You've spent hundreds of thousands of years as an entry fee - and you don't have enough to buy yourself a way out.
"Oh," you sigh, swearing indistinctly while the air rushes out.
"What is it?"
"I've - oh …"
"Doctor?"
"I thought it would only take one to get through," you say.
"One what?"
"It doesn't matter," you reply.
Because while there's life, there's hope.
Right?