11 We're a Long Way from Home
"Alright, we're in the Vortex, in a time machine, so start talking. Does that ship of yours have time-travel capabilities?" Rose turns to Jack with a weary smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes.
"No, thankfully, and it can't possibly be fully repaired; we were only here 24 hours before this whole mess. He couldn't have gotten far. Now, my turn. How did you know I was a Time Agent?"
"Hmm...I can't tell you too much you understand, timelines and all, but I know a future you, and he said he was a Time Agent." She is careful with her tenses here, since she knew Jack had left the Agency after they'd wiped two years from his memory.
With the Timelines in disarray she wonders if that will happen now, or if what is happening is what caused the memory wipe; that would mean a Circular Paradox. She doesn't think that's the case here, but as she's just seen; time can be rewritten. She knows what just happened to Chelsea 426 is wrong, terribly wrong. The TARDIS showed her that the then-empty city was allowed to fall into Saturn in the 31st Century after it became too expensive to maintain. She can't help feeling that somehow this is her fault. She should have been able to stop the Sontarans. Struggling with the guilt she takes a deep breath to steady herself.
"Right, well let me show you around, and get you a room. We might be on this ride a while." Heading out of the Console Room and down the hallway Rose shows him the Kitchen and the Library, the Swimming Pool and the Infirmary. He doesn't need a grand tour. Darling agrees, and keeps the hallways elsewhere sealed, so they don't look tempting. Taking him to a room at the end of the hall, Rose sees it's an undecorated guest room. Showing him its amenities and leaving him to explore on his own, Rose heads to her own room.
Stepping through the door she's unprepared for all the Doctor-ishness in her room. She hasn't thought about it at all, and of course considering the circumstances, that's understandable. None of this means that the sight of his books, jimjams, extra glasses, and stacks of readouts affects her any less. Falling to her knees, she presses her fists to her eyes as his scent surrounds her, mixed with her own. The last several weeks had been so happy. Every few days they would cuddle up in here, and sleep through what passed for night on the TARDIS; it had been wonderful. Now, she has no idea how long it will be before she has him here again. Would he want to be here again?
/Of course, he will. Don't be stupid. You're just scared. You have to fight Rose Tyler. No one has ever kept you down, and it won't start here. You believed in him when you thought you were lost in Pete's World, and that really was almost impossible. This is just another, though slightly different, kind of jail cell, and you've gotten him out of plenty of those. Focus!/
Pulling herself together and dashing tears from her eyes, she strips and heads for the shower. She wants A LOT of hot water, and the TARDIS is happy to oblige.
Darling is very worried. Her Thief missing, her Wolf doubting, and the underlying structure if the Universe is stretching thin in places; she can feel it. It will give somewhere, but where, and before or after her Thief and Wolf are reunited? She is glad the Lover is on board. He can be strong for her Wolf, but will he be able to help? His Time isn't right and he isn't Now, though she is thankful that he is still nice and normal; no uneasy itching yet from this current incarnation. Feeling along the Timelines, Darling sees too many possibilities, and many of them disastrous. There is a clear path though, if she can only thread them successfully through the upcoming events, all will right itself. Much depends on her Wolf though. Weaving songs of encouragement and love through the ship, Darling does her best to prepare her occupants for what's coming.
The Doctor is trapped. Trapped in his mind and his body. Currently, he's pacing his Foyer-doing laps around and around the Pools. He hates the Pools, but can't get rid of them; they're permanent now. They're Romana's fault, and he hadn't even known they were there till it was too late. Theoretically he knew what they were, but she was always better at the mental sciences than he was. His telepathy was stronger than almost anyone else's on Gallifrey, and that had been why she'd constructed these Temporal Stabilisation Pools in the first place. She knew he wouldn't be able to withstand the death of his people and their destroyers, no one could, but she had installed these hateful things to save him; he recognised her mental signature in their singing, and she'd managed to do it when he was unconscious. Cheeky. She'd probably laughed, when the opportunity literally fell into her lap. Smiling softly at the thought, he stops his pacing. Sitting down, he leans back against the side of the Pool and allows himself to remember.
It was the last time he'd come in for repairs during the War. The time he learned what was really going on with Rassilon, Romana, and his mother's plan to steal the Moment and persuade It to help them. He'd shown up bruised and battered, but his dear old TARDIS was just too damaged for him to stay within her once they landed. When he'd stumbled out of her in his ripped up uniform—covered in blood and mumbling about Arcadia, right into Romana's rooms of all places; he'd been surprised, but truly glad when she'd run toward him murmuring comfort as he lost consciousness.
When he awoke from his healing coma, his head still hurt (of course, now he knows that's because she'd spent hours mucking around in there). Romana walks into the room, checking on him. She blithers at him about getting himself and his TARDIS so damaged, about expecting a call before a gentleman shows up in her rooms; she's being evasive. Reaching out to her, and taking her hand he asks her mentally to tell him what was wrong.
/Well, we are probably safe in here; as long as we touch no one can hear us./
/Have they gotten that good? They can read telepathic speech now?/
/Yes. Once the Daleks learned to speak mind to mind it was necessary, but you know how clever Narvin and his people are, or were. They've left us./
/What? How is that even possible, and now? Have they no sense of the need of our people?/
/Oh Doctor. It is so much worse than even you can imagine./
Raising a cool hand to his temple pretending to wipe his brow, she shows the Doctor everything that has happened since he left. Staggered, he is very glad to be laying down. He could have had no idea how bad everything is going. They aren't losing, no they've lost. Rassilon, that crazy bastard. He'd agreed with Romana that resurrecting him was a very bad idea, but they'd been voted down. Now, many of those supporters are dead, and Romana is no longer Lady President, but Valued Advisor. She walks a tight-rope every day from one death-by Rassilon's devious hand, towards another—the final destruction of everything.
They stare at each other in mutual grieving for their life and their people. As annoying as the Time Lords could be, and as many times as the Doctor has hated them, Romana's right, this is much, much worse than he could have ever imagined.
//We have a plan. It's actually your mother's doing, which figures since there's stealing involved. She's awfully brilliant with the maths and very convincing. You aren't going to like it./
/Well, I don't much like the idea of Rassilon collapsing the Vortex and ending the entire Universe on a gamble that he and his chosen few might… "ascend" either. I wonder, if he succeeds, will the "Celestis" survive? I think not. Pompous gits! So what's this plan I won't like?/
Romana makes a show of wiping his brow again, so she can share the plan with him. When she's given him the last of it, she indulges herself in an outward display of affection by running her hand through the short cropped hair he has now, iron grey, no longer the lovely curls he'd had when she'd first called for him. Resting her hand against his cheek, he gives her a weak smile until it turns to anguish.
/You're right. I don't like it. In fact, I hate it. Why? Why would you have me do this, commit this atrocity?/
/You know the answer to that as well as I do. If you don't, a much greater atrocity will take place, and there will be no hope anyone will survive. Your mother is working very hard on that./
/Will anyone survive?/
/Well, there's you./
With a strangled sob he pulls her down and into his arms. He has lost so many, but now he stands to lose everyone, and he has no choice. Feeling her fear and determination through their continued touch, he shares his love and admiration for her. It is as open as they've ever been with each other, and they're both grateful, fleeting though it will be. Releasing her, he moves to get out of the bed and get dressed. Looking at the clothing laid out for him, he sees unbelievably that he's been promoted. A General now, how kind, and a new uniform for him to wear at the 'End of Days.' Thinking harshly to himself, he curses Rassilon.
/Damn you Rassilon and your Ultimate Sanction, damn you to every circle of hell I might create for you./
Methodically, and under Romana's soothing gaze he slips into the hated clothes, the green and black of the Gallifreyan military. On his right shoulder the burgundy and orange badge of his Chapter overlaid by the crest of his House, Lungbarrow. On his left shoulder the new General's badge in silver and gold Gallifreyan script. He still refuses to wear the armour. Affixing the Generals pips to his collar, he turns to Romana, "Acceptable?" he grunts.
"Indeed. It figures it would take a uniform to restrain your rather imaginative fashion sense." She smiles at him, trying to lighten the mood a bit. Returning her smile with a grim one of his own, he takes her hand and squeezes it hard one more time, trying to convey everything he's feeling in what may be his last touch. Releasing her hand with a final rub of thumb over palm he turns to stride from the room commenting, "It will do for now, though don't expect me to keep to these regimentals." At a snort from Romana, he turns to look at her again. She can almost see the ghost of a smile, before it's chased away by the seriousness of their situation. Turning away and continuing toward the door, he calls over his shoulder, "Let's finish this farce."
It is only a few days later that the plan—the Moment, is used. Like everyone involved, he'd hoped for longer. Hoped that maybe he could see his family—his mother, but Romana thought it would be too dangerous if he's seen going door to door, as she puts it. As it is, they have to move sooner than any of them thought as the Daleks deal them a crushing defeat, and move on to Gallifrey proper. Managing to somehow get through the Transduction Barrier, Daleks are landing on the planet's surface. The Doctor has just contrived to get far enough away from the planet before the ten million strong Dalek Legion shows up and surrounds Gallifrey. The Time Trenches help, but for how long?
Both of them sensing the Time is right to implement their plans, Rassilon and the Doctor ready themselves. As the Citadel of the Time Lords rocks with explosions, and the Dome begins to crack, it is the Doctor's mother who disagrees with Rassilon one final time; giving the Doctor precious seconds to implement the Moment. He is so desperate to finish before Rassilon destroys everything that he can't take any time to think about what he's doing. With the final connection made, the Doctor immediately depresses the button releasing the weapon. Feeling a final mental caress from Romana, his mother, and an unknown other, he watches his planet and all the Daleks burn. In an incandescent flash, everything is rubble, and the Time Lock slams into place.
At the instant of the flash, when all the life forces of both the Daleks and the Time Lords cease to exist, the Doctor's psyche is pulled into the space between the two Temporal Stabilisation Pools Romana placed in his Foyer. There he writhes and spins, screaming in a mental agony that should have killed him. It would have if he hadn't been suspended in the temporal null-zone created between the focal points of dark and light energies; the surface of the Pools boiling as they attempt to dampen the effects of the massive Temporal disturbances happening outside. He still feels the death of each and every mind on his planet, stripping him of his people, but it is like watching it happen to someone else.
Had he still been conscious, in his body on the pitching and yawing floor of his struggling TARDIS, these deaths would have incinerated his mind. He would be brain-dead if not yet physically dead. As it is, many, many days pass as he lays on the floor of his slowly healing TARDIS in a deep coma, trying to repair the damage caused by the gaping vast emptiness in his head and regeneration. When he does finally awaken, he is an entirely new, but broken man who spends the first few months of his Ninth life searching for those hinted at survivors. He's found no one, not yet anyway. Romana wanted him alive, and so he survived. At times, despite his best efforts not, too.
Still leaning against the wall of the lower Pool, the Doctor indulges in the melancholy the memory has left him with. He had never wanted the role that had been thrust upon him. He may have chosen it, when there was no other options left—wasn't that duress, but he now regretted his part in ending the Time War.
Suddenly he has a flash of…memory? It was so quick even he almost didn't catch it, but the accompanying emotions linger, and one image.
Sand beneath his feet, his hand upon the Moment about to activate it when his old, tired hand is joined by two more youthful ones. He is so profoundly grateful to not do this alone.
The Doctor is surprised by the memory. What was that? Where was that? He doesn't remember it that way. Considering his current options, he decides to worry about it later. He could be picking up a shred of memories left over from a collapsed timeline occurring during the Time War. He tries hard to lock it all away again. Dwelling on any of that will not help him now.
Now, all he can do is lay here or continue trudging around the Pools. He can go explore more of his own memories...umm, no. He's pretty sure a sharp stick in the eye would be more fun. Certainly there are many, many good times, but the bad times far outweigh them even if purely on grief to joy ratios. No, he will wait here. His big Time Lord brain will come up with something. The problem is that he isn't conscious, and he is almost certain he's in some sort of cryo-sleep as his physical systems are running even slower than a healing coma. He can't implement anything until he is conscious. At least he doesn't seem to be injured.
That crazy bastard at the club drugged him. What for? Why? He'd had no time to ponder any distinguishing features about his assailant before his consciousness fled him. He doesn't even know if Rose is alright, and he can't reach out with his mind while his body is out of commission. So frustrating!
Thinking about Rose, his worry brings him nothing but anguish. He should be protecting her; she's still so new. Too many things can happen to her, or may already be happening to her. Pushing these notions away he focuses on good Rose thoughts. Watching her sleep, laughing with her while playing with noseless puppies, that thoroughly surprising brush against his energetic core-it is with this memory that he receives a surprise.
~I'm coming, my love. I don't know what's happened, but I will find you. Nothing will stop me. I love you Doctor. Believe...~
He can tell by the feel of her message that he was getting further from her, when she'd embedded it-which is really an impressive feat. That meant that she was free and still on the city. Also the message itself is empowering. She will work tirelessly to find him. His Rose, she is amazing. Faith he has in spades; faith in Rose Tyler. He will marshal his strength until the first moment he can act, then this freak that has separated him from his Rose is going to have a really rude awakening.
Even more determined now with Rose's promise burned into his mind, he goes about figuring a way out of this mess.
A/N: I have recently updated this just a touch to nudge it toward what we learned in the 50th. Enjoy!