Gallifrey, during the Time War

"The last assault trapped the Cult of Skaro on Ersyion," Romana informed Braxiatel. "With Drandiax dead, the units holding Ersyion under siege need a leader. I'm headed out in five microspans."

She had recovered from her ordeal.

And Braxiatel knew that, so long as he worked for Lord Rassilon… Rassilon wouldn't leave her behind. Not again.

Rassilon would make every effort to keep her alive.

To keep Braxiatel here.

"I can end this," Braxiatel promised her. "I can save the Time Lords. But you must leave." He took her hand in his. "Please."

"No."

"Romana…"

"From the day I looked into the untempered schism," Romana interrupted him, "I knew my duty was to defend and protect Gallifrey and the universe. I will not put aside my duty so I can run and hide."

It was this very strength and determination that had made Braxiatel's admiration for her grow, over the length of their acquaintance.

Along with her intellect. And her ability to twist a situation to her advantage.

He wished, for once, that her intellect had been less keen. So he could manage to trick her into leaving with him, and saving herself.

"The strategy is perfectly sound," Romana insisted. "Maxel is already driving the Dalek forces from 10,000 years in the past. And Bacarza from 10,000 years in the future. If the Doctor can lure the Dalek forces in the present to come to the aid of the Cult of Skaro, we can trap all those forces within a temporal weave."

"Given the right catalyst," Braxiatel muttered. "Administered at precisely the right point in time."

"Which I am assuming you will provide," Romana replied. She handed him coordinates. "The precise spacio-temporal location. Show these to no one. I can't risk the information being used for some… other purpose."

Her eyes flicked over to the Rani, who was approaching in a huff, from the other side of the hallway.

And Braxiatel took her point.

That was the danger of having every single Time Lord working together — not all wished to cooperate. And some could care less if Gallifrey burned to ashes.

"I trust you," Romana told him.

Just before she left.

Braxiatel tucked the coordinates away, before the Rani could spot them.

"Well?!" the Rani demanded of him. "If we're going to perfect this catalyst, we might as well get on with it. I've nothing better to do."

Gallifrey, present-day

"I worked with several other renegades, to perfect important weapons that proved vital to the war effort," Braxiatel explained. He paused. Then added, "As I recall, you've encountered the Rani."

Jenny laughed. "Oh, yes."

"That dreadful business with the Shoboguns," Braxiatel affirmed. "Three years ago. You were quite impressive, discovering and stopping her rather appalling experiments."

"Well, I'm always quite impressive," Jenny replied, with a grin. "How did you manage to get along with the Rani?"

"During the War?" Braxiatel gave a long sigh. "Not terribly well, I'll admit."

Gallifrey, during the Time War

"So they finally caught you," the Rani said, as she worked on composing the catalyst. "Dragged you here with the other renegades." She tipped a test-tube, making the solution bubble. "How did they do it? Threaten to take away your statues and all your pretty paintings?"

She said it in a mocking tone.

Braxiatel pretended she hadn't.

"Something like that," Braxiatel muttered.

She left, to gather some ambient temporal wash. And Braxiatel stepped in, to analyze her catalyst. As he'd suspected, she'd made it kill everyone — both Daleks and Time Lords. Braxiatel glanced back, made sure she was busy, then modified it.

Stepped away, just in time, to resume the construction of his own device, to administer the catalyst.

She returned only seconds later.

"And yourself?" said Braxiatel.

"Oh, what you'd expect," the Rani replied, administering the temporal wash with a pipette, slowly. "They destroyed the planet I ruled. Turned all my allies against me. Foiled my plans to escape and then waited until I was about to die… before scooping me out of time and offering me my life in exchange for helping them."

She stopped.

Frowned.

"I suppose it would be difficult to argue with that," said Braxiatel.

The Rani turned on him. "You altered my formula!"

"Did I?" Braxiatel headed back towards her. "How remiss of me. Here, let me ensure you don't alter it, again."

The Rani snatched it away.

"Don't be stupid," she hissed. Looked round herself, suspiciously. Then leaned in, to whisper to him. "Can't you see what an opportunity this is? We're both here against our will. If we kill everyone on the battlefield, when we deliver the catalyst — Time Lord and Dalek alike — the two of us can get away from Gallifrey! Escape!"

"Yes, that's rather what I expected you to say," Braxiatel replied. "But unlike you and the other renegades, I wasn't banished from Gallifrey. I left in order to save it from Pandora."

And save… her… from Pandora.

Of course.

The Rani's face contorted into utter disgust.

"So let's not get into long, tiresome debates about killing our own people on that battlefield, to make our escape," Braxiatel said, forcing the formula out of her hands. "And instead, discuss something of more interest. What do you think of the Grand Masters of New Baroque style painting, in the second neoclassical era? I find them really rather marvelous."

The Rani glared at him.

Not saying a word, as he finished her work for her.

"Of course, Laymaraque Philippe was always considered the father of the New Baroque masters," Braxiatel continued. "But I believe his work was very heavily influenced by the earlier paintings of—"

"Someone… on that battlefield," the Rani repeated.

Braxiatel darted his eyes over to her. "I'm sorry?"

"So that's how they lured you here," the Rani said. "Rassilon found someone you wanted to protect. And threatened that someone until you turned up."

Braxiatel said nothing.

Turning his full attention back to his work.

The Rani laughed, bitterly. "As if I couldn't guess who," she said. "I knew it was you who helped him and his granddaughter escape in that Type 40 TARDIS, all those centuries ago. Blood thicker than water?"

Braxiatel decided the best thing he could do, in this situation, was ignore her.

And instead, continue to enlighten her on topics of more interest.

"The sculpture style of the New Baroque era does leave something to be desired," Braxiatel went on. Mixing in the final chemical for the catalyst. "I much prefer the works of… Michelangelo, on Earth. Or the Great Petula, in the Zardon Empire."

"Listen to yourself," the Rani muttered, turning away from him. "You're deranged."

Braxiatel finished the catalyst. "Well. Pot, kettle…" He handed the test tubes back to her. "Here. You can check my work."

The Rani snatched them away. "And I suppose if I modify the results so it kills anyone you like, you'll start droning on about art, again."

"Naturally."

The Rani looked it over. Then shook her head. "Useless. This would never work." Threw it away, and started from scratch. Making something that would actually wipe the Daleks out, without endangering any of Braxiatel's precious Time Lords in the process. "You know, Rassilon offered the Meddling Monk half your Collection, to get him to join the War."

"And I wish him the best of luck in obtaining it," Braxiatel replied, cheerily. Returning to his own work, on the delivery system. "Now. Let's see if we can't help turn this battle into a victory."

Gallifrey, present-day

"Were you fighting alongside Dad?" Jenny asked. "What did he do, during the War?"

Braxiatel paused. Turned back, to face Jenny. "I take it he hasn't mentioned anything to you, himself, then?"

Jenny shook her head.

"No," said Braxiatel. "He wasn't proud of his actions. He fought because he had to. And, I'll admit, he was quite capable. But he wouldn't thank me for telling you stories that make him out to be some sort of… war hero."

"Oh, come on!" Jenny said. "I won't turn into a soldier just because you tell me a few stories."

Braxiatel thought a moment.

"There was this one time," he said, giving in. "I remember — I could hear him from half-way across the capital. He was blowing up at Romana about… well… something or other. You know how he gets, at times."

"When he feels something's wrong," Jenny agreed. "Romana mentioned that to me, once. She said that she and Dad used to get into really loud arguments, all the time, during the War."

Braxiatel certainly remembered that.

It was hard not to.

Jenny leaned her head against her hand. Face bent into thought. "She said something funny, about that, actually," she commented. "I asked her why they argued — because didn't she trust Dad to defend Gallifrey? And she said…"

Jenny paused.

"She mentioned," Braxiatel guessed, "that he destroyed it?"

Jenny looked up at Braxiatel. "No," she answered. "Romana said… she trusted you to always defend Gallifrey. Not Dad."

Braxiatel didn't know what to say to this.

"She trusted Dad," Jenny continued, "to always follow his conscience."