Troughton
The TARDIS materialized outside River's cell inside Stormcage Containment Facility. The door opened and River stepped out wearing a shimmering evening gown. Her hair, mostly dry, had surrendered to its usual unruly curls. She carried her shoes in one hand and a handbag in the other. The Doctor followed her out, dressed in his typical tweed, suspenders and bowtie. Using his sonic screwdriver, he opened her cell.
River stepped inside. "I had a wonderful time, my love. When you need me…"
The Doctor smiled and gestured around. "I know exactly where to find you. Until next time, River…"
"Oh, one more thing," River interrupted.
The Doctor smiled. "Isn't there always?"
"The music playing in the pool," River started, "what was it?"
The Doctor tapped a hand against the bars, hesitant. "It was the Singing Towers of Durillium." He took a breath "You liked it?"
River nodded, "Very much."
The Doctor smiled. "I suppose I'll have to take you to see them then."
"You promise?"
The Doctor drew x's on both sides of his chest with his fingers. "Cross my hearts." He leaned toward the TARDIS but thought better of it and swept River into his arms for a kiss.
Breathless when they parted, River said, "My parents are likely watching us right now. You should go before they see something truly scandalous." She watched him disappear into the TARDIS. It dematerialized a moment later.
River turned facing the inside of her cell having a small laugh at the Doctor's expense. It was going to be very awkward in that blue box for her beloved husband. She found her prison-issue clothes and set them aside. Reaching under an arm she grasped for her dress' zipper.
"Good evening Doctor Song."
Gasping, River turned. Sitting on her bunk, shrouded in shadow even from the constant lightning outside was a man dressed in a black suit. She could not see his face but knew he was staring at her. She sighed and threw up her hands. "Warden Dantes! While I appreciate your charitable affinity for looking the other way, you could give a girl a heart attack." Turning away, she paused and turned back. "Has anyone ever brought to your attention the irony of a prison warden having the name 'Dantes'?"
"Did you have a good time?"
River smiled. "It got a bit hairy toward the end but all-in-all one for the book." She brandished her diary taking a seat on a stool and crossing her legs. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"
"You saw the Azure Spiral tonight," the warden said. "Something happened which frightened your good husband."
River's jaw dropped. "How could you possibly know that?"
"I need you to do something for me, Doctor Song," the warden said. "It is of the utmost importance and you cannot fail in it. Your husband is going to scour the universe looking to explain what happened tonight. When he can't, he's going to come back for you. When he does you need to lead him to me."
River whipped out a blaster from underneath her dress, aiming it at the warden as she leapt to her feet. "Who are you? What do you know of him?"
The warden stood a head taller than her. His one hand flashed out, smacking the blaster away. His other grabbed her wrist, forcing her palm to his chest. "You have to get him to find me, River."
River looked at her hand in the warden's iron grip. Under her palm his heartbeat was slow and steady. She looked up into the darkness where his eyes would be. "I suppose his life depends on it?"
"Not his life." The warden moved her hand to the other side of her chest, "His soul."
River stared at her hand feeling the presence of a second heartbeat. She looked up into the shadow. "Dear God, who are you?"
The Executor
The Past…
The sky was choked with thick black smoke and the sounds of war. Arcadia, Gallifrey's second city was under constant punishing assault by the Daleks. Inside The Citadel, the Time Lords worked frantically trying to mount a suitable defense but their hopes were dwindling fast. This Time War would be the last. Gallifrey was going to fall.
In the midst of the chaos there stood a huge building. Once a prison, it was largely abandoned. Its lone occupant stood at a window watching the chaos outside. Old and dying, he clutched a cane in an iron grip. The carnage beyond the glass tugged at his hearts. Centuries ago he had shown restraint, something others would have thought impossible for him. Seeing the suffering, he began to regret his decision.
Turning from the window he made his way toward his bed. He felt his end approaching and was glad of it. Nearing three millennia in age he was ancient. It was time for ancient things to pass into antiquity. His slipper-clad feet shuffled along the floor, the hem of his maroon and gold robe brushing through dust shaken loose by the explosions outside. The room shook again and more dust found its way into the white wisps of his hair. He did not bother to remove it.
He cast a weary glance in the corner of the room to a door. He gave the portal a tired smile. She was a stubborn old thing, just like her predecessor. He wondered what would happen to her once he was gone. He supposed she would stay with him until the end; stubborn and loyal.
Around him dust blew about in a wind that appearing from nowhere. A wheezing groan came into existence, growing louder by the moment. The old Time Lord stopped as a room materialized around him. Some of it seemed almost organic, like coral. Other bits were definitely artificial; lit white roundels amid an off-white backdrop.
Leaning heavily on his cane he started to turn. "Type-40 TARDIS. I've often wondered who would come for me in the end." He completed his rotation. "Old man, you were not on my short list."
Standing at the console was an old man. Dressed in high leather boots with bloused pants, a tattered waistcoat, scarf, and a weathered leather coat, he was one of Gallifrey's most controversial figures. His face was covered by a gray moustache and goatee. His hair was equally gray and slightly spiked. A bandolier draped across his chest carried a single sonic screwdriver. He took his hands off the console, turning, and clasped them behind his back.
"Old man?" he mused, his voice a weary rasp, "You're one to talk."
"Lord Doctor," the man said with a slight incline of his head.
The Doctor held up a hand looking away. "Please don't call me that." He bowed in turn. "Lord Executor."
The Executor gestured around the room. "What is the meaning of this?"
"I've come to pardon you for your crimes," the Doctor said. "Consider it an act of clemency in light of the current events."
"I've seen what awaits me outside," the Executor said. "Gallifrey falls. I think I'll stay here. I don't have much time anyway."
"Yes," the Doctor said. "I've seen your records at High Command. You are dying Lord Executor. You refuse healing. You even refuse regeneration."
"You know what they want of me," the Executor growled, his blue eyes smoldering with disgust. "I won't do it. And if they've sent you, you and this ancient bucket can go back and tell them something vulgar."
"I have no intention of visiting High Command today," the Doctor said, "or ever." He looked to a bag sitting on the command console.
The Executor regarded the seemingly innocuous parcel. "Is that what I think it is?" The Doctor nodded. The Executor took a grave breath. "So, the Doctor has finally come across his first truly terminal condition. Is he ready? Can he do it? Are you ready to be me?"
The Doctor sat back against the console and bowed his head. "It's too much, this blasted war. The universe burns throughout Creation. It needs to end."
"I see it as well as you," the Executor said. He considered the statement and bobbed his head. "Hmm, almost as well. I lost my glasses a while back." He flicked his gaze to the other Time Lord. "So what is this?"
"Gallifrey will fall," the Doctor said. "So will the Daleks. There will be nothing left of either of us. One more moment of violence and we will be an echo. If that is all there is to be, let it be the first of us to see this folly for what it is. Let it be the first of us who said 'no more'."
The Executor pointed his cane towards the TARDIS doors. "There are countless others; children out there who deserve your mercy. Why not take them? Why not take all of them?"
"If I took the children, the Daleks would know," The Doctor said. "They would know and this opportunity would be lost. And even if I succeeded, all that would remain would be the Daleks and a race of orphans with a mind for vengeance. The war will abate for a time and then it will continue and the universe will burn again. You are different. You understand."
"I am no different," the Executor said. "My thirst for vengeance did not die with my will to seek it. I still crave retribution."
"But not at the cost of the universe!" the Doctor snapped. "The High Council offered you anything! You refused. They threatened your life, the lives of your family and friends. You refused. They offered you freedom, riches, prominence, power unimaginable. You refused. They even offered to shatter the laws of Time; to…"
"That's enough," the Executor interrupted pointing his cane. "You've made your point."
"You could end this even now," the Doctor said. "You could make my choice moot, but you know what that would mean and so you refuse. You, Lord Executor, stand on the highest principle. You are what it means to be Time Lord. If there is to be anything left of us, it should be you."
"A sinner," the Executor said.
"We are all sinners. You were the first to turn toward the light," the Doctor countered.
The Executor sighed. "Stubborn to the last." He nodded. "If I am to…continue I cannot be a Time Lord. I will not. Do you still have it?"
The Doctor looked up toward the ceiling, the TARDIS lowering a helmet-like device on a cable. The Doctor handed it to the Executor who produced a fob watch from his robe and set it in a round socket that would rest on his forehead. He placed it on and secured it. A Chameleon Arch, it would alter his biology.
"I remember your constant banter about humans. Flawed but always seeking to be better. I think I'd like to be that." the Executor said. He looked down at himself, seeing and feeling his age. "I suppose I'll have to regenerate now. The pain of this thing will kill me like this." He closed his eyes and relaxed, no longer denying himself.
The Doctor stepped back as the Executor radiated golden regenerative energy. "I'll begin as soon as it's complete."
The brilliant hue moving into his eyes, the Executor turned to the Doctor. "This will change you, you know; this choice. You'll be a different man. Should you survive…"
"I doubt it."
"If it happens," the Executor said, "and the choice comes round again, you may come for me. But before you restore me you must ask a question. If the answer to that question is anything other than 'yes', run. Run faster and farther than you've ever run in your life."
"What is the question?" the Doctor asked. The Executor told him. The Doctor winced as the Executor blazed into regeneration. Turning to the console, he waited for the light to die before flipping the switch.
The Executor
"You're a good man for bringing him here, sir."
The nurse wheeled the young boy into a small room adorned with a bed and bathroom. Dressed in a hospital gown he was a new admission into Bastion Hall a mental health facility. The nurse backed out of the room and closed the door, turning to the man who had brought the child in for care. She ushered the older gentleman towards the nurse's station.
"We have a few forms for you to fill out and that will be it."
The Doctor held up the completed paperwork. "Already finished," he said. He turned looking towards the room containing the humanized Time Lord. "I trust he'll be well cared for?"
"The best care," the nurse assured. "Will you be visiting?"
"It may be a while before I return but I'll look in on him yes," the Doctor said. "I'll just say a quick good-bye and be on my way."
The nurse nodded and went back to her work. The Doctor went to the door not entering. He clasped his hands in front of him and bowed slightly. "Hail the Executor, Last of the Time Lords."
His ancient ears registered a repetitive whooshing noise and a door appeared in the hallway. The perception filter would make it almost unnoticeable to the staff and patients of the facility but the Doctor knew a TARDIS when he saw one. He walked over and placed a hand against it, feeling wood but sensing the vastness behind it.
"I'm afraid he'll no longer have need of you," the Doctor said. He smiled. "Just as stubborn as he is." He held up a silver fob watch. "I'll be keeping this for now. Watch over him."