The room was suffocating the moment she stepped inside. The beige walls creating a harsh line against the multiple bodies in the room. Hally could feel every pair of eyes on her as soon as she stepped inside, a sea of stares that although she might try, she couldn't avoid. The handcuffs around her wrists suddenly felt restrictive, the metal biting into her skin with every step she took. The weight of them made her feel exposed, vulnerable, an animal walking to its death.
Henry's voice cut through, quiet but firm. "Take a deep breath. Remember why you're here."
She forced herself to do as he said, inhaling slowly, trying to ground herself in the reason she'd turned herself over in the first place. That little life, the one she was carrying. The eyes on her were burning, but she had to push past that. She had to focus. As she moved down the aisle, she caught sight of familiar outlines in the rows of seating. But she kept her eyes forward, purposefully not letting them come into focus as her stomach churned.
The room was arranged in neat rows of seating, an aisle down the middle that she was moving along, flanked by Kate in front and Henry just behind. The walls were lined with guards, their expressions unreadable.
She took another deep breath, trying to calm the trembling in her hands.
At the far end of the room, two tables were set apart from the rest. The one on the left was empty, waiting for her. The one on the right was already occupied by a man in a suit, his posture confident, almost casual. Behind the tables, at the very head of the room, was a long row of desks, five strangers seated behind them.
Another deep breath.
Kate led her to the left-hand table, pulling out a chair for her. Hally sat down, her movements stiff, mechanical. Henry took the seat beside her, his presence a small comfort in the cold, oppressive atmosphere. Kate, having done her part, disappeared into the rows behind them, leaving Hally feeling even more exposed. This was all for her, every gaze, every whisper. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to escape.
She took another deep breath.
Hally's attention was drawn to the five people seated at the head of the room, assuming this was 'the impassive council' Kate had mentioned earlier. The expressions on their faces, they could give the Council of Gallifrey a run for their money, each one cold and stern.
In the centre, an older man with an air of immediately unlikeable authority, his hair streaked with silver. His dark eyes were sharp, penetrating, as if he could see straight through her. To his left was a woman with steel-grey hair pulled back into a tight bun, her lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. She wore glasses perched on the edge of her nose, and her gaze was cool, calculating. Beside her sat a younger man, perhaps in his late thirties, with sandy hair and a boyish face that seemed out of place among the others. But his expression was hardened, his blue eyes narrowed in concentration.
On the right side of the central figure was an older man with a craggy face, deep lines etched into his skin. His mouth was set in a grim line, his gaze heavy. Beside him, at the far end, was another woman, her dark skin contrasting against her light suit. Her expression was inscrutable, her eyes watchful and intense, as if she were assessing every detail, every movement.
The man in the centre, the one who seemed to hold the most authority, leaned forward slightly, his voice carrying clearly across the room. "This trial will determine suitable action regarding the charges against the accused. In the pursuit of fairness, the convicted has been provided with legal counsel to assist her in her defence. Similarly, the Council's questions shall be posed by a legal representative, Edmund Whitlock."
Hally noticed a subtle shift in Henry's posture at the name. Curious, she followed his gaze to the man seated at the other table. Edmund Whitlock. His appearance was slick, almost too polished, with a smug smile that made her skin crawl. He caught her eye and smirked, offering her a wink that was anything but friendly. The gesture sent a wave of hot irritation through her, her hands tightening into fists under the table.
Without thinking, her face twisted into a scowl, a response to the unease and anger bubbling up inside her. But Henry cleared his throat softly beside her, a gentle reminder. She forced herself to relax, easing the scowl from her features, though it took a concentrated effort.
The man in the centre continued, his gaze now fixed on her. "We will first hear from the perpetrator, questions will initially come from the Council, followed by her team. Afterwards, we will hear from a select few witnesses, experts, and character references that both sides have procured. We will then deliberate on a suitable sentence."
"Is that understood?"
Hally blinked, realising that he was speaking directly to her, waiting for her acknowledgement. His eyes bore into hers, demanding a response. Swallowing the dryness in her throat, she gave a short, hesitant nod.
The stern-looking woman with sharp, hawkish features and hair pulled back into a severe bun, cleared her throat and leaned forward. Her voice was crisp and authoritative, cutting through the heavy silence that had settled over the room.
"Ms." she began, her tone leaving no room for argument, "We have the name Saxon on file for you, is that the name with which you'd like to be addressed?"
Hally, suppressing a clench of her jaw shook her head in the politest manner she could muster. "Preferably not. Hally is fine."
The woman pinched both her eyes and lips together at once. "We would prefer the formality of a surname, a family name?"
Hally licked her bottom lip. "Alright, then I suppose we'd better go with Oakdown."
"Thank you." She clipped back at her. "Ms. Oakdown. We would like to hear from you first. Please take the stand."
It felt as though at least one of Hally's hearts had skipped a beat, the words hanging in the air like a challenge. The room, already stifling, seemed to close in further around her. The handcuffs around her wrists heavy and suffocating. It wasn't that she hadn't been expecting to have to speak, but she'd hoped there would be some time before that, a moment to catch her breath, to calibrate. Evidently not.
Henry, who had been watching the proceedings with a keen eye, leaned in just as she began to rise from her seat. His voice was low, meant only for her ears. "Remember why you're here. He's going to try to rile you—stay calm, and just tell the truth."
Hally swallowed hard, the lump in her throat making it difficult to breathe. Henry's reassurance was meant to calm her, but it most certainly didn't. She nodded slightly, trying to cling to the advice, but as she moved to the centre of the room, her breath seemed to tighten around her like a vice.
She approached the lone table set slightly apart from the rest, a raised platform that only added to the feeling of exposure. She sat behind the table, which felt far too small, too isolated, the distance between her and the rows of people made her feel like a specimen under a microscope. She could feel the eyes of the audience boring into her, their silent judgment hanging heavy in the air. There were more people than she had anticipated, far too many for her to even consider looking at. If she glanced their way, she feared the apprehension would overwhelm her completely, so she kept her eyes focused on the table in front of her.
Whitlock, rose from his seat with an air of practised ease. He was confident, too confident, and it made her skin prickle with unease. He began to pace in front of her, his movements slow, deliberate, as if he were a predator circling his prey. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the soft thud of his footsteps against the floor. Every time he passed in front of her, Hally felt her stomach twist a little tighter, anticipation of what was to come gnawing at her nerves.
After a few moments of this calculated pacing, Whitlock finally paused, turning to face her with a smile that was anything but warm. The expression on his face was one of smug satisfaction, as if he already knew he had the upper hand. The corners of his mouth curled up, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. Instead, they were cold, predatory, gleaming with the thrill of the hunt.
"Mrs Oakdown." He began, his voice smooth, almost pleasant, as if they were engaging in casual conversation. "You find yourself in quite the predicament, don't you?" He tilted his head slightly, studying her, waiting for her reaction.
Hally's throat was dry, her pulse quickening as she forced herself to remain still. She understood, very quickly the game he was playing. Whitlock's tone was designed to unsettle her, to chip away at her composure.
Whitlock allowed the silence to stretch for a moment longer, savouring the tension in the room. Then, with a measured step, he moved closer to the table where she sat, his presence looming over her.
"Tell me," he began, his voice dropping to a quieter, more intimate tone, as if they were the only two people in the room. "Why are you here?"
The question was laced with accusation, designed to make her doubt herself, to make her question everything she had done. Hally's hands tightened in her lap, her knuckles white from the pressure.
Taking a deep breath, she lifted her chin slightly, meeting Whitlock's gaze head-on. "I'm here to tell the truth," she replied, her voice steady, though it took all her strength to keep it that way. "And to take responsibility for what I've done."
Whitlock's smile widened, as if he had been waiting for that response. He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest, the picture of relaxed confidence. "Ah, responsibility," he mused, as if the concept were foreign to him. "And do you believe that the truth will absolve you? Do you think that by simply admitting what you've done, you'll be forgiven?"
Hally's hearts pounded, but she kept her expression neutral. She knew what he was trying to do, and she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her crumble. "I don't expect anything," she answered firmly. "But I'm here to be honest. That's all I can do."
Whitlock's eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to gauge whether she was being sincere. He uncrossed his arms, taking a step closer to her. "We'll see, won't we?" he said softly, almost a whisper, before turning away from her and addressing the room.
Whitlock held up his hand, his fingers wrapped around a small remote clicker. He pressed a button, and the screen on the wall behind the council flickered to life, displaying a grainy image. The photograph was of Hally, asleep in the small, sterile room where she had been held in the facility. The sight of herself made her stomach twist.
"Can you please confirm that the person in the image is you?" Whitlock asked, his voice calm, as if he were discussing something mundane.
Hally forced herself to meet his gaze, her voice steady. "Yes."
"Good," he replied, and with another click, the image on the screen changed. This time, it was a different room—one she recognized all too well. A camera had captured the moment she found The Master, his lifeless body cradled in her arms. Her breath hitched in her throat at the sight.
"And again, please confirm that the female in the photograph is you."
"Yes," she answered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Whitlock nodded, the corners of his mouth curling slightly as he clicked through more images. Each one recognisable as her,—herself in New York, at Torchwood, at the Naismith Mansion. With each click, each confirmation, the weight in her chest increased.
"Yes," she said each time, her voice growing quieter, more strained.
Finally, Whitlock brought up a video. The screen filled with the clinical, cold white of the facility room. The Master lay motionless on the bed, his white hair stark against the sterile sheets. The video showed her entering the room, her voice trembling with desperation as she called out to him.
"Koschei…"
The Master didn't move. On the screen, Hally could see herself shaking him, her face contorted with fear and frustration.
"Koschei! Wake up! WAKE UP!"
The red alarm lights began flashing, and within moments, soldiers burst into the room, their guns trained on her. In the footage, it was obvious that she was ignoring them completely, oblivious to their existence. Her entire focus on The Master, as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist. Her expression was one of pure anguish. On the screen, Hally closed her eyes and a moment later the footage cut out.
Whitlock's voice pulled her back to the present. "Please confirm that was you in the video."
"Yes," she replied, her voice tight.
The screen changed again, this time showing footage of London after the blast—streets decimated, buildings reduced to rubble. The devastation was complete, the city unrecognizable.
"And confirm that you're responsible for this."
The guilt clawed at her insides as she responded, "Yes…"
Another click, and now the video showed a small chip shop. The male staff member was slammed against the white-tiled wall, held inches from the floor by an invisible force. The woman behind the counter screamed, her terror palpable even through the grainy footage. The screen showed Hally turning towards her, her face twisted with impatience and disdain.
"Shut up!" the recorded Hally snarled, her eyes burning with anger.
The woman in the video whimpered, cowering away as far as she could.
"I need clothes and I need food and then you can both go." Her voice was cold, commanding, completely devoid of empathy.
The footage showed the woman nodding weakly, too frightened to do anything but comply.
"If you call the police, he, you, and everyone within a mile radius will die… do you understand, ape?"
Hally watched the woman on the screen scramble to fulfil her demands, the scene playing out like a strange play. She could barely recognize herself in that moment, the anger and cruelty so foreign.
"Can you confirm this is you in the footage?" Whitlock's question was almost redundant at this point.
"Yes," she said again, the word tasting bitter on her tongue.
"You assaulted two civilians."
"Yes."
Whitlock hummed in acknowledgement, his eyes never leaving her as he clicked to the next footage. The interior of the Naismith Mansion appeared on the screen, the tension in the room palpable even through the recording.
"Deactivate it. All of you, turn the whole thing off!" The Doctor's voice was frantic, desperate.
The footage had been cut together, edited. Hally watched herself on the screen, her face a mask of fury and desperation, as she glared at The Doctor.
"How are you going to help me, Doctor?" her voice dripped with venom. "Save me from your precious humans, are you? I don't need your help. I am going to fix him, and we are going to take your TARDIS and go. So where is it?"
The video showed The Doctor trying to reason with her, his expression full of sorrow and regret, but her past self was beyond reasoning. She could see the desperation in her own eyes, the desperation that had taken hold.
The Doctor's voice broke through the chaos, his tone pleading. "Hally, no."
"It would have been more than they deserved," she spat, her words laced with bitterness. "I'm going to ask one last time... Where's your TARDIS?"
The footage cut to her activating the gate, the machinery humming to life as The Master sneered in triumph.
The scene shifted again, showing as Jack had lunged towards The Master, only to be shot down by her. The camera captured the moment she lowered the gun, the panic and horror in the room evident. The Doctor's frantic attempts to stop the machine were futile, his desperation clear as he struggled against the inevitable.
The footage ended with the chilling image of The Master's face on every human in the room, their identities erased, replaced by him.
Whitlock turned back to her, his expression unreadable. "Can you confirm that this woman, in the footage, is you?"
Hally's voice was barely audible as she answered, "Yes."
"And can you confirm that you were responsible for the murder of Captain Jack Harkness, as seen in the footage?"
Hally's brow furrowed slightly before she could stop herself. Her eyes darted towards the crowd, seeking out Jack, who sat there, alive and well. "I think you'd probably class it as 'attempted murder'. But yes."
A ripple of disapproving amusement spread through the room at her response, but Whitlock didn't react. He wasn't really asking questions; he was just laying out the destruction she had caused, forcing her to confront it piece by piece.
"But this isn't the first time you've hurt innocent people, is it?" Whitlock continued, not waiting for her to answer. He clicked the remote again, and the screen displayed the few remaining snippets of footage from the Valiant. The video showed her pulling a gun on The Master, her face a mask of fury and determination.
"While it's almost completely undocumented," Whitlock said, his voice carrying an air of authority, "it is accepted under UNIT filings that there was a year unremembered by the general public. Most of it has been pieced together by those present on the ship known as the Valiant during that time."
The footage on the screen flickered, distorted by age and damage, but it was still clear enough to show her standing over The Master, the gun shaking in her hands. The video cut out abruptly, leaving the room in heavy silence. Whitlock turned to face her fully, his gaze piercing.
"The evidence is clear," he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "You have a history of violence, of causing harm to others in pursuit of your own goals. And now, you stand here, responsible for even more destruction. And yet, you wish to justify your actions, Ms Oakdown?"
He hadn't asked her a specific question, so she didn't respond. Instead, he continued.
Whitlock's face remained impassive as he clicked the remote, bringing up the next video on the screen. The grainy footage showed Hally in the facility where The Master had kept her, her expression twisted in fury as she slapped Courtney across the face. The scene shifted to her pulling a gun on Harold Saxon, her eyes blazing with anger and desperation.
The same question followed, as it had with the previous clips, Whitlock's voice a monotonous drone. "Please confirm it's you in the footage."
"Yes," she responded, her tone now dulled by the repetition.
He paused, the clicker still in his hand, before pulling up an image. This time, it wasn't a photo or a video, but a document—some sort of log file. The text was small, but she could read enough of it to understand. Her face paled as the realisation hit her, and Whitlock caught the change, smirking.
"Mmm. Yes. You see, this was filed. Photographed. A report," he began, savouring each word. He noted the date and time. "Twenty-five personnel, including yourself, were transported off the aircraft carrier Valiant to Earth. However, only five returned." His eyes narrowed slightly, his voice dripping with mock concern. "Can you tell me what happened to the others?"
Hally's breath caught, her gaze flicking instinctively toward Alina before she quickly forced it back to Whitlock. Her mind raced, searching for the right words, something that wouldn't make things worse.
"That timeline doesn't exist…" she began, her voice faltering slightly.
Whitlock wasn't going to let her off that easily. "No… but can you answer my question, please? What happened?"
Hally inhaled slowly, steadying herself. She could feel the room's eyes on her, the air thick with expectation. "We landed in America. Yosemite Valley Park. We were attacked."
"And?" Whitlock's voice was sharp, prodding her to continue.
She clenched her jaw, the memory flashing painfully behind her eyes. "And I…" She paused, the words catching in her throat as the images of that day resurfaced. The fear, the pain, the uncontrollable power surging through her. "It was an… I lost control… I panicked and I…" Her voice wavered. "…erased… everyone."
Whitlock's smirk widened, as if he had been waiting for this admission. "So, you killed everyone? Those attacking and defending you."
The words came out before she could stop them, bitten off with barely controlled frustration. "Yes."
Whitlock let the silence hang in the air for a moment, relishing the tension before clicking to the next image. It was a photograph, taken from above, showing Hally on the beach in Hawaii. "Can you confirm this is you?"
"Yes," she huffed, the monotony of the questioning beginning to wear on her.
Henry cleared his throat from his seat, a subtle reminder to stay focused, and she quickly readjusted her tone.
"You escaped capture in the UK and fled to Hawaii with the wanted Time Lord, The Master, correct?"
"Yes."
"Where is The Master?"
"Gallifrey," she replied, her voice clipped.
"And where is that?"
"I have no idea. Gone, probably."
He clicked again, and footage played on the screen, showing the beach in Hawaii. The image of her raising the submarine out of the ocean and letting it drop back down filled the screen. The power she had wielded in that moment was undeniable, terrifying even in retrospect.
"This was you."
"Yes."
Another click, and this time it wasn't footage but medical reports that filled the screen, showing a list of injuries—broken bones, concussions, and more. She rolled her jaw, trying not to react as the effects of what everyone had just witnessed filled the screen.
Then the screen shifted again, showing her asleep at the facility, her body still and vulnerable. "Did you know where you were?" Whitlock asked.
"No," she answered, her voice quieter now, the vulnerability of the moment catching up with her.
"There's something strange," Whitlock mused, his tone deceptively light. "We have footage of him, but there are gaps in the footage of you. Do you know why?"
Hally shook her head, her confusion genuine. "No."
"What about in the moments before you woke up? Do you remember anything?"
She hesitated, trying to think. "No."
Whitlock started replaying the video of her finding The Master, the scene playing out again on the screen. "You were searching for him? The Master."
"No…" she admitted, her voice barely audible.
"Then what made you enter that room?"
She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable under the scrutiny. "I felt something wrong. Something… barely alive. I went to look. I didn't know it was him. It was an accident."
Whitlock hummed, the sound laced with mock sympathy. "And so, your emotional reaction to finding your husband harmed was to kill sixty thousand people."
"No," she snapped, the guilt and frustration bubbling up. "I didn't know. I just wanted him to be safe. I wasn't in control."
"So why didn't you just transport yourselves away? As you do here?" He clicked, and the footage showed her transporting them in another instance. "Why didn't you do that to begin with?"
Her breath caught, and for a moment, she faltered. "…I… I didn't know…"
"Didn't know what?" Whitlock pressed, his voice hardening.
"I didn't know I could. I didn't… I hadn't… it wasn't something I had done before. It was also an accident. I wasn't aware it was something I could do."
Whitlock cocked an eyebrow, his scepticism evident. "So, would you admit that you're not sure of the extent of your power?"
Hally hesitated, the truth hanging heavy in the air. "No… I'm not."
Whitlock's eyes glinted with a cruel satisfaction as he clicked the remote, pulling up the footage of Hally and The Master after they'd appeared in the chip shop. Again, replaying the footage as the male employee was slammed back against the wall, held up by an invisible force, while the female cowered in fear.
He turned to Hally, his voice sharp and accusatory. "And this? Was this an accident?"
Hally opened her mouth to explain, her voice trembling slightly. "No… I was…"
But Whitlock wasn't interested in her explanations. He cut her off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You meant to harm them."
"No," she protested, her words coming out in a rush. "I was just trying to scare them into doing what I wanted. I was scared. Desperate. I was in shock."
"Oh, you were in shock," Whitlock repeated, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "So, you would like us to believe that this whole thing was an accident and that you immediately regretted all the deaths?"
"Yes, of course," she insisted, her voice pleading for understanding.
Whitlock hummed thoughtfully, though the mockery in the sound was clear. He clicked the remote again, bringing up more footage. This time, the video was more intimate, more invasive. It showed her and The Master in the dining room of the Naismith Mansion. She knew, immediately what this was. Within barely three paces, The Master had her backed up against the wall, his mouth claiming hers in a fervent kiss.
"Are you…" The Master's voice was strained, almost desperate. "Do you want to…?"
Hally's voice, laced with playful sarcasm, responded. "Oh, are you asking now?"
"Yes…" he groaned against her skin. "Yes, I'm asking."
The video continued, showing The Master's hands slipping behind her thighs, lifting her effortlessly as he pressed her against the wall. Their moans quickly filled the room. The camera picked up just enough—her legs wrapping around him, his body pressing hers into the wall, the undeniable sound of their bodies coming together.
Her jaw clenched, eyes slipping away from the footage even as Whitlock continued to watch. The sound of Henry, clearing his throat sharply cut through the obvious sounds of sex, his voice tight with disapproval. "We get the idea," he snapped toward Whitlock.
But Whitlock wasn't done. He paused the video, leaving the image frozen on the screen. His smirk deepened as he turned back to Hally. "Do you think that's appropriate behaviour for someone who has just killed thousands? Doesn't seem like you were wracked with guilt to me."
Hally forced herself to remain calm, though she could feel the urge to roll her eyes. "I don't believe inappropriate behaviour is what I'm being tried for."
Whitlock laughed, a cold, humourless sound. "Do you think that's normal? To murder thousands and then get yourself fucked up against a wall?" The way he said it, the sounds coming from him out, lewd in their insinuation.
She met his gaze with a defiant glare, her voice laced with sarcasm. "I really wouldn't know. You'd have to ask a behavioural expert. Perhaps there's one here you could ask."
Whitlock's smile faltered slightly, his eyes narrowing. "So you can't explain that then?"
"Well," Hally began, her voice dripping with innuendo, "if you need me to explain that for you…"
Whitlock's scowl deepened, cutting off her flippancy. "Answer the question."
Her expression hardened, and she answered with blunt honesty. "I was relieved he was alive. I was in shock. I was barely functioning, and he was alive. So yeah… we fucked."
Whitlock's face twisted. "I'm not sure I appreciate your tone."
She forced a smile, though it was laced with bitterness. "Sorry… we fucked, Sir."
Whitlock's gaze bore into her, his voice suddenly cold and clinical. "Eleanor Loews. Do you know that name?"
Hally blinked, confused. "No."
"John Grimes?"
"No."
"Mark Dolan, Tom Crotty, Carys Evans, Jessica Young, Florence Hall. Ringing any bells?"
Each name seemed to increase the pit within her stomach. "No."
Whitlock's eyes gleamed with triumph. "Those are just seven names of the thousands you killed."
Hally's breath hitched, her body tensing as the weight of what he was saying settled over her. She didn't want to think about it—about the people she had killed, about their names, their faces. She couldn't.
Whitlock clicked the remote again, bringing up a photo of an elderly woman, her face creased with a warm, kind smile. "Dorothy Pincham. You killed her."
"I know," Hally whispered, her voice barely audible, breathless with the effort of holding herself together.
The screen flicked to the next image, a family of four. "George, Julie, Hattie, and Andrew Yates. You killed all of them," Whitlock continued, not giving her a chance to respond. The images kept coming, relentless—a school photo of young faces, lined up in neat rows, innocent and full of life.
Hally felt the room closing in around her, her chest tightening as she struggled to breathe. She closed her eyes, trying to shut it out, trying to drown out Whitlock's voice, but it was no use. The anger, the guilt, the overwhelming sense of loss all pressed down on her, suffocating.
Whitlock's voice cut through her thoughts, sharp and commanding. "Won't you look at them?"
Hally forced her eyes open, tears streaming down her face as she stared at the images on the screen. The room was silent, all eyes on her, waiting for her reaction.
"You murdered them," Whitlock said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.
She swallowed hard, the truth of his words hanging heavy in the air. He hadn't asked a question. He didn't need to. The accusation was clear, undeniable.
She swallows. He hadn't asked a question. So she didn't answer.
"Didn't you?!"
It was as though her brain had momentarily shut down, disabling her from answering.
Henry cleared his throat. "I think that's enough, Whitlock."
"You are a weapon of mass destruction. Aren't you?"
She found her words then, just enough to utter a singular, shaky syllable. "No."
"How else would you describe it?" he pressed, his voice cold. "Someone with the power to murder thousands in a second? You're a weapon."
Hally's chest tightened, and she fought to keep her voice steady. "I'm not a weapon." Her eyes were brimming with tears, her voice painfully catching in her throat. "I'm just…" she added, her voice breaking.
The weight of his words, the relentless scrutiny. Her hands, still bound, trembled slightly, and she looked down, trying to focus on her breathing. Her hearts pounded in her chest, and she fought against the swell of despair threatening to overwhelm her.
"Giving me Crocodile Tears now, are we?" Whitlock's tone was almost clinical, devoid of sympathy.
Hally's resolve faltered. Her shoulders shook, and she closed her eyes, trying to hide the tears that spilt down her cheeks. The harsh light of the room smacking against her face.
"I'm just me…" she whispered, her voice cracking. "I didn't want this. I never wanted to hurt anyone."
Whitlock's gaze remained impassive. "But you did. And you have the power to do it again."
The weight of his words was crushing. Hally's tears fell freely now, her sobs barely contained. "I didn't know," she managed between ragged breaths. "I didn't mean to. I was just trying to protect him. I was... lost."
Her face was flushed, her breaths coming in shallow gasps. She looked around the room, the eyes of the council members, the onlookers—everyone seemed to be bearing down on her. The pressure was immense, and she felt as though she was sinking.
"Look at the destruction you've caused," Whitlock said, his voice insistent. "How can you justify it?"
Hally's sobs were more pronounced now. She swallowed hard, trying to compose herself. "I can't," she admitted through her tears. "I can't justify it. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." The breath she took was loud and undignified. "I didn't want to be this… It was an accident. I never meant to hurt them. I didn't. I made a mistake and I'm so, so sorry and I want to make it right. Whatever it is. I am sorry. I was naïve…" It was becoming harder and harder to breathe. "I didn't… I never thought of myself as having 'power' as being powerful, being dangerous but I know I am. I'm sorry. I wanted to avoid it but it is power. This… it gives me power and I wasn't careful enough and they paid the price and I'm sorry." There were a million excuses she could have given. She could have blamed Gallifrey, she could have blamed her parents, Time Lords, even The Master, she could have used any of them as an excuse. But that wasn't the point. Instead, she forced herself to take a deep, shaky breath. "I have power. I am powerful but I am not a weapon."
Whitlock's gaze was unwavering as he regarded Hally. He appeared detached, as if her emotional breakdown was a mere spectacle rather than a genuine human experience. His eyes flicked from her to the council and back, as if weighing their reactions before he spoke. "It certainly raises a thought though, doesn't it?" he said, his tone cold and calculating. "If you're so dangerous, if you hold such power, then would your child not pose a similar threat?"
Freezing, ice cold doused her veins and she stilled.
"No." Her voice was low, but sharp. She could feel eyes on her, willing her to remain calm, to behave. But the egotistical prick had overstepped.
"I think you're forgetting, tiny human," she said, her voice dangerously controlled, "that I'm here because I wanted to be. I am here because I offered. Because it's right. Because I did something unspeakable and I want to make it right. But I am not a weapon. A weapon implies I'm at the disposition of others, to be used. In the wrong hands. Hands like yours, perhaps? UNIT, maybe. But I don't belong to anyone. I never have and I never will. Your tiny mind perhaps can't quite understand that. But I am here, and I am trying. Because it's right. Because I'm sorry. But if you or anyone in this room has, for any reason, an inkling to take what I have done and use it against my daughter, or decide that you want to take her away from me under the pretence of safety, then I will stand up, and I will leave." Her tone was unsettlingly calm, the kind of calm that seemed to amplify the underlying fury. The room fell silent, a heavy, suffocating kind of quiet.
Whitlock's face twisted in a sneer. "And how would you plan on leaving?" His eyes draped across her handcuffs and up to her neck.
"Is that a rhetorical question, or would you like me to spell it out?" she replied, her voice steady, almost mocking.
"Go on, let everyone hear how you'd massacre us." He pressed.
"Oh, it'd be far easier than that." A small, dangerous smile curled on her lips. "You see, I would get up, and the smart people in the room would get up too. Perhaps they'd pull a gun or two, and then I and the clever people in the room would simply walk away." She held him with her stare. "Because they understand, you see," she continued. "They understand that if anything happened to my child, it wouldn't just be me coming for you… and we've all seen what I can do. It would be me, and The Master, and you'd have The Doctor too. And the smart people in the room, they know that that's never going to be a war you can win."
A tense silence followed, the kind of silence that could make your ears ring. The weight of her words hung in the air. The room seemed to hold its breath.
Whitlock, sensing the shift, cleared his throat and changed tack. "You say it was an accident."
She let out a soft breath. "Yes," Hally confirmed, her voice steady once more, though her eyes were still glistening with unshed tears.
"Well, you know what… I think you did mean to. I think you wanted to."
"No," she said firmly, though her voice wavered slightly.
"Explain this." Whitlock clicked a button on his remote, and the screen behind him flickered to life, displaying CCTV footage from the New York club, The Vault.
"Tell me you're ok." The Master's words were mumbled, not quite audible from the video.
"Fine," "Fine." "Fine…"
Hally watched as she sagged against The Master, rocking her hips forward towards his.
It was clear from the footage that the pair were talking, the murmur of their voices could be heard but not quite exactly what they were saying, until…
"No… no, I really fucking love you."
Hally's head had dropped back, her words slurred. The Master's hands moved to her waist, pressing. "I know. I've got you."
"I'm going to burn this whole fucking planet for you…" She murmured, eyes rolling back into her head.
"We're ok… just stay with me." The Master had tried to shake her gently, but it was evident that Hally was beyond help.
"Koschei…" A soft breath fell from her . "I'm going to destroy everything…"
Hally shook her head vehemently. "I was drugged."
"You took the drug yourself," Whitlock said, his tone insistent.
"I was not in control," Hally argued, her voice rising slightly. "I didn't know what I was saying or doing."
Whitlock's eyes were unyielding. "You took the drug yourself, which means you were responsible for your actions."
She scoffed back at him. "That is not how it fucking works."
Whitlock's voice cut through the room with a chilling certainty, his words like daggers aimed directly at Hally. "Perhaps you can argue with me, pretend you're not a weapon, but we both know, we can both see, that you're a monster. You murdered sixty thousand people, you didn't even bother to find out their names, you just left."
She hated that she was still shaking. Her face was pale, eyes brimming with water she struggled not to scream at him.
"You can pretend like it wasn't your fault," he continued, his voice dripping with disdain, "like your little daddy issues prevented you from developing like a normal person, but the truth is, in that moment, you didn't care who you killed. And I bet you'd do it again."
The room was spinning.
She took a deep breath.
That didn't seem to be helping.
"If you're not asking any more questions, can we assume you're done?" Henry's voice was calm but firm, cutting through with a protective edge.
Whitlock gave a curt nod, his smirk barely concealed as he conceded. "We're done for now."
The improvised courtroom dispersed as they were sent for a late lunch break. Henry guided Hally by the arm into a small side room. Hally's legs nearly gave way as she slumped into a chair. Her breaths were ragged, and her hands shook uncontrollably. She could barely process Henry's presence as he moved around, fetching a glass of water for her.
"That was good. You did well," Henry said gently, offering her the water with a reassuring nod.
Hally took the glass with trembling hands, her reflection in the water's surface a distorted image of her own anguish. "It didn't feel good," she murmured, her voice barely audible.
"I know," Henry said, his voice soft yet firm. "That should be the worst done. Whitlock is a prick. Ignore him. It's our turn now. We can tell your side."
His words, though comforting, seemed to drift around her in the haze of exhaustion. She wanted to believe him, to find strength in his assurance, but the enormity of the situation she'd willingly walked herself into felt suffocating.
Hally took a sip of the water, the cool liquid a small relief against the uncomfortable heat.
"Deep breaths." Henry reminded her.
O left the makeshift courtroom with the others. The corridors were bustling with people, but his focus was singular: a strong coffee to 'ground' him. It seemed appropriate. As he approached the coffee machine, he couldn't help but notice the familiar faces around him. Kate was engaged in conversation with Osgood. Then there was the Torchwood team gathered in a cluster: Owen Harper, Toshiko Sato, Gwen Cooper, Ianto Jones, and of course, Captain Jack fucking Harkness.
O picked up a cup, his hand slightly trembling, but he focused on the coffee machine in an attempt to regain his composure. It was then that he heard a voice—a smooth, almost musical tone that seemed out of place in the otherwise chaos of the room.
"Do you know, I've always found it fascinating," the voice said, its owner appearing beside him. It was Alina. Her tone was light, almost amused, as though she were discussing the weather rather than anything important.
O turned to face her, his expression a mix of bewilderment and cautious curiosity. "Sorry?"
"The physical responses the body has," she continued, her gaze fixed on him with a peculiar intensity. "Oxytocin, Vasopressin, Dopamine. Fascinating, don't you think?"
He blinked, trying to catch up. "Right…"
Alina's eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint as she leaned in slightly. "They say the human pupil can dilate up to 4 millimetres when we're looking at someone we love. And that's just humans," she added, offering him a smile.
O's confusion deepened. This was not the conversation he had expected. Her demeanour was disconcerting—almost as if she was testing him. He managed a small, polite smile, hoping it would be enough to end this peculiar exchange. He began to edge away, coffee cup in hand.
But Alina wasn't finished. Her voice, now more pointed, cut through his thoughts. "You have a tell, you know."
O stopped in his tracks, frowning as he turned back to her. "Sorry?"
She continued as though his confusion were of little consequence. "When you're angry, your left eye twitches." She delivered this observation with a calm, almost clinical precision. "You had it before too." She hummed in consideration. "Thought you ought to know." With that, she gave him a final, enigmatic smile and turned to walk away.
O stood there, frozen. He watched her retreating figure, his hearts pounding in his chest.
No.
Fuck no.
Fuck.
No…
No way.
Fuck, Fuck, FUCK.