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Fic: A Good Day (or: The War in the Medusa Cascade). Chapter 7
Fresh from my beta's careful nit-picking, here is chapter 7!
Previous parts here for anyone who is wanting to catch up:
Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6
And Master post for the whole 'verse here.
Summary: "Why is it only ever the bad guys who have a proper plan?" The Master's son finally meets the Daleks. And he thought it a good day. (TSE/JE rewrite with Eleven and Clara and a host of extras.)
Setting: Future AU TSE/JE. (Set between Name of the Doctor and Day of the Doctor)
Spoilers: The Name of the Doctor (S7.13)
Rating: PG-13.
Characters: The Seeker (OC, the Master's son), Eleventh Doctor, Clara, the Master, Jack, River, Roda (OC), Davros, others.
Beta: The always lovely![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kathyh. (Any mistakes mine!)
Thank yous: Tothe_redjay for the loan of Roda.
Feedback: I am not too proud to beg...
Chapter 7
‘Well’, River thought, ‘best buckle up. Unless I’m mistaken, here comes hell in a handbasket.’
They were facing each other, the Doctor and the Seeker, and she could feel her heart sink. Unstoppable force, meet immovable obstacle.
Casting a swift glance over the rest of the company, she saw that the Master still looked fit to burst with gloating, and Roda had ‘What did I say?’ written all over her face, as well as something that might be disappointment or dread. Oddly enough the Clara girl bore a not dissimilar expression, as if she’d somehow been expecting this… River filed this away for future reference and focussed on Jack.
Where the Doctor was incredulous, Jack looked... stricken in a way that she couldn’t help but notice. And Jack had been the first to speak. What had he said?
‘Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.’ Her eyes narrowed. He knew. Of all of them, Jack was the only one forewarned, and possibly forearmed. The Toclafane had been a shock, but this - this he knew.
Davros was still in his silent holding cell, but she could see him cackling. Dalek Caan - after its star turn - was waving its tentacles around, making odd little noises that were indecipherable to River’s ears.
Then the Doctor spoke, coldly serious (and oh, he was old this one, old and weary in ways she had not seen previously - they’d mangled the time lines thoroughly this time that was for sure):
“‘Why not?’ That’s seriously your best argument?”
The Seeker, still smiling, took a slow drag of his cigar.
“No, my best argument is that it’s my birthright.”
“How so?” the Doctor asked, cool eyes calculating and hands quietly clasped together. He was usually so animated - hands a-flutter, body moving; the current stillness spoke volumes for those who could read him.
’You’re doing it wrong’, she thought. She knew this - the shutting down, the deliberate distancing in order to do what needed to be done. But it wasn’t going to work…
She’d mostly kept to the background, watching and observing as they spoke (as her poor Doctor’s hearts broke), unable to help. And then she’d stepped in to help fight the war - a perfectly logical thing to do, and killing Daleks was only ever going to be a pleasure - but he had probably been further hurt by it. Some days there was no winning, no way to stop the pain.
She studied him now, trying to work out how late it might be.
The purple coat made him look not unlike Willy Wonka, yet somehow... faded. When had he lost her parents, she wondered. She could see the ache in his eyes - had thought it first because everything had been hopeless, but it hadn’t let up. He looked at her as if all he wanted was to hold her close - yet the distance between them kept growing. They’d been closer when locked up in the holding cells than after they’d been let out.
It was as if she was… Not real to him. She might as well be a ghost or a mirage for all the attention he was paying her...
(‘I died’, she realised, with sudden understanding. ‘I died, and everything is too late.’)
Then the Seeker spoke again, self-assured and head held high, breaking through her thoughts.
“I’m a Time Lord. I was born to rule.”
The Doctor shook his head almost imperceptibly, face like stone.
“Half. You’re half.”
The Seeker’s face registered no emotion, apart from his brows drawing together a fraction, but the Master’s silent smugness erupted into sudden fury:
“How dare you?”
Before he could get any further the Seeker held out his hand.
“Stop Dad. I’ve got this.”
A pause as he studied the Doctor, the Master silently fuming in the background. (But the Master did as he was told… They both, the Doctor and the Master, seemed to take it as immediate gospel that the Seeker had thrown his lot in with his father. But was that really the case?)
The Seeker shook his head.
“That was low Doctor. Below the belt. Although I suppose I should be pleased you give as good as you get, I can feel less guilty now. But... you’re right. I am the Child of Two Worlds. I was born under a blue sky, to a human mother, and I played in green grass in the light of a single sun. My childhood was filled with balloons and ice cream and fairgrounds and camping trips. And even though I left a long time ago I still have a home. I have a people. I have family, their descendants live on Earth below us. Even the Toclafane-” he held up a hand, and one of them settled on his fingertips, “-although diluted to infinitesimal small amounts, are my bloodkin. I am a part of the universe; living, breathing. It’s mine.”
River saw Clara’s eyes widen, saw the girl instinctively step forward as if to shield her Doctor.
Hers, not River’s…
('Deep breath. Deep breath, you can do this. Whatever happens, don't let him see how much this hurts you. The girl knows you, you will meet...')
The Seeker was brutal in his argument, yet River knew he was only speaking in shades of half-truths, the reality far more complex. The Child of Two Worlds. But neither truly his…
There had been a day, many years ago now, when she’d arrived earlier than anticipated and found the rooster-haired Doctor in a mildly frustrated state. She’d learned to identify it as ‘parenting issues’ and generally made her excuses (children were not really her forte), but that day she’d asked what the matter was. Apparently the boy had been upset about something, and was now sulking. ‘Rooster’ Doctor didn’t really know her very well at all, but he’d looked cute and helpless, so she’d volunteered to talk to the kid, telling herself to stay away from the brown puppydog eyes as much as she could from then on.
She’d found Alex in his bedroom in the TARDIS - a simple functional space - sitting on the bed, arms wrapped around his legs and his gloomy little face following the aerial acrobatics of his small pteranodon, name of Princess Leia. He’d been around ten, she thought. Not more, certainly. Watching him sitting there, still in his school uniform, she had a sudden and serious case of deja-vu, and almost shuddered.
“What is it?” she asked with more sympathy than she’d had just seconds previously.
He didn’t take his eyes off Leia, but after a moment he replied.
“I’m tired of lying. Tired of never being allowed to be myself. Tired of pretending to be normal and human. I just- I just want to be me.”
The sense of recognition made her feel almost hollow. No wonder he was frustrated. And no wonder the Doctor didn’t know what to do with him - the Doctor had no idea what this felt like.
She smiled gently.
“At least your parents know who you are.”
A ‘normal’ child would have been deeply puzzled, because of course his parents knew him. But Alex had sent her a long searching look, guessing at a story behind her words.
“What do you mean?”
She studied him for a moment.
“Can you keep a secret?”
He smiled bitterly.
“All I ever do is keep secrets.”
“Even from the Doctor?”
At this the smile turned sly, with a hint of excitement.
“I keep secrets from the Doctor, yes. Are you going to tell me spoilers?”
She nodded.
“I’m going to tell you who I am.” A small smile. “I like to be me too.”
The look in his eyes had been more than worth the risk - to give the gift of being understood… She could think of nothing more precious. Ever since she’d always had a soft spot for him, knowing that they had battled a lot of the same issues.
Watching him now, she could see the same thing. He was an adult now, self-assured and strong (and a damn good fighter - shame he’d probably not come adventuring with her), and not likely to back down. Yet in his words she still heard ‘I just want to be me’... He had revelled in his power today, in being able to stretch his wings properly, reaching out and claiming what he saw as rightfully his.
But the Doctor only saw the dark shadow of the wing span and balked...
She wished there was something she could say or do. Yet she knew that any attempt at intervening would be greeted with claims that she was trying to defend the younger Time Lord - and wanting to rule the universe wasn’t something that was easy to defend. For now, she’d have to let him speak for himself - and he certainly had the gift of the gab:
“Doctor - listen to me. I first heard this prophecy when I was nineteen. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t thought of it since. A lot. Worrying and wondering. Never thought it’d come true like this… Hell, it’s been more like a recurring nightmare until now, having to be forever vigilant against dad trying to manipulate me into something-”
“You think he isn’t?” this was Roda, almost exploding. “By the Skaro degradations, Seeker, just take one look at him!”
He turned to look at his father, who feigned innocence with such irony that River almost felt like laughing. (She needed a laugh more than air - and given how close the atmosphere was growing, that was saying something. The Vault was shades of dark reds, the wall lights like red honeycomb embers… So much red metal. She shuddered and tried to focus on the conversation.)
After a long moment, the Seeker turned and looked over them.
“I think... you’re all projecting. You don’t have a clue what’s in my head, but you’re all presuming the worst.”
“Why shouldn’t we?” Jack now, and River pricked up her ears. “You told me that if this day ever came, I had to stop you - remember?”
Studying his friend with great care, the Seeker shook his head softly.
“I was in shock and terrified. Just a child. I never knew it’d be like... this.”
“And what is ‘this’?” Jack asked, as they all waited.
The Seeker thought.
“Purpose,” he finally said. “Something worth, and befitting, my talents, knowledge and abilities.”
River nodded to herself. Purpose. She still remembered the day she had found her own, a sudden decision sweeping away everything she had previously believed and adhered to. (‘Just tell me - the Doctor. Is he worth it?’) She could see the same brightness shining in his eyes, and wanted to shake the Doctor - she knew he was already turning this over, working out his next attack. ‘You’ll be attacking his strongest point! You can’t win this way, why can’t you see that?’
(Because he is exhausted, her mind filled in. Hearts-broken too, but it was more than that. So old. So weary. What happened to you, my Love, she wondered.)
A beat, then the Seeker tilted his head, the smile back - only a small one in the corner of his mouth, yet definitely there, as he watched Jack.
“Also - my actual words were, that if I started creating Legions of Terror, you were to stop me. That still holds.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed.
“And what do you call the Toclafane?”
The Seeker did not as much as blink.
“The saviours of worlds.”
At this point the Doctor cut in, addressing Jack.
“You knew. And you never said…”
Jack never had a chance to reply, as the Seeker spoke immediately:
“You leave Jack out of this. He’s mine.”
“Yours?” the Doctor asked slowly, and the Seeker nodded.
“Mine. For always. Because I love him best. Please - don’t make him choose.”
The Doctor turned, studying Jack with disbelief, and the conflict on Jack’s face was easy to read.
“I’m sorry,” he said, eventually. “But I made a promise. A long, long time ago…”
This was no good. River wanted to slap them all. Hard. All they were doing was highlighting all their differences, and it was leading nowhere good. She took a step forward:
“Before we end up at each other’s throats, can we try to focus on our actual enemies? Seeker - what will you do with Davros?”
The Seeker shot her a grateful look, and then scratched his head thoughtfully.
“I’m not sure, to be honest. I’d thought to take him to the Shadow Proclamation - they’d like a bit of the pie I’m sure and would be delighted to put him on public trial… But that would undoubtedly draw every dalek in the universe to come and save him.”
He tilted his head.
“Besides execution seems like a waste… That sort of mind, I’d rather like to take a closer look.”
Flicking a switch, Davros’ holding cell vanished.
“Davros - what do you want? Would you agree to be my prisoner? Don’t think you could escape, I have multiple holding places for a genius madman-”
He didn’t get any further, nor did Davros get a chance to reply.
A shot rang out, and Davros collapsed, blood spilling from his already disintegrated chest.
Turning, her hand halfway to her gun, River saw Roda, revolver still clutched in both hands. Her face pale, eyes determined - the feathers in her hair like flickering glints of blood.
“Oh Ro-Ro,” the Seeker said, voice soft and resigned. “I suppose it couldn’t be helped.”
He lifted his eyes to look at Roda, and River saw the wordless communication. ‘Ro-Ro’ - a term of endearment she had never heard, one clearly meant for the gentle intimacy of lovers, not places of murder and war. But Roda didn't take her eyes off Davros, or lower her weapon.
River knew Roda had fought in the Time War, knew first-hand how old traumas could rear their heads. Davros’ death, to her, mostly meant good riddance to bad rubbish, but then her own battles had been very different…
The Seeker took a step forwards towards Roda, then seemed to catch himself, obviously unsure how the terms of their tentative friendship fitted with who they had been.
‘This is costing him,’ she thought, ‘and costing him dearly.’ And yet he did not shrink from the price. She almost nodded to herself - she, too, had paid for her choices, given her lives and given her freedom - yet the first time she had felt truly free, she had been in a prison cell. She had made her choice, and would not change it for all the world. If only she could find the words to explain this to the Doctor - without him throwing ‘Wanting to rule the universe is not the same as sacrificing yourself!’ back at her. (She didn’t have an answer for that.)
Although the Doctor wouldn’t be saying much right now - he was staring at Davros, slowly moving forward towards Roda, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Roda?” he asked, reaching out to take the gun off her - but in an instant she turned, now aiming straight for the Master.
“No! Roda, have you gone mad?” the Doctor cried, stepping back in shock, even as the Master held up a hand, looking borderline alarmed:
“Hey - careful with that thing. Toclafane - a little protection would be nice!”
But Roda didn’t so much as flinch.
“Master, I promised the Seeker I wouldn't kill you, but Rassilon damn it, I could.”
Her finger was slowly moving on the trigger, and the Master (for the first time River had seen) appeared to be on the edge of actual panic.
“Hello? Someone stop the madwoman? Seeker, where the hell are those Toclafane?”
The Doctor stepped forward again, but Roda shook her head. River realised that her arm was starting to shudder, and it wasn't just from strain. (River calculated that she could shoot the gun out of Roda’s hand - except the Doctor would be in her line of fire...)
“Stay out of this Doctor,” Roda said. “Come nearer, and I shoot.”
Jack now joined in, almost by her elbow, voice cautious and sympathetic.
“Not that I don’t hate him, Roda, but…” He pulled a face. “Seeker, your father might have a point…”
River turned to look at the young Time Lord, and saw that his eyes had gone dark, face drawn and unreadable as he leaned on a control panel, his eyes travelling over them, coolly studying the standoff that could very easily cost his father his life…
Then-
“Go.” he said. “Go. All of you. Roda, if you want to kill Dad, fine. But no one touch Dalek Caan or I will not answer for the consequences. Just - go!”
“Seeker-” the Doctor said, but green eyes flashed and hands gripped the sides of the control panel so hard they turned white.
“I said leave! Here, the planets are going back where they belong-” he let action follow words, touching buttons on the control panels, so swift his hands almost blurred, “-go kill each other, look after your pet humans, whatever. Just leave. me. alone!”
The Toclafane hung in the air above him, silently menacing, and for the longest moment there was a silent standoff; broken when Roda seemed to collapse in on herself with some sort of adrenaline crash. Jack stepped forward, expertly removing her revolver from loose fingers and slipping it into his own belt. She stood there, looking... so very lost. Resigned. With one last look at the Seeker, her expression unreadable and her shoulders shaking, she lowered her head. River wished she could help her somehow - but they didn’t really know each other all that well.
The Master aimed for a flip smile, not quite succeeding.
“The old James Bond trick, eh boy? Well it worked a treat.”
The Seeker glared at him briefly, eyes cold.
“It wasn’t a trick.”
Then he turned to Jack.
“I’ll come to Torchwood, after.”
Whatever messages his eyes carried, Jack understood, and nodded. Gently he took Roda’s hand, and a second later his vortex manipulator spirited them away.
The Doctor had watched the outburst as if stuck in a dream.
“Seeker?” he asked, slowly, but the Seeker didn’t move, just shook his head.
“I need to clear up. It’s been a long day already, and it’s only going to get longer. Like you said - the spoils of war are mine. So go, and leave me my due.”
A beat, then he turned to look at River.
“River, would you mind…?”
He nodded in his father’s direction, and she chuckled. She could guess how he felt, and if she could help, or keep the mood light, she would happily comply. If they wanted to argue, let it be later, when nerves were less frayed.
“Not at all,” she said, and - before the Master knew what had happened - she’d slammed the cuffs on him, before guiding him into the TARDIS.
“How the hell do you have handcuffs, woman?” he asked, and she laughed, the pleasure genuine. But the laughter almost caught in her throat as she saw the new desktop theme. Oh she was so very late. She would have to leave. And soon. Nothing good could come from this. Noticing that the Doctor wasn’t following, she poked her head out to see him - surely he couldn’t be arguing still?
(Whom was she trying to fool? Of course he’d still be arguing.)
The two of them - ‘uncle’ and ‘nephew’ as they had once been - were watching each other like before, but the mood had changed drastically, the Seeker’s initial joyful mien now cold, carefully controlled anger:
“I meant it. Go. If you stay I honestly can’t guarantee your safety.”
The glaring contest was - unexpectedly - interrupted by Dalek Caan, its voice a cackling madness. The Doctor froze, his hand on Clara’s shoulder.
“The Doctor and the Impossible Girl… As ever it was, so it shall be. Your day will come Doctor - your day will come, and soon. Twice it has come already, and once more you will see it. And the world will be the same no more. No more. No more.”
“...What did you say?” the Doctor asked, face going pale and voice barely above a breath, but River pressed her lips together and dragged him into the TARDIS. Clara followed silently and the doors closed of their own accord, as River made them take off - her glare silencing even the Master. Seeing the clouds and the newly formed shades of worry on the Doctor’s face, she took a deep breath.
“Give him some space,” she eventually said. “And don’t listen to prophecies. They’re bad for you.”
He didn’t reply for a long moment. Then he merely said: “Take us to Torchwood,” and she sighed.
This was clearly far from over.
Chapter 8.
Previous parts here for anyone who is wanting to catch up:
Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6
And Master post for the whole 'verse here.
Summary: "Why is it only ever the bad guys who have a proper plan?" The Master's son finally meets the Daleks. And he thought it a good day. (TSE/JE rewrite with Eleven and Clara and a host of extras.)
Setting: Future AU TSE/JE. (Set between Name of the Doctor and Day of the Doctor)
Spoilers: The Name of the Doctor (S7.13)
Rating: PG-13.
Characters: The Seeker (OC, the Master's son), Eleventh Doctor, Clara, the Master, Jack, River, Roda (OC), Davros, others.
Beta: The always lovely
kathyh. (Any mistakes mine!)Thank yous: To
the_redjay for the loan of Roda.Feedback: I am not too proud to beg...
Chapter 7
‘Well’, River thought, ‘best buckle up. Unless I’m mistaken, here comes hell in a handbasket.’
They were facing each other, the Doctor and the Seeker, and she could feel her heart sink. Unstoppable force, meet immovable obstacle.
Casting a swift glance over the rest of the company, she saw that the Master still looked fit to burst with gloating, and Roda had ‘What did I say?’ written all over her face, as well as something that might be disappointment or dread. Oddly enough the Clara girl bore a not dissimilar expression, as if she’d somehow been expecting this… River filed this away for future reference and focussed on Jack.
Where the Doctor was incredulous, Jack looked... stricken in a way that she couldn’t help but notice. And Jack had been the first to speak. What had he said?
‘Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.’ Her eyes narrowed. He knew. Of all of them, Jack was the only one forewarned, and possibly forearmed. The Toclafane had been a shock, but this - this he knew.
Davros was still in his silent holding cell, but she could see him cackling. Dalek Caan - after its star turn - was waving its tentacles around, making odd little noises that were indecipherable to River’s ears.
Then the Doctor spoke, coldly serious (and oh, he was old this one, old and weary in ways she had not seen previously - they’d mangled the time lines thoroughly this time that was for sure):
“‘Why not?’ That’s seriously your best argument?”
The Seeker, still smiling, took a slow drag of his cigar.
“No, my best argument is that it’s my birthright.”
“How so?” the Doctor asked, cool eyes calculating and hands quietly clasped together. He was usually so animated - hands a-flutter, body moving; the current stillness spoke volumes for those who could read him.
’You’re doing it wrong’, she thought. She knew this - the shutting down, the deliberate distancing in order to do what needed to be done. But it wasn’t going to work…
She’d mostly kept to the background, watching and observing as they spoke (as her poor Doctor’s hearts broke), unable to help. And then she’d stepped in to help fight the war - a perfectly logical thing to do, and killing Daleks was only ever going to be a pleasure - but he had probably been further hurt by it. Some days there was no winning, no way to stop the pain.
She studied him now, trying to work out how late it might be.
The purple coat made him look not unlike Willy Wonka, yet somehow... faded. When had he lost her parents, she wondered. She could see the ache in his eyes - had thought it first because everything had been hopeless, but it hadn’t let up. He looked at her as if all he wanted was to hold her close - yet the distance between them kept growing. They’d been closer when locked up in the holding cells than after they’d been let out.
It was as if she was… Not real to him. She might as well be a ghost or a mirage for all the attention he was paying her...
(‘I died’, she realised, with sudden understanding. ‘I died, and everything is too late.’)
Then the Seeker spoke again, self-assured and head held high, breaking through her thoughts.
“I’m a Time Lord. I was born to rule.”
The Doctor shook his head almost imperceptibly, face like stone.
“Half. You’re half.”
The Seeker’s face registered no emotion, apart from his brows drawing together a fraction, but the Master’s silent smugness erupted into sudden fury:
“How dare you?”
Before he could get any further the Seeker held out his hand.
“Stop Dad. I’ve got this.”
A pause as he studied the Doctor, the Master silently fuming in the background. (But the Master did as he was told… They both, the Doctor and the Master, seemed to take it as immediate gospel that the Seeker had thrown his lot in with his father. But was that really the case?)
The Seeker shook his head.
“That was low Doctor. Below the belt. Although I suppose I should be pleased you give as good as you get, I can feel less guilty now. But... you’re right. I am the Child of Two Worlds. I was born under a blue sky, to a human mother, and I played in green grass in the light of a single sun. My childhood was filled with balloons and ice cream and fairgrounds and camping trips. And even though I left a long time ago I still have a home. I have a people. I have family, their descendants live on Earth below us. Even the Toclafane-” he held up a hand, and one of them settled on his fingertips, “-although diluted to infinitesimal small amounts, are my bloodkin. I am a part of the universe; living, breathing. It’s mine.”
River saw Clara’s eyes widen, saw the girl instinctively step forward as if to shield her Doctor.
Hers, not River’s…
('Deep breath. Deep breath, you can do this. Whatever happens, don't let him see how much this hurts you. The girl knows you, you will meet...')
The Seeker was brutal in his argument, yet River knew he was only speaking in shades of half-truths, the reality far more complex. The Child of Two Worlds. But neither truly his…
There had been a day, many years ago now, when she’d arrived earlier than anticipated and found the rooster-haired Doctor in a mildly frustrated state. She’d learned to identify it as ‘parenting issues’ and generally made her excuses (children were not really her forte), but that day she’d asked what the matter was. Apparently the boy had been upset about something, and was now sulking. ‘Rooster’ Doctor didn’t really know her very well at all, but he’d looked cute and helpless, so she’d volunteered to talk to the kid, telling herself to stay away from the brown puppydog eyes as much as she could from then on.
She’d found Alex in his bedroom in the TARDIS - a simple functional space - sitting on the bed, arms wrapped around his legs and his gloomy little face following the aerial acrobatics of his small pteranodon, name of Princess Leia. He’d been around ten, she thought. Not more, certainly. Watching him sitting there, still in his school uniform, she had a sudden and serious case of deja-vu, and almost shuddered.
“What is it?” she asked with more sympathy than she’d had just seconds previously.
He didn’t take his eyes off Leia, but after a moment he replied.
“I’m tired of lying. Tired of never being allowed to be myself. Tired of pretending to be normal and human. I just- I just want to be me.”
The sense of recognition made her feel almost hollow. No wonder he was frustrated. And no wonder the Doctor didn’t know what to do with him - the Doctor had no idea what this felt like.
She smiled gently.
“At least your parents know who you are.”
A ‘normal’ child would have been deeply puzzled, because of course his parents knew him. But Alex had sent her a long searching look, guessing at a story behind her words.
“What do you mean?”
She studied him for a moment.
“Can you keep a secret?”
He smiled bitterly.
“All I ever do is keep secrets.”
“Even from the Doctor?”
At this the smile turned sly, with a hint of excitement.
“I keep secrets from the Doctor, yes. Are you going to tell me spoilers?”
She nodded.
“I’m going to tell you who I am.” A small smile. “I like to be me too.”
The look in his eyes had been more than worth the risk - to give the gift of being understood… She could think of nothing more precious. Ever since she’d always had a soft spot for him, knowing that they had battled a lot of the same issues.
Watching him now, she could see the same thing. He was an adult now, self-assured and strong (and a damn good fighter - shame he’d probably not come adventuring with her), and not likely to back down. Yet in his words she still heard ‘I just want to be me’... He had revelled in his power today, in being able to stretch his wings properly, reaching out and claiming what he saw as rightfully his.
But the Doctor only saw the dark shadow of the wing span and balked...
She wished there was something she could say or do. Yet she knew that any attempt at intervening would be greeted with claims that she was trying to defend the younger Time Lord - and wanting to rule the universe wasn’t something that was easy to defend. For now, she’d have to let him speak for himself - and he certainly had the gift of the gab:
“Doctor - listen to me. I first heard this prophecy when I was nineteen. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t thought of it since. A lot. Worrying and wondering. Never thought it’d come true like this… Hell, it’s been more like a recurring nightmare until now, having to be forever vigilant against dad trying to manipulate me into something-”
“You think he isn’t?” this was Roda, almost exploding. “By the Skaro degradations, Seeker, just take one look at him!”
He turned to look at his father, who feigned innocence with such irony that River almost felt like laughing. (She needed a laugh more than air - and given how close the atmosphere was growing, that was saying something. The Vault was shades of dark reds, the wall lights like red honeycomb embers… So much red metal. She shuddered and tried to focus on the conversation.)
After a long moment, the Seeker turned and looked over them.
“I think... you’re all projecting. You don’t have a clue what’s in my head, but you’re all presuming the worst.”
“Why shouldn’t we?” Jack now, and River pricked up her ears. “You told me that if this day ever came, I had to stop you - remember?”
Studying his friend with great care, the Seeker shook his head softly.
“I was in shock and terrified. Just a child. I never knew it’d be like... this.”
“And what is ‘this’?” Jack asked, as they all waited.
The Seeker thought.
“Purpose,” he finally said. “Something worth, and befitting, my talents, knowledge and abilities.”
River nodded to herself. Purpose. She still remembered the day she had found her own, a sudden decision sweeping away everything she had previously believed and adhered to. (‘Just tell me - the Doctor. Is he worth it?’) She could see the same brightness shining in his eyes, and wanted to shake the Doctor - she knew he was already turning this over, working out his next attack. ‘You’ll be attacking his strongest point! You can’t win this way, why can’t you see that?’
(Because he is exhausted, her mind filled in. Hearts-broken too, but it was more than that. So old. So weary. What happened to you, my Love, she wondered.)
A beat, then the Seeker tilted his head, the smile back - only a small one in the corner of his mouth, yet definitely there, as he watched Jack.
“Also - my actual words were, that if I started creating Legions of Terror, you were to stop me. That still holds.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed.
“And what do you call the Toclafane?”
The Seeker did not as much as blink.
“The saviours of worlds.”
At this point the Doctor cut in, addressing Jack.
“You knew. And you never said…”
Jack never had a chance to reply, as the Seeker spoke immediately:
“You leave Jack out of this. He’s mine.”
“Yours?” the Doctor asked slowly, and the Seeker nodded.
“Mine. For always. Because I love him best. Please - don’t make him choose.”
The Doctor turned, studying Jack with disbelief, and the conflict on Jack’s face was easy to read.
“I’m sorry,” he said, eventually. “But I made a promise. A long, long time ago…”
This was no good. River wanted to slap them all. Hard. All they were doing was highlighting all their differences, and it was leading nowhere good. She took a step forward:
“Before we end up at each other’s throats, can we try to focus on our actual enemies? Seeker - what will you do with Davros?”
The Seeker shot her a grateful look, and then scratched his head thoughtfully.
“I’m not sure, to be honest. I’d thought to take him to the Shadow Proclamation - they’d like a bit of the pie I’m sure and would be delighted to put him on public trial… But that would undoubtedly draw every dalek in the universe to come and save him.”
He tilted his head.
“Besides execution seems like a waste… That sort of mind, I’d rather like to take a closer look.”
Flicking a switch, Davros’ holding cell vanished.
“Davros - what do you want? Would you agree to be my prisoner? Don’t think you could escape, I have multiple holding places for a genius madman-”
He didn’t get any further, nor did Davros get a chance to reply.
A shot rang out, and Davros collapsed, blood spilling from his already disintegrated chest.
Turning, her hand halfway to her gun, River saw Roda, revolver still clutched in both hands. Her face pale, eyes determined - the feathers in her hair like flickering glints of blood.
“Oh Ro-Ro,” the Seeker said, voice soft and resigned. “I suppose it couldn’t be helped.”
He lifted his eyes to look at Roda, and River saw the wordless communication. ‘Ro-Ro’ - a term of endearment she had never heard, one clearly meant for the gentle intimacy of lovers, not places of murder and war. But Roda didn't take her eyes off Davros, or lower her weapon.
River knew Roda had fought in the Time War, knew first-hand how old traumas could rear their heads. Davros’ death, to her, mostly meant good riddance to bad rubbish, but then her own battles had been very different…
The Seeker took a step forwards towards Roda, then seemed to catch himself, obviously unsure how the terms of their tentative friendship fitted with who they had been.
‘This is costing him,’ she thought, ‘and costing him dearly.’ And yet he did not shrink from the price. She almost nodded to herself - she, too, had paid for her choices, given her lives and given her freedom - yet the first time she had felt truly free, she had been in a prison cell. She had made her choice, and would not change it for all the world. If only she could find the words to explain this to the Doctor - without him throwing ‘Wanting to rule the universe is not the same as sacrificing yourself!’ back at her. (She didn’t have an answer for that.)
Although the Doctor wouldn’t be saying much right now - he was staring at Davros, slowly moving forward towards Roda, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Roda?” he asked, reaching out to take the gun off her - but in an instant she turned, now aiming straight for the Master.
“No! Roda, have you gone mad?” the Doctor cried, stepping back in shock, even as the Master held up a hand, looking borderline alarmed:
“Hey - careful with that thing. Toclafane - a little protection would be nice!”
But Roda didn’t so much as flinch.
“Master, I promised the Seeker I wouldn't kill you, but Rassilon damn it, I could.”
Her finger was slowly moving on the trigger, and the Master (for the first time River had seen) appeared to be on the edge of actual panic.
“Hello? Someone stop the madwoman? Seeker, where the hell are those Toclafane?”
The Doctor stepped forward again, but Roda shook her head. River realised that her arm was starting to shudder, and it wasn't just from strain. (River calculated that she could shoot the gun out of Roda’s hand - except the Doctor would be in her line of fire...)
“Stay out of this Doctor,” Roda said. “Come nearer, and I shoot.”
Jack now joined in, almost by her elbow, voice cautious and sympathetic.
“Not that I don’t hate him, Roda, but…” He pulled a face. “Seeker, your father might have a point…”
River turned to look at the young Time Lord, and saw that his eyes had gone dark, face drawn and unreadable as he leaned on a control panel, his eyes travelling over them, coolly studying the standoff that could very easily cost his father his life…
Then-
“Go.” he said. “Go. All of you. Roda, if you want to kill Dad, fine. But no one touch Dalek Caan or I will not answer for the consequences. Just - go!”
“Seeker-” the Doctor said, but green eyes flashed and hands gripped the sides of the control panel so hard they turned white.
“I said leave! Here, the planets are going back where they belong-” he let action follow words, touching buttons on the control panels, so swift his hands almost blurred, “-go kill each other, look after your pet humans, whatever. Just leave. me. alone!”
The Toclafane hung in the air above him, silently menacing, and for the longest moment there was a silent standoff; broken when Roda seemed to collapse in on herself with some sort of adrenaline crash. Jack stepped forward, expertly removing her revolver from loose fingers and slipping it into his own belt. She stood there, looking... so very lost. Resigned. With one last look at the Seeker, her expression unreadable and her shoulders shaking, she lowered her head. River wished she could help her somehow - but they didn’t really know each other all that well.
The Master aimed for a flip smile, not quite succeeding.
“The old James Bond trick, eh boy? Well it worked a treat.”
The Seeker glared at him briefly, eyes cold.
“It wasn’t a trick.”
Then he turned to Jack.
“I’ll come to Torchwood, after.”
Whatever messages his eyes carried, Jack understood, and nodded. Gently he took Roda’s hand, and a second later his vortex manipulator spirited them away.
The Doctor had watched the outburst as if stuck in a dream.
“Seeker?” he asked, slowly, but the Seeker didn’t move, just shook his head.
“I need to clear up. It’s been a long day already, and it’s only going to get longer. Like you said - the spoils of war are mine. So go, and leave me my due.”
A beat, then he turned to look at River.
“River, would you mind…?”
He nodded in his father’s direction, and she chuckled. She could guess how he felt, and if she could help, or keep the mood light, she would happily comply. If they wanted to argue, let it be later, when nerves were less frayed.
“Not at all,” she said, and - before the Master knew what had happened - she’d slammed the cuffs on him, before guiding him into the TARDIS.
“How the hell do you have handcuffs, woman?” he asked, and she laughed, the pleasure genuine. But the laughter almost caught in her throat as she saw the new desktop theme. Oh she was so very late. She would have to leave. And soon. Nothing good could come from this. Noticing that the Doctor wasn’t following, she poked her head out to see him - surely he couldn’t be arguing still?
(Whom was she trying to fool? Of course he’d still be arguing.)
The two of them - ‘uncle’ and ‘nephew’ as they had once been - were watching each other like before, but the mood had changed drastically, the Seeker’s initial joyful mien now cold, carefully controlled anger:
“I meant it. Go. If you stay I honestly can’t guarantee your safety.”
The glaring contest was - unexpectedly - interrupted by Dalek Caan, its voice a cackling madness. The Doctor froze, his hand on Clara’s shoulder.
“The Doctor and the Impossible Girl… As ever it was, so it shall be. Your day will come Doctor - your day will come, and soon. Twice it has come already, and once more you will see it. And the world will be the same no more. No more. No more.”
“...What did you say?” the Doctor asked, face going pale and voice barely above a breath, but River pressed her lips together and dragged him into the TARDIS. Clara followed silently and the doors closed of their own accord, as River made them take off - her glare silencing even the Master. Seeing the clouds and the newly formed shades of worry on the Doctor’s face, she took a deep breath.
“Give him some space,” she eventually said. “And don’t listen to prophecies. They’re bad for you.”
He didn’t reply for a long moment. Then he merely said: “Take us to Torchwood,” and she sighed.
This was clearly far from over.
Chapter 8.
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