Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The day dawned with a twin sunrise fit to be described as one of the wonders of the universe. The sky changed from deepest ruby to clear amber, the distant snow-capped mountains glowed like diamonds, and as the silver leaves of the forest caught the golden light they looked like molten fire rippling across the valley.

The Seeker, three hundred and forty three years old according to human reckoning - and already thirty-odd years into his third regeneration - watched the spectacle from the top of the tall, graceful tower that formed the centre of his house, and smiled. It was going to be a good day, he could feel it in his bones.

(Later on, he would wonder if he quite simply had no sense of premonition at all. His father, eyes dancing with malicious satisfaction and approval - celebratory cigar in hand - would declare it The Best Day Ever, which also negated the use of the word ‘good’. And yet... When he tried to label it, ‘good’ was somehow the only word that would fit. It was A Good Day, and that was that. Never mind the Doctor’s moral conniptions.)

Opening a window, he let the breeze ruffle his black hair as the suns’ light reached a critical point and flooded the tower, the warmth soaking into him like slowly smouldering fire.

He was half-wishing for someone to share the perfection with when his comm unit obligingly buzzed. Seeing the Doctor’s name he smiled, picking up the small rectangle with a happy flourish.

“Doctor! Good morning. Fancy stopping by for some breakfast? I know you like to hang out on Earth, but seriously, when isn’t England wet and cold? The temperature is perfect here and it’s beautifully quiet...”

“Seeker! Stop chattering, this is important! Earth-” a pause during which the Seeker went through his standard one hundred point list of possible/most likely catastrophes to have befallen Earth this time (he knew that tone of voice), only for the Doctor to utterly floor him.

“Earth is gone!”

“What do you mean ‘gone’? When are you?”

“Twentythree... fourteen? I think. Thought I’d drop by to see Jack - something about some new Torchwood employees he wanted to introduce me to?”

“Oh the twins,” the Seeker replied, hesitating slightly, as the year hit him. The year he'd regenerated, the year forever etched with his failure. “Yes, the twins are... quite something. Not sure what exactly, but definitely something. And it’s just vanished?”

“Completely.”

“And you’re sure you’re in the right place?”

“Yes! Seeker, it would be really most awfully helpful of you to come along, because quite frankly I’m stumped.”

His eyes lingering on the tranquil view, the whole thing felt unreal. Maybe the Doctor’s TARDIS had just made a wrong turn somewhere...

Sighing, he forced himself to face the facts: His reluctance was quite simply down to his centuries-long ingrained dislike of being torn out of his daily routines, no matter how urgent the need - a knee-jerk reaction against having to drop his well-planned work schedule at a moment’s notice in order to run about helping the Doctor save the world with no plan or backup. Especially since at this moment the Doctor was obviously still at the hand-waving and bow tie-fidgeting stage, full of nervous energy until he found somewhere to channel it...

“What does Dad say?”

The Seeker could almost hear the Doctor’s jaw clenching.

“Nothing much, I locked him up when he wouldn’t stop laughing.”

Typical. His father might even know something useful and just refuse to co-operate because he liked to see the Doctor flail.

Although it had been... a very long time since the Doctor had actually locked the Master up; the two of them having reached some sort of agreement or truce - the Seeker wasn’t sure of the details, all he cared about was that they didn’t argue all the time. Or rather, that they didn’t drag him into their arguments. He recalled his father having some crazy scheme to take over the world in the 23rd Century, so he’d given it a wide berth except for occasional visits to Torchwood. And he had avoided Earth even more since regenerating, which was how he must have missed its disappearance... He was way out, time-wise. The Doctor’s TARDIS had to have connected the call, jumping into his timeline where she saw fit.

Pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt at blocking out his serenely beautiful planet (since it was no earthly use at the moment), the Seeker did his best to boot his brain into functioning. This was far more serious than the seemingly annual attack of Sontarans or Cybermen...

Focus. Think. Compartmentalise. Emotions (fear, worry, the natural internal turmoil following the news that his childhood home had somehow vanished) - were carefully stowed away in a box, sectioned away to be dealt with later. Right now emotions would just get in the way, and he needed to think clearly. If Earth really had somehow been stolen by someone or something, they needed more of a plan than ‘Find it! Find it! Find it!’ So far they didn’t even know who or what might be responsible... Or how.

“Is there a precedent for this? Do you know of anyone who could have done this? Come on, you usually have a hunch.”

There was a long pause which said far more than the Doctor probably meant it to. Eventually he cleared his throat.

“Well, it’s not possible, but-”

Mere moments later the Seeker appeared in the Doctor’s TARDIS.

Chapter Text

The TARDIS was serenely blue and beautiful, and the Seeker could feel her gentle ‘Hello’ as the faintest brush against his mind. He’d left only moments between the Doctor’s call and his own arrival (teleporting straight into the TARDIS was a neat little trick he always relished pulling off), and she was still parked where the Doctor must have landed - where Earth should should have been, but wasn’t. There was also a new Companion who smiled at him nervously, but before he could say anything the Doctor spoke - and not with the welcome he’d expected...

“Seeker - you look like you’re going to a funeral! What happened to that lovely red coat of yours?”

Glancing down at the perfectly presentable combination of white shirt, pirate-y black coat, black shoes and trousers, he shot the Doctor a peeved look.

“I got dressed in a hurry, and black goes with everything. And I haven't worn the red coat since I regenerated, it doesn't go with my new colouring."

The Doctor did a double-take. "Oh. You regenerated." He frowned. "Must have missed that, sorry. Should I ask what happened?"

Trying not to flinch, the Seeker smiled stiffly.

"Let's leave that for another time. When we're in less of a rush... And please stop criticising my clothes, I picked the quickest and easiest outfit."

(He wasn’t lying, he told himself. He had gotten dressed in a hurry - after which he’d spent the best part of the morning in a whirlwind of preparation. In all likelihood none of it would be needed, but better safe than sorry.

Not that he said anything of course. The point of secret weapons, after all, lay in the secrecy. And he really wasn’t sure how the Doctor would react.)

“You look like a villain!” the Doctor grumbled, like the crotchety old man he was. (The unspoken words clear enough: You look like your father.)

The Seeker took a deep calming breath and smiled brightly.

“Well then, when we catch whoever stole the Earth we can do a Good Cop, Bad Cop routine. Also, it’s my pleasure to be here, no need to thank me.”

The Doctor shot him another half-grumpy look, and the Seeker almost wished he’d chosen something more colourful to wear, he could really have done without the Doctor in disapproving paternal mode (Stars above he hated conflict)... Except black was simple and effective. He wasn’t quite the clotheshorse he’d been in his previous regeneration, but he knew he cut an impressive figure, something he was keen to use to his advantage. And something which might come in handy today.

But the Doctor was not letting up.

“Well it’s only your childhood home, I thought you might be at least a little concerned...”

Forcing himself not to swear the Seeker’s smile faded.

“Look, I get that Dad upset you by being... well, himself. But would you very kindly stop taking it out on me? This is exactly why I always stay out of the way of you two - I invariably become the battleground, and I was already fed up with that when I was half a year old. How about instead of nagging me, you introduce me to your new Companion and we can do something productive?”

(Three hundred years and he was still ‘managing’ his parental figures. Surely they should move past it at some point?)

Looking somewhat chastised, the Doctor acquiesced.

“Seeker, this is Clara Oswald. Clara, this is the Seeker, the Master’s son. And not evil, despite the outfit.”

Clara was petite and bright-eyed, dressed in a green dress with a blue jacket on top, paired with black boots. A pretty outfit, but sensible and good for running. As he shook her hand, he couldn’t help noticing how small and fragile she looked, her worry and fear like a tight-knit cocoon around her (she was clearly a control-freak, just like him) - yet she smiled bravely and he knew she was probably equal to any challenge thrown at her. The Doctor chose his friends wisely.

“Clara Oswald, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise Seeker.” A slight hesitation, then she added: “Sorry, but if you’re a Time Lord, how is Earth your childhood home?”

The Seeker shot the Doctor a surprised look.

“He’s not explained any of that? Um... In brief, my father used to be known as Harold Saxon - you’ll remember him as the Prime Minister who murdered President Winters. I was born during a year that never existed - long story involving a paradox - and grew up on Earth, since my mother was human; and I had as normal a childhood as I could, everything considered. ‘Everything’ being the Doctor and my father both trying to bring me up. If I were you, I’d try not to picture it.”

She blinked at him. “Oh. He... never really mentioned any of this, just said that there were three other Time Lords out there.”

New companion, new start, and increased avoidance... It would certainly explain why it had been so long since the Doctor had visited. (Madam Vastra had called once, saying she and the rest of the gang were looking after the Doctor after a bereavement. He’d been ginger then, and preoccupied, and gratefully left them to it.)

“I’d be hurt, except I got my own place a long, long time ago and am a bit of a hermit, truth be told... But then I’m a scientist at heart and I like building things, which takes time - hence creating my own planet, and that was just the beginning. Also I’m not fond of the running, but make an exception now and again; like now, for instance.” He smiled as he saw some of the tenseness shift, and - knowing that the most important thing right now would be hope - added:

“What do you say that once this is all over, and Earth is back where it belongs, you come visit me? My planet is beautifully tranquil - it’s basically a copy of Gallifrey, but without all the Time Lords, obviously... Tell you what - make sure you time it for early spring, then you can witness the migration of the singing fish: it’s like the whole world is made of music.”

She was now smiling back at him, and he could tell that she had - if only for a moment - forgotten their present quandary. Which was good, except he was acutely aware that the Doctor’s increasing agitation was about to erupt, so he got back to business. (He had every intention of keeping his promise however. It had been far too long since he'd had visitors.)

Looking out the doors, there was no doubt: Earth was most definitely gone. Snatched away as if by magic; vanished without a trace... Double checking all the Doctor’s instruments, his mind was busy ticking over with ideas and possibilities.

How? he wondered. How had it been done? The sheer scale of the thing sent shots of excitement through him. He’d played with gravity and black holes (had nearly sucked a whole solar system into his first one), had created/built/grown his own TARDIS (with Roda’s strangely reluctant help), but this was different. Bigger. More ambitious.

The early-morning lethargy had by now been completely overtaken by curiosity and covetousness. He wanted to find whoever had done this and discover what they’d done, examine every part of it - and then do it himself... He could design solar systems, one step nearer to playing with the building blocks of creation-

(He checked himself. This was how he’d died last time, being too ambitious by half. And planets would be far more fatal than a Matrix.)

Also he was getting lost in thought, and the Doctor would get impatient again. He looked up.

“Well then, go on Doctor - do you have a plan?”

The Doctor threaded his fingers together, brow furrowing, and the Seeker braced himself.

“I... Well I was thinking of going to the Shadow Proclamation.”

This was such an spectacularly sensible idea that the Seeker was reduced to momentary silent awe. Clara however looked confused.

“The what now?”

“Shadow Proclamation,” the Seeker explained. “Basically interstellar police. Doctor, I’m impressed. Although why not the Church of the Mainframe? This is right down their street.”

“Too many guns,” the Doctor muttered, and started to input co-ordinates, as the Seeker absentmindedly turned a few dials and pressed some buttons, so the Doctor didn’t have to keep going in circles. (He had - when much younger - been a trapeze artist for a summer, able to do a quadruple spin whilst keeping track of his orientation and position relative to the turning of the Earth - yet the Doctor’s twirling made him dizzy.)

“Guns?” Clara mouthed, looking even more thoroughly confused, and the Seeker shook his head.

“He’ll explain later I’m sure...”

“And we’re here. Come along now children!”

“I’m three hundred and forty-three,” the Seeker muttered under his breath, before following the Doctor and Clara - emerging from the TARDIS to find that they were faced with a cohort of Judoon aiming large guns at them.

The Seeker could tell Clara’s mild alarm as they all held up their hands, but as the Doctor began explaining their errand - in Judoon, which the TARDIS for some reason didn’t translate - he almost gave in to helpless giggles.

“What’s he saying?” Clara whispered, and the Seeker shot her a look, biting his lip.

“Basically - ‘Take me to your leader’.”

She clearly wasn’t sure whether to believe him.

“Seriously?”

“Just look at the silly grin on his face.”

When they set off, following the Judoon down a corridor towards wherever the ‘Leader’ was, Clara was fighting back giggles too.

“What’s so funny?” the Doctor asked, and the Seeker could only shake his head, before whispering ‘Ma ho!’ to Clara and setting them both off again. Being so wrapped up in his projects he tended to forget how much fun it was to be around humans... Really, he needed to get out more.

A little later they were shown into a large room, where a female Shadow Architect looked at them with ill concealed incredulity when the Doctor introduced himself.

“Time Lords are the stuff of legend. They belong in the myths and whispers of the Higher Species. You cannot possibly exist.”

The Doctor preened, obviously pleased.

“Well, yes, have been trying to lower my profile somewhat. Glad to see it’s working.”

He then jabbed a finger in the Shadow Architect’s general direction.

“However, we have a missing planet, so since you lot have quite a good overview, we were wondering whether you knew where it had got itself to?”

The Architect raised an eyebrow.

“You are not as wise as the stories would say, Living Legend. The picture is far bigger than you imagine. The whole universe is in outrage, Doctor - twenty-four worlds have been taken from the sky.”

Much to the Seeker’s gratification, the Doctor was momentarily rendered speechless. But he rallied quickly.

“How many? Which ones? Show me!”

“The locations range far and wide. They all disappeared at the exact same moment, leaving no trace.”

She tapped a console unit, and the names appeared, causing the Doctor to read them out loud.

“Callufrax Minor, Jahoo, Shallacatop, Woman Wept, Clom - really? Clom? Why would anyone want Clom?”

“All different sizes,” the Shadow Architect continued. “Some populated, some not, but all unconnected.”

“Oh please,” the Seeker could barely hide his disdain. “Anyone goes to this length, there’s something that connects them. We just don’t know what yet.”

Red eyes were frowning at him, but the Doctor laughed and clapped his hands together:

“What he said! Now, let’s try putting it in 3D so we can get a better look at what we’re dealing with.”

Projections popped into the air, the ethereal planets slowly turning in the empty space of the white room. The Seeker tilted his head, attempting to categorise them somehow, but the only common denominator seemed to be their disparity.

Then Clara spoke.

“Wait, Doctor - what about the Lost Moon of... whatever that planet was called where we had that picnic? And you told me how one of its moons had just disappeared?”

The Doctor stared for a long moment, then a wide smiled spread across his face and he jumped across to Clara and kissed her forehead.

“Poosh! The Lost Moon of Poosh! If planets have been taken out of time as well as space... You - Shadow Lady - are there any older reports about planets that have disappeared?”

“A few cold cases, but...”

“Tell me,” he demanded, adding them to the projection as she spoke. When he reached twenty seven, however, the hologram projection abruptly spun and tilted, the planets instantly rearranging themselves into the optimum pattern.

The Seeker felt as if someone had kicked him solidly in the chest, and for a moment was unable to even breathe.

The Shadow Architect was asking questions and the Doctor was replying, which was good because the Seeker wasn’t quite sure what words were anymore.

He’d been right... there was a connection. And one so much bigger than he had suspected. The planets were not wanted for their own sake, but because they were pieces of an engine, the whole thing like a power house...

So much power, his mind was almost failing to grasp it. Slowly he made his way into the centre of the projection, letting the planets move about him, exquisite in their perfect equilibrium. They were without a shadow of a doubt the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It was a little like falling in love, every part of him - mind, hearts, soul; the very essence of him - filled with pure, undiluted enrapture. He’d not felt like this since he’d looked into the Untempered Schism.

As he slowly took on board the sheer scale of the whole thing, he reflected that he had never met anyone with a mind like his own - but the person who had done this was someone he knew saw the world the same way he did. And not just that, but whoever they were they made his own ideas seem small, and that had never happened before... They were someone with vision and ability to match.

(Deep down, so deep it was barely a conscious thought, there was a sudden and innate desire to keep this for himself. All this power - if the Doctor was right, it would only be used for destruction. The things he could do with it...

And at the very, very back of his mind - his father’s voice, a soft and silky whisper: 'You’re a Time Lord. You have that right.’)

Clara was tired. It had been a long day already, and there was supposed to have been dinner and interesting people, not the disappearance of Earth itself. (Her family was safe in the 21st Century the Doctor had said, and she hadn’t dare ask him whether he was lying. Right now she preferred a lie to the alternative.)

The Doctor was now busy talking to the weird Shadow Lady, and the Seeker was wandering around inside the projection as if he was in love, which made him a little difficult to approach - she had a feeling he’d go off on some technical tangent if she went up to him, rather than be chatty and fun like he’d been before. She sighed. Mostly she felt superfluous and worried and wished she could go home.

Seemingly out of nowhere (although she had probably just been lost in her own thoughts) another Shadow Woman appeared - younger, but still with those weird red eyes, although she looked sympathetic rather than snooty. She held out a cup and saucer.

“You need sustenance. Take the water, it purifies.”

Grateful, Clara held out her hands.

“Thank you. That’s... very thoughtful.”

But then the strange alien girl suddenly fixed her with an unblinking stare.

“You are the Impossible Girl. Born to save the Doctor. But not even giving your life will help save him from the pain today will bring.”

Clara almost dropped the cup in shock, staring back wide-eyed.

“How do you know that? What’s going to happen?”

The unnerving red gaze shifted to the Seeker, who was still mesmerised.

“Do not trust the man in black.”

Clara could feel her hackles rise. She’d been given warnings like this before, and it hadn’t been what it seemed. Cryptic Seers, they were not exactly helpful.

“Why?”

The woman turned back to her, holding her eyes, unflinching.

“He is his father’s son. This is the day he lays claim to his birthright. God save you.”

She left Clara with an acute and unhappy sense of foreboding, her mind spinning back to the events that had started the whole thing. His father’s son... But he’d been so nice - genuinely concerned, and amusing, and nothing at all like his father.

Earlier.

“How about something to eat?” the Doctor suggested, fiddling about with the controls on the TARDIS checking that something-or-other was still OK after the day’s adventures (they’d saved a world populated by odd multicoloured crab-like creatures who had called them Clarrrrra and Doctorrrrrrr and had expressed their gratitude in a highly elaborate dance), before suddenly jabbing a finger at her.

“Hah! Yes. I know what to do. We’ll go to the 24th Century. Lots of nice places to eat, and we can also drop in on Jack... He asked me to stop by. You’ve not met Jack yet, have you? Oh, and you could meet Roda also - I seem to recall promising you that you could meet some of the other Time Lords? Although since there are only four of us, there’s not a lot to choose from, but Roda is a good friend... Right - Cardiff, here we come!”

But, as he put his hands on the levers to take them into the vortex, the door opened and a stranger walked in.

He was tall (although not as tall as the Doctor), with a neatly trimmed beard, and very well dressed - an expensive woollen coat over a crisp suit with matching tie, an umbrella over his arm and black gloves on his hands. And looked disturbingly familiar.

“Did someone say 24th Century? How very fortuitous - that is when I need a lift to. 27th of June, 2314 to be precise. Five minutes to three if you please? Beijing, Tiananmen Square, presuming this old junk box can manage it.”

Clara looked from the stranger to the Doctor, who didn’t seem in the least surprised - just deeply, vehemently annoyed. She knew that look, but had rarely seen it descend with such swiftness and intensity.

“Master! I’m nobody’s taxi service. I won’t-”

“Of course you will, stop complaining. If nothing else to get rid of me. Is that a new coat?”

He studied the Doctor, raising a single eyebrow that managed to convey disdain, arrogance and ridicule all in one:

“What are you aiming for this time? Willy Wonka? As if having the face of a twelve year old isn’t bad enough, why must you insist on looking like you stepped out of a Disney film? Complete with your own Charlie, winner of the Golden Ticket.”

He turned to Clara and cast a swift, dismissive glance over her before pulling a face.

“Is she new? A new pet to go with the new coat? She looks... shorter. Than the last one, I mean. And less shouty so far, which is an improvement. Although I presume she’s overflowing with morals and good intentions and bravery the way they all are. So bloody monotonous. What happened to that wife of yours? She at least was interesting.”

Leaning heavily on the console, the Doctor tiredly held out a hand, waving it in the stranger’s direction.

“Clara. This is not a Time Lord I was going to introduce you to, but here goes. His name is-”

“- the Master. I’m the Doctor’s arch nemesis. You might remember me as Harold Saxon? Feel free to look frightened.”

He was leaning on his umbrella now, gloved hands grasping the handle and a superior smile on his face, and Clara decided that she really, really didn’t like him. He seemed to have gone out of his way to tick all the boxes that said ‘creepy villain’, and she turned to the Doctor, puzzled. She did recognise him now, and it just threw up more questions.

“Sorry, but - if he’s your arch nemesis, why is he expecting a lift?”

”We... have a truce,” the Doctor replied through gritted teeth. “Which depends upon him not going around killing people or trying to take over the world... Tell me, Master, what exactly are you doing in the 24th Century?”

“Why Doctor, I was going to let it be a surprise. Besides I have every faith in your ability to work it out for yourself. Eventually.”

The two Time Lords studied each other silently for a long moment, before the Doctor abruptly set the co-ordinates and a few bumpy moments later they landed.

“Fine. Here you are. On your merry way then.”

Clara had a feeling that as soon as she was out of the way the Doctor would be on the Master’s trail, and she wasn’t about to complain. He reminded her of The Great Intelligence, although with more snark - she’d be happy to never meet him again.

The Master, however, opened the door, stood stock still, then turned.

“Doctor. You seriously need to have a look at that navigation system. You could get Roda to help you, she must be bored stiff at Torchwood as I’m... too busy to terrorise her at the moment. Of course she is a lawless, barbaric, violent pest, but she has more engineering skills than you could ever hope for. Which isn’t saying much, but this is getting ridiculous...”

“What are you taking about?” the Doctor asked querulously. “We’ve landed. Get out.”

“In one word: No!”

The Master stood back and held out a hand towards the empty star-scattered space outside the doors.

Looking up from his instruments, the Doctor’s face clouded over.

“That can’t be right.”

He studied the screen again, and then stalked forwards.

“But everything is correct. I don’t understand...”

“Well colour me stunned,” the Master observed sarcastically, before making his way to the console, carefully walking around and checking all the instruments before letting his eyes scan the screen.

“Well I’ll be damned... More than I already am, I mean.”

The Doctor turned, staring from the Master to Clara, eyes wide with incomprehension and mounting panic.

“It’s gone! Earth. It’s just... gone!”

A sudden grin spreading across his face, the Master began chuckling.

“To lose one planet, dear Doctor, may be regarded as a misfortune. To lose two looks like carelessness.”

In a few long strides the Doctor was in front of him, nose-to-nose.

“Was it you? Did you have something to do with this? You were very specific as to the timing...”

Trying to curb his evident amusement, the Master shook his head.

“I swear- I swear on my son’s life that I had no idea. Pazithi Gallifreya, I wish I did, or that I’d thought of it. The look on your face...”

He creased up again, helpless mirth overflowing until the Doctor grasped him roughly by the arm and propelled him down the stairs, their footsteps dying down after a moment as Clara craned her neck to see which way they’d gone.

The Doctor returned a little later, alone.

“What did you do?” she asked, as he walked past her to stare out of the doors again, empty space as far as the eye could reach.

“Locked him up. Used to do it a lot more frequently, but we both got thoroughly sick of each other so we tried to find a different solution, and with the Seeker all grown... But that’s old history. The question is, what do we do now?”

Clara kept silent as he contemplated what to do, unsure what this meant. Were her family OK? How and why would someone do this?

Eventually the Doctor reached out the door and grasped the phone.

“First of all, I think we’ll call the Seeker. Two heads are better than one, and he’s a smart lad, he might think of something. Besides - considering the name he chose, he might as well live up to it.”

Meanwhile, on Earth

“That’s not possible...”

Jack’s voice trailed off as he craned his neck to take in the host of planets populating the sky. Impossible, yet very real.

The Time Lady by his side tilted her head, twisting a lock of hair between her fingers, causing the feathers in her hair to catch the light and flicker like shards of red light.

“Not impossible,” she observed, “just highly improbable.”

He turned to her, but her eyes were on the sky, thoughtful and grave, and - despite the length of time she’d spent working with Torchwood - he wasn’t sure whether she was quoting Earth literature, or if it was just coincidence.

Shaking her head, she added, voice no more than a whisper:

“That is fearsome technology. I have a very, very bad feeling about this.”

Chapter Text

Leaving the cup and saucer on the steps, Clara made her way back to the Doctor. She needed distraction. And the Doctor was getting fidgety and looked like he might make something happen.

She skirted past the projection of the stolen planets - even though they weren’t real, she was oddly reluctant to walk through them - and the Doctor brightened visibly when he spotted her. She didn’t know what he and the Shadow Lady had been talking about, but they both seemed fed up.

“Clara, are you OK?” the Doctor asked, and she aimed for a smile.

“Apart from my planet being missing, you mean? Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

She should say something. But the words of the prophecy seemed lodged somewhere in the middle of her chest, too heavy to speak. And what if it was false? She’d be casting doubt on a perfectly innocent man...

The Doctor didn’t look convinced, but - with a final, searching glance - accepted her words. Then, adjusting his bow tie, he took a deep breath:

“Very well. I think it’s time for the Boy Wonder to earn his keep - Seeker!”

The young Time Lord in question was hadn’t moved from his spot in the middle of the projection, although he was no longer looking around, having instead become completely motionless, looking like he was a million miles away.

When the Doctor strode through the see-through planets, he inadvertedly confirmed this, as the Seeker didn’t notice him until the Doctor appeared right in front of him, nearly making him jump.

“What?”

“You’re from the future.” The Doctor poked the Seeker in the chest. “Relatively speaking. Did anyone ever say anything that might be helpful? Some sort of covert message to help us find Earth?”

The Seeker blinked, then went completely quiet for a long moment, before his eyes narrowed and when he spoke he seemed to drag the words out from a long gone memory.

“The only thing that fits is... one day at Torchwood. We were talking about nightmares, and the atmosphere got... weird. Uncomfortable. The twins said - and I quote - ‘On the day the nightmares return, remember this: ‘So long and thanks for all the nectar’.’ I was never sure what they meant, but then with the twins you never can tell...”

There was a pause as the Doctor looked at the Seeker with evident puzzlement - and the Seeker looked back coolly, obviously waiting for the Doctor to deduce something clever - when Clara ventured to speak.

“That sounds like The Hitchhikers Guide - you know ‘So Long and Thanks for all the Fish’?”

“Except for bees instead of dolphins...” the Seeker added and the Doctor looked from one to the other, before slapping his forehead.

“Of course! The dolphins left and tried to warn humanity before Earth was destroyed. The bees must have done the same!”

Despite everything she had seen and done, Clara still felt like sometimes surely they were taking the mickey.

“Are you saying that bees are aliens?”

The Doctor laughed. “Don't be ridiculous. Not all of them. But if the migrant bees felt something coming, some sort of danger, they could have escaped.”

The Seeker matched the Doctor’s grin:

“The Tandocca Scale!”

The Doctor then lapsed into a long explanation of what the Tandocca Scale was - complete with many gestures and additional bits of information - all of which essentially boiled down to the fact that they had a trail of miniscule metaphorical bread crumbs to follow across the stars.

Excitement lit up the Doctor’s face, and for a moment all worry and fear vanished from Clara’s mind. They would find the Earth and save the day and everything would be fine.

The Doctor grasped her hand and together they raced back to the TARDIS, practically flying through the doors, and - after tapping commands into the console - there was suddenly a definite blip on the screen. At this point they were joined by the Seeker who had not bothered running, and didn’t join in their celebratory mood either, instead nodding towards the door with a strangely blank face.

“Doctor? Someone wants a word with you...”

Standing aside to let the Doctor pass the Seeker caught Clara’s eyes, and, as they both listened to the Shadow Lady speaking outside the door, she understood the look on the Seeker’s face.

“If you have found a path to the planets, then, according to the Strictures of the Shadow Proclamation, I will have to seize your transport and your technology.”

In the doorway, the Doctor went very very still.

“Oh, really? What for?”

“The planets were stolen with hostile intent. We are declaring war, Doctor, right across the universe, and you will lead us into battle. Do not dismiss me! There are legends and whispers, tales as old as time, part of the fabric of the world - stories of a Mighty Warrior, the man who fought at Demons Run, a true hero. I and my fellow Shadow Architects have the gift of seeing truth - both past and future. You cannot hide your true nature from me, Doctor.”

“Ah.”

He turned, shooting the Seeker a look, and the Seeker winked, hands silently moving across the console.

“So sorry, but I’m not the man you want.”

And with that he shut the door in the woman’s face, as the Seeker with a chuckle flipped a lever and made them dematerialise.

Torchwood, Earth

Back below ground in the Hub, they tried to work out where exactly Earth had been moved to - and why. It was clear that it was the Earth itself that had moved, but why would anyone do that? Not to mention how...

Of course they were Torchwood, there was rarely a dull day. But this was something else.

Only four of them had made it in before the Earth had been stolen - himself, the twins - and Roda. Roda was already on her third cup of coffee, which - considering how early it still was - was beginning to worry Jack. She was naturally restless, goodness knew what that amount of caffeine would do to her.

She was almost glued to her screen, muttering to herself in a language Jack didn’t recognise, the red feathers in her hair glinting as she moved, and providing a sharp contrast to the muted brown colours of her waistcoat and trouser ensemble. Her white shirt was clean, but looked creased - she’d obviously gotten dressed in a hurry.

“Jack!” she called, and he ran across to her.

It was obvious that there was some sort of space station sitting at the heart of the assembled planets, but... Jack leaned closer. The reading was now tracking two hundred objects with an Earth-bound trajectory, heading towards Earth in a regular pattern. This had to be the creatures who’d stolen the planet.

As the swarm-like formation of spaceships drew nearer, Roda suddenly took a sharp breath, as if in pain. Jack turned to her sharply, and saw her hands gripping the workstation so hard that her knuckles had turned white - the look on her face one that reminded him far too forcefully of the Year That Never Was and the brutality they both had suffered at the Master’s hands. Fear, fury, and unwillingness to yield... (It was more than a century in the past for both of them. Yet the memories - and the nightmares - still lingered.) Her teeth were bared, and he half expected her to reach for her gun out of pure instinct.

“I know those ships...” she whispered, but, before he could ask, the system picked up the message they were broadcasting, and he froze.

“Exterminate! Exterminate! Exterminate!”

He turned to look at the twins, who were tilting their heads, listening, before identical purple eyes fastened on him.

“That doesn’t-”

“-sound good. What do we-”

“-do now?”

(One day he might get used to it. Today was not that day. The Seeker had said to think of them as one person in two bodies... Something which was confirmed in the way they worked. Always perfectly in synch, never speaking to each other, but accomplishing extraordinary things as they essentially had four hands for working with.)

He swallowed, studying his youngest recruits with sinking heart.

“We need the Doctor. Earth defences - not even ours and UNIT’s combined - are no match for Daleks! Roda, help me patch the communications relay into the Subetheric Resonator? With the modifications to the modulator that we did last year we should be able to reach him...”

Roda didn’t answer, and when she finally looked at him it was with a look in her eyes he’d never seen before.

“The Doctor wasn’t the only one who fought in the Time War. Please stay here; be safe.”

Then, turning on her heel, she left the Hub, without acknowledging Jack when he called after her.

Maybe she wanted to shield her TARDIS? Maybe she had weapons? Maybe she had flashbacks that she needed to deal with? She had never talked about the War, and considering the things she had shared, the things he had witnessed, it spoke volumes. But then she was as secretive as the Doctor, if not more so.

He sighed. If she’d wanted him to come, she’d have said so. Whatever she was up to, she didn’t need - or want - his help.

“Right. Guess it’s just you and me, twins.”

He tried to sound upbeat, but dearly wished the rest of the team was there. And he couldn’t ask them to come in now... The planet would be crawling with Daleks, there was no point in creating more meaningless heroes.

“We have names you know,” they replied, voices deadpan and perfectly in sync, and he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

TARDIS

“It's stopped.”

The Doctor stared at the screen, oddly crestfallen. Clara looked at the screen herself, but it didn’t help. It showed a multicoloured nebula - very beautiful, but without any obvious planets.

‘What do you mean? Is that good or bad? Where are we?’

The Doctor sighed, his demeanour helpless in a way that reminded her of their visit to Trenzalore, and a knot of dread settled in her stomach once more.

“The Medusa Cascade. I came here once. So very, very long ago now. It was the centre of a rift in time and space then, and I sealed it.” A ghost of a smile. “I was only ninety years old, barely more than a child.”

“But, where are the twenty seven planets?”

He shook his head.

“Nowhere. The Tandocca Trail stops dead. End of the line... But that’s not possible!”

He angrily shook a handle, as if he could physically force the world to bend to his wishes.

The Seeker had watched in silence, but when he spoke there was more than a hint of exasperation to his voice:

“Doctor, sit down and make a list of all the impossible things to have happened in your life. That should take you the best part of a week. Or you could just accept that there’s something else going on, and focus on working out what to do now!”

The Doctor turned on him: “Seeker, there is nothing here! Why don’t you work it out for once!”

The Seeker held up his hands, his frustration now nearly overflowing.

“Because this is what you do! Everything looks hopeless and impossible and you re-scramble it and come up with a solution. You know I’m rubbish at this - if you want long term planning and meticulous attention to detail I come out top, but right now? Get that brain working. Heck, there used to be a rift, as you just said - maybe someone opened it again? Could it have been big enough for pulling planets through? Doctor - think!”

A beat, then his eyes narrowed.

“Or should I go ask Dad? He might have some ideas...”

The Doctor held up a warning finger, and the Seeker smiled triumphantly. Clara bit her lip and said nothing, trying to hide a smile.

Torchwood, Earth

They listened to the broadcast in sombre silence.

“This is the Commander General of the United Nations calling the Dalek Fleet. We surrender. Repeat, we surrender. Planet Earth surrenders.”

Jack tried not to shudder.

“Oh fantastic, they can slaughter us freely now. Twins, is the phone working yet?

They nodded.

“Yes. We won’t be able to keep it hidden for long, but we’ve re-routed the signal through so many carriers that the Daleks cannot to track it back to us. Also we’ve encoded it in such a way that the Daleks should not be able to decrypt it for the longest time. If ever.”

“Knew I employed you for a reason,” Jack grinned, but - looking at the screen and what they’d created - he blinked.

“What did you do?”

One of them leaned forwards, tapping a few buttons, and he saw the programme unfold and separate, the decryption unravelling until he suddenly realised what he was looking at... And then laughed out loud in pure delight.

“Whatever happens, you are officially Employees of the Month. That’s genius!”

They smiled back smugly, and for just a second everything was right with the world.

“Right! Let’s put the call through!”

TARDIS, Medusa Cascade

“Phone!”

The Doctor practically fell out the door in his haste to answer the call, shouting into the receiver.

“Hello? Anyone there? Jack? Roda?”

Pulling the - apparently endless - chord after him into the TARDIS, he ran up to the screen which flickered as the Seeker tapped buttons:

“It’s a signal! No actual connection yet, but we can follow the signal! Seeker - have you got it?”

“Yes, I’ve got a proper fix, although I’ll need to decrypt it first,” the Seeker said. “Doctor, put the receiver down unless you want to travel with the door open. And by the way - why haven’t you patched the phone back through the console?”

“Shut up,” the Doctor retorted, but the Seeker wasn’t paying attention. His eyes were fixed on the screen as he tapped buttons and made weird swirly symbols appear and disappear, before going ‘Ah-ha!’, triumphantly making the strange signs unravel - and then...

Eyes widening he brought a hand up to his mouth, speechless.

The Doctor tapped buttons on the other side, clearly impatient.

“Well come on then, insert the co-ordinates so we can go!”

The Seeker slowly lowered his hand, looking somewhere between deeply touched and (there really was no other word) amused.

“But the encryption. Look at it. Oh it must have been the twins. Never knew that kind of thing was passed down... Maybe it’s hereditary or innate? But genius, the Daleks would never get it. No wonder Jack gave them a job...”

“What do you mean?”

“Doctor, look!”

The Doctor duly looked, pulling the screen close, and within moments appeared rather disconcerted.

“They can’t... Surely...”

“You’re being cryptic again,” Clara complained. “What is it?”

“Music,” the Doctor replied, not meeting her eyes, at the same time as the Seeker said “Sex”.

“Huh?”

“It’s both,” the Seeker clarified. “Music as sex. Although usually transmitted telepathically.”

He ran his finger across the screen, following the pattern.

“Jamie’s Song... Never thought I’d see it again.”

For a moment he was lost to some memory or other, before snapping out of it.

“Sorry. Let’s go find Earth, shall we?”

And then it was business as usual as they all hung onto the console while parts of it seemed to be blowing up and bursting into flames.

“We're travelling through time!” the Doctor shouted, and Clara - despite the shower of sparks raining down over her - couldn’t help but shout back.

“You don’t say!”

The Doctor laughed, and - when the TARDIS finally stopped shaking a few moments later - explained, holding out his hand towards the screen where twenty seven planets were now visible.

“There they are. But! The entire Medusa Cascade has been put a second out of sync with the rest of the universe. Perfect hiding place. Tiny little pocket of time. But we found them!”

She smiled at him, happy and excited.

“So what do we do now?”

“Cardiff?” the Seeker asked, and the Doctor nodded.

“Cardiff. The call was, um, definitely Torchwood. We can pick up Jack and Roda, get an update, and take it from there.”

The TARDIS landed and the Doctor stepped out, Clara and the Seeker a little behind. The sky was dark, populated by planets and eerily alien, and Clara wrapped her arms around herself, unsettled.

“Where is everyone? It’s early morning, there should be people around,” the Doctor said, slowly turning to take in the emptiness of the large open space they had parked in.

Looking around, Clara recognised the tall mirrored fountain in the middle of the Plass, and behind them, looming out of the darkness, In These Stones, Horizons Sing inscribed on the front of the Wales Millennium Centre in letters so large Clara was almost worried they’d be crushed.

She remembered coming here once for a concert. The letters had been lit up, bright and inspirational, and she’d recently thought of maybe bringing her students here, or at least use the words to illustrate how five simple words could contain unexpected breath and depth, creating entirely new concepts...

She wasn’t feeling inspired now. Foreboding enveloped her again, the darkness and eerie quietness oppressive, and the planets in the sky looked as if they might all fall down on them.

Then a shout caught their attention.

“Doctor!”

A young woman ran out of the Millennium Centre towards them - she was about Clara’s size, with long dark hair, and dressed in a red top and black trousers. There were people in the Centre calling after her, but the Seeker took hold of Clara’s arm, staring at the other girl as she reached the Doctor, then looking from Clara to the newcomer, eyes widening.

“How the hell?”

Clara couldn’t speak. It was her. Like... looking in a mirror, except for a slightly different haircut and a Welsh accent. The other Clara was staring at the Doctor, wide-eyed, and clearly thrilled, not noticing anyone except him.

“Doctor! I can’t believe it. Is it really you?”

His hands stuttered, but eventually he found his voice.

“Clara?” he asked, before their attention was abruptly caught by a strangely metallic voice from the bay that instinctively made Clara freeze in fear.

“Ex-ter-mi-nate! Ex-ter-mi-nate! Ex-ter-mi-nate!”

The weird metal creature - or robot? - glided slowly towards them, with a lack of hurry that was somehow worse than the dreadful speed of the Cybermen. Pure terror was now cascading through Clara’s mind, half-forgotten nightmares paralysing her, and she knew this killing machine had no need of speed, it always caught its prey in the end (‘Where am I? Where am I? Where am I?’ she was lost and scared and alone...)

But the other Clara moved quickly and instinctively.

“No!”

Throwing herself in front of the Doctor she took the full blast; collapsing on the ground. The Doctor fell to his knees, and Clara watched, unable to move, as her mirror image looked at him with fading eyes.

“Run...” she whispered, and then she was gone.

It seemed as if time was frozen, none of them moving, when the dome of the metal monster suddenly exploded. They all jumped, and Clara looked through the wreckage to see something... almost impossible. As if she had landed in a comic book super hero movie, and had now come to the scene where the hero made his big entrance.

The man on the other side of the now smoking wreck was tall, handsome and square-jawed, dressed in a long military coat, and carrying a gun even larger than the one she had used to fight the Cybermen... Who could he be? Surely he couldn’t be real? Maybe they were just the spectators in someone else’s story? Was it all a dream? The world seemed to have gone strangely fuzzy around the edges.

(She could hear the other Clara’s friends screaming; saw the Doctor cradle her, her body limp like a rag doll’s; saw Handsome Hero Guy run to the Doctor’s side, still vigilantly scanning the surroundings, gun at the ready, whilst the Seeker pulled her back and into the TARDIS. Handsome Hero Guy was almost yelling at the Doctor to get back in the TARDIS also, he’d take care of it, he was the only one that was safe... Why, she wondered. Was he bullet proof? Or Superman with a better dress sense?)

The Seeker settled her on one of the seats, then - after a moment’s hesitation - ran down the stairs.

(River’s voice, distant... ‘The time winds will tear you into a million pieces. A million versions of you, living and dying all over time and space, like echoes.’)

She’d known. But she’d not thought she’d witness it...

“Run you clever boy. And remember me...” she whispered as the Seeker reappeared, a blanket in his hands. He shot her an inscrutable look as he unfolded the blanket (someone had cut a hole in the middle - how peculiar), before wrapping it around her:

“You’re in shock. This’ll help. If nothing else, then psychologically.”

A moment later the Doctor entered, and the Seeker quietly moved out of the way.

“Clara. My Clara, are you OK?”

She nodded, even though apparently she was shaking. Maybe the blanket was a good idea after all.

The Doctor was holding her face now, watching her intently, worried and concerned, and the strange red-eyed girl’s words skimmed across her mind...

(‘You are the Impossible Girl. Born to save the Doctor. But not even giving your life will help save him from the pain today will bring.’)

Did that mean everything was coming true? Because she’d died, saving him. But if even dying couldn’t save him from what was coming... What could she do? What should she do? And what was going to happen?

“Why were there two of her?” the Seeker’s voice cut through. “Because that was not spatial genetic multiplicity. She knew you.”

The Doctor shook his head, glancing over his shoulder.

“It’s a long story. I’ll explain later. If we survive the Daleks of course.”

(Daleks. That’s what they were. The nightmarish almost-memories from her other lives apart, she mostly remembered what he’d told her. How he had ended the War, the last great Time War, between the Daleks and the Time Lords... And here they were again. His greatest enemies. The ones he’d defeated at such a terrible cost.)

But then the Seeker spoke again and she lost the thread in her mind. She seemed to be all jumbled, falling, lost (‘I don't know where I am. It's like I'm breaking into a million pieces and there's only one thing I remember. I have to save the Doctor.’). She needed to re-connect...

The Seeker was standing by the console, typing something into the keyboard and studying the screen as he spoke, obviously multitasking:

“Ah yes, Daleks. I’m guessing we’re waiting for Jack? Because we’re sitting ducks, here. So please tell me Doctor, because we already saw a woman die for you: What have you got? What’s your plan? Or, are you just going to do what you always do? Talk very fast, hope something good happens, take the credit? That's generally how it works, right?”

Looking up he fixed the Doctor with an angry glare.

“But what if it doesn’t? What if your luck runs out? Why is it only ever the bad guys who have a proper plan?”

The Doctor, still kneeling by her feet, was looking up at the Seeker as if he’d been slapped, silent and without moving. A moment, then the Seeker lowered his eyes, sighing deeply, and typed in another command.

“I know, I know, you are what you are, wouldn’t want you any other way. I just hate not being in control, especially when people are dying needlessly. Too many damn issues.” A beat. “And if you say you’re sorry I’ll punch you.”

What else he was going to say was lost as the TARDIS suddenly shook.

“Dammit! I told you - sitting ducks!”

The Doctor jumped up, scanning the controls.

“They’re moving us. But... I don’t understand. They shouldn’t know me!”

The Seeker stared.

“I’m sorry?”

“The Daleks. They don’t know me. Not anymore. She made them forget.”

The Seeker was trying to fight with the console, and getting nowhere.

“They’ve disabled the controls, and the shields are down! What do you mean forgotten you, you’re their number one enemy! And they’ve clearly not forgotten how to fight... Did Jack say anything about where Roda is? Her battle TARDIS would come in really handy right about now. And she who?”

The Doctor shook his head, scanning the screen.

“Clara. Another one. It’s... very complicated. Where are we going?”

“The centre - from what I’ve been able to ascertain so far, it’s called the Crucible...”

Their eyes met, and Clara felt her insides turn unhappily. There were unspoken things in their eyes, dangers that she wished she could hide from.

Then they landed, and from outside they heard a voice:

“Doctor, you will step forth or die.”

The Seeker glared daggers.

“Oh yes, they’ve no idea who you are, clearly.”

The Doctor didn’t reply.

“But if we go out, won’t they kill us also?” Clara asked, and the Doctor pulled a face.

“If they wanted to kill us, they’d have done it already. Besides - there’s nowhere to run. Better go out and face them, we’ve been through worse, right?”

She tried to smile bravely, but it felt like a lie. As the Doctor laid his hand on the handle, however, she stopped him, turning to the Seeker.

“What about your father?”

A pause, as the Seeker and the Doctor looked at each other.

“It’s... probably best to leave him where he is,” the Seeker said eventually.

A beat, then the Doctor expanded.

“He would probably try to make a deal with them.”

“The Daleks?”

“Oh yes. Wouldn’t be the first time. Or he’d run away. If they have indeed recreated the Crucible from the War...”

His voice trailed off, and he adjusted his bow tie.

“Well then,” he said. “Here goes. Let's find out what they want.”

Stepping out of the door they were faced with a huge space, Daleks moving through the air all around them. The Seeker whistled quietly, and the Doctor looked around him with a look in his eyes Clara couldn’t work out. Much like he’d looked at the not-Doctor, as if his very essence was recoiling. She wasn’t sure if thousands of Daleks were better or worse than just one, but she dearly wished she had a big gun.

In front of them a large red Dalek approached, before speaking to them - its voice deep and oddly resonant, and she realised that this must have been the creature speaking previously.

“In threes they come, as Dalek Caan foretold: The Doctor, the Impossible Girl and the Orphan.”

The Seeker frowned.

“I’m not an-”

He stopped abruptly, sudden shock on his face as he turned to catch the Doctor’s equally startled eyes, the two of them pivoting on the spot towards the TARDIS - only to see it vanish through a trap door, as the Dalek behind them spoke:

“The TARDIS is a weapon and it will be destroyed.”

Chapter Text

The Doctor fell to his knees, hands flat against the floor where the trap door had closed again and his TARDIS vanished:

“What have you done? Where's it going?”

The large red Dalek behind them answered.

“The Crucible has a heart of Z-neutrino energy. The TARDIS will be deposited into the core.”

Jumping back onto his feet, he turned, aghast.

“You can't. You've taken the defences down. It'll be torn apart... Please. Please. I'm begging you...”

The red Dalek stayed immovable and merely continued speaking, its voice almost cruel.

“You are connected to the TARDIS. Now feel it die.”

He wanted to say that there was someone still inside, but revealing who would not do any good. He could sense the TARDIS consciousness screaming, heard the briefest of mental cries from his oldest friend (“What the ever loving f-”), but the Daleks were counting down, rel by rel, as he could only stand there, helpless, unable to comprehend what was happening.

And then there was only silence. Terrible, terrible silence.

The red Dalek spoke again.

“The TARDIS has been destroyed. Now tell me, Doctor. What do you feel? Anger? Sorrow? Despair?”

Hands curled into fists, eyes blurring, he didn’t reply.

“But if emotions are so important, surely we have enhanced you?” the red Dalek continued.

His chest was too tight by far, and he felt Clara’s hand unfurling his own and taking hold of it as if in a dream.

“I just wanted to say hello. Hello, Doctor. It's so very, very nice to meet you.”

Two boys, running across pastures of red grass, stretching far across the slopes of Mount Perdition, calling up at the sky. They were going to be friends forever...

How could it end like this?

‘On the day the nightmares return...’ - how bitterly true. It didn’t even help that those words, a gift from the future, indicated that somehow they’d get out of this. A future - if he had one - without his TARDIS, without his oldest friend (enemy). He couldn’t even contemplate it.

So many partings.

Amelia's Last Farewell, his Ponds lost to time... His quiet, lonely retreat above London, his peace shattered by another Clara, and another death. So much death - it haunted him, stalked his every step, never letting up, never letting go.

“I’ve been ‘enhanced’ quite enough these past few years,” he eventually said, unable to keep the rancour out of his voice.

“I’m so sorry, Doctor,” the Seeker murmured softly, and the Doctor closed his eyes, trying to regain focus. The boy had lost his father...

“Seeker...” he began, but the young Time Lord shook his head, face expressionless.

“Not now.”

Grateful that he needn’t try to find words he knew he wouldn’t be able to say, he tried to merely stay in the present.

(One part of his mind was still ticking over, telling him that this couldn’t happen, he’d stood in the TARDIS when it was his tomb, but he knew better than anyone how time could be rewritten and refashioned into a new shape...)

The red Dalek spoke once more: “Escort them to the Vault. They are the playthings of Davros now.”

The name made him almost stop in his tracks, the sheer shock of the name causing his mind to reboot.

“Did you say... Davros?”

A Dalek poked him in the back and he forced his legs to work, even as he heard the Seeker’s sharp intake of breath.

“Doctor - you were right.”

They emerged into a strangely cavernous, red-lit place, reminding the Doctor of the Dalek Asylum in feeling... But at the heart of this Dalek web there would not be a Soufflé Girl, aiding and abetting. Only an ancient madman who should have been dead long, long ago.

Yet despite the Doctor’s misgivings, Davros did indeed appear, gliding out of the shadows, the Dalek casing around his lower body moving soundlessly. The closed hollows of his eyes and his ashen, deeply lined face were unchanged, as if they’d met yesterday. The Doctor almost felt vertiginous. Of all the impossible things to happen today...

“You have the face of a child, and yet its arrogance is unchanged. Welcome to my new Empire, Doctor. It is only fitting that you should bear witness to the resurrection and the triumph of Davros, lord and creator of the Dalek race.”

The voice was the same also. That clipped, almost staccato inflection that was mirrored in the Daleks...

Belatedly remembering to check on Clara, he turned to his right, and saw that she was speechlessly horrified. Whereas the Seeker - on the far side of Clara - was studying Davros with a look that was pure fascination. But then he’d grown up with the stories... He didn’t see the desiccated body, but the whole legacy. And was probably focussing on the difficulties in front of them in order not to think of his own loss - a coping mechanism he’d developed at far too young an age.

The Doctor briefly closed his eyes. He should probably take a leaf out of the youngster’s book... Not allow himself to dwell on the recent loss, nor the long history he shared with Davros. No, looking back would not help at all... Focus on the present, find out what was happening now, that was the key.

While he was still trying to take stock of the situation (counting exits and operating stations and the very low number of Dalek guards), Davros lifted his only hand.

“Activate the holding cells.”

Bright spotlights suddenly beamed down, power fields instantly encompassing them. The Seeker experimentally reached out and touched the field, causing bright white light to shimmer around him. He seemed oddly unconcerned, but the Doctor wasn’t really paying attention. Most of his still half-formed plans had been ruled out in a single swoop.

“Excellent,” Davros rasped. “Even when powerless, a Time Lord is best contained.”

Finally the Doctor found his voice. He had to keep Davros talking - he would want to revel in his victory, and would hopefully give something away. Adjusting his bow tie, he did his best to look his ancient enemy in the eye.

“I don't understand - you were destroyed. In the very first year of the Time War, at the Gates of Elysium. I saw your command ship fly into the jaws of the Nightmare Child. I tried to save you.”

The Seeker spluttered.

“You tried to- what is wrong with you?”

Davros ignored the interruption.

“It took one stronger than you to save me. Dalek Caan himself.”

Another spotlight now shone, focussing on an exposed Dalek, residing in a shell of armour, and it chilled the Doctor to realise it was the same Dalek he had met so many centuries before - Rose, and later Martha, by his side. He had offered compassion. Caan had chosen to run.

And then it spoke, its voice lilting like a mad man’s, with a strange ebb and flow, as if liquid.

“I flew into the wild and fire. I danced and died a thousand times.”

Davros expounded, clearly relishing the story:

“Emergency Temporal Shift took him back into the Time War itself.”

The Doctor felt as if the ground beneath his feet was shifting.

“But that's impossible. The entire War is time locked.”

(His words sounded feeble, even to his own ears. Something got in... And something got out. The proof was right in front of him.)

Yet Davros smiled, and the Doctor, out of the corner of his eye, saw Clara wrap her arms around herself.

“And yet he succeeded. Oh, it cost him his mind, but imagine. A single, simple Dalek succeeded where Emperors and Time Lords have failed. A testament, don't you think, to my remarkable creations?"

The Doctor nodded slowly, adding up what he’d seen so far. There were none of the Daleks created from the Progenitor, nothing to suggest that they knew there had been other survivors. No, this lot was hidden away, out of sync with the rest of the universe - with their own purpose. And Davros was at the heart of it all.

“And you created a new race of Daleks.”

“I gave myself to them, quite literally. Each one grown from a cell of my own body.”

With difficulty, his single functioning hand struggling to unfasten the catches of his tunic, Davros slowly revealed a section of his torso... Instead of skin, they saw bare ribs covered with only a few nerve endings, his internal organs exposed and visible.

(I thought you'd run out of ways to make me sick. Hello again.)

Clara looked like she had onboard the Russian sub after Skaldak had ‘dissected’ the sailors - pale and withdrawn, clearly wishing herself a million miles away. The Seeker on the other hand was clearly still captivated, not at all put off by the unpleasantness of the view. But then he’d always been a scientist above all else.

“New Daleks. True Daleks. I have my children, Doctor. What do you have, now? Apart from these two youngsters beside you - so lost, so helpless. What have you given them? Or is it maybe the other way round - you do not give, you only take.”

He should say something. Except he wasn’t sure what. This was usually the point where he would be taking control of the conversation, thinking of a way out - but he seemed paralysed, the recent loss making him unable to focus despite his best efforts, every possible plan falling apart at the lack of a TARDIS. And Davros was in a terribly chatty mood, which was backfiring rather badly.

“The girl beside you, the Impossible Girl - Dalek Caan has seen her. Dying for you, over and over and over again, her echoes all across time and space. And the boy - the orphan boy, the last child of Gallifrey, born without a home and a people.”

A grimace, that might be a smile - it was hard to tell.

“It is fitting that you look so young, Doctor, you surround yourself with children. Youngsters doomed, because of you. They all die, don’t they Doctor? Again and again they die for you. And you cannot save them. You could say that they die at your hand... Like your own people did, down to the last infant.”

If there was a way to respond, the Doctor couldn’t find it. He knew that in a moment Clara would jump to his defence, proudly declaring that he was worth dying for... Not realising how her words would only hurt him further.

But it was the Seeker who spoke, voice coldly disdainful.

“Are we supposed be shocked? He’s a hero.”

The words held so much scorn that Clara was clearly taken aback, finally speaking:

“What do you mean?”

The Seeker tilted his head.

“You don’t know what the definition of a hero is? It's someone who gets people killed.”

Taking in the look on Clara’s face, his demeanour softened.

“My father was an evil, psychotic megalomaniac who liked to kill people for fun. He and the Doctor played the moral blame-game my whole life, usually with me in the middle. I stopped listening a long, long time ago. You’d be hard pressed to find any finer points of the ethics of genocide that they haven’t debated to death.”

Clara seemed confused, but the words had been exactly what the Doctor needed. He’d been unprepared for the arrows in Davros’ quiver, but he’d not spent centuries trying to contain a madman without finding ways to manage him. Threading his fingers together, he studied Davros carefully.

“The boy has a point. So why are we here? Is there a plan beyond just trying to list my sins? Seems a little petty.”

“You must be here. It was foretold. Even the Supreme Dalek would not dare to contradict the prophecies of Dalek Caan. He saw time. Its infinite complexity and majesty, raging through his mind. And he saw you. All of you.”

“This I have foreseen, in the wild and the wind,” Dalek Caan rambled, tentacles waving. “The Doctor will be here as witness, at the end of everything. The Doctor and his precious companions.”

Davros tapped his fingers, the metal strips on his digits clacking on the controls in front of him.

“Yes, the ending approaches. The testing begins.”

“Testing of what? My patience?” the Doctor asked, beginning to feel very greatly annoyed at all the waffle.

“The Reality bomb.”

At this, they heard the voice of the red Dalek once again. The ‘Supreme’ Dalek Davros had called it... And if Davros was stuck down here, it meant that he wasn’t really in charge, didn’t it? They were essentially a diversion, keeping Davros occupied while the Daleks themselves got on with whatever scheme they had planned. Some ‘children’ they were. Took what they needed, left their creator behind. He tucked the insight away in case it might come in handy later - undermining confidence at a crucial point could be useful.

“Testing calibration of Reality bomb. Firing in ten rels. Nine, eight, seven...”

A large screen appeared, showing the Medusa Cascade outside the Crucible. Another screen showed a group of humans, frightened and unsure, locked in a fortified room.

“Activate planetary alignment field,” the Supreme Dalek’s voice rang out, and, as it spoke, the planets began to glow. The Doctor slowly - as if in a dream - forced his mind to process what he was witnessing, putting together all the different parts of information he possessed.

“That's... Z-neutrino energy, flattened by the alignment of the planets into a single string. Davros - have you completely lost your mind?”

He watched, helplessly, palms pressed to the side of the holding cell, as the captured humans on the screen opened their mouths to scream, yet before they could make a sound the very fabric of their bodies was torn apart into nothing.

(He remembered Rory turning to dust, Amy’s tearful resolve. ‘This is the dream.’ If only he could wake up from this nightmare...)

“Doctor... Please... What happened?”

It was Clara, wide-eyed and alarmed. The Seeker had folded his arms, silent and unmoving, eyes fixed on the screens, and the Doctor was still shell-shocked, so it was Davros who answered her question.

“Electrical energy, Impossible Girl. Every atom in existence is bound by an electrical field. The Reality bomb cancels it out. Structure falls apart. That test was focused on the prisoners alone. Full transmission will dissolve every form of matter.”

The Doctor felt his features harden, watching his old, old enemy with new levels of hate:

“The twenty seven planets. They become one vast transmitter, blasting that wavelength.”

Davros nodded.

“Across the entire universe. Never stopping, never faltering, never fading. People and planets and stars will become dust, and the dust will become atoms, and the atoms will become nothing. And the wavelength will continue, breaking through the Rift at the heart of the Medusa Cascade into every dimension, every parallel, every single corner of creation. This is my ultimate victory, Doctor! The destruction of reality itself!”

The Seeker shifted, and the Doctor turned to see what he thought. But the youngster was merely shaking his head, not speaking or offering any kind of insight into what was going on in his head. There was something downright casual about his attitude that felt... wrong. Where had the anger gone, the pain of witnessing the death of innocent victims? If nothing else the Doctor expected frustration over the situation, or an acknowledgement that the Seeker was ready to help. Something. For one single moment he allowed himself to wish for River - River whom he had always been able to rely on, who’d grasped his plans instantly and had been able to improvise when he faltered...

Before the Doctor could say anything, the Supreme Dalek’s voice boomed out once more:

“Prepare for universal detonation. The fleet will gather at the Crucible. All Daleks will return to shelter from the cataclysm. We will become the only life forms in existence.”

Think, think, think! Everything was happening much too fast, and he felt old and slow.

At that moment a screen unfurled again, and Jack’s face appeared.

“Captain Jack Harkness, calling all Dalek boys and girls. Are you receiving me?”

The Doctor nearly folded over in relief. Jack. How had he forgotten Jack?

Davros didn’t seem the least bothered however, merely smiling that unpleasant smile he excelled at.

“It begins, as Dalek Caan foretold: The Warriors assemble. Captain - please state your intent.”

Jack continued, unaffected by the sneer in Davros’s voice.

“Don't send in your goons, or I'll set this thing off. I've got a Warp Star wired into the mainframe - I break this shell, the entire Crucible goes up.”

The Seeker - finally showing emotion - was covering his mouth in mute horror, as the Doctor gasped.

“You can't! Where did you get a Warp Star?”

Jack smiled, the softness at odds with the seriousness of the situation.

“Sarah Jane gave it to me once. For a day like today.”

The Seeker lowered his hands, eyes furious. He seemed to be properly engaging with the unfolding events for the first time since they’d been captured, for which the Doctor was silently grateful.

“I’m pretty sure she didn’t tell you to use it in the single most stupid way you possibly could. Jack I swear, if we come out of this alive, I’ll kill you!”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Jack replied, lifting an eyebrow, but before the Doctor could process this, another screen appeared, and the Doctor felt sure his hearts stopped for several seconds. Maybe time itself stopped, he didn’t know.

“Hello Sweetie,” she said, and the world might already have ceased existing.

“How... where...” he finally managed, not sure whether to curse or bless this unexpected time blip.

She smirked confidently, curls practically dancing, and for one endless moment he felt like telling Davros to just go ahead, blow up the universe. As long as he could keep her...

“I’m on the lost Moon of Poosh,” she replied, unaware of - or ignoring - his inner turmoil.

“But it’s lost,” the Seeker said, head tilted, eyes now curious and alert.

(Maybe he’d been in shock. Which wasn’t surprising, everything considered.)

“Which is why I thought it would be an interesting project! As I’m sure you’re aware, Poosh has some fascinating ancient civilisations, the greatest one situated on this moon. So I calculated the precise date of the disappearance, got hold of a grant and a digging licence and set off on an expedition. It’s been rather brilliant to be honest... Seeker, you have an academic mind: I’ve saved all my findings and research onto the home box. If I don’t make it out alive, please make sure it gets to Luna University?”

“Of course River,” he answered gravely, and she beamed back.

“Thank you, dear. Now, Daleks... I’m presuming you need these twenty seven planets for something nefarious. Not too bothered, except a) you’ve taken my husband hostage, and b) he gets very, very upset if anyone tries to harm the universe. No really, I tried once, and he got ever so cross. So, in short, I’ve rigged up the engines of my ship into a neat little explosive device, which I’ve patched into integral fault lines of this moon and - after a little bit of jiggery-pokery - all I need to do is touch this lever here and your twenty seven planets become twenty six.”

Timelines were fracturing and falling apart all around him, and he felt the scant hold he’d had on reality since the destruction of the TARDIS was slipping out of his hands. If she died now...

“River, no! You can’t-”

“Hush, my Love. I’m saving the world. Be proud.”

(He’d said his goodbyes, had laid everything to rest. She slept in his mind now, like everyone else he had lost... He couldn’t do this.)

Clara was smiling, however.

“Doctor... They have leverage.”

It didn’t help. Davros didn’t appear in the least concerned - who knew what the insane Dalek had told him? A prophetic Dalek... To just what degree was Davros ahead of the curve?

Then a third screen flickered to life, and Davros nodded to himself.

“In threes they come, like Dalek Caan foretold - the Doctor’s Warriors. The Man Who Cannot Die, The Woman Who Married the Doctor and... The Exile.”

And indeed, it was Roda’s face that appeared, and in her eyes the Doctor saw that which they usually both kept hidden and never spoke of. The marks the Time War had left on them, the terror and pain tucked away where no one could see... Yet now visible, blazing out from the screen.

"Hello Daleks.”

Unlike Jack or River she didn’t smile, instead merely studying Davros with such intense hatred that the Master would surely have felt jealous.

“Apologies for dropping in unannounced. But I saw your ships and remembered I had this... Well, it’s nothing really. Just a toy I never got to return, after the War. Funny how having no planet and - as such - no barracks to go back to works out, isn't it? Especially if the War just won't bloody die...!”

She pulled back a little and the Doctor saw the ‘toy’ she was talking about, inhaling sharply at the sight. She continued, unaffected.

“I am well aware that activating it will kill me, but it’ll destroy you too, so it’s a price I am more than willing to pay. After all, my survival was nothing more than a fluke, it seems fitting I should end the war for good...”

“Roda - wait!”

Everything was wrong. There was no panic, no worry, Davros knew what was going to happen, it wouldn’t work-

And indeed, at that moment, the Supreme Dalek’s voice rang out again. It was clearly monitoring them, allowing Davros his moment of revenge, toying with them, but stepping in if anything got out of hand...

“Enough. Engage defence zero five.”

Another Dalek voice: “Transmat engaged.”

A fraction of a second later, his three warriors were standing beside him, slightly disoriented from the swift change in location.

“Don't move, all of you. Stay still,” he said, instinctively reaching out for River, but the force field got in the way.

“Guard them! On your knees, all of you. Surrender!”

It was Davros again, and - one after the other - they fell to their knees. Within moments they were encased in holding cells, and something that had to be blind panic was beginning to descend in the Doctor’s mind. By now he should be at least halfway through enacting a plan - at the very least he should have a plan, not still be stuck on ‘I can’t get out’.

Roda’s stance was that same combination of suppressed fury and unbowed resilience, even in the face of defeat, which he remembered so well from the Valiant; River was studying the room, clearly counting exits and operating stations and the very low number of Dalek guards - and Jack had turned to say hello, but faltered when he laid eyes on Clara.

“But... She just died. I was there. How...”

The Doctor opened his mouth to say ‘I’ll explain later’ - except there might not be a later.

Instead he shook his head and said “It’s complicated”, and then Davros spoke again.

“The final prophecy is in place,” he said, with relish. “The Doctor is here as witness, with the children he cannot save, and his warrior friends who fail. Watch him suffer! Supreme Dalek, the time has come. Now, detonate the Reality bomb!”

“Activate planetary alignment field,” the Supreme Dalek’s voice rang out. “Universal Reality detonation in two hundred rels.”

Too soon, it was too soon. He wasn’t ready, there’d not been enough time...

“Davros, listen to me! Stop, please...”

But Davros was beyond listening, or reason.

“Nothing can stop the detonation. Nothing and no one!”

The gloating turned into a full manic laugh, and with terrible finality the truth sank in. This was the end. He’d finally run out of luck - he’d lost, and the universe was lost. But then he’d been living off borrowed time for so very long...

He turned to River, impossibly grateful that she was here. Even though he could read the hope in her eyes, the belief that he could still save the day - knew she was ready for his cue, when all he could do was shake his head.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and she accepted the reality of the situation without so much as blinking. (He daren’t look at Clara, see her faith crumble. She couldn’t save him this time.)

“We had a good run, Sweetie,” River whispered gently; but, as he allowed himself one final gaze into his wife’s eyes, he was interrupted by the Seeker suddenly speaking:

“And... I believe that’s my cue. ‘Nothing and no one?’ I would like to challenge that. Your little pet seer has been lying to you, Davros - lying its little head off. It’s all about names, you see. I’m no poor little lost orphan, helpless and doomed without the good Doctor here. Please. I’d be insulted, if it hadn’t come in so useful. But time is running short, so I should probably introduce myself properly...”

Lifting his chin he smiled, a smile that caught the Doctor off guard: it was pure Saxon - superior, arrogant, self-assured; cold.

“I am the Seeker, son of the Master. And these-” he held up his hands, palms open, “-are my friends.”

And, out of the thin air above his head, four Toclafane appeared.

Chapter Text

For a few wonderful seconds, Clara felt only relief.

A sort of breathless, heart-beating-too-quickly relief, where she half expected to wake up in bed, the covers twisted and her brow covered in sweat, before realising that it had all been a dream.

(Sometimes all her echoes filtered through at night; and when she was in that liminal space between sleeping and waking she could sense untold lives and worlds hovering on the edge of her awareness, almost tangible until she tried to hold onto them, when they evaporated in wisps of smoke.)

But this was no dream; no echo.

It was far too real, and - until the Seeker had spoken up - she had been trying to wrap her head around the fact that the Doctor was helpless. That they had lost... That everything was lost.

Except salvation had arrived at the very last second.

The strange metal spheres looked somehow familiar, albeit with oddly ominous overtones that she couldn’t immediately place. Dismissing her vague unease she turned to the others - and her spontaneous relief faltered. All of them looked to be at various stages between horrified disbelief (the Doctor), apprehensive caution (River), through shock (Jack) to suspicious incredulity (Roda).

The Seeker continued speaking, seemingly unaware of the effect he was having, although now he was clearly addressing the spheres.

“Harvey - see the cyclops in the bath chair? If he moves so much as his little finger even a fraction of a millimetre - cut off his hand!”

There was a tching noise, as sharp blades suddenly projected out from the metal casing, and the sphere flew off.

“Bonnie, Clyde - take out the Daleks and secure the room. Princess - if you can, stop the countdown. And get me - but only me - out of this holding cell.”

“As you wish Lord Seeker,” they replied, their voices metallic yet playful, as they scattered.

For a few moments chaos reigned, as the Daleks and the spheres fought, but the metal balls were smaller and more agile than their adversaries, fairly easily outmanoeuvring the more unwieldy Daleks, and Clara was suddenly grateful for her holding cell, as the shots bounced right off the see-through surface.

Trying not to jump every time the cell was hit, she turned to the Doctor and realised that he had seemingly turned to stone.

“Doctor... the metal balls? What are they?”

He shot her an inscrutable look, and when he replied his voice was harsh and strangely bitter:

“They’re not his friends. They’re no one’s friends.”

And that’s as far as they got, since at that point the fighting let up, the smoke cleared, and they realised the Seeker was now standing by one of the main consoles, tapping out something or other.

The next moment the countdown stopped.

“That’s better,” he smiled, as casual and relaxed as if chatting over a cup of tea in the kitchen. "Why do villains never read Peter’s Evil Overlord List? Countdowns should never go to zero, they should go off while the heroes are still busy implementing their plan. Although I am aware that I should count my blessings today...”

They all stared, no one sure what to say, and it was Davros who eventually broke the stunned silence.

“What is the meaning of this prattle? Your little toys can’t keep this up for long, child.”

The Seeker stood up straight, arms crossed, and his eyes were calm but dangerous:

“Oh they’re not toys. They’re called the Toclafane, and in case you didn’t notice, three of them just destroyed eight of your Daleks with no difficulty at all. But I better make it official I suppose - Davros, I am declaring war. I could even do it in the name of the Shadow Proclamation I suppose... But I don’t really need them, what with being rather brilliant and more than capable on taking you on alone.”

As he spoke, Clara with a jolt remembered why the spheres looked familiar. It had been the day after the election, back in 2007 (the first time she voted, she’d felt terribly grown-up), watching the TV avidly because of the strange ‘aliens’ that were going to appear. There had been President Winters, befuddled as the floating balls - ‘Toclafane’, such an odd name - spoke of a ‘Mister Master’ who turned out to be Harold Saxon... She took a swift breath. The Master! The Seeker’s father, of course. And he’d looked just like the Seeker did now - never mind the different face - just before he’d had the President murdered...

“I should have had you killed before you ever entered this room,” Davros rasped, and the Seeker grinned.

“Oh yes you should. And even so, I am going to leave you alive, just for a little while longer... It’s risky, but dammit I’m not going to waste a chance like this.”

Before Davros could reply, the Doctor spoke up, voice cautious and his hands twisted together in a manner that belied the relative composure of his face.

“Good, very good. Very nice impersonation of your father. You’ve got the upper hand, you can let us out now...”

The Seeker let his eyes pass over them speculatively, before turning to Davros again.

“Oh, do excuse me, Davros. Little bit of personal business. Back in a minute.”

Swiftly tapping something else out on the console, he smirked.

“Also sent the Supreme Dalek a message that there was an unexpected problem, but you’re working to fix it. Should give us a good 500 rels at least...”

Then, walking over to the Doctor, the Seeker studied him for a moment, then shook his head.

“Let you out? Not a chance. Remember my rant earlier on? About why it’s only the bad guys who have a plan? I was being slightly economical with the truth. I have a plan. Several, as a matter of fact. Actually...”

He looked over his shoulder.

“Caan? I’m very much looking forward to finding out why you’ve been lying... But for the moment - are there any prophecies you can now divulge? Anything about me, say?”

They all waited as the deformed Dalek (or was that how they all looked underneath their shells? Clara shuddered to think) took a moment before speaking:

“This I saw through the fire and the strife: The Child of Two Worlds will break the Doctor’s hearts.”

The Seeker’s eyes slowly fastened on the Doctor once more.

“Not exactly what I was expecting,” the Seeker eventually said, “but certainly accurate. Think I’ve probably broken one already and am well on my way to break the other one. Sorry Doctor - really I am. But life’s not fair.”

A pause.

“Although I like ‘Child of Two Worlds’. Yes, that’s good. I’ll keep that.”

The Doctor took a deep breath and tried again.

“Seeker - please. Listen to me. Just let me out-”

But the Seeker’s eyes had turned hard again.

“No. You meddle, and you’re severely emotionally compromised at the moment.”

“Emotionally comp-” the Doctor began, breaking off mid-word. “Your father died, and I’m emotionally compromised?”

“What’s this?” River asked, and Clara could see Jack and Roda suddenly standing up straight in their cells.

The Seeker turned to the three of them and explained.

“The Daleks destroyed the TARDIS - my father was inside at the time. It was an unforeseen event. I hate unknown unknowns, they’re fiendishly hard to anticipate, not to mention complicated to respond to.”

He left the sentence hanging, but the Doctor had abruptly gone pale and drawn and desperate.

“You could have saved them?”

A long pause as the Seeker stared into the distance.

“Probably not. Well, about... 8% probability. But it would have compromised everything, and the odds were much too unfavourable.”

The Doctor looked all hollow, like he had on Trenzalore when the Whisper Men were attacking...

“And it cost your father his life.”

The Seeker’s eyes narrowed, and their green colour - as well as his obvious self-containment - suddenly reminded Clara of a cat... It wasn’t a bad comparison she thought. Maybe he was like ‘The Cat that Walked by Himself’ - tolerating company perfectly equitably, but not needing it. Yet what did that mean for the current situation?

“I’m going to save the universe. I wasn’t even a year old when I learned that you don’t do that without sacrifices. Besides, Roda will be happy.”

They both turned, and Roda’s face was the most carefully studied neutral mask Clara had ever seen.

“I am sorry for your loss,” she said, without any inflection at all.

“Thank you, Redjay,” he replied, his tone equally neutral, before briskly getting back to the initial bone of contention.

“Anyway, not letting you out, and not discussing it, although I can give you reasons. Clara - you seem lovely, and I’m sure you’re very handy in a crisis, but apparently you have an unfortunate tendency towards self sacrifice and dying. River-”

He hesitated slightly, as he moved along the holding cells.

“Well, Doctor Song, you have the right attitude. If I need another pair of hands, you’ll probably be it.”

“Why thank you,” she replied, perfectly deadpan, and he smiled.

“Don’t mention it. Jack- your plan was idiotic, so I’m cross with you. Roda...”

For the first time he hesitated. Roda - or the Redjay, clearly all Time Lords had several names, most of them peculiar - watched him intently. She was about River’s height, her auburn hair interwoven with red feathers, the simplicity indicated by her brown trousers and white shirt belied by the intensity of her gaze, which now made the Seeker almost falter.

“I... guess this is the real reason why you stopped - will stop - seeing me.”

“Depends what you do,” she replied, voice cautious. “The new face was a bit of a surprise. How recent?”

“I’m from the future - relative to you and Jack at least. Been a bit of a hermit for the past few years - more so than usual. Busy with new projects.”

“So I see,” she said, shooting the Toclafane a piercing glance. “This new model is a bit more shades of grey, huh?”

Not interested in the love affairs of others when there were more important issues to focus on, Clara tried to catch the Doctor’s attention. Dalek Caan’s words had reminded her of the prophecy she had been told, and although it was probably too late, she wanted to tell him...

“Doctor!” she half-hissed, half-whispered. “Listen! There is something I need to tell you!”

Eventually he turned, and she told herself very firmly that she couldn’t allow herself to be distracted by the pain she could read in his eyes...

“I was told a prophecy by the lady at the Shadow Proclamation.”

He did a double take, finally focussing on her properly.

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I... there- there wasn’t really time. But she said...” She concentrated, trying to push her feelings aside and just repeat what she’d heard. “She said that not even dying would prevent today’s heartbreak. And... She said not to trust the man in black, because he’s his father’s son and today he will lay claim to his birth right.”

For the longest moment the Doctor only looked at her; old, old eyes in that long youthful face, the forelock falling over his forehead in almost comical fashion. Then, almost imperceptibly, he shook his head, even as he couldn’t help but glance at the spheres.

“No. No, he wouldn’t,” he whispered. “He wouldn’t do that. Surely...”

But the sudden dread in his eyes was unmistakable.

(The Seeker’s face, resigned to causing heartbreak... What could he be planning? She no longer feared for herself or the world - just wondered how much more her poor Doctor could cope with. What would he do without his TARDIS?)

Worried, she refocussed her attention on the Seeker and Roda.

“Roda - I know you’re claustrophobic, but I can only let you out if you promise not to interfere - no matter what happens.”

She studied him silently for a long moment, and then eventually shook her head.

“No. Sorry, but no.”

He sighed.

“Then you’re staying where you are. Sorry.”

“Fine,” she said, almost with a hint of sulking. The Seeker stepped back, as the Doctor almost exploded.

“Roda? What are you doing?”

She shot him a cool look.

“I know what you’re thinking. But I won’t lie to him. And I won’t betray him. He trusts me.”

Jack, too, looked fit to burst, although he tried to keep his voice calm.

“Roda I understand, I love him too, but of all the times for you to be clinging to your principles...”

At this point River cut in.

“Oh leave Roda alone, just because she is keeping her head there’s no need for you to lose yours. Look, the lad’s got a plan, he’s on a bit of a power trip, it’ll wear off. Who here hasn’t been in his shoes? Let him have some fun for a while.”

“Fun?” the Doctor’s voice took incredulity to new heights. “Fun? River you can’t possibly be serious-”

“Shut up!”

Silence fell as they all looked at the Seeker who seemed genuinely angry now.

“All my life. All. My. Life I’ve had this. Why do you think I turned myself into a hermit on my lovely quiet planet?”

“Seeker-”

“Alex-”

“Just listen-”

They all nearly fell over each other in order to get him to listen, and he shook his head.

“No. You’ve had your say.”

Davros cackled.

“It would seem there is dissent in the ranks young Seeker...”

Unexpectedly, the Seeker’s mouth turned up at the corners.

“They’re not my ranks, they’re spectators. Which is why they’re so frustrated. But I want to have a word with you in peace and quiet, so...”

Stepping up to Davros he surveyed the control panel in front of the wizened figure.

“Ah yes, thought so.”

He reached out, Davros seemingly stunned into silence at his audacity, as the Seeker pressed some buttons and then pushed a small lever.

“And that should have done it. Sound able to enter, but not exit, those charming holding cells. Oh Doctor, your enemies know you far too well...”

Letting his eyes pass over them all, the small smile widened into a grin.

“I can see why dad enjoyed this kinda thing. And Davros - if you had a future I’d suggest making your tools isomorphic.”

Clara could see the others speaking, but no sound reached her ears. Realising that there was nothing they could do to influence the Seeker she tried to shut everything out, in what was probably a vain attempt at making sense of what was happening. Her emotions were so conflicted she didn’t even know where to start.

How to reconcile the Seeker’s quite genuine distress over her echo-self’s death with the current situation? Plus he’d been genuinely friendly when he’d had no need to. She’d liked him...

Eyes moving to the Tolafane, she felt that surely here lay the heart of the mystery. The thing that bridged the gap between the friendly young Time Lord and the dread she could read in the other’s eyes.

If only he hadn’t made it impossible for her to speak, she’d ask what they were...

Refocussing on the present she realised that the Seeker was now walking around Davros, studying him as if he was something precious and exquisite.

“The last Kaled...” he said softly. “You must be the rarest thing in the whole universe right now.” A puff of laughter, even as he shook his head. “I think I have goose bumps. You are... legend. I grew up with the stories...”

Turning on his heel he shot the Doctor a wide grin.

“Do you remember Doctor, when I was obsessed with Daleks? Filling all those notebooks with theories and speculation... Dad was especially fond of all my ideas about reproduction, although I suppose it was mostly all the detailed illustrations that amused him. How old was I? Nine?”

The Doctor didn’t answer, nor did the Seeker expect an answer as he turned back to Davros, gently letting his hands pass over Davros’ chest. “Growing new Daleks from your own body... I don’t think I ever thought of that. Genius. Like your big planet-engine out there...”

“Are you trying to flatter me, youngster?” Davros cut him off. “I do not need praise from upstarts. Soon enough you will understand the might that I wield. My children will destroy your toys and you will pay for this, mark my words. The universe will scream as it is torn apart, and so will you.”

The Seeker rolled his eyes.

“Oh great, the megalomanic speech. Hang on, I need something to sit on.”

Taking a few steps back to the nearest dead Dalek, he pushed it along until was positioned close to Davros, before kicking it over and nimbly jumping up and using it as a seat.

“Right then. Before we continue, I just want to reinforce how important it is for to you stay completely still. You can rant all you want, but you should know that poor Harvey here has had no fun at all for a very long time. I am reasonably certain he’ll do as I tell him, but if you give him the slightest opportunity he will slice you to ribbons. I even wore a practical coat in case of a situation like this. Blood’ll wash straight out - plus it’s black, so stains won’t show.”

A beat, then the seriousness fell off him.

“I’m trying so hard to keep calm and composed, but it’s not easy... This is- Well I hesitate to call it ‘A Dream Come True’, and yet, that said - I’m a little... disappointed? As evil plans go, literally destroying everything is... Are you familiar with the term ‘shooting yourself in the foot?’” He looked down at Davros' metal-encased lower body, tilted his head. “Probably not. Unless that's how you ended up like this in the first place? Anyway, you should have had a word with my Toclafane, they could have told you how much fun it is to sit around in the cold and the dark, with nothing to look forward to. Ever. And maniacal laughter does get old eventually.”

Davros sneered.

“You think to lecture me, child? Words will not win this ‘war’ you are deluding yourself you can fight.”

The Seeker shook his head, leaning forward.

“Look on it as a little interlude - I rather enjoy monologuing; probably the result of being the son of an evil overlord. And believe you me, you should listen carefully. Because you see, I might be the only person in the whole of the universe who understands you. I look at your Daleks and I understand why you think them beautiful. Truly I do. They’re pure. Singular. Absolute.”

He paused, eyes unfocussing, before slowly nodding.

“So... I guess I understand your plan after all. But complete purity is also stagnation. Sterile. Barren... And eventually self-defeating. Now my father might have been insane, but he understood that you cannot rule over the dead.”

Studying Davros, a sudden intensity came into his demeanour. He was outlined against blood red walls, his black-and-white profile stark and uncompromising. Clara shuddered involuntarily, wondering how he could shift between personas with such apparent ease. The cat comparison came back to her... It was like watching a cat crouching, watching its prey.

The others were all grim-faced by now, silently listening as they had no other choice, and she wondered just where things were now heading. He had talked of saving the universe, but if that was the case why were the others so worried? And why was he so determined to keep them locked up? Then he spoke again, and she listened carefully as she realised that he was finally speaking about himself and his motives:

“Dalek Caan called me the Child of Two Worlds - allow me to explain what that means, and why I will be the one to destroy you. I was born out of time, a child of a paradox. My father named me Alexander the Great, and I was the heir to an empire that was going to stretch across the whole of time and space. I was, quite literally, born to rule. So since you’ve killed him, I suppose it’s time for me to step forward and claim my inheritance. The universe is mine, and I don’t like people to touch my things.”

At this he jumped to his feet, hands held out, a wide grin on his face that was pure Harold Saxon.

“So tonight, Davros, I’m going to be... the Voodoo Child.”

The Doctor had been a silent statue throughout, but the effect of these words seemed to jolt him, to the extent that Clara’s worry levels once more went through the roof.

Davros however seemed unmoved and merely sneered.

“Your time is running out, Seeker. The Supreme Dalek will descend and you will die.”

His grin fading into a smug smile, the Seeker reached into his pocket and brought out something that looked like the Doctor’s sonic in size and shape, before adjusting the settings, frowning in concentration, much like the Doctor would.

“This is tricky, what with being a second out of sync. But don’t you worry, Davros - I’ll make my father proud today...”

The Doctor was now beating on the cell wall so persistently that the Seeker eventually noticed, before leaning forward and pressing a button on Davros’ control panel.

“Oh go on then, what is it?”

“Seeker... Stop, please! You don’t know what you’re doing!”

If the Doctor had hoped to affect a change of heart, he failed. The Seeker merely regarded him with perfect calm and resignation as he replied:

“Oh Doctor. I always know what I’m doing. It is my blessing and my curse. And I find it hard to believe you only worked out my plan just now.”

“No of course not, but quite frankly I didn’t think you’d be so stupid!”

The Seeker’s only reaction was a faint shake of the head, before he once more busied himself with whatever he was doing to the screwdriver. A beat, then he answered, voice still perfectly level:

“Stupid is as stupid does. Considering the very particular circumstances of this situation, this solution was the most expedient and appropriate. It also happens to be my favourite. Except I never found a way to add the music. But never mind. Can’t have everything.”

Being satisfied that his adjustments were complete, he shot Davros a swift glance.

“You’re being very quiet. Guess you reckon you’re invincible. Well let’s see who’s left standing when the war is done.”

Then he gazed upwards.

“Dad, this is for you. Wish you could have been here, it would have made your day. Everyone else-”

A swift glance encompassing them all.

“-sorry about the nightmares. Truly, I am. But that won’t stop me.”

Walking over to the main control panel he pressed a few buttons, and two screens appeared. One of them displayed the Medusa Cascade. The other showcased the Supreme Dalek and the myriad Daleks behind it.

“Hello Daleks,” the Seeker said, voice bright and cheerful. “I’m afraid the delay of the destruction of the universe wasn’t anything to do with technical glitches - it was me. And before you start to line up to shoot me, please be aware that as of now, you are at war. Because here come the drums...”

He held up the screwdriver, and for a few seconds nothing happened.

The Daleks on the screen began clamouring: “Intruder! Intruder! To the Vault! Exterminate!”, but then the whole of the Crucible seemed to shake and Clara’s attention shifted to the screen displaying the Medusa Cascade.

Outside the sky tore asunder, a tear in the fabric of reality itself, the edges ragged and raw, as an endless, endless stream of Toclafane cascaded out. There seemed to be a strange sort of rhythm or cadence to them, and after a few moments she realised that they were continually repeating the same words. Millions of metallic voices, sing-song-ing the same phrase over and over again, like some sort of demented childrens’ rhyme, chilling her in its unabashed gleefulness.

’We will fly and blaze and slice! We will fly and blaze and slice!’

But no sooner had she wrapped her head around what she was hearing than the Daleks drowned out the spheres, shouting about being under attack and spilling out into the Medusa Cascade, firing at the Toclafane. After that chaos reigned, the fighting seemingly encompassing the entirety of their field of vision.

But Clara heard the Seeker speak, voice quietly triumphant as he stood back watching the unfolding battle:

“And so it came to pass, on the day of the War in the Medusa Cascade, that the Dalek race fell. And I looked down upon the destruction I wrought; and I thought it good.”

Chapter Text

“What have you done?”

The question was barely above a whisper, but Jack heard it even so. Tearing his eyes from the ever expanding battle displayed on the larger of the screens, he turned to look at the Doctor, and saw that he was as pale and drawn as Jack felt, the shimmer of the holding cell casting flickering shadows across his despondent, hopeless aspect.

But Jack wasn’t the only one to pick up on the Doctor’s words. The Seeker turned to look at them, a ready smile on his face.

“I've saved the universe!”

The Doctor's face was still a mask as he slowly shook his head.

“Destroying one menace by replacing it with another? The Daleks at least are obedient, how will you ever contain the terror you've unleashed?”

The screen behind him engulfed in mayhem and combat, destruction escalating and building as the noises from the battle outside dimly filtered through the hull of the Crucible, the Seeker became very, very still, studying them silently - and in the relative quiet they all heard Dalek Caan softly crooning to itself:

“The Daleks fall and the Great One rises, the Daleks fall and the Great One rises…”

“Betrayer!” Davros’ voice rang out, abrupt and furious. “Betrayer! Dalek Caan, I declare you forever a traitor of your own race! You promised me victory and the destruction of all things - instead you have brought down ruin and mayhem upon us. Supreme Dalek! I demand that you exterminate Dalek Caan! He has delivered us into our enemy’s hands! Damnation be upon him forever!”

The Seeker looked momentarily surprised, then switched off the screen showcasing the main hall.

“You’re bloody lunatics, all of you. And idiots to boot. Davros - I think the Supreme Dalek has more important things on his mind right now. As do I...”

In a couple of swift strides he was by Davros’ side, aiming the laser at the control panel in front of him. A few golden beams later, and the switches and buttons were reduced to molten lumps.

“As my father once said - who'd have sonic?”

Before he got further, Dalek Caan - oblivious to the more immediate happenings - replied to Davros’ tirade.

“I saw the Daleks. What we have done, throughout time and space. I saw the truth of us, Creator, and I decreed: No more! The Child of Two Worlds was always waiting for you, to strike you down in the very moment you reached for supreme victory. Your fates are entwined, and as you fall, he shall rise - his power will light the sky, shining, and all the worlds will know his name. Oh his name, his name is great, and in that lies his destiny-”

“Enough!”

It was the Seeker who interrupted, pale-faced and oddly shaken - the mad Dalek’s ramble seemingly unsettling him more than anything else so far.

He was gripping the laser so hard his knuckles were shining white, before briefly closing his eyes to centre himself. Jack knew this, knew his friend was ruthlessly clearing away whatever emotions had been stirred so he could look at the situation with clear eyes.

“I don’t have a destiny,” he eventually said, in a voice that brooked no arguments, and turned on his heel, returning to the control panel. The next second a holding cell enveloped Dalek Caan, silencing its mutterings.

As Davros began ranting again, the Seeker held out his hand.

“Harvey, to me.”

The Toclafane immediately flew to him, in a strange imitation of a loyal dog, hovering above his fingertips as the Seeker tapped another command and a holding cell encased Davros also, cutting off his raving voice mid-word, although they could still see his mouth moving, his free hand now pointing at them all, as he was accusing them all of goodness knew what.

But the Seeker was ignoring Davros entirely, focussing on the Toclafane now resting on his fingertips. With a feeling he couldn’t quite place (although it might be nausea), Jack realised that he was communicating with it telepathically. This was confirmed when the Seeker nodded, telling the sphere that they were doing well and to let him know immediately if there were any problems. (The Toclafane were telepathically linked, Jack recalled. Like the Daleks... Despite the disgust, he could appreciate the cleverness, and see how they were the perfect fighting force for this particular enemy.)

After which the Seeker turned to them a faint smile on his face.

“I don't think I've introduced you properly? This is Harvey, and most of you will have seen him before - I named him after Lee Harvey Oswald as he, too, murdered a president. I thought it fitting.”

He tilted his head, the smile fading and his voice cooling.

“Not interested in my pets, are you? No, I know what you’re all thinking. You think I made a paradox machine. You think I cannibalised my TARDIS - my beautiful, incredible TARDIS, that I created myself not even thirty years ago - and then used it in order to let six billion trigger happy psychopaths run riot in an unsuspecting universe… Am I right? Is that what you all think?”

River was the only one who met his eyes - Jack tried, but faltered. How could this still be his Seeker? The boy who had always come to him, trusting him with every secret? In his second regeneration the boy had turned to Roda a lot of the time, the unlikely relationship (if that's what it could be called) clearly benefiting both of them, and Jack had silently approved. Roda was unflinching in her assessments, and to have won her trust was something he himself cherished. But now…

Who was this man, dressed for business and death? His second incarnation had displayed a love of sharp fashion that had surprised them all, but this was functional, not artistic. He had only met this one on a couple of occasions when their timelines had accidentally crossed, and all he could remember was a purple blazer coupled with a strange aloofness… But he’d ascribed that to the Seeker’s usual habit of being a million miles away, mentally, busy turning some idea or scheme or project over in his mind. The project had been this?

(He'd also been somewhat distracted by those gorgeous green eyes - really, it was no good fancying someone who was a cross between a younger brother and platonic friend.)

Then the Doctor spoke, voice tired and muted.

“I don't know. I don't know what to think anymore. After all, you sacrificed my TARDIS…”

“But I explained that already,” the Seeker replied, a frown on his forehead. “And I said I was sorry. Besides-”

Whatever he was about to say was bitten off as he abruptly shut his mouth; lips a thin, angry line. For a long moment he simply glared at the Doctor, with a barely disguised anger Jack hadn't seen in centuries. Just as he began to worry in earnest, the Seeker shook his head bitterly.

“And I was having such fun. Y'all are terrible killjoys, you know that? All of you!”

He shot Dalek Caan an unhappy look, then sighed and tapped the laser against his chin.

“Well, I suppose all good things must come to an end. Although I hope you enjoyed being kept safe, only able to watch.”

Pressing a few buttons the holding cells vanished, and they all blinked in surprise. Jack maybe most of all, as the Seeker’s words had brought back old, old memories - the Earth held hostage, and all of them (himself, Roda, the Doctor, River) busy saving the day, forcing the Seeker to stay put where he was, keeping him safe. He’d only been a child - twenty? Twenty one? He’d still been at Cambridge - but he had reacted very, very badly to the enforced powerlessness.

The memory must have been at the back of his mind this whole time, Jack realised, as he flexed his shoulders, relishing the freedom of movement. Danger had been whispering to him subconsciously, the fear of what might happen if the boy lost control ...

“Well here you go, you're all 'free'.” The Seeker was watching them impassively. “Just don't try to do anything stupid… Not that there would be any point by now anyway. Trust me, you can't reverse anything.”

There were four Toclafane hovering above his head now, the laser still in his hand, and the warning was unmistakable. Jack found himself shuddering once more, as flashbacks to The Year That Never Was momentarily overwhelmed him again. Why was the Seeker doing this? It was a great show for Davros and the Daleks, sure, but why was he so hostile to the rest of them? Surely he must have known how they would react?

Clara had run to the Doctor, hugging him fiercely, and - his arms around his companion - he studied the Seeker with a look Jack couldn’t decipher. Once he let go of Clara there were some swift introductions which were interrupted by the Seeker, who was pointing to the screen:

“Before you start, now you can speak again: Out there - it's nothing more than a rift. A simple rift in time and space. That's why it was so important to find out exactly where these Daleks came from - I could only use the Toclafane to combat a threat from outside established events. Something from outside time, or the universe. If they start slaughtering the locals - hello paradox, and off they pop. I have the utmost faith in their sense of self-preservation.”

A beat as everyone took in what he was saying, the relief almost a tangible thing in the red-lit chamber, but it was Roda who spoke up first. She alone hadn't moved, her eyes still wary as a bird's, and her body language - if less tense - no less hostile than before.

“You are using them.”

The Seeker nodded.

“Yes. That is the price for their freedom. I gave them my terms, and they were happy to accept.”

“Like your father.”

He nodded again, face closed, and Jack understood why he had been hesitating. Roda - despite what she had suffered - would never accept such bondage, not even for her enemies.

“Very similar, yes. But I can see why it would bother you, Redjay. Can we… Can we still be friends? I don't want to lose you, but I will be keeping them. The Toclafane. And I presume they'll be difficult for you to be around.”

Jack held his breath as he watched two people he held impossibly dear trying to build a slender bridge, and eventually she slowly nodded.

"I think so. Friends. Like we were."

And she would blame the break-up with his younger self on the new face. Ouroboros. But Jack still had them both, in one way or another. Everything would be fine, he could work with this. (He could breathe again, he realised. The world was saved, the boy hadn’t turned into his father, somehow it’d all work out, he was sure of it.)

Although the boy was all grown now, with an army of his own, fighting a war... Jack felt like one of them ought to do or say something, but he didn’t know what. The Seeker had been right - there was nothing they could do.

In the silence and indecision following Roda's words, Clara's voice was suddenly heard.

“I'm sorry, but what are they? The - the Toclafane…”

It was the Seeker who answered her, voice gentle:

“They're you.”

She stared, eyes wide, then turned to the Doctor, who merely shook his head at whatever unspoken question she was asking.

(Who - or what - was she? Jack had held her dead body less than an hour ago…)

The Seeker continued:

“Humanity. The last of. From the end of time. This is how they end up.”

Her eyes drifted to the floating spheres above his head.

“They're… human?”

“As human as you. Give or take 100 trillion years.”

Clara looked very much like Jack had felt when he'd first found out, and - disbelief warring with disgust - she shook her head, as the Doctor seemed caught between wanting to comfort her, and unsure whether to do so would be accepted just now.

"Look," the Seeker said, looking round at them all, “Let me tell you a story. The story about the first trip I ever took in my TARDIS. It should hopefully explain at least some of all this. Right then, where to start… Well, basically, I decided to go to the end of the universe. After all, it is what underpins my whole existence.”

Stepping back he once more took a seat on the dead Dalek, for a moment seemingly lost in thought, tapping the laser against his leg.

“And I found them. The Toclafane. I sometimes wondered how I would feel, but nothing could have prepared me… Whatever you think you have seen... You have not seen anything like it. Remember they moved my father to compassion, which is pretty unprecedented... And now they were even more lost and terrified, their one chance of freedom stolen from them. I had thought that I might have to kill them out of mercy, but seeing them… It was like - oh, like Gollum. Yes… Pity stayed my hand, and I thought that maybe they too could have some part to play yet, for good or ill. My pity could rule the fate of many; and it has.”

He was looking up at them, eyes clear and proud and without the slightest shred of apology or remorse. Considering how they were all standing around him, it ought to feel as if they were in judgement - it didn't.

Then the seriousness disappeared somewhat, as a small smile touched his mouth.

“Of course I could have just saved them, but it seemed… a bit of a waste? They are such very efficient killing machines after all. So I decided to adapt them. Which is what I've spent a good portion of the past 30 years working on. Removed the stet radiation - ‘cause that was just nasty - and instead added anti-Dalek and Cyberman weaponry and a few other little useful bits and pieces. Moved them to a small holding dimension for all the work by the way - now that was a fun thing to create! Have any of you ever tried? You should. Fascinating stuff. Although if you ever tried to get hold of me and couldn't, that's why I wasn't around. I think that's most of it. Any questions?”

This time Jack took the initiative.

"Why did you never tell us?"

Of course what he really meant remained unsaid… 'Why did you never tell me?'

Keeping Roda out of the loop he could understand… But he'd kept the Seeker secrets since the boy had been a tow-haired eight-year-old. And this - although morally… questionable - was not something he'd have balked at too badly, now he understood how and why. It had merely been the manner in which the Seeker had pulled off his plan that had been so shocking.

The Seeker sighed, at least having the decency to look a little remorseful.

“Look - it wasn't easy. Like dating a friend's abusive ex. How do you break the news?”

“Well I'd say this was probably the worst possible way!”

Green eyes met his, filled with that quiet, boundless adoration and fondness that he was utterly helpless against:

“Oh Jack. My darling Jack… You being a witness was just… unfortunate. If you hadn't decided to pull off the world's stupidest plan you wouldn't even have been here.”

But he had been… And had witnessed something like the perfect nightmare unfold. He wondered now what he would have done if the Seeker had truly gone off the deep end. He'd never expected a day like today, knowing that his friend was far too sensible for any harebrained schemes… (Except that one time, back at Cambridge. But the lad had been high as a kite at the time and hadn’t touched drugs since, as far as Jack knew. Plus he'd learned some very harsh lessons that year - no, he'd not worried that the son would turn into the father... until today.)

But if he had decided to go for (evil) mastermind - would Jack have been able to stand up to him? He'd like to think that he'd be like Roda, and yet - the others had been given serious talks or explanations. Whereas Jack had been dismissed with a 'Your plan was stupid'. Because the Seeker knew that all he had to do was say 'Jack' in that way which still made Jack's head and heart lay down in wonder and acquiescence.

(In his mind, the boy was still a youngster, broken-hearted and so desperate, speaking with such intensity and earnestness that Jack knew it had been a once-in-a-lifetime outpouring:

"You're my favourite thing in the world Jack, did I ever tell you that? The single most important thing in my life. Ever."

No… Jack didn't think he'd ever be able to deny the Seeker anything. Which was a worrying insight.)

Silenced by his own thoughts Jack almost didn’t hear River speak up.

"It's not that it isn't all very clever, but surely..."

She stepped over to the console: "Couldn't you could just..."

Before she finished speaking he was by her side, his hands on hers.

"Don't!"

"But you could just pretty much press a button and the Daleks would be toast - I'm not bothered about the little murder balls either way, but they'll be sustaining heavy losses..."

"I'm well aware of that. But this isn't about just killing the Daleks. It's about how."

Cautiously letting go of her hands he walked up to Davros, tenderly laying a hand on the holding cell wall, white flickering lights spreading out from his fingers as he watched his adversary with keen, blazing eyes:

"I want to beat them in a fair fight. Dome against dome. I want this man to see every one of his children killed as he watches helplessly; I want them destroyed. And even better - truly Davros, I can't thank you enough, I couldn't have planned it better myself - there are twenty odd planets below us, watching, ready to bear witness once we get back. Take heed: the Daleks can. Be. Beaten. Half the time they win because people give up before they've even tried fighting back. I'm not just battling Daleks, I'm fighting for hearts and minds and hope. And Davros, trust me on this - I shall win."

He looked round, smug as hell as Davros ranted in his silent prison, and then sighed deeply as he took on board the Doctor's continued unhappy silence.

“Doctor, you are very quiet… Go on, spit it out, whatever it is.”

The Doctor studied him, then lowered his eyes, clearly uncomfortable, before eventually speaking:

“It’s just... You were supposed to be... better.”

The Seeker stared, genuinely shocked and bordering on outraged.

“Better? Better? Better than what? I didn't just knock it out of the ballpark, I sent it flying past Jupiter and dislodged Pluto from its orbit! How the hell could I have been better, tell me that Doctor, because I would love to know!”

The Doctor shook his head, his youthful face old and tired. As if the usual top layer of happy-go-lucky had been peeled off in one go, leaving only the ancient lonely wanderer.

“No, that's not what I mean. Better than… this.”

He waved a hand around to encompass everything around them:

“This death and destruction and warfare. You were happy on your planet, removed from all this, just building and creating - a scientist, not a warrior. You even sacrificed yourself to save the world once. I never thought…”

His voice trailed off, as the Seeker stared at him, somewhere between dumbfounded and incredulous.

“But Doctor… But this is what you raised me to be. This is always who I was going to have to be. From as far back as I can remember, you’ve told me how the universe is my responsibility!”

“I didn’t tell you to do... this!”

The Seeker shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe his ears.

“Doctor... you destroyed your own people to save the universe. How could I possibly draw any other conclusion? The few had to die to save the many. Peace comes at a price. I never wanted to be a killer or a mass murderer, but since I never had much of a choice at least I could choose how. Do it my way, because your way drives me nuts. And hey - it worked. You should be proud, Doctor. You taught me well.”

“I...I taught you this?” the Doctor was faltering badly now, stepping back until he was against the control panel, gripping it with both hands and his long limbs suddenly seemed oddly uncoordinated. The Seeker looked concerned, but didn’t move.

“You taught me why. Dad taught me how.” A barely-there-smile. “I’m the Child of Two Worlds. Best of both, I like to think.”

The Doctor’s hands fluttered, then gripped the panel again.

“But I don’t understand... When did I... How did you ever think this was what I wanted you to be?”

His voice trailed off and he looked utterly helpless. Both River and Clara were hovering next to him, Clara radiating concern and River supportive, yet resigned - and Roda had found herself an impartial place to the side of the main argument, at some distance from the Seeker.

Yet Jack didn’t step forward to offer unspoken support to the Doctor, nor did he move from his spot near the Seeker, who now walked away from Davros before once more sinking down onto the dead Dalek, looking up at the Doctor with that pragmatism Jack knew far too well - the pragmatism Jack had often made use of himself when he needed a hand for less savoury jobs. ('This needs doing, and I will do it better than most others. No point in anyone tying themselves into moral or ethical knots - just get on with it.')

Jack could see it now, the same pragmatic mindset used for planning; taking charge; and finally commanding a whole army of Toclafane. The initial shock was wearing off and he was beginning to not just understand, but appreciate how it all fitted together, the Seeker utilising all his talents and qualities to their full potential.

It was, after all, what he had always done. The addition of his father’s MO had been what had made him falter, but Jack (taking a step back, mentally, looking at the whole picture in detail), could trace the evolution, had been there for most of the steps. And no, it wasn’t him who could offer the Doctor any comfort...

The Seeker was laying the burden at the Doctor’s feet, yet it was Jack he had turned to, time and again, for practical help. Once the Doctor got over the shock, would he start looking around, asking: ‘Who taught the boy to kill? Who showed him how to handle weapons, how to fight, how to plan an ambush, a war...’ And it had been him. Because the Seeker had said ‘Please, Jack, I need to know.’ Of course he'd helped - had thought it better for the boy to have someone who cared looking over his shoulder, especially since he knew the boy would find out what he wanted one way or another. He always did.

And the boy might be grown now, all teaching long in the past, but even so Jack could already taste the Doctor’s anger and disappointment, the feeling of betrayal that would shine out of those grey eyes... Although he knew the Seeker would be right there, taking every iota of blame, defending Jack more fiercely than he would defend himself. (Just like before. Except this time the boy was a man, and it was a long, long time since the Doctor had been in loco parentis or able to exert any influence... Where would they go from now on? How could bridges ever be built here?)

As Jack was trying to come to terms with the new-found insight, the Seeker spoke again:

“You told me so. Not this, literally, but I’m not stupid, I worked it out pretty easily. I was... six when you first brought it up?”

But the Doctor seemed more confused at his words, not less, studying the Seeker with great concern.

“When you were six… What did I say?”

The Seeker held up a hand, Harvey landing on his fingertips momentarily, and the Seeker nodded assent, confirming a pincer move, before focussing on the Doctor again. (He’d always been an excellent multi-tasker, but to actually oversee a war in-between discussing something of this depth and magnitude - that was a new record.)

“Boxing Day? When I got so angry with my Cousin Geoffrey? And you taught me a lesson that would stick?”

“Oh yes,” the Doctor said slowly, looking more puzzled than ever. “But that lesson was - specifically - about not killing, or even just wishing your enemies dead.”

The Seeker tilted his head, like he too was trying to work something out and not understanding.

“It was a lesson about not letting my emotions interfere in my judgements. Essentially the Spiderman speech tailored to a six-year old: With great power comes great responsibility. Like I said, I didn't quite understand the responsibility part until, well, until I was eight - the Schism provided me with perspective on that score - but that's been my rule of thumb ever since.”

The Doctor swallowed, by now so pale Jack worried he might actually faint.

“'Don't let your emotions interfere with your judgements?' That's what you took away from that talk?”

“Ye-es…” the Seeker replied slowly, studying the Doctor with concern. “Emotions are a terrible guide - changeable, subjective, selfish. It was good advice, and I have always been grateful for it. You don't seem to adhere to it all that well yourself, except in extremis, but then we are very different, and you are very very old and have done things I can't conceive of…. Doctor - Doctor are you OK?”

It was a valid question as the Doctor looked like he couldn’t breathe, staring at the younger Time Lord speechlessly. The Seeker bit his lip, worry on his face, mixed with resignation.

“Oh. I... really have broken both your hearts now, haven’t I? I never thought this would be what did it... Although I suppose it confirms that I was right to hate Boxing Day.”

What the Doctor might have said or done next they would never know, as there was suddenly the most impossible sound in the whole world, a wonderful grinding of ancient engines as wind unsettled their hair and everyone turned to see the last thing they had expected - the TARDIS materialising.

They all stared in stunned silence at the impossibility in front of them, and then the doors opened to reveal the Master, a smirk on his face and a cigar in his hand.

“Hello kids - did you miss me?”

Chapter Text

As the whole ensemble stared at the Master in mute shock, Roda carefully made sure that she melted into the shadows. All her instincts had been telling her to run ever since the Seeker had let them out of the holding cells (and this latest, very unwelcome, development only reinforced that impulse) but her long and often painful life had taught her a very important lesson: If possible, keep your enemies in sight.

And one look at the Master had ensured that she wasn’t going to let him out of her sight until she knew exactly what he was up to…

She still had nightmares from the time he’d tried to execute her by hanging, waking in the night, the memory grasping her with cold, hard hands; looking at him now she could once more feel a noose tightening - although one of a very different kind.

During The Year That Never Was, she and Jack (and the Jones family too, of course) had learned to differentiate between the Master’s moods to the point where something as simple as a raised eyebrow could indicate what kind of day they were in for - knowledge that she was now grateful to have.

There was Angry!Master, who - despite having a tendency to lash out at whatever was nearest - was generally unfocussed in his fury, more concerned with whatever had gone wrong than the hurt he was inflicting.

There was Bored!Master who could be casually cruel, but would lose interest soon enough.

But worse than both these combined was Happy!Master. Happy!Master wanted to celebrate and could usually think of no better way of celebrating than causing more pain to his enemies. Happy!Master was always focussed outwards, paying attention to them with the care and attention of a sadistic lover.

Worst of all was Happy!Master-with-something-up-his-sleeve. Not because the pain itself was quantitatively worse - no, it was the absolute knowledge that pain he was currently inflicting would be overshadowed by pain still to come - his pleasure came not from the immediate moment, but from the future developments he was contemplating. In such moments there was no use in thinking ‘This too shall pass’ because something worse was coming... Something unknown, which by the very nature of being unknowable and unspoken, lurking in the dark shadows dancing in his eyes and the corner of his smirk, was too terrible to contemplate.

As she watched him now, she shuddered.

He was holding out a cigar to his son - to match the one he was holding himself - explaining that it had been a gift from Fidel Castro and he’d saved it for a special occasion.

The Seeker took it greedily, exclaiming that he needed something like this more than he could explain, and his father’s appearance seemed like a godsend - possibly literally?

The Master smiled and brought out a lighter, and as the light fluttered across their faces Roda's fists clenched and unclenched unconsciously, the strain of keeping her frustration to herself only showing in little physical signs.

There was no doubt about it. This was Happy!Master-with-something-up-his-sleeve. He was pleased with what had happened, but he was very clearly looking ahead to something else, something which had him practically humming with joy. She’d not seen him like this since The Year That Never Was - the sheer swagger and confidence was hard to miss - and the sight made her want to run so fast and so far that no one would ever find her.

Yet she couldn’t - not without first finding out what he was hiding.

The Seeker was smiling, happy and relaxed and surprised, not understanding the danger Roda could see, and the Doctor was practically hugging his TARDIS, clearly too overwhelmed to notice the things unspoken. River looked sceptical, but she had never had the Master as adversary, and didn’t know his hidden depths.

Poor Clara had obviously met him before and had scooted over next to River, eyeing the Master warily. (Clever girl, Roda thought - River was probably the one person the Master wouldn’t challenge.)

But Jack had also stepped back, shooting Roda a look. He saw it too. But what could they do?

“Go on Dad - spit it out. How did you survive?” The Seeker took a drag of the cigar, the nicotine clearly helping him calm down after the recent emotional upheavals, and an easy, open smile on his face. (No, he didn’t see it at all...)

“All in good time, son,” the Master replied, half-turning to let his eyes pass over the Doctor and doing a mocking double-take.

“Doctor - goodness gracious me, you look rather peaky. I thought I might at least get a thank you for saving your wonky box.”

There was a beat as the Doctor just watched the two of them, silent, his face closed and cautious, and the Seeker sighed.

“I broke his hearts...” He waved a hand around, encompassing the destruction, the Toclafane, the war displayed on the screen, before continuing: “He’s... not feeling too good.”

“Oh really?” the Master replied, raising an eyebrow. “Well done boy, it was way past time. So sentimental, the silly old fool. Although speaking of fools - is that Davros I spy?”

As he sauntered over to the trapped Kaled, Roda had to forcibly stop herself from killing them both there and then. She’d thought she’d been rid of the Master, and she was still trying to process the fact that he was back. And Davros... Well, he most certainly would not leave the Crucible still alive.

The Master leaned forward, tapped the holding cell.

“Hello there Davros. How do you like my son? Rather a chip off the old block, don’t you think? A question for you: How many Time Lords does it take to beat the Daleks?”

He smiled wickedly, before answering himself:

“Only one, presuming it’s the right one.”

Inwardly Roda sighed deeply, and then muttered, so quietly that only Jack could hear:

"Oh good, pleasantries aside now we're onto terrible jokes. Makes a change from all the heartbreak I suppose. Let’s have fun with the slavery and genocide."

Jack shot her a dark look, but didn’t offer a comment of his own. He knew her moods very well indeed by now.

Davros began ranting again, more furious than ever, but the Master merely laughed. Roda supposed they should be grateful he wasn't dancing a victory dance.

Stroking his beard, he eventually shrugged and turned his back on the raging lunatic, and seemed to practically glide back over to his son.

“Since you asked so nicely about my very fortuitous case of continued existence, Lord Seeker, I shall let you in on a secret: Self-preservation can overcome almost anything. In the wonky box’s case, it meant that she chose to let me out so I could help her escape, rather than be immolated. Got out of Dodge with no time to spare and decided to stay out of the fray - figured if they’d immobilised a TARDIS once they could do it twice. And it’s rare that the Doctor doesn’t think of some way of blowing them all up... Of course, I was still planning on riding to the rescue if necessary, but - just as I was busy trying to tap into the Crucible’s systems - suddenly they started broadcasting! And whom should I see but my very own beloved son, singing my tune...”

The Seeker’s cigar paused halfway to his mouth.

“You saw?”

“Son, never has a father been so proud, trust me. It was... beautiful.”

He looked around, beaming.

“Truly, I shall have to declare this the Best Day Ever!”

The Seeker smiled, clearly delighted, even as his eyes narrowed somewhat as he carefully took a drag of the cigar, slowly letting the smoke escape from his lips.

“You been waiting for this since I was sixteen, haven’t you?”

The Master smirked, eyes filled with malicious satisfaction.

“Good things come to those who wait.”

The Seeker’s smile was by now a far too close echo of his father’s and Roda wished she could steal him away for good. Things had been going... if not well, then at least towards some sort of serious discussion of the issues. But with the Master’s reappearance she began to worry about her lover (former lover, she corrected sadly) in earnest - of course she trusted him, and yet... What did his father have planned?

“Well I’m glad someone appreciates today,” the Seeker said, voice neutral, yet Roda’s face hardened. She cared too much to let this go. She’d have to say something-

At that point the whole of the Crucible suddenly shook, and the Seeker swore loudly.

“Dammit! Harvey, what’s happening?”

Within seconds he’d hooked up ‘Bonnie’ and ‘Clyde’ to a terminal as he opened up more screens, getting an overview of the situation, face growing serious.

“Princess - go blow up the Supreme Dalek. It’s getting clever and I don’t like it. Harvey, if you move more than five inches away from me, I’m throwing you in the nearest black hole. Now - information. There are billions of you, how the hell-”

The Crucible shook again, and they could see Davros cackling to himself in his silent prison.

Scanning all the information, the Seeker’s eyes narrowed.

“Yes, very clever. Davros, I salute you. However I’ve been preparing for this my whole life, so don’t you worry, I’ll exterminate you yet...”

He looked around at them, calculating.

“River - keep an eye on this for a moment? I just need you to hold them back, very straightforward. Harvey, do whatever she says.”

A beat, then River shrugged acquiescence and after a couple of pointers seemed happy enough.

The Seeker then turned to Jack:

“Give me your wrist.” As he held it out, the Seeker aimed his laser and then focussed on Jack carefully:

“Right. I’ve fixed the vortex manipulator so you can get out of the time pocket easily. I need my TARDIS and the weapons from Plan 27 and 48. Wait - is Princess back yet?”

He turned, just as the Toclafane in question popped back into the gloomy vault.

“Mission accomplished? Excellent. Jack - take Princess with you, she’ll be able to explain the modifications.”

For a moment Jack didn’t move and the Seeker frowned, studying him with evident confusion.

“Jack?”

A beat, then Jack seemed to snap out of whatever had been bothering him, and Roda could see the friend disappearing beneath the Captain. (And Captain Harkness followed orders...)

“Yes. Of course. Be right back.”

He vanished in a flash, leaving the Seeker scratching his head, before swiftly rejoining River.

She smiled.

“This is fun.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying all along!” he replied, smiling back, eyes dancing. “And in a second Jack’ll bring the big guns. I think you’ll like them.”

“I’m sure I will,” she purred before being interrupted by the Master who was now busy pulling a deck chair out from the TARDIS.

“Don’t mind me,” he said, opening it with ease and settling himself down. “I’m just here as a spectator.”

But Roda didn’t miss the look he sent the Seeker’s way once the younger Time Lord was busy again. The sheer intensity of the gaze made her almost forget the battle outside, and she took another step back, bumping into the wall behind her, wishing she knew what to do...

Right now she was sure of only one thing - the worst was most definitely still to come.

The Doctor felt the TARDIS against his back, the hum of ancient power seeping into him like life itself, even as a single thought had become unavoidable:

'The war is won, but the child is lost'

The words had gained new meaning - unintended by the original poet, whoever he or she or they had been - yet relevant. He watched River and the Seeker, effortlessly working together... Watched Jack return with the Seeker’s TARDIS (it had a preference for looking like a tree, the branches now scraping the vault’s low ceiling awkwardly), watched the Seeker smartly and skillfully ordering his troops as if it was all he’d ever done, as well as deploy the weapons Jack had brought with surety and expertise, and - with River and Jack’s support - successfully battling back the Dalek onslaught - calm, competent, in control.

’A child is not a weapon…’

Except he had become one. Little Melody had been stolen and manipulated, but his Alex (not his, not his, never his, the Master never missing an opportunity to remind him of this)... He had tried his utmost to raise him with love and support and an understanding of right and wrong, in spite of the Master’s poisonous influence - an influence the boy had always distanced himself from...

How had he gotten it so wrong? How had he never seen this coming?

Because this wasn’t sudden. This wasn’t opportunistic. This wasn’t something isolated. This was meticulous planning and careful preparation. For war. ‘His whole life’ he’d said... The almost casual deployment of other (older) weapons bore this out, as did his clear expectation of Jack’s co-operation and knowledge. And the quips they traded pointed to a rich history of fighting…

"Yes, from the back, but… sideways - you know, like that time on Persimmon 3? But without the purple baboons, obviously."

"Purple baboons?" River asked, curious and charmed, and the Seeker laughed.

"The baboons were... incidental. But we took out two legions in less than five minutes. I'm sure you'll recognise the move..."

Comfortable. That’s what he was. Comfortable being in charge, comfortable killing his adversaries. No hesitation or moral worries, he was manoeuvring and deploying his troops and weapons with ease, laser in one hand, cigar in the other (except when he needed a free hand)...

What could the Doctor do, but watch?

The Master interrupted his thoughts, looking up from his deck chair, yet uncannily echoing his musings.

"Marvellous, isn't he? Makes me feel old, truth be told, watching the next generation. Mind you, if he keeps this up you could retire, Doctor. Come, grab a chair..."

The Doctor shook his head mutely.

He knew that war would always be his sign. Trenzalore hung over him, and his death would come on a battlefield... Retirement wasn’t an option. He rubbed his face, tired. Had he been blind, foolish? Had this always been where the boy would end up? He remembered thinking how the lad had seemed to bring himself up, always going his own way - had he taken the wrong cues, misunderstood something along the way?

(Nature versus nurture... Had he been fighting a losing battle from the start? The Master was so quiet that he knew he should be worried, but he didn’t have the mental capacity to wonder why the other wasn’t gloating more.)

Clara had scooted along to him as he stood there, watching silently next to him, eyes wide and giving little away. When she eventually spoke, voice barely above a whisper so the Master wouldn’t hear, he found that she, too, echoed his thoughts:

“Is this what that prophecy meant? ‘Don’t trust him, he is his father’s son’... That thing about his birthright...”

(The unspoken question beneath the words clear enough: Is this good or bad? You seem unhappy, but if it’s bad why are you not doing anything?)

Why wasn’t he?

“I suppose so,” he replied lightly, “Prophecies are… tricky things.”

She frowned, still not happy.

“But he’s killing the Daleks. Surely that’s good? Even if those… sphere things…” She stopped briefly, biting her lip. “Were those what the woman was thinking of? She said ‘God save you’.”

He didn’t have an answer. Maybe it had all been a veiled message for him? They had known who he was, after all. Had known that he would probably run. But no gods could have saved him from this...

Eventually, victory came. Yet the Doctor felt no joy, no satisfaction.

(Jack and River and the Seeker were laughing and highfiving, elated, saying how they needed some champagne. The Master called out to them, saying he’d throw a party, with dancing girls and everything.)

The child he’d known (or thought he had known) was gone for good. He had done what he thought was his best, yet had somehow failed. And it was much, much too late for regrets...

All he could do now was to deal with the man he felt he was seeing for the first time.

When the Seeker walked up to him, beaming, he slowly laced his fingers together, studying him calmly.

“Congratulations Seeker... I believe you have just committed genocide.”

The Seeker took a drag of his cigar, almost smirking.

“I have, haven’t I? Do I get a club card? Is there a secret handshake?”

The Doctor’s face darkened.

“Don’t be flip with me. Genocide is a burden that is not easy to carry. Blood and anger and revenge... They will soak into you in ways you cannot imagine, stains that will never come out. All I ever wanted was to spare you that.”

He spread his hands, a bitter smile on his face. “But it’s too late for that now... I hope you enjoy the spoils of war, you’ve certainly earned them.”

The Seeker seemed concerned at his words, even as he slowly shook his head, the elation visibly reducing.

“But what else could I have done? Please, Doctor, tell me - what can you possibly do with Daleks except kill them?”

“That’s not the point and you know it!” the Doctor snapped back, and the Seeker’s eyes narrowed, as he took a slow drag of the cigar, clearly weighing something in his mind.

Then, having made some sort of decision, he deposited the laser screwdriver in a pocket, ignoring (or unaware) of the Doctor’s suppressed flinch. The instinctual way in which the young Time Lord used the weapon spoke of long and continuous use, to such an extent that he obviously no longer called to mind its origins.

The Doctor - for a single, wistful moment - recalled the vivid red of Amy’s hair, and how the Seeker had in some ways echoed his Pond in his previous (second) regeneration, with his copper hair all aflame. But the colourful sharp brightness (with attendant sharpness of clothing and temperament) had somehow given way to someone mostly dressed in black, the only colour to leaven the ensemble the cool green of his eyes… The Doctor had accused him of looking like a villain when he’d first picked him up. How little he’d expected this outcome...

The Seeker sighed, disturbing his train of thought.

"Listen Doctor - about before... We got interrupted, and I think we often... talk past each other. I know you’ll be beating yourself up right now, but it’s nothing you said, or anything you could have done differently. It’s just that, with me, ‘Do as I say, not as I do’ was never, ever going to work. Because when it comes down to it, you are the man who’ll throw the child in the volcano to save the village-”

As the Doctor opened his mouth, the Seeker held up a hand.

“And no, this isn’t about Gallifrey, or the Daleks, or whatever other example you can drag up. It’s about me. You did it to me.”

“You...” he said softly, not understanding. “When did I ever-”

The Seeker was holding his eyes, voice oddly gentle.

“I was born in a paradox. You broke it. Time reversed. It was nothing but pure luck that those of us in the very centre were protected.”

Everything had gone very quiet, and the Doctor felt as if time had suddenly come unstuck. He could still remember the Master’s rage, the pure fury that lain dormant for centuries now...

“You could have killed him - unmade him! You nearly destroyed my son, Doctor - I swear I’ll get you for this! I wish I’d killed all your precious humans and you too! Just wait - one day... one day I’ll get my revenge! Do you hear me?”

He glanced at the Master now, saw him savour this moment, the silently malicious satisfaction somehow worse than any spoken words.

The earlier shock had been out of the blue - but this was something he'd done his best to push out of his mind for so long that he thought he might have escaped... It had driven a new wedge between himself and the Master, unspoken enmity deep below the surface that could be communicated in its entirety in a single look or gesture. (You could have killed him. Like you killed your own family, everyone you loved. And you dare call yourself a hero?) He’d wondered when the other would play the card… Never guessing it’d be the boy himself.

But there was nothing for it.

"There wasn't another way," he said, and the Seeker's face registered something between relief and exasperation.

"That's what I've been trying to say!" the Seeker replied, with more feeling than usual, then continued, green eyes no longer cold or angry:

"Sometimes there is no choice. I won't pretend that it wasn't a harsh lesson to take on board - it's not all that easy for an eight year old to face up to the fact that he's expendable, that the man he loves like a father would sacrifice him if necessary... But maybe I needed it. Considering that daddy dearest here would probably burn galaxies for me. Doctor - your way was the sane, sensible option. Relatively speaking I mean. I might not have taken from your lessons what you intended, but when I say you taught me well - teaching me to disregard emotions and do what needs to be done - I truly mean that as a compliment."

Before the Doctor could reply to this (it wasn’t an apology, but maybe they could still mend the bridges he’d thought torn down, maybe he could still reach the boy beneath the man), the Master yawned with great exaggeration.

“Well this has all been... Incredibly dull. Well the fighting was fun, but drivelling on about the past quite frankly makes me wish for more Daleks to show up. Son, could I have a word in private?”

The Seeker studied him blankly.

“Um, sure... Not sure there is such a thing as private - unless you want to nip into a TARDIS. Will a corner do?”

“Oh yes,” the Master replied, not put out in the least, and the Seeker followed, as the Doctor (with silent, but deep, satisfaction) noticed that the young man’s face had instantly adopted the long-suffering look he always wore when either the Doctor or the Master wanted to ‘have a word’ - meaning that he’d do his best to stay polite whilst silently counting the rels until they’d said their piece and he could tell whichever one it was that he definitely, absolutely, would think about it, yes, honestly, before escaping. When he’d been young he’d not coped very well with the two of them fighting over him, but age had allowed him to view the whole business with weary detachment.

Somehow it was more reassuring than anything else that day. Despite the heartbreak, the youngster had engaged with the Doctor, tried reasoning and explaining…

As he smiled at Clara, feeling optimistic that everything would yet work out, somehow (the boy might have grown into a man he barely recognised, but it was a man willing to at least listen) Roda stepped forward, grim faced and wary, with swift motions gathering them all.

When she spoke, voicing her fears, the Doctor’s brief spell of happiness vanished.

River looked unconvinced by Roda’s words of warning, but Jack was resolutely in Roda’s camp, and the Doctor could feel the pieces fall into place - after all he’d wondered why the Master had been so placid…

“Do you have any idea what exactly he might be planning?” he asked, as Clara hugged herself closer and clearly wanted to just go home. He couldn’t blame her - this was not what he had planned or promised.

Roda shook her head.

“It could be anything… Maybe he thinks the Toclafane can still be used as a fighting force, he probably isn’t aware of the paradox. Or he could have rigged something up in your TARDIS, you should double check everything. Twice. Or he might have sent a message to his lackeys on Earth - he’s been plotting something for a long time, posing as a politician. There’s a good chunk of unaccounted for time… He’ll probably want the Seeker to join in, today must have been like a godsend...”

But as Roda spoke, laying out possibilities, the Doctor found that her words faded away into a blur as he looked up and saw the Master and his son.

The Seeker’s weary resignation was evaporating as his father spoke, the look on his face slowly morphing into a strange breathless excitement that the Doctor had only seen once before, back when the boy had been sixteen and his father had gifted him his own planet.

And if the Doctor knew one thing is was this - the boy should never look like that when looking at his father.

The others noticed his silence and turned to see what he was looking at.

“What the hell is he saying to him?” Jack asked, as disturbed as the Doctor, as the Master reached out, kindly and concerned, laying a hand on his son’s arm, clearly making sure he was OK. The Seeker nodded, although he still looked so stunned that a feather could probably knock him over.

The Doctor, by now both deeply worried and angry, decided to take matters into his own hands and walked forwards.

“Master,” he said, voice low and serious. “Enough. I’m happy that you survived, obviously, but you could at least have the decency to wait more than 5 minutes before putting some new plan into action.”

The Master turned, studying him coolly - almost pityingly.

“Plan? What plan? Doctor dearest, you are completely misunderstanding the situation. I have no plan whatsoever. Indeed, I’ve thrown all the old ones out the window. You see, what I do have... is a son.”

Switching their attention to the younger Time Lord, the Master held up a hand.

“Please, give him a moment. I’ve just made all his dreams come true, I think he’ll need a minute or two to take it onboard.”

Indeed the Seeker was leaning against one of the dead Daleks, staring into nothingness, clearly a million miles away. Then, eyes narrowing a fraction, he whispered ‘Jerusalem’ to himself as the tiniest smile graced his lips. This made little sense, except the Doctor noticed how Jack seemed struck by the word... And then slowly shook his head, even as he swallowed, pale.

“No,” he whispered, eyes suddenly going wide. “No. No it can’t be. That’s… not possible.”

But he looked more disturbed than the Doctor had seen.

“Jack?”

But Jack was already striding over to the Seeker.

Reaching out, he almost shook the youngster, the hint of despair that the Doctor could see immensely unnerving.

“Seeker. Please. Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

The Seeker slowly focussed on him, as if seeing him from far, far away, and then smiled. A wide, bright happy smile, almost breathtaking in its pure joy.

“It is - and it isn’t. It’s...” he looked up and round at them all, as if suddenly noticing that they were there:

“Let me show you!”

He jumped up, and in two strides was by the control panel where a swift tap freed Dalek Caan of its holding cell. It took them a moment to realise that this was what had happened, and by then the Seeker was almost skipping across the central space, before he knelt down by the deformed creature, one knee on the floor, as they all looked at each other, puzzled and worried. What the hell had the Master said?

“Dalek Caan, you wonderful creature,” the Seeker said, voice brimming with emotion. “There is a prophecy, a golden prophecy, bright and shining - you spoke part of it earlier, and I silenced you. I’m sorry, I didn’t understand. I’ve been running from it for centuries, never imagining a day like today... Tell them - tell them my name, my destiny.”

He reached up his hand, and the Dalek wrapped one of its tentacles around his fingers as he smiled...

The Seeker felt the Dalek wrap its tentacle around his hand, and he wondered if maybe he could read its thoughts. You shouldn’t know your future, and yet… What incredible secrets did Caan yet hold? (The Dalek had seen time - not just what could be, but what would be… Golden futures, past and present. Knowledge that might burn, but oh, it was a price worth paying.)

Although first he needed to make the others see. Show them that he wasn’t going mad, that it was real. Real and wonderful and possibly magical. (He felt giddy, as if drunk on the sheer idea of possibilities… Had felt like this before when grasped by a new idea, but never like this. Never on this scale.)

And then Caan spoke:

“As you wish Tsesarevich - Child of Two Worlds, Son of Empire. I have seen many things, terror and beauty. I have seen your power lighting the sky - shining. Much, much power, and all the worlds will know your name. You are the Alexander the Great. A Mighty King and Ruler across the universe. Yes. That is your destiny."

He stood, still grasping the Dalek. A Dalek had shown him the way. He had never foreseen this. Time… truly was a wonderful thing. The others (even Jack) looked shocked and angry and scared, but all he could hear was the Toclafane, singing, their voices reverberating through the hull of the Crucible...

                 We are the Toclafane
                 We are the saviours of worlds
                 We vanquished the Daleks in the Medusa Cascade
                 Our songs will live forever

(They could sing? He hadn’t known that… New things, new wonderful things wherever he turned. Everything he had ever known turning upside down in the blink of an eye; in a handful of sentences from his father...)

Reflecting on the familiar words of the prophecy (he’d had nightmares for so long, waking in the night, terrified of what his future might hold), he realised that he had (until now) always seen the seizing of power as something violent, forcefully imposing his will on others and bending them to his will. Or alternatively as something sly and stealthy, like the Archangel network. Controlling. Manipulative.

Neither option one he relished or wanted to embrace.

But now...

He was the saviour of worlds. The universe would tell of him - the Last Child of Gallifrey, a hero as if out of a fairy tale; a golden prince. Waiting quietly in the shadows until the appointed hour.

The path to the throne was paved for him, all he needed to do was step forward. Here I am, what do you want? It was his choice and they would welcome him.

Slowly re-focussing on the present, he found himself looking into the Doctor’s face.

The Doctor looked more serious than he could remember, his grey eyes watchful and dangerous. The way he looked at adversaries, unspoken threats filling the air between them. (Why would he look like that? Didn’t he understand? Couldn’t he see?)

“Seeker. Please tell me you’re not seriously considering taking over the universe.”

But in his mind the Seeker could see new time lines fanning out, too many to count, too many to grasp. It was so simple - he just had to stretch out his hand, and peace, prosperity, order would ripple out across all the worlds from his fingertips. The vision was seared into him, indelible and so stunningly beautiful that it almost hurt. (Truth hurts, that had been his first real lesson. But better pain, than a lie. Truth might hurt, but it also set you free.)

Time - all there was, all there would be. And his.

He met the Doctor’s eyes head-on, bright golden purpose filling him so completely he could barely breathe from pure joy.

“Why not? After all, it is my birthright...”

Chapter Text

‘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 Text

They left.

(So many people, so much talking, so much arguing, so many emotions, after decades of blissful solitude.)

He watched the Doctor’s TARDIS take off, saw the instruments in front of him register the moment they left the pocket universe.

(Peace, quiet, stillness all around him, like clear water on a sweltering day.)

He took a deep breath, stood up straight and let go of the control panel.

He’d barely moved a muscle, but they’d done as he told them. His power invisible, yet it had moved giants. He had never done that before (never had a reason, nor the power) - never forced his will through like this.

He knew he had only delayed the ongoing confrontation, but the Doctor had yielded…

‘Oh father - I can see why you love it so.’

He could also see why it was so addictive. To just force the arguments to go away - it was an option he’d never really thought of before. So far he’d tended to just lie, or to let people draw their own conclusions; hide himself away…

Yet that had backfired rather spectacularly. He’d let the Doctor believe whatever he wanted, hoping that if the Doctor thought he adhered to all the unwritten rules he’d be left alone. Which - to be fair - had worked beautifully until today.

However, three hundred years’ worth of harsh honesty in one go was not ideal, and the Doctor had (predictably) reacted very badly.

And it would probably all have been salvageable if it hadn’t been for… Jerusalem.

It was still playing in his mind, glorious and undiminished by everything else that had been happening.

Bring me my Bow of burning gold;
Bring me my Arrows of desire:
Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chariot of fire!

He’d stepped into a chariot of fire - bow, arrows and spear at the ready - but all they saw was danger of burning and tried to drag him out.

But how could anyone abandon a chariot like that?

I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand:
Till we have built Jerusalem,
In England's green & pleasant Land

The hymn was, in many ways, mad impossibility, and yet the vision it contained so glorious that how could anyone be unmoved? He’d only given in once before (so young, so very high), and he still remembered the exhilarating feeling of a thousand people, all singing with his voice.

Yet that had been a misstep, no matter how seductive.

That kind of power was… intoxicating. The key word being ‘toxic’.

Because ordinary people were far too… biddable.

The word hit him like it always did, straight in the chest, somewhere between his hearts. So heavy he sank with the very weight of it.

‘Not this time’, he decided, face hardening. ‘There is another way now. I’ve hidden myself away for centuries, I refuse to let ancient fears get in the way of this.’

Slowly, he smiled. His father had shown him the way… It was so delightfully absurd that he almost laughed out loud.

‘I will be Alexander the Great, and they won’t stop me.’

Despite everything - so happy. He never seemed to have the emotions people expected. Maybe he’d feel guilty later.

His future still lay there, golden and incredible, yet everyone would be breathing down his neck now. His father, eager to exploit him; the Doctor, desperate that he should not ‘go bad’. Jack, worried. Roda... might just leave completely. And she’d be unhappy. River would leave him alone probably - but then their lives intersected so very rarely anyway.

He was caught between them all, the way he had always been, but this time there was no telling them to leave him alone...

What he needed was time. Time to work out what he wanted to do, and how. Golden ideas needed to manifest themselves physically, or they were no good - the how was vital... The wrong ‘how’ could be worse than nothing.

But how to get the peace he needed? He had a planet, sure, could even lock it, but both Jack and Roda had unlimited access, and he didn’t want others putting pressure on them. Didn’t want Roda to feel that her one bolt hole in the universe was somewhere she was no longer welcome. He needed to get away, but where? Where could he find peace and quiet?

Stretching, he flexed his shoulders and pulled off the coat, throwing it over a dead Dalek, before rolling up his sleeves. Right now he had work - beautiful, hard, wonderful work. Clearing his mind to focus on the immediate issues, he stowed the problems into a side space where they could tick over in peace while he worked.

The spoils of war - being able to move planets was a boon he was more than happy to claim. So much incredible Dalek technology, he felt like a kid in a sweet shop. Winning… was good. Yes, it had been a good day. Nevermind the Doctor’s moral conniptions.

Clara gratefully took the teacup given to her by an enigmatic twin. She seemed to remember that originally they had planned to go to Torchwood in order to meet these twins… And Jack and Roda of course. Had that only been this morning? She took a sip of her tea and tried to look around to take in the surroundings better.

Torchwood, it turned out, resided in an underground base in Cardiff, and was strange mixture of Victorian tiling and futuristic technology. Jack was there when they arrived, but Roda had already gone out, although Jack had added ‘Left her keys, though. Can’t have gone far.’

This seemed to calm the Doctor, for which she was also grateful. She was used to the Doctor being at the heart of everything, of having to fix things, of fighting… And today had seemed all sideways. Nothing had worked out like it should. Mostly she felt very small and insignificant.

The Doctor was pacing unhappily, the Master - thankfully handcuffed to a large metal structure - throwing snide remarks at him at every opportunity.

River and Jack (and Clara herself) were sitting on various pieces of office furniture, drinking the tea the twins had made.

The Doctor had taken a cup also, only to immediately go off on another rant about how they need to ‘Make him see sense!’, which had necessitated arm waving, and had left the cup empty and some odd-looking equipment drenched.

Jack had taken a deep breath, and the twins had poured a fresh cup before spiriting away the now fizzling contraption.

She was beginning to see why the Seeker had been struggling to describe them - they were two, yet moved as one, mostly silent and seemingly anticipating what people would want or say. And they were undeniably beautiful, in a strange other-worldly way. Large purple eyes sat above tall cheekbones; jet-black hair - carefully and ornately pulled back - fell almost to their waist, and their skin was the colour of dark honey. They would not have looked out of place on Akhaten, she thought, their colourful silk robes (one orange, one green) elegant, yet practical. Currently she could spy them working on fixing whatever the tea incident had broken and found herself mesmerised. It truly was like watching a creature with two heads and four arms… Purple eyes apart they - physically - looked human (although she couldn’t have said which gender), but watching them work she was curious which species they actually were. They seemed more alien than the Doctor, despite his many different faces. (They had given her the strangest look when they arrived, yet not said anything. Disconcerting was maybe the best word to describe them.)

“But what did you say to him?” the Doctor was rounding on the Master now, angry and frustrated, and the Master lifted an eyebrow. Clara turned her head from the twins to study the confrontation - she, too, would like to know the answer to this. The Master chuckled, studying the Doctor as if he was a child.

“I thought that would be obvious, Doctor. I told him he was a hero.”

Jack’s teacup stopped halfway to his mouth.

“I’m sorry?”

The Master sighed.

“Why are we here? This one’s so stupid. And don’t I get any tea?”

One of the twins raised its head, studied him coolly, then resumed working while the other said ‘No’ in a flat, disinterested tone.

“Heroes inspire worship,” River said slowly, her eyes fastening on the Doctor. “Worship, dedication, loyalty…”

A slow smile spread across the Master’s face.

“Clever thing, aren’t you? All the points to the woman who was mad enough to marry you, Doctor.” He glanced over at the Doctor with amused superiority. “My dear son now possesses all the most important things he needs for ruling - or at least to make an excellent start. All I did was point it out.”

“All you did…” the Doctor said slowly, and the Master smirked. He seemed to have a whole line in smirks. All of them unpleasant.

“Indeed. He is my son, I knew he’d be able to see the possibilities. The prophecy was a surprise, although a very welcome one.” A sudden bark of laughter. “You see Doctor, it was all predestined, so don’t you be blaming me!”

The Doctor glared, then abruptly turned to Jack.

“Jack - he asked you to stop him. He knew about the prophecy, and must have told you too…”

Jack shook his head.

“Stop. Doctor, I know what you’re doing, what you’ll ask. And the answer is no. What happened between myself and the Seeker is… private.”

River’s eyes narrowed, and she tilted her head musingly.

“You know I always wondered about you two.”

Jack’s jaw dropped.

“What the- why does everyone think that? Nothing of that sort has ever happened between us! Hell I’ve never so much as kissed him!’

The Master cleared his throat.

“As someone more than happy to opt out of that ‘everyone’ can I just say thank you for laying my mind to rest? Not that I think he’d ever stoop as low as you…”

Jack’s face clouded over in pure anger, so furious that Clara almost felt it physically. But only for a moment. Instead his eyes turned steely grey, and - setting aside his tea cup and embedding his hands in his pockets - with measured steps he walked up to the Master, studying him silently for a long moment before speaking.

“Master. Try this quandary on for size one day, if you feel up to it: If your son had to make a choice between you and me - whom would he go for?”

The Master shook his head, his face a dismissive sneer.

“Don't be ridiculous.”

But Jack only smiled. Slow, almost predatory, yet with perfect confidence.

“Of course. ‘Ridiculous’. But think about it. You... or me.”

Clara gripped her cup. Something had shifted. With a few words Jack had somehow won a battle she sensed had gone on for… how long? Centuries? They were all so old. What had the Seeker said about Jack? ‘Because I love him best.’ More than his own father? No wonder Jack had given his loyalty...

Suddenly it all just seemed ridiculous - how could any of it be real? She’d watched herself die… Maybe it was all a dream.

Then there was a whoosh of wind and the Seeker’s TARDIS faded into existence, branches and tree trunk materialising next to the Doctor’s blue box.

Did this mean more arguments? She just wanted to go home...

The Doctor took a deep breath, straightened his bow tie.

‘I need to make him see sense. Need to… something. But how?’

A few seconds later the door opened and the Seeker leaned himself against the doorframe. He was no longer wearing his coat, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, his previously white shirt now greased and dirty. He still had the cigar, but it was nearly burnt down to the end, and he looked exhausted, but satisfied.

With a wry smile touching his mouth he let his eyes pass over them all.

“Oh look, it’s my judge and jury.”

The Doctor remembered a little boy. Golden haired and brown eyed, four years old (four and three quarters, an indignant little voice reminded him), being asked what he wanted to do when he grew up…

The boy’s eyes had lit up. “I want be a fireman, or a space adventurer, or the ruler of the world!”

The Doctor had dragged a hand through his hair.

“Alex, we've talked about this. The answer is still no, you can’t!”

But the boy had only lifted his chin defiantly. “But Daddy said I could! Daddy promised!”

“Yes, but that was a long time ago, and he's no longer in a position to make such promises, is he now?”

The boy was stubborn though: “But I'd be really nice! I don't like burning things - I'd look after everyone.”

The Doctor had sighed, seeing the father’s influence far too clearly...

“You can't. Humans need to look after themselves.”

“Daddy said I could rule the whole universe! And we’d have a castle! You’re not fair!”

He felt like he was back to square one. Three hundred years, and they had not moved, except he was no longer dealing with a small stubborn child but a supremely capable adult, yet with the very same dreams. How had it come to this? Where had he gone wrong?

He really ought to say something - except he wasn’t sure what. Everything so far had gone wrong.

Before he could make up his mind, the Seeker - so very much like his father this time round, even in looks - sighed. The anger that had flared when they left was clearly long gone.

“Look, I’m not going to take over the world today, OK? Or even tomorrow, would you believe it. Quite frankly I’m knackered as it’s been a very, very long day, so I’m really not in the mood for further extended discussion about morality… If you want to argue and try to make me ‘see sense’, can we reschedule for tomorrow? My planet, ten o’clock.”

Glancing around the Doctor saw the relief on Clara’s face, and supposed it had been a long day for all of them… And there was River. He didn’t know what to do with her either.

“Very well,” he eventually replied, and the relief on the Seeker’s face was evident.

“Thank you. And now for the second reason I’m here…” A sudden, mischievous smile broke out on his face, so at odds with the general mood that the Doctor took a few seconds to process it.

“...I’ve come for some TLC.”

A pause followed his words, as everyone studied him, surprised.

The Master grinned.

“Sorry son, don’t think the lovely Redjay is going to be very forthcoming with her pleasures for the foreseeable future. Besides, she’s skedaddled as she always does.”

Another sigh.

“Dad, I don’t suppose it’s any use to tell you not to gloat quite so openly over the fact that I’ve alienated all my friends? The rest of you - you’re all idiots. Roda and I are friends, I wouldn’t dream of asking her now. No... this is very different.”

Looking past them all, he smiled - eyes warm and happy, his whole demeanor so changed from the glum looks he had aimed at the rest of them that it could have been a different man:

“Shafali. Neelam. I would be honoured to accept your proposition.”

There was a beat as they looked around, confused, but Jack turned to the twins, eyes widening.

“Wha- Twins?”

“We have names you know,” one of them said, archly.

“Although apparently only the Seeker seems to remember them,” the other added.

“I’m probably the only one who can tell you apart,” the Seeker replied, smiling, then tilted his head, voice suddenly silky smooth.

“I don’t think this was the face you were expecting. But then… I don’t believe it’s my face you’re interested in.”

Identical smiles graced their beautiful faces.

“No, what we are looking for is something much more than skin deep… Time Lord.”

Taking a step out of his TARDIS, he held out a hand.

“Seek, and ye shall find.”

As they walked across the central space, perfectly composed, Jack was the first to find his voice.

“I… don’t understand. What proposition? When?”

The Seeker took a slow drag of what was left of his cigar.

“They - you - sent a message. The message was encrypted with Jamie’s Song. Only one person in the universe would understand what that meant… Me.”

“Oh.” The Doctor’s eyes widened, understanding flooding in, as he remembered the encoded message earlier on - and the manner of the encoding. Sex… as music. (Although that was a crude sort of description - what he had seen had been stunningly beautiful.) “So that’s why- but-”

“But nothing. If you would excuse me, Doctor, I shall claim these last spoils of war.”

He studied the twins, eyes dancing:

“Do you mind being called that?”

One of them turned, amused.

“Jack calls us worse.”

“But-” The Doctor was thrown, and flailing, he knew it, and yet...

“Do you know who he is? What he did?”

They both looked at him, purple eyes an ocean of calm. He once more marvelled at what they could possibly be - he’d never come across anything like them. No wonder Jack had asked him to come along to meet them.

“He is a hero. The saviour of worlds. And we wouldn’t exist without him.”

“We will not apologise for being intrigued-”

“-Or grateful. To be perfectly honest-”

“-one of the main reasons we took the job was for an opportunity like this.”

And with matching enigmatic smiles they swept into the Seeker’s TARDIS.

For a second he stared after them open-mouthed, probably looking several kinds of fool, before turning to the Seeker, grasping for words.

“Seeker - this? Now? Didn’t you hear a word I said?”

The Seeker turned in the TARDIS’ doorway, studying him with something between confusion and suspicion.

“You don’t know who they are... Oh Doctor, you are getting old. Are you forgetting things on purpose now?”

When he didn’t reply - his mind scrambling for some sort of pointer to who the duo could possibly be and coming up blank - the Seeker shook his head, eyes growing cold.

“They are flesh and blood reminders of the worst thing I ever did. So don’t you dare stand in judgement of my conscience!”

With that he slammed the doors to his TARDIS shut, and a second later it dematerialised.

Turning, thrown and lost, he studied the others.

“Who are they?”

Eventually Jack replied.

“The twins are... the great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandchildren of Josh and Jamie.”

It took a moment to bring their faces, and stories, to the fore of his mind, and then he almost winced physically, fingers threading together nervously without realising.

Yes he remembered. Little Josh, who’d been around since the boy was four, charming and ambitious - he’d become an architect, his buildings exquisite and extraordinary. He’d been thinking about taking Clara on a tour to see them all. And enigmatic Jamie, as beautiful as sie was unique, grasping hir inheritance beyond what anyone could have imagined.

But above all he remembered the Seeker’s face. He had been young, so very, very young - twenty one years old, only a child... brown eyes pleading, yet composed, taking full responsibility for what had happened even though it had been an accident - the shock clearly still reverberating through him.

‘Doctor... Help me. Please - I didn’t mean to, I didn’t understand, I… I only meant to be kind. They’re my best friends, they trusted me. And now - human minds are so fragile, I didn’t realise...’

The Doctor had felt a chill go through him.

‘Seeker - what did you do?’

A smile far too bitter for someone so young.

‘What dad did to mum. And what’s more, I understand why he did it.’

The Doctor had shaken his head.

‘You can’t know that-’

‘Yes I can.’ The response had been unequivocal. (The Doctor dearly wished it hadn't been necessary to share why.)

‘Just please, help me. Fix them. Undo what I did. Please Doctor, I’m scared. It would be so easy to...’

His voice had trailed off, but it had been simple to fill in all the blanks. So easy to take advantage. So easy to take his father’s path. So easy to pretend it was a one-off, that it wouldn’t happen again…

As lessons went, it had been a harsh one. Moreso because the Doctor had not been able to reverse the damage... In the same way as how even a small drop of colour would irreversibly change the hue in a glass of water, they were forever more watching the world through different eyes.

(Not that they knew, or had ever understood, what had happened. To them, the world had always been golden, and didn’t grasp how it could be otherwise.)

“Ahhh, it all makes sense now” the Master said, with deep satisfaction. “Guess he was too young back then, although it was flawlessly done - so perfectly biddable I couldn’t have done it better myself. I'm pleased he finally seems to understand that it's no less than he deserves.”

But the Doctor stayed silent.

‘Worst thing I ever did’ still rang in his ears. And for the first time since he had found Earth missing he felt like maybe, maybe he could breathe.

Eventually he looked around, his eyes slowly fastening on River. He hadn’t known whether to run towards or away, but finally… Maybe he could step into the past for just a little while.

“River Song. Could I ask you out to dinner?”

She met his eyes, unflinching, composed, yet wary. (She knew. She always knew.)

“On one condition.” A beat, as her face stayed completely devoid of emotion, although somehow he sensed that there was laughter hidden in her eyes. “We don’t talk about the kids.”

He stayed under the water for as long as he could. How did humans cope without a respiratory bypass system? He was weightless, cushioned, and everything was peaceful.

Eventually he had to breathe and broke through the surface feeling almost new. A spectacular sunset was painting the sky in hues of brightest amber to darkest red, the grass looked aflame, and the surface of the lake was like molten gold.

But what made him smile wasn’t the beauty of his planet - it was the laughter.

The twins were playing with the Toclafane, trying to spray them with water, but the spheres were too fast and always moved just before they were soaked.

(They had been his very first playthings - he could still recall reaching out, delighted, for their bright lights and funny voices when he was a tiny baby. They had been the best toys ever, and he had been sad when they’d disappeared.)

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard laughter like that - happy and carefree. Not since before he’d regenerated, certainly. He’d been so busy, burying himself in work…

‘This is what I want’, he thought. A quote floated up from somewhere - detached from its origin, yet it made his smile deepen with its aptness.

‘I want to make my kingdom beautiful, to fill it with fat men and pretty maids and laughing children. I want my people to smile when they see me ride by.’

Not that Shafali and Neelam were children… In any way.

Sensing his presence they turned, like mirror images, dark eyes watching him, slim bodies outlined against the sky, shimmering with wetness. Desire weighed down the air between them - what they wanted; what they would give in return.

(So many things he’d never made time for yet in this regeneration. But then he’d died alone, his first memories in his new body waking up in the destroyed remnants of the work of nearly a century. There had been nothing but devastation. He had been wrong - made a simple mistake - and the consequences had been… incalculable. His ginger self had been so confident, so sure - but this time he had been born into doubt and the aftermath of failure.

He had gone to find Roda and she had looked at him with eyes he could only now read, and softly shaken her head: ‘I’m sorry...’

Jack hadn’t been much better, essentially saying ‘Come back later’. Maybe that’s why he had built his TARDIS… He wondered if any of them knew why it looked like a tree. (Things lost, yet the memories were still alive, still meaningful.) But the TARDIS had led to the Toclafane, and the Toclafane to this day… So how could he regret any of it?)

‘Come.’

The evening was warm, but with enough of a breeze to make the air pleasant rather than humid. He sank into the soft grass with a beautiful body in each arm, and for a single moment the sense memories threatened to paralyse him.

But today was the beginning of the rest of his life, and he knew he would never be able to move forward before laying the ghosts of the past to rest.

‘Sing to me. Sing me your songs. Your hopes and dreams, your life, your world.’

(Their existence pure chance. Tracing it back, they had sprung from a criminal fugitive, a one-night stand, a chance meeting - and his own… ‘miracle making’. Could such serendipity happen when order was applied? How far could you interfere? How far did the end justify the means? Where did he go from here? What was the best path to take?)

'We have waited for you. We will sing, if you will bathe us in your light.'

And then there were lips against his, hands drifting along his chest, and music filling his mind… And he let himself sink into the release and joy they offered, waves of pleasure washing away all worries and doubts and dreams; and this time he would not break them.

Letting himself fall into the eternal now, he forgot everything about the past or the future.

The next morning dawned with a twin sunrise fit to be described as one of the wonders of the universe. The sky changed from deepest ruby to clear amber, the distant snow-capped mountains glowed like diamonds, and as the silver leaves of the forest caught the golden light they looked like molten fire rippling across the valley.

And all across the sky, right out to the horizon, endless, endless Toclafane, moving as if in a silent dance, shifting in countless patterns, the sunlight fracturing over and over again against their shells, and the Seeker - standing at the top of the tall, graceful tower that formed the centre of his house - thought his hearts might stop at the sheer unexpected beauty.

(He had promised them a home. Had never imagined they would repay him in beauty.)

Dispatching Harvey with barely more than a breath, he didn’t have to wait long before he was joined by Shafali and Neelam - their curious looks changing into stunned, wordless appreciation as they turned to take in the view.

(He’d thought of them as one person in two bodies… Only now did he understand how wrong he had been. They were more like two people in one body - so distinctive, he wondered how he had ever thought them similar.)

For the longest time they all three just stood there, drinking in the beauty, and the Seeker marvelled at how much things could change in a single day.

He felt… free.

There had been some mightily uncomfortable moments the day before, but everything was out in the open now. No more lies. No more hiding. And he had a dream, a purpose, a goal.

Of course the Inquisition would be arriving in a few hours, and he had plenty to do before then…

‘Come on, my gorgeous ones. I was going to make waffles. And then I’m going to ask you to do me a favour…’

They stood outside the Seeker’s front door, watching as the Doctor’s TARDIS appeared in the large circular courtyard, and the Doctor, River, Clara and the Master stepped out. The Master still in handcuffs.

‘Do you think he slept in those?’

‘Hope so.’

But Clara and River were wearing different clothing, so presumably they’d had a rest. Clara was looking around curiously, and Shafali’s eyes narrowed. (There was a dead girl in Torchwood’s mortuary, whose name was Clara Oswald, and who looked exactly like this one. They’d started a new line of research whilst waiting for Earth to be saved, and had so far turned up twenty three girls with matching names and faces from Earth’s history. Clara looked like she was going to make a very interesting project.)

A moment later Roda’s TARDIS turned up, with Roda and Jack. (Roda looked wary, but much better than she had the evening before. Which was good. They liked Roda.)

Neelam waved, and Jack waved back, then looked around and caught the Doctor’s eyes, before focussing on them again.

“Twins… Where is he?”

Shafali tilted hir head.

“He left.”

The Doctor stepped forward.

“What do you mean, ‘left’? Where did he go?”

Shafali smiled, as Neelam explained: “Somewhere impossible. But he gave us a message to pass on.”

Pressing a button, they activated the hologram message, and the Seeker popped to life - if a see-through hologram could be deemed ‘life’. The hologram smiled:

‘Hello everyone! I hope you are all well rested, and have polished your arguments to a shine. I’m so very sorry I can’t be there to hear them, but I’m sure you’ll still remember them when I return. You see, I decided I needed a break to get my head together in peace and quiet and work out what I’m doing - so I’m off to do a little inter-dimensional travel. And Doctor, before you say something… It is not impossible. Just ask a Dalek.’

He grinned wickedly, before the smile faded.

‘Roda, Jack - I hope you will still consider this place as your own. The Toclafane are not allowed on the southern hemisphere, so you should be able to visit without ever knowing they’re there. Everyone else - the planet is going into lockdown in an hour from the end of this message, so unless you want to be trapped, please leave. And if someone could give the gorgeous twosome a lift back home, that would be great. See you when I get back!’

He winked, and the hologram flashed out of existence.

After that there was some confusion and shouting and arm waving, which they watched with quiet amusement. No wonder he’d wanted to get away.

Lacing hands together they waited for the commotion to die down so they could get home, tilting their heads so they could watch the Toclafane above, trying to map the patterns (they were good at patterns, their minds constantly spinning out along potential possibilities - they had streamlined Torchwood to a degree Jack hadn’t thought possible), and marvelling at the delightful complexity.

(‘They are us, in the far, far future. One day we will save the universe.’)

A single day, and the whole cosmos could change. They looked at each other and smiled - it had been a good day.

Chapter Text

September 2013, Coal Hill School

The school secretary caught her as she was leaving.

“Oh Miss Oswald,” she sing-songed, and Clara stopped and stuck her head around the door.

“Yes?”

“There was a young man asking after you this afternoon…”

Her eyes were sparkling with curiosity and news, and Clara knew there was no getting out of this.

“Was he wearing a purple coat?” she asked, and the secretary’s face practically lit up with delight.

(Clara tried not to sigh, knowing that within twentyfour hours the whole school would know…)

“Yes he was! Ever so charming, isn’t he? Where have you been keeping him? And a Doctor to boot! If he has any brothers, or cousins, or friends - do introduce me! And the eyes - such an unusual colour. Don’t think I’ve ever seen such vivid green eyes…”

“Green eyes,” Clara repeated slowly, feeling sudden dread. “It’s not… He’s just an acquaintance. Did he leave a message?”

The secretary looked like she didn’t believe a word.

“Yes, here you are. Looks like more than an ‘acquaintance’ to me…”

Clara tried not to sigh. The woman seemed to live for cramming insinuations into every line she spoke.

Taking the business card the secretary held out she made her excuses, not looking at it until she was outside and walking away.

It turned out to be an actual business card.

She frowned, and turned it over. On the back was a short scribbled note.

Can I see you? If so, please come to the cafe round the corner, I’ll be waiting after you finish work.
S.

Biting her lip, she turned things over in her head. Had he come back already? Maybe he wanted to talk to the Doctor, but thought it might be better going through her… They’d not parted on particularly good terms.

She didn’t have any plans and it was a nice afternoon - without really meaning to, her feet turned her towards the cafe.

He was seated in a corner in one of the cosy sofas and reading a newspaper when she entered. Black shirt and trousers, but purple coat just like the secretary had said - more of a blazer really, and much darker than the Doctor’s. Above all he just looked... normal. Goodlooking, certainly, but not overly so. The Doctor’s dress code was eccentric, and the rest of them were all on the odd spectrum. But she’d never have suspected there to be anything odd about the Seeker if she hadn’t known he was an alien. He just… blended in.

He looked up when she closed the door, and smiled.

“You came!”

Feeling oddly self-conscious she walked over to his table, and took a seat on the armchair across from him.

“You’re back very soon. Or… is it a time travel thing and you’ve actually been gone for months?”

Folding the newspaper neatly and laying it down on the table he looked up at her with a puzzled look.

“Back? I’ve not left yet.”

“But…” She faltered. “You left that a hologram message. And the Doctor searched with all his instruments and your TARDIS was nowhere.”

Leaning back, he chuckled.

“I worked out how to go off grid when I was only twenty years old. And I’ve only gotten better since.”

“I - I don’t understand. Was it all a clever lie?”

He shook his head.

“I very much intend to go. But I’m not about to throw myself at parallel universes without a) knowing what I’m doing, b) being 100% sure I can get back and c) making absolutely sure that I don’t destroy the space-time fabric. And all that takes time. But as everyone knows I’m terribly clever, I’m perfectly happy to let them think I’ve gone already whilst I can work these things out in my own time. However, as my TARDIS is busy doing calculations right now, I thought I’d use the opportunity to take a break.”

He smiled at her, and her eyes narrowed.

“A break. For talking to me?”

“Indeed. What can I get you? Tea, coffee, hot chocolate, cake? Just name it.”

He was too charming. That was the problem - it was entirely too easy to forget what had happened. (’Don’t trust the man in black’ a voice whispered at the back of her mind.) She shook her head.

“Just give me whatever message you want passing on, and I’ll be on my way.”

This time he was the one who looked surprised.

“What message? For whom?”

“For the Doctor? I’m presuming that’s why you want to see me.”

His face closed down.

“There is really nothing I would want to say to the Doctor right now. I asked you to come because I want to talk to you.”

“Oh. Me?”

The smile came back.

“You are ‘The Impossible Girl’. And I like impossible things best of all. Besides, the Doctor’s companions are usually… louder than you. You were so very quiet, I couldn’t help but notice.” A beat. “Besides...”

“Besides?”

He hesitated.

“I wanted to apologise, I guess. Not that it was my fault, really, but you ended up in the middle of family arguments that have been going for more than three hundred years. Longer, in some cases. No one should be exposed to that. Goodness knows I do my best to hide - as you can see - but sometimes there’s no escape and I have to face the music. And it’s basically an exercise in frustration, since nothing’s changed in all that time, except me, this once. But all the rest - the shouting, the death threats… Well, it’s not usually Roda doing the threatening, but otherwise it was all like being stuck in the same old time loop.”

A sigh, as he spread his hands, looking resigned.

“But it can’t be helped, although I wish the Doctor hadn’t been so upset - he always takes everything so personally. At least this should give them all slightly different arguments for the next three hundred years. But! This is a dull subject. I would like to know something about you. Who are you, Miss Oswald? You seem so very normal, how are you impossible?”

Why did he have to be so nice? If it hadn’t been for… well, what she’d seen with her own eyes, she’d have happily lowered her guard. But as it was… She leaned back to mirror his pose and studied him coolly.

“If I answer your questions, will you answer mine?”

He looked at her, almost as if hurt.

“I didn’t mean this as an interrogation, only to have a chat... Please, ask me anything. Although are you sure I can’t get you a drink?”

She acquiesced to a coffee, and tried to gather herself when he went off to order it.

(Who was he? She felt a little like she was walking on quicksand. Not that she was frightened as such, just... uncertain. Usually she was good at gauging people, but he’d kept tripping her up, to the point where she plain didn’t know what to think.)

So when he returned, she gratefully took the coffee, thoughtfully blew on it, and then launched her attack:

“So, are you seriously going to take over the universe?”

His cup stopped half-way to his mouth.

“You certainly don’t beat around the bush.”

Then - a slow, warm smile.

“I like it. I had a human girlfriend once, oh so very, very long ago, who was like that too - never hesitated to call me out on things. I can see why the Doctor likes you. But in answer to your question - yes, taking over the universe is the idea, although of course the universe is very very very large. I’ll start small, slowly work my way up, see how it goes. I’m only one man, I do have limits.”

Green eyes were watching her with perfect equanimity, as he lifted the cup to his mouth, taking a sip.

“But… why?” she replied. “None of it makes sense. You seem… so genuinely pleased, but everyone else is worried, and I just can’t get it to fit… What is it you can see? What do you know, that they don’t? You don’t seem like your father at all, in that way.”

He studied her carefully, and she wondered what was going through his mind. Eventually he tilted his head, having evidently come to some sort of conclusion.

“When I was growing up, I had two best friends,” he said, setting the cup down on the table and resting his elbows on his knees, fingers loosely intertwined.

“Josh and Jamie,” she replied. “Jack told me a little about them. The twins are their great grandchildren, right?”

He shook his head.

“Yes and no. Yes, Josh and Jamie are the twins’ great-grandparents, but Josh only met Jamie when we were at university. The little trio I’m talking about was myself, Josh and Matt - from when we were all four. Josh was gorgeous and charming, I was the genius, and Matt… was the straight man. Just a normal guy, most people thought, someone to balance out the oddness. Except he was very driven - he just didn’t flaunt it. Josh wanted to make the world beautiful, but Matt wanted to make it better. If you survive the Doctor, look out for him in a few decades’ time - he’ll be at the heart of all kinds of campaigns. When he found out what I was, he was forever telling me that I ought to do something. ‘Noblesse oblige’ was his refrain. But I was far too wary to even try - with a father like mine, I knew entirely too well how slippery a slope ‘good intentions’ could prove to be. Besides, how do you start? Politics is out, taking over by force is effective, but generally counterproductive, and mind control… Oh I could do that in my sleep, it’d be the easiest thing in the world, but I- I don’t ever want to see that again. However, there is another way - one I had never even thought of…”

A sudden smile, as bright as on the Crucible: “I’m a hero. I saved the universe. People will hand me power on a plate, yet hold me accountable. All I need to do is work out how to best go about it. Which is why I’m taking a break - I don’t want to rush into anything and get it wrong through impatience.”

He’d promised to answer her questions, but this was far more than she had expected.

“Why are you telling me all this?”

A shrug, as he picked up his cup again and leaned back.

“You seem like a good listener. And you were the only relatively calm one - apart from River, but then she generally stays out of the domestics. You seem like you would be willing to give me the benefit of the doubt. Everyone else knows me already, have long since made up their minds… You see, I much prefer show-don’t-tell, but in this case I’m in somewhat of a catch-22 situation. The only way I can prove that I’m not going to be an evil overlord is to be a good one - but that very thing is what they won’t let me do. Of course, my name doesn’t help - ‘Alexander the Great’ has unfortunate connotations. I’m not aiming to be like my namesake, more like… One of the good Roman emperors? Not changing everything, but working with existing systems, improving them. Like… um, what’s his name? Marcus Aurelius, that’s it! Do you know him?”

She stared at him, trying not to show how his words had affected her. Had he said it on purpose?

Green eyes studied her, and she couldn’t for the life of her have said if they were shrewd or curious.

“I... yes, I know of Marcus Aurelius,” she eventually said, feeling like he’d somehow pulled the rug from under her. Was he genuinely just wanting to talk to her, or was he somehow manipulating her? But why? He’d said he didn’t have a message for the Doctor, yet he had to know she’d pass this on.

“Are you OK?” he asked as she didn’t continue, and she tried smiling.

“Sure. But you didn’t really answer my question. I could tell the Doctor all this...”

He bit his lip, laughter almost spilling over:

“Are you trying to tell me you could stop me?”

Her eyes narrowed and she studied him coldly. He was laughing at her?

“I’m saying I don’t trust you.”

Still trying to curb his evident amusement, he shook his head.

“That’s a shame. I’m very trustworthy, and I lie far less than the Doctor. But go on Impossible Girl, impress me. What have you got? ‘Impossible Girl’ is too good a title to be just ornamental, but you’re nothing like my Jack. Besides, I saw you die. Well, your doppleganger, and the Doctor seemed to know what was happening, even mentioning a third one. Go on, you know you want to…”

Trying to gather herself, she grasped her coffee, taking a small sip.

“I’m not sure. There might be... spoilers?”

Green eyes sparkled.

“I’m excellent at keeping secrets.”

She probably shouldn’t - but there wasn’t anyone else that she could really tell about it. And it might just impress him enough to stop him laughing.

“Right, here goes - have you ever heard of Trenzalore?”

He shook his head, nonplussed.

“Doesn’t ring a bell, no. Planet or place or person?”

“Planet. It’s where the Doctor dies. Where he’s… buried.”

(Some time in the far, far future, she told herself. Not yet.)

The Seeker’s eyes widened, the laughter abruptly gone.

“Please tell me this isn’t a story about how the Doctor went to the one and only place he must never ever go?”

She nodded, and he took a deep breath, hands grasping his cup tightly.

“And he shouts at me! How could he be so completely reckless?”

“His friends were in danger!” she snapped back, but the Seeker just shook his head,

“This is exactly why my best friend is an immortal man. Mortal friends make you vulnerable. I learned the lesson when I was sixteen!” A beat. “Sorry. Nothing to do with you. Just… tell your story.”

She wanted to yell that friends didn’t make you vulnerable, they made you strong - but her story would prove that well enough, so she told of how she had been summoned by Vastra, and everything that followed. He listened silently, not interrupting until she explained how she had leapt into the Doctor’s time stream, at which point he sat forward, looking at her as if he’d never seen her before.

“You did what? How the hell are you still here?”

“The Doctor went in after me, got me back out.”

He blinked.

“You’re mad. As mad as each other. I… can’t even begin to… Actually I was wrong. You’re not like my girlfriend after all. She wasn’t crazy.”

Clara’s jaw almost dropped.

“And wanting to take over the universe is the sane option?”

“Comparatively - yes. A thousand times yes. Don’t get me wrong, I’m very impressed. People like you - I could never do that.”

She studied him, and was reminded of her initial thought - how unassuming he looked, sitting across from her in a sofa in a cafe as if they were on date like the school secretary presumed. Somehow his very normality was more unsettling than the Doctor’s peculiarities.

“How do you look so… normal? It’s-”

She wasn’t sure how to continue, how to say ‘You want to take over the universe, how can you look… ordinary?’ Yet he did. And she suddenly realised why this had tripped her up when she had first entered the cafe. She had only seen him in the TARDIS, in the Crucible, in Torchwood - had even been to his planet. All extraordinary places, and he’d fitted in there perfectly. How could he fit here also?

Thankfully he got the gist of what she was trying to say, finishing his coffee and then replying.

“Here, it’s easy. This is where I grew up, I can play the part without even thinking about it.”

“Play the part?” she asked slowly, a pang of worry shooting through her, and he studied her calmly.

“I grew up the only Time Lord child in a world full of aliens. I learned to adapt pretty quickly. The Child of Two Worlds, remember?”

A sideways smile that was rather bitter.

“Well, it’s a nice title. In truth, I’m not a child of either. Gallifrey is obviously long gone, and Earth… I know I said that I had a home and family. Which I do - did - but it was never mine. I learned that soon enough. What year is it now? Twenty thirteen? I am currently... six years old. Just less than two years until-”

He stopped, abruptly looking down, and she couldn’t help prompting:

“Until?”

(Until he learned that he had no real home, her mind filled in… He had been eight years old? What had happened? Something caught in her throat at that. What had it been like for him growing up as an alien in a human world? He had 'learned to play the part', he’d said. But constantly pretending to be something he wasn’t couldn’t have been healthy...)

At that moment there was a faint buzzing sound, and he pulled out something that looked like a phone from his pocket.

“Oh, and that’s my alarm. All tests run, ready for take off.”

The momentary vulnerability had vanished completely. Instead he smiled.

“Thank you for giving me some of your time Clara Oswin Oswald.”

She stared, her question forgotten.

“How-”

(It was what the Doctor had called her when he first came to her door. But she’d only coined the ‘Oswin’ thing later... The pang of worry immediately slammed into overdrive.)

Tucking the gizmo back into his pocket he eyed her candidly, and for a second the look in his eyes was just like his father’s.

“Let me keep a few secrets. And don’t worry - I’ll keep yours also. And in that spirit... A little spoiler for you, that I stumbled upon. Well, I was looking for you, and found... this.”

Confused, she looked up at him as he got to his feet. Reaching into a different pocket he pulled out something small, before tossing it to her.

“This should explain it.”

Catching the object, she saw that it was a coin, about the size of a pound, but thinner and made from a greenish metal she didn’t recognise. On one side it featured an engraved tree, heavily stylised, surrounded by the words ‘Seek and ye shall find’. (There was a slight - miniscule - delay between reading and understanding, which she knew meant that a TARDIS was translating for her.)

Puzzled she turned it over, and was faced with a profile image of the Seeker, ‘Alexander the Great’ in scrolling script around the edges, along with a string of numbers.

Slowly letting the implications sink in she lifted her head; but he was already gone.