Everything hurt, and breathing in particular.<\/p>\n
At first, the Doctor’d thought it must be related to his latest regeneration, a sign that something had gone wrong. Any moment now, he’d collapse on the floor and death would finally, blissfully claim him.<\/p>\n
He said nothing to Nyssa, of course. Best to let her believe she’d done all she could, rather than warn her and risk her coming up with some other ingenious way of saving his life. She was just brilliant enough she’d likely succeed, and then where would he be?<\/p>\n
It took a while to realise that the agony he felt wasn’t dying; it was living. That ache in his chest wasn’t his hearts, not in the physical sense. It was the knowledge that his were the last pair of beating Gallifreyan hearts in the universe. What made it hard to breathe wasn’t a flaw in his lungs or his respiratory bypass, it was the knowledge that no one else of his species would ever draw breath again.<\/p>\n
Maybe that was a touch melodramatic, but then again all things considered…maybe it wasn’t. It seemed rather inadequate to describe what he was feeling.<\/p>\n
The Doctor felt hobbled by the fact that it was Nyssa who’d saved him. Any stranger or any other companion? He could’ve thrown his loss in their faces to justify his anger. But Nyssa…how could he ask her to expect less of him than he’d expected of her? She’d survived; of course she would believe he could too.<\/p>\n
Simple, yeah?<\/em> he thought grimly to himself. Only I’m not so strong as you. Likely never was.<\/em><\/p>\n She was leading him around Terminus now like a tour guide–ever since that strange moment between them in her quarters, Nyssa had retreated behind a screen of Trakenite formality. To tell the truth, he was grateful for it.<\/p>\n She’d have done well on Gallifrey, he thought with no small ache, if she hadn’t been so afraid for his life the one time they’d visited. Not that there was a pretentious bone in her body, but she had a genuinely regal grace that would’ve impressed a High Council too self-absorbed to know the difference. But that was speaking ill of the dead, wasn’t it? The Doctor’s hearts tightened again–he’d never thought he could miss those uptight old frauds so much.<\/p>\n Nyssa’s formality didn’t stop her pride in what she’d accomplished coming through, he noticed, forcing his mind back to the present. It was well deserved–the Terminus he remembered had been a hellish place, so impersonal and hopeless it might as well have had inscribed above the docking ports: “Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.” The fact that Nyssa had not only refused to abandon hope, but had reshaped this broken-down timeship at the centre of the universe into a place that lent others hope as well was nothing short of incredible.<\/p>\n He felt humbled to have played even a small role in the change by bringing her here, and ashamed of every single time his fifth incarnation had fretted after she’d gone about how she’d fare in such a heartless place.<\/p>\n But then, those who’d called his fifth persona a crotchety old man trapped in a young man’s body weren’t far off.<\/p>\n What were once overcrowded holding cells for the dying had been transformed, with time and ingenuity, into proper wards with more than enough beds. The grime of millennia had been stripped from the walls, the entire place cleaned from top to bottom, making it, well…if not warm, at least a lot more welcoming.<\/p>\n Most impressive of all, though, was that the Vanir and other people they passed coming and going from what had once been the “forbidden zone” all wore proper radiation attire instead of that damnable armour–something he couldn’t help remarking on.<\/p>\n Nyssa beamed. “Yes, that was one of the first things I budgeted for, once we were able to cut costs by synthesising our own Hydromel. That and proper shielding for the engines.”<\/p>\n They’d stopped in a robing room to don their own radiation suits before heading deeper into the heart of Terminus. Of course, with proper shielding in place they probably wouldn’t need them, but it was just like Nyssa to be prepared for anything. It wouldn’t do, after all, to go to the trouble of keeping him alive only to let him get himself irradiated again and die anyway.<\/p>\n “How proper are we talking?” the Doctor asked. He had a vague memory that the radiation leak from the engines had been instrumental, somehow, in keeping the place running.<\/p>\n “Enough to be safe,” Nyssa answered simply. “While still getting the power we need where it ought to go.”<\/p>\n Clearly she’d had a lot of practice, over the years, in explaining things for the average layperson. Perhaps later he could gently remind her he wasn’t one of them, and get the full technical explanation. Who knew? There might even be something he could do to help further her plans for the station.<\/p>\n He brutally shoved aside the thought that if the TARDIS was dead, it might be the only useful thing left for him to<\/em> do. (And wouldn’t that be irony for you? Both of them losing their worlds to wind up ending their days on this…place.)<\/p>\n Nyssa pulled the helmet of the radiation suit over her head, and the Doctor imitated her almost mechanically. Silence fell between them again until they reached the re-shielded engines, where Nyssa pointed out the work that had been done. It was exactly the technical detail he’d wanted, so why did he find it disappointingly impersonal?<\/p>\n But then, what did he expect? In his fifth persona, he’d kept all his companions at something of a distance, sometimes even when they might’ve needed a more personal touch. He’d certainly no right to whinge about it if she maintained that distance now. How was she to know his own loss had left him craving the contact of another sentient being, to remind him that the Time War hadn’t destroyed everything?<\/p>\n Nyssa looked up at him, her face barely visible behind the clear but small face shield of her own suit. To his surprise, she slipped one delicate hand into his own as if it belonged there. He squeezed her hand gratefully, but said nothing, allowing her to lead him on. She let go only once they had passed through the last danger zone and could remove the helmets.<\/p>\n The Doctor found himself studying his one-time companion. She’d changed, of course: in ways subtle and not so subtle. The years had left their mark, etching her face with spider-thin lines and a few deeper cracks. Every one reminded him not only of Nyssa’s own mortality, but that of her entire species. Long gone were the traditional Trakenite curls. In her dress, too, practicality had long ago replaced fashion: she wore a simple, one-piece black jumpsuit under a long white coat.<\/p>\n “How long has it been?” he asked. “For you, I mean. Since I left you here.”<\/p>\n Nyssa looked thoughtful for a moment. “Why, it must be nearly fifty years past.”<\/p>\n Fifty years! That would certainly explain all she’d accomplished, but still… “You don’t look it.”<\/p>\n She glanced at him, amused. “In human terms, no, I suppose I don’t. But then, by that standard, neither do you look your age.”<\/p>\n How old did he look this time around? Oddly, he hadn’t really given it much thought. Might even say he dreaded the idea of looking in a mirror and discovering his new face. Considering what had shaped it, he couldn’t shake the fear that the monster he’d become must show somehow.<\/p>\n She was right, though: on Traken, eighty was likely considered barely middle age. After all, she’d travelled with him for what, ten years, just the two of them? Fifteen, maybe? And when they’d picked up Tegan again, she’d just assumed it had been the same year for them as it had for her.<\/p>\n Tegan. Oh yes, why didn’t he just twist another knife in his own hearts, while he was at it? The Doctor scowled.<\/p>\n They’d reached the bridge by this time, though, which afforded him the perfect opportunity to steer the conversation away from dangerous waters. “I see you got rid of the corpse in the pilot’s seat,” he remarked dryly.<\/p>\n “Yes.” Nyssa’s answer came out equally dry. “It rather reinforced the idea of Terminus as a place for the dying. I wanted to create a place of healing instead.”<\/p>\n So much for safer waters. Oh, yes, Terminus had most certainly been a place for the dying when they’d first come here. It was one of the reasons he’d dreaded leaving Nyssa behind, only doing so in the end because he respected her too much to deny her the choice. Maybe if she’d still been the child she was when they met, but no, she’d grown up while they traveled together, and not only as a result of Traken’s destruction. (Gallifrey’s fate had aged him too. For the first time, he felt not just every century but every minute of his too-long life. He was truly an old man now in a way he’d never been when he’d worn the face of one. There was irony for you.)<\/p>\n Still, it hadn’t stopped him from wondering, at first, if he’d done the right thing leaving Nyssa here. Tegan had certainly questioned it. His sixth incarnation really hadn’t been the worrying sort, so for a long while those concerns had faded from his mind altogether. If he’d never found himself here, he might never have thought of it again. Now that he was here…he couldn’t help but envy her ability to find hope and healing in a place such as this.<\/p>\n He couldn’t, that was certain. Such long term commitment to a task had never come easily to his restless soul. The thought of ending his days here wasn’t one he liked to contemplate, even though Terminus was far less deserving of its name after fifty years of Nyssa’s handling. He liked the possibility that the TARDIS might be dead, leaving him no choice, even less.<\/p>\n “Doctor?” Nyssa asked gently.<\/p>\n He’d got lost in his own thoughts again. Well, that was one thing that hadn’t changed with this new body. Forcing a bright, false smile onto his face, the Doctor chirruped, “Sorry ’bout that. So much interesting stuff, I get distracted, me.”<\/p>\n It was plain by her face that she knew better than to believe him, but mercifully she didn’t comment, only gave him a sad smile. “Come. There’s one more thing I think you’ll want to see.”<\/p>\n ~*~<\/p>\n He felt the TARDIS before he turned the corner and saw her. For the first time since he’d watched Arcadia fall, the Doctor felt an irrational spark of hope; if he could feel the TARDIS, it meant she was still alive. And if she was still alive, well, he might still be the last Gallifreyan left alive in the universe, but he wasn’t the last thing left of Gallifrey.<\/p>\n She was sitting in the corridor, one door a little ajar from where he’d fallen out. There was no light shining through the opening, but that was hardly unusual–several past console rooms had possessed an inner door as well as an outer one. From the outside at least, there appeared to be only minimal damage.<\/p>\n That hope faded significantly the minute he set foot inside.<\/p>\n The console room told a different story. The Doctor heard Nyssa gasp behind him as they stepped inside, and he wondered humorlessly if it was the damage or just the expanded size of the room that shocked her. He dismissed that thought as uncharitable a pair of heartbeats later: likely it was both. Certainly even the decision to move the library into the console room hadn’t made it seem quite as vast as it appeared now, a burnt-out husk.<\/p>\n For that was all that was left, really, in the dim glow of Nyssa’s torch. A few burnt pages of what had been priceless volumes littered the floor, but otherwise the library was ashes. A few pieces of furniture were still barely recognisable, but none would ever be usable again. The gothic-cathedral d\u00e9cor he’d put up on a whim after losing Ace was either charred or melted beyond recognition. The enormous metal support struts he’d erected to support the fancy new viewscreen had twisted and warped like trees thrashed in a violent storm. Everywhere he looked, he saw only ruins.<\/p>\n The only thing left standing was the console, though even it showed signs of severe damage. A light in the time rotor still glowed faintly, though. Even had he not sensed the TARDIS’ presence through their symbiotic bond, he would’ve known from that light that she was still clinging to life by a tenuous thread.<\/p>\n He wasn’t surprised to see his own dismay at the extent of the destruction mirrored on Nyssa’s face in the torchlight. She’d always had a compassionate heart and the TARDIS had once been her only home too. She moved forward as if drawn by invisible strings, deeper into the cavernous ruin of a room.<\/p>\n The Doctor waited almost impatiently for her to make some inane comment, spit out some platitude that would give him an excuse to snap at her. Rassilon, was that what he’d been reduced to in this incarnation? Goading friends into making him angry so he could fulfill this inane need to lash out at someone or something?<\/p>\n Instead, she laid one, gentle, sympathetic hand on the console. Astonishment drove all traces of anger from his mind as the light on the time rotor brightened noticeably in response.<\/p>\n “She likes you,” he remarked dumbly. Oh, fantastic. Make another brilliantly obvious observation while you’re at it, why don’t you?<\/em><\/p>\n “Of course she does,” Nyssa answered softly, meeting his eyes. “I saved your life, didn’t I?”<\/p>\n The Doctor gave her a blank look, and Nyssa returned it with an incredulous stare of her own. “Did it never occur to you that the TARDIS might not be so eager to die?”<\/p>\n Incredibly, it hadn’t. He’d thought it was coincidence that brought them here, or some strange force of gravity drawing them to the centre of the known universe. The idea that the TARDIS had subverted his own death wish, taking him–as he’d observed before–to the one person in the universe against whom all his excuses would turn to naught…it was audacious.<\/p>\n It went further than that, though. The TARDIS had a sense of the passage and eddies of time more keen than his own, or than any Time Lord’s. She had a habit of taking him where he was needed, whether it was where he’d meant to go or not. Hence why he rarely landed anywhere that trouble didn’t follow soon after.<\/p>\n He thought about the Watcher, the ghostly figure whose presence in his mind always heralded the end of one life and the beginning of the next. It was a part of him, a symbolic representation of the symbiotic bond with the TARDIS that gave him the power to regenerate. Or at least, he’d always thought it symbolic. If you’d asked him at any point in his first four lives if the Watcher could take physical form and act independently of him, he’d’ve sworn it impossible. But it had happened, just once. The one time the Watcher had taken physical form and acted independently of him, it had brought Nyssa to Logopolis.<\/p>\n For centuries the Doctor had wondered, why her? Why snatch Nyssa alone from the jaws of Traken’s destruction? After her decision to stay on Terminus, he’d thought maybe that was the answer–that she was needed elsewhere. But what if there were more to it than that? What if the Watcher had saved Nyssa so that she could, in turn, save him?<\/p>\n When he thought about it–really thought about it, not just entertaining a passing fancy–the very idea made him feel physically ill. Oh, his ship was a possessive, protective thing, she was. Would she condemn someone to outlive her entire world just so he might one day have a sympathetic ear? If so, then Nyssa’s survival wasn’t fate; it was cruelty.<\/p>\n He hated himself a little more for even contemplating the idea. Both Nyssa and the TARDIS deserved better from him.<\/p>\n He moved forward to lay his own hand on the console in apology. “Then we’d best save her, hadn’t we?”<\/p>\n ~*~<\/p>\n That first day, all they did was to evaluate the extent of the damage. Much to Nyssa’s surprise and occasional delight, the TARDIS had managed to preserve some rooms entirely, including the room she’d once shared with Tegan (though the walls had changed).<\/p>\n The Doctor seemed surprised by that one, confessing sheepishly that he’d thought it long gone.<\/p>\n Of course, for every room they found intact, there were a dozen hallways and doorways which now only led to walls. The TARDIS had clearly jettisoned a significant part of herself to survive and to bring the Doctor here safely. Nyssa remembered all too well a time when the ship had been asked to make a similar sacrifice to save them all.<\/p>\n Still, if she’d ever had any doubts that the ship was sentient, the significance of the surviving rooms laid them to rest: every one they found together meant something to the Doctor, or to her.<\/p>\n The wardrobe, for example, was surprisingly pristine. The Doctor disappeared into its riot of colour and fabric with a cheerful desire to find clothing that “looks more like me.” For the first time Nyssa caught a glimpse of the man she’d once known in this stranger’s enthusiasm. She half expected him to emerge dressed head to toe in purple, or yellow, or possibly armour. Perhaps even all three: she’d seen stranger whims take him.<\/p>\n “So?” The Doctor asked upon emerging once again. He pivoted a little, flashing a manic grin at her that she recognised as patently forced. “What d’you think?”<\/p>\n Nyssa blinked. Then again, perhaps she hadn’t seen stranger things. He wore black trousers, black boots, a black turtleneck jumper and a battered old black jacket that appeared to be made from sort of animal hide. It was the strangest choice of costume the Doctor could’ve made because it was so…normal: no wonder she hadn’t anticipated it.<\/p>\n The look on her face must have resembled his when she’d made her first attempt to dress in a fashion other than that of her native Traken, because he became instantly defensive. “Why, what’s wrong with it?”<\/p>\n “It’s very…black,” she answered honestly.<\/p>\n “So’s yours,” he pointed out.<\/p>\n Nyssa glanced down at her own attire. She smiled wryly. “Yes, but I had a practical reason for my choice. I’ve never known you to have one.”<\/p>\n He had the grace to look a bit sheepish.<\/p>\n Nyssa studied him for a moment more, something nagging at the back of her mind. Then it came to her. She looked up, meeting his eyes. “On Earth…black is a colour for mourning, is it not?”<\/p>\n The Doctor looked at her, surprised. “In some cultures, yes, it is. You get that from Tegan?”<\/p>\n She shook her head. “Some of the books in the TARDIS library.” Books that very likely were destroyed now, she thought, mourning them a little as well.<\/p>\n “I didn’t know you read that sort of thing,” he admitted.<\/p>\n “One can’t read technical manuals all the time,” Nyssa answered dryly, but with sympathy in her eyes. She reached for his hand, quietly returning to the subject of his attire. “I wouldn’t have thought it, but it suits you.”<\/p>\n The Doctor squeezed her hand. “Thanks.”<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Everything hurt, and breathing in particular. At first, the Doctor’d thought it must be related to his latest regeneration, a sign that something had gone wrong. Any moment now, he’d collapse on the floor and death would finally, blissfully claim … Continue reading