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Doctor Who Ficlet: The Long Walk
So, last week it became apparent that Our Better Angels was missing a part. But since I'd worked out what the War Doctor's daemon should be before I finished watching The Day of the Doctor the second time, here's the missing segment.
You don't have to read that story first, although if you don't know what a Daemonverse AU is, then it would probably help explain.
Word Count: 500-ish.
Rating: PG
Summary: He's never alone. Even when he wishes that he were.
"You don't have to come with me."
She doesn't bother to answer. Just gives him a look, and starts walking, padding across the desert ahead of him. Too much to hope that she'd let him get away with doing this alone. They haven't always fought side by side in this war, but she knows everything he's done. Her fur is blinding white against the red sand, but she doesn't complain about the heat, so neither does he. After the first few miles, he wonders if he should ask her to carry the sack for a bit.
"I'm sorry," he says, because he has to apologize to somebody, and it might as well be himself.
"I'm not, she says. "You know this has to be done."
He hates her, a little, for being the part of himself that always keeps going. She's stronger than he is, taller by almost two feet if she stands. If he wonders what else they might have become, given the chance, it's too late to find out now.
Far over head, he can see the flying lizards wheeling, doubtless wondering if he'd be good to eat. There's nothing in the desert for the Daleks, so the war hasn't come to them. They'll soon be dead regardless.
"What do you miss?" he says. If they're going to burn with the planet, he wants to fill the last silence with something.
"Being a butterfly," she says. "I never had to lift a finger - didn't have any fingers to lift." She always chooses that. He wonders if she just enjoyed one entire lifetime of not being made to carry things or open doors, or if what she actually misses is not being a weapon. "How about you?"
"Tea," he says. Somewhere in the universe, tea still exists. He's done awful things to keep the Time War away from Earth, so it must do. One day the TARDIS ran out, and he never found any more in the cupboard. He suspects that it's the ship's way of punishing him.
She pauses and looks back at him. "I don't know why you bother lying to me."
"It's true! How entire civilizations manage to carry on fighting wars without it, I certainly don't know."
"You miss them."
That's true too, of course. Ever since he made the decision to become what he is, he's been alone. He misses his companions - any of them, all of them - like a man dying of thirst must miss water. Or, indeed, tea.
"I've got you." Whether he wants her or not.
"If we do this," she says, "they'll still exist. Somewhere. If we don't, all time and space will be torn to pieces."
It's true. Gallifrey will be gone, but there'll still be something out there. It's the flying lizards, Arcadia, Gallifrey's children and the billion billion Daleks against tea and stars and everything else. A choice that's no choice at all.
"Well, then," he says. "Let's get on with saving the universe."
She doesn't smile at the bitter joke, and they keep walking. There are still many miles to go.
The End
I imagine you've already worked out that this version of Tyche (she's given up her name, naturally) is a polar bear.
(I really need to finish more stuff in this series, if only to justify the ridiculous lists of Whoverse daemons I've made. For some reason my brain would not let me write more until I'd determined the daemon of EVERY RECURRING CHARACTER in every medium I'm familiar with. I think I can guarantee that I am the only person in all time and space who as ever contemplated what Abslom Daak's daemon would be.)
You don't have to read that story first, although if you don't know what a Daemonverse AU is, then it would probably help explain.
Word Count: 500-ish.
Rating: PG
Summary: He's never alone. Even when he wishes that he were.
"You don't have to come with me."
She doesn't bother to answer. Just gives him a look, and starts walking, padding across the desert ahead of him. Too much to hope that she'd let him get away with doing this alone. They haven't always fought side by side in this war, but she knows everything he's done. Her fur is blinding white against the red sand, but she doesn't complain about the heat, so neither does he. After the first few miles, he wonders if he should ask her to carry the sack for a bit.
"I'm sorry," he says, because he has to apologize to somebody, and it might as well be himself.
"I'm not, she says. "You know this has to be done."
He hates her, a little, for being the part of himself that always keeps going. She's stronger than he is, taller by almost two feet if she stands. If he wonders what else they might have become, given the chance, it's too late to find out now.
Far over head, he can see the flying lizards wheeling, doubtless wondering if he'd be good to eat. There's nothing in the desert for the Daleks, so the war hasn't come to them. They'll soon be dead regardless.
"What do you miss?" he says. If they're going to burn with the planet, he wants to fill the last silence with something.
"Being a butterfly," she says. "I never had to lift a finger - didn't have any fingers to lift." She always chooses that. He wonders if she just enjoyed one entire lifetime of not being made to carry things or open doors, or if what she actually misses is not being a weapon. "How about you?"
"Tea," he says. Somewhere in the universe, tea still exists. He's done awful things to keep the Time War away from Earth, so it must do. One day the TARDIS ran out, and he never found any more in the cupboard. He suspects that it's the ship's way of punishing him.
She pauses and looks back at him. "I don't know why you bother lying to me."
"It's true! How entire civilizations manage to carry on fighting wars without it, I certainly don't know."
"You miss them."
That's true too, of course. Ever since he made the decision to become what he is, he's been alone. He misses his companions - any of them, all of them - like a man dying of thirst must miss water. Or, indeed, tea.
"I've got you." Whether he wants her or not.
"If we do this," she says, "they'll still exist. Somewhere. If we don't, all time and space will be torn to pieces."
It's true. Gallifrey will be gone, but there'll still be something out there. It's the flying lizards, Arcadia, Gallifrey's children and the billion billion Daleks against tea and stars and everything else. A choice that's no choice at all.
"Well, then," he says. "Let's get on with saving the universe."
She doesn't smile at the bitter joke, and they keep walking. There are still many miles to go.
The End
I imagine you've already worked out that this version of Tyche (she's given up her name, naturally) is a polar bear.
(I really need to finish more stuff in this series, if only to justify the ridiculous lists of Whoverse daemons I've made. For some reason my brain would not let me write more until I'd determined the daemon of EVERY RECURRING CHARACTER in every medium I'm familiar with. I think I can guarantee that I am the only person in all time and space who as ever contemplated what Abslom Daak's daemon would be.)