Small, Beautiful Events

Comm: Muses With Remotes
Prompt: "There are certain people who are not meant to fit in your life, no matter how much you want them to."
Verse: Troubles the Dark


One upon a time, there were two best enemies.

In his home, chaos rests.

Peri thinks he's insane.

"The Master? The same one who destroyed an entire planet so he could be a real boy again? The same one who held me at gunpoint and dragged me around like a rag doll? The same one who used poor Kamelion up until he died?"

He can't begrudge her that.

Erimem thinks he's irresponsible.

"This man is obviously dangerous. Why are you letting him endanger the entire universe when he ought to be dead?"

He can't disagree.

Peri thinks he should burn, and Erimem need only learn a fraction of what he's done for her to concur.

They will content themselves with being wary, because he has asked, and because they trust him.

Because Peri saw his eyes when it happened the first time. Because Erimem has learned the value of mercy.

The Master cannot hurt them, nor anyone else.

For now. He never does stay trapped forever; it's admirable, in a way.

Physically. He knows exactly what to say; he always has.

The Doctor has risked friends and future and freedom (not only his, that would be easier to bear), twisted Time in knots (he can feel it tugging at his mind).

All to save a proud portent of death itself.

All to save the friend he executed.

He'll never find peace this way.

"Am I to be your absolution, my dear Doctor? You should know better."

This isn't how it's meant to work.

"You're not supposed to heal the monsters, Doctor, did you forget?"

This isn't who he's supposed to be.

"The Oncoming Storm, reduced to a keeper. Shall I call you the Jailor now?"

It doesn't matter.

Once upon a time, there were two best friends.

They're in a prison cell, battered and dishevelled. The Doctor is sitting against a cold, rough granite; Turlough is pacing, having just finished an accusatory tirade.

"Are you done? My ears are ringing." The Doctor's voice is naught but mildly annoyed. Turlough stares down at him, sighs, and slumps down besides his friend.

"I was hoping for a nice shouting match to distract us from our imprisonment."

"I think we ought to rest, don't you?"

"Do you ever lose your temper?" Turlough imagines he'll always be a mystery, this man who's unflappable in the face of treachery and assassination. He doesn't really expect an answer.

"Not often. Not anymore." A sad, tired smile, and once again Turlough is reminded just how old the Doctor is. "I've more control than I used to."

"And why is that?" The smile fades, and just for a moment, the Doctor stares into a very different cage.


They've escaped again, just barely, and landing on another world, trembling and exhausted.

Tegan started shouting at him the moment they stilled, and she hasn't stopped.

"You've got your head so far in the clouds you couldn't hear us screaming! Well I've had enough, Doctor. I'm better off on my own."

"Tegan!" She doesn't listen, of course, storming out into a world of goodness knows what. He's half a mind to get a spot of tea and leave her to it.

"Doctor." Right on cue, thank you Nyssa. She's standing near the door, peering outside with calm concern. Always composed, always dignified. Constantly reminding him of what he ought to be.

He sighs, grasping the console and leaning forward – he may as well confirm their position. "Why must she be so difficult?"

"She's a woman, that's why." Adric, shining his precious star – it had been knocked off when Tegan pushed him aside.

"Romana was a woman," the Doctor says curtly, never looking up. That was the crux of the whole tiresome issue, wasn't it? The wound they both shared and both ignored?

Adric flinches, and coolly informs them that he'll be in his room before walking stiffly towards the inner doors. The Doctor lets him go, closing his eyes, hands tightening enough to hurt – him, his ship. One of them deserves it, at least.

He hears soft, measured footsteps, and straightens, staring at Nyssa with a set jaw.

"Come to chide me, Nyssa? Do make it quick, I need to coax a petulant orphan out of his room before he does something rash and find an infuriating young woman before she gets herself killed just to spite me." To his surprise, she only shakes her head.

"I can talk to Adric. You'll be faster on your own." She rests a hand on the console, and the TARDIS welcomes the careful, gentle touch. He relaxes, a little, and nods.

"Yes. Thank you."

She offers a faint, sympathetic smile. "They only anger you so easily because you care so much. I'm certain they'll understand eventually."


"Life is too short for that sort of thing."

I'm learning things all the time. Grand things, little things, wonderful things, horrible things. If, however, I'm to limit myself to ten, I suppose I'll limit myself to this life as well.

• Do not trust wise old men with long white beards who give you drugs.
  
  
  
  • Or men with anagrammed names.
    
  • Or men with dodgy accents that no one else seems to notice.
    
  • Do, however, trust your oldest enemy when he claims he's trying to help.
    
  • I really should have apologised, before it was too late
  
  
• Do not question Tegan's footwear.
  
  
  
  • Or her brightly coloured tops.
    
  • Or her sense of adventure.
    
  • In fact, don't question anyone's sense of adventure, they always have a scathing retort.
    
  • Hypothermia indeed.
  
  
• Some faces simply don't look good with facial hair.
  
  
  
  • He always seems to pull it off.
    
  • Is it because he's evil?
    
  • No, that's just silly.
  
  
• Leave after the cricket.
  
  
  
  • Especially if there's a dance after.
    
  • You don't like dances.
    
  • Well, in general you don't.
    
  • Dancing with Nyssa might have been nice.
  
  
• Don't try to get Turlough out of his uniform.
  
  
  
  • That sounded rather suggestive, didn't it.
    
  • My point, you see, is that he could stand to have some variation.
    
  • No, I do not think I'm a hypocrite, thank you.
  
  
• Do not underestimate the power of a hat rack.
  
  
  
  • I was always quite fond of that hat rack.
    
  • I was always quite fond of the one who wielded it, too.
    
  • Both seem to have paid off nicely.
  
  
• Do not condescend to Nyssa. She will notice, and she will refute you.
  
  
  
  • Well, that, or she'll admit that isn't her field and make you feel rather guilty.
    
  • She's very good at that, doesn't have to say a word.
    
  • I hope she didn't pick that up from me. Perhaps it was the other way round.
    
  • I still miss her.
  
  
• Accept that your childhood idols will eventually have their pedestals ground to dust.
  
  
  
  • I still can't quite believe I shot Omega.
    
  • I'm lucky Rassilon stayed dead, really.
    
  • More or less.
    
  • I still wonder about Borusa, sometimes.
  
  
• Every encounter with the Silurians will end in frustration, guilt, and loss.
  
  
  
  • I do try to be diplomatic, you know. I always try.
    
  • There should have been another way.
  
  
• Sometimes, there is no other way.
  

Yes. Yes, that's it, then.

Time Lords don't have graveyards, as such.

The idea of a field of decomposing bodies doesn't suit them at all, and the suggestion will, at best, receive a scoff.

They do, however, have a great hall of monuments to the dead.

The last time the Doctor was here, he was wracked by grief and uncertainty, and it was only a small, trembling hand that could pull him away into rekindled dreams.

"I'm ready, grandfather. We must go."

"Yes. Yes, of course, my dear."

He never thought he'd return.

Now he stands before it, saviour (tool) of Gallifrey, slayer (murderer) of Omega, favoured (tolerated) renegade, and feels distinctly out of place.

"I must say, Doctor, I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

Surprise, suspicion, in his old teacher's eyes.

"Nor I you, but I assure you, it's a personal visit."

A softening of voice and gaze.

"I see."

A moment of silence, stretching between them until it's ready to break.

"As President of Gallifrey, I order you to do whatever you like, provided you don't stir up trouble."

A wry smile from the wayward student.

"Me? Never."

It's a grand building, of course. Bigger on the inside, naturally, but the exterior is nothing to dismiss. No, the elegant spires sore above his head, the walls gleam in the amber sunlight, the doors are great and sturdy beneath his touch. Impenetrable, but to those with lost companions within.

They open for him, of course, and he suddenly feels very small indeed in his battered coat and alien trimmings.

They're here, somewhere. The family he failed, the pieces of him forever lost, the kin that sleep in his mind.

Oh, how he'd fought to give them that last honour, acceptance in death if nowhere else.

"You expect us to allow – "

"Yes, I do, and if you plan to argue with me we shall be here a very, very long time."

"She couldn't even manage to – "

"Oh, I wouldn't finish that sentence, Castellan."

He will fight for Hedin, soon. He would fight for Koschei. One day, he may fight for Susan.

He has as much right to be here as anyone, so why can't he bring himself to take those first steps?

"You're not the same man mother loved."

"Of course I'm not! Your mother is dead!"

Her sobs still echo in his mind, though her features have faded.

Everything has faded. Centuries and lives and eras have passed, and will continue to pass.

He doesn't belong here anymore, and as he turns away, he whispers one last goodbye.

I

It is his first day of Academy. He's hurried through the halls with a dozen other tiny Prydonians, all too nervous to speak with each other; he feels quite alone, and quite overwhelmed.

He wonders if they know he ran away.

A shoulder brushes his, and his head whips around to find sharp blue eyes in a pale round face.

"Sorry," the other boy mutters; his voice is soft and low. The child who would be the Doctor shakes his head.

"It's okay. I was bored anyway."

The stranger smiles, and somehow he thinks this is a rare occurrence, and feels proud.

"What's your name, then?"

The smile widens; perhaps he isn’t used to being asked.

"Long and dull. Call me Koschei."

II

It's only been a few years, hardly the blink of an eye, but already he is bored with it all. When he isn't questioning the lectures incessantly they put him to sleep, and neither endears him to the professors; he can rarely concentrate on his work long enough to finish it.

There are more interesting things to learn, after all.

Koschei finds him working on an anti-gravity device, and eventually joins in.

It will be their first prank.

III

She looks down on him, but then she looks down on everyone, so it isn't personal. In fact, she called him more interesting than the rest of the rabble, and from Ushas that was a high compliment indeed.

He and Koschei enlist her brilliance in a project, a legitimate one for once; they work surprisingly well together. His ingenuity, Koschei's thoroughness, her cunning.

When it is finish, their pride in it binds them; though she may never admit it, she's with them now, and their brand of mischief will never be the same.

IV

He is called Theta Sigma now, a derogatory nickname he decided to embrace. His studies are slipping further still, but he's beginning to think he can use this to his advantage.

It saves him the trouble of actually working as hard as he can; paying attention in the classes he finds boring, studying extensively in the classes he finds challenging. It is only Koschei who pushes him to succeed.

One day, in a tutoring session, Theta tells him exactly why he's holding back.

"It's not worth it, Koschei. I've been learning, just not what they want me to – I want to see the worlds they don’t like. I want Gallifrey to change. And, well, they don't expect some dim slacker to try, do they?"

Koschei stares, and shakes his head, and Theta knows he won't be rejected.

V

It was Ushas who taught him the value of biochemistry. They spent late nights in her laboratory, he being very careful not to touch anything without her permission.

What bothered him, really, is that she treats her test subjects as nothing but; they are living creatures, and some of them writhe in pain beneath her ministrations.

She knew, of course, who set them free, and he's never allowed into her lab again, but he thinks it was worth it.

VI

It was a harrowing row, and Ushas had to come between them before it came to blows; she lectured them in her firm, imperious voice and left them in separate corners of the room.

After some time, Koschei speaks quietly to the wall.

"I just meant it wasn't feasible."

"Yeah, well, that's half the point."

Koschei turns his head, no doubt shocked that Theta admitted that much; the other boy is staring at him, his gaze unfathomable.

"We try for something impossible, and even if we don't reach it, on the way up…"

"…We still get closer," Koschei finishes.

They share weak smiles, and forgive each other in silence.

VII

They've escaped the Citadel, as they often do, and they sit against an ancient tree to watch the stars. Their long legs are hidden by the scarlet grass, and silver leaves fall into their hair.

They talk in low murmurs of the stars they will see one day, of plans to change the world; this time, they do not argue, they do not compete.

This time, when Theta turns his head to meet Koschei's eyes, just a shade darker than his own, their lips brush.

VIII

He's been working diligently, this is true, but not on what he ought to – well, what they believe he ought to.

He's been compiling books of fairytales, translated carefully into Gallifreyan; a frustrating process, but one well worth it, he believes.

Time Lords don't have fairy tales. A few ancient rhymes left over from an age before, that's all, and it's not nearly enough. Not compared to what other worlds have.

So he makes his books, and he hands them out to the children. Many of them scoff; some of them are delighted.

When a group of children corners him in a hallway and ask for more, he beams.

IX

It is a field trip, of sorts; all Prydonians in their year attend, and they decide the planet by vote. Theta may have altered the results, for they end up visiting Earth.

Koschei and Ushas look annoyed, but they don't say a thing.

They're not allowed to talk to anyone, to buy anything, to ride a train, as one person asked until he is told quite firmly to shut up about it.

Theta, however, decides he needs a remnant of this first venture outside of Gallifrey.

Ushas thinks he's made when he gathers the sand, but she covers for him, just as he did when she sedated a mouse and slipped it in her pocket.

It will be the first in his glass collection, an elegant bottle that both she and Koschei will grudgingly admire.

X

Finally, he is graduating. Ushas already has; Koschei stayed with him for the years he needed to repeat – it worried Theta slightly but he decided not to dwell on it, to simply feel grateful and relieved.

Together, they endure the long, tedious ceremony in heavy robes and ridiculous hats, following every rule quietly and efficiently.

Their first prank at the Academy becomes their last as everything begins to float.

1. "Look, this really isn't necessary, I don't want to be President anyway, I did run off for a reason – oh, do put the mind probe away. Can't I simply say I'm not psychologically fit? Does there need to be a long, tedious process? …Of course there does. Well, I'll just make myself comfortable and start at the beginning, shall I?"

2. "You know very well many parents prefer to Loom their children as toddlers – around seven, actually. Soon after we stare into the Schism, soon after that we're sent off to Academy. I was in Prydon, as I'm sure you know. No, it wasn't very long until I met Koschei, and no, I do not want to talk about it. Missing the point, am I? You're lucky I'm sitting through this at all."

3. "Now then. I was, in essence, a brilliant slacker – yes, yes, and an infamous prankster. When I left the Academy – oh, yes, I did want to make a difference here, back then. I flouted every unspoken law I could, I fought tooth and nail against xenophobic doctrines, I did everything I could to change the world, and it was all for nothing, can we please move on?"

4. "…You're asking who influenced me most after I left Gallifrey, is that right? Well, that would be Barbara, of course. I'd become such a bitter, closed old man… Oh, I was still mischevious, still brilliant, but quite worn out. Barbara put me in line more than once, you know, when I was being…well. I could be like that as a boy as well. Back then it was usually Ushas, and often more painful. …Anyway, yes, she's the reason I became who I wanted to be, instead of what Gallifrey turned me into."

5. "Yes, I did leave Susan behind. I could never control where we went, there was so much danger, and she was so young… Of course I knew how dangerous Earth was then, quite intimately, but at least it was predictable. At least she had something stable. And I knew….I knew Gallifrey would catch up to me eventually. I wouldn't allow them to punish her as well."

6. "Of course I remember that trial, I remember ever minute. I remember saying goodbye to Jamie and Zoe, knowing they'd forget me completely. Knowing that… I remember being forced into my Third incarnation. Being robbed of my freedom. …No, it wasn't entirely horrible, I became rather fond of UNIT – I said I didn't want to talk about him."

7. "Finally being able to leave Earth was quite exhilarating, yes, and as my Fourth self … Well, I simply couldn't stay there at all, for very long. …I wouldn't call it abandonment, by that time UNIT was managing quite well, and my companions… Yes. Yes, I did. Sarah's safety meant more to me than anything else, and I know Gallifrey. At the time, it…just wasn't feasible."

8. "How is Leela doing, by the way? You don't know? Of course not. I suppose you wouldn't care. I should visit while I'm here. …Of course I miss her, I miss them all from time to time. …Oh, don't pretend I stole Romana, she came and went of her own free will. …Yes, she did leave me. She's in another universe being magnificent."

9. "I regenerated shortly after, yes, and I really don't like the implications you're making. It was time, though, I can say that. Perhaps long past it. …What about my other companion? He missed her too. …Did he leave as well. Oh, isn't that the question."

10. "This session is over. I can't say I care overmuch if you've gathered enough information. I am going back to my TARDIS, back to my friends, and we are leaving. If anyone attempts to pull me back again I will be very, very cross. Have a good day."

Ten Significant Truths:

1. A very long time ago, I ran away from home.

2. When I did that, I became the Doctor; that's the only name that matters now.

3. Since then, I've seen countless wonders and horrors, saved worlds, cost lives, and died four times.

4. Once, because of all of this, I was executed, and had my friends taken from me; it didn't stop me then, and it wouldn't stop me now.

5. I still miss them, and everyone else I've lost, but I will always feel grateful to have known them – though, sometimes, I wish they hadn't known me.

6. My life can be very dangerous, and on occasion that's very tiring, but I don't regret having it.

7. Boundless freedom, the power to make a difference, the joy of discovery, the wondrous potential in every living being…I could never it up.

8. That doesn't mean I will ever forget being helpless to save lives, being forced to violence, knowing there are things I cannot change.

9. I am a pacifist, a murderer, a hero, a demon, a genius, a fool; an ancient renegade and a lost youth.

10. I can show you the stars.

The hero is supposed to spare the villain.

That is how their story goes. Compassion to austerity, kindness to ferocity, mercy to cruelty.

They have their roles, they play their parts; the hero remembers how it ought to be.

Reunions of murder and manipulation, endangered friends and needless death, and they walk away licking their wounds, awaiting the next.

Intricate plans and reckless heroism, a war of wills and wit and wrath, selflessness against sadism, and they battle until one has given up or saved the other.

Swords flashing and tongues lashing, and it is not blood but passion that stains the memories red.

Agony dealt, vengeance gained, freedom bound; a play of loathing and kinship used to torture the spirit and stay the hand.

A saviour and a slayer, creation and destruction beautifully rendered, lives taken for gain and saved for nothing, and neither understands.

The warmth of hearts and the chill of hearts, beating in dissonance forevermore.

Yet now the villain burns, and the hero feels cold.

What is he now?

He's been sleeping a lot, lately – that is, more than usual, which is still less than a human, but she notices, and she worries.

Not much has changed, superficially. They'll land on a random world or a pivotal point of history and save lives, save planets, save Time. Except when he jokes he sounds said, when he shouts he sounds resigned, and his passion burns too brightly to last for long.

It's almost like he's going through the motions.

Except, of course, where her safety is concerned.

She knows why; it's the same reason she's so nervous, why she complains more than usual, why it's so hard to care as much as she used to.


It's the same reason she doesn't go to him for some time, because it will hurt too much to say the words, to confront the grief. She knows how he is; it's easier to run from the past, run from everything, just keep going and going and going.

One day, or she supposes it's a day, she meets him in the library, staring down at a dusty tome. His expression is blank, and his eyes are tired.

When she clears her throat, his head snaps up, a faint smile curves his lips, and the exhaustion is gone but she remembers it and she knows she can't wait anymore.

"Hello, Peri! Were you looking for something?" Cheerful. He sounds cheerful and it's so hollow it hurts. As she continues to stare at him the smile fades away.

"Is there something wrong?"

Her hands curl into fists and she wants to say that of course there's something wrong you stupid, repressed, miserable alien.


She doesn't. She walks to the table and sits down, and clutches it until her knuckles turn white. He tilts his head as if he doesn't know what's going on but he must, and she's tired of him always pretending. They haven't even said her name and she should now but she can't, she's silent and he's silent and finally she needs to ask something, anything, just so he'll answer her.


"What do you dream about?"


He stares at her, and for a moment he closes his eyes. He knew it would come to this, eventually. He knew she would notice, because at this time, at this moment, she is his very best friend, and they share so much more than grief.

It overshadows everything, of course. Every smile, every touch, every memory. They know, each time they laugh or run or fight that something is missing, something irretrievable.

She won't let him ignore it anymore, and he can't begrudge her that.

Slowly, his hands folded over thin pages, and after a moment, he spoke.

"I remember," he said softly. Peri was staring down at her hands but her head jerks up at the words.

She looks so very vulnerable. So very young. The very picture of the way he shouldn't be feeling.


"Not just Erimem. Not usually." She tenses; he knew she would, they haven't spoken her name for some time. His fault, really.

the cries of approaching soldiers drown their thoughts, steal their breath, lash aching limbs; when hope dawns again a spear whistles past, and then another steals her forever

"The images, the voices, they…tend to blend together."

he will watch her fall and her body will wither and her bones will turn to dust, and she isn't a young pharaoh anymore, she's a reformed assassin, and then she's being torn away from him, innocent and young, a sacrifice twisting in the stars


"Sometimes, when I awake, I'm not certain…"

he will awake saying "terrible waste"

"It's...not always the same, then." Her voice is weak, strained, and she never quite meets his eyes.

"No," he says softly.

the spear alights, and an explosion swallows them all but he can see her figure, burning and screaming, with a young boy's voice, and the flames begin to burn his hearts away

"How many..." Her eyes meet and they're wide, and her voice trembles.

"Too many." She looks down, and he continues.

"Sometimes they aren't...memories. Sometimes I simply imagine."


a death bed of velvet roses caressing pale skin and auburn curls, the only colour in a stagnant laboratory, becomes a worn mattress and a young man weeping over passion wilting with futility

"I don't always know...how, precisely, or when, but you see the probability..." He wishes he couldn't calculate it so easily.

the battlefield shifts, the soldiers change, and it is someone else who falls, just as young and brave and full of wonder, and he whispers a name he no longer knows

"Sometimes they..." He trails off, then, because he doesn't know how to explain.

used and discarded like so many others and he begs for death and it would be cruel to refuse

A shake of his head. He doesn't tell her that sometimes he can still hear the Master's screams. That was just, wasn't it, not at all like Erimem's death. She died selflessly, and suddenly he is very tired of selfless companions. Suddenly, he wants to tell Peri to be selfish.


He gazes at her with such sorrow, such dread, and she knows. She knows that sometimes it's her dying, or Turlough, or anyone else who lived on. Someday it will be the ones after her.

So many people she will never know, so many people he can never forget.

She swallows, and suddenly leans over the table, covering his hands with hers.

"You don't have to do this alone, you know." His eyes widen, and he simply stares at her for a moment, before a faint, weary smile curves his lips.

"No," he says quietly. He stands, then drawing his hands away; when she rises as well, he embraces her.

She weeps, and he holds her until the tears have dried. Though he sheds none, she likes to think he's finding catharsis as well, in his own way.

When he pulls back there's a faint smile on his lips, and though it's sad she returns it because it's real.

"Let's go somewhere quiet, hmm?" Peri looks up at him with scepticism in her eyes, and is relieved to find amusement in his.

"Like where?" Her voice trembles, and she's not sure if it's with grief or humour.

He seems to consider – he gets that distant look as his brow furrows and it become useless to talk to him – and then steps back, taking her hand, squeezing it. Now it is he who offers comfort, and she accepts it readily.


"I want to show you something." Her eyes widen, declaring surprise and curiosity, and then her fingers entwine with his. She doesn't know what's going to happen next, but she thinks it must be a good step.

It must get better after this.


He's silent as he leads her through the halls. It's been a long time since he's shown anyone, not least because the collection has long remained in his room. He feels he owes her this, though; not simply a rest, but something to renew their friendship, something intimate he can share.

When he pauses in front of the door she looks at him, tilting her head, raising her eyebrows, and he smiles again as he turns the knob.

There's a faint gasp beside him; she must have immediately realised where they were. Perhaps it's the walls, the perfect imitation of a summer sky; perhaps it's the endless shelves of books, the tables of various experiments; perhaps it's the cricket equipment immaculately organised in a corner.

She looks everywhere, obviously marvelling, as he takes her to a large cabinet, and opens the door.

"…Bottles?" She squints, leaning closer to read the labels below each one.

"Made from the sand of every planet I've visited," he said softly. "I started it back on Gallifrey; the Academy allowed expeditions sometimes, and I managed to smuggle a large amount of sand back with me." She gapes up at him, and he's smiling again.

"You made these? All of them?" He nods, smile lingering as she looks back with wide eyes; he waits patiently as she inspects every last one.

"Thanks." Her voice is quiet as she meets his eyes, and he knows that she realises how much they've come to mean to him, and what it is to share them.

A softer, warmer smile, and he steps forward, tapping an empty space on the first shelf between Algol and Aneth.

"I've managed to lose one; I think I'd like to replace it."

"Somewhere nice?"

He turns his head, smile widening.

"Sand as far as the eyes can see..."

When the Doctor returned to Terminus, he expected to find Nyssa in one of its many laboratories, hard at work on perfecting a cure, or perhaps sitting beside a patient, clasping their hand and speaking gentle, sensible reassurance.

It was a very different place, he realised it the moment he stepped from his TARDIS into one of the winding corridors; it gleamed, but more than that, the distant voices held hope and determination, not despair or resignation. His steps echoed on the pristine floor as he wandered, occasionally happening upon a visitor. Terminus seemed to have proper rooms for patients now, and their families and friends had full access.

When he asked these strangers if they knew Nyssa, they would give him a strange look, and sometimes laughed. He took this to mean they didn't, and walked on, looking through the many doors as discreetly as possible. He found no trace of her until he found his way into the reception hall. He wasn't entirely sure what it had been once, but now it was bustling with concerned relatives, with the newly ill who were quickly taken away – for their safety and those of everyone around them.

It was a moment before he saw it. The flawless sculpture dominated the wall farthest from him, and he hurried forward, as quickly as he could without pushing anyone aside.

Her face was level with his, framed with delicately rendered curls that fell to shoulders covered in an elegant, modest gown.

She was as beautiful as marble as she had been in life.

He felt rather numb as he knelt to read the plaque she stood on, fingers tracing the words as his chest began to ache.

NYSSA OF TRAKEN

Saviour of Terminus

"There used to be more." The Doctor started, and looked up – an elderly man, one of the nurses it seemed, was looking down at him with an odd expression on his face; something like resigned mourning.

"Did there?" His voice sounded empty to his ears.

"Yes, but it was thin, shallow, faded away eventually." He knelt beside the Doctor, fingers ghosting over the marble much like his had done. There was reverence in his touch.

"This should never break, because of what they used, but…words can fade." He sighed, shaking his head.

"We never did understand what it meant. Who she was talking to." The Doctor stared at him, and the man must have seen the desperate yearning in his eyes because he went on, voice hushed as though for a funeral.

"'I told you I was indestructible.'"