Until We Burn | Dr Who

Chapter Seventy: The Last of the Time Lords

I wake in darkness just like every other day. The Master asked me two more times. I chose to return to my confinement.

The last time, he finally told me what the Toclafane truly are. Just a Gallifreyan fairy tale. But those creatures, the Spheres, are something far more terrible. They are humans. Humans from the end of the universe.

They went to find their Utopia and this is what they have become.

The hatch opens just like every other day. This time, though, a small screen is pressed against the gap.

The Master sneers back at me, live from the bridge. I instinctively curl in on myself. "My people," he announces. "Salutations on this, the eve of war — lovely woman. But I know there's all sorts of whispers down there, stories of a child walking the Earth... giving you hope. But I ask you, how much hope has this man got? Say hello, Gandalf."

Alerted, I have to lie on the floor to get a proper look. He wheels the Doctor into view of the camera. He looks older than ever, especially in black and white. But there is something far scarier.

His eyes are blank. Empty. He's losing his will to fight.

"Except, he's not that old. But he's an alien with a much greater lifespan than you stunted little apes. What if it showed? What if I suspend your capacity to regenerate? All nine hundred years of your life, Doctor. What if we could see them? Older and older and older. Down you go, Doctor."

The sound of his screams is too much. Shutting my eyes tightly, I weakly raise my arms to beat against the wall, begging for it to be taken away. Nobody answers.

Finally, it ends. I open my eyes despite the way they burn, looking for a sign that he is alive.

"Doctor."

No response comes. The camera shifts down to show a crumpled heap of clothes. Something tiny and shrivelled peeks out from the folds.

Gasping, I reach out. My fingertips trace against the cold glass as if hoping I might pass through and offer him some form of comfort. Yet another barrier stops me.

"Received and understood, Miss Jones?"

The hatch shuts. The Dark returns.

—

It doesn't seem like quite so long before the door opens up and I am dragged out, half-conscious. In my old room, I shower and change into the flowing, red dress provided for me. My fingertips are even cleaned and bandaged after the most recent nightmares.

I don't utter a word as I am led onto the bridge, although I am quick to shield my eyes from the blazing sunlight pouring in through the windows. They don't bother to cuff me. They know I don't have the energy to fight back anymore.

I stand beside Jack. He is smeared from head to toe in dirt and blood. The smell makes me nauseous. I clasp my bandaged hands in front of me, tight enough for them to hurt again. The pain grounds me. Across from us, Martha's parents and sister wait.

Lucy Saxon has another bruise, this time around her eye. Twitching and shivering, she hugs herself and offers me a meek smile that I don't even think to return.