Until We Burn | Dr Who

Chapter Seventy-Seven: The Fires of Pompeii

TW// Crowd crush (panic, claustrophobia, stampede... basically horrible)

—

The heat worsens with every step we take into the volcano. The kind of heat where everything dries, all moisture, all life perishes. We can't go any further. And yet we keep walking.

"But if it's aliens setting off the volcano, doesn't that make it all right for you to stop it?" Donna shakily suggests, faltering under the effects of this humidity.

Neither of them seem quite as exhausted as I am. There is a weight in my pocket, a ringing in my ears that I can't tune out.

"Still part of history."

She frowns. "But I'm history to you. You saved me in 2008. You saved us all. Why's that different?"

I stumble. He tightens his hold on my hand. Some of his frustration at her questions fades from the gesture. "Some things are fixed, some things are in flux. Pompeii is fixed," he explains.

"How do you know which is which?"

We come to a stop. He turns, towering over her, all that power and desperation trapped in a single look. "Because that's how I see the universe. Every waking second, I can see what is, what was, what could be, what must not. That's the burden of a Time Lord, Donna. And I'm the only one left."

Past the haze, a thought glares through. I wonder how he sees me. I wonder if I am not just myself to him, but a coalescence of potential, all of my moments interweaved for him to flick through like pages in a book while I see only the present. I must be so chaotic to him — all wishes and wants.

I wish I could see how he sees, just for a second. I want to understand.

I want to be freed from this burden that lives in my pocket like something so mundane. It aches to be free. So much energy inside to be expelled. My eyes gloss over again.

"How many people died?"

He has started to walk again, still guiding me along even in his anger. He tenses at her prying words. "Stop it."

"Doctor," she shouts, storming right up to us, bringing us to a halt once more, "how many people died?"

"Twenty thousand."

I suppose every companion must look at him like this someday. Gods know I have, too. Like he disgusts us, like he can't possibly be so uncaring. "Is that what you can see, Doctor? All twenty thousand? And you think that's all right, do you?"

He keeps his head high, his jaw clenching tightly, close to shattering from the pressure. Whatever his response is, it never makes it into words. A low, rumbling growl echoes along the tunnel. The rocky walls behind us start to tremour.

"They know we're here. Come on!"

We run down the passage until it opens up, forming a vast cavern. Steam fogs the air, the moisture around us evaporated by the heat. Footsteps shake us off-balance. Keeping to the edges where large rocks still hide us, we look around. The place is nothing but stone, dotted by the off patch of flames. On the other edge of the rugged hall stand arches, through which rivers of magma pour. A few adult Pyrovile lumber around, seeming to centre around a particularly large, rounded boulder in the middle.

"It's the heart of Vesuvius," the Doctor realises as we duck amongst the rocks for shelter. "We're right inside the mountain."

"There's tons of them."

He digs around in his pockets for a small telescope, peering through it at the boulder. "What's that thing?"

Donna looks anxiously around us. "You'd better hurry up and think of something, I think Rocky Four's on his way."