Blue ⋆ Doctor Who

Prologue

The older man's feet drag through the sand of the wastelands. It's a long walk, even for him, but he has to get away from her. She can't see this. What he is about to do is unforgivable. He will never come back from it. The Tardis would be ashamed. That is why he has walked so very far away from her, and anyone or anything else that could possibly witness what he is about to do.

Spotting the barn along the horizon is no relief. It only means he is closer to doing the worst thing he has ever done. He is not the Doctor today. Perhaps he never will be again. He is a warrior. And the box, weighing down on his soul and his body as it hangs off of his shoulder in a sack, is his weapon. Stolen from the Omega Arsenal. The Galaxyeater. The Moment.

He hesitates when he reaches the outside of the barn, hand on the rotting wooden door. He can't do this. It's too terrible... but he has to... but how many Time Lords will perish? How many children will die in his name? The number is far too high for him to count, and if he does stop to count them, he might not be able to go through with it. And he has to go through with it. He cannot stay his hand any longer. This war must end. He has no choice. No more.

No more.

NO MORE.

He sighs, and pushes the door open, slipping inside the barn and slowly letting it close behind him. The barn has fallen into disuse during the war, left to fall to pieces with rusting machinery in varying states of disrepair. Untouched for centuries.

It wasn't always this way. The wastelands used to be beautiful. Teeming with life. The war has brought it to ruins, along with the rest of Gallifrey and several other planets. If it does not end soon, it will spread. The entire universe will burn with them. That is why it has to be stopped.

He kneels down on the dusty ground, placing the sack in front of him and pushing it away from the box within it. Objectively, the box is beautiful. Time Lords. They always focus on the intricate details, even on the most cruel of things. There's Gallifreyan symbols carved into the elegant wood, and golden cogs on every face of the cube, and he runs a shaking hand over the hot metal on the top. It hums beneath his fingers, the inside of the unseeming, beautiful box teeming with life. With danger.

He tries to slide one cog and the golden circle jerks round before catching on something within the box, refusing to move any further. The machinery within it clicks, and the man's hearts stop, but nothing happens. Gallifrey lives a moment longer.

He presses something which looks like a button. Nothing.

"How do you work? Why is there never a big red button?" the man complains. This decision is hard enough. Why can he not carry it out with ease and suffer the consequences for the rest of his life?

He hears something outside. The rustling of leaves. He freezes. Nobody should be here. He walked for hours, alone. He stands, turning his back to the Moment to peer out of the disintegrating door, trying to catch a glimpse of who, or what, is lurking outside.

"Hello? Is somebody there?"

It's silent. There really is nothing there. He's just being paranoid. Maybe he was hoping someone might stop him. Then the sound of rushing water floods his ears, and his eyebrows raise. There's no water in the wastelands. It's a desert now. What could that possibly be?

"It's nothing," a soft voice says behind him. He whips around, eyes wide, and he gasps when he sees her. A woman, sitting casually on the moment as though it is nothing more than a stool. She's staring down at her red nails, picking at the corner of one of her trembling fingers. She looks bored. "Just a pond... or is it a river? I always get those ones mixed up. Do you know, on some planets, rivers are the only water? They don't even have words for ponds. The name Pond means nothing to them... but not to you, eh, doctor?"

"Don't sit on that!" the man barks at her, gripping her by the elbow and forcing her roughly away from the moment.

"Why not?" she stares up at him, brown eyes round.

"Because it's not a chair! It's the most dangerous weapon in the universe," the old man explains to her as he throws her out of the barn and slams the door shut, bolting it. He takes a deep breath to try to compose himself and then turns back to the moment. She's there again, sitting on the box. She has one leg crossed over the other, showing off her short pale legs, exposed by the short length of her skirt, and then she leans forward, elbow digging into her thigh and chin resting atop her palm.

"Why can't it be both?" she asks him. He doesn't answer, too surprised to form a sentence, and she grins, eyebrows raising. "Why'd you park so far away? Didn't you want her to see it?"

"Want who to see?" he frowns, not following her.

"The Tardis," the girl says. He steps back a little as she stands up. How could she even know about his Tardis? "You walked for miles. And miles and miles and miles and miles."

"I was thinking!" the man snaps at her and she turns to him, suddenly all serious.

"I heard you," she states.

"You heard me?" he splutters incredulously. What is she talking about? She must be crazy. Crazier than him, even.

"No more," she drawls out, putting on a deep voice. She's imitating him, speaking thoughts he has not said aloud. She marches around the barn, swinging her arms childishly and then she giggles before carrying on. "No more. No more. No more!"

"Stop it!" he demands, but she smirks.

"No more! No more!"

He grabs her elbow in a flash of anger, but he softens when he meets her eyes and lets go of her. He clears his throat uncomfortably and then pats her arm delicately as an apology, despite how unfazed she seems by his rage. "Who are you?"

He's distracted by a ticking from the box then, and he walks past her before she can answer, crouching down beside it. "It's activating! Get out of here!"

The girl does not listen, hopping up to sit on a crate, swinging her feet, the rubber heels of her red converse banging against the wood of her perch. She narrows her eyes at him, her irises glowing gold as he touches his hands to the edge of the moment, and then he hisses in pain when his palms sizzle from the burning surface of them.

"What's wrong?" she asks innocently, cocking her head to the side as he snatches his hands away from it.

"The interface is hot," he complains.

"Well, you always thought so," the woman remarks lightly, but he doesn't pick up on her joke immediately.

"There's a power source inside..." he says, still focusing on the box, and then he straightens up, his body rigid. He turns to her slowly. "You're the interface?"

"They must have told you the Moment had a conscience," the girl says, and then she waves a shaking hand at him. "Hello!"

Silence. He looks between her and the box in disbelief. "Oh, look at you. Stuck between a girl and a box. Story of your life, eh, Doctor?"

She sticks her tongue out at him, laughing again. He frowns at this, unimpressed by her childish nature. The girl pauses, staring at him with furrowed eyebrows.

"You know me?"

"I hear you. All of you jangling around in that dusty old head of yours. I chose this face and form especially for you. Do you like it?" the girl runs her hands over her clothes. "It's from your past... or possibly your future. I always get those two mixed up."

"I don't have a future!" the old man shakes his head.

"I think I'm called... Charlotte Pond," the woman continues, but then she looks down at her outfit. She's wearing her cherry red high tops, a denim skirt that's far too short for climbing up ladders and a long sleeve red t-shirt which clings to her torso and arms. There's a golden pendant around her neck, two glittering rubies shining in the sunlight beaming in through the window. Her bright red lips purse. "No... yes... no, sorry!" she says, and then she grins, biting down on her red bottom lip. "In this form, you call me... Cherry Pond."

"Like the fruit?" the old man wrinkles his nose. "Stupid name."

"Like the sweets."