He hadn’t heard from her – nor of her – since the Time War. And now, here at Near Enough, the Doctor sees why that is so.
The space station was aptly named: in safe orbit the first stars in all the universe, stars that were only three years old right now. Well, three years after they started burning. Not the neighborhood of the Big Bang – no way to see anything, not that early.
The Rani had manned this station alone during the Time War – defending the dawn of the universe from the Daleks. One woman - one o so glorious woman! against uncounted armadas.
She’d won - we all did, insofar as much as was possible, considering the stakes and the combatants - but the dying Dalek fleet on the edge of this solar system (empty, this early on, without anything local heavier than – not now) had lashed out in its last moment of conciousness… rupturing the station.
The Rani was mummified. The Doctor looked at her, ran one spacesuited hand along the contours of her face, never touching, always a centimeter from her toughened skin. Skin that, in life, was so alive. Not since the ages before the Gallifreyans became the Time Lords has there been a mummy of their species.
“We disagreed from time to time,” he says, not sure why, but it feels right that he do so, “but show me somebody I’ve never disagreed with, and I’ll wager I’ve never met him.” It tugs at his hearts, being so close, and yet so distant. The Rani is borderline dead: finish the job, and she’d regenerate, coming fully to life.
He can’t feel her, can’t sense her presence…but doesn’t dare wake her, can’t bring himself to unleash her upon the universe. If not for recent memories of the Master with the Toclafane, he would. He’d bring her back.
Rani/10
The space station was aptly named: in safe orbit the first stars in all the universe, stars that were only three years old right now. Well, three years after they started burning. Not the neighborhood of the Big Bang – no way to see anything, not that early.
The Rani had manned this station alone during the Time War – defending the dawn of the universe from the Daleks. One woman - one o so glorious woman! against uncounted armadas.
She’d won - we all did, insofar as much as was possible, considering the stakes and the combatants - but the dying Dalek fleet on the edge of this solar system (empty, this early on, without anything local heavier than – not now) had lashed out in its last moment of conciousness… rupturing the station.
The Rani was mummified. The Doctor looked at her, ran one spacesuited hand along the contours of her face, never touching, always a centimeter from her toughened skin. Skin that, in life, was so alive. Not since the ages before the Gallifreyans became the Time Lords has there been a mummy of their species.
“We disagreed from time to time,” he says, not sure why, but it feels right that he do so, “but show me somebody I’ve never disagreed with, and I’ll wager I’ve never met him.” It tugs at his hearts, being so close, and yet so distant. The Rani is borderline dead: finish the job, and she’d regenerate, coming fully to life.
He can’t feel her, can’t sense her presence…but doesn’t dare wake her, can’t bring himself to unleash her upon the universe. If not for recent memories of the Master with the Toclafane, he would. He’d bring her back.
So, not feeling her, he aches.
-
Request: Donna/Seven, Ace/Ten, Ace/Four