(no subject)
They never saw it coming. It came too fast with too much happening, the climactic fruition of a dozen centuries’ work: the universe finally ready to be healed by the Doctor. All else faded into the background, mere unimportant details no one would remember.
A gunshot pierced the moment. The witnesses were rooted to their spots, confused and dumb as frightened sheep. Lucy Cole held the gun, eyes blank and numb and terrifying and fixed upon her target, collapsed on the floor. Koschei. Her gift to her Doctor, in celebration of his final triumph. From Lucy, with love.
In a way, it was a relief, even as Koschei’s hearts pumped out an erratic rhythm, uselessly sending blood to failing organs. He didn’t have to fight anymore; his choice was made clear for him, laid out as plainly as the distinction between the red pooling on the floor and the brown wood visible beyond. Thete dropped to his side within a second, his face betraying nothing out of habit learned through centuries of practice.
“Congratulations,” Koschei said, forcing down the absurd urge to laugh. His blood was staining Thete’s black suit jacket red. A new colour, for once.
Impassively, “Do you plan to keep this up for long?”
Koschei smiled faintly as his life ebbed away, and regeneration tugged at his dying cells. He refused it. “I’ll be out of your way soon.”
There it was, emotion; Koschei analyzed it with detached interest. A flicker of confusion and worry. He knew something was amiss, at least. “No-“
“You can have your universe, Thete. But I won’t be living in it.”
And, finally, understanding came, followed quickly by panic, shattering the mask he wore. “You have lives left. You can regenerate.”
“No.”
Louder now, more forceful. “Regenerate!”
“No.”
Thete gathered himself, tried on a reasoning tone. “You’ll destroy yourself to spite me?”
He didn’t understand. Koschei expected that. He had long since given up on Thete ever understanding. It was too late now. It had been too late for a long time. All he could do was give Thete something he could grasp. “Yes.”
He was rewarded with a flash of anger. Koschei realised with a morbid sense of triumph that this was the most genuine expression Thete had shown in centuries. “I won’t allow it.”
“You can’t stop me.”
He died; his gift to the Doctor, in celebration of his final triumph. From Koschei, with love.
Community: relativeprompts
Prompt: 4, "triumph"
Word Count: 405
Note: ...This is not necessarily what happens. Just a 'could-be' fic. And yes, a re-write of That Scene from TLOTT.
A gunshot pierced the moment. The witnesses were rooted to their spots, confused and dumb as frightened sheep. Lucy Cole held the gun, eyes blank and numb and terrifying and fixed upon her target, collapsed on the floor. Koschei. Her gift to her Doctor, in celebration of his final triumph. From Lucy, with love.
In a way, it was a relief, even as Koschei’s hearts pumped out an erratic rhythm, uselessly sending blood to failing organs. He didn’t have to fight anymore; his choice was made clear for him, laid out as plainly as the distinction between the red pooling on the floor and the brown wood visible beyond. Thete dropped to his side within a second, his face betraying nothing out of habit learned through centuries of practice.
“Congratulations,” Koschei said, forcing down the absurd urge to laugh. His blood was staining Thete’s black suit jacket red. A new colour, for once.
Impassively, “Do you plan to keep this up for long?”
Koschei smiled faintly as his life ebbed away, and regeneration tugged at his dying cells. He refused it. “I’ll be out of your way soon.”
There it was, emotion; Koschei analyzed it with detached interest. A flicker of confusion and worry. He knew something was amiss, at least. “No-“
“You can have your universe, Thete. But I won’t be living in it.”
And, finally, understanding came, followed quickly by panic, shattering the mask he wore. “You have lives left. You can regenerate.”
“No.”
Louder now, more forceful. “Regenerate!”
“No.”
Thete gathered himself, tried on a reasoning tone. “You’ll destroy yourself to spite me?”
He didn’t understand. Koschei expected that. He had long since given up on Thete ever understanding. It was too late now. It had been too late for a long time. All he could do was give Thete something he could grasp. “Yes.”
He was rewarded with a flash of anger. Koschei realised with a morbid sense of triumph that this was the most genuine expression Thete had shown in centuries. “I won’t allow it.”
“You can’t stop me.”
He died; his gift to the Doctor, in celebration of his final triumph. From Koschei, with love.
Community: relativeprompts
Prompt: 4, "triumph"
Word Count: 405
Note: ...This is not necessarily what happens. Just a 'could-be' fic. And yes, a re-write of That Scene from TLOTT.