Divergence to Infinity [Prologue + Chapter 1]
Divergence to Infinity
Summary: Who would we be if certain people never crossed our paths? What would happen if there was just something that would forever elude us, right out of our grip, but we could sense it? This would happen. This side of Paradise, this side of Nothing.
Rating: PG-13/R
Disclaimer: All characters, ideas, places, and further intellectual property belong to their rightful owners, in this particular case, BBC. I own nothing. This story and associated content is for entertainment purposes only. No profit is being made.
Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Jessica Wolfe
{Prologue}
What happens when a Time Lord dies? What happens to any of us when we die?
Is there heaven? A hell? Reincarnation? Dirt? Ash? Nothingness? Darkness?
To cease existing means to exist no longer--there is nothing left of you. Not a bone, not a memory, nothing.
And like that he was disappearing. There was no one left to tell him what would happen. Where he would go. He would simply cease to exist. He would be nothing, perhaps a distant memory somewhere, but not even that could bring him back. No, nothing could. He was dying. And in the destruction, he destroyed himself.
Sacrifice was too noble a cause, but revenge was just, for him, it was enough.
Darkness. That was all there was. No bone, no breath, no consciousness, nothing. Just darkness.
{1}
Darkness.
That was all. And he could feel it.
Wait. He could feel it. Cold and folding round him, weaving its way smoothly between his fingers.
He was aware. There was something in the distance; faded, digital. A rhythm.
1 2, 1 2, 1 2, 1 2.
He kept waiting to hear 3, 4, but they never came. Just one and two and one and two. Steady. Becoming more real by the moment.
There was still darkness, and pain.
Pain!
Pain flooding him.
Him.
Implying being.
He frowned. He could feel muscle under skin moving, tensing and pulling toward itself, bunching above his eyes.
He squinted, eyes still closed; his hands-he had hands-reaching for what he presumed to be his face, to rub the dust of eternal sleep away from his eyes. He opened them.
All at once, light, glowing with a green pallor, the buzz of the light bulb overhead; it became clear.
There was no darkness. He turned to his left, the two beat rhythm manifesting itself on a monitor, in constant intervals. Wires were here, there, white, clinical, everywhere. Mint green tiles on the floor, silver equipment . . .
{...}
There had been nothing but light when he died. The Master could never forget it. The ripping away of his life, his flesh, his being, the anger, the rush, the power everywhere.
And then there was darkness. That he did not remember. The few moments of darkness he had just come from left him disoriented. There had been darkness for longer than he would ever know, and he was a Time Lord. He should always know.
But now there was light again. And colors. And smells, and things to touch. The smoothed down rough texture of his linens, the cold air in the room. The sound of two . . . just one and two.
He looked around, then down at himself, in a hospital gown, wrapped up in white sheets, needles and wires surrounding him. Invading his flesh. There was too much to process to even begin to understand where he was. Why was he here? Where was he? As his mind raced, he pulled needles from his arms, wincing, as the tape pulled hairs from his skin. He could still feel the ghost of the needle in his arm. He pulled wires and tubes out and away from himself.
Then the beat stopped. It became one monotonous sound, one pitch, never ending. The monitor flat lined. He had flat lined.
Wait, he stopped his movements. He had flat lined. That two beat noise was his. The thump of a heart, of a human heart. Blood rushing in one valve, emptying out in another. He could feel it, he could hear it, deafening the mechanical beep.
His pulse.
There was only one heart.
He was human.
Summary: Who would we be if certain people never crossed our paths? What would happen if there was just something that would forever elude us, right out of our grip, but we could sense it? This would happen. This side of Paradise, this side of Nothing.
Rating: PG-13/R
Disclaimer: All characters, ideas, places, and further intellectual property belong to their rightful owners, in this particular case, BBC. I own nothing. This story and associated content is for entertainment purposes only. No profit is being made.
Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Jessica Wolfe
{Prologue}
What happens when a Time Lord dies? What happens to any of us when we die?
Is there heaven? A hell? Reincarnation? Dirt? Ash? Nothingness? Darkness?
To cease existing means to exist no longer--there is nothing left of you. Not a bone, not a memory, nothing.
And like that he was disappearing. There was no one left to tell him what would happen. Where he would go. He would simply cease to exist. He would be nothing, perhaps a distant memory somewhere, but not even that could bring him back. No, nothing could. He was dying. And in the destruction, he destroyed himself.
Sacrifice was too noble a cause, but revenge was just, for him, it was enough.
Darkness. That was all there was. No bone, no breath, no consciousness, nothing. Just darkness.
{1}
Darkness.
That was all. And he could feel it.
Wait. He could feel it. Cold and folding round him, weaving its way smoothly between his fingers.
He was aware. There was something in the distance; faded, digital. A rhythm.
1 2, 1 2, 1 2, 1 2.
He kept waiting to hear 3, 4, but they never came. Just one and two and one and two. Steady. Becoming more real by the moment.
There was still darkness, and pain.
Pain!
Pain flooding him.
Him.
Implying being.
He frowned. He could feel muscle under skin moving, tensing and pulling toward itself, bunching above his eyes.
He squinted, eyes still closed; his hands-he had hands-reaching for what he presumed to be his face, to rub the dust of eternal sleep away from his eyes. He opened them.
All at once, light, glowing with a green pallor, the buzz of the light bulb overhead; it became clear.
There was no darkness. He turned to his left, the two beat rhythm manifesting itself on a monitor, in constant intervals. Wires were here, there, white, clinical, everywhere. Mint green tiles on the floor, silver equipment . . .
{...}
There had been nothing but light when he died. The Master could never forget it. The ripping away of his life, his flesh, his being, the anger, the rush, the power everywhere.
And then there was darkness. That he did not remember. The few moments of darkness he had just come from left him disoriented. There had been darkness for longer than he would ever know, and he was a Time Lord. He should always know.
But now there was light again. And colors. And smells, and things to touch. The smoothed down rough texture of his linens, the cold air in the room. The sound of two . . . just one and two.
He looked around, then down at himself, in a hospital gown, wrapped up in white sheets, needles and wires surrounding him. Invading his flesh. There was too much to process to even begin to understand where he was. Why was he here? Where was he? As his mind raced, he pulled needles from his arms, wincing, as the tape pulled hairs from his skin. He could still feel the ghost of the needle in his arm. He pulled wires and tubes out and away from himself.
Then the beat stopped. It became one monotonous sound, one pitch, never ending. The monitor flat lined. He had flat lined.
Wait, he stopped his movements. He had flat lined. That two beat noise was his. The thump of a heart, of a human heart. Blood rushing in one valve, emptying out in another. He could feel it, he could hear it, deafening the mechanical beep.
His pulse.
There was only one heart.
He was human.