Fic Pinstripes & Jacquard ‘Verse, Chapter 12: Time Stands Still
Title: Pinstripes & Jacquard ‘Verse, Chapter 12: Time Stands Still
Author: psyfi_geekgirl
BetaBabe: akkajemo
Characters/Pairings: Twelfth Doctor, Tenth Doctor
Rating: PG-13
Excerpt: “I can think of quite a few places I would have preferred to go with you,” she said. “But none that I’m more grateful to have you along with me than here.”
Word count: 3,227
Disclaimer: Until she’s Jossed, Twelve is mine-but of course, based entirely on stuff that ain’t mine… All hail Auntie Beeb!
A/N*: Continuing Part II of Girl in the Mirror ‘Verse. Which, if you haven’t read yet, will give you important backstory and character details which are essential to this ‘verse (the link to the GitM masterlist is provided below). This series is a sort of Season Two. Also written before the end of DW season 6, so some details have gone AU.
Part I: Girl in the Mirror ‘Verse Masterlist
Part II: Pinstripes & Jacquard ‘Verse
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6
Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11
Cream Chucks and red Docs disturbed the blackened rocks of the Death Zone. The two Doctors stepped onto the blighted soil of Gallifrey and winced from the sharp pangs of memories and feelings that washed over them like the breezes off the valley.
They walked amongst the dead.
The shards of shale-like rocks clacked like dried bones underfoot.
The only warmth the Twelfth Doctor felt came from the Tenth Doctor’s fingers as he wrapped them around her hand. Reassured by his presence and the firm pressure of his fingers, they endured the onslaught of the waves of compressed residual emotions from The Moment and led each other over to the edge of the massive, bowl-shaped depression that loomed mere footfalls from the TARDIS’ doorstep.
Both Doctors took a deep breath and pushed through the resistance, slogging through emotional treacle.
Nearing the edge of the vast crater, they toed its perimeter. They surveyed the visible damage, because they could feel enough of the metaphysical ones.
Twelve concentrated on keeping the memories out by thinking up descriptive words instead, ticking them off in her head: Harrowing, howling, heinous, tormenting, terrible, traumatic, terrifying, deplorable, despicable, depraved, dreadful-My goodness there are a lot of useful words using “H,” “T” and “D!” she thought. And they were all good words-nicely descriptive in and of themselves; but ultimately, terribly imprecise and exceedingly inadequate to describe the full horror of the event itself.
Ah, she thought to herself, another “H” word…
And there was another one, too: Hell. That was the only one she could think of that encompassed the salient meaning of all of the words.
Yet even that word still didn’t come close enough.
How had Hell come to Gallifrey?
She thought of those macabre Medieval Earth paintings of Hell and the Last Judgment that depicted voracious, frightening demons gorging on the flesh of their human meals-the bodies still wriggling with life. There were always terrified humans struggling helplessly against inhuman fiends, teeth ripping at their sinful flesh. Great, writhing masses of humans thrashing against a fate worse than death itself, the press of their bodies forming into the shape of exposed roots of ancient trees, the stacked parts against parts robbing them of their individualism, making their agony meaningless. Shining out from the canvas were faces twisted in panic, misery and torment-but filled with resigned hopelessness-knowing God had abandoned them to their nightmarish torments.
She gave a short, derisive snort and shook her head, Albus Dumbledore was right, there were worse things in life than dying…
And during the War, Gallifrey itself had devolved into a world akin to the third triptych of the Garden of Earthly Delights…
Yes, it was true that the Daleks were the universe’s greatest menace-the very incarnation of hatred and intolerance-and nothing had made them more horrendously gleeful than to visit their sadistic brutality upon the Timelords, in toto. Cavorting amidst their victims, they became intoxicated by the pleas and shrieks of their helpless enemies.
And the Timelords had, too-until the tide turned.
Bloodied, losing, beat back-near defeat-the Timelords were attempting to stop the Could-Have-Been-King from advancing upon the Citadel with his fearsome Army of Meanwhiles and Never Weres. The Timelords fought valiantly but pointlessly. Down to the last crop of their forced resurrections, things looked bleak. Indeed, whole platoons of Timelords were being wiped out faster than they could pull the bio-data from the Matrix for reanimation.
Once again, the ironic history of the galaxy repeated itself, as supply lines had become an issue…
Or, perhaps they began to lose because they had begun to revel in the degradation of war, becoming indistinct from those whom they were fighting?
The silver leaves on the trees had long been stripped by bomb and laser blasts, the waters of Gallifrey had been frozen first by weapons and then melted by other weapons-evaporated-and replaced by the blood of the dead. There was no ash here in the Death Zone-for there was nothing to burn. However in the Capitol, fires had raged even before The Moment exploded, and members of both sides burned and died as a result, polluting the air and covering the ground. Meanwhile, the Capitol had become a kind of ground zero of its own-as a place of evil. That’s where the highest concentration of torture had been committed. Although, these atrocities were not buried deep underground or in locations away from prying eyes behind the front lines-but in public view, in the streets and on the steps of the High Council-the deranged tormentors bathing victoriously in the blood of the conquered, inflamed by their own bloodlust.
Timelord and enemy alike…
Gallifrey had turned into a great orgy of death and persecution, littered with the morality of the past and the viscera of kinsman laying across enemies, reduced to a phantasmagoria of devilry and amorality.
As a result, death had ceased to have meaning or significance, and the fear of it had been quickly bred out of them after several procedures of resurrections. It became just another experience, like breathing, torture, or excruciating pain: Hit by enemy fire? Skewered and flayed by the talons of the Horde of Travesties? Scorched by fire from a Dalek? No matter! Just regenerate. And if you’d run out of turns, you’d still be up and around before the next day, weapon in hand, ready to kill for Rassilon, the Prince of Hell himself-resurrected to fight another day!
After a few years, the once beautiful sky was transformed by the billowing dust and pollution from all the fires-the glittering sunlight from the dual suns of Gallifrey was blotted out, obscured behind a mourning veil of murky brownish-green.
Instead, the battlefield was lit by the glowing fission of countless regenerations.
She had to end it.
If anything, the inferno from The Moment had been a relief in addition to a flashy, fireworks finale to a cavalcade of horrors. It was their opéra tragique magnifique in an untold amount of acts, spiraling and collapsing into itself, forever and throughout time.
And people thought Cats was long…
But, as a final act, The Moment wasn’t just about ultimate vengeance; it was deliverance from the evil of their actions.
It had been released out of the TARDIS high above the fray of the battle that raged over the Death Zone.
The blast had been incredible.
How many times had she replayed that over in her head?
Through every fire, every death, every hard choice or near miss-throughout every subsequent regeneration, every sleepless night, every companion lost-it had haunted the Doctor.
Even now, she could feel the echoes of Hell radiate from the planet like an acrid odor wafting off a putrid stew.
She shook it off.
The Twelfth Doctor picked up a blackened stone. The Tenth Doctor watched her pensively as she threw it down into the crater, watching it bounce-both of them knowing all the while that it skittered over the echoes of the compressed and the dead.
Yet she felt nothing but emptiness inside.
A rumble far off overhead brought her back to herself.
“Storm’s coming,” said Ten, soberly, the faint cut from their hard landing glowing on his cheek. “We should head towards the ruins. We don’t want to get caught out in this rain.”
She knew he was right. For whatever scans Jack had made several months earlier at the Citadel, she knew that here-at Ground Zero-there were more dangerously concentrated levels of harmful nastiness that they could do well to avoid.
She nodded. But before they headed off, the Tenth Doctor turned and pointed his sonic at the TARDIS, only a few meters away. It hummed and the TARDIS faded out-just a second out of synch-a protective measure.
Her voice came flatly over the incoming breezes from the south: “Good call.”
Ten sniffed. “Well, seeing as how we’ve got another bio-echo running ‘round of indeterminate strength, cunning, mass or wits, I thought better safe than sorry… C’mon…” He took her hand again and together they walked towards the ruins of Rassilon’s Tomb.
“Mmmm… Tomb time,” she said, sardonically.
“This whole planet’s a tomb,” he said quietly.
She turned to catch his eye, checking in. Both of them looked pensively at each other. She could tell, without needing to ask, that his own thoughts while looking into the crater produced by The Moment were near-identical to her own. It went without saying. After all, they were still the same person with the same memories and experiences. They were bound to get up to the same lines of thought within time.
“I can think of quite a few places I would have preferred to go with you,” she said. “But none that I’m more grateful to have you along with me than here.”
“Ohhh, weeeell…” He winked at her. “I’ve always been known for my brilliant first dates…”
“Watch it,” she said, poking him in his pinstriped chest, “You’re beginning to sound like Harkness…”
He gave her a funny, smirking grin and pulled her along after him, towards the tomb.
They crossed the remainder of the Death Zone without incident.
******
When they reached the toppled, jagged pieces of the Dark Tower at the base of the mountain, they stopped once again to reassess.
“Think the traps are still set?” Ten asked.
Dramatic and competitive even in death, the “Great” Lord Rassilon had rigged his tomb with a series of boobytraps and obstacles, designed to trick, kill or imprison any would-be defilers. But mostly the Doctors knew they had been a set up to keep secret the fact that Rassilon’s body was missing from the crypt itself.
The Doctors had also been inside the crypt before-or several times, depending upon time, perspective or point of view.
There were three known entrances to the Tower-a front entrance, a door on the roof, and access from caves below. A version of the Doctor had been through them all, and all were rigged with traps. However in their Eighth incarnation, the Doctor had somehow found a fourth entrance-perhaps one that was made for Rassilon himself-etched into the mountainside. They led below to the ancient catacombs and even further down into the warren of bunkers that the Timelords had dug during the War to hide in and withstand the bombardment of the enemy fire from the advancing Dalek forces and other assorted, eyeless, soulless, and nightmarish armies.
It was in one of these catacombs that the Doctor had found the De-Mat Gun. And it was here that the beginning of the end of the Last Great Time War had begun.
It was also the most likely location for the bio-echo of their Eighth self.
The twin Doctors had difficulty figuring out where to find the secret, fourth entrance. While time had worked on their memories, the devastation of the landmarks and surrounding landscape had made the familiar unfamiliar. Now taken out of context, everything seemed strange. But together the Doctors figured out the direction they needed to go.
Getting to it was another question entirely; for massive sections of the giant black obelisk that made up the tower littered their path.
There was nothing else for it, they would have to climb over it.
Thankfully, the Tenth Doctor had received expert instruction on mountain climbing from legendary British climber, George Mallory before his fatal Mount Everest Expedition in 1924, and seemed a bit keen to test his education with the mess in front of them. Twelve, not being very athletic, was less keen, despite retaining the same knowledge.
After mapping their path of approach they helped each other up onto the first level of obelisk rubble and rock. Black and brown coats flapped in the breeze as they clung to the stones that blocked their route. Luckily the enormous boulders were craggy, and provided excellent handholds, yet their way forward was not without considerable danger. Adding to their hazards were the toxic rains that were headed their way. Visibility was also reduced due to impending darkness, which was either caused by the nearing storm or the approaching sunsets-although not actually being able to see the twin suns sunset was a relative thing. They were simply aware that the murky sky was growing darker overall…
“Ooooh, why did we come this way?” groused Twelve after she’d scraped her hand on a particularly sharp hand-hold. She sucked the blood off the side of her finger and spat a fleck of glitter varnish off her tongue. “We could’ve just used the front door!”
“Ah yes… do you mean the front door that was equally buried by rubble?”
“You just wanted to avoid the Pi Trap,” she teased.
“Yes, that’s exactly it. You know how fearful I am of recreational mathematics-It’s a terrible thing, the panic attacks, the hives…” He shuddered in mock fear and rummaging around, pulled a piece of cloth out of his coat pockets-a purple bandana he’d borrowed from two Asian girls traveling the motorway on New New Earth years before-and passed it down to her. After she’d wrapped her hand with it, he reached down to pull her up. “C’mon, Gumby. Don’t forget, we need to beat that rain.”
“You wouldn’t have a rope and a harness in that coat of yours, would you?”
“No. You know full well that only River keeps those things in her pack. And we gave her the day off.”
Twelve swore. “That was stupid of us.” She grasped Ten’s hand and he hauled her up to his level on the rocks.
They only had fifteen meters to go before they reached the top of the rubble pile.
“Maybe I could go ahead and find an easier way up?” he offered.
Not very anxious to cut herself again, she agreed, letting him go a bit ahead and then carefully following his route up in his footsteps. She noticed the breeze had picked up.
“Can you see the Citadel from there?” she called to him once he’d made it to the top.
He looked off into the distance, but was just able to catch a glimpse of a shard of the spires in the dwindling light between the mountain peaks, fingers reaching up from the grave. “Yep,” he said. There was a rumble overhead in the clouds. “I don’t like the looks of those skies, Twelve-“
“I’m coming!” she called, and continued her ascent in his trail with a tad more vigor. Ten called pointers down to her as she went, but the way up was more difficult for her with shorter legs and a different centre of gravity. “Y’could’ve remembered what it was like being me!” she called out, frustrated with one particularly gnarly foothold.
“You’re nearly there!” he called out. “Just another few meters to go.”
She launched herself over to another boulder, scraping her shin. “Y’know, if I mess up another new outfit…”
Ten chuckled and shook his head, suddenly reminded of Rose’s similar fits about ruined clothing and broken nails. He watched Twelve with a wistful smile as she picked across the boulders, her black coat fluttering and her silvery streak standing above her head like a question mark in the breeze. He jammed his hands in his pockets, aware that this was one of his first recent recollections of Rose that didn’t depress him.
It helped, kind of-having Twelve around…
Around them there was a sound like rattling mylar, and a light rain began to fall, staining the rocks a mottled black. The storm had finally caught up with them. Twelve’s face went grim, knowing that the rain would only increase the hazard of their travels over the rocks. Ten anxiously chewed his lip, knowing that his other self did not need to hear his concerns about them getting too much exposure from the semi-contaminated rain…
Sure enough, the rain made the shale slippery, and Twelve’s way up was slowed even more as she tested each foot and finger hold. Finally, she was near the top, but the rain began to pick up. While the rain didn’t sting, it did stink, and both of them scrunched their noses up at the malodorous mist of rotten cabbage that sprinkled them. Regardless of the stench, Twelve’s efforts were redoubled, knowing that after prolonged exposure it would begin to sting-the rain was comprised of a weak acid that had evaporated into the atmosphere after the Gallifreyan seas dried up.
“C’mon, old girl,” came Ten’s voice just above her. She was very close now.
“Believe me, Doctor,” she said testily, “I am going as fast as I---WOOOAAAH!!” Her hand slipped on choss, and the loose rock disintegrated under her fingers, causing her to lose her grip.
“I’VE GOT YOU!” cried Ten as he dove onto the rock and grabbed her hand. “Find a foothold, any foothold!”
She struggled against the slippery rain-that had now begun to sting.
“Sodding rain!!” she yelled.
Also feeling the effects of the rain, Ten hissed as the noxious wet rolled into the slight cut on his face.
“Grab hold, Twelve!” he shouted and she grasped his hand, although contact was slick due to rain and sweat. “Have you got a footing??”
“Yes!”
“Well, then c’mon…” and he pulled her as he lay on his stomach, sprawled across the rock. “Upsy daisy!”
Twelve swung out and looked up, but the rain stung her eyes. “Ow! Rain’s in my eyes!” she exclaimed.
“Nearly there, watch your feet,” directed Ten, still gripping her.
She shook the rain out of her face and opened one eye. Finding a teeny crack, she jammed a toe in, hoping it wouldn’t sheer off from her weight. As Ten pulled she pushed upwards with all the muscles in her leg. He grabbed her with his other hand once her torso became level with the top of the rock.
“I’ve got you! Up you come.” He kneeled and steadied her as she used his leverage to push herself up. “That’s it,” he breathed as she finally stood on shaky legs. “Welcome to the top!”
They shared a very brief hug before looking for a way down to where the secret door should have been in the rock face.
Above them floated a large, rippling shape.
“That’s a weird sort of a cloud…” muttered Twelve.
Ten looked. However it seemed to move in the opposite direction of the clouds, and was getting darker and larger. “I don’t think that’s a cloud…” he said, his stomach sinking.
Suddenly there was a screeching roar, and an enormous leathery cross between a bat and a hawk-akin to a small pterodactyl-came rushing out of the clouds towards them.
“WHAT THE BLOODY BLUE BLAZES ARE THOSE?!!?” shrieked Twelve as she and Ten haphazardly stumbled down the rocks, just missing becoming dinner for the ugly creature above. Missing, it hissed and flapped nosily upwards, positioning itself for another attack.
“NO IDEA!” shouted Ten as he slid down the rock facing to another boulder below. “But it doesn’t seem to be affected by the rains…”
Above them, others of his kind joined the terrifying winged beast.
“OH GREAT,” shouted Twelve. “HE’S GOT FRIENDS!”
“JUST KEEP GOING!” he shouted.
The group of winged creatures swooped towards them as they hurriedly and clumsily picked down the rubble.
“TEN!” she screamed. A giant one of those things was headed directly for him, it’s sharp talons outstretched...
To be continued in Chapter 13: Time Bomb…
*In addition to the usual Nu-Who references, Classic Who references are made to The Five Doctors and the DW book, Vampire Science.
Re: Climbing terms. A “Gumby” is a derogatory term for an inept climber.
Finally, the HP quote from Order of the Phoenix was used because we all know the Doctor’s a fan of the Boy Who Lived…