Return to Gallifrey, Chapter 15



            That was all the Doctor could see around him. He couldn’t hear anything, either, except a kind of white noise, a noise which, he noted, was slowly filling the air and becoming almost unbearably loud. Shut UP, he wanted to shout, but no words would rise to his lips.

            Then, slowly, the noise dissipated, and he became aware of a far more distinct noise.

            Doctor,” Martha was shouting frantically, “Doctor! Can you hear me? Please! Say something! Anything!” She sounded as if she were talking into a tin can.

            The Doctor wanted to tell her that he was okay, to reach out, to do something, but he simply couldn’t move. Then, slowly, the blackness surrounding him cleared, and he was left with what looked like a dense fog.

            He still couldn’t talk, he realized. But could he move?

            With great strain, he was able to move his hand a little to the right, just far enough to touch his companion’s knee. She seemed to recognize this, however, and her face lit up.

            “You’re alive!” she said tearfully. “I thought…I thought…”

            Slowly, the Doctor shook his head. “Nevermind,” he was finally able to force out with difficulty. He paused. When he was certain he would be able to continue, he rasped, “Aloysius. That lying…cow. Where…is…he?”

            Martha looked upset. “He’s gone, Doctor,” she whispered, “he flew off with the ghosts…”

            The Doctor took in this bit of information with a deep breath and a grimace. Then, as if he’d recieved an unexpected jolt from a live electrical wire, he suddenly sat up fully, his face flushed with fury. “That stupid, othering Omega!* That lying, deceitful bastard! I hope he rots in a black star! Do you hear me? Rots!

            Never in her life had she seen the Doctor (or anyone else, for that matter) so angry. But she watched him vent, deciding it would be best for both of them if she didn’t interrupt.

            The Doctor was absolutely furious. His breath escaped him in livid gasps, eyes sunken and glazed.

            Finally, he calmed himself. “Nevermind,” he said, pacing his words carefully, “Forget about him. We’re alive, aren’t we?”

            Martha agreed. “Other than angry,” she said cautiously, “How are you feeling?”

            “Betrayed, livid, all around awful…oh, you mean physically? Weak, rather weak. But that should pass soon.”

            “Good,” Martha smiled.

            “Indeed,” said the Doctor, “because I’m going to have to tell you something I’d rather not reveal. Something you might just hate me for.”


*Gallifreyan “profanity” from the classic Who series


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