Reprieve (1/1)

[tromana]

Title: Reprieve
Author: tromana
Rating: PG13
Characters: Romana II/Eight
Spoilers: None.
Summary: She closed her eyes and saw explosions.
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. Life would be more interesting if I did.
Notes: Time war fic.

 

Reprieve

She closed her eyes and saw explosions.

Her hands shook as she wished the fatigue would pass. She had no time to rest; she had to be out there, making plans. Leading. And this was no state for a President to be seen in, visibly unsettled, filthy, with hollow eyes, especially in the current climate. She sat, shakily before accepting a glass of water. It was unsanitary but it was all that was available. There was no time to be fussy about it in war. It’s that or death.

There was a stench in the air. The one that only comes when death and destruction are at your doorstep. She hated it and hated herself for bringing it to her home world. There was probably a million and one things she could have done differently. But then again, it was here or the Universe. She couldn’t, shouldn’t really think of the past. It was littered with bad memories and those which she wished she could hide herself in forever.

She could hear the hollering of others. Those in pain, dying even, in desperate need of a surgeonmaster. Others, trying their best to organise search parties, bases of attack, rescue missions. Some were simply arguing over what the best course of action was. Then there was the screech of their enemy, far too close for comfort.

She couldn’t do this. How could she?

She always found it ironic, the Time Lords running out of Time. And they were, desperately so. It was like sand trickling through a timer. Only once Time ran out, you couldn’t turn it on its head and start again. That’s what always happens when you find yourself on the losing side, you wish for a reprieve, or to simply start over.

She shook her head, eyes still firmly shut and she could see him. He was barely more than a shadow and smiling gently. He appeared to wrap his arms around her waist and pulled her close to him. She wished with both her hearts that she could feel it; that he was more than a figment of her imagination. He placed his mouth to her ear, after gently brushing away her hair. His words were like a gentle breeze, almost tickling. If she was less of a rational, straightforward thinker, she’d believe he was there. What she heard (or possibly invented?) was all she needed.

When she opened her eyes again, the explosions were still there.