5 – He Will Knock Four Times
The fall broke nearly every bone in his body. Even a Time Lord has his limits, but he knew that his only way of stopping the Master was to literally crash his party. He knew his body would take a bit to recover from the impact, but he was there. Hopefully, he would be able to talk the Master out of the madness.
“But this is fantastic, isn’t it? The Time Lords restored!” the Master cooed.
“You weren’t there in the final days of the War,” the Doctor replied sadly, “You never saw what was born…but if the Timelock’s broken, then everything’s coming through. Not just the Daleks, but the Skaro Degradations…the Horde of Travesties…the Nightmare Child…the Could-have-been King with his army of Meanwhiles and Never-weres. The War turned into hell…and that’s what you’ve opened, right above the Earth. Hell is descending.”
“Yes, my child,” came the Archangel’s voice unbidden, “Hell is descending. The time is near.”
“Really?” the Doctor replied in his head sarcastically, “I never would have guessed!”
“My kind of world!” the Master said, his madness taking over again.
“Just listen!” the Doctor yelled at the Master, trying to get him to see reason, “Because even the Time Lords can’t survive that!”
“I can help, child,” Metatron said softly, “Let me help. Your time is near.”
“I don’t need you!” the Doctor yelled in his head.
“But you do,” he heard Metatron say with slyly, “I can help you survive this, and you can barely move. Let me show you.”
The Doctor felt the push of feathers against his head. The presence surrounded him, filled him, and entered him through the pores in his skin.
“I thought you couldn’t take over without my permission,” the Doctor yelled as an overwhelming sense of warmth and well-being took over.
“Normally, I can’t,” the Archangel said, “However, as you are clearly in mortal danger due to the injuries you inflicted in that jump, I can override that little rule.”
Metatron took control and suddenly, the broken bones were mending. Suddenly, the excruciating pain that he hadn’t even realized he was feeling was gone. He felt himself rise and grab the gun and point it at Lord Rassilon.
“No!” the Doctor yelled. He felt he was yelling too much, especially since it really was all in his head, “You can’t!”
“What were you going to do with it, Doctor?” the angel asked, “If not to shoot him, was it to shoot…him?”
Metatron spun his body around to face the Master and snapped the gun in place to take aim.
“Well, yes, but-” the Doctor stammered, “But no! I don’t use guns! Guns are so permanent.”
“Yet you have this one,” the Archangel said, flipping back around to aim the gun at Rassilon once again, “Who do you think should die, Doctor? This is your choice.”
“If it’s my choice, give me bloody control,” he said in a strong but quiet voice. Metatron had been watching the Doctor long enough to know that that inflection was deadly to those who didn’t heed it. He had no fear of the Doctor but gave him control anyway. It was then that they both saw the woman behind Rassilon, ‘Mother’ came the Doctor’s unbidden thought, lowering her eyes and looking over the Doctor’s shoulder. Metatron felt the moment when the Doctor made his decision.
The Doctor turned and aimed the gun at the Master once again.
“Get out of the way,” he growled at the Master. The Master moved and the Doctor shot at the Whitepoint Star housed in the machine. The bullet pierced the diamond and the machine exploded. The Time Lords behind Rassilon disappeared.
“The link is broken,” the Doctor yelled, turning back to the Lord President, “Back into the Time War, Rassilon! Back into hell!”
“You’ll die with me, Doctor,” Rassilon said as he raised his hand.
“I know,” the Doctor said sadly.
“There is still time, my child,” Metatron said softly. The Doctor could feel his control slipping again. He could feel Metatron’s need to take over his body and make something happen.
“No,” he replied to the Archangel, “if this is where I die, then it is meant to be.”
“It isn’t,” Metatron said as the Master came up beside the Doctor.
“Get out of the way,” the Master said. The Doctor stepped aside for the Master as he watched the energy bolts release from the Master’s hands.
” You did this to me! All my life! You made me!” he screamed at Rassilon, stepping closer with each bolt he sent into the Time Lord, “One! Two! Three! Four!”
Rassilon was forced to his knees. The force of the earthquake knocked the Doctor off his feet. He watched from the marble floor as the Time Lords and the Master disappeared in a flash of bright light and energy. Rolling from his back to his side and he suddenly realized something.
“I’m alive,” he said quietly, “I’ve- There was- I’m still alive!”
He started laughing as he got to his knees. He had survived the prophecy, to his great surprise. Then, he heard knock, knock, knock, knock. And his hearts stopped.
“I’m sorry, child,” Metatron said sorrowfully, “I’m so, so sorry.”
Knock, knock, knock, knock. The end had not come. Knock, knock, knock, knock. But it was about to come. He turned and sat on his haunches to see Wilfred in the control booth. Knock, knock, knock, knock. He looked over at Wilf and Wilf waved.
“They gone, then? Yeah?” he asked, “Good-o. If you could let me out?”
“Yeah,” the Doctor said on a sigh, the tears gathering in his eyes for a different reason now. He was dead. He didn’t want to die.
“Only, this thing seems to be making a bit of a noise,” Wilfred said, the fear growing in his voice a little.
“The Master left the Nuclear Bolt running,” the Doctor said as he stood, “It’s gone into overload.”
“And that’s bad, is it?”
“No,” he said honestly, standing in front of the booth, “because all the excess radiation gets vented inside there. Vinvocci glass…contains it,” It hurt him to look at Wilf. Knowing what he had to do was killing him. He really didn’t want to die, but he wasn’t going to let Wilf die in his place. “All five hundred thousand rads, about to flood that thing.”
“Oh,” Wilf said, understanding what he was in for, “Well, you’d better let me out, then.”
“Except it’s gone critical,” the Doctor said, pulling his sonic screwdriver from the pocket of his jacket, “Touch one control and it floods. Even this would set it off.”
“I’m sorry,” Wilf said after looking at the lock on the door.
“Sure,” the Doctor replied so softly, the tears filling his eyes. He put his screwdriver back in his pocket and turned away.
“Look,” Wilf begged, “just leave me.”
“Okay, right then, I will,” he replied angrily, “Because you had to go in there, didn’t you? You had to go and get stuck, oh yes. Because that’s who you are, Wilfred. You were always this-. Waiting for me…all this time.”
He couldn’t even look at Wilfred. He couldn’t let the man see that the decision had been made. But it had. It had been made long before that moment.
“No really,” Wilfred said sadly, “just leave me. I’m an old man, Doctor. I’ve had my time.”
“Well, exactly! Look at you!” he railed, “Not remotely important…But me? I could do so much more! So much more! But this is what I get! My reward…Well, it’s not fair!” he screamed. When he threw everything off the console in front of him, he was not so much shocked as appalled by his anger. He didn’t get angry anymore. He didn’t allow the anger any longer. That way led to madness. He looked at Wilfred in the control booth, scared and uncertain.
“I’m still with you, my child,” the Archangel said quietly, “I can still help you.”
“Oh!” he sighed, “Oh…lived too long.”
“Be with me, angel,” he said, “I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I really don’t want to go through this alone.”
“I am with you, Doctor,” the Archangel said quietly, “This is not really the end. You will have your reward…your true reward for what you’re about to do.
The Doctor stepped towards the booth and Wilf’s eyes teared up, “No. No, no, please, please don’t,” he begged, “No, don’t! Please don’t! Please!”
“Wilfred, it’s my honor,” the Doctor said in reply with his hand on the unoccupied booth’s door, “Better be quick!” he said, opening the door and shutting it, “Three, two, one!”
He didn’t even have time to see that Wilf made it safely before the fifty thousand rads of energy coursed through his body. He felt the pain, felt the heat, felt his body melting, he turned and was able to see Wilfred’s horrified face before he collapsed on the floor…and then he felt no more.
“I promised I would be here,” he heard Metatron say from a distance, “You asked me to be with you. I am now a part of you. You have my strengths, but I cannot heal what has been done.”
“Not to sound selfish,” the Doctor said, “But what about my reward?”
“Rise, child,” the angel said, “I will hold off your pain and the deterioration of your cells long enough for you to say your goodbyes.”
He began to slowly uncurl, surprised the earlier pain had subsided. He could feel it in the background, but it had felt worse only moments before.
“What?” Wilf said as he got to his knees, “Hello.”
“Hi,” he said, his voice rough.
“Still with us?” Wilf asked.
“The system’s dead,” he said in lieu of an honest response as he pulled himself to his feet, “I absorbed it all. Whole thing’s kaput,” he pressed on the glass door, and it popped open, “Oh. Now it opens, yeah.”
“Well, there we are, then. Safe and sound. Mind you, you’re in a hell of a state. You’ve got some battle scars there.”
A small rush of pain hit him, and he buried his face in his hands. As he rubbed his hands down to his chin, he felt the sores and scars sear away.
“But they’ve-” Wilf stuttered, “Your…face. How did you do that?”
The Doctor looked down at his hands, completely free of all blemishes.
“It’s started,” he replied finally.
Wilfred walked up to him and wrapped his arms around him. The Doctor inhaled deeply and said a quiet ‘Thank you’ to the Archangel that now cohabitated his failing body.
Metatron’s only response was a very weak “You’re welcome…now hurry.”
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