A private man in a public circumstance
John Smith dodn't want to die. He has the feeling no sane person does... if he can, in fact, be counted as a person. He's run out of options, though. A life where he lets others die for him (and they will, across the stars, they'll all die) isn't a life worth having... Even a life with the woman he's grown to love more than he ever thought possible.
And he can go on all he liked about the capacity for self-sacrifice being an indication of true humanity, a confirmation of his own existence, but in the end, only one thing matters: he's never really had a life to give up. All this is the Doctor's, and the Doctor happens to be the only one that can save everyone else.
He hates the Doctor for this -- hates him for being so different, so impossibly Other, for all that he seems human on the surface. No human could do this, create someone who believed quite firmly in their own reality, only to blithely destroy them when the time came.
No human could do several of the things he'd done, in fact, but that was the most telling difference: that John's life meant so little, that the concept that John could dream and want and love seemed to have never crossed his mind.
Oh yes, John hates him completely at the moment... But it doesn't matter. The Doctor is what's needed. The Doctor can fix things.
He takes Joan's hand, helps her to her feet, and turns to open the door... He's not sure he can speak right now, but he can help her out, and all of them, he and Joan and Martha and even little Timothy Latimer... They can see this ended.
He holds the door for Joan -- he does remember his courtesies, even in the face of oblivion. And then, as he follows her through, he's abruptly somewhere else. And he's no longer holding the watch.
It appears to be a small house, and when he turns around, there's a fireplace behind him, and a great swirling thing that he must have come through, though it looks barely large enough for him. The Doctor would know what it is, he's sure.
And that's when the import of his earlier realization hits him: He's no longer holding the watch.
He falls to his knees, frantically searching the floor, but he somehow knows that it's nowhere nearby.
"No. No, no, no, NO."
Meanwhile, in the basement of the Conrad Hotel, something small and silver-colored shoots out of the Rift, landing on the floor with a soft ping.
::Time Lord,:: it broadcasts, despite being firmly closed. ::Open me.:: And then, a moment later, ::!!:: and ::...?:: It falls silent shortly thereafter, the Chameleon Arch's technology hiding it once more.
And he can go on all he liked about the capacity for self-sacrifice being an indication of true humanity, a confirmation of his own existence, but in the end, only one thing matters: he's never really had a life to give up. All this is the Doctor's, and the Doctor happens to be the only one that can save everyone else.
He hates the Doctor for this -- hates him for being so different, so impossibly Other, for all that he seems human on the surface. No human could do this, create someone who believed quite firmly in their own reality, only to blithely destroy them when the time came.
No human could do several of the things he'd done, in fact, but that was the most telling difference: that John's life meant so little, that the concept that John could dream and want and love seemed to have never crossed his mind.
Oh yes, John hates him completely at the moment... But it doesn't matter. The Doctor is what's needed. The Doctor can fix things.
He takes Joan's hand, helps her to her feet, and turns to open the door... He's not sure he can speak right now, but he can help her out, and all of them, he and Joan and Martha and even little Timothy Latimer... They can see this ended.
He holds the door for Joan -- he does remember his courtesies, even in the face of oblivion. And then, as he follows her through, he's abruptly somewhere else. And he's no longer holding the watch.
It appears to be a small house, and when he turns around, there's a fireplace behind him, and a great swirling thing that he must have come through, though it looks barely large enough for him. The Doctor would know what it is, he's sure.
And that's when the import of his earlier realization hits him: He's no longer holding the watch.
He falls to his knees, frantically searching the floor, but he somehow knows that it's nowhere nearby.
"No. No, no, no, NO."
Meanwhile, in the basement of the Conrad Hotel, something small and silver-colored shoots out of the Rift, landing on the floor with a soft ping.
::Time Lord,:: it broadcasts, despite being firmly closed. ::Open me.:: And then, a moment later, ::!!:: and ::...?:: It falls silent shortly thereafter, the Chameleon Arch's technology hiding it once more.