Amanuensis (amanuensis1) wrote,
Amanuensis
amanuensis1

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FICLET: Reign in Hell, Doctor Who, AU, ~350 words.

I forgot the rules of fandom! You don't post speculations--you write FIC.

Reign in Hell, Doctor Who, AU, gen or pre-het (whichever you prefer), spoilers for Doomsday. G, ~350 words. Thank you, sinclair_furie for reminding me!





"Em-per-or, we a-wait your com-mand."

One of his trainers went lost early on (how can you lose something in the Void? The Void?) and he can't even remember what color Rose's shirt started out as. But though clothing wears and tatters, neither of them have aged a minute. Food, drink, air--unnecessary. Because of course there's none of that to be had. Wonky piece of work, the Void.

"Cyberleader, the army is ready. Give us our orders."

And when time doesn't matter, they've got no way to reference how long it's taken them. Fifty million Cybermen and fifty million Daleks, give or take a billion, wavering on the brink of truce or collaboration or brutal war and all with an unwavering agenda against the two humans responsible for trapping them in a timeless spaceless exitless eternity--pretty good candidate for the worst situation he's ever faced, yeah, but never, never ever hopeless.

Engage the Daleks in an unrelenting, interminable campaign of circular logic and force them to name him Supreme Emperor? Nothing to it. Challenge the Cybermen to an incessant ageless series of duels until they look at their dwindling ranks and at him, and award him the Cyberleader's title? He never had a single doubt.

Because he's the fucking Doctor.

Doing both at the same time, all right, that was the tricky part, but that's what he had Rose for. Where he might stumble, she'd fill in what he needed.

Because she's Rose.

The Void took her. He let go, and he followed her in. Never regretted it for a (non-existent) minute.

Harness the technologies of Cyberman, Dalek, and Time Lord to escape the inescapable?

A doddle.

"Oh, I've got orders for you lot, all right."

***

And the Void opens.

***

He recognizes it right away. Twenty-third Earth century. Really bad era for the planet, except for the music.

Took them a bit longer than he'd thought. Not that it matters.

"Fancy...a cup of tea, Rose?"

For what's only about the third time in two centuries, Rose Tyler--his brave, wonderful, fantastic girl--cries.
Tags: doctor who, fic
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