Trenzalore - Series 2
Episode 6/6
Step into Christmas
Previously:
The Doctor has been sent to a town called Christmas on the planet Trenzalore, where the Time Lords are calling out his name through a crack in the wall. Clara Oswald and the TARDIS are gone, and for company the Doctor has the townspeople. The Doctor meets Archie Sawyer, the old Sheriff of Christmas, and April, his adventurous teenage daughter. Over fifty years later...
Archie Sawyer has been dead many years, and the Doctor has parted ways with his now sixty year-old daughter, April, allowing her to travel the universe in her own ship. Now, generations have passed, after a long and complex battle with the Weeping Angels, and his main companion is young Barnable Hope, grandson of one of the town's bravest men, raised by his two mothers, Loretta and Alma.
Clara Oswald has returned, and the Papal Mainframe has been invaded. After promising to never leave her behind again, an image of Barnable on the TARDIS monitor changed the Doctor's mind, and he returned to Trenzalore for good to join his young companion and protect the town.
Shortly after this, Kovarian has returned to Christmas to speak with the Doctor long after the events of the Kovarian Chapter (having fled from her own Silents who tried to kill her). The Doctor has agreed to forgive her and let her live a new life on Christmas, fighting the war she was always fighting but in a good and proper way.
The Doctor has been sent to a town called Christmas on the planet Trenzalore, where the Time Lords are calling out his name through a crack in the wall. Clara Oswald and the TARDIS are gone, and for company the Doctor has the townspeople. The Doctor meets Archie Sawyer, the old Sheriff of Christmas, and April, his adventurous teenage daughter. Over fifty years later...
Archie Sawyer has been dead many years, and the Doctor has parted ways with his now sixty year-old daughter, April, allowing her to travel the universe in her own ship. Now, generations have passed, after a long and complex battle with the Weeping Angels, and his main companion is young Barnable Hope, grandson of one of the town's bravest men, raised by his two mothers, Loretta and Alma.
Clara Oswald has returned, and the Papal Mainframe has been invaded. After promising to never leave her behind again, an image of Barnable on the TARDIS monitor changed the Doctor's mind, and he returned to Trenzalore for good to join his young companion and protect the town.
Shortly after this, Kovarian has returned to Christmas to speak with the Doctor long after the events of the Kovarian Chapter (having fled from her own Silents who tried to kill her). The Doctor has agreed to forgive her and let her live a new life on Christmas, fighting the war she was always fighting but in a good and proper way.
Prologue
Creak. Creak. Creak.
“Does it have to make that noise?”
“Yes.” The Doctor turned to Barnable, exhausted. It was dark over Christmas – as per usual – but also night-time; the rest of the town was asleep. The Doctor continued to turn the strange contraption. “Once the Trozzagovites are trapped in here, they’ll be secured back into their own dimension, but I need to fasten it…” he strained, grimacing as he turned the screw with all his might “…tightly…” He gasped and put the contraption down. “Oh, Barnable. I don’t have the juice for this tonight.”
Barnable disappeared off downstairs, leaving the Doctor on the top of the clock-tower on his own. I’ll just take a minute… get myself together…
The next thing he knew, the Doctor was being woken up, the shape of Barnable standing over him. It took a minute for the sound that awoke him to translate itself into words.
“Doctor! Doctor!”
“Hmm?”
Barnable handed the Doctor a cold glass of something that smelled of mango.
“I got you the juice.”
“The… juice?” The Doctor raised an eyebrow.
“Yes,” replied Barnable, completely seriously. “You said you needed juice for it.”
The Doctor laughed. “Don’t Loretta and Alma want you home? It’s very late.”
“Nah.” Barnable sat down opposite the Doctor. “They’re busy practising hugging.”
“They’re…” the Doctor trailed off before he asked the question. He decided it would probably be better if they left that one there. “What was I doing again?”
Barnable shrugged, then noticed the Doctor’s expression. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. I’m nine and a half, my memory’s not what it used to be!”
The Doctor chuckled again, realising how many of his sayings Barnable had taken in. Before he had a chance to consider whether that was a good or bad thing, both the Doctor and Barnable turned to the pitter-patter of tiny feet running up the clock-tower.
It was Daisy. Barnable stood up awkwardly to greet her. Daisy was also nine-and-a-half, so she liked to tell everyone who met her, and was besotted with Barnable. Every child in the town was, of course – they looked up to the Doctor’s companion as much as they looked up to the Doctor himself, because whilst the Doctor was the mythic figure of the village, the companion was someone they could be. Yet there was never any jealousy. Barnable earned it, people said. His youthful, unconventional ingenuity had saved their lives many times. Children respected him, aspired to be like him, and loved him. Barnable, meanwhile, was oblivious to the whole thing: oblivious to his victories, and oblivious to his reputation. There was not a single part of him that didn’t consider himself an equal to every other child in the town.
“I’ve got your story back for you.” She handed him a small stack of paper.
The Doctor stopped fixing his contraption, now certain it would contain the Trozzagovites, and gestured to the paper. “Story?”
“It’s nothing,” started Barnable.
“Barnable wrote a story,” said Daisy, suddenly excited, “about Christmas and you and-“
“Can I hear this story?”
Barnable shook his head.
“Of course you can!” Daisy picked the papers back off the side where Barnable had left them. “Once upon a time,” she narrated, “the Doctor didn’t have his ship, and he had not have...” she squinted at the paper. “Have not… had…”
“Couldn’t choose to leave,” corrected Barnable.
“That’s not what it says here,” said Daisy, critically. Barnable shrugged and she continued. “But one day the ship came back and there was a woman hanging on the edge and the Doctor poked her with a stick and shouted at her a lot.” The Doctor took a moment to process what Barnable was talking about. “They hugged and everyone in the town realised that she had to be Clara. But I was… was...” Daisy squinted again. “What does that word say?”
“Disconsolate.”
The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “Where did you learn that?”
“I was disconcerto,” continued Daisy. “Although I was happy for the Doctor I was sad because I thought that he might-“
“-the Doctor is probably trying to work,” said Barnable, taking the papers back. He had gone red in the face. Daisy nodded. The two stood awkwardly, looking for something to stay, their eyes exploring everything around them except for each other. The Doctor tried to prompt action, whistling Step Into Christmas by Elton John, but they didn’t pick up on the subtlety. Then, after some deliberation, he coughed about as unsubtly as he could manage.
“Anyway,” began Barnable, realising that Daisy would be old and grey before she summoned the courage to initiate conversation, “do you want to…?”
“Play?” Daisy beamed. “Yes please!” They ran down the stairs of the clock-tower, leaving the Doctor on his own with nothing to do. He leant over the wall and watched them playing, running in circles, building in the snow…
He sat back again. He needed the sleep. He was getting old.
***
“Doctor! Doctor!”
“Mmm?” the Doctor woke up, still adjusting, and reminded vividly of the last time this had happened, less than an hour ago. “Juice…?”
“Doctor!” Barnable shook the Doctor. It was more serious. Hot chocolate, maybe. “You need to get up! There’s another one!” He shouted in panic as the Doctor stood up, refusing to be calmed by Father Christmas’s presence. “There’s a whole army of them!”
There was. The Doctor stood up and gazed into the distance, hearts beating. Far out, about a kilometre away from Trenzalore, an army was amassed, still and accusing. An army of Weeping Angels.
“Does it have to make that noise?”
“Yes.” The Doctor turned to Barnable, exhausted. It was dark over Christmas – as per usual – but also night-time; the rest of the town was asleep. The Doctor continued to turn the strange contraption. “Once the Trozzagovites are trapped in here, they’ll be secured back into their own dimension, but I need to fasten it…” he strained, grimacing as he turned the screw with all his might “…tightly…” He gasped and put the contraption down. “Oh, Barnable. I don’t have the juice for this tonight.”
Barnable disappeared off downstairs, leaving the Doctor on the top of the clock-tower on his own. I’ll just take a minute… get myself together…
The next thing he knew, the Doctor was being woken up, the shape of Barnable standing over him. It took a minute for the sound that awoke him to translate itself into words.
“Doctor! Doctor!”
“Hmm?”
Barnable handed the Doctor a cold glass of something that smelled of mango.
“I got you the juice.”
“The… juice?” The Doctor raised an eyebrow.
“Yes,” replied Barnable, completely seriously. “You said you needed juice for it.”
The Doctor laughed. “Don’t Loretta and Alma want you home? It’s very late.”
“Nah.” Barnable sat down opposite the Doctor. “They’re busy practising hugging.”
“They’re…” the Doctor trailed off before he asked the question. He decided it would probably be better if they left that one there. “What was I doing again?”
Barnable shrugged, then noticed the Doctor’s expression. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. I’m nine and a half, my memory’s not what it used to be!”
The Doctor chuckled again, realising how many of his sayings Barnable had taken in. Before he had a chance to consider whether that was a good or bad thing, both the Doctor and Barnable turned to the pitter-patter of tiny feet running up the clock-tower.
It was Daisy. Barnable stood up awkwardly to greet her. Daisy was also nine-and-a-half, so she liked to tell everyone who met her, and was besotted with Barnable. Every child in the town was, of course – they looked up to the Doctor’s companion as much as they looked up to the Doctor himself, because whilst the Doctor was the mythic figure of the village, the companion was someone they could be. Yet there was never any jealousy. Barnable earned it, people said. His youthful, unconventional ingenuity had saved their lives many times. Children respected him, aspired to be like him, and loved him. Barnable, meanwhile, was oblivious to the whole thing: oblivious to his victories, and oblivious to his reputation. There was not a single part of him that didn’t consider himself an equal to every other child in the town.
“I’ve got your story back for you.” She handed him a small stack of paper.
The Doctor stopped fixing his contraption, now certain it would contain the Trozzagovites, and gestured to the paper. “Story?”
“It’s nothing,” started Barnable.
“Barnable wrote a story,” said Daisy, suddenly excited, “about Christmas and you and-“
“Can I hear this story?”
Barnable shook his head.
“Of course you can!” Daisy picked the papers back off the side where Barnable had left them. “Once upon a time,” she narrated, “the Doctor didn’t have his ship, and he had not have...” she squinted at the paper. “Have not… had…”
“Couldn’t choose to leave,” corrected Barnable.
“That’s not what it says here,” said Daisy, critically. Barnable shrugged and she continued. “But one day the ship came back and there was a woman hanging on the edge and the Doctor poked her with a stick and shouted at her a lot.” The Doctor took a moment to process what Barnable was talking about. “They hugged and everyone in the town realised that she had to be Clara. But I was… was...” Daisy squinted again. “What does that word say?”
“Disconsolate.”
The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “Where did you learn that?”
“I was disconcerto,” continued Daisy. “Although I was happy for the Doctor I was sad because I thought that he might-“
“-the Doctor is probably trying to work,” said Barnable, taking the papers back. He had gone red in the face. Daisy nodded. The two stood awkwardly, looking for something to stay, their eyes exploring everything around them except for each other. The Doctor tried to prompt action, whistling Step Into Christmas by Elton John, but they didn’t pick up on the subtlety. Then, after some deliberation, he coughed about as unsubtly as he could manage.
“Anyway,” began Barnable, realising that Daisy would be old and grey before she summoned the courage to initiate conversation, “do you want to…?”
“Play?” Daisy beamed. “Yes please!” They ran down the stairs of the clock-tower, leaving the Doctor on his own with nothing to do. He leant over the wall and watched them playing, running in circles, building in the snow…
He sat back again. He needed the sleep. He was getting old.
***
“Doctor! Doctor!”
“Mmm?” the Doctor woke up, still adjusting, and reminded vividly of the last time this had happened, less than an hour ago. “Juice…?”
“Doctor!” Barnable shook the Doctor. It was more serious. Hot chocolate, maybe. “You need to get up! There’s another one!” He shouted in panic as the Doctor stood up, refusing to be calmed by Father Christmas’s presence. “There’s a whole army of them!”
There was. The Doctor stood up and gazed into the distance, hearts beating. Far out, about a kilometre away from Trenzalore, an army was amassed, still and accusing. An army of Weeping Angels.
Step into Christmas
Written by the Genie
“What are they doing?”
The crowds parted for the Doctor and Barnable. The entire population of Christmas was gathered at the edge of the town, watching the Weeping Angels in the distance, refusing to blink. The air was misty, but the shape of the army was unmistakable in the distance. The Doctor pulled his jacket in, chilled by the winter air.
“They’re standing there,” said one man. “They’re just standing, like they’re waiting for something.”
“Keep your eyes on them, all of you,” instructed the Doctor. “If they reach the town, we’re finished.”
Barnable panicked. His fingers felt numb. He’d never heard the Doctor speak about a threat like this. It was always fun – trapping Trozzagovites in machines, playing pranks on Sontarans – not serious. People weren’t in danger, and when they were, it was over quickly. And more to the point, the Doctor was never, ever worried. He retreated to a deeper part of his mind – the deepest a nine-and-a-half-year-old’s mind could go – and thought of what the Doctor would do. What he would say. What question he would ask.
“How do we stop them?” asked Barnable, the only voice in the town.
“You stay here with the rest,” instructed the Doctor.
“And what about you?”
“I’m going to pay someone a visit.”
The Church of the Papal Mainframe
“Why did you let Kovarian stay? That woman made several attempts on your life. That woman blasphemed the Church of the Papal Mainframe. That woman-“
“-said sorry,” interjected the Doctor. He was sat at the opposite end of the table in Tasha’s chamber. “And had nowhere else to go. We’ll be fine. If the amount of damage she’s caused tells us anything, it’s that she’s always one step ahead of the game. We need someone like that on our side.”
“Oh, so it’s tactical friendship now, is it?”
“There’s something else, Tasha. Something more important?”
“More important?! Nothing-“
“-stop.” The Doctor held his hand up to silence her. “You know what happens when you get angry.”
Tasha sat back in her chair like a miserable teenager. “Go on then.”
“An army of Weeping Angels.” Tasha sat forward as the Doctor narrated, eyes fixated on him after the second word. “Closing around Christmas. The townspeople are watching them.”
“We noticed weather disturbances.” Tasha clicked her fingers and a screen hovered in front of them, showing a mist symbol over Christmas on a map of Trenzalore. “Mist surrounding Trenzalore. Makes it harder to see. As long as that mist stays, the Angels will be able to reach you. It might take them days, it might take them years. But every so often, one of them will be covered, shrouded, and will take one step further; another footprint in the snow.”
“And the force-field?” asked the Doctor. “Still intact?”
“Partially. The rate of decay is increasing. It might keep out most of your enemies, but Weeping Angels? I’d bet they could walk straight through it.”
“Then how do we respond to this.”
“Tactical airstrikes.” Tasha didn’t even have to think about it. “Targeted airstrikes around Christmas. They’re made of stone and we have the most powerful artillery in the universe.”
“No.” The Doctor shook his head.
“I’m sorry?” Tasha looked disgusted at the Doctor. “For a minute then, I thought you said no.”
“That mist covering Christmas is more dangerous than you realise – you couldn’t see the army and you can’t see us. The forcefield will deflect shots too. You bomb the edge of Trenzalore, it’ll be like a ricocheting bullet. You don’t know who you’ll kill. They could even be ineffective.”
“These are the Weeping Angels. They’ll feed on the energy in that crack if they get anywhere near Christmas.”
“And these are my people. Our children.”
“I’m not sure I’m making myself clear.” Tasha stood up and the Doctor mirrored her. They circled the table as they spoke, slowly moving further apart. “This isn’t up for discussion. It’s not a vote, I’m simply letting you know in advance. These airstrikes will go ahead.”
“If these airstrikes go ahead, I will speak my name.”
Tasha froze and scoffed at the Doctor. “You wouldn’t. You’d destroy everything. There would be war across the universe. All to keep your precious children safe?”
“All of it. If you disobey my orders, Tasha Lem…” the Doctor edged close to her, pointing his finger in lecture. “If you do that, your church will be dust within a day – it’ll be nothing more than an idea.” He laughed cruelly. “How fitting.”
“You promised to-“
“The only promise I made was to protect those children!” yelled the Doctor, heading back towards the teleporter.
“Fine.” Tasha held back her anger, breathing in deeply. Her inner Dalek was silenced. “There’s obviously no changing your mind, but I’m leaving the option open. Catch.” She threw a device to the Doctor.
“What is it?”
“Communications device. Press the red button and it’ll take you straight through to me. All you have to say is ‘airstrikes permitted’ and we’ll begin. And Doctor.” The Doctor turned as he stepped into the teleport booth. “My church might be dust by the time you’ve spoken your name, but if that day comes, I won’t be. I’ll be down in that town with a knife and a temper. Clear?” The Doctor nodded. “Good. Keep safe.”
Christmas
“Okay, everyone!” The Doctor approached the group again, and Barnable ran up to him. “You three.” The Doctor selected a group. “Go into your homes. Get tables, pens, paper, food. Bring it all out here. This is now a stakeout. We’re going to draw up a rotor. On the clock-surveillance!” He walked to the front of the group to address them. A few eyes were on him, the rest on the Weeping Angels. “Now, Kovar-“ he paused. “Katherine. You’re with me.” Kovarian nodded and followed him.
“What are we doing? You’re taking me to the clock-tower.”
“Problem?”
“For once?” Kovarian grinned. The Doctor was sure that one was picked out from her range of villainous facial expressions, but right now it didn’t matter. “Absolutely not.” They entered the clock-tower. “So what are we doing?”
“Making a thing.” The Doctor threw some toys off the desk, then noticed Kovarian looking at him disapprovingly. “I’ll, er, fix them later. Anyway.” He got out his toolbox and placed it on the desk, then gestured to the wall. “Crack in time. You should know, you made it. I’m going to create a device to extrapolate the energy.”
“Time energy?”
“Yes.” The Doctor clicked his fingers. “I love having a clever person on my side.”
“But I know about the Weeping Angels. They feed on time energy!” Kovarian ran her hand through her hair in frustration. “This will never work.”
“Yes, and I feed on marshmallows, but I’ve still been sick. Enough of it and they’ll be decimated. Target it directly at them, they won’t even move because we’ll be looking at them, and it won’t be affected by what’s left of the force-field one bit – it’ll be like passing air through a whisk!”
“And you’ve got wooden toys and a toolbox.”
“Exactly.” The Doctor grabbed a piece of paper and starting jotting something down.
“Start with the label,” muttered Kovarian. “Nice to see you’ve got your priorities straight.”
“It’s not a label. It’s a list.” The Doctor handed the A4 sheet to Kovarian, now full. She wondered how he was able to write so quickly. “All the parts I’ll need. All available, of course, in the Papal Mainframe. And since you’re the only person apart from me who has the clearance – you’re still a figure of religious authority – you’re going to get them.”
“What?” Kovarian stammered. “No. I can’t do that.”
“Course you can, I’ll let Tasha know well in advance.” He put his hand on Kovarian’s shoulder in an attempt to calm her. She seemed at least a little bit less flustered. “Don’t worry, Katherine. You’ll be fine.”
***
“Katherine’s gone off to get me some parts so that I can put something together!” announced the Doctor, addressing the group once again.
“Like a toy?” asked one of the children.
“Yes, sort of. And we’re going to share this toy with the Weeping Angels to make them go away.”
“I like Katherine,” chirped a girl around the age of five. “She’s a good teacher, and she’s really nice.” The Doctor smiled.
“For your rota,” explained the Doctor, “I want you to have at least seven people watching the army at any one time. You need to be as wide awake as possible, and, you know, not blinky. But for now, I want you all to stay on all night, because this is new. Katherina will be back soon.” He hobbled through the snow. “I’m heading back to the clock-tower to make a start on the plans.”
“Doctor?” asked Loretta. The Doctor turned slowly. “Can you keep Barnable with you?” Barnable grinned at his mother’s proposal. “I want him to be safe with you.”
The Doctor nodded. “What better company? Come on then, Barnable.” He ruffled Barnable’s hair and patted him on the back, as he ran on ahead of the Doctor.
The Church of the Papal Mainframe
Kovarian knocked nervously on Tasha’s door.
Confess…
She blocked out the priest, knowing as soon as she turned back, she’d forget all of it. The Doctor had suggested she wore her eyepatch, but she refused.
Confess…
Kovarian knocked nervously on Tasha’s door.
“Enter.”
Tasha had prepared for Kovarian’s arrival and was sorting through cabinets for the parts. Most of them were gathered in a large chest on the table. As she gathered them and threw more in the chest, she avoided conversation with Kovarian.
“I’m-“ started Kovarian, but Tasha immediately interjected with what seemed to be a carefully-rehearsed speech.
“What gets me is why you’re doing this. No compassion ever stopped you when you were taking a young woman’s baby away, or strapping a brave archaeologist up inside an astronaut suit to murder the man she loved. They said you were singing! And now you’re here.” All the way through her rant, Tasha refused to even look Kovarian in the eye. Tasha secretly suspected that this would be enough to turn her back into a Dalek.
“What I did was unforgivable and the Doctor asked for forgiveness,” answered Kovarian plainly. “No one has ever offered me an exchange like that and he made me a promise I couldn’t refuse. As long as he keeps that promise, we’re not just equals, I am indebted to him. The second he breaks it, he is nothing.”
“People like you don’t have a right to specify conditions.” Tasha pushed the chest across to Kovarian.
“The conditions aren’t for the good of people like me.” Kovarian and Tasha exchanged eye contact for about a second; enough time for the exchange of at least a hundred memories. “Thanks for the parts.”
***
Loretta and Alma were now at the front of the group, Loretta holding up a pair of binoculars to study each individual stone soldier carefully. She lowered them, a look of horror on her face.
“What is it?”
Loretta gripped Alma’s hand. Her palm was sweating. With her free hand, she passed Alma the binoculars. Alma took a look through them and gave much the same response.
“Oh my God.”
“Are they smiling?”
“They don’t want the time energy, do they?” asked Alma. “They don’t need it, either, do they?” Loretta shook her head solemnly. “They want us. Because of last time. They’ve come back for us.”
The couple embraced each other, and as they did, something flickered around them.
“Did…” Alma questioned her sanity. Maybe I just had a late night. “Did you see that?”
“It flickered. The lights across the town flickered.”
“They’ve moved!” cried an old man, pointing at the hazy horizon. “They’re a few yards closer than they were before.”
The lights started to flicker again. “It’s the lights…” Alma grabbed her wife’s hand again. “They’re turning off the…”
The Clock-Tower
Kovarian ran into the clock-tower and slammed the chest on the floor.
“Ah, Katherine, can you switch the light back on for m-“
“It’s all of them!” cried Kovarian. “Every single light in the town has gone off! We’re in pitch darkness.”
The Doctor limped up to the entrance of the clock-tower to see if Kovarian was right. She was – even the street lamps were out. There wasn’t a single source of light.
“I can work in the light of the time crack, but what about everyone else? Where have they gone?”
“Everyone’s run back to their homes,” clarified Kovarian. “Well, everyone who’s still…”
“Still what?”
Kovarian stayed silent, trying to suggest the Doctor look at her so she could explain through facial expression, but instead Barnable picked up on it first.
The Doctor twigged and pulled Kovarian aside, out of Barnable’s earshot.
“How many?” he whispered.
“Impossible to tell. At least a dozen.”
“Were you able to identify any?”
Kovarian nodded. The Doctor calmed himself as he asked the question he hated to ask more than any other.
“Who?”
Kovarian glanced down to Barnable with a sad expression in her eyes.
“No…”
“What’s happened?” demanded Barnable. “Is it my mum? Both of them? What’s happened to them?” The Doctor and Kovarian stayed silent, not knowing what to say. Every word in the dictionary was available to them, but not a single lie. Barnable’s voice quivered as everything he had ever learnt came together in one perceptive assumption. “Are they dead?”
No. The Doctor wanted to say it so much. He had so many lies he wanted to tell, so many stashed up for a time he could use them. He wanted it now more than ever. Why can’t I just lie?
“Yes.”
Barnable sniffed and looked up at the Doctor, biting his lip. “Can…” he trembled. “Can I cry?”
The Doctor looked back in horror. What could he possibly think of me to ask a question like that? “Of course,” said the Doctor, in the kindest voice he could muster. He crouched down and placed his hand on Barnable’s shoulder, offering a handkerchief with the other. “Of course you can cry. They were your parents and you loved them.” Barnable burst into tears and the Doctor shushed him calmly, taking him in and letting him rest his head on his shoulder. “It’s okay. It’ll all be…” The Doctor stopped. The truth field wouldn’t let him finish that sentence.
Kovarian looked away. Nothing pained her like the sight of a crying child. In all the years she had fought against the Doctor, never had a child cried. If it had, she would have stood every single one of her troops down. She was the monster who broke down at the sight of a crying child. Against the wall she was facing was a drawing of the Doctor, facing up against a Dalek. We’re not so different, thought Kovarian, you and I.
Barnable stepped away and wiped the tears from his face. He took a deep breath.
“What can I do?”
“Er-“
“Barnable, are you sure you want to?” inquired Kovarian.
“I’m the Doctor’s companion. Whether I’ve got parents or not, I’m his companion. I do what he says.”
“That’s not what companions are for.”
“Of course it is,” replied Barnable, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “He’s the Doctor. Doing what he says is just… right.”
“Okay.” Kovarian sorted her priorities in her mind – now was hardly the time for an ethical debate. “How long’s it going to take you to build this thing?”
“Ten minutes, tops,” replied the Doctor.
Kovarian looked impressed.
“Actually, that gives me an idea.” The Doctor got up and rummaged through his top draw, pulling out a box of matches. Carefully, he took one out and lit a candle. “Barnable, I’ve got a job for you.” He handed him the candle. “The town outside is full of Weeping Angels. Hopefully I’ll be fine – it’s an attack on the civilians more than anything – but in the instance that they come for me, I need someone on guard. Just stand and watch them. As long as you don’t blink, they won’t be able to come inside.”
“How can I not blink?”
“You’ve got one arm free. If necessary, hold one eye open at a time. You don’t have to do this.”
“No, it’s okay.” Barnable nodded and attempted a smile. “I’ll do it.”
“I’ll do it instead,” decided Kovarian.
“No. This is now a two-man job. I’ll tell you how to assemble the model, while I work on getting the lights set working again.” He nodded to the crack. “Truth-field. I wouldn’t ask for your help unless I needed it.”
“I don’t care. You are not sending him out there.”
“He’ll be perfectly safe. He’s a damn sight safer than the rest of the village!”
“Oh, and that is how you justify it?”
“I’m going, whether you like it or not,” retorted Barnable, before adding: “the Doctor needs my help.” He left and the Doctor and Kovarian heard the creaking of a door. Kovarian scowled furiously at the Doctor – a bitterness far beyond her usually selected ‘villain faces’. Something honest, uncompromising, ruthless. The Madame Kovarian he always feared.
“Don’t look at me like that. I gave him a choice.”
“He never had a choice from the moment you let him into your life!” snapped Kovarian.
The Doctor ignored her and pulled out some wires. “We’d better make a start.”
***
The crowds parted for the Doctor and Barnable. The entire population of Christmas was gathered at the edge of the town, watching the Weeping Angels in the distance, refusing to blink. The air was misty, but the shape of the army was unmistakable in the distance. The Doctor pulled his jacket in, chilled by the winter air.
“They’re standing there,” said one man. “They’re just standing, like they’re waiting for something.”
“Keep your eyes on them, all of you,” instructed the Doctor. “If they reach the town, we’re finished.”
Barnable panicked. His fingers felt numb. He’d never heard the Doctor speak about a threat like this. It was always fun – trapping Trozzagovites in machines, playing pranks on Sontarans – not serious. People weren’t in danger, and when they were, it was over quickly. And more to the point, the Doctor was never, ever worried. He retreated to a deeper part of his mind – the deepest a nine-and-a-half-year-old’s mind could go – and thought of what the Doctor would do. What he would say. What question he would ask.
“How do we stop them?” asked Barnable, the only voice in the town.
“You stay here with the rest,” instructed the Doctor.
“And what about you?”
“I’m going to pay someone a visit.”
The Church of the Papal Mainframe
“Why did you let Kovarian stay? That woman made several attempts on your life. That woman blasphemed the Church of the Papal Mainframe. That woman-“
“-said sorry,” interjected the Doctor. He was sat at the opposite end of the table in Tasha’s chamber. “And had nowhere else to go. We’ll be fine. If the amount of damage she’s caused tells us anything, it’s that she’s always one step ahead of the game. We need someone like that on our side.”
“Oh, so it’s tactical friendship now, is it?”
“There’s something else, Tasha. Something more important?”
“More important?! Nothing-“
“-stop.” The Doctor held his hand up to silence her. “You know what happens when you get angry.”
Tasha sat back in her chair like a miserable teenager. “Go on then.”
“An army of Weeping Angels.” Tasha sat forward as the Doctor narrated, eyes fixated on him after the second word. “Closing around Christmas. The townspeople are watching them.”
“We noticed weather disturbances.” Tasha clicked her fingers and a screen hovered in front of them, showing a mist symbol over Christmas on a map of Trenzalore. “Mist surrounding Trenzalore. Makes it harder to see. As long as that mist stays, the Angels will be able to reach you. It might take them days, it might take them years. But every so often, one of them will be covered, shrouded, and will take one step further; another footprint in the snow.”
“And the force-field?” asked the Doctor. “Still intact?”
“Partially. The rate of decay is increasing. It might keep out most of your enemies, but Weeping Angels? I’d bet they could walk straight through it.”
“Then how do we respond to this.”
“Tactical airstrikes.” Tasha didn’t even have to think about it. “Targeted airstrikes around Christmas. They’re made of stone and we have the most powerful artillery in the universe.”
“No.” The Doctor shook his head.
“I’m sorry?” Tasha looked disgusted at the Doctor. “For a minute then, I thought you said no.”
“That mist covering Christmas is more dangerous than you realise – you couldn’t see the army and you can’t see us. The forcefield will deflect shots too. You bomb the edge of Trenzalore, it’ll be like a ricocheting bullet. You don’t know who you’ll kill. They could even be ineffective.”
“These are the Weeping Angels. They’ll feed on the energy in that crack if they get anywhere near Christmas.”
“And these are my people. Our children.”
“I’m not sure I’m making myself clear.” Tasha stood up and the Doctor mirrored her. They circled the table as they spoke, slowly moving further apart. “This isn’t up for discussion. It’s not a vote, I’m simply letting you know in advance. These airstrikes will go ahead.”
“If these airstrikes go ahead, I will speak my name.”
Tasha froze and scoffed at the Doctor. “You wouldn’t. You’d destroy everything. There would be war across the universe. All to keep your precious children safe?”
“All of it. If you disobey my orders, Tasha Lem…” the Doctor edged close to her, pointing his finger in lecture. “If you do that, your church will be dust within a day – it’ll be nothing more than an idea.” He laughed cruelly. “How fitting.”
“You promised to-“
“The only promise I made was to protect those children!” yelled the Doctor, heading back towards the teleporter.
“Fine.” Tasha held back her anger, breathing in deeply. Her inner Dalek was silenced. “There’s obviously no changing your mind, but I’m leaving the option open. Catch.” She threw a device to the Doctor.
“What is it?”
“Communications device. Press the red button and it’ll take you straight through to me. All you have to say is ‘airstrikes permitted’ and we’ll begin. And Doctor.” The Doctor turned as he stepped into the teleport booth. “My church might be dust by the time you’ve spoken your name, but if that day comes, I won’t be. I’ll be down in that town with a knife and a temper. Clear?” The Doctor nodded. “Good. Keep safe.”
Christmas
“Okay, everyone!” The Doctor approached the group again, and Barnable ran up to him. “You three.” The Doctor selected a group. “Go into your homes. Get tables, pens, paper, food. Bring it all out here. This is now a stakeout. We’re going to draw up a rotor. On the clock-surveillance!” He walked to the front of the group to address them. A few eyes were on him, the rest on the Weeping Angels. “Now, Kovar-“ he paused. “Katherine. You’re with me.” Kovarian nodded and followed him.
“What are we doing? You’re taking me to the clock-tower.”
“Problem?”
“For once?” Kovarian grinned. The Doctor was sure that one was picked out from her range of villainous facial expressions, but right now it didn’t matter. “Absolutely not.” They entered the clock-tower. “So what are we doing?”
“Making a thing.” The Doctor threw some toys off the desk, then noticed Kovarian looking at him disapprovingly. “I’ll, er, fix them later. Anyway.” He got out his toolbox and placed it on the desk, then gestured to the wall. “Crack in time. You should know, you made it. I’m going to create a device to extrapolate the energy.”
“Time energy?”
“Yes.” The Doctor clicked his fingers. “I love having a clever person on my side.”
“But I know about the Weeping Angels. They feed on time energy!” Kovarian ran her hand through her hair in frustration. “This will never work.”
“Yes, and I feed on marshmallows, but I’ve still been sick. Enough of it and they’ll be decimated. Target it directly at them, they won’t even move because we’ll be looking at them, and it won’t be affected by what’s left of the force-field one bit – it’ll be like passing air through a whisk!”
“And you’ve got wooden toys and a toolbox.”
“Exactly.” The Doctor grabbed a piece of paper and starting jotting something down.
“Start with the label,” muttered Kovarian. “Nice to see you’ve got your priorities straight.”
“It’s not a label. It’s a list.” The Doctor handed the A4 sheet to Kovarian, now full. She wondered how he was able to write so quickly. “All the parts I’ll need. All available, of course, in the Papal Mainframe. And since you’re the only person apart from me who has the clearance – you’re still a figure of religious authority – you’re going to get them.”
“What?” Kovarian stammered. “No. I can’t do that.”
“Course you can, I’ll let Tasha know well in advance.” He put his hand on Kovarian’s shoulder in an attempt to calm her. She seemed at least a little bit less flustered. “Don’t worry, Katherine. You’ll be fine.”
***
“Katherine’s gone off to get me some parts so that I can put something together!” announced the Doctor, addressing the group once again.
“Like a toy?” asked one of the children.
“Yes, sort of. And we’re going to share this toy with the Weeping Angels to make them go away.”
“I like Katherine,” chirped a girl around the age of five. “She’s a good teacher, and she’s really nice.” The Doctor smiled.
“For your rota,” explained the Doctor, “I want you to have at least seven people watching the army at any one time. You need to be as wide awake as possible, and, you know, not blinky. But for now, I want you all to stay on all night, because this is new. Katherina will be back soon.” He hobbled through the snow. “I’m heading back to the clock-tower to make a start on the plans.”
“Doctor?” asked Loretta. The Doctor turned slowly. “Can you keep Barnable with you?” Barnable grinned at his mother’s proposal. “I want him to be safe with you.”
The Doctor nodded. “What better company? Come on then, Barnable.” He ruffled Barnable’s hair and patted him on the back, as he ran on ahead of the Doctor.
The Church of the Papal Mainframe
Kovarian knocked nervously on Tasha’s door.
Confess…
She blocked out the priest, knowing as soon as she turned back, she’d forget all of it. The Doctor had suggested she wore her eyepatch, but she refused.
Confess…
Kovarian knocked nervously on Tasha’s door.
“Enter.”
Tasha had prepared for Kovarian’s arrival and was sorting through cabinets for the parts. Most of them were gathered in a large chest on the table. As she gathered them and threw more in the chest, she avoided conversation with Kovarian.
“I’m-“ started Kovarian, but Tasha immediately interjected with what seemed to be a carefully-rehearsed speech.
“What gets me is why you’re doing this. No compassion ever stopped you when you were taking a young woman’s baby away, or strapping a brave archaeologist up inside an astronaut suit to murder the man she loved. They said you were singing! And now you’re here.” All the way through her rant, Tasha refused to even look Kovarian in the eye. Tasha secretly suspected that this would be enough to turn her back into a Dalek.
“What I did was unforgivable and the Doctor asked for forgiveness,” answered Kovarian plainly. “No one has ever offered me an exchange like that and he made me a promise I couldn’t refuse. As long as he keeps that promise, we’re not just equals, I am indebted to him. The second he breaks it, he is nothing.”
“People like you don’t have a right to specify conditions.” Tasha pushed the chest across to Kovarian.
“The conditions aren’t for the good of people like me.” Kovarian and Tasha exchanged eye contact for about a second; enough time for the exchange of at least a hundred memories. “Thanks for the parts.”
***
Loretta and Alma were now at the front of the group, Loretta holding up a pair of binoculars to study each individual stone soldier carefully. She lowered them, a look of horror on her face.
“What is it?”
Loretta gripped Alma’s hand. Her palm was sweating. With her free hand, she passed Alma the binoculars. Alma took a look through them and gave much the same response.
“Oh my God.”
“Are they smiling?”
“They don’t want the time energy, do they?” asked Alma. “They don’t need it, either, do they?” Loretta shook her head solemnly. “They want us. Because of last time. They’ve come back for us.”
The couple embraced each other, and as they did, something flickered around them.
“Did…” Alma questioned her sanity. Maybe I just had a late night. “Did you see that?”
“It flickered. The lights across the town flickered.”
“They’ve moved!” cried an old man, pointing at the hazy horizon. “They’re a few yards closer than they were before.”
The lights started to flicker again. “It’s the lights…” Alma grabbed her wife’s hand again. “They’re turning off the…”
The Clock-Tower
Kovarian ran into the clock-tower and slammed the chest on the floor.
“Ah, Katherine, can you switch the light back on for m-“
“It’s all of them!” cried Kovarian. “Every single light in the town has gone off! We’re in pitch darkness.”
The Doctor limped up to the entrance of the clock-tower to see if Kovarian was right. She was – even the street lamps were out. There wasn’t a single source of light.
“I can work in the light of the time crack, but what about everyone else? Where have they gone?”
“Everyone’s run back to their homes,” clarified Kovarian. “Well, everyone who’s still…”
“Still what?”
Kovarian stayed silent, trying to suggest the Doctor look at her so she could explain through facial expression, but instead Barnable picked up on it first.
The Doctor twigged and pulled Kovarian aside, out of Barnable’s earshot.
“How many?” he whispered.
“Impossible to tell. At least a dozen.”
“Were you able to identify any?”
Kovarian nodded. The Doctor calmed himself as he asked the question he hated to ask more than any other.
“Who?”
Kovarian glanced down to Barnable with a sad expression in her eyes.
“No…”
“What’s happened?” demanded Barnable. “Is it my mum? Both of them? What’s happened to them?” The Doctor and Kovarian stayed silent, not knowing what to say. Every word in the dictionary was available to them, but not a single lie. Barnable’s voice quivered as everything he had ever learnt came together in one perceptive assumption. “Are they dead?”
No. The Doctor wanted to say it so much. He had so many lies he wanted to tell, so many stashed up for a time he could use them. He wanted it now more than ever. Why can’t I just lie?
“Yes.”
Barnable sniffed and looked up at the Doctor, biting his lip. “Can…” he trembled. “Can I cry?”
The Doctor looked back in horror. What could he possibly think of me to ask a question like that? “Of course,” said the Doctor, in the kindest voice he could muster. He crouched down and placed his hand on Barnable’s shoulder, offering a handkerchief with the other. “Of course you can cry. They were your parents and you loved them.” Barnable burst into tears and the Doctor shushed him calmly, taking him in and letting him rest his head on his shoulder. “It’s okay. It’ll all be…” The Doctor stopped. The truth field wouldn’t let him finish that sentence.
Kovarian looked away. Nothing pained her like the sight of a crying child. In all the years she had fought against the Doctor, never had a child cried. If it had, she would have stood every single one of her troops down. She was the monster who broke down at the sight of a crying child. Against the wall she was facing was a drawing of the Doctor, facing up against a Dalek. We’re not so different, thought Kovarian, you and I.
Barnable stepped away and wiped the tears from his face. He took a deep breath.
“What can I do?”
“Er-“
“Barnable, are you sure you want to?” inquired Kovarian.
“I’m the Doctor’s companion. Whether I’ve got parents or not, I’m his companion. I do what he says.”
“That’s not what companions are for.”
“Of course it is,” replied Barnable, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “He’s the Doctor. Doing what he says is just… right.”
“Okay.” Kovarian sorted her priorities in her mind – now was hardly the time for an ethical debate. “How long’s it going to take you to build this thing?”
“Ten minutes, tops,” replied the Doctor.
Kovarian looked impressed.
“Actually, that gives me an idea.” The Doctor got up and rummaged through his top draw, pulling out a box of matches. Carefully, he took one out and lit a candle. “Barnable, I’ve got a job for you.” He handed him the candle. “The town outside is full of Weeping Angels. Hopefully I’ll be fine – it’s an attack on the civilians more than anything – but in the instance that they come for me, I need someone on guard. Just stand and watch them. As long as you don’t blink, they won’t be able to come inside.”
“How can I not blink?”
“You’ve got one arm free. If necessary, hold one eye open at a time. You don’t have to do this.”
“No, it’s okay.” Barnable nodded and attempted a smile. “I’ll do it.”
“I’ll do it instead,” decided Kovarian.
“No. This is now a two-man job. I’ll tell you how to assemble the model, while I work on getting the lights set working again.” He nodded to the crack. “Truth-field. I wouldn’t ask for your help unless I needed it.”
“I don’t care. You are not sending him out there.”
“He’ll be perfectly safe. He’s a damn sight safer than the rest of the village!”
“Oh, and that is how you justify it?”
“I’m going, whether you like it or not,” retorted Barnable, before adding: “the Doctor needs my help.” He left and the Doctor and Kovarian heard the creaking of a door. Kovarian scowled furiously at the Doctor – a bitterness far beyond her usually selected ‘villain faces’. Something honest, uncompromising, ruthless. The Madame Kovarian he always feared.
“Don’t look at me like that. I gave him a choice.”
“He never had a choice from the moment you let him into your life!” snapped Kovarian.
The Doctor ignored her and pulled out some wires. “We’d better make a start.”
***
Barnable stood at the door, his heart pumping. There was so much to process, but he made sure the Doctor’s instruction was at the top of his priorities. There was no time to grieve – not yet. That was what he had learnt.
Barnable Hope had learnt many things from the war he had grown up in – not just the art of delaying emotional responses or prioritising duties over feelings, but of obeying orders, helping out even when no one had asked, learning that waking up alive every day was a blessing. Some things good – invaluable, even – and some terrible, unutterable, and wrong for a nine-and-a-half-year-old to ever have to think about. But he never thought he was unlucky. Not once.
Had he been born in the 21st Century, Barnable Hope would have enjoyed his education. He would have had friends to stick up for him and a family to support him his whole life. He would have got through university – even in spite of the tuition fees – and become a teacher, imparting his love of art and design onto a new generation. He would have gained another family, and more friends. He would have travelled and just maybe settled down in Europe, painting in his free time, and struggling at but trying his best with a new language.
However, he didn’t do any of those things. He was born on Trenzalore, born into a war, into a town doing its best to carry on through everything happening to it. But it crumbled as he grew up. Every day the bonds became weaker. The warriors grew more reckless. The optimists grew less hopeful. The wise old men became less reliable.
A whirl of snow flew at him, droplets rushing into his eyes.
Barnable blinked.
***
“What do I do next? I can’t get the light to come on.” Kovarian turned the flimsy contraption upside-down to see if that made a difference. “You said it should be flashing.”
The Doctor left his wires alone, forcing a smile. “The lights should be coming on again now. The town will be able to see!”
“Doctor, you said it should be flashing,” repeated Kovarian. “Why isn’t it flashing?”
The Doctor peered out of the window. “They are! The lights are on!”
“Doctor!” cried Kovarian. “I can’t get it to work.”
The Doctor leant back against the wall, growing wearier by the second. Only his heavy breathing was audible over the hissing of the time crack.
“Doctor!” urged Kovarian. “You said this would work! You said… you said you thought it would work…”
The Doctor closed his eyes. Every word in the dictionary was useless. He couldn’t have even lied his way out of it.
“You made a mistake, didn’t you? Oh my God. Oh my…” Kovarian waved her arms, trying to calm herself. The one man she trusted – had chosen to trust – had given up. “Please, Doctor. Carry on. Try again. There must be something you have to live for, fight for… someone…”
The Doctor’s eyes flashed open. “Barnable!”
He made his way to the door as quickly as possible and stopped as he opened it. All the townspeople were gathered around the clock-tower: some were looking out onto the town around them, keeping the Weeping Angels at bay, whilst others were looking inwards. But not at the Doctor. Down…
At Barnable.
He was laying on the step, motionless, his eyes closed. The Doctor leant down slowly and sat on the step, lifting Barnable up and resting him in his arms. “Oh Barnable, I overworked you. You were exhausted. I don’t blame you for… falling asleep like this…”
The townspeople exchanged glances. Did he actually believe that?
“Come on Barnable, eh?” The Doctor patted Barnable on the cheeks, ruffled his hair a bit. “Wake up. We’ve got work to do. Come on, Barnable. We can’t sit here all day.” The Doctor broke down into tears, bowing his head to look down at Barnable. “Wake up… I need you with me, in this till the end… I need my best friend…”
One of the townspeople approached the Doctor calmly and rested her hand on his shoulder, shaking her head regretfully. The Doctor nodded, shaking, and laid Barnable down on the step, standing up again slowly.
He stood, in front of the majestic doors to his clock-tower, Father Christmas, risen above the rest of his town with only Kovarian behind him, so still she may as well have been a Weeping Angel. He took a device out of his pocket, confusing the townspeople, and pushed a red button, speaking into it.
“Airstrikes authorised.”
***
“You can’t do this!”
The Doctor ignored Kovarian, slamming the door of the clock-tower shut behind them.
“You’ll just kill more of them. This is not the answer!”
“I said no to the airstrikes. Now the person I cared the most about is dead. I’ve learnt what comes of being wrong.”
“Oh, you ridiculous man,” spat Kovarian. “This is exactly what the Angels want! Now they don’t have to work their way through the town because you’ll do it for them!”
“Well I’ll give them what they want!” roared the Doctor, pulling drawings down off the wall around him. “I’ll give them what they want and see how much they like it! I’ll see how much they like it when I give them what they want!”
“You being angry won’t bring him back. It won’t make things better. This isn’t justice because there never can be justice! This is not how you make up for your mistake.”
The Doctor turned. “My mistake?”
“Yes, Doctor, your mistake. The mistake I said you were going to make from the start.” Kovarian made wild gestures as she spoke – she was more like the Kovarian the Doctor knew before; his enemy. The worst part was, this time, he was the one doing the terrible things in the name of his cause – in the name of Christmas Town. “His parents stood on the front line and you delivered the news of their deaths to him as he cried, just as I said. And then you ran out of toy soldiers, didn’t you?”
“Don’t say it.”
“Then you took him instead and you killed him! You killed the first child on Trenzalore, Doctor! Not me, not my priests, not any of the monsters, you. ‘Father Christmas’. You sentenced him to death the day you met him and don’t you just hate to disappoint?”
“Stop it,” uttered the Doctor.
“I added to the list of parts you requested from the Papal Mainframe, in case I ever needed them. I made this while Tasha was fixing the teleporter – just in case.” Kovarian pulled out a navy blue gun, with the Papal Mainframe’s insignia on the side, and held it to the Doctor’s head. “This war has gone on for long enough.”
“You wanted this, didn’t you? Right from the start,” accused the Doctor, “you were hoping this would happen.”
“I wasn’t hoping. I’m past hoping for anything. I knew. I’d be your friend and ally until the day you broke the promise.”
“And I suppose being my friend involves making a gun to kill me?”
“Every friendship has conditions.”
“Go on then.” The Doctor stretched out his arms. “Kill me. And watch me shout my name as I crash and burn.”
“There should be only one name on your mind right now, you murderer,” hissed Kovarian.
“But would you really risk finding out which one?”
“You’re a monster.”
“To survive?” The Doctor shrugged. “Yes. To save this town? Yes.”
“You’re not saving this town. You’re just prolonging its death.”
“But this town has hope,” said the Doctor, trying to draw Kovarian in. “Hope can turn the longest and slowest of deaths into the brightest and most beautiful of lives.”
“You killed hope. The entire Hope family is dead as of today. All you have on your side is stupidity.”
“And any amount of poetry can be waved away when you realise that the second I die, no one up there has anything to be scared of and this planet will be blasted out of the sky. Can you really kill the rest of the children? Or are you going to let me do it slowly instead?”
Kovarian held her finger over the trigger and stared at the Doctor. She dropped the gun on the floor. “The rest is up to you,” she murmured, “Sheriff.”
As Kovarian left the clock-tower, slamming the door behind her, the sound of bombing started. A heavy sound that shook every bone in your body and jolted you more awake with every hit. The Doctor had forgotten what it felt like. He looked to the floor and noticed one of the drawings he’d teared off the rule and held it up. It was a picture of the two Zygon Doctors from the previous invasion: one a monster, intent on wreaking chaos for its own ends; and the other a hero, a saviour, a legend, and a father. He looked for the differences between them. He couldn’t remember which had been which.
The name at the bottom of the paper caught his eye – an artist’s signature, shaky and hesitant. His final mark on the world.
Barnable Hope.
The Doctor held the drawing to his hearts and whispered to himself as he shed a tear.
“My fault.”
***
As the years went on, the airstrikes continued. It took a decade to wipe the Weeping Angels off the face of Christmas. Most of the time, they were being observed or in hiding. Only ten people were killed. Only two of them were children. Eventually, the airstrikes became regular procedure, far beyond the Doctor’s control, and there was no hope of them ever being called off. Kovarian was right: it was what the Weeping Angels had wanted. The ceasefire was truly broken, and the people of Christmas and the Papal Mainframe were trapped in a war they couldn’t win.
Barnable’s funeral was held a month after his death, at which point ceremonies were considered an acceptable risk to take. He was buried outside the clock-tower, and flowers were laid out to commemorate him. Every day, Daisy would bring something new to add to his shrine: more flowers, or pictures, or broken toys. She survived all the attacks, and grew up to have a child called Barnable.
The Doctor stayed out of everyone’s way, and the town became divided among those who loved and felt sorry for him, trying at every possible opportunity to reconcile him with the community, and those who abhorred him, frequently hurling abuse through the windows of the clock-tower before being called off by the rest of the townspeople. Troops began to fly in regularly, too, as the force-field decayed. That reduced civilian casualties to an extent, but cut off the Doctor’s involvement in the war altogether.
Twenty years later, the death of Barnable Hope was passed down as a story and treated as such: open to interpretation, its meaning relinquished for people to take as they chose, and the Doctor’s role in it discussed. The only person to whom it was not a story was the Doctor, and every day he replayed the events in his mind.
***
The Doctor sat in his clock-tower, listening to the sounds of fighting outside. He turned slowly as the door swung open and dropped the toy he was fixing. A figure approached. They seemed familiar…
He tried to get a better look. It was a small boy, somewhere between nine and ten years old, with a mop of ginger hair. He stood obediently at the entrance to the room.
“Bar-“
The Doctor looked closer. No. He’d sat by the shrine enough times. This wasn’t his friend, but he wasn’t quite a civilian, either. He was a messenger.
“I’m not from Christmas,” he explained. “I’m from the dry lands.”
“Where?”
“I’ll show you.”
The Doctor grabbed his walking stick and got up. He followed the boy through the battlefield, dodging the fighting where he could, and sneaking between buildings. A few townspeople turned to look at him in curiosity.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“John.” The boy led the Doctor to the edge of the town and carried on going, beckoning for the Doctor to follow.
“But what about the force-“
The Doctor realised.
“There is no force-field,” elaborated the boy, confirming what the Doctor feared. “This way.”
They walked across the snow, far beyond the fighting, where the most dangerous thing to anyone was the cold air. The Doctor wrapped up as best he could, but the boy seemed used to it. In the distance, the Doctor could make out a small cottage of some kind – presumably, his destination.
As he got closer, he was able to discern details about it: its simple architectural configuration and small size; a home for only one or two. There were barely any lights on inside, either, save a couple of candle-lights. The boy let the Doctor in and the door opened with a creak. No key was required.
“He’s here,” said the boy, and left. The Doctor turned to leave but was stopped by a voice which seemed familiar.
“It’s okay.”
The Doctor examined the cottage’s interior in the candle-light. It had a low ceiling which, had he not been stooped over, he would have bumped his head on. There was a kitchen-area, kept immaculately clean, and a shelf full of old books, but not dusty ones – regularly read with worn-out spines, barely holding the pages in place.
The voice came from a bed leaned against the wall, well-made with a pale, frail old woman inside, her hair uncombed but her appearance by no means neglected, as if a child had been attending to her at every second, putting more heart in than any adult but not quite understand what they were doing. After engaging in eye contact, the Doctor recognised her. Only one woman ever looked at him like that.
“Madame Kovarian.”
“The Monster.”
“You can call me the Doctor,” said the Doctor, sitting on a rocking-chair next to her.
“You can call me Katherine.”
“You should have said you were going to be in. I’d have brought a cracker. I hear they make everything funny.”
“How long has it been?” asked the old woman. Her voice had changed, both necessarily through age and tonally through time and contemplation.
“You don’t know?” The Doctor looked at her dubiously. There was no truth field out this far.
“No. But I know you’ll have counted every single day.”
“Twenty years,” said the Doctor, choosing not to cite the precise figure. “More or less.”
“I’d guessed an eternity.” Kovarian wheezed. “It looks like I was right.”
“Twenty years is no eternity.”
“Not if you’re a Time Lord, maybe.”
“Why did you call me?”
“Why do you think?” Kovarian reached out to the Doctor with her skeletal hand. “Look at it, and tell me why I called you.”
“Because you’re dying.”
“Yes.”
“Really?” The Doctor seemed surprised. “Not about the dying, but the part where you called me here to speak to you. I didn’t get the impression there was anything you left unsaid that day.”
“There wasn’t. But I’ve had twenty years to think, and I’ve got twenty years of solitude to impart, now.”
“Well, it’s lucky I’ve got a lot of free time,” joked the Doctor.
“I stopped medicating myself today,” said Kovarian, quickly dampening the mood. “This is it. I needed this to be final.”
“Okay.” There was nothing to joke about anymore. A woman was dying. A good woman? The Doctor questioned that. But a living, sentient organism capable of, he realised, so much, was about to be extinguished. That was always terrible, and would never stop being that.
“I hate you,” uttered Kovarian. The Doctor nodded, unable to argue. “I still hate you as much as I ever did, and my biggest mistake was never killing you properly.”
“Never become a counsellor, Kovarian.”
“And I will never forgive you, ever. I will never be able to forgive you for what you did that day.”
The Doctor continued to nod. “Fair enough. Absolutely fair enough.”
“Did you ever forgive yourself?” she asked, with a tone that was almost caring.
“What do you think?” The Doctor sighed and buried his head in the hands, before placing his elbows on his knees so he could lean forward to address Kovarian closer. “I regret everything I did that day. Every word I said, every decision I made, every thought that ever crossed my mind. And I gave up because…” he looked back, out of the window, to the town of Christmas in the distance. “Because I believed I could never, ever make it up. And now it’s too late.”
“We all have bad days,” joked Kovarian.
“But when we’re in charge, we take responsibility for them, and we never let them go as long as there are people affected by them.”
“Quite right.” Kovarian nodded and coughed again. The Doctor adjusted her pillow to give her some more comfort.
“So you brought me here to tell me you hated me? And to have a chat?” The Doctor leaned forward again. “Because if it was for the company, you could have just asked. I understand how lonely it can get.”
“I brought you here to tell you I hated you and could never forgive you,” repeated Kovarian. “And to tell you this: you go, Doctor.” The Doctor pulled a quizzical face. “You go and win the hell out of that war.”
“I thought you hated me being there?”
“Well, I thought a lot about that, just as you did, and I don’t stand by everything I said that day, either. You’ve committed now. If you’ve made mistakes, it’s your job to fix them. You said to me on the day you forgave me that the most important thing in progress is to believe that bad people are capable of better.” The Doctor smiled, appreciating the little he had imparted onto Kovarian, and how it had turned her into a far more honest person than him. “I don’t forgive you. But I believe you can be better than this.”
She took the Doctor’s hand and held onto it with all her strength. “Go back. Go back to being their Sheriff. Save them from the monsters. Fix their toys. Have fun. Stop their children from crying,” she begged, “please. Go back to being the Doctor.”
“I thought you hated the Doctor?”
“I don’t think I ever met him.”
“I’ll try.” The Doctor squeezed Kovarian’s hand lightly. “I promise, I’ll try. But the whole situation. The airstrikes…”
“Bring them to an end. Fight the Papal Mainframe if necessary. Bring down the whole –“ she coughed “-damn… church. Never give up and never give in.”
The Doctor nodded. “I think you knew the Doctor better than you think.” He sat back in his chair. “I’ll stay.”
“No. Leave,” insisted Kovarian. “Never do tomorrow what you can do today. I’ve had myself for company for twenty years – I don’t there’s anyone I’d be happier to die with. You go and win.”
“I’ll do just that.” The Doctor held up Kovarian’s hand and kissed it, placing it gently back on the bed and walking to the door.
“Good luck,” Kovarian said, as the Doctor was about to leave. He turned back.
“You too.”
The Doctor breathed in the cold air once more, and it empowered him as it bit at him and pained him, a reminder: you’re alive. You can make things better.
He adjusted his bow tie, making it clearly visible over the rest of his garb and smiled, walking back towards Christmas with determination: straight back into the field of battle. He’d spent twenty years regretting breaking a promise he had made and now he had a new one to live up to.
Win.
Barnable Hope had learnt many things from the war he had grown up in – not just the art of delaying emotional responses or prioritising duties over feelings, but of obeying orders, helping out even when no one had asked, learning that waking up alive every day was a blessing. Some things good – invaluable, even – and some terrible, unutterable, and wrong for a nine-and-a-half-year-old to ever have to think about. But he never thought he was unlucky. Not once.
Had he been born in the 21st Century, Barnable Hope would have enjoyed his education. He would have had friends to stick up for him and a family to support him his whole life. He would have got through university – even in spite of the tuition fees – and become a teacher, imparting his love of art and design onto a new generation. He would have gained another family, and more friends. He would have travelled and just maybe settled down in Europe, painting in his free time, and struggling at but trying his best with a new language.
However, he didn’t do any of those things. He was born on Trenzalore, born into a war, into a town doing its best to carry on through everything happening to it. But it crumbled as he grew up. Every day the bonds became weaker. The warriors grew more reckless. The optimists grew less hopeful. The wise old men became less reliable.
A whirl of snow flew at him, droplets rushing into his eyes.
Barnable blinked.
***
“What do I do next? I can’t get the light to come on.” Kovarian turned the flimsy contraption upside-down to see if that made a difference. “You said it should be flashing.”
The Doctor left his wires alone, forcing a smile. “The lights should be coming on again now. The town will be able to see!”
“Doctor, you said it should be flashing,” repeated Kovarian. “Why isn’t it flashing?”
The Doctor peered out of the window. “They are! The lights are on!”
“Doctor!” cried Kovarian. “I can’t get it to work.”
The Doctor leant back against the wall, growing wearier by the second. Only his heavy breathing was audible over the hissing of the time crack.
“Doctor!” urged Kovarian. “You said this would work! You said… you said you thought it would work…”
The Doctor closed his eyes. Every word in the dictionary was useless. He couldn’t have even lied his way out of it.
“You made a mistake, didn’t you? Oh my God. Oh my…” Kovarian waved her arms, trying to calm herself. The one man she trusted – had chosen to trust – had given up. “Please, Doctor. Carry on. Try again. There must be something you have to live for, fight for… someone…”
The Doctor’s eyes flashed open. “Barnable!”
He made his way to the door as quickly as possible and stopped as he opened it. All the townspeople were gathered around the clock-tower: some were looking out onto the town around them, keeping the Weeping Angels at bay, whilst others were looking inwards. But not at the Doctor. Down…
At Barnable.
He was laying on the step, motionless, his eyes closed. The Doctor leant down slowly and sat on the step, lifting Barnable up and resting him in his arms. “Oh Barnable, I overworked you. You were exhausted. I don’t blame you for… falling asleep like this…”
The townspeople exchanged glances. Did he actually believe that?
“Come on Barnable, eh?” The Doctor patted Barnable on the cheeks, ruffled his hair a bit. “Wake up. We’ve got work to do. Come on, Barnable. We can’t sit here all day.” The Doctor broke down into tears, bowing his head to look down at Barnable. “Wake up… I need you with me, in this till the end… I need my best friend…”
One of the townspeople approached the Doctor calmly and rested her hand on his shoulder, shaking her head regretfully. The Doctor nodded, shaking, and laid Barnable down on the step, standing up again slowly.
He stood, in front of the majestic doors to his clock-tower, Father Christmas, risen above the rest of his town with only Kovarian behind him, so still she may as well have been a Weeping Angel. He took a device out of his pocket, confusing the townspeople, and pushed a red button, speaking into it.
“Airstrikes authorised.”
***
“You can’t do this!”
The Doctor ignored Kovarian, slamming the door of the clock-tower shut behind them.
“You’ll just kill more of them. This is not the answer!”
“I said no to the airstrikes. Now the person I cared the most about is dead. I’ve learnt what comes of being wrong.”
“Oh, you ridiculous man,” spat Kovarian. “This is exactly what the Angels want! Now they don’t have to work their way through the town because you’ll do it for them!”
“Well I’ll give them what they want!” roared the Doctor, pulling drawings down off the wall around him. “I’ll give them what they want and see how much they like it! I’ll see how much they like it when I give them what they want!”
“You being angry won’t bring him back. It won’t make things better. This isn’t justice because there never can be justice! This is not how you make up for your mistake.”
The Doctor turned. “My mistake?”
“Yes, Doctor, your mistake. The mistake I said you were going to make from the start.” Kovarian made wild gestures as she spoke – she was more like the Kovarian the Doctor knew before; his enemy. The worst part was, this time, he was the one doing the terrible things in the name of his cause – in the name of Christmas Town. “His parents stood on the front line and you delivered the news of their deaths to him as he cried, just as I said. And then you ran out of toy soldiers, didn’t you?”
“Don’t say it.”
“Then you took him instead and you killed him! You killed the first child on Trenzalore, Doctor! Not me, not my priests, not any of the monsters, you. ‘Father Christmas’. You sentenced him to death the day you met him and don’t you just hate to disappoint?”
“Stop it,” uttered the Doctor.
“I added to the list of parts you requested from the Papal Mainframe, in case I ever needed them. I made this while Tasha was fixing the teleporter – just in case.” Kovarian pulled out a navy blue gun, with the Papal Mainframe’s insignia on the side, and held it to the Doctor’s head. “This war has gone on for long enough.”
“You wanted this, didn’t you? Right from the start,” accused the Doctor, “you were hoping this would happen.”
“I wasn’t hoping. I’m past hoping for anything. I knew. I’d be your friend and ally until the day you broke the promise.”
“And I suppose being my friend involves making a gun to kill me?”
“Every friendship has conditions.”
“Go on then.” The Doctor stretched out his arms. “Kill me. And watch me shout my name as I crash and burn.”
“There should be only one name on your mind right now, you murderer,” hissed Kovarian.
“But would you really risk finding out which one?”
“You’re a monster.”
“To survive?” The Doctor shrugged. “Yes. To save this town? Yes.”
“You’re not saving this town. You’re just prolonging its death.”
“But this town has hope,” said the Doctor, trying to draw Kovarian in. “Hope can turn the longest and slowest of deaths into the brightest and most beautiful of lives.”
“You killed hope. The entire Hope family is dead as of today. All you have on your side is stupidity.”
“And any amount of poetry can be waved away when you realise that the second I die, no one up there has anything to be scared of and this planet will be blasted out of the sky. Can you really kill the rest of the children? Or are you going to let me do it slowly instead?”
Kovarian held her finger over the trigger and stared at the Doctor. She dropped the gun on the floor. “The rest is up to you,” she murmured, “Sheriff.”
As Kovarian left the clock-tower, slamming the door behind her, the sound of bombing started. A heavy sound that shook every bone in your body and jolted you more awake with every hit. The Doctor had forgotten what it felt like. He looked to the floor and noticed one of the drawings he’d teared off the rule and held it up. It was a picture of the two Zygon Doctors from the previous invasion: one a monster, intent on wreaking chaos for its own ends; and the other a hero, a saviour, a legend, and a father. He looked for the differences between them. He couldn’t remember which had been which.
The name at the bottom of the paper caught his eye – an artist’s signature, shaky and hesitant. His final mark on the world.
Barnable Hope.
The Doctor held the drawing to his hearts and whispered to himself as he shed a tear.
“My fault.”
***
As the years went on, the airstrikes continued. It took a decade to wipe the Weeping Angels off the face of Christmas. Most of the time, they were being observed or in hiding. Only ten people were killed. Only two of them were children. Eventually, the airstrikes became regular procedure, far beyond the Doctor’s control, and there was no hope of them ever being called off. Kovarian was right: it was what the Weeping Angels had wanted. The ceasefire was truly broken, and the people of Christmas and the Papal Mainframe were trapped in a war they couldn’t win.
Barnable’s funeral was held a month after his death, at which point ceremonies were considered an acceptable risk to take. He was buried outside the clock-tower, and flowers were laid out to commemorate him. Every day, Daisy would bring something new to add to his shrine: more flowers, or pictures, or broken toys. She survived all the attacks, and grew up to have a child called Barnable.
The Doctor stayed out of everyone’s way, and the town became divided among those who loved and felt sorry for him, trying at every possible opportunity to reconcile him with the community, and those who abhorred him, frequently hurling abuse through the windows of the clock-tower before being called off by the rest of the townspeople. Troops began to fly in regularly, too, as the force-field decayed. That reduced civilian casualties to an extent, but cut off the Doctor’s involvement in the war altogether.
Twenty years later, the death of Barnable Hope was passed down as a story and treated as such: open to interpretation, its meaning relinquished for people to take as they chose, and the Doctor’s role in it discussed. The only person to whom it was not a story was the Doctor, and every day he replayed the events in his mind.
***
The Doctor sat in his clock-tower, listening to the sounds of fighting outside. He turned slowly as the door swung open and dropped the toy he was fixing. A figure approached. They seemed familiar…
He tried to get a better look. It was a small boy, somewhere between nine and ten years old, with a mop of ginger hair. He stood obediently at the entrance to the room.
“Bar-“
The Doctor looked closer. No. He’d sat by the shrine enough times. This wasn’t his friend, but he wasn’t quite a civilian, either. He was a messenger.
“I’m not from Christmas,” he explained. “I’m from the dry lands.”
“Where?”
“I’ll show you.”
The Doctor grabbed his walking stick and got up. He followed the boy through the battlefield, dodging the fighting where he could, and sneaking between buildings. A few townspeople turned to look at him in curiosity.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“John.” The boy led the Doctor to the edge of the town and carried on going, beckoning for the Doctor to follow.
“But what about the force-“
The Doctor realised.
“There is no force-field,” elaborated the boy, confirming what the Doctor feared. “This way.”
They walked across the snow, far beyond the fighting, where the most dangerous thing to anyone was the cold air. The Doctor wrapped up as best he could, but the boy seemed used to it. In the distance, the Doctor could make out a small cottage of some kind – presumably, his destination.
As he got closer, he was able to discern details about it: its simple architectural configuration and small size; a home for only one or two. There were barely any lights on inside, either, save a couple of candle-lights. The boy let the Doctor in and the door opened with a creak. No key was required.
“He’s here,” said the boy, and left. The Doctor turned to leave but was stopped by a voice which seemed familiar.
“It’s okay.”
The Doctor examined the cottage’s interior in the candle-light. It had a low ceiling which, had he not been stooped over, he would have bumped his head on. There was a kitchen-area, kept immaculately clean, and a shelf full of old books, but not dusty ones – regularly read with worn-out spines, barely holding the pages in place.
The voice came from a bed leaned against the wall, well-made with a pale, frail old woman inside, her hair uncombed but her appearance by no means neglected, as if a child had been attending to her at every second, putting more heart in than any adult but not quite understand what they were doing. After engaging in eye contact, the Doctor recognised her. Only one woman ever looked at him like that.
“Madame Kovarian.”
“The Monster.”
“You can call me the Doctor,” said the Doctor, sitting on a rocking-chair next to her.
“You can call me Katherine.”
“You should have said you were going to be in. I’d have brought a cracker. I hear they make everything funny.”
“How long has it been?” asked the old woman. Her voice had changed, both necessarily through age and tonally through time and contemplation.
“You don’t know?” The Doctor looked at her dubiously. There was no truth field out this far.
“No. But I know you’ll have counted every single day.”
“Twenty years,” said the Doctor, choosing not to cite the precise figure. “More or less.”
“I’d guessed an eternity.” Kovarian wheezed. “It looks like I was right.”
“Twenty years is no eternity.”
“Not if you’re a Time Lord, maybe.”
“Why did you call me?”
“Why do you think?” Kovarian reached out to the Doctor with her skeletal hand. “Look at it, and tell me why I called you.”
“Because you’re dying.”
“Yes.”
“Really?” The Doctor seemed surprised. “Not about the dying, but the part where you called me here to speak to you. I didn’t get the impression there was anything you left unsaid that day.”
“There wasn’t. But I’ve had twenty years to think, and I’ve got twenty years of solitude to impart, now.”
“Well, it’s lucky I’ve got a lot of free time,” joked the Doctor.
“I stopped medicating myself today,” said Kovarian, quickly dampening the mood. “This is it. I needed this to be final.”
“Okay.” There was nothing to joke about anymore. A woman was dying. A good woman? The Doctor questioned that. But a living, sentient organism capable of, he realised, so much, was about to be extinguished. That was always terrible, and would never stop being that.
“I hate you,” uttered Kovarian. The Doctor nodded, unable to argue. “I still hate you as much as I ever did, and my biggest mistake was never killing you properly.”
“Never become a counsellor, Kovarian.”
“And I will never forgive you, ever. I will never be able to forgive you for what you did that day.”
The Doctor continued to nod. “Fair enough. Absolutely fair enough.”
“Did you ever forgive yourself?” she asked, with a tone that was almost caring.
“What do you think?” The Doctor sighed and buried his head in the hands, before placing his elbows on his knees so he could lean forward to address Kovarian closer. “I regret everything I did that day. Every word I said, every decision I made, every thought that ever crossed my mind. And I gave up because…” he looked back, out of the window, to the town of Christmas in the distance. “Because I believed I could never, ever make it up. And now it’s too late.”
“We all have bad days,” joked Kovarian.
“But when we’re in charge, we take responsibility for them, and we never let them go as long as there are people affected by them.”
“Quite right.” Kovarian nodded and coughed again. The Doctor adjusted her pillow to give her some more comfort.
“So you brought me here to tell me you hated me? And to have a chat?” The Doctor leaned forward again. “Because if it was for the company, you could have just asked. I understand how lonely it can get.”
“I brought you here to tell you I hated you and could never forgive you,” repeated Kovarian. “And to tell you this: you go, Doctor.” The Doctor pulled a quizzical face. “You go and win the hell out of that war.”
“I thought you hated me being there?”
“Well, I thought a lot about that, just as you did, and I don’t stand by everything I said that day, either. You’ve committed now. If you’ve made mistakes, it’s your job to fix them. You said to me on the day you forgave me that the most important thing in progress is to believe that bad people are capable of better.” The Doctor smiled, appreciating the little he had imparted onto Kovarian, and how it had turned her into a far more honest person than him. “I don’t forgive you. But I believe you can be better than this.”
She took the Doctor’s hand and held onto it with all her strength. “Go back. Go back to being their Sheriff. Save them from the monsters. Fix their toys. Have fun. Stop their children from crying,” she begged, “please. Go back to being the Doctor.”
“I thought you hated the Doctor?”
“I don’t think I ever met him.”
“I’ll try.” The Doctor squeezed Kovarian’s hand lightly. “I promise, I’ll try. But the whole situation. The airstrikes…”
“Bring them to an end. Fight the Papal Mainframe if necessary. Bring down the whole –“ she coughed “-damn… church. Never give up and never give in.”
The Doctor nodded. “I think you knew the Doctor better than you think.” He sat back in his chair. “I’ll stay.”
“No. Leave,” insisted Kovarian. “Never do tomorrow what you can do today. I’ve had myself for company for twenty years – I don’t there’s anyone I’d be happier to die with. You go and win.”
“I’ll do just that.” The Doctor held up Kovarian’s hand and kissed it, placing it gently back on the bed and walking to the door.
“Good luck,” Kovarian said, as the Doctor was about to leave. He turned back.
“You too.”
The Doctor breathed in the cold air once more, and it empowered him as it bit at him and pained him, a reminder: you’re alive. You can make things better.
He adjusted his bow tie, making it clearly visible over the rest of his garb and smiled, walking back towards Christmas with determination: straight back into the field of battle. He’d spent twenty years regretting breaking a promise he had made and now he had a new one to live up to.
Win.
NEXT CHRISTMASWill the Doctor be able to redeem Trenzalore from the fire, and will it be at the cost of the Papal Mainframe? How many generations before the Doctor dies on Trenzalore? And how exactly do Tasha Lem and the Doctor know each other?
All will be revealed next year in the final series of Trenzalore. |
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