Now he was stuck with two hanger-ons he didn't even want. They were so human, so noisy, ignorant and nosy. Chesterfield in particular was disrespectful and rude. Although the TARDIS did seem a livelier place, and Susan seemed much happier nowadays...
"Doesn't even know his own name. Hmph!" he grumbled out loud to the air. The air, of course, had nothing to say.
Underlying each smell and sight was an ugly, heavy feeling in their gut, this unnamed fear and rage against the end of his own existence. Death wouldn't stop him, he vowed, as he faced the Dalek's, right before they executed him. He'd out survive them all!
Then nothing. If this was Death, (and he'd personally met Death at some point or other, relatively recently in his lifetimes), it wasn't that much different from living. The TARDIS was still here. He stared up at the ceiling. It was no longer ripped apart by the aftershock of the Moment. It looked different, some undersea variation this time that he hadn't decided if he'd liked or not yet. Daniel sat up, touching his chest. He felt broader. Just a bit. His frock was mostly blown to pieces, terribly scorched. There was no way he could repair it. And getting a nice copy was rather difficult. Daniel wanted to sigh but the sigh came out wrong in new lungs, so it ended up a cough. He was still alive. There was that fresh tingling sensation all over. He stared at his hands. Also bigger, not nearly as willowy as they'd been last time. Something felt weird about his head, as if there was a draft.Yes, this wasn't Death.
Daniel looked out through the TARDIS doors and looked out on Nothing. That was what was in the space where Gallifrey had once been. Nothing. All gone. The suffocating sorrow threatened to rise again but this time, he was ready. The TARDIS hummed tentatively, as if reminding him that it was there. Bizarrely enough, it did the trick. He'd just been thinking about throwing himself out the open doors, but now the idea seemed stupid. Pointless. He was the last, and that would be a stupid way to end his race. Maybe he was alone, but at least he could tell himself that he'd prevented so many others from suffering worse. Just maybe he could do some good.Or at least, he could spend the rest of his lives trying to make up for what he'd done.
The combined onslaught of the memories and feelings, along with the Master's greedy pushes forward, were proving to be too much. Daniel moaned. The archaeologist's knees started to give out, the only thing keeping him from completely falling was the Master's death grip on his head. Daniel sagged, dragging him down.
2/2
"Doesn't even know his own name. Hmph!" he grumbled out loud to the air. The air, of course, had nothing to say.
Underlying each smell and sight was an ugly, heavy feeling in their gut, this unnamed fear and rage against the end of his own existence. Death wouldn't stop him, he vowed, as he faced the Dalek's, right before they executed him. He'd out survive them all!
Then nothing. If this was Death, (and he'd personally met Death at some point or other, relatively recently in his lifetimes), it wasn't that much different from living. The TARDIS was still here. He stared up at the ceiling. It was no longer ripped apart by the aftershock of the Moment. It looked different, some undersea variation this time that he hadn't decided if he'd liked or not yet. Daniel sat up, touching his chest. He felt broader. Just a bit. His frock was mostly blown to pieces, terribly scorched. There was no way he could repair it. And getting a nice copy was rather difficult. Daniel wanted to sigh but the sigh came out wrong in new lungs, so it ended up a cough. He was still alive. There was that fresh tingling sensation all over. He stared at his hands. Also bigger, not nearly as willowy as they'd been last time. Something felt weird about his head, as if there was a draft.Yes, this wasn't Death.
Daniel looked out through the TARDIS doors and looked out on Nothing. That was what was in the space where Gallifrey had once been. Nothing. All gone. The suffocating sorrow threatened to rise again but this time, he was ready. The TARDIS hummed tentatively, as if reminding him that it was there. Bizarrely enough, it did the trick. He'd just been thinking about throwing himself out the open doors, but now the idea seemed stupid. Pointless. He was the last, and that would be a stupid way to end his race. Maybe he was alone, but at least he could tell himself that he'd prevented so many others from suffering worse. Just maybe he could do some good.Or at least, he could spend the rest of his lives trying to make up for what he'd done.
The combined onslaught of the memories and feelings, along with the Master's greedy pushes forward, were proving to be too much. Daniel moaned. The archaeologist's knees started to give out, the only thing keeping him from completely falling was the Master's death grip on his head. Daniel sagged, dragging him down.