Chapter Forty-Eight: The Last Secret

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I lie on the cold floor of a dark and unfamiliar hall. It takes less time to re-orientate myself than the others, likely due to years of travelling with a vortex manipulator. I check the Doctor for any signs of time travel sickness and help him up to his feet, keeping an arm around his waist for support. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I just got turned inside-out. Rough teleport," he groans. In no time, his anger returns, and he focuses back on Hame. "But you can go straight back down and teleport people out, starting with Martha."

"I only had the power for one trip."

"Then get some more! Where are we?"

There is nothing much visible beyond the shadows. A few black pillars jut out into the nothingness above us and books lay strewn across the floor. The whole place smells of dust and mould. "High above, in the Overcity."

Something is very, very wrong.

"Good. 'Cause you can tell the Senate of New New York I'd like a word. They've got thousands of people trapped on the Motorway! Millions!"

She gestures to our surroundings, exasperation taking over. "But you're inside the Senate right now. May the Goddess Santori bless them."

With the push of a button on her bracelet, bars of light flicker on. Rows of stone benches rise before us. Each occupant is perfectly still and silent — just skeletons.

"Oh my Gods."

"They died. The city died."

Stunned into quietness, he slowly approaches. "How long's it been like this?"

She bows her head in mourning. "Twenty-four years."

He crouches beside a fallen body. It's almost as if they had been running, or just going about their day, when they were struck down. I wordlessly join him. My hand rests on his back ans traces its length, soothing his despair. "All of them?" he whispers. "Everyone? What happened?"

"A new chemical, a new mood. They called it Bliss." Seeing the cause, I pluck up the clear, moon-embossed patch from the floor. It crumples in my fist and falls in fragments. "Everyone tried it. They couldn't stop. A virus mutated inside the compound and became airborne. Everything perished, even the virus in the end. It killed the world in seven minutes flat. There was just enough time to close down the walkways and the flyovers, sealing off the Undercity. Those people on the Motorway aren't lost. They were saved."

"So the whole thing down there is running on automatic?"

She grimaces. "There's not enough power to get them out. We did all we could to stop the system from choking."

Coming out of the shock, I stand again. "'We'?" There's more of you?"

Her eyes fill with admiration and she breathes, "He protected me. And he has waited for you, these long years."

"Inara. Doctor," a voice calls from deep in my mind.

We run around the corner, pausing at the sight of the giant head watching us from inside his tank. Ropes of flesh float in suspension around him, connecting him to the various tubes that keep him alive. He has aged since the last time we saw him, his blue eyes far more unfocused and bloodshot.

"The Face of Boe!"

His mouth rises into the faintest hint of a smile. Something about it is unnervingly familiar but I just can't put my finger on it. One thing I do know is that our presence is a great relief to him. "I knew you'd come," he hums tranquilly.

Kneeling before the misty tank, we gaze up at him in wonder. Hame lingers in the shadows. "Back in the old days," she says, "I was made his nurse as penance for my sins."

"Old friend, what happened to you?"

He can barely get the words out now. Every breath weighs on him. "Failing."

I can't keep the feelings of recognition at bay any longer. It is disturbing. Unable to continue looking at him, I turn back to the nun. She smiles sadly and whispers as if it is meant only for me, "He protected me from the virus by shrouding me in his smoke. But with no-one to maintain it, the city's power died. The Undercity would have fallen into the sea."

The Doctor's hand rests against the tank as he realises. "So he saved them."

She bows her head in confirmation. "The Face of Boe wired himself into the mainframe. He's giving his life force just to keep things running," she explains.

"But there are planets out there. You could've called for help."

"The last act of the Senate was to declare New Earth unsafe. The automatic quarantine lasts for one hundred years."

Frowning, he gets to his feet. I remain where I am. I just can't bring myself to move. My fingertips ghost against the glass, brought further unease by the comfort its warmth brings me. They sink closer against it until my whole hand presses against the barrier separating us. The look in his eyes is one of unmistakable gratitude but, again, for what I cannot understand.

"So the two of you stayed here..." the Doctor pityingly begins, "on your own, for all these years."

Tears flow freely down her face now, leaving dark trails along her fluffy cheeks. "We had no choice."

I watch his reflection grasp her shoulder in a wordless gesture of appreciation. "Yes, you did."

"Save them, my friends. Save them."

Only now do I stand. His plea brings a surge of energy. Running over to the collection of screens and machinery nearby, I plug them in and wait for them to wake. A map pops up and I impatiently scroll down it until we can see the icons of those in the Fast Lane. It is empty.

A shoulder brushes against mine and the Doctor and I share a worried glance. Putting his glasses on, he decides to try a classic solution and slaps the side of the monitor.

Red writing appears. As if a weight has been lifted, I exhale a laugh and grip his hand in mine for just a second. He squeezes back when I start to let go. "Car 465 Diamond 6 is still registered. That's Martha. I knew she was good!" he cheers. "Novice Hame, hold that in place."

She hurries over to take a thick cable from him whilst I continue to examine the various schematics and documents on display.

He takes up station at some machines on the other side of the hall. "Think, think, think! Take the residual energy, invert it, feed it through the electricity beds—"

"There isn't the power," she protests, anxiously glancing back at her patient.

"You've got power. You've got me! I'm brilliant with computers, just you watch."

It clicks. Grinning, I wave to him. "Hey! The Motorway isn't completely sealed; it can't be. Give me the means and I think I can crack it open."

If possible, his excitement grows. "Oh, Inara Luscinia, I could kiss you!"

"Maybe later."

"Hame, every switch on that bank, up to maximum!" Suddenly falling to the floor, he begins work on the dials and lights that cover the boxed forms of the electricity beds. "I can't power up the city, but all the city needs is people."

"So what are you going to do?"

Standing once more, he drags me over to the lever. "This. Go on, darling — your idea."

The mission escapes me for a moment at that nickname. Quickly gathering myself, I pull the lever between us. The screens go dark.

"No, no, no, no, no, no!"

"It's okay," I encourage, not daring to leave my post, keeping an eye on the distant icon of Martha's car. "Get down there and work it out. You've got it."

He nods, seeming to have rebuilt a little certainty. The glasses come back on, having been torn off in a moment of panic, and he crouches by the equipment again. His haste soon ends with him entangling himself in all of the cables and wires. "The transformers are blocked, the signal can't get through."

"Doctor. Inara," the Face of Boe sighs.

"Yeah, hold on. Not now."

"I give you my last."

We don't have time to question it. With a hoarse exhalation from the creature, the power shakily returns. The act should come as a relief but my chest tenses. The same must happen for the Doctor, as his wild eyes dart back over to the tank. "Hame, look after him. Don't you go dying on me, you big old face! You've got to see this. The open road!"

I try the lever again and, this time, it works. In his triumph, he pulls me in by the waist and plants a firm and confident kiss on my lips. It only lasts for a few seconds but it's enough to send my head reeling.

Without warning, he races back over to the monitors with me in tow, our hands connecting once more. I can see the glimmer of satisfaction when he realises the cause for my dazed expression. "Come on, Inara. Show time," he teases, tugging me closer.

A tiny red light appears beside what realise a little too late is a camera. "Sorry," he announces to the audience of unseen cars, "no Sally Calypso, she was just a hologram. My name's the Doctor."

"And I'm Inara," I manage with growing steadiness as he swings a silver microphone in my direction. "We think you'll all be pleased to know that this Motorway is officially open. So go on, drive up."

"Believe me, coming from her, that's an order. Everyone, drive up. Right now."

"We've opened the roof. It's okay, you can go now. Go up."

"Throttle those engines. Drive up, all of you, the whole Undercity. Drive up. Drive up! We've got to clear that Fast Lane. Drive up and get out of the way."

Holding hands isn't enough. My arm secures itself around his back and he does the same. We share a brief smile. "Now," I chuckle, "Car 464 Diamond 6, this one's for you. Come on, Martha. We know you can do it."

"You've got access above. Now, go!"

Sure enough, those small, red letters start to blink, rising higher and higher up the lanes. The recording light goes out. My limbs growing heavy with the knowledge that it's over, I drape them over the Doctor's shoulders and pull him in. My face nudges against the side of his and I revel in the comfort. "She's okay. We did it."

"You did it. Like I said, was your idea." When his unexpected laughter surprises me enough to move away, he points to where another car icon moves up into the sky.

A faint voice buzzes from the speakers, "Did I tell you, lads? You're not bad. You're not bad at all!"

Beaming all to himself, he wanders to the small windows at the very edge of this hall. They seem far brighter now that hope has returned. Tiny dots swarm the sky now as the cars stream out from below. "You keep driving, Brannigan, all the way up! 'Cause it's here, just waiting for you — the City of New New York — and it's yours. And don't forget, I want that coat back."

"I reckon that's a fair bargain, sir."

"Give the little ones our best," I chime in. "If they ever need our help, they only need to call for us. You know, if I were a less charitable person, I'd say we should get paid for this; help with all those non-existent bills."

The Doctor sends me a playful glare. "And Car 465 Diamond 6, I've sent you a flight path. Come to the Senate."

"On my way!"

The both of us only grow fonder at the sound of her voice, knowing that we got it right. We saved her. Even with a will as stubborn as his own, he must agree. "It's been quite a while since I saw you, Martha Jones."

I can't help it. I practically fall into him again, laughing and babbling into the microphone with all sorts of praises and well-wishes to our new friends. He only joins in for some of them but holds me nonetheless, swaying slightly in the comfort of our embrace.

"Doctor!"

The peace is broken.

Following Novice Hame's anguished cry, we race to her side in search of the source of her distress.

The glass has started to crack.

"Doctor? Inara?"

"Over here."

At the sound of his distracted reply, Martha wastes no time rushing to our side. "Doctor, what happened out there?" She comes to an abrupt stop when she rounds the corner. The tank has completely shattered now. The Face of Boe lies in the dust with the three of us around him, keeping him company in his last moments. Her voice drops to a stunned whisper, "What's that?"

"The Face of Boe. It's all right," the Doctor says gently, nodding in our direction, "come and say hello. And this is Hame, she's a cat. Don't worry."

Forcing a smile of encouragement, I hold my hand out for her. She hesitates before taking it, kneeling beside me. "It's all right."

He follows her stare to our friend. "He's the one that saved you, not us."

Hame nods, tears slipping down her cheeks. "My lord gave his life to save the city... and now he's dying."

Despite the lightness of his tone, I sense the real fear her words cause — both in his face and in the tightening of his hand around mine. He is quick to voice his disagreement, "No, don't say that. Not old Boe. Plenty of life left."

"It's good to breathe the air once more."

She is only more disturbed by the sound of his voice in her head. "Who is he?"

"I don't even know. Legend says the Face of Boe has lived for billions of years. Isn't that right? And you're not about to give up now."

I'm not sure what I can say to make any of it better. All I can do is reach out a tentative hand, tracing the wrinkles of his cheek. His skin is dry and far colder than I had expected. I know the warning signs of death and my eyes shut briefly in begrudging acceptance. When I open them again, I am almost sure I see him wink at me. "Everything has its time," his voice resonates in my head. "You know that, old friend, better than most. I am glad to see you both one last time."

"The legend says more."

The Doctor's eyes shoot up to warn Hame. "Don't. There's no need for that."

She chokes down a sob and continues, "It says the Face of Boe will speak his final secret to a traveller."

"Yeah, but not yet. Who needs secrets, eh?" His desperate attempts won't save him this time, I worry.

"I have seen so much perhaps too much. I am the last of my kind... as you are the last of yours, Doctor."

Martha freezes. The brown of his eyes has darkened to void under his grief. "That's why we have to survive. Both of us. Don't go."

He blinks slowly, understandingly. "I must. But know this, Time Lord. You are not alone."

The Face of Boe closes his eyes and accepts the end. Hame sobs.

My breath catches in my throat. Feeling his face once again, I search for the last hints of warmth but find none. The hold on my hand is crushing but I don't care. Instead of attempting to free it, I wrap my other arm around the Doctor. We stand together after a moment and he invites Martha into our embrace.

–—————

The walk back to the alley is silent. I don't let go of him because I know that words won't be enough right now. All I can do is reassure him that I'm not going anywhere. Sometimes he sees me as another sole survivor, like him.

"All closed down," he finally notes, looking at the abandoned stalls.

Martha raises an eyebrow. "Happy?"

"Happy happy. New New York can start again. And they've got Novice Hame. Just what every city needs, cats in charge. Come on, time we were off."

"But what did he mean, the Face of Boe?" she asks. 'You are not alone'."

Coming to a stop, he shrugs dishonestly. I sigh and withdraw, hugging myself against the cold. "I don't know."

She can tell, though. Her gaze penetrates his defences in a way that even I find startling. "Yeah, you do. What is it?"

"Doesn't matter. Back to the Tardis, off we go." I know better than to fight him on this. No matter how much I want to, I am far too familiar with the Doctor's guarded attitude. We walk again, stopping only at the sound of scraping metal.

Martha has pulled up a discarded chair from an overflowing skip. She sits, crossing her arms and legs in stubborn expectance.

"All right. You staying?"

"Till you talk to me properly, yes. Honestly, Inara, I don't know how you put up with it. He said, 'last of your kind'. What does that mean?"

We share a glance. His jaw sets. "It really doesn't matter."

Her eyes narrow at his dismissal and she bites back, "You don't talk. You never say. Why not?"

Voices rise from the twilight, together and harmonious.

Pausing, she stares in wonder at the darkness of blended buildings above. "It's the city."

"Abide with me, fast falls the eventide
The darkness deepens Lord, with me abide..."

He watches me again, contemplating the possible effects his confession could have. I try to show the truth with just one look — the truth that he could say anything, anything at all, and I will remain by his side, no matter what. I wish to all the Gods that he knows it by now.

He wets his lips and tries, falling into silence. Another look, a nod of reassurance. He tries again. "I lied to you... 'cause I liked it. Inara wouldn't say a thing, she respects me too much to break it." His head dips in what I realise is shame. "Too much. So, I could pretend. Just for a bit. And I could imagine they were still alive... underneath a burnt orange sky. I'm not just a Time Lord. I'm the last of the Time Lords. The Face of Boe was wrong, there's no-one else."

My eyes close. With a wrenching of what feels like my whole chest, my gut, my very soul, I know that if I could take away all of his pain and suffering in an instant... I would.

I would.

And the thought scares me more than I will ever admit.

"What happened?"

I wait for him to make a choice, knowing without a doubt that I will follow either way. He takes a chair and joins her. I do, too. It comes as a strange relief to know that he will finally talk about it. I have only wished for him to share his burden with me before and even if it has to be shared with Martha, I don't mind. The very fact that it will be shared is enough.

"There was a war. A Time War — the Last Great Time War. My people fought a race called the Daleks for the sake of all creation. And they lost. We lost. Everyone lost. They're all gone now. My family, my friends, even that sky."

My fingers ache with the need to reach, to hold him. But I don't. The second I touch him, the spell will break.

He breaks into a wistful smile. He can see it again. And so can I, in his eyes. "Oh, you should've seen it, that old planet. The second sun would rise in the south, and the mountains would shine. The leaves on the trees were silver... and when they caught the light every morning, it looked like a forest on fire. When the autumn came, the breeze would blow through the branches like a song..."

A/n:

RIP Face of Boe

I mean, at least she was there for it.

Next up: Andrew Garfield goes Southern. Again.


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