Part 32 (2/2)

The body lying face-up, features lengthening, clothes darkening. His greatest fear made real before him. A possible future which, in the Doctor's arrogance, he had thought had been denied forever.

For all his intentions and all his games, he was still capable of becoming the Valeyard.

It was a contemplative Doctor who arrived in the console room. His thoughts had turned to Kadiatu Lethbridge-Stewart.

He hadn't made his decision about her Yet, and he knew that his companions might take issue when he did. He might have to hurt them all over again.

He couldn't let that matter. Nor could he avoid his duties any longer. He had to deal with the situation.

'I'm truly sorry,' he said, the apology directed towards them all in their absence. He reset the coordinates. 'But my duty must take precedence after all.'

249.

Head End

Jason woke up and it had all been a dream.

He lay there uncertainly for a while, brain churning as though full of thoughts he couldn't access.

He was on his bed, fully clothed in his customary jeans and T-s.h.i.+rt and black boots. A draught found its way around the window frame as it always did and he heard the sound of thumping music from next door. It seemed that nothing was different, and yet he knew somewhere in the recesses of his subconscious mind that it was.

He thought he had to do something today. Write something.

Something important. It had fled from his grasp though and he couldn't quite catch it.

He wondered what he was doing with his life.

He hadn't expected to think that. He chased the question around for a few minutes, turned it over and looked at it from all sides. Did he have any ambitions? Well, he'd always wanted to work in the media. Perhaps he should do something about that. Today. And look up his parents. And consider a new place to live.

Jason saw his whole life stretching ahead of him.

He climbed up oil the bed, deep in thought, and absentmindedly began to gather the screwed-up b.a.l.l.s of paper which littered the carpet. He dropped them into the wicker waste bin, then reached to pull the last one from the roller of his typewriter.

He paused and looked at it.

It seemed to be a short story which Jason didn't remember writing. A story about himself and about the stranger who had 250 come to visit him one evening and taken him into a series of new adventures.

He read the story through three times, brow furrowing in confusion. He stared for an especially long time at the closing seven words.

And they all lived happily ever after.

Jason struggled to cling onto the memories which swam through his head.

251.

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