Once upon a time, the universe began. It was quite a long time ago, and reports are understandably sketchy. However, it's been said that at first, there were only two forces: one good, and one pure evil.

 Now the latter one has been encountered a few times by the Doctor. Fenric has often taken part in a game of chess with the Doctor, each time being banished back into the shadow dimensions when he lost.

 But no one's ever really spoken about the other force, the good one. Well, you see, the good force.... but I digress. Perhaps I should skip ahead a bit.

 The old man drummed his fingers on the table, patiently waiting for his opponent to make a move. Across the table, the opponent sat with his head in his hands, clearly frustrated, and unable to see any move that would stave off the inevitable checkmate.

 Of course, neither of the players had "fingers," "hands," or "heads" as we would know them. The game they were playing was far from the Terran game of chess, for that matter. It's all metaphor, and that's as close as any audience can get.

 Several times, the opponent would pick up a chess piece, move it to a square on the board, and hold it there for minutes at a time. His brow furrowed, trying to decide whether or not he'd made a good move. In each instance, he'd refuse to remove his hand from the piece, inevitably pick it up again, and replace it in the spot it had occupied previously. Each time, the opponent would sigh a little louder, and think a little longer before he tried his next tentative move.

 The old man watched his brother's increasing consternation. He knew what his opponent was thinking, probably the same thing he himself had been thinking all along. *This game is pointless. Why are we playing? Can't we just simply walk away, and let the universe decide what it wants to do on its own? Wouldn't it be better to just end our existences now?*

 The opponent slammed one of his pieces back into its position with a concussive force that forced an early nova upon a star in the real world. He raised a hand to cover his eyes, and the old man heard sobbing sounds coming from his brother. Moments later, the opponent sniffled a few times, and placed a finger of his other hand on the black king, tipping it over about forty-five degrees.

 "I have to confess something, brother," the opponent said.

 *******
Flashback
*******

 "Don't wander too far, Doctor." The boy diverted his attention from his calculations for a moment, watching the scanner as it displayed his friends examining the fossils they'd found.

 He was still amazed by the incredible capacity the Doctor had for finding the most dangerous - or at any rate, awkward -- places for them to land. Trouble seemed to find them wherever they went. Even a simple cricket match could wind up with someone's death. He shook his head and returned to his calculations.

 They were done. He'd completed them and hadn't even realized. *I *am* good* he thought to himself, quite proud. Wait until they saw this. Then they'd be proud of him. Then they'd appreciate him.

 Well, first things first. Having completed the course calculations, he might as well close the file, and let them think it had only taken him scant minutes to do them. He typed the command for the file to close, and the flight computer prompted "Do you want to save changes to the document 'Saved Program 13'? (S)ave - (D)on't Save - (C)ancel."

 The boy hit S.

 *******
Unflashback
*******

 The opponent tilted the king back to its upright position and removed his other hand from his eyes. The old man was shocked by what he saw there.

 For units of time so long that they make aeons look like brief instants, the pair of them had been playing the game. There had been victories and losses on both sides; universes ripped apart by chaos and universes permanently frozen in stasis as an ultimate expression of order. Universes within universes; every proton was a victory for the old man, every electron a victory for the opponent.

 They had been agents for chaos and order, living their lives by the rules that had been set up unimaginably (even for their imaginations) long before they'd been created.

 But the old man had never before seen the madness that now inhabited his brother's eyes.

 "I'm getting *really* sick of this game," the opponent said, a demented grin materializing on his face. In an instant, the old man understood. Aeons of restriction, of paying attention to seemingly arbitrary rules had finally erased any shred of free will his brother had possessed. The opponent was no longer an agent of chaos - he *was* chaos. A living embodiment of destruction and entropy, as bound by the laws of the universe that they played for as an inhabitant of that universe was bound by gravity. His eyes were emptied of any soul he once possessed, and all that filled them was the force of chaos, the force for whom he had played for so long.

 The opponent swept a (figurative) arm across the board. The white pieces, still bound by the rules of the game, remained standing, but all of the black pieces toppled to the ground.

 Across the rest of the universe, the normal timeline returned.

 In the orbit of Kangelis Two, the dagger-shaped ships disappeared, causing friendly fire to destroy a fraction of the Abbot's forces.

 And down on the planet, Qwrulok Purvis regained control over his body, and found a dagger sticking out of his side.

 "Owwwww!" He delicately touched the weapon, completely confused as to how it could have come to be lodged in one of his love handles. The hilt seemed to be throbbing with some kind of strange energy, and Purvis gritted his teeth and prepared to pull it out.

 *How did I get all the way out here? Where the heck is "here" anyway?* On all sides, he appeared to be surrounded by a landscape that looked like it had been through a particularly nasty war. Purvis was reminded of the stories that were told in the closing chapters of one of the Kangelian holy texts; the end of everything. Was that where he was? It might explain the fact that there didn't seem to be anyone else in this bizarre world.

 From behind him, he heard a strange zapping sound, followed by what sounded like a curse. He spun around, and saw three strange men standing behind him. The nearest wore a strange dark green jacket, made of a material that looked a bit like velvet. The silver ascot around his neck had come undone, and was flapping gently in the smoke-filled wind that blew across the battlefield.

 The man was holding the second man's arm up, as if he'd just deflected some sort of weapon. Purvis squinted, trying to see more clearly, and was only just able to make out that the second man was holding a short tube in his hand. The second man had a salt-and-pepper beard, and a pair of eyes filled with irritation at the first man. He was dressed in a tasteful black suit, topped off with a long, flowing black cape.

 "Why did you do that? We could have been rid of him once and for all!" the second man said to the first. "Honestly, Doctor, I'm aware of your distaste for employing violence, but I think that if there's ever a time to use it, now would be that time!"

 "No," said the first man, the Doctor. "That's not the Dark One."

 Dark One?

 "I beg to differ," the third man said. He was wearing a simple brown robe, tied at the waist with a section of rope. Even though he had the robe's hood up, Purvis could see the tonsure shaved into the man's head. "Look at him. He looks exactly like the megalomaniac that threatened us earlier. He even still has Faust's .... Hecate's .... *that* knife stuck in his side."

 Purvis returned his attention to the task he'd been about to perform before the three men had stumbled across him. His hand curled around the dagger's hilt.

 "Wait." It was the Doctor. "Don't pull it out, you may do even more damage. Let me see."

 "Doctor, we're wasting valuable time." The bearded man aimed the tube again. A few moments passed, and he raised the tube closer to his face and examined it.

 The Doctor meanwhile, had approached Purvis' wound. Purvis himself shrunk back, quite confused and scared. "It's all right. I'm a Doctor." The Doctor held up what looked like a tiny battery. "Looking for this?" he asked, gesturing toward the bearded man. The Doctor continued examining the wound, trailing off after a few seconds as his gaze fell towards the horizon. "Oh my goodness, what's that?"

 Purvis swivelled his head in the direction the Doctor had been pointing. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary - or at least, he didn't see anything apart from endless wasteland.

 "GAAHHH!" Purvis screamed as the dagger was pulled from his side. To the Doctor's credit, he'd managed a pretty good job of distracting Purvis' attention from the wound long enough to do it, and had quickly applied some sort of bandage.

 The old man was taken completely by surprise. There were thousands of defenses that he could have used to block the opponent's attack, but such was his shock that he could only think of one course of action.

 He died. Literally.

 "How did you get that?" The Doctor was striding back toward the other two, a strange mix of fear and indignation on his face.

 The bearded man chuckled. "You think you're the only one who can do the trick with the pockets? I thought the sword might come in handy. It looks like it has. Don't worry, sir," he addressed Purvis. "I'll make sure it's as quick as possib-- YEARGH!"

 The bearded man dropped the blade as if it had suddenly become red hot. "Damn!" The robed man bent down to examine the blade, tentatively touching it with a finger. He pulled his hand away in pain, clearly experiencing the same reaction that the bearded man had.

 "Strange," he commented. "You try, Doctor."

 The Doctor picked up the blade, with no obvious discomfort. The robed man sighed. "Well, I suppose it falls to you, then. Kill him."

 Kill him. Kill him? Him, *Purvis*? What?

 "W-w-what?" Purvis stammered.

 "He's the Dark One."

 "No he's not. Look at him. Listen to his mind. He's just a chess piece. The real Dark One is gone. Where, I don't know. Perhaps we'll have to go searching for him again."

 "Perhaps you're right, Doctor, but I don't think we can afford to take any chances. Kill him." The bearded man declared, slipping a battery identical to the one the Doctor had taken into his tube.

 "Yes. Kill him." The robed man turned and walked away. From the direction he'd started towards, Purvis could hear the approach of what sounded like an army. "Victory, ladies and gentlemen!" the robed man called toward the army.

 The Doctor took the sword, and turned toward Purvis.

 Eventually, his attention returned to the chessboard. The white pieces. The white pieces could still destroy him. But they were easily taken care of.

 He searched the floor, finally finding what he was looking for. He picked up the black king, cradling it in his hands.

 Gripping it between his thumb and forefinger, he spoke to it. "The king," he said, "is dead." With that, he crushed the chesspiece just as he had crushed the life out of his brother a moment ago.

 From deep within the cloud came a voice that would have sent chills down a banshee's spine. "LONG LIVE THE KING!"

 The Dark One cast its gaze across the surface of Kangelis Two. Only three pieces left to deal with: a bishop, a rook, and a queen. There were other mortals -some sort of army -- but they weren't important. Only the pieces could do any harm to him, not pieces of pieces.

 Arbitrarily, he chose one piece to attack first. The bishop.

 The cloud of energy swooped down onto the Abbot. The old Time Lord looked confused for a few moments, until an expression of infinite pain crossed his face. The buzzing of the energy cloud obscured the screams of agony that the Abbot was producing, but seeing the contortions of his face was more than enough.

 The Doctor, still holding the sword, charged at the cloud. He appeared to hit an invisible wall and bounce back, landing at the Master's feet. Scrambling to his feet, he turned to his old rival. "Koschei, I want you to go back to my TARDIS and pilot it here. See if you can get Peri and Wil to get out first. I'll come back for them later."

 "Do you have a plan, Doctor?"

 "I hope so," he said, preparing another charge. The Abbot's army, in the meantime, had prepared a similar offensive. Theirs was just about as effective as the Doctor's had been. The Master dashed off, towards the Dark One's tower and the three TARDISes.

 *Patience, mortals. Your deaths will come with the rest of this pitiful universe's. And as for you, queen. Yours comes directly after the bishop's.*

 The Master approached the familiar form of the Doctor's TARDIS. He removed the key the Doctor had given him and opened the door.

 "Everyone out!" he declared striding through the dimensional threshold as if he owned the place.

 "What?" Wil asked.

 "The Doctor's told me to fetch his TARDIS and he wants me to make sure you're safely out of it before I bring it. I'm in a bit of a rush, so if you don't mind....?"

 "So we'll be safe out there?" Peri asked.

 "Oh yes, absolutely. As safe as a pair of rabbits in a patch of lettuce," the Master replied, not entirely without sarcasm. Under his breath, he added "Granted, a patch of lettuce in the middle of a minefield, but a lettuce patch nonetheless."

 Peri trudged out the exterior doors, but Wil remained where he was standing. "I'm not leaving. I don't trust you."

 The Master rolled his eyes up to the heavens. "Fine. Stay. I don't care." He rapidly set the controls for a fraction of a second after he'd left the Doctor, and prepared to dematerialize. "Ah. One more thing I'd almost forgotten." He reached into his pocket, and produced a small, button-like object. Raising the object to his lips, he whistled loudly.

 The Doctor held the sword in front of him, mumbling "Come on, Koschei. Where are you?" as the cloud slowly advanced toward him.

 The most welcome sound he'd ever heard came from behind the Doctor, and he turned and ran towards it. He glanced over his shoulder, making sure that the Dark One was following him. The TARDIS doors opened, and he shot through, still holding the sword in his hand. His eyes instantly took in Wil, standing at the console, preparing to shut the exterior doors.

 "NO! Leave them open." Wil did as he was told, and watched as the malevolent form of the Dark One shot through the still-open doors of the TARDIS. The Doctor turned toward the Dark One, waiting. The cloud gathered all of its destructive energies into itself and hurled itself at the Doctor, who was standing in the center of the room, still brandishing the sword...

 ...which he promptly let drop to the floor.

 "What are you doing?" the Master, standing by his TARDIS, called.

 "Pick up the sword!" Wil screamed. Using the console for support, he pulled himself to his feet and prepared to rush to the Doctor's aid.

 The Dark One swooped down and engulfed the Doctor. His face contorted in pain, screaming unintelligable words, just as the Abbot had done earlier. After a few moments of agony, he finally managed to call out to the Master.

 "Koschei! The console! NOW!"

 The Master stared at the union of the Doctor and the Dark One, unsure of what to do.

 "PLEASE!" The energy crackled around the Doctor, desperately trying to consume the queen. Wil was surprised that the Dark One hadn't completely ripped the Doctor to pieces by now.

 It was only a matter of time before the Dark One tired of its games and simply decided to kill the Doctor. It had learned its lesson with the bishop, and had decided to let the queen's screams of agony through to the outside world. A taste of what was to come to the entire universe.

 The Master retreated into his TARDIS, which then dematerialized.

 "Doctor! What do you want me to do?" Wil readied his hands over the TARDIS console, anxious for the Doctor's instructions.

 "S-s-stored program - AIGH! - 13!" Wil input the command, and the TARDIS's engines surged into life, taking on a strange resonance that he'd never heard before. He noticed that the co-ordinates were identical to Gallifrey's.

 The Doctor, still containing the Dark One within him, staggered toward thedoor, but fell before he made it halfway. Wil rushed to his side and picked him up, barely containing a scream of pain as his hands burnt wherever he touched the Time Lord.

 The Dark One sent out a tendril of energy toward the console. Wherever it touched, sparks flew, and Wil was afraid they'd crash somehow. But it was too late for the Dark One to have any effect on their course, no matter how much of the console he destroyed.

 The console's central pillar came to a halt, and the Doctor and Wil pushed against the exterior doors. Sunlight streamed in as the Doctor fell forward, pitching headfirst into a mud puddle.

 The mass of energy pulled away from him, as if he'd suddenly become unpalatable. Wil rushed to the Doctor's side, and pulled his head out of the brackish water.

 The Dark One looked as if it was fighting among itself. It shot straight up for about a hundered feet, hovering over the swampy ground.

 The Doctor coughed up a lungful of muddy water and allowed Wil to administer first aid to him for a moment. He looked like he'd aged about ten years in the time that he'd been in the center of the Dark One. "Thank you, Adric," he whispered. His recuperative powers were amazing, and he quickly scrambled to his feet.

 The Doctor ran beneath the Dark One, watching as it slowly drifted toward the ground. It could no longer accurately be called 'The Dark One,' as it was now shot through with lighter energy strands. In some areas, the light fought the dark, while in others coexistance had been acheived. 'The Mottled One' would have been a more accurate name.

 The Doctor turned to face the Mottled One. "This realm is called E-space. The fundamental nature of the universe is reversed here. What was destructive in N-space is creative here. I've released you from your nature. You're free to do whatever you please, and I hope you'll consider becoming a force for good."

 The darker strands pulsed with revenge, and asserted themselves once again. The entire mass, light and dark swooped at the Doctor. It had been weakened, and was still acclimatizing itself to this new reality. It might not even survive the transition, but it knew one thing: if it was going to die, it would take the Doctor with it, whatever the outcome.

 Wil rushed in front of the Doctor, trying to shield him. The Mottled One reacted to Wil as if he was a tennis ball lobbed at a vengeful god. The blow sent him spinning 50 meters away, and if the ground hadn't been waterlogged he probably would have broken his neck.

 The Mottled One engulfed the Doctor again. Its powers were even weaker than it had thought. It couldn't do any physical damage. The Doctor would not be ripped into infinitesimal pieces.

 But it could still inflict pain. Oh yes.

 The Doctor screamed in agony again as the Mottled One set fire to every nerve in his body. "STOP! PLEASE!" The Mottled One continued its onslaught in full force, but strands of doubt began to form in its mind. Was this necessary? Was it right?

 The Doctor's tolerance for pain was nearing exhaustion. With some time to prepare, he might have been able to withstand it. But now even his thoughts were reduced to incoherence. Deep within him, he knew that regeneration was imminent.

 The Mottled One continued. The conflict within it merely inspired those factions still interested in revenge to inflict greater pain on its target.

 *That's all there is. I can't resist any longer. It's been a good life.* A final scream came from the Doctor's mouth as he passed out, wondering who'd be staring back from the mirror when he woke up. If he woke up.

 The conflict within the Mottled One was nearing a critical mass. The energy it was pouring into the Doctor was still undiminished, but it knew that the rest of it wouldn't allow that much longer. But those parts of it that were still the Dark One knew that it had done enough. The Time Lord would never wake up, now.

 The Mottled One was swarming with conflicting impulses. Mercy! Vengeance! Creation! Destruction! Hate! Love! It rose above the stagnant swamp and exploded into a infinity of smaller energy masses, some light, some dark. They all flew off in different directions, most heading upwards, into the new green-tinted universe.

 Wil dragged himself out of the bog into which he'd been thrown, and ran to the Doctor's side. His friend wasn't moving or breathing. Wil didn't know if CPR would work on a Time Lord, but all he could do was try. After about a minute, the Doctor sucked in a breath and snapped his eyes open. He looked so old.

 "What happened? Did I... Am I...? Changed?"

 Wil was confused. The Doctor brought a hand up to eye level and stared for a while, then ran his hand across his face. He smiled and closed his eyes with relief. Laughing, he fell back to the ground.

 As she watched, one of them was sent off toward her, and she took a chance and walked out to greet him.

 "Are you all right, ma'am?" the soldier asked once they were within speaking distance. Peri nodded. "Good. Would you come with me, please?"

 The soldier introduced himself as Weisman, and led Peri toward the grouping of soldiers. As she drew nearer, she realized that they were standing around a body. Morbid curiosity forced her to try to get a better look at it. It was the Abbot. He'd been torn in two, beyond any hope of regeneration.

 Weisman pulled her away from the body, saying "There's no need for you to be looking at that, ma'am." He took her to his superior officer, a woman named Gilbert.

 "I found her near the Tower, sir. I seem to recall her being with the Abbot during our initial strike against the Tower. I imagine she's an ally."

 "Good," Gilbert said. "Ma'am, I don't suppose you'd know how we can get home from here?"

 "How are you feeling?" Laughter might be the best medicine, but Wil felt that a little sincere concern would be better for the time being.

 "Still a little shaky. It helps to be in here. Thank you." The Doctor certainly looked tired.

 "So... what exactly happened out there?" Wil asked.

 "Judo," replied the Doctor. "As I said, that realm was called E-space. Many of the physical laws of the universe are reversed there. Energy that can't be used for any purpose -- destructive energy or entropy -- in our universe can be shunted there where it becomes useful again. And verse vicea."

 The Doctor took another sip of his tea. "Corporeal life forms such as ourselves don't notice the difference for the most part. But the Dark One -- towards the end, at least -- was energy-based. He was also completely enslaved by the very nature of our universe. Coming here gave him a chance for freedom, and restored his sanity long enough for him to realize that there was no need for what he'd been doing."

 "It was still a long shot, though. You could have been killed."

 "I know. The most important thing is that it worked."

 Wil plopped himself into a chair next to the couch. "I have to admit, it was a much smarter plan that any of the ones I had. Most of them involved taunting the Dark One's overly melodramatic villain name in the hopes that he'd die of embarrassment." He let out a huge sigh. "I guess now we've got to go back and mop everything up, huh?"

 The Doctor set his teacup down. "I think we can trust Gallifrey to do that."

 Wil looked confused. "I thought Gallifrey was cut off from the outside world when the Eye of Destruction was harmonized?"

 "'Eye of Harmony was destroyed'" the Doctor corrected. "And even if it was, it's clearly been rectified by now."

 "How do you know?"

 "Well, we're getting power for flight, aren't we? If the Eye had been permanently destroyed, there'd be nothing to power the TARDIS. That *is* where we get all the power to run the old girl." The Doctor rested his head on the pillow behind him. "I'm sure Romana has the situation well in hand." He closed his eyes, clearly deciding to get some sleep.

 Wil stood up and set off for his quarters, stopping when he was halfway to the interior doors. "Doctor?"

 The Doctor opened an eyelid.

 "Did I ever tell you the one about the nun, the punk, and the bus driver?"

 The old Time Lord smiled.

 "Did you...?" Henry started.

 "I.... I don't know..." John replied.

 The pair of them shook off the uneasiness, and tried to return to their debate.

 "What were we talking about?"

 "I think we were probably talking about how crap Sylv was."

 "Yeah."

 Silence for a moment. Both of them opened their mouths to speak, but neither could think of anything to say. More silence.

 "You know what?"

 "What?"

 "Let's go for a walk. I'm tired of arguing."

 "Yeah."

 "My fellow Gallifreyans. Recent events have left us all somewhat confused, and I think it important for us to deal with these events in a frank and open manner.

 "Two days ago, the capital came under attack by a battalion of creatures from Gallifrey's wastelands. These creatures were reminscent of ones from our ancient legends, Balrogs. After a valiant and costly defense by our Chancellory guard, these creatures have been driven off. The Balrogs are no more.

 "During this attack, the ancient shrine of the eternals was destroyed. I am aware of the significance that the shrine has for Gallifrey itself, but rest assured, it will be rebuilt. The shrine was a thing of stone and mortar, and what it represents is not so easily destroyed.

 "The most serious development, however, has been the destruction of the Eye of Harmony. Again, rest assured that our lives are safe. The Eye is not the only source of power for Gallifrey. Our scientists are already hard at work, developing power sources that utilize solar energy, the kinetic motion of Gallifrey itself, and dimensional taps that will more than provide the energy that the Eye provided earlier.

 "But now we come to a decision. Do we replace the Eye? Our only need for it is to power TARDISes, as Gallifrey itself can now be powered by the alternate energy sources. We have no capacity to construct a replacement Eye on our own. Our isolationist tendencies have backfired on us, and now we find that if we desire the capability to travel in time and space once more, we must turn to those cultures we have stringently avoided in the past.

 "I have sent a human, Dorothee McShane, to be our ambassador to cultures that we are aware possess the technological capabilities to construct black holes. In most, if not all of these cases, the price of a new black hole involves opening our borders to these cultures, and ceasing our isolationist tendencies.

 "We are faced with a choice. Permanently cut ourselves off from anything beyond Gallifrey, or accept an openness that we haven't possessed since before the Intuitive Revelation. It is not a light decision. For all my reforms in the past; my invitations to ambassadors of other civilizations, the beginning of a new birthing procedure pioneered by Lady Leela, and my consistent desire to see Gallifrey become less isolated, this is a step that I fear.

 "I believe it is a decision that will have a grave cost, regardless of which route we take. We lose our security on one hand, and any innovation we may have once possessed on the other. But we gain much, also. I encourage debate among the Councillors, and among the people. I have selected which route we will follow, but I would like to hear the voices of the people before my final selection. Good night.

 "My lady, we've just received a distress call from a planet called Kangelis Two. There's a human woman there who's asking assistance in getting a large army home."

 "As soon as the TARDISes are working again, we'll send one to handle it." Romana sighed. "When this is all over," she said to him. "I want to take a brief vacation. Maybe a working one, just a chance to find some sort of low-level temporal anomaly and fix the bloody thing."

 "Yes, Lady President," Dolon replied.

 The Master exited, a little guiltily. He'd only been going for help, he told himself. The Doctor was a lost cause, probably floating about the Time Vortex in tiny pieces by now, and it fell to the Master to find whatever reinforcements he could in order to stop the Dark One.

 If he'd been completely honest with himself, he would have recognized that he'd run away for the simple reason that he'd let his cowardice overwhelm him. Oh well, that's life.

 The first thing to do was find out where and when he was. It seemed a fairly peaceful location, with no hint of the Dark One's influence, so he walked up to the nearest passerby, a Terileptil.

 "Excuse me..." He considered asking for the location and the date, but realized how strange that would make him look. "... but could you tell me where I could buy a newspaper?"

 The Terileptil smiled, and pointed across the street at a vending machine.

 "Thank you."

 Looking both ways, the Master crossed the street, simultaneously searching his pockets for appropriate currency. The closest he came was a 5 credit Galactic Federation note. Probably legal tender in this city, but not useful in a vending machine that accepted only coins.

 "Excuse me, but would you have change for a five?" he asked another passerby, who also happened to be a Terileptil. (Truth be told, there were quite a few Terileptils around.) He received the change, and bought a paper.

 "Terileptus Gazzette: 6/3/01"

 *Something familiar about that date,* he thought, trying to put his finger on it.

 A slight tremor ran through the ground, and the Master suddenly had the urge to run for his TARDIS. By the time he'd crossed the street, the earthquake had worked up to a 10 on the Richter scale. He watched impotently as the building he'd materialized in front of collapsed, burying his TARDIS under tons of fallen rock. Moments later, the adjacent building collapsed, this time burying him.

 Even as the entire planet was torn asunder, he was laughing at the irony of it all.

 That's right. The good force is everything else. The entire universe, comprised of the good force created at the dawn of time. Stars, ice cream sundaes, Dalek blasters, people, air, snow globes, planets -- everything.

 It's all good.

 ********
Epilogue
********

 Wil was asleep in his room. The TARDIS was hovering in the Vortex. Wolsey had crawled onto the Doctor's lap and fallen asleep. Everything should have been fine, and the Doctor considered catching a few winks himself.

 But something still troubled him.

 Being careful not to disturb Wolsey, he stood up and crossed to the center of the console room. On the floor next to the console, a neatly folded T-shirt lay.

 The Doctor picked it up, noting that it probably hadn't even been worn yet. It was a dark green fabric, with "Boston '01 Gay Pride Rally" written across the front.

 "I haven't forgotten you, Sam. I've still got some things to do, but I'll be back."

 Folding the T-shirt up again, he then crossed to the center of the room, where he had allowed the Dark One to swarm all over him. The sword still lay on the ground. He picked it up, cradling it in his arms. It still hummed with the familiar energy he'd come to associate it with, but it seemed somehow brittle now. It would take only a small effort to snap it in two.

 He raised one of his legs, and rested the blade on his knee. He curled a hand around the sword's handle, and placed the palm of his other against the blade's flat side.

 He didn't break it.

 Lowering his foot to the ground, he carried the sword to the couch and lay down. Within a few minutes, he was fast asleep, one hand still holding the sword.

 "Not really." The Doctor was idly poking at the ground with the sword, scratching away some of the more tightly packed dirt so that it was more conducive to growth. "I wanted to ask you something."

 Silence, apart from the buzzing of bees going about the business of pollinating.

 "Back on Alzarius, I passed the limit of pain that I could possibly endure. By all logic, I should have regenerated. Something was holding me back, stopping me from stepping into the abyss."

 The Valeyard looked at his feet.

 "You?"

 "Yes."

 "Why?"

 The Valeyard finally looked up at his earlier self. "Because I don't want to die. I don't want to die any more than you do. I'm tired, but I just can't..." He trailed off.

 The ivy moved around his hands, loosening slightly. "Did I ever tell you why I did it?"

 "Did what?"

 "Put me... you... us -- on trial. Tried to kill us."

 The Doctor considered for a while. "I was under the impression that they were going to give you the rest of my regenerations."

 The Valeyard let out a short, bitter laugh. "There are much easier ways of getting more regenerations. You know that. Do you remember when I... Do you remember taking Peri to visit the French Revolution?"

 The Doctor nodded. "Almost had my head chopped off."

 "Nothing almost about it."

 Silence.

 "They killed us. Chopped our head clean off, something even regeneration can't heal. Peri used the TARDIS to go back in time and change history so we survived." Tears welled up in the Valeyard's eyes. "We're a mistake. We shouldn't exist at all. We're a cosmic accident, that someone needed to erase. To retcon."

 The Doctor was still silent.

 "That's what they asked me to do. Make sure that this alternate timeline -- us -- was nipped in the bud before it could change too much. I couldn't do it. I made sure that he -- the earlier me -- could win. I sacrificed the causality of the entire universe for my own existance." He was openly weeping now.

 The Doctor reached out and hugged him, dropping the sword onto the ground again. The ivy around the Valeyard's hands let go completely.

 The Valeyard continued. "I guess now you can finish the job. Break the sword, and send me to the oblivion I deserve."

 "No."

 "No?"

 "You're a part of me, just as much as any of the others are. I won't just abandon you. I won't cast you out."

 The Valeyard let out a bittersweet laugh. "Thank you. Thank you. But I'm afraid it's not that simple."

 For the first time, the Doctor noticed a third person standing in the rose garden. It was a woman, clothed in black and shrouded in silence, holding a hand toward the Valeyard.

 "I'm afraid I have promises to keep." The Valeyard turned toward the woman. "If I couldn't get you to use the sword, or force you to regenerate, my existance, such as it is, is forfeit."

 "I'm sorry."

 "It's not your fault." He smiled for a moment. "Well, no more than anything I ever did was." He turned again toward the Doctor. "Goodbye." The Valeyard was fading, becoming more transparent every moment.

 The Doctor held him tighter, as if he could hold back death just by the sheer force of his will. The Valeyard broke down one last time, sobbing. "I'm scared. I'm so scared."

 "I'll be with you," the Doctor said, slipping his hand into the Valeyard's. "I'll do whatever I can."

 The Valeyard cried for a few more seconds, took a deep breath, and still holding his earlier incarnation's hand in one hand, reached out for Death with the other. "Thank you."

 Her hand was surprisingly warm.

 Wolsey was asleep on his chest, purring. He stroked the cat and wiped the tears from his eyes.

 FIN