FIC: "Prodigal" (Romana/Braxiatel | PG-13)

[lizbee]

Summary: When Braxiatel takes custody of his disgraced protégée, Romanadvoratrelundar, he becomes embroiled in a conflict of competing ambitions, with the future of Gallifrey at stake.
Rated: PG-13
Characters: Romana, Braxiatel, Vansell, Narvin, Flavia, the unnamed president from "The Apocalypse Element".
Notes: Plays fast and loose with audio canon, on account of how half of it is either contradictory, or just plain doesn't make sense.  In theory, it should make sense even if you aren't familiar with the audios.  Thanks to cesario for the read-through.



Prodigal
by LizBee

"Great Rassilon." 

Braxiatel spoke without thinking, and regretted it at once.

Vansell looked amused.  "You must be the last person on Gallifrey who hasn't heard about Romanadvoratrelundar's regeneration."

Of course he'd heard about it – the gossips of the Capitol had spoken of nothing but Romanadvoratrelundar's forced return to Gallifrey – it was the planet's biggest scandal since the Doctor's trial – and when they had run out of speculation about Time Scoops and CIA-authorised abductions, they had turned their attention to her long absence from Gallifrey and the alleged circumstances of her regeneration.  Braxiatel had dismissed most of the stories as nonsense – now, looking at the vid-screen, beholding his disgraced protégée's new face, her former icy magnificence reduced to something altogether less pleasing, he was aware of the evaporation of hitherto unconscious fantasies. 

And the political consequences of their association were potentially undesirable; he had no love for the Celestial Intervention Agency, but nor did he court their disapproval.  Or, indeed, their attention in any form whatsoever.

"I can't say it will be a pleasant job," Vansell was saying, his eyes on the vid-screen, "but I'm sure you're up to it, Cardinal."

Braxiatel forced himself to smile, and said nothing.

*

"Romanadvoratrelundar.  What have you done to yourself?"

In the stark, greenish light of the CIA cell, she looked positively sickly – unless her complexion was naturally that sallow; it was irrational to resent the new incarnation for existing, but as he entered his second millennium, Braxiatel liked to cultivate the odd irrational tendency – but her eyes brightened as they met his.

"Cardinal Braxiatel."  Her voice was low, her enunciation as precise as he remembered.  "High rank suits you.  Is it a recent promotion?"

"Eighty years?  It seems like more."  He took a few steps into the cell.  "Incarceration, I regret to say, does not become you at all."

"No."  She looked more amused than despondent.  "But practice, as humans say, makes perfect."  She gave him a winning smile, as if she was not imprisoned and restrained and facing potential dispersal.  "Come to break me out?"

"Actually, yes."  He stepped aside, allowing a chancellery guard to pass him.  "The Celestial Intervention Agency has seen fit to release you into my custody—"

"Sent to my tutor like a disobedient student, it's worse than I'd imagined—"

"Provided, of course, that you accept the terms of your parole.  You will not attempt to leave the planet, or step out of this time stream.  You will not attempt to retrieve your ship or communicate with your mobile computer unit, enter the TARDIS berthing bays, or have any contact whatsoever with students – is that everything?  Oh yes, Vansell wishes me to make it clear that unauthorised interaction with members of the High Council, or any prevarication in your compulsory debriefings will be met with a return to the cells.  Is that acceptable?"

Romanadvoratrelundar tilted her head, and for a moment, Braxiatel thought she might be mad enough to decline – then she nodded, and said, "Quite acceptable, yes."

The waiting guard released her from her bonds and stood ready for an escape, but she simply stood for a moment, stretching her spine and rubbing her wrists.

"Well," she said, when she was done, "Cardinal.  I am in your hands."

She went so far as to take his arm as they left the cell block.  The most notorious woman on Gallifrey, and she was walking arm in arm with him – for a second, Braxiatel almost wanted to pull away, but that was beneath him, and in any case, his profile of late had been unfortunately low – any attention might be good attention, politically, and there was a rumour the Lord President had taken an interest—

"By the way," she said, "it's just 'Romana', now."

*

Her urbane façade collapsed as soon as the doors of his apartment closed behind them.

"What's happened to Gallifrey, Cardinal?" she demanded, rounding on him, "I've been held for five days in the CIA cells, Co-ordinator Vansell's threatening me with execution by dispersal – or worse – if I don't confess to whatever crimes he wants to pin on me – a hint would be nice, at the very least—"

"Nothing has happened to Gallifrey," Braxiatel snapped, "it is as it always was – your naivete is disappointing.  Have you forgotten all our sacred laws?  Non-interference, preservation of the time lines, the sanctity of the vortex – and you tried to run, you stupid girl, when you should have accepted the CIA's terms of surrender and come peacefully—"

She sank slowly onto a couch, looking pale and a little hurt.

"I thought – I didn't think—"

"That much was obvious."  He sat down beside her, and put a hand on her shoulder.  "Romana," he said, tasting the truncated name.  "You can't fight the Time Lords, Romana."

She smiled weakly.  "That's what the Doctor said."

"A lesson he would have done well to remember – the blame for this situation can be partially laid at his door—"

"If you're going to go accusing him of 'corrupting' me—"

Braxiatel gaped for a second, for she looked as defiant as a centenarian caught in flagrante with a fellow student; perhaps the association was entirely in his mind, but it was a blow, to imagine even for a moment that, of all people, he had lost Romana to—

"I mean," he said, wrenching his mind back to politics with some difficulty, "that the Doctor has recently faced similar charges himself, and it was only the revelation of the prosecutor's corruption that saved him."

"Corruption," said Romana, "yes, that sums up Gallifrey very nicely.  Corrupt and stagnant – in the grips of social entropy, and the Time Lords are either too close or too culpable to see the problem for themselves."

Her words had an uncomfortable ring of truth, but it was chilling to hear her speak of Time Lords as if she wasn't one herself.

"Vansell's honesty is beyond reproach," Braxiatel said, "he is famously loyal only to Gallifrey and its laws—"

"And his short-sightedness is equally profound."

"Romana," he forced himself to speak gently, "your debriefing will continue tomorrow – you should have a proper meal, rest – perhaps change out of that Earth costume—"

She snorted.

"A bit of pride in your Time Lord heritage might improve your standing with the CIA."

She looked like she wanted to argue, but he was, of course, right.  Romana nodded slowly, and stood up.

"Do you have any food that's not in the form of nutrient cubes?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, "and robes in your size, a private room, and newsfeeds from the years of your absence."

"Homework," she sighed, "now I really know I'm back.  If you feed me, Cardinal, I promise I'll keep a civil tongue, and I'll wear any silly clothes you throw at me—"

"Your attention," he said, smiling in spite of himself, "is all I ask."

*

"There's an Earth drink," said Romana, pushing her plate aside at last, "made from the dried leaves of the Camellia sinensis, infused with hot water.  'Tea', it's called, and there are a stunning number of varieties.  The Doctor was very fond of it, although he liked the strongest, blackest form, and I preferred the more subtle 'green tea'.  I miss it."  Still, she showed no hesitation as she sipped her wine.  "Is he well?" she asked, all innocence.  "The Doctor, I mean."

"I haven't spoken to him for many years," Braxiatel admitted, "but the recent unpleasantness aside, I believe he's quite happy.  Although his current incarnation has demonstrated a regrettable lack of patience, not to mention colour sense—"

"I told him that I'd never come back to Gallifrey."

"You hardly came willingly."  Braxiatel hesitated.  "Why did you try to run, Romana?"

For a second, he thought she wasn't going to answer.  Then she sighed, and said, "My ship was dying.  It was never designed for N-space, and the trip through the gateway destabilised its systems – I thought, if I could make one more jump, find a secluded planet where I could settle for a few centuries and do some good – but I hadn't reckoned on the CIA."  She looked away.  "Do you know where my ship is?" she asked.

"In the hands of Vansell's technicians, I should imagine, along with your mobile computer," said Braxiatel, trying to keep the disapproval out of his voice.  "So it's true?  You built a timeship?"

"Not precisely with my own bare hands," said Romana, "but yes.  By combining the principles of a TARDIS with the Tharils' gateway technology – oh, you should have seen us, we were magnificent.  The ship, K9, and me."  Her gaze was distant, so Braxiatel had time to compose his features, to hide his horror.  No wonder the CIA wanted her, if she was willing to introduce a hybrid monstrosity into the vortex – it had been a mistake, accepting charge of this prisoner, taking her into his home – publicly acknowledging their association – not even the Doctor would go so far.

But all he said was, "You've been away a long time, Romanadvoratrelundar.  Perhaps we should look at the key points of temporal law, to refresh your memory before you see Vansell again."

Her smile told him that she knew he didn't approve, and didn't care.  It was a smile he'd seen – oh, a few times before, on the faces of the most brilliant and arrogant students, the ones who saw themselves ruling Gallifrey and the cosmos before they had even graduated.  Most came to their senses, in time, the rest – well, Gallifrey had its renegades, and if Romana escaped the dispersal chamber, it might be for the best if she left again – disgraced and stripped of her name, yes, but still alive, at least – executing her would be akin to destroying a rare work of art.  Unthinkable.  Unbearable. 

"You're staring, Cardinal."

"I was thinking," he told her, "that you were the most promising young Time Lord I'd ever known when you left Gallifrey.  And now – well, as a warning to students who think it would be fine and amusing to spend a few decades in the company as a renegade, you'll serve nicely."

"Anything," she said, "to serve Gallifrey."  Romana stood up.  "I'm not in the mood for newsfeeds and ancient and worshipful laws, Cardinal.  I'm going to bed."

He watched her walk away, admiring – yes, dammit, admiring the straightness of her spine and the arrogant tilt of her head – she was still the brilliant girl he'd moulded from childhood, and if she chose to squander her early promise – like an artist he'd known once, who never achieved his early potential – he still regretted that he'd not had the courage to interfere, just a nudge in the key formative years, and the man might have flourished—

Such a course of action was impossible on Gallifrey; he could only hope that Romana might see reason, that the Celestial Intervention Agency might be lenient, and that he, himself, would recognise that key moment when it came.

*

One of the consequences of having Romana in his custody was that he, too, was subject to the attentions of the CIA.  Not that Braxiatel rated the scrutiny of Vansell himself – he was, instead, confined to the smaller office of the Deputy Co-ordinator, a petty bureaucrat by the name of Narvin.

"Is this really necessary?" Braxiatel asked as the interview stretched into its second hour.  "I still have duties of my own, you know—"

"One more time, Cardinal," said Narvin.  "Did Romanadvoratrelundar express any intention to leave Gallifrey?"

"No."

"But she did admit to an intent to interfere in the history of lower species."

"She mentioned in passing a desire to settle and 'do good'.  But for all I know, she meant growing orchids and making rustic jewellery."

Narvin looked unimpressed.  "Why are you defending her?"

A question Braxiatel had already asked himself, and he wasn't certain of the answer.

"You CIA types seem to have drawn your conclusions all ready," he said easily.  "Someone ought to tip the balance a little.  What have you done with her ship?"

"It's in the Anomaly Vault.  Safely away from the TARDIS bays – and gawking students.  I understand she's become something of a folk hero to the undergraduates."

"I hadn't noticed," Braxiatel lied.  On his way to this meeting, he had been accosted by a trio of giggling students, none of them more than forty, all keen to know if he had really taught the Lady Romana, if the stories were true, if leonine mystics had really taught her how to travel through the vortex without a TARDIS—

"She visited the Nekkistani Homeworld, you know, before she was apprehended.  She intended to visit the Monans.  Exposing that – abomination of a vessel to our enemies—"

"Not enemies, surely," Braxiatel said.

"Rivals, then."

Narvin looked like he was on the verge of saying more, but he was interrupted by a call, signalling the end of the interview. 

Braxiatel made his exit with some relief, but even Narvin was almost preferable to the woman who fell into step beside him.

"Lord Braxiatel," said Chancellor Flavia, "what a pleasant surprise."

Neither pleasant, nor wholly surprising as far as he was concerned, but he gave her a gracious smile and said something gallant, waiting for Flavia's next move.  If he ever managed to figure out why she had resigned the presidency and resumed the chancellorship, then perhaps he might be able to regard Flavia as anything other than a talented amateur.  She had been a scrupulous and unremarkable president – had resigned the post and named an even duller old stick as her replacement – had she no ambition, or was the post of chancellor even more powerful than Braxiatel had realised?  Or was Flavia simply as tedious and stolid as she seemed?

"How,” she asked, "is Romanadvoratrelundar?"

"Obstreperous," he said.  "She'll be lucky if Vansell doesn't have her dispersed simply because he's tired of arguing with her."

"He won't," said Flavia.  "I understand that he's severely restricted her freedom of association, though."

"He feels she's becoming a – what was the phrase Narvin used?  A folk hero to the impressionable and young."

"And the not-so-young."

"Of course, the ship is damning—the sanctity of the vortex—"

"The Lord President wishes to meet the Lady Romana," Flavia said.  The use of the truncated form of the name was – no, she couldn't possibly sympathise with Romana.  "Can you arrange it?"

"Vansell—"

"Vansell takes too many liberties with the constitution.  Choose a time and place."

Flavia swept away, leaving Braxiatel floundering her in her wake.  For a moment he merely gaped after her – then he made up his mind.

"Wait," he called, and Flavia smiled as she turned around.

*

Returning to his apartment that evening, he found that Romana had beaten him home.  She was in the sitting room, kneeling serenely in the centre of a mound of data-disks, plastic flimsies, even magnetic tapes and paper records.

"What," said Braxiatel, "are you doing?"

"Searching for the key point when our society entered a state of entropic decay," she answered without looking up.  "A – challenge, if you like, from Vansell.  I've been at it for hours."  She leaned back, rubbing her eyes, looking like the student she'd been so many years ago.

"Have you eaten?"

"Oh," she said, and the impression was complete, "no, I lost track – I am rather hungry, as a matter of fact—"

She discussed her research over the meal, digressing to critique CIA 'initiatives'.

"—Sending the Doctor to Skaro, for example, what rubbish, as if he, of all of us, was capable of genocide – we're lucky the Daleks haven't retaliated, it amounts to an act of war—"

"The CIA would no doubt claim it was an unauthorised venture."

"Oh yes, that would placate the Daleks – do you know how I attracted the CIA's attention in the first place?  I saved two of Vansell's spooks from a Nekkistani execution squad.  They were caught trying to undermine the evolution of time technology – that was an 'unauthorised venture', too, but I notice that toady Narvin has been promoted—"

"Narvin?"

"Oh, yes, he was running it.  And he arrested me personally when they finally caught up with me –  a pathetic little man with a grudge, that's all he is."

"Did you say as much to Vansell?"

"Not in as many words."  Romana toyed with her fork.  "I wish he'd hurry up and sign the execution order.  He has more than enough evidence—"

She sounded unmoved at the prospect of her death – unless, of course, she had some kind of escape plan.

On the whole, he didn't want to know.

Braxiatel stood up, holding out his hand.

"Come," he said.  "You and I have a meeting."

*

The Lord High President waited for them before the Untempered Schism.  The flickering light of the vortex cast his face into odd shadows, making him look almost noble, even wise.

"Lady Romanadvoratrelundar," he said, "it is a pleasure to meet you at last."

"My Lord President," Romana murmured.

He took her hand, leading her closer to the Schism.  Braxiatel wanted to follow, but a firm hand on his shoulder prevented him.

"He wants privacy, Cardinal," said Flavia.

"To say what?"

She didn't answer, instead saying, "Romanadvoratrelundar must be highly intelligent, to have built that ship."

"Graduated with a Triple First."

"Of course, lots of Time Lords are intelligent – it's the ability to apply it, the desire to even try – the curiosity—"

"All traits Romana possesses in abundance.  I only wish she had the common sense of a flutterwing – her political naivete—"

"—Is refreshing, and she can be taught better."

"I haven't managed it."

"You haven't yet given her a good reason to learn."

*

Romana was quiet as they returned to Braxiatel's apartment, and gave only vague answers to his questions.  Inside, she sank to her haunches in the midst of her pile of data.  Braxiatel sat on the sofa behind her.

"Cardinal," she said, "what were the consequences of your stepmother's disappearance?"

He stiffened.  "You'd do better to ask my brother."

"I meant politically, and he was too young.  Even if he'd answer me."

"I was young, too."

Romana's smile was mischievous.  "If you say so," she said.

"Is that your theory, then, that her disappearance—"

"I think it's one of a dozen key turning points in our history – one of the most recent."  She scowled, leaning backwards so that she was resting against his sofa, her head almost on Braxiatel's knee.  "It's a purely academic exercise, of course.  What else would it be, on this damn planet?  I'd rather find a strategy for redirecting our future.  The Lord President said—"

She was still talking, but he wasn't listening: suddenly, Braxiatel could see it, his own focal point, his own strategy for the future.  If only they could out-manoeuvre the CIA—

She still had that potential, the depths of her brilliance were as yet untapped – and this was a new field for her, she would need a guide, a mentor, they could navigate unfamiliar waters together—

She would be a conduit for so much power.

His breath tight in his throat, he reached for her – his hand hesitated over her shoulder, on the verge of pulling away.

"I don't think I've told you," Romana said, turning to face him and rising to her knees, "how grateful I am for your hospitality and support—"

His fingers grazed her neck and jaw, his thumb brushed against her lips – they parted, for a second his world was reduced to tongue and teeth and breath on skin—

"Am I importunate?" he asked.

She reached out, drew him down to kiss her.

"Not at all," she whispered.

*

It was still dark when he woke, and for a few seconds he simply lay, dazed, listening to Romana breathing.  Then he realised what had woken him: a soft, almost subliminal beeping coming from the outer room.

"The timing," he told his older self, "is terrible."

"I know."  But the future Braxiatel looked unrepentant, almost proud.  He wore full ceremonial robes in bright Prydonian colours.  "You've figured it out, yes?  You've just spent the night with the next president of Gallifrey."  There was a flicker of regret in his eye – so odd, to see that expression on one's own face, and he dared not ask, or even speculate – Braxiatel's mind caught up with his ears.

"You're certain?"

"I came straight from the inauguration.  Now, listen—"

"How long?"

"Unimportant.  She's going to be faced with a choice – you must ensure she makes the right decision."

"Meaning?"

The older Braxiatel ignored him.  "Be careful.  If she realises she's being manipulated—"

"I know."

"You have no idea.  It only gets more difficult from here." He paused, as if hesitating over his next words, and merely muttered, "the right choice – the presidency – for Gallifrey.  Make sure of it."

The connection flickered and died.  Braxiatel drew a long, shaky breath.  To go from the birth of an idea, to certainty – for his future self to risk a paradox—

He returned to his room, pausing in the threshold to admire the way Romana's limbs gleamed in the dim light of the first sunrise.  She stirred.

"Were you talking to someone?" she asked.

Braxiatel sat down, raised her hand to his lips.  "Only myself," he said.  "Go back to sleep."

*

"Oh, now this is going too far—"

Vansell ignored Braxiatel's remonstrance.  He had swept into Braxiatel's office unannounced, jaw set, eyes ablaze with fury, and now he was looming over the desk.

"Where has she taken it?" he demanded.

Braxiatel blinked.  "Taken what?"  No need to fake surprise – if Romana had pulled some ridiculous stunt – an escape attempt—

"The robot dog," Vansell snapped.  "The mobile computer she calls 'K9' has disappeared from the CIA laboratory.  Now," his voice dropped to a whisper, "where has she taken it?"

"My dear Co-ordinator, I couldn't tell you.  If Romana has been planning anything, she certainly hasn't confided in me—"

"She hasn't left the interrogation room all day.  She must have had an accomplice."

Braxiatel leaned back.  "Have you made enquiries among the guards?" he asked, "young people, you know, are easily bored and swayed by the promise of adventure, a bit of rebellion—"

Vansell made a disgusted noise and walked away.

*

"I had nothing to do with it, Brax," Romana said that evening.  "I didn't even know where K9 was – and I had no way of getting to the labs, or making contact with anyone there.  Since I returned to Gallifrey, I've spoken only to Vansell, Narvin, the Lord President, and you."  Her voice cracked.  "This is one of Vansell's mind games – keep me from getting too cosy – oh, I hope K9 is all right..."

"I'm sure it's – he's safe and in good condition," said Braxiatel.  "Are you—?"

"I'm fine," said Romana, "just worried."  She drew her knees up to her chest.  "I thought I'd be going back to the cells."

"I vouched for you."  He toyed with her hair, fingers brushing against the back of her neck.  She shivered.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Still," his hand traced her collarbone and drifted slowly downwards, "we should postpone your meeting with the Lord President tonight—"

"Oh, no," she turned to face him, "he particularly wanted to see me tonight, it's a month until the Feast of Rassilon, and he said—"

"It's not safe," Braxiatel hissed.

Romana stiffened, pulling away.  "Stay here, then," she said coolly.  "I'll go by myself, I'm not afraid."

"Have you no sense of self-preservation at all?"

"I've been living under a death sentence, Brax," she snapped.  "This is hardly a normal situation!  And the Lord President is helping me, which is more than you can or will do—"

"I—"

"I understand," she said, and now she was almost gentle, "it's political – I'm a liability, and you're not so well-established yet that you can afford to help me.  Like you said, I can't fight the Time Lords – but the Lord President can, and he's willing to do that for me."

"Why?" Braxiatel demanded.

Romana shook her head.  "I can't tell you that," she said.  "Not yet.  I still don't even know – well, we'll see how it pans out."  She reached for her clothes.  "You're welcome to come with me," she said, pulling her robes over her head.  "I'd welcome your company."

*

She held his hand as they made their way out of the Citadel.  Romana's face was concealed by her cloak, but her fingers were right in his, and he could feel her pulses beating rapidly beneath her skin.

For a moment, Braxiatel was overcome by an urge to promise – oh, all sorts of things, his protection and loyalty, fidelity, even honesty – but that wasn't his way, and she knew it, and he needed his future president to trust him.

They approached the Untempered Schism in silence.  The Lord President waited for them, Chancellor Flavia at his side.

"My dear," he said to Romana, "I have something for you."

He looked into the shadows and, with the air of a boy performing a new trick, whistled.

There was a faint mechanical hum, and movement, and Romana cried, "Oh, K9!"

"Oh, for Omega's sake," Braxiatel said.

"Greetings, Mistress," said K9.

"Liberating him from the CIA was no easy task," said Flavia.

"Thank you – K9, are you all right?  I was so worried – are you in contact with the ship?"

"All systems fully operational, Mistress, however, the ship is out of range."

"This," said Braxiatel, "is ridiculous."

"He's my dog," snapped Romana.

Without care for politics or consequences, Braxiatel rounded on the Lord President.

"Have you any appreciation of the danger you've put her in?" he demanded.  "When Vansell finds out about this, he'll have her vapourised, and then what—"

The President looked amused rather than outraged at Braxiatel's bluntness.  "Co-ordinator Vansell has no intention of executing Romana," he said.

Footsteps approached behind them.

"It certainly wasn't part of my plan," Vansell said, "but the option is beginning to look more attractive."

Narvin moved forward.

"Romanadvoratrelundar, I am arresting you on a charge of—"

"Oh, stop that, Narvin," said Vansell.  Narvin looked outraged.

"You've overstepped your boundaries, Co-ordinator," said Flavia coldly.

"Tradition has always allowed me a certain latitude—"

"Please," said the President, "don't try to cite tradition in this case.  For once, Co-ordinator, let us be open in our intentions.  I want Romana to follow me in the presidency – you want to recruit her for the CIA."

"What?" said Braxiatel.

"What?" said Narvin.

"I see," said Romana.  She was regarding Vansell as if he were a particularly primitive lifeform – but her voice was thoughtful.

"Do you?" he asked.  "As a CIA operative, you'd have more freedom than any other Time Lord.  Complete access to the panatropic net – travel – research—"

"You want to make me a guardian of the status quo."

"Is that what you think we are?  We know when to preserve the time lines – and when to give them a nudge.  Didn't you say you wanted to – what was the phrase?  'Do good'?"  All Vansell's carefully laid plans were unravelling, Braxiatel realised, and was not how he'd intended the recruitment to go.    "Given time – to learn and advance – I don't think you realise how much power the co-ordinator of the CIA holds.  Not merely on Gallifrey, but in the universe—"

Narvin swallowed, his face slack with shock.  Well, thought Braxiatel, the poor man was being usurped – in public, no less.

"Co-ordinator," said Narvin, but Vansell interrupted.

"She has imagination.  Vision.  Experience—"

"She's a loose cannon," said Narvin, "an unpredictable element."

"Yes," said the Lord President, "precisely."

Romana moved to a nearby rock formation and sat down slowly.

"From persona non grata to the flavour of the moment," she breathed, "it's rather dizzying."

"You don't need to make a decision immediately," said the Lord President.

"No.  Of course not."  She gathered her cloak around her.  "Co-ordinator," she said, "am I still under arrest?"

"There's hardly any point, now."

"Good.  I have a favour to ask."

"Let's not get carried away."

"I want you to release my ship from the Anomaly Vault," she said, "and let me be with it as it dies."  She stood up, her hands twisting around each other.  "Please."

Vansell hesitated, glancing at the Lord President, who nodded.

"Very well," he said at last, "Deputy Co-ordinator—"

"Sir, I really must protest—"

"No, that is precisely what you must not do.  Release the ship, Narvin."

As he gave the order, a look of hatred on Narvin's face, the Lord President leaned towards Braxiatel and said quietly, "At last, Cardinal, I know what you'll fight for.  I may have underestimated you."

He nodded to Flavia, and the two of them walked away, towards the Capitol, leaving Braxiatel and Romana alone with the Celestial Intervention Agency.

"Come with me," said Vansell.

*

The ship was not quite spherical, standing a little taller than Braxiatel and shimmering in the pre-dawn light.  It was not quite stone, and not quite organic – he rested his hand on the outer shell, and found it warm.

The entrance opened at Romana's touch.  Braxiatel followed her inside, uninvited.

"My ship," said Romana with a crooked smile.

"It's lovely."

And it was: a vast, white chamber that seemed to stretch out to a distant horizon.  Six stone colonnades – all ancient and crumbling – stood in a circle around the central console, which looked like a crude copy of a TARDIS, in wood and stone.

Romana rested her hands on the console.  "K9," she said, "establish a link with the ship's memory systems.  Copy them over to yours."

"Affirmative, Mistress."

To Braxiatel she said, "The gateway technology is breaking down.  Those colonnades were on the horizon when the ship was born – the reality intersection is decaying.  Shrinking."

"I'm sorry, Romana."

"I never intended to create a lifeform – it was an experiment, that's all, combining Tharil concepts with Time Lord theories.  I should never have taken the ship out of E-space – but it was so eager to see more – we understood the risks—" she looked away, and Braxiatel pretended he couldn't see her wiping her eyes. "I know that Gallifrey would see this as an abomination – a perversion of our technology and the damn heritage of Rassilon – but I – but we—"

He put his arms around her and held her tightly against him; for a moment she tried to pull away, then her resistance crumbled, and she began to cry.

It was a brief storm, painful for its intensity, but quickly over, and she dried her eyes and pushed her hair out of her face and said, "What should I do, Brax?"

He had imagined that it would be difficult, recognising the moment of her choice.  He didn't realise she'd come to him, that she'd lay it in his hands.

With difficulty he said, "You should do what's best for Gallifrey."

"The CIA is a powerful organisation – if I were part of it—"

"Changing it from within?"  He gave her a sceptical look.  She flushed.

"I suppose it is faintly ridiculous," she said.

"You'd have an enemy in Narvin."

"Vansell is a powerful ally."

"Yes, but," Braxiatel reached for her, drawing her closer, "do you really want to trust him?"

"Only," she said with a flicker of a smile, "as far as I can throw him."  She was tracing the line of his jaw, his mouth, his ear, she was kissing him, her hands on the back of his neck, in his hair.

"Of course," he whispered when they had parted, "matters of recruitment aside, his loyalty to the presidency is absolute.  As is Narvin's."

"And as president," Romana said, "the fate of Gallifrey would be in my hands."

But she looked hesitant, wary.  He would have to teach her not to fear power. 

"You could," Braxiatel said, "reverse the entropy – open Gallifrey – end our isolation—"

"I'd be deposed in a month," she said, but she was beginning to smile. 

"Think about it," he said, "that's all."

"Yes, of course."  She pulled away from him.  "I need to be alone," she said, running her hand over a colonnade.  "Please."

He'd done all he could, he told himself as he left her.  It was up to Romana, now, let the pieces fall where they will.

*

He cancelled the day's appointments and slept, although his rest was unsatisfying and his dreams disturbing.  The Citadel in ruins – exile – a darkness that stalked Romana and lived in his own mind – oblivion, the end of Gallifrey, the end of everything.

Braxiatel woke with a start.  It was night – he had slept for fourteen hours.  He lay flat on his back, remembering the dreams.  Popular legend had it that contact with one's future selves infected the subconscious with forbidden knowledge, but that was absurd.  They were just dreams, nothing more.

There was a noise in the outer room.  Another message from the future?  No, footsteps.  Romana appeared in the doorway of his bedroom.

"I've made my decision," she said.

He sat up, reaching for her, but she stayed where she was.

"I'm going to accept the President's offer."

His sigh was – not quite relief.

"Vansell will be most unhappy," he said.

"He is.  I just told him." 

It was probably just his imagination that imbued her presence with a new aura of power.  She looked tired, but happy, and perhaps a little afraid. 

"The thing is," Romana said, "I need allies – advisers – a mentor, if you will.  I know I've got a lot to learn—"

"It is always a pleasure to teach you, Romana," he said.

"But – you see – I need someone I can trust to be dispassionate – who won't let me stagnate through – affection, or a desire to see me unchanged."  She raked her hand through her hair.  "That's why I left the Doctor, you see.  That's why I can't be your lover any longer.  I can't leave myself open to that ... manipulation."

"Do you really think—"

"Braxiatel," she said, her voice steely, "don't.  You insult both of us."

To fill the silence that followed, he said, "You will do very well."

"Thank you."  She smiled.  "And it was pleasant – more than pleasant – to think I might have a normal life and a normal love on Gallifrey.  Being with you, it was what I think I wanted, before the White Guardian took me away.  But that version of myself is gone – and I have new ambitions, now."

This time, he let the silence lie.

"Well," she said at last, "the Lord President will be announcing my candidacy for the High Council tomorrow.  I should get some rest.  I have my own apartment, now, in the Upper Cloisters.  I should go."

"Romana," he called as she left, "I am very proud of you."

She turned back, and she was smiling.

"That's all I want," she said.

 

end

Comments

[biichan.livejournal.com]

Wow. This is just... wow.

I approve.

[lizbee.livejournal.com]

*beams*

Their love is pure and true and not at all creepy or inappropriate, y/y?

[biichan.livejournal.com]

It's BOATH. That is the glory of it.

[purple-smurf.livejournal.com]

This is my canon now. Just so you know. I refuse to believe this isn't what happened.

[lizbee.livejournal.com]

It's my canon, too, so I've no complaints.

[skywaterblue.livejournal.com]

I enjoyed this. (She would have been great as CIA.)

[lizbee.livejournal.com]

Thanks (It would have broken Narvin's hearts.)

[prof-pangaea.livejournal.com]

this is absolutely perfect. i mean that quite seriously.

also: BRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAXXXXXXXX!!!!!!!

ahem. but yes. this is canon for sure.

also:

[prof-pangaea.livejournal.com]

But she looked hesitant, wary. He would have to teach her not to fear power.

oops. *future brax facepalms*

Re: also:

[lizbee.livejournal.com]

Yes, quite. WAY TO GO THERE, DUDE.

[lizbee.livejournal.com]

HURRAY PERFECTION!

*is pleased*

BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAX

(I have spent a week in his head, and now I would like to clean my brain out, please.)

[cesario.livejournal.com]

oh, you ended it very well. that's sort of the essence of the entire pedagogical eros genre isn't it?

[lizbee.livejournal.com]

*bows* I hadn't consciously set out to write a definitive pedagogical eros story, but apparently I've done it -- for myself, anyway.

[fyrdrakken]

I haven't heard the audios, and only know little bits about what goes on in them, so I'm not qualified to evaluate this to the full extent of its exploration beyond the canon. But it's a fascinating idea, that Romana had a chance to take a path that might not have led to the Time War, or might have otherwise avoided the destruction of Gallifrey. And also I liked the little bit about contact with future selves affecting the subconscious -- all the more eerie in that the future!Brax hadn't yet seen the consquences of Romana becoming President...

[lizbee.livejournal.com]

Why thank you!

I don't think a different choice would have averted the Time War, because those events were set in motion before Romana ever left Gallifrey -- but the outcome might have been different. On the other hand, as President, Romana was determined that Gallifrey would be able to defend itself, so maybe they simply would have lost the war faster.

I don't know, and I can't decide, but I like toying with the possibilities.

[jinxed-wood.livejournal.com]

Wonderful stuff; I really enjoyed this!

[lizbee.livejournal.com]

Thanks!

[bewarethespork.livejournal.com]

<3! I don't know much Gallifrey canon, but still understood - and absolutely loved - this.