[ Ideally, of course, things turn out far differently when they've fixed everything here. People go home if they want to, or they stay here, and the Doctor helps everyone get where they most want to be going when he's reunited with his TARDIS. Nothing matters more to him than the people here being safe and for their party of wayward travelers, the ones he loves most, to be happy and okay. He needs them all to be okay.
And then she says it — It's okay. She reaches for him, and he looks down to study their intertwined hands as though there were something miraculous about it. Perhaps there is. Whatever mechanism brought them all here, they are all here together, at this exact moment in this precise instant of time, for a purpose. They may leave and they may not remember and he loathes the thought of it all, but life keeps going and going. And Red's hand is bigger than he remembers because she grew, she changed, she lived. There was some good in that life, he can see it in her eyes. The good and the bad, the turning and the great unknowing and beauty of life with all its pain and joy alike. She had that, she got to have that, and he's grateful. It's hard to let go of the thought that Hades might steal it all away from her, but her words echo again — it's okay.
It's not, it's not, it's not, he wants to insist otherwise. He can't relinquish the idea of hope, he can't let go. But here, they are two ancient creatures tethered together, connected by what they understand about each other, and learning as they go. If you could remember — he could, he has to believe. And maybe that's enough for now.
Sometimes, all they really get in the end is time. Moments, like this one. Something he's still trying to grasp and learn to accept because nothing else is guaranteed.
He squeezes her hand tightly, grateful for the anchor. ]
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And then she says it — It's okay. She reaches for him, and he looks down to study their intertwined hands as though there were something miraculous about it. Perhaps there is. Whatever mechanism brought them all here, they are all here together, at this exact moment in this precise instant of time, for a purpose. They may leave and they may not remember and he loathes the thought of it all, but life keeps going and going. And Red's hand is bigger than he remembers because she grew, she changed, she lived. There was some good in that life, he can see it in her eyes. The good and the bad, the turning and the great unknowing and beauty of life with all its pain and joy alike. She had that, she got to have that, and he's grateful. It's hard to let go of the thought that Hades might steal it all away from her, but her words echo again — it's okay.
It's not, it's not, it's not, he wants to insist otherwise. He can't relinquish the idea of hope, he can't let go. But here, they are two ancient creatures tethered together, connected by what they understand about each other, and learning as they go. If you could remember — he could, he has to believe. And maybe that's enough for now.
Sometimes, all they really get in the end is time. Moments, like this one. Something he's still trying to grasp and learn to accept because nothing else is guaranteed.
He squeezes her hand tightly, grateful for the anchor. ]
I believe you.
[ That's for so many things. ]