It's A Thankless Job

A new day just passed over the horizons of Gallifrey, leaving behind twilight of death and bloodshed. While those lucky few made time to sleep, the ones with duties were up throughout the night. Time Lords hardly needed sleep, their bodies could rely much heavy things on their bodies and minds. Sleep to them was more of a time to renew their vigor and expel all worries for a few hours. Yet, Romana, the Lady President and Mistress of the Nine Gallifreys, hardly slept. There was no time and hardly any patience in her DNA to sleep. Humans would call her an insomniac and would probably think that weeks of no sleep would kill her. The time wasted on sleep was pathetic and more spent on working and strategizing.

Days went by blurs; weeks ran like lions, months spun out of her conscious like tornados, and years just felt like drops of water into a vast ocean. Romana spent many days (or weeks) behind her fine and highly sought out Presidential desk in her presidential office suite. The only time she was away from the safety of her office was to hold weekly meetings with her generals, hear Councilor’s worries and annoyances, and discussing political natures with Leela and Irving Braxiatal. Leaving no time to her private life.

Romana was currently going over the proposal that took decades to create. It was a proposed treaty between the Time Lords and the Sontarans. Those beasts of war had been long since banned from the Time War. They were Spartans of the stars, only wanting to fight and kill. It was took much a risk to have them in the war, if they decided to side over to whatever side was winning. Yet, their fierce nature would make great use of warriors. This treaty would contract them onto the side of the Time Lords and ensure that the alien race would not betray them for the Daleks.

What Romana feared as the end result of this treaty; once and if the Daleks were at once defeated, what would stop the Sontarans from simply backstabbing the already weaken Time Lords?

A knock echo off her door, startling the Lady President as her green eyes went wide with both surprise and cautiousness. The guards station at her doors never knocked, they always came in. unless they were not station at their post (to which she would put them on the front lines as punishment). Romana moved from her desk towards the double doors, high heel boots crushing into the rusty red carpet.

“State your name and purpose,” a cool voice slide out of her lips. Behind the calm was a calculating and very cautious Time Lady. Some might see it was anger or coldness but Romana rather not have her life or more importantly, her post taken from the likes of an assassin.

“You know me, Fred.” A male voice seemed too loud to be behind one door. It sounded too close, too near to her. “It’s the Doctor.”

Of course, the one Time Lord who manage to keep himself away from her cold grasp. Any other president might have force him on Gallifrey during a great war but Romana knew better than keep him chain down. He was better as a general who had no battle field.

Romana pried the door free from it’s lock, letting in her once and dearest friend. Blue eyes twinkle with centuries of mirth and hardships at her. Curly and unruly hair framed his almost boyish and young face. The Doctor looked like he just exited from the tomes of a Victorian novel. A smile, a rare sight nowadays on Gallifrey, graced his features at her. Romana respond only by letting him past.

When he made a move to embrace her, Romana moved to close the door aware of the frown that befallen him. “What do you need, Doctor?” the black haired Time Lady looked back at him. Every second spent dallying on some inane thing was less time spent on winning this war.

“I came here to see you,” the Doctor spoke like it was obvious. “Oh and wish you Happy Birthday. It is not every day that a Time lady turns 400, well…unless you go back and steal a piece of cake.”

“Happy Birthday…?” Words like that felt foreign on her tongue.

With a beat of hesitation, the Doctor slipped his hand into the inner pocket of his blue velvet jacket. A silver and red wrapped square eased it away of the tiny pocket. “A gift for you,” he smiled, handing the woman the package.

Her name in High Gallfreyian with the masculine pet name in English beneath it was on a tag near the red bow. With a slip of her finger, she pulled the thick paper away, revealing it’s contents. Romana held a journal, bounded with leather from the flesh of an Earth cow. The dark flesh crackled with time, probably dug up from an ancient field site. Or probably just thrown into the Doctor’s extra dimensional pocket and forgotten. In gold print the words ‘400 year old Diary’ gleamed in the light from the ceiling. A seal of Rassilon burned into the flesh itself, rising it edges up from the leather. Flecks of gold outline this seal.

“Oh…thank you,” she said before flicking the journal onto the Victorian loveseat against one of her walls. The journal bounced before hitting the hard cushions, the spine cracking as the book opened.

The Doctor raced toward the book, picking it up like a baby from it’s crib. He smoothed his hand over the cover, seeing Romana walk towards the bar across the room. Romana pulled a crystal sphere from her large cabinet of alcohol, brimming with the finest whiskey. From Earthian vodka to even what Thralls called wine grace her collection. She poured an unhealthy amount of whiskey into a gold inline crystal goblet.

“You need to be more careful with your belongings, Romana, especially gifts.” The Doctor was obviously hurt by her careless move.

Knocking back a heavy amount of whiskey, Romana let the burn be aflame in her throat for moments before she spoke. “I have no use for birthdays or journals,” she replaced the amount she had drunk into the goblet. “Both remind me of the failure I have become.”

Quick footsteps joined her in a flash; surprisingly strong hands gripped her shoulders and spun her around like a wheel. Splashes of whiskey tumbled out onto her carpets and the Doctor’s jacket. The former cared both about the stain rather the Doctor’s concern eyes.

“You are not a failure, Fred, I know you better than anyone else. You are brilliant, always have and always will,” the Doctor offered very kind and reassuring words. For someone who believed him that is.

“I have been on my seat as President for nearly one hundred and twenty years and still we have no edge to winning this War. If there was someone else in my place with that kind of time, no doubt we would be halfway over.” The cold edge to it made Doctor shudder, Romana feeling it under the hands gripping her arms. Gone was the clever and bright, both in appearance and attitude, Time Lady that the Doctor knew. Both of them knew that.

The Doctor pulled his hands away and moved them against the pale white cheeks of her face. Black hair teased his soft hands as some strands had escape the bun she had put in days ago. “Romana, come with me. One adventure, with me. We can take K-9 and go…we can go to Paris again. You always liked it there. We can even see the Mona Lisa and I wouldn’t hold your critiques of it against you again,” the old Time Lord whisper, holding back his pleading and begging from escaping. “We can even go see Leonardo DaVinci himself if you want or Van Gogh, I know you like him at least. Anywhere you want to go, just come with me.”

Decades ago Romana would have taken up that offer in two heartbeats. Her blond form would smile and take his hand and ran for miles to his TARDIS if she could. To go back on his grand ship, one of the kind TARDIS, with him and K-9 was a blessing and a dream. But dreams must end.

“No, I can’t go with you, Doctor,” Romana whispered back at him. “Besides, my K-9 is long dead. The only one left is Leela’s and he is still need of repair.”

With a heavy sigh, the older Time Lord pulled away from her. Romana still felt the tingly of his warmth spreading into her cold skin. Hours could have passed and still they both were silent, standing there like stone statues. “Alright,” he stood up, staring straight into her green eyes. “Once this War is over, finally over, we will go to Barcelona. Our Barcelona. I promise you, Romanadvoratrelundar, I will go there every year, every century until I see you again.” His words were strong and despite her willingness to keep them at bay, his words stung her hearts and filled them with his promise.

Without a moment for her response, the Doctor walked toward the door. Her eyes followed each of his step with amazement and an emotion that she locked away for years. He opened the door, an all too familiar smile that was reserved only for her beamed at her. “I can’t wait to see what you have written, my Fred.”

And then he was gone. She watched the door, expecting him to come back. Moisture soaked into her toes, pulling her away from her dream state. Her whiskey had fallen from her glass and now making her carpet a murky brown. She swore, rushing to her desk. Romana picked up a device to call in her personal servants to clean when she noticed the journal on her desk. Gold trimmed pages shone brightly under her desk lamp. Romana picked it up, turning it’s pages in wonder. All of them blank, just waiting for her ink to spread on it’s parchment.

“Barcelona,” she whispered, picking up the nearest pen and dipped it in ink and forgotten bout the stain as soon as her fingers move along the pages.

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