The Doctor can see his hand dimly in the flickering light. It’s not the lights really, but he can pretend. In any case, they’re a few metres from the door. He’s going to black out again…
The fingers fall through mist, to grab his hair and wrench him up.
“Say hello, Doctor,” the Assassin says, holding up the Time Lord’s wrist and flapping it at the gaggle of Time Lords standing on the Seal as he hops from one foot to the other, always turning, always switching stance as he heads for the Seal.
It’s only a few metres away. A few more bloody footsteps. He’s been swimming in meat for too long.
His short hand slides in for his garrote; digging in his heels at the circle of the Seal, the styled figure eight of Rassilon’s symbol, he steps over the edge, right onto the Node he has hidden there.
“Why aren’t you trying to stop me?” he breathes, remembering to be winded after lugging the other Time Lord all the way from the Infirmary.
The wire pulls more tightly around the Doctor’s neck, cutting in. A line of blood forms.
River Song breaks the line of Time Lords by her mere presence, her figure a starkness among all that red and grey and black and blue and purple. And brown.
A flood of eyes are on him now.
Good, he thinks, as his lips curve up and his eyes slip wide on the gathering crowd. It’s how he wants this.
Rain is cascading down on them, as it often does. The fickle ceiling clouds are blocking the view of on high.