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[set two years after Family of Blood. Joan's p.o.v]
I hated him for creating such a wonderful man. For creating and destroying him, so casually. He said John Smith was part of him. But my John wasn't a fragment. He was a man. Or did I love a ghost, an idea?
But I am beginning to understand the Doctor, if I can't forgive. He knew. He knew where they were going, these little English gentlemen barely out of short trousers. I have their blood on me. They call for nurse.
But I can't save them. Is this how he feels, when he cannot help, but only watch, and know?
I hated him for creating such a wonderful man. For creating and destroying him, so casually. He said John Smith was part of him. But my John wasn't a fragment. He was a man. Or did I love a ghost, an idea?
But I am beginning to understand the Doctor, if I can't forgive. He knew. He knew where they were going, these little English gentlemen barely out of short trousers. I have their blood on me. They call for nurse.
But I can't save them. Is this how he feels, when he cannot help, but only watch, and know?
