Rose stays defiantly in front of the Dalek, turning to face the Doctor with disapproval clear on her face. A killer the alien may have been, but she knew it wasn't the same now -- and after all, it wasn't the one pointing the gun at her. The Doctor says he has to end it, he's got nothing left. But she can't believe it and shakes her head, insists that he look at it, stepping aside so he can see, tells him that all it wants is the sunlight.
"It couldn't kill van Statten -- it couldn't kill me -- it's changing." She looks at him for a moment, and the disapproving expression returns. "What about you, Doctor? What the hell're you changing into?"
Her ire then fades as she listens to the Doctor and the Dalek, curiosity piqued by talk of herself -- it's got part of me in it now, changing it, and she wonders if that's better, because she thinks it is.
Not for a Dalek.
The Dalek addresses her, tells her to give it orders -- to tell it to die. But she can't do that, she can't. She doesn't want death on her hands; she doesn't want to be like that. But it continues, appeals to her, orders her to order it. And on, she pities it, and as she stands there watching it, she takes a breath and steadies her voice.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2006-03-02 10:13 pm (UTC)Rose stays defiantly in front of the Dalek, turning to face the Doctor with disapproval clear on her face. A killer the alien may have been, but she knew it wasn't the same now -- and after all, it wasn't the one pointing the gun at her. The Doctor says he has to end it, he's got nothing left. But she can't believe it and shakes her head, insists that he look at it, stepping aside so he can see, tells him that all it wants is the sunlight.
"It couldn't kill van Statten -- it couldn't kill me -- it's changing." She looks at him for a moment, and the disapproving expression returns. "What about you, Doctor? What the hell're you changing into?"
Her ire then fades as she listens to the Doctor and the Dalek, curiosity piqued by talk of herself -- it's got part of me in it now, changing it, and she wonders if that's better, because she thinks it is.
Not for a Dalek.
The Dalek addresses her, tells her to give it orders -- to tell it to die. But she can't do that, she can't. She doesn't want death on her hands; she doesn't want to be like that. But it continues, appeals to her, orders her to order it. And on, she pities it, and as she stands there watching it, she takes a breath and steadies her voice.
"Do it."