first_timelord: (time heals all)
Medical confinement, indeed.

He was perfectly fine, both he and Kiam knew this much. After she derived a great amount of amusement at beholding him in a dress, took him home from the Clinic, and then shouted angrily at him for making her worry so, he'd slept on the sofa that night. He'd deserved it, he knew. He'd been an utter, utter fool.

He rose early the next morning, or whatever passes for morning. There was work to do, and he'd done quite enough dillydallying. The Nexus had distracted him long enough. Silently, he slipped into the bedroom and put on some different clothing. Kiam was still asleep.

Not even Time Lords know why these moments stop, suspended, unmeasurable, peaceful. Why everything seems to hold its breath at the very moment you pause to watch someone you love while she sleeps. After a few seconds stretched to an eternity, he leaned down and kissed her softly before slipping out of the room again.

Quietly, he made his way to the place he liked to do this work from--it only involved a little spatial hopping. A sideways step in time, really. Rassilon appeared in a room with no outer door because the only people who needed to come to this place needed no doors. The lights came up softly when he appeared, revealing a roomful of terribly complex computers.

He'd done difficult and sometimes terribly dangerous things to acquire some of this instrumentation. He'd had to steal originals from the past, copy them, and return them exactly where he'd left them. Once he hadn't and the Lower Modular 8 System Crash of '54 had occurred, which they'd historically blamed on Borusa's infamous students--of which the Doctor had been one.

It was different, he'd told himself, than attempting to go back himself. Pulling things from the past was a simple dip of a fish net into time. Returning them, of course, was infinitely more difficult and required the utmost precision, but it was still not nearly as bad as returning himself. And that was that.

The computers were activated and resumed their silent, complex work, knitting together almost unimaginably vast amounts of data. They would be invaluable when needed. And they compiled the dimensional parameters needed for what he was going to be doing, himself. And they formed the programme base for the device being built in the next room, which he slowly made his way to.

In the next room lay a machine. A heavy, instrument-laden cylinder of glass embedded in a metal cradle. Its structure, its working parts, everything was complete. He stood over it for several seconds, looking it over, looking past it, gazing at the genetic databank that lay beyond it. That was what lay incomplete. The final task whispered to him--find the data. Find the data and the Loom will weave again. His fingers tightened around the rim of the open Loom cradle. That would be the riskiest undertaking of all. But the subjects in the Nexus were too few. He would have to penetrate the past to collect more--

Later. That will be done later.

He uncurled his fingers from the Loom and proceeded to the third door. It opened into a vast, peaceful chamber, bare save for a squashy mound upon the floor. Said mound faced a panoramic view of none other than Earth. And between the room and the Earth floated the skeletal beginnings of a vast, vast station.

Rassilon seated himself on the aforementioned mound. Made himself comfortable, but not too much so. He took a deep breath and released it with a quiet sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. "Now, where was I?" he murmured, nudging a channel open to the computer's telepathic circuitry. An orderly steam of data came to him. Dimensional information--measurements, if you will, down to the last tiny corner, curve, roundel and knob.

"Hmmmmm." His eyes opened again, already glowing softly their bright green hue, and he started to murmur something under his breath--equations, an unimaginably powerful stream of numbers--all the while watching the station as it floated serenely over the Earth, slowly, ever so slowly forming more of itself.

Date: 2007-08-18 03:19 am (UTC)From: [identity profile]
There's no telling how long he's been there before another twist in the fabric of time brings him company, in the form of his son. Omega, still in the court robes of his office as Ambassador of Gallifrey, the rich green of his Academy and the gold Seal of Rassilon on his chest lending him a stately look that his wild hair fights valiantely against.

He stands to one side of the room, just in his Father's peripheral vision, and watches the construction while he waits, seeing more than parts coming together. His eyes glow as he watches the data streams, the celestial mathematics. Someday, he'll be this deft with them. He waits to be acknowledged, unwilling to interupt.

Date: 2007-08-18 04:06 am (UTC)From: [identity profile]
It's a while before Rassilon stops, but he does stop, mainly because a single being performing Block Transfer Computations can't sustain it for very long. Rassilon carries it on longer than anyone else, not just because of his power, but his drive, as well. As it were, he closes his eyes tiredly and leans his head against his hand when he falls silent, and doesn't open them when he greets his future son with a weary smile.

"'Evening, Omega. Or is it morning again?"

Date: 2007-08-18 05:11 am (UTC)From: [identity profile]
"Little of both. It's nearly one." He leaves his corner and comes forward to bow, his mindset still very formal from his busy day. The Sycorac delegations were always so very touchy, and the last thing he wanted was a duel over housing arrangments for their First Hunter's son.

"This is all going to be glorious, you know."

Date: 2007-08-18 06:26 am (UTC)From: [identity profile]
He'd opened his eyes at the reply and an amused look results at the formality. He returns the bow with a nod.

"Mmmmm. Glorious? Spoken like one fresh from the diplomatic trenches, my son. You can safe face from that verbal misstep by joining me here." he finishes, smiling a give your old man a hug smile clearly recognised all over the cosmos.

Date: 2007-08-18 06:37 am (UTC)From: [identity profile]
He grins ruefully, stepping forward to do just that. "Well, you know the Sycorax. One misstep and you're in a duel to the death. And they won't let me fight with a sonic plunger."

Date: 2007-08-18 07:20 am (UTC)From: [identity profile]
Hug. He holds onto Omega for a small while, though the younger fellow's probably used to it, by now. Even at the best of times, Rassilon occasionally reminds one of an attention-starved feline. And this is clearly not one of the best of times.

"Heh. That sonic plunger's lasted longer than almost anything else, though. It could probably hold its own against a Sycoraxin broadsword."

He looks back out at the station and sighs a long, quiet sigh. "It's good to hear a little encouragement."

Date: 2007-08-18 07:29 am (UTC)From: [identity profile]
"I know it's slow going, and I can't tell you details, but... If it's any encouragement, the Station is the only home I remember."

Date: 2007-08-18 08:15 am (UTC)From: [identity profile]
He leans against his son. "Hmmm. It is, rather. Thank you."

There's a pause. The beginnings of the station float peacefully and Rassilon falls silent again, listening to the surface murmur of Omega's mind. Just hearing another Gallifreyan mind makes him close his eyes, still for just a moment before he speaks again.

"It isn't the station I'm really worried about. All it needs is steady progress." He detaches himself, but doesn't step very far away. "It's the Loom that concerns me. The genetic material here is ... thin. In fact, I've only mine to start with."

Date: 2007-08-18 08:41 am (UTC)From: [identity profile]
He makes a frustrated face at what he can and cannot tell his father. but it clears quickly.

"I can donate mine, can't I?"

Date: 2007-08-18 07:35 pm (UTC)From: [identity profile]
He catches that frustrated look.

"Ahhh, now note I said 'to start with.' I can't exactly go plucking genetic data from people I know without their consent, now, can I? And yes. Yes, you can. And thank you for offering. Yours will do splendidly, as will your mother's ... once ... she calms down." Look at that, even the Father of Time Lord Society can look sheepish.

Date: 2007-08-20 02:53 am (UTC)From: [identity profile]
"Calms down?" Omega looks askance at him, the light in his eyes dying down to nothing. "What did you do?"

Date: 2007-08-20 03:27 am (UTC)From: [identity profile]
"Eh..." he feels the mental connexion shift, pointedly so. Like a sidelong look.

"Nothing dangerous. No-one was harmed--well, except for myself, but I'm perfectly fine, now. Completely detoxified." He paces about a little, though his mind is still completely open, everything there for the looking. He never did believe in hiding anything. "It needed scoured out, you see. That filth of the Great Old Ones he thrust upon me." A breath and he turns again, smiling. "I'm quite all right, now, though. She was just ... worried, is all."

Date: 2007-08-20 04:06 am (UTC)From: [identity profile]
A life of learning not to look for the answer before they tell it to you aloud. "Detox- Great- This was something to do with Mr. Osborn, wasn't it?"

Date: 2007-08-20 05:08 am (UTC)From: [identity profile]
"It is, rather. Hmm. I take it by your form of reference that he's still alive in your time. I'd be lying if I didn't admit to a twinge of regret at that." He looks out at the view of the station again. "In a way you're lucky--both you and your mother. You're both genetically removed enough from the ... well, the affect it has. I can't adequately describe it. Something left in our cellular memory. Below the subconscious, even. Deeper than instinct."

He takes a breath and shakes his head. This is not the time or the place for melancholy.

Date: 2007-08-20 05:40 am (UTC)From: [identity profile]
Omega shakes his head. "Father, I'm only one generation more removed from it than you are. But I'll grow up in the Nexus, remember. I spend my childhood playing with Hall, and Sophia Osborn, and Lamby, and Some's strange sons."

Date: 2007-08-20 07:09 am (UTC)From: [identity profile]
"One generation removed on my side, perhaps, but thousands removed from it on your mother's," Rassilon points out with a smile.

Date: 2007-08-20 07:11 am (UTC)From: [identity profile]
"True," he concedes. "The first half-Loomling in existance."

Date: 2007-08-22 04:42 am (UTC)From: [identity profile]
He makes an odd face at the term "Loomling," but lets it slide. "It's that sort of genetic diversity that we need, after all."

Date: 2007-08-22 05:24 am (UTC)From: [identity profile]
He holds out his hand, palm up. "Take what you need, Father. I live to serve." And though he says it ironically, it's so very, very true.

Date: 2007-08-22 06:12 am (UTC)From: [identity profile]
It earns him a strange, strange look.

There are images of so many races having bowed to the Gallifreyans, whether of their own volition or not. So many temples, so many statues, so many servants, before Rassilon had tried to put an end to it. Even after, so many beings who served the Time Lords.

"No," he says softly, his mind on other things, even as he plucks a microextractor out of time and turns it round in his hand before pressing it to Omega's palm, right at the space between the heel of the hand and the inside of the wrist, the tiny hollow. The device instantly does its work, molecularly extracting what it needs. "This time, no-one will serve."

Rassilon shakes his head again, clearing the distraction of memory. "Thank you," he says, smiling.

Date: 2007-08-22 06:21 am (UTC)From: [identity profile]
And yet it's Rassilon who will raise Omega with this bone-deep sense of himself as a public servant, a child and then a man with a Duty, very nearly sacred, to be everything he should be. Just, patient, diplomatic, and commited. And he is all of those things. He is the Scion of Gallifrey, and one day, he will set the pattern for a new breed of Time Lords. And it starts here, doesn't it, with this tiny extraction of cells.

"My honour, Father."

Date: 2007-08-22 06:56 am (UTC)From: [identity profile]
Never let it be said these things won't be taught out of love, not fear. Everything he does is for love, even if it is remarkably shortsighted at times.

He curls his arms around his son in another hug, even though Omega is noticably taller than he is.

Date: 2007-08-22 07:29 pm (UTC)From: [identity profile]
He hugs Rassilon fiercely, and picks him up for just a moment, breaking out into a wide grin.

"You ought to get cells from each of the Doctor's regenerations, too. And when Mum re-" Whups. "Remembers that she's making Lord Rassilon sleep on the couch, she'll be happy to help."

Date: 2007-08-22 10:43 pm (UTC)From: [identity profile]
"I haven't been consigned to the sofa in centuries. It's probably good for me. Not that that makes it any less ... well, very inconducive to sleep." If that wasn't a word before, it is, now.

Date: 2007-08-22 11:08 pm (UTC)From: [identity profile]
"She's just worried about you. And I'm not making things any easier for her, I'm sure."

Date: 2007-08-23 10:45 pm (UTC)From: [identity profile]
"Possibly not. They'd grown accustomed to Looming children, you see, not birthing them." A sigh. "I should speak to her."

Date: 2007-08-23 10:54 pm (UTC)From: [identity profile]
"She should spend more time in the Nexus." A gentle nudge.

"It's not going to be an easy birth."

Date: 2007-08-24 04:43 am (UTC)From: [identity profile]
"You're right, of course. The trick will be convincing her of this fact. As I recall, your mother found the Nexus a bit ... frightening."

He looks at Omega sidelong. "Or does she finally get used to it, after a while?"

Date: 2007-08-24 07:34 am (UTC)From: [identity profile]
"Oh, eventually." Another flash of a smile. "You and I don't leave her much choice."

Date: 2007-08-24 07:42 am (UTC)From: [identity profile]
This elicits a laugh from Rassilon. It's always something that takes a century or two from his apparent age. How old he is, really, and how old he'll become is something no-one will ever concretely know, though.

"Ah, good. I was beginning to think the poor thing was going to become a recluse."

Date: 2007-08-24 07:48 am (UTC)From: [identity profile]
"Oh, she never will integrate well. She's a soldier, she tells me, and the Nexus is an uneasy place for a soldier. But she'll come out, make friends with some of my friends' moms. Do the soccormom thing."

Date: 2007-08-24 08:11 am (UTC)From: [identity profile]

This makes him utter a long snnrrrrrkkkkkkkk sound almost involuntarily, sporfling and then laughing at the way his son utters the words, "soccermom thing," not to mention at the concept itself.

They're in the Loom Chamber, by now, having left the place where he did the work on the station. Rassilon must have started walking there and Omega followed, though he wasn't aware he'd done it. Regardless of that, he is now leaning on the Loom itself and snickering helplessly.

Date: 2007-08-24 12:59 pm (UTC)From: [identity profile]
Omega is a little too deferential to lean on the Loom, but he laughs with Rassilon, and adds another image.

"The minivan you get her doesn't help."


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