Title: Necessary Evil
Rating: R/NC-17
Summary: For the good of all, some acts of destruction are a necessary evil.
Warnings: Extreme violence, torture
Spoilers: All of Torchwood, especially Children of Earth
Disclaimer: Torchwood is ©2006-2009 British Broadcasting Service Wales (BBC Wales). Created by Russell T. Davies. Produced by Russell T. Davies and Julia Gardner. Doctor Who is ©1963-1989 British Broadcasting Service (BBC), ©1996 British Broadcasting Service (BBC), Universal Television, and Fox Network, and ©2005-2010 British Broadcasting Service Wales (BBC Wales). Doctor Who was relaunched in 2005 by Russell T. Davies. Produced by Russell T. Davies and Julia Gardner. Copyrighted material is used without permission of the BBC with no intention of profit from the works contained herein.
Translation Notes: ʼNā Malak al-Maut is Arabic for "I am the Angel of Death". Benei Elohim is Hebrew for "Sons of God" and k'doshim is Hebrew for "The Holy Ones".
Necessary Evil
"Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds." --J. Robert Oppenheimer, Trinity Nuclear Test Site, July 16, 1945
Rwḩ alWţn, Tdmyrar Rwḩ, 20.99 GY (PSR 1257+12 IV, 4722.75 Million Solar Years)
The world below him burned. Its people screamed for death, for release from the pain he'd gifted them; however, he did nothing. He stayed his hand. He listened to their screams, their pleas, for mercy. Nothing moved him. The Watcher merely stood, watched and listened, as they burned in never ending torment. Some would call it torture; he called it a necessary evil. Perhaps now, these creatures would understand the pain, torment and suffering their addictions had delivered across the galaxy. Nearby glassy sand and gravel crunched. The footsteps were barely audible over the din from below. The screams even drowned out the singing of the distant star which birthed this world. The Watcher slowly uncrossed his arms, turned to arch a single eyebrow at his visitor, and shook his head before turning back to his creation.
"You should grant them release." The newcomer's voice carried his censure and disgust. The watcher merely gave a bitter chuckle in response. "Would he want you to do this?"
"I'm surprised he didn't come himself," he replied. "Though he was more than likely dissuaded from seeking revenge, either by his few remaining friends on Terra or by you." He pivoted about on one foot to face his companion. "After all, you think all things should live no matter how great their evil. No matter the torture that life is, the lack of release, the wrongness of it, everything must live." His voice dropped, bitterness echoing in every word he spoke. "Isn't that right, Doctor?"
"Ianto..."
"No," he snapped. "You have no right to call me by that name." He took a step toward the Time Lord. His voice dropped to a sibilant whisper. "You call yourself the Oncoming Storm," he hissed. "The Lonely God. Like all your kind, you think yourself better than all because of your connection to the Vortex, the soul of creation; however, you, too are a part of my dominion." The man once known as Ianto Jones stretched out one hand toward the Doctor and curled his fingers into a fist, twisting his wrist. His eyes flared silvery-blue as the Time Lord dropped to his knees in the glassy gravel.
"What are you?"
"ʼNā Malak al-Maut," he said. He slowly uncurled his fingers and lowered his hand. His head tilted to one side as he considered the kneeling man. "Generations ago, the people you look down upon as apes named me Azrael." He turned away again to look over his creation. "Like all my kind, the Benei Elohim, k'doshim, I saw amongst the younger siblings of our race one who captured my heart. Unlike most, my companion was male yet for him I was willing to exile myself from my Father's house." He looked back at the Doctor again. "Only when I was close to him did I learn what you condemned us both to, Doctor, because you allowed an immature child to manipulate you, control you, and through you the power of creation."
A sigh slipped from Ianto. He closed his eyes for a moment. He had to remain in control or he could easily destroy the man standing just steps away from him. "I died in his arms because you allowed your knowledge of time to go to your head. That event was never supposed to happen; however, thanks to you, it is now history. Fixed. Immutable. All of time being rewritten because you ran like you always run..." he trailed off into silence. His eyes again closing. This time he tilted his head back and took several deep breaths before releasing them. Again, words echoed across his mind - painfully vivid - and he shuddered before forcing them back. He couldn't think of the moment when he'd been torn from his beloved.
Slowly, Ianto opened his eyes. Again, he turned to face the Time Lord. He considered him for a moment. A hush seemed to fall over the planet, the system, the whole of creation standing still as Ianto contemplated the last of the Time Lords. Finally, he nodded - more to himself than any other - and waved a negligent hand across the space beside him. A high keening wail rose from the dying creatures below. Their pain doubling and redoubling as he stole away the drug from their blood. A flick of his wrist and a deep echoing silence fell. He stared hard at the other man.
"I have done as you asked, Doctor," he said. "Ended their torment and the torment of those they used for their high. I do this only because the man I still love holds you in such high esteem." Slowly, he stalked forward until he was close enough to see the small flecks of gold, the vortex itself, in the Doctor's eyes. "When next we meet, Time Lord, I won't be so merciful to you. I have killed one of the things which destroyed my heart and soul; I can do nothing about the other..." he paused significantly. "Yet."