Summary: Fifth Axis interrogations stir up things best left quiet in Braxiatel's mind.  Or, The One Where Brax Has A Head!Pandora.
Rated: PG-13
Notes: Set during the period of the Bernice Summerfield series when the Braxiatel Collection is occupied by the Fifth Axis, who are controlled by ... well, the audio in question is called "Death and the Daleks".  TITLE SPOILERS OMG.  Knowledge of Gallifrey canon is more essential than Benny's, although passing familiarity with "The Mirror Effect" would help.



Shadow Self
by LizBee


Braxiatel opened his eyes and found that he was not alone.

But then, he never had been.

The pain of the Special Inquisitor's work was beginning to recede at last -- he was almost able to meditate on the irony, that the effort to shield himself from a telepath should prove as painful as any torture.  That the headache was self-inflicted only completed the absurdity.  He rested his head on the back of his chair, and looked up at his companion.

"Pandora," he said.

She knelt by his side, taking his hand in hers.

"Poor Braxiatel," she said, "cast out from Gallifrey and left to suffer these -- indignities."

"I left -- voluntarily.  To save Gallifrey."

"If you like."  Pandora dropped his hand and stood up.  She wore Romana's face, her old face, although it was harder and older than he remembered, and there was silver in her dark hair.  "It must be interesting," she said, "to hold the fate of Gallifrey in your hands.  Such power, Chancellor."  Her eyes glittered.  "Such potential."

"You are a glorified figment of my imagination."

"I am your own desires, given shape," Pandora snapped.  "I am the shadow self of all Time Lords, past and present--"

"Making you pompous as well as pathetic--"

Braxiatel climbed to his feet, took a few unsteady steps and reached the dining room, where he poured himself a glass of water from the carafe he had prepared earlier -- spilling most of it over the table and his hands, but he felt better for having something in his stomach.  Pandora watched him, curiosity mingled with contempt in her face.

"Do you think Romana will ever forgive you?" she asked.

"You're the manifestation of my subconscious, you tell me."

"Very well."  Pandora looked down at him.  "You know that Romana has a pathetic belief in personal loyalty, and you encouraged her to trust you in particular.  So as much as you may wish otherwise, even if you could see her without destroying her--"

"Without allowing you to destroy her--"

Pandora ignored his interruption, "--There'll be no tearful reconciliations -- no private tours of the Collection, long evenings in the Garden of Whispers, watching the reflection of the sunset in the Hall of Mirrors."  Pandora gave him a bright smile.  "I'm the closest you'll ever come to seeing Romana again."

"A pathetic simulacrum."

"Less vulnerable to your manipulations, certainly."

"I suppose I can thank the Fifth Axis for this ... manifestation."

"Even your mind could snap, given the right stimulus."  Pandora ran a hand over his books.  "Like poor Romana, a Dalek slave for two decades."

"Or you.  Millenia inside the Matrix.  All alone."

"Very well," Pandora gave him a cat-like smile.  "We're all mad here."

"How tedious."

Pandora transformed herself in a blink, becoming the older Romana, his Lady President.  Pushing her long, blonde hair out of her face she said, "Brax, do you really think we can afford to leave Galifrey open to invasion any longer?  Sontarans, Daleks -- we only pretend to be invulnerable.  If we're to survive as a species, we have to take action, and soon."

"Very good," he said, "a note-perfect mimicry, in fact.  Are you going to tell me you only have Gallifrey's best interests at heart?"

"Unlike Romana, I don't try to justify my ambitions."

"How very admirable."

"We're more alike than you think, Chancellor," said Pandora.  "We care about survival."  She leaned closer, and he could feel her breath against his lips.  "Think about your collection, Brax," she whispered.  "The Fifth Axis is turning your collection into pro-human propaganda, and you, you're locked away, unable to stop them," she was unbearably close, now.  "What would you do," she asked, "to protect your collection?"

His hands closed over her shoulders, his thumbs resting on her neck.  She was quite solid.  Quite real.

"Are you responsible for the Occupation?" he asked.

She threw her head back and laughed. 

"You mean," she said when she was calm again, "are you responsible for this?  You can't hide your guilty conscience from me, Irving.  I know what you did to Bernice Summerfield and Jason Kane, and the rest.  It might suit you to hold me responsible, but we both know what you are."  She regarded him with a dispassionate, chilling gaze.  "No," she said at last, "I'm not the puppetmaster behind the Fifth Axis."

"I have often wondered what I am becoming."

"Increasingly interesting?" said Pandora with a smile.

"Until you find yourself another host."

"As if you'd ever let me leave.  However much you think you crave freedom."

"Freedom?"  He ran his hand down her cheek, marveling at her warmth.  "But you said it yourself, Pandora -- we both know where our true guilt lies.  So we're stuck together, and I am curious," his thumb brushed against her lips, and they parted slightly, "have you given any thought to the continued survival of my Collection?"

"Oh, yes.  I've been meditating on the usefulness of the survival instinct.  And what a being will do, in order to ensure its existence."

"Rather apt, under the circumstances."

Pandora laughed, and leaned forward, taking his face in her hands.

"Give us a kiss," she said.



end