[Narvin runs a hand through his thinning hair, unsure how to process this. He should never had asked about his future. He of all people should know better. But what's done is done, what's said is said.

He snorts.]

Survive? And spend my years wandering empty corridors, knowing that Gallifrey's destruction is creeping ever nearer and being wholly helpless to do anything to stop it? I don't say this lightly, but dying might actually be better.

[He shouldn't ask anything else. He really shouldn't.]

And Leela? Romana?