"My power is who I am. Who am I without it?"
—Richard, Looking for Group
"As I learn more and more what it is to be human, I am more and more convinced that I would never make a good one. I don't have what it takes. Without my powers, I'm frightened of everything. I'm a coward. And I'm miserable."
"I am... pretty sure I walked through an anti-divinity field back in the mines. Probably put there by this douchebag Alexander, the guy who's in charge of the whole thing here. I bet he didn't like how easy the whole thing was becoming for me or some shit like that. He already tried to pull some similar crap on me back when the whole thing with the map started..."
"Thor Odinson...you have betrayed the express command of your king. Through your arrogance and stupidity, you've opened these peaceful realms and innocent lives to the horror and desolation of war! You are unworthy of these realms, you're unworthy of your title, you're unworthy...of the loved ones you have betrayed! I now take from you your power! In the name of my father and his father before, I, Odin Allfather, cast you out!"
"Never before or since have the Daleks shown this kind of failure to recognize the Doctor. What, then, are we to make of this? The most obvious answer would seem to be that the Doctor is in some sense unrecognizable in this form... Remember that the means by which the Time Lords restricted the Doctor to Earth is in part by damaging his TARDIS and in part by altering his knowledge of time travel. These are both key parts of who he is, though. A madman without a box is just a madman. A Time Lord without knowledge of time is just someone calling themselves Lord. The Doctor's punishment was, in one sense, the stripping away of who he is. Until he reaches the point where the Time Lords deem him worthy of being the Doctor again, why should the Daleks recognize him?"
Jade is laying in the middle of the road when Dave finds her. Her arms are splayed wide, hair bleeding into the dark pavement, spine aligned with the center divide. Her eyes are stars, bright and far-away, and she doesn’t look at him when he sits down next to her and draws his knees into his chest. She doesn’t look at him when she speaks, either, just continues to stare into the night sky so intently that he’s scared she might become part of it.
"Do you think they’re still up there?"
Her words are slurred and he doesn’t have to ask to know what she means. She always wonders about them when she’s drunk, when the last traces of what is real and tangible floats away and she is nothing but the spaces in-between again.
(He doesn’t answer because it doesn’t matter.)
She raises her hands over her head and her fingertips trace the edges of constellations, naming them twice. Once he had thought the memories might fade, the way their powers had. But even as time stopped ticking through Dave’s veins, the memories stayed, like dreams he was almost sure he’d actually lived: Blurry around the edges but with moments so clear and crisp they would steal his breath and leave him heaving.