When he tore open the sky she was sure they’d won, and she was delighted. On the deck of the Valiant, the most powerful man in the world drew her close and whispered ‘shall we decimate them?’ in her ear like a caress. It made her tremble, that word ‘we’, like his tongue on her clitoris, and she thought how much he must love her, to share this victory.
Now, she knows how foolish she was back then. Now, she knows that, for Harry, it was never about winning. Only losing matters. Of course, he needs people to see him win, because that highlights their loss, but he doesn’t need the victory itself, so there was never a question of sharing it. Everyone else must lose. She understands that now.
Her tragedy is that she loves him, quite genuinely. Loves everything about him: the smile; the aftershave; even the broken brilliance of his mind, which she so wants to fix for him.
Her tragedy is that Harry is quite aware of this and has spent the last year breaking her, like all the others. He takes no joy in her companionship; treats her like a child; mocks her stupidity and her slowness. When they sleep together he makes it clear that his decision to screw her, rather than any of the other humans on board, is merely one of convenience. He ensures, with ruthless efficiency, that every moment they are together is torturous. Though no more than the moments without him, because, despite this, she still loves him. She still wants to protect him. She still fears to lose even this shadowy Harry. She watches out for him, and so she sees the way he watches the Doctor.
The Doctor has more to lose than anybody else, but, for some reason, he refuses to surrender. There was a time, much earlier in the year, when she thought he’d fallen. Harry beamed for an entire day as the Doctor wept silently, the Toclafane giggling around his head. She thought then it might be over. But the Doctor is made of sterner stuff than any of them realised.
Harry pouts and cajoles, he destroys countries and adjusts the Doctor’s age over breakfast, but the Doctor doesn’t cry again. He just won’t lose, and she can tell that this fascinates Harry. Sometimes she catches them smiling at each other. Once she sees the Doctor’s eyelids flicker as Harry’s hand brushes his and she begins to wonder if the reason the Doctor can’t give in is the same reason Harry can’t bring himself to destroy the man properly. He still wants the Doctor to lose, but on his terms and the Doctor is wearing him down with his stillness and his forgiveness. He needs to remember who he’s fighting.
When the chanting begins she joins in, because she sees what it’s doing to the Doctor: turning him into an opponent worth destroying. When Harry teleports down to the Earth with the Doctor hanging onto to him, she closes her eyes and waits for the planet to explode around her. But then they reappear and she knows Harry hasn’t been strong enough, and he’s about to lose forever.
She knows she has to help him; that there will be nothing left of him if he is forced into the life of understanding the Doctor has planned. So when the gun skids into her shoes, she picks it up, unnoticed, and fires into one of her husband’s hearts, though it breaks her own to do it.
He staggers backwards and the Doctor catches him, desperately like a lover. Handsome Captain Harkness takes the gun from her, but it’s too late. Harry murmurs ‘how about that’ and Lucy watches. She doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t cry either. She knows that, even though Harry’s dying, she’s made him happy, as the Doctor shudders and cries and loses at last.